KYOTO: GUILT TRIP

A week before I was set to go on my travels, I went back up north to see my family. On visiting my Dad he told me he was going in for open heart surgery the week after I left. He asked me if I would go to the hospital the next day with him for further tests and to see the consultant. I guess you always think your parents are always going to be around forever, but no one is immortal, even your parents and this finally hit me when sat in a hospital room with the surgeon telling my father if he did not have this operation his heart was going to kill him. The operation was not with out its risks too, which he listed. We are sat afterwards in the hospital waiting room. If my dad was feeling scared or nervous by what he had just heard, he didn't show it. He seems more concerned with scar he is going have on his chest and how the operation is going to mess up his New Year plans, but maybe that was just his way of dealing with it. I on the other hand, was trying my best to reframe from crying. I felt like utter shit. I had planned this trip months ago and the thought of going away had been the only thing that had been getting me through the last couple of weeks. Going away, now seemed like the worse thing in the world. I tell him I'm going to cancel it. I know the ticket is non refundable. He tells me to stop being stupid. 

"You have worked hard for this and I know how much you want to go. Besides you have to go and see your brother and your nephew."

He tells me Barbara (His girlfriend) and my sister will look after him and keep me informed. I felt selfish and guilty going away and no matter how much everyone said it would be OK, the truth is I would never forgive myself if anything happened to my dad and I wasn't there. 

In a way Japan was the perfect place to go. There is so much to do and see that your days become so filled, you don't really have anytime to think of things. It was only at night when I finally stop and lay down to sleep that I would have time to think and become stressed about things. No matter how tired I was I had total insomnia that first week in Japan. The day before my dad's operation I decided to take myself off to Kyoto for 2 days as I had always wanted to see it and I wanted to be on my own, as solitude is my way of dealing with things. 

Now I've travelled a lot on my own, in fact it's what I prefer and not many things intimidate me but travelling in Japan is quite a different kettle of fish. As soon as my brother left me at the station with strict instructions of how to navigate my way through the Tokyo train system to my intended station, I had an overwhelming feeling of panic. 

"Shit I'm on my own! I don't know the language! I can't even read the writing! There are so many people everywhere and none of them understand me!"

I pulled myself together and get going, finding my way through the crowded commuter crowds. It's a good thing to be tall in Japan as it means that your head and shoulders above everyone else and that you can breath while everyone else is squashed down below, in the rush hour crowds.

After getting a little bit lost and confused I make it to my station to catch the Shinkansen otherwise famously known as the bullet train, Japan's high speed train which will take me to Kyoto. In a city as busy as Tokyo, the timing of the trains is critical. If a train is late it causes the whole system of flow to collapse. If a train is more than a minute late the driver has to issue an apology. I have never seen a train late in Japan. Please take note British rail.

Kyoto was the imperial capital of Japan for thousands of years and is known as the place to see the old Japan of geishas, tea houses and temples so it comes as quite a surprise when I get off the train and huge modern city presents itself to me. "Were is the quaintness?" I think to myself. It's only afterwards that I realise that Kyoto is still a city with a population of 1.5 million. I eventually find my hotel after walking around lost for half an hour, even though it is right next to the station and I've already walked past it twice. I cannot check in yet so I leave my bags and decide to head out and see the city. I buy a bus pass and decide to head first to the famous golden pavilion, Kinkaku-Ji. Unfortunately I get on the wrong bus and end up at another temple, which is nice but it isn't the bloody golden pavilion! After looking at the bus map at every angle possible, including upside down and getting on another wrong bus, I finally make it to the pavilion. It rather busy, mainly with really annoying Chinese tourists who seem more interested in getting a photo of themselves with the new Selfie stick than actually taking in the sights. I worm my way past them and walk past a group of Japanese school children, dressed in the traditional sailor suit style uniform which I think is particularly cool (High school would have been much better if we'd had that type of uniform)!  I see some of the kids pushing one of the boys towards me. He stops me slightly hesitating and starts to speak to me in broken English:

"Hello. Can we speak to you in English?"

"Yes" I respond. There is a cheer of excitement from the class. I have an audience.

"What is your name?"

"Carly." The is met with "arrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr" of wonder.

"Where are you from?"

"London." This is met with a double "arrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr" of wonder and even the teacher who is looking on seems so excited by my response he looks like he might wet himself. 

"Why are you in Kyoto?"

"To see all the temples and look at the ancient culture!" This doesn't get an "arrrrrrrrrrrrr" as I think I have gone beyond their English vocab and none of them can understand a word I'm saying but they nod politely anyway.

"Thank you for talking with us" says the boy "and here is a present!" I'm then given a plastic lamenated card which one one of them has made with peace and love written on it and then weirdly enough the puma sports logo drawn with "Puma" written underneath. Strange! I then have to have a group photo take with them all to prove that they have spoken to a weird white alien like lady who they can't understand a word she says. Peace, love and puma is all I can think as I walk away. I might make it into a saying?

Afterwards I decide to get the bus to Gion which is the district that my brother had said I would like. He was right. Here was my Kyoto, with narrow winding streets, and small wooden houses and shops that lined them. I'll say one thing about me, is that I can walk. I can walk forever (Actually this excluding up hill)! Maybe it's because of many years living in London, but it's a trait that I have taken traveling with me. I find nothing better than going to a new place and wondering the streets for hours. I do this in Gion Until the night has fallen and everything has turned black. I decide to catch the bus back to my hotel but have walked so off route I haven't a clue where it is anymore. I'm completely lost again (It seems to be a reoccurring thing for me).  I keep heading south through the back streets in hope that this will lead to the station and my hotel. It's on one of these back streets, I see a head of me, a woman at a door bowing to an older lady.  They are both wearing the traditional Japanese Kimono but the younger woman has a face painted porcelain white, a black stiff wig and flower ornaments hanging from her hair. It's a geisha! The geisha, the Japanese courtesan, who my brother had told me where very hard to see, as they are only seen in public briefly while leaving their houses and tea houses for short moment before they get in their chauffeur driven cars to go to another event, all done privately behind closed doors. Sure enough a suited, hatted driver waits by the roadside with car door open ready to whisk her away. In the west some people look on geishas as just high class prostitutes but in Japan it is a profession that is looked apon with respect. As they do not want to be a tourist attraction and shield themselves away from the eyes of the public, I feel extremely lucky to have seen one. I walk along a few houses further and the same scenario presents itself! A white painted faced kimonoed young woman bowing to an older woman and a driver waiting by the side of the road. It's another geisha! I can't stop staring. I want to take a photo to prove I actually saw one. Actually no! Two! But I can sense they feel my eyes apon them and feel a sudden sense of violation of the scene, if I was to get my camera out. This is why I would never make a good photographer. I photograph it with my eyes instead. I'm on cloud nine when I walk a little further to see another geisha just about to get in her car. OMG! This is amazing. I must of wandered into a street of where geishas live. I watch the rest get into their cars and drive off into the night. Sometimes it's good to get lost I think to myself.

I get back to my hotel eventually and finally check in. It's the smallest hotel room ever. A single bed squashed into a space that also contain a small desk. The bathroom is tiny too complete with a bath tub that is a like a big washing up bowl, but it's deep. I'm exhausted. I look more tired than I did in London. I text my dad to say I lit a candle for him at the temple that promises health and safety and because of that I know everything will be OK. 

I don't really sleep again that night but I have become use to feeling tired. Today I want to go and see the imperial place and Nijo castle. I decide the best way to do that is to cycle. The previous day I had seen that Kyoto was a very cycle friendly city and everyone cycles everywhere, especially on pavements and cycle paths. I headed to the shop where I was given a pink basket bike who I called Barbie Chan (I know I name everything!) I purchased a pair of gloves and brought along a wool hat as it was freezing. The shop owner gave me a map and asked me where I was heading to. 

"The imperial palace!" I reply.

"You have booking?"

"No!"

"Then you cannot go. You need booking in advance for tour. Weeks in advance!" He tells me.

Great! I think I guess I won't be going there then. I head straight for Nijo castle on Barbie Chan. Besides I was more excited about seeing Nijo as it was built by the Shoguns and was meant to be like something out of a kurosawa film. The only problem is that when I cycle up to it I'm met by a sign saying:

Shut today due to restoration work! What the Hell! I'm furious. My kurosawa fanasty is over. The day isn't going well, so I decided to cycle over an hour out of town to a bamboo forest and temple as they can't shut a forest for restoration can they? The cycle is pleasure able if not cold and I feel safe as I wiz by people at a fast rate (please note that 90% of the people I over take are 100+ year old pensioners, so this is not a great achievement)!

After a full day of sightseeing I sadly drop Barbie chan off and head back on an late evening bullet train to Tokyo. I'm anxious as I know that my dad is in surgery back in England now. I just want to get back to my brothers so I can be back on the Wi-Fi to find out what's going on. It feels like the longest journey ever. I make it back to my brothers just before midnight. He and Yuko are still up. 

"Have you heard anything about dad?"

"No!"

"Have you?"

"No!"

He looks worried, though he would never say he was. 

There is nothing to do but sit and wait and look silently at a phones to light up with some information of what's happening. We sit there for what feels like an age. Its horrible, this feeling. It's the early hours of the morning. We both know that my dad has been in theatre longer than he should of. The anxiety is overwhelming but I look at my brother. He looks tried and he has to work in morning. I tell him to go to bed and I will wait up for news. I lay in my bed in the early hours of morning staring at my phone. A message finally comes through from sister. At first I'm scared to look at it but read it all the same.

"The operation was a success! Now gets some sleep! X"

There was huge relief, of course there was. Dad was going to be OK. Everything was going to be alright, but I'd had got myself into such a state I felt sick and still could not sleep. But it didn't matter though. Dad was OK. It was only the next day I finally started to relax. My sister and Barbara kept me up to date with his progress. Already he was conscious and asking if his hair looked OK. That night my sister sent through a picture. It was Dad sat in bed in hospital. Even though he was sat in bed covered in tubes and a large line of stitches down his chest, he looked better than I had seen him in ages. The colour had returned to his face. I realised then my father for a long time had looked grey and ill in his complexion. It was a beautiful sight. I would like to say for all of you that know my father, after skyping him and keeping up to date with him, he is making a good recovery (though is still moaning about not being able to drive for another couple of weeks) and will soon be out and about causing as much trouble as he did before. The next night I had my first good nights sleep in two weeks. I awoke feeling great. I wasn't stressed and could finally start to really enjoy this trip. The guilt had gone.

OBSERVATIONS 

I know! I haven't done the observation section in a post for ages, but I Japan is a country full of observations, it would be rude not to. 

* You see a lot of crying girls at Japanese train stations. This is (as my brother tells me) because a train station is the main place to split up with your girlfriend in Japan. So if you have a Japanese boyfriend and he asks you to meet him at a train station it's not going to end well. I'm just saying!

* Thigh high style hooker boots seem to be really in fashion here. I will not be adopting this trend!

* Green tea is the favourite drink here but you can just about get anything in green tea: ice cream, crisps etc, but my favourite has to be the green tea Kit Kat, which looks like a Kit Kat but is green like someone has snotted all over it. Once you get over the snot look they actually taste OK.

* Japanese people get very drunk, very quickly on not a lot. My brother use to have a collection of photos titled "Drunk Japanese business men" which he use to photograph lying in the gutter after a night out. 

* You can buy used Japanese school girl knickers from slot machines. I'm informed they are of girls over 16 as school girls wear the uniform up to 18 but OMG! Wrong!

* Don't ever, ever, ever go into Toys R Us in Japan. It's like some bad acid trip!

ITS A FAMILY AFFAIR: TOKYO

Do you want to know who I admire the most in this world? It's not some famous Diva actor or popstar. It's not some over paid sports person. It's not even a revolutionary or a peacemaker. It's my baby brother, though I have never told him. Why? Because he has always had the odds stacked against him most of his life and he took those odds and went "Up yours odds! I will still do this anyway!" These odds started from the moment he arrived on this planet, because my brother was never meant to have been here in the first place. My mum became pregnant after having me, more or less straight away. Up to the point of giving birth to my sister my mother always thought that she was having one child. She was wrong! All the doctors were wrong! The hospital was wrong! She was having twins and 15 minutes later my brother was born small weak, with malnutrition, looking like he wasn't longed for this world. The doctors told my parents he won't live. He did! They then said he would probably have brain damage. He didn't! He was diagnosed with learning difficulties and told he would have to go to the special learning unit. My brother worked twice as hard at learning and stayed in normal classes. He was told he probably wouldn't get any GCSE'S. He did! He wouldn't get any A levels. He did! He wouldn't go to university. He did! After graduation he said he wanted to go and work in Japan! We all laughed: "Yeah right Darren!" we would say. He went anyway and stayed for 3 years and started to learn Japanese. He got married, came back to England and had a child. After a year he decided he wanted to further himself. He applied for jobs at high up firms. He would get down to the final few each time but get rejected. "We like you" they would say "but your not experienced enough, your writing isn't good enough!" He had this for 2 years, but he never gave up and kept trying harder after every rejection and then one day it happened. "I'm moving back to Tokyo. A company want me!" And that's where we find him now: working for one of the biggest law firms in the world, a valuable and highly regarded, as far as I can see, member of the company. You should never tell anyone they can't do something in life, no matter what, because if they want it enough, they can! This is why I admire my brother the most in this world.

I hadn't seen my brother and his family in over a year and a half, since they had last paid a 2 week visit to England. I was coming to Australia anyway, so what better way of breaking up a trip than stoping off in Tokyo and having some family time. Besides I been to Tokyo ten years before with my boyfriend of the time and my sister and had the time of my life. Even now, a decade later of traveling, I still think Tokyo is one of the best cities and experiences I have ever had.

"Leo is really looking forward to seeing Aunty Carly again" my brother would tell me. This bemuses me! "How the Hell does he remember me in this first place?" I thought to myself. I've always regarded myself as the absent Aunty. Even when my nephew was living in England I was never around as he was in Manchester and I was always leading my life in London. Unlike my sister I have never been maternal. When my nephew would cry or have a tantrum like kids do I would never know what to do and walk away in my usual selfish manner, feeling not a lot. Things in my life have changed recently though. I have learnt more about children, and I'm not as scared or awkward anymore around them. I have learnt a side to me I thought I never had. I saw this as an opportunity to connect with my nephew. And to get to know him.

My brother came to pick me up at the airport which I insisted on as:

1. I was carrying a bloody great big suit case full of presents for him!

2. I hadn't got a clue how to get to his and neither did I understand any of the swiggly writing that is known as Japanese.

3. He's my brother, so he has too.

To be fair though I'm not sure whether my brother had much more knowledge than me of the Tokyo train system as he seemed to get lost every two seconds. It's not like he's lived in Tokyo for six years! Oh wait a sec! Yes he has. On changing train lines my brother insists we go into the seven eleven shop and buy some alcoholic beverages as he tells me lots of Japanese people drink them on the way home.
"You should of have one of these!" He's says pointing at a can in the fridge "It's a Suntory Highball! It's soda and whiskey and it has no calories!"
"Are you trying to say I'm fat Darren?"
"No! I'm yes saying girls like that type of thing!"
"That's kind of stereotyping women!" I retort. I'm just about to go off on one of my feminist rants, when I think, "Actuallly whiskey and soda sounds really good and no calories! Even better!"
We spend the rest of the journey back to his drinking Santory Highball from a can looking like alcoholic westerners as I don't see one Japanese person drinking the whole way home. Great!

I awake the next morning a little confused due to jet lag and a hyperactive five year old jumping on me!
"Aunty Carly, Aunty Carly!" So he does know my name! I look at him. He's grown so much, and God he's so beautiful. I know I'm biased but he is. He looks like my brother but he looks Asian too. He shows me his favourite Lego pieces , his favourite cartoon shows. He's speaks to me in a mixture of Japanese and English. His Japanese is better than his English and he seems shy at times talking to me in English. He insists that I come and pick him up from kindergarten, so he can show me to all his friends. To be fair I do feel like a speciality or an oddity (depends which way you look at it) as my nephew presents me to his friends. In fact you feel like this most of your time in Japan. Coming from such a culturally diverse place such a London, Tokyo even though it's is far bigger, with a greater population, it has very little racial diversity. As a 5'10 blonde I stick out like a sore thumb. You sense people staring but when you catch their eyes they always look away quickly. The Japanese never like to be seem looking.

You can't go to Tokyo with out going to a themed restaurant. In fact I think it should be made illegal not to go to one, as its part of the whole Japanese experience.
When I was last here my brother took us to one called Lock Up, which saw us handcuffed to some girl clad in PVC and taken to our cell where we served our food in between the bars and half way through the meal the lights went out and we were attacked by criminals. Definitely the strangest meal I've ever had.

This time my brother was keen to go to a new themed place that had just opened called Robot Restaurant, as a lot of my brothers colegues had recommended it. He thought it would be good a good place for just me and him time.Now what I am about to describe does not even come close to how crazy this night or this place was. You need to have been there to believe it, but I will do my best. It is as follows. We head to Shinjukui at the heart of Tokyo. It's a maze of high rised buildings and lights. It's hard to believe with its vastness that Tokyo was nothing more than rumble after world war 2 and that it was all rebuilt again at such a fast rate like a Phoenix from the ashes.
We arrive outside the venue which is down the back streets of the seedy red light district. Now let's just say you really couldn't miss the venue. Why? Well if you think of every light in Vegas being put onto one building lone building then this was a building. It had so many lights that if you looked at it too long you would probably have an epileptic fit. If this was the outside then what the Hell was the inside like? Well let me tell you! We are led down stairs in to what was know as the waiting area. So try and imagine if a 70's disco, a pimp pad and Versace's house was merged together, well that's kind of the best way to describe this room. It's kitsch, bling and just amazing! Me and my brother are opened mouthed. We are led to are table by a pretty Japanese girl dressed as a sexy Santa who than puts down a robot dinosaur on a table that moves around and makes noises. What the Hell! I turn to my brother.
"What's the robot dinosaur about?"
"I haven't got a clue!" he replies "but it's bloody hilarious!"
We order some Japanese alcoholic drinks in a can, and I haven't got a clue what is, but it's very strong. As we sit drinking two Japanese girls, scantily clad in silver beaded outfits and thigh high boots, appear. One starts to play the piano. The other a violin. My brother starts laughing. "Jesus Christ!" He says. I can see what he's laughing at. The piano player is wearing a black thong underneath her silver tassles which are trying to pass as a skirt of some sort. It really doesn't leave a lot to the imagination.
"I think I can see now, why the guys from work recommended this place Daz!" I say.
The girls are then joined by some guys dressed as robots playing some Japanese flutes. It gets weirder! Then two more scantily clad girls come out with Santa hats on and sing their version of Mariah Careys "All I Want for Christmas is You!" It would have been quite good as they can actually sing. The problem is they don't really know English and so don't pronounce any of the words properly so it sounds like a demented speech impediment version of the song.
"I need the toilet!" I think! Not like the toilet is going to be any less of an experience; which is wasn't! I open the door to find ever square radius covered in gold, mirror and bling. Even the toilet seat is a tropical cerise print. I actually can't wee as I think I'm in shock. It's all too much! The first thing I say when I get back to brother is: "Daz you have to go to the toilets!"

The introduction is over and we get separated from our robot dinosaur (sad!) and dragged further down into the basement to see the actual show. We get placed at tables surrounding an arena and given more of the strange alcoholic Japanese canned drinks. OK! To sum it up it a nutshell the performance is as follows: lots of scantily clad beautiful Japanese girls come out. I start to get really envious of their amazing figures until I realise they actually have a figure of a child and that they only have breasts because they have really padded bras on. Then some girls come out and sit on gyrating diamanté horses and sing Lady Gaga's "Telephone" under laser beams. Next there are some boxing battles between robots and more scantily clad girls and fire breathing dragons. It's at this point I think there must be weird drugs in those Japanese canned drinks and I'm on some kind of crazy acid trip; especially for the finale which consists of UV light dancing girls followed by robotic roller bladers, robotic dogs and a dancing robot. This is then top off with a load more scantily clad smiling Japanese girls riding around on moving women cars with huge breasts, and we were all given glow sticks to dance with. No words! I mean no words could describe that event I said to my brother later as we finished the night the only way knew having a drink in Tokyos answer to an English replica pub. "Maybe epic is the best way to describe it!" my brother later said. I think maybe he was right!

On my last day in Tokyo I decided to take my nephew to another big rage in Japan at the moment: animal themed cafes. You see in Tokyo people have such small homes in densely populated areas most of them don't have room for pets, so people see these cafes as a good way to be able to interact with animals. Cat cafes used to be the favour of the month, but now this season it all seems to be about rabbit cafes, hence that's where we went. We use to have a rabbit when we were kids. It was a white albino dwarfe called Nibbles. I think it was slightly crazy as it always use to piss on me and bite me if wore a certain T-shirt which was burgundy with mustard stripes. I also think he was gay as one time I came to clean out the hutch to find him buggering the long haired ginuea pig Dibbles (see what we did there?) who we had got him as a companion; but I guess Nibbles had a different opinion on what type of companion he wanted. Later Dibbles had to be put down because of a heart attack. My mother could not bring herself to tell the vet the real reason for what induced this attack! When Nibbles eventually died we buried him under the shed in a Victoria biscuit tin and threw daisies we had picked from the garden over his coffin while my step dad covered him in soil with a spade. I actually cried for that sodomising rapist of ginuea pigs! Oh child hood memories!
We get to the cafe which is full of rabbits in cages. Leo gets to chose which two rabbits he wants to play with first. Of course he chooses the biggest called Figaro which is the size of a small dog and one girly looking one with white long hair and a pink bow in its mane. They are cute until they decide to piss and shit every where! My child horrors flash back at me but a least this time it isn't on my burgundy and mustard striped T-shirt (loved that T-shirt)! Leo soon becomes bored and is more interested in chatting to the women that work there. It's at that point I realise my nephew has quite a lot of charm, attitude and swagger for a five year old. I think he's going to be a heart breaker in the future. We leave the rabbit cafe after delinting and frebreezing ourselves of rabbit hairs and fumes. I'm not sure I will be in any great hurry to pay to drink, drinks while rabbits shit and piss all over me again? Been there; done that; and got the bloody T-shirt!
My nephew was being quite difficult on the way home and even threw a tantrum. I felt angry at him for this. It was my last day after all and not part of the plan, so in my usual selfish Manner I decided I couldn't cope with this, I never can when kids misbehave and walked off. It's only later well I'm lay on the sofa knackered, and Leo comes and snuggles next to me for a hug, I realise he is only a child and that's what children do and they are learning all the time, like I am learning all the time! I put my arm around him and we hug. Is the best hug in the world and I finally think for the first time I'm not a stranger to him and maybe actually an Aunty. It's a nice feeling and one I will keep working at. Next stop Kyoto!

24 HOURS IN DUBAI: WEIRD!

I've seen the future people and I can tell you it's not bright, it's not even orange! It's just weird!  How, you may ask! No! I haven't travelled to the future in a time machine or finally given in and let my fortune teller Aunt read my palms or do that crystal ball stuff she does (This isn't a lie, I actually do have a fortune teller Aunt who does it for a living in a seaside town on the east coast, like her mother did before her. Another quirk to add to the long list in my family)!  No, it's none of these things. I got stuck in Dubai for 24 hours instead! 

You know things are never going to go well, when you first turn up at the check in desk, only be told your flight is already an hour delayed. This wasn't good as my connecting flight time in Dubai was already tight. This was taking it down to the wire. "It's still possible though" I thought. Things were looking up though as I had a seat right at the front of the plane which meant extra leg room( which is always good for someone who is 5'10).  It was also  the prime viewing spot for what was about to unfold. I sat down next to a guy who was very friendly. It turned out he was going to Dubai to play rugby in a tournament out there. In fact his whole team were on the flight. Amazing! I realised after chatting away for a bit that the flight wasn't preparing to leave. Strange! Even stranger was the sudden amount of security guys suddenly on the plane. "Do planes normally have security guards on them?" I thought to myself. I then heard some commotion from the back and a thick Afrikans accent go "What da f**k have you done with my son! I F**king kill you! You hear me, F**king kill you!" The next thing a blurry eyed man was being dragged off the plane by a load of security, followed by an out of it spotty teenager. The pilot makes a announcement: 

"I'm afraid we have to delay this flight due to, two intoxicated passengers who have to be removed due to violent behaviour. We will now do a personalised bag check for your own safety."

The whole plane of passengers groan, apart from the rugby guys who joke that they should of let them  know and they could of rugby tackled the drunks out of the plane. 

The pursor (the lead air hostess in charge of the plane) is stood in front of us using the phone looking extremely stressed. It's at this moment another hostess walks up to her and says,

"I'm really sorry but a passenger is really sick I think we might need to get an ambulance!" 

The pursor goes white in fact I think she goes more than white. They then rush off to the back of the plane leaving me with no doubt now that my connecting flight in Dubai is now official screwed! 

The pilot makes another announcement:

"Hello. So I'm really sorry but we now have a passenger that is really ill and we need to remove from the plane. We now have to do another personalised bag check!"

The passengers groan again apart from the English rugby team who are now asking for beers, to go along with the entertainment. To be fair I'm feeling that a stiff drink wouldn't go down too bad now. The ambulance comes and takes away the sick passenger. Finally we can take off! Actually no we can't! The pursor who looks like she has aged about 20 years in the last hour and half is stood in front   me again about to announce down the phone "Prepare for take off cabin crew!" when another steward comes up to her:

"I'm so sorry, your not going to believe this!" And then whispers into her ear.

The pursors eyes widen in horror.

"Your joking me right? This is a joke? I can't believe this is happening!" And she storms off back down the plane, like she's having a nervous breakdown. The rugby team can't stop laughing at this point.

"This is better than in flight entertainment" the one next to be laughs.  I am actually waiting for Jeremy Beadle to turn up and shout "You've been framed!" but I know that's not going to happen as he's dead. Besides they always say things come in threes. The pilot makes another announcement to say we have another problem and we will be delayed further. The groan this time is a little bit more subdued, as maybe people are resigned to their fate or they are just greatful that we don't have to do another personalised bag check. After what seemed like eternity the plane finally took off to great cheer and the rugby team finally got their beers (a lot of them in fact) and the rest of the flight passed without incident. I never did get to find out what the third problem was!

I landed in Dubai as expected: missing my connecting flight by over an hour. "No problem" I thought to myself "I will just catch the next one."

"The next flight to Tokyo is not until tomorrow" said the Emirates representive

"What!" I look at the clock on the wall its 9.30am. "I don't have anywhere to stay or any Dubai money!"

"It's OK. We will sort everything. Hotel, food, transport" they reply.

"Oh great" I say "Can I get my luggage?"

"No."

"What!" I'm dressed for the Japanese winter in a thick jumper, jeans, boots and a Barbour wax jacket. I look out the window at the dawning of another hot Dubai day which must of already hit the mid twenties. You win some, you lose some I guess.

I get herded into bus along with other unhappy holiday makers who seemed to have missed their flights also and dropped at a souless hotel near the airport and given a pick up time for the next day and coupons for food in hotel restaurant. It's all very depressing. Well a least I have a clean room to sleep in (even if it is dull) , as my eyes have started to go bloodshot with tiredness. I get a couple of hours sleep and then my traveller side takes over and I feel the need to go and explore a little even if it means venturing out in a jumper and jeans. 

Dubai is a place I've never had any interest in visiting. A couple of decades ago it was nothing but desert until oil was found in the Emirates and the money started flowing in, and a city was founded at quite an alarming rate. This is what Dubai is: a city founded on modern money. I walk around. Everything is polished and new. It's all bling and marble. Marble which annoying makes my boots squeak every time I walk. There are fancy restaurants serving food from all over the world served by people who are from all over the world, working for the new cash that Dubai brings. There are air conditioned malls selling duty free goods that people buy but don't really need but buy anyway as its tax free. There are seven star hotels (I didn't even know there were seven star hotels: what the hell makes them seven star anyway?) and then there are the buildings, brash, new big and tall, in fact the tallest building in the world which looks like someone stuck a big sewing needle into the floor. Dubai sees itself as a city of the future, raised from nothing, designed for modern age with everything needed for comfort and pleasure. A global city with an international and diverse population. This is Dubai's problem though. It has no history, no culture and no community because no one ever lived there in the first place. It's souless. I walk around thinking that I'm in a revamped version of that film Logan's Run, with people living in a artificial world like Zombies. If this is the future well it's weird and well quite frankly I'm not interested in it. Give me a city anyday with dirt and grime, crumbling buildings and bad facilities. A least it will have some soul and life. The next morning after reaching the Emirates airport, which isn't a pleasant sight at 5am in the morning, as it is lit up like a 70's disco, with flashing lights, I finally get my flight to Tokyo. As we take off and fly away from the Dubai skyline, I see the worlds tallest building staring back at me through the clouds.

"Oh piss off!" I mutter under my breath. The man sat next to me shoots me a look. "He probably thinks I'm weird" I tell myself. "Well a least I'm not as weird as Dubai!" Next stop Tokyo. 

GONE GIRL

I would really like to be a bear right now. I've decided that bears are cool! "Why?" You ask. Well it's because bears hibernate, and all I really wish I could do right now, is curl up into a ball and fall asleep and hide away from the world a little bit. I'm so tired right now. I'm tired of work. I'm tired of dating and men. I'm tired of idiots. I'm tired of 80 hour working weeks. I'm tired of getting up at 5.30am 6 days a week. I'm tired of getting home late. I'm tired of the dark and the cold. I'm tired of the rain. I'm tired of traffic and queues. I'm tired of parties. I'm tired of socialising. I'm tired of small talk. I'm tired of hackney wick. I'm tired of London. I'm tired of everything. I'm tired of being tired! Yes hibernation would be a lovely thing right now. Unfortunately us humans don't have that setting in us. Really, someone should write to God as the manufacturer, and tell him there is a fault in his design, because imagine how much better the world would be if humans hibernated and had a little time out from it all. I'm sure if Kim Jong il had 3 months out hibernating, he'd wake up thinking, "God! I've realised after having some rest I've been a complete bastard recently, so I'm going to give up being a nasty dictator and give the power of the country to the people, and cancel all public executions, including those of my close family!"
In fact if people had hibernated before Black Friday, it would of been renamed "Fluffy Pink Friday" and everyone would of been kind and helpful to one another instead of trying to kill each other by hitting one another with Plasma screen TV's, and thus signifying the fall of mankind!
Time out is what is needed right now from life and as hibernation isn't an option, I'm going to do the next best thing (actually it's a lot more fun than hibernation), I'm going to take myself off from my world for a bit and not think about it at all for a bit. I believe this is called escapism! Oh and guess what? I'm the master of escapism, because escapism is fun. Escapism is adventure, so why the Hell not!
This time my escapism (sorry I mean travels!) takes me firstly to visit my brother and his family in Japan, then on to Australia to take advantage, like a traveling gypsy of all the friends I have accumulated over there, over the years. The final part of the journey, is a little unsure but exciting all the same. Sri Lanka for filming or exploring Burma. Either way I'm not complaining.
I'm traveling a little heavier than usual due to the fact that as soon as my mother found out I was going to Japan before Christmas she went crazy buying Christmas presents for the family and I'm now weighted down with a suitcase the size of a tank which has nearly taken all my luggage allowance. It's a good job me and my back pack travel light. I'm taking this as my mothers revenge for all my years of traveling that have given her slight heart attacks and added to her grey hairs (not like she has any of course)?
I sit here now waiting for my flight the most excited I have felt in a long time, but at the same time with enormous sense of guilt, that I shouldn't be going at all, for reasons I won't explain. It just means the first week I don't feel I will relax properly, but hopefully after that it will be all good. Anyway it's done now. I'm checked in, waiting and ready to go. I hope these travels will lead to as many good stories as before and hopefully I will be a better blogger than my last travels, as I didn't really keep up to date and finish them which was a first. I did have a good a excuse though as my phone did get it stolen in the first week, when I was really drunk in a Buenos Aires nightclub, an experience I do not wish to repeat. Actually that's not true as it was a bloody good night, well apart from the bit I was crawling around on my hands and knees on the dance floor looking for a phone I was never going to find.
Anyway I think my gate has been called. It's time to hit that road. Cue Canned Heat: on the Road Again. This girl is Gone Girl! Woo hoo!
First stop Tokyo!

THE GRINGO TRAIL: LIMA

My mother always said I should have been an only child, as from an early age I've never minded my own company. I'm a little bit of a loner in fact. People are always surprised when I state this fact, because I can, when I want to, be the most social person in a room. That said I crave solitude a lot. I'm quite happy being left to my own devices for long periods of time. In fact I get a little grumpy if I don't. I think its this trait in me, is reason that I have been able to travel around the world on my own. I have realised as I have got older there are very few people I can travel with anymore, for great lengths of time. I find it easier on my own; nobody to please but myself. So when my housemate Kyle said he was coming to meet me in South America, the alarm bells rang. Kyle will be the first to admit he's not the easiest person to please. He likes the finer things in life and gets bored very easily. The thought of Kyle back packing round South America didn't compute in my brain. "This is going to be a disaster!" I thought to myself.

I flew into Lima, feeling quite unsure of myself. I was back on the road again and my head wasn't in that space after staying in Montevideo for a couple of weeks. Kyle had arranged for me to stay at his hostel. I arrived late at night to find a very hungover Kyle and that the hostel had double booked my bed and that there was no room for me. Great! Luckily Kyle knew of another hostel around the corner which I managed to get the last bed in hostel that night! We then went out for drinks and dinner. It was weird that I had been dreading Kyle coming to South America, because as soon as I started talking to him, I felt a wave of happiness spread over me. I guess after weeks spent with Nico, feeling like the outsider in Montevideo, it was nice to have someone from back home who spoke my language and was from my culture. I relaxed, was myself again and nothing was lost in translation. I suddenly realised I was actually glad to see Kyle.

After traveling half way across South America, I was feeling tired and was looking forward to a good nights sleep in my bed. This was not to happen. Apart from sleeping in a dorm with 10 other people, who kept banging their way through the dark as they returned home at different times of the night, the room had no air con, which meant the window was left open for ventilation. My bed was right next to the window and it was Saturday night and I was staying smack bang in the centre of Miraflores the party zone of Lima. It was not kind to my sleep, nor was Sunday morning either. Sunday! The lords day of rest! Not in Miraflores. My hostel is opposite a park, which can I tell you is the most looked after park I have ever seen in my God dam life. It has a million gardeners, Wi-Fi and even the a feeding area for stray cats! It also has Peru's answer to Mr Motivator start his exercise class at 7am on a Sunday! He also performs it with a full sound system and micro phone! What little sleep I was having is shattered! I look out the window to see the park covered in slightly over weight middle class, middle aged Peruvian women in tight Lycra trying to follow the movements of a small man on a stage. My head is banging and my nose is streaming as I seem to have picked up a cold on the flight here. I feel awful. I shove my head under the pillow! "What kind of Hell is this?" I think to myself. I decide to get up as sleep does not seem to be an option. With in the first 5 minutes I realise my room mates seem to have about as much personality as a dead corpse! They are not exactly friendly and most of them brag of their travels with the same places and same stories, as if they are the only people that have ever been there. "Yeah right!" I think to myself "Your on the Gringo trail stupid!" It then occurs to me I myself am back on the Gringo trail!
Gringo is a term used by Native Spanish speakers to refer to US-Americans or any other foreigners and the trail is anywhere we travel in Latin America. In Montevideo I had been as close to, as an 5'10 English blonde speaking little Spanish could be to being a local in Latin America. I had spent my time in the suburbs with locals and had little interaction with Gringos. Now I was back among the backpackers, right in the heart of the Gringo trail (Peru) and I didn't like it. "Bloody Gringos! They are so annoying! I hate them!" I think, then I realise if that is the case I must hate myself as "Your a bloody Gringo Carly!" (Actually Gringa; I'm a female)!

The day after me and Kyle decided to venture into Lima old town. This meant taking the super express which we thought was going to be an high speed train but in fact was a crap bendy bus in a sectioned off lane drove by a mad man that thought he was Micheal Schumacher, which I guess made it pass just about as express. I had wanted to see the cathedral as it held the grave of Francis Pissaro; the conquerer of Peru (Yes I'm a geek: get over it)! The cathedral was shut, so we ended up going on a tour of a monastery next door with a tour guide that was so dull, as she said the same thing as she entered every room in her same monotone voice: "The wood is brazil wood, covered in gold leaf!" I thought at one point she might kill herself with her own boredom. Sight seeing makes one hungry, so me and Kyle decided to take a lunch break. As we were on a budget Kyle recommended that we have the menu of the day or El Menu de dia as its know, as its a cheap tradition in South America, with 3 courses. We found a simple local restaurant with a menu of the day at only £3. Bargain! I started with a soup which was nothing special, but hey! It's £3! The main course was OK. In fact I think I was quite enjoying it until I noticed something sticking out of my rice. It was brown and crusty. I poked at it some more until, it started to reveal itself, and then the gut wrenching realisation of what it real was! I looked in horror as before on my plate lay a giant fried cockroach. I thought I was going to be sick on the spot. Suddenly menu of the day had lost its appeal even if it was £3. I couldn't eat a single thing for the rest of the day.
Next stop Machu Picchu!

A LITTLE LESSON ABOUT URUGUAY

"Where are you?"
I'm skyping my sister one afternoon in Nico's room hiding from the midday sun, when she asks this question.
"Uruguay" I reply.
"Where the Hell is that?" She responds. As my sister thought that Africa was a country, her geography is not the best, but it turns out when I talk about Uruguay not many people know much about it at all. So I am now going to give a little lesson on this country that I have fallen in love with.

FACTS:

POPULATION: 3.5 million (Really small for south America).

AREA: At 176.125sq km Uruguay is the second smallest country in South America after Suriname

LOCATION: Uruguay is between the South of Brazil and the North East of Argentina.

CAPITAL: Montevideo. Almost half the population of the country live in the Capital.

* Most of the low-lying landscape (three-quarters of the country) is grassland, ideal for cattle and sheep raising.

* Uruguay is often called the Switzerland of South America for a stable democracy and social benefits such as free education.

* Although not a maritime nation, Uruguay is surrounded on three sides by water. Three rivers (the Río de la Plata, one of the widest rivers in the world; the Río Uruguay; and the Río Yaguarón), a lake (Laguna Merín), and the Atlantic Ocean border the country. The main port and capital city of Montevideo, founded in 1726, is situated on strategic trade routes.

* Even the name of Uruguay, first applied to the Río Uruguay, has river-related origins. Its etymology derives from either uruguä, a Guaraní Indian word meaning a species of mussel, thus Río Uruguay, "the river of shellfish"; or the Guaraní word components uru (a kind of bird that lived near the river); gua ("to proceed from"); and y ("water").


* I don't think there is a country that the British haven't invaded and yes that goes for Uruguay as well.  Between 1806 and 1807 the British invaded and took control of areas of the Rio de la Plata, even capturing Montevideo for several months from the Spanish.  This was because of the Napoleonic wars as Spain was an ally to France.  I wonder how different Uruguay would be today if the British had kept control?  Apparently there are still buildings left over from the British times.  Nico was going to show them to me but they were in a very dangerous area.

*During the 1970's Uruguay fell under a military dictatorship. According to Amnesty International, a private human rights organisation, under the military regime Uruguay had the world's highest per capita ratio of political prisoners: one in every 500 citizens. By 1980 many citizens had been detained and tortured at some point, and one in every 500 had received a sentence of six years or longer. Between 300,000 and 400,000 Uruguayans went into exile.

* It is probably right to say that Uruguay has been traditionally a more liberal country than the rest of the region. Historically, Uruguay has been a liberal country with a solid track record of reform.

It declared itself a secular state in 1917.
In 1913, it became the first in the region to grant divorces to women who requested them. In 1927, it introduced the vote for women.  This tradition continues today, With Uruguay being one of the first countries in South America to legalise same sex marriages, and abortions. On 10 December 2013, Uruguay became the first country in the world to legalise the sale, cultivation, and distribution of cannabis.

* Uruguay probably has the coolest president in the world. President José Mujica of Uruguay, is a 78-year-old former Marxist guerrilla who spent 14 years in prison, mostly in solitary confinement down a well. He lives simply and rejects the perks of the presidency. Mujica has refused to live at the Presidential Palace or have a motorcade. He lives in a one-bedroom house on his wife’s farm and drives a 1987 Volkswagen. “There have been years when I would have been happy just to have a mattress,” said Mujica, referring to his time in prison. He donates over 90% of his $12,000/month salary to charity so he makes the same as the average citizen in Uruguay. When called “the poorest president in the world,” Mujica says he is not poor. “A poor person is not someone who has little but one who needs infinitely more, and more and more. I don’t live in poverty, I live in simplicity. There’s very little that I need to live.” He also has an adorable three-legged dog, Manuela! Manuela lost a foot when Mujica accidentally ran over it with a tractor. Since then, Mujica and Manuela have been almost inseparable.

*And lastly Alfajor's!  Alfajors are the traditional biscuit of the area and I had a complete addiction to them.  If only you could get them in England, my life would be complete.  The best is the Milka Dulce de Leche ones. God! I miss them!!!!!

SPANGLISH!

It wasn't part of the plan. I was meant to be in Salvador sipping on cocktails and then trying navigate myself through the tropical jungles of the Amazon all the way to Peru, with plenty of scandalous stories I picked up on the way. Instead I find myself living in not the prettiest surburban area of Montevideo, with guy I have only know a couple of weeks, his mother and dog which is blind in one eye. Definitely not part if the plan. Once BB had gone, it was just me on my own. As I have travelled more on my own than with companions this didn't bother me. What did bother me was I missed Nico (Robert Pattison). After I had left the first time we had still emailed each other every day, and the longer it went on the more I wanted to go back to him. So that's what I did. I gave up the wonders of the Brazilian Amazon and the delights of Salvador for a man!

Now Montevideo wouldn't have been my top spot to go back to in Uruguay if it hadn't been for Nico. In fact my friend Lauren called it "The Swindon of South America!" but I think she was being biased as she had her bag stolen with everything in it, while traveling there. Though I had to admit it was not a terribly exciting city. The first week living back with Nico, his mother and the dog, didn't go too well. He had warned me he had to go to work, like normal people do. "No problem" I thought to myself "I can amuse myself!" The problem was I didn't. There are very few tourist attractions in Montevideo and I had seen what few there was to see on my last visit. I had no routine there or any idea what the locals did, so I ended up staying in all day on the internet, reading or writing. By the time Nico got home from work which was late, I was like caged animal. I was frustrated! I had not come travelling to stayed locked up in a house all day. I'm an Independent person who likes to do her own thing, but I felt trapped and totally reliant on Nico for everything. I took my frustrations out on Nico and arguments ensued. I thought I had made a huge mistake by coming back. "Maybe I should have run off to Havana?" I thought to myself. By the end of the week I was ready to leave and put it down as a bad experience.
"You haven't really tried or made an effort Carly!" Said Nico as I told him I was planning to hit the road again. Now I'm selfish, a bit headstrong, and stubborn but I am the first to put my hand up when I'm wrong. I thought about it! He was right, "I hadn't made an effort!" It was time to try, so I cancelled my plans. "Right!" I thought "It's time to go back to Spanish school!"

When I first came to South America I didn't speak a word a Spanish apart from the words "Gracias" and "Si" which any idiot knows? Everyone seemed shocked that I was going traveling to South America on my own and didn't speak any Spanish apart from me. Well that was until I landed in San Jose and spent over an hour in a taxi being lost because the taxi driver spoke no English and it seemed like no one else did either. Frustrating wasn't the word! So I booked myself into a two week intensive course in Costa Rica. Now I remember language classes at school; Mr Ellis stood at the front of the class shouting at us and writing stuff on the blackboard which we had to repeat like lemmings. Occasionally he would say something to me which I would look like a rabbit in the head lights as I hadn't a clue what he was saying and would mumble back something in half German and half English which made no sense at all and the rest of the class would laugh resulting in me turning red. This is how I remembered language classes. I didn't like them and I wasn't a natural. So it was kind of a big deal for me when I decided to go back to the class room to learn Spanish. From the moment I entered the room, the rabbit in the head lights look returned to me again but this time it was worse as the teacher never spoke any English. It was 2 weeks of Hell and feeling completely stupid. I wanted to cry most of the time and at the end of it I felt I hadn't learnt a thing, but slowly and surely on my travels things started to sink in, to the point I could get by which was a real achievement for me. Getting by was fine, but I wanted to be better, especially when Nico's mother didn't speak any English and I loved her so much I wanted to communicate with her more. Also Nico's father didn't really speak much English either as I found out the first time I met him. It was late one night and Nico had just got in from work. He didn't look happy. "My father wants to meet you" he said with displeasure. Nico and his Father don't seem to have the greatest of relationships and he didn't seem keen on me meeting him, but he relented for a easy life. We are sat at the dinning table in his fathers house eating empanadas. It all feels very formal. Nico sits like a sulky teenager peeling the coke label from a bottle not looking at anyone, while his father tries to speak to me in very bad English. It's all rather painful. We try speaking Spanish. I can't understand everything and then Nico speaks up with a translation. "He says he likes homosexuals!" I shoot Nico a look, as I know that's not what his father said and he's taking the piss. He just sits there still peeling the label but this time with a smirk on his face like a naughty child. I want to kill him. He's really not helping. As the awkward conversation continues Nico bursts in with another translation.
"He says he was kidnapped by UFO's and...." Before he can go any further I interrupt him.
"Nico that's not what he said! Will you stop it!" His father looks on a bit confused by it all and I want to be angry at Nico, but all I'm trying to do is not laugh as this whole situation is just silly. I tell him he should never become a translator, as he would be a nightmare. I guess this was just another reason to add to the list to improve my Spanish.

The first day I was nervous as I walked into the Spanish school building. I had to have an assessment to see what level my Spanish was at. One on one with a teacher for 3 hours, I was right to be nervous, but as she started firing questions at me in Spanish, instead of the wide eyed rabbit look that usually appeared, I sat calmly and answered the questions. I could understand her! What the Hell! Apparently my Spanish was OK! The next day I was put into a group lesson. I was warned before hand that I might be a little too advanced for the rest of the group. "What! Me too advanced for a Spanish lesson. Is this some kind of joke" I think "What are the rest of the class like?"
It turns out my new fellow class mates (all 3 of them) have a combined age of 100,000! Ok a little bit over the top, but they are old! Like really old! Ken and Liz a pensioner couple from Washington D.C have come to Spanish school not to learn Spanish, like you think most people would do when attending Spanish school but more for a social. I learn all about Ken and Liz's life: their vacations; their family; what they like for breakfast and what their political views are. This is all done in English with not even the slightest effort of trying to speak in Spanish. Marie my third class is a retired nurse from a Oklahoma. She is so nervous and shy its hard to understand her English never mind her Spanish, which is pretty bad. The three of them sit chatting away for hours in English while I try to smile and pretend it's ok through gritted teeth.
"How was your class today?" asks Nico when he gets home from work. "Terrible" I moan "I'm in a class with Donde Esta Monsters!"
What is a Donde Esta Monster, you ask? It's a phrase me and Nico coined to describe people that speak Spanish in a bad accent. It derives from the time I was in a supermarket in Costa Rica and over heard an America couple with the thickest Brooklyn accent shouting "Donde esta la narañja orange juice!" I remember being in stitches with laugher in the supermarket aisle. I would recall the tale to Nico one night re-inacting with my best Brooklyn accent. We both laughed and couldn't stop saying the sentence over and over again, laughing each time like children. This is how we came up with the term "The Donde Esta Monster!"
I lasted one more day in that class until my teacher said I was way to advanced and was moved to tuition on my own. I was happy at first but was going to miss the "Donde Esta Monsters", as they were highly entertaining. I'd come a long way from Mr Ellis's class room.

The days came and went. I got myself into a little routine. I would catch the bus to school everyday. I learnt which numbers I could take. I learnt which stops to get off at. I would buy a alfajor from the same shop on the way to school to eat on my break. I would wander the city sometimes after class trying to get my bearings of the city. Later I would sit in the garden and do my homework while sneaking a class of wine under the table at the same time, as Latin people don't drink much and I started to think Nico's mother thought I drank too much as I would have a glass of wine most nights. It was too hard trying to explain that English people drink all the time but where not alcoholics, in Spanish. Sometimes I would play with Mcshooney and wait until Nico got home. He would get home always give me a kiss, put his music on, roll a cigarette and we would just lay there hugging saying nothing until it was time to eat. It was one night, that I had a relisation. We were sat eating pasta at the table. Paco de Lucia the famous Spanish guitarist had died that day. Nico was a big fan and so was playing Tres Aguas, Paco de Lucia's most famous song. Thersita would come out and offer us more homemade cake and McShooney would sit loyally by us while we ate, waiting for scraps you might throw his way. It was at this moment in the little city of Montevideo; living with a guy I had met by sheer chance; with his mother; his dog with one blind eye; wearing no make up; no fancy clothes; living just the simple life; I realised I was truly happy. It was a wonderful feeling.

It was always lingering in the back ground that I would have to leave eventually. At times I told myself I didn't have to. "I could find a job here. There is always work for English speakers?" but in reality I knew I had to go. I had been fine until we reached the airport, as I had put my departure completely to the back of my mind, but when it came to say goodbye the tears started to flow from my eyes. He said he would come to London, that we would see each other again. I wanted it to be so, but deep down inside I knew the reality of it all. We were from completely different lives and cultures on the other side of the world from each other. This is going to sound crazy but I'm going to say it anyway. The first time I stayed at Nico's I left my hair band there. When I returned the second time I saw he was wearing it around his wrist. He told me he wore so that I was always with him and he could always remember me. I would look at that band on his wrist everyday and everyday it would get thinner. I started to see it as representing us; that when it broke so would we. It was like looking at sand going through an hour glass. I knew our time was running out. I cried at that airport because I knew I was never going to see him again. I cried because I knew he was never going to come to London. I cried because I knew we had no future. Now all these months later I know this to be true. I remember trying to grab my last glances of him as he went down the escalator and finally out of view. I think after I left that hair band finally broke and with it so did we.
Next stop Lima, Peru!

A LITTLE PIECE OF HEAVEN ON EARTH: ILHA GRANDE

People travel for many reasons.  Some to find their inner self; some to learn and be cultural, others to party and have sex with as many people as possible! Some like myself are looking for something: We are looking for that little piece of heaven you can find on earth.  When you find this you see the world at its most beautiful and its the best feeling ever.  Addictive as well, because people always want a little bit more of heaven.
It was sad when Prue left but not strange as me and BB had travelled together before round India a couple of years ago on a very eventful trip, which included me collapsing with a chest infection and her getting a nose infection that spread to her eyes, which left them blood shot, so after that I think we could of coped with anything?  We decided to go to the Island of Ilha Grande 3 hours from Rio.  We sat on a cramped small bus, being flung around by a driver who thought he was the new Arton Senna, which really didn't help my hangover that I was trying to deny after another Caipirinha night.  As my head hit the ceiling for the God knows what time as we went over another bump too fast again,  I heard a bang from behind us.  The man sat behind us had dropped his  i Pad.   His eye caught our eyes and he then began;
"This driver is God Dam crazy. He is going to kill us!" he said in a very thick French accent and then began to laugh and the guy next to him started, followed by me and BB.  We got talking to them.  They were a French couple from Paris Medi and Nicola.  I could tell instantly they were gay and they were very open about it.  They were also extremely funny.  Medi who was originally from Algeria was the chilled one who took everything in his stride.  Nicola who was a harpist (One of the best in the world I was told) was a little bit more highly strung, and hated not being on time for anything, as he was getting stressed we were already late and were going to miss the boat for the island.  For the rest of the journey we chatted away with them and by the end of it they said:
"Girls! We must have drinks and food together tonight!  Lets meet by the tree over there, at 8pm and don't be late!"
Its 8pm we are sat at the tree where we said we would meet.  We have been here 5 minutes already to make sure we are not late, which was quite an achievement with BB as she is usually late.  Its is now 8.20pm and no sign of the French.  "We have been stood up! and by  2 gay guys as well.  Its not just straight men that our disappointing" I think to myself.  Me and BB decide to give up the wait and settle at the nearest table.  About 15 minutes later Medi eventually finds us at our table. He looks a bit worse for wear.
"I'm so sorry" he explains "well me and Nicola we went to the beach in the day and we decided to have a caipirinha and then we decided to have another one, and then another and the next thing we know we are completely drunk!"
"Drunk French people! Amazing" I think to myself "It doesn't happen enough!"
"Where is Nicola?" We ask.
"He's coming in a bit"
Surely enough, the man who never likes to be late turns up over an hour late. He is even more drunk than Medi and seems to be quite sun burnt too. We enquire if he is OK, as he orders another Caipirinha.
"I'm good, I had such a lovely day" he says merrily "We drank and lay on the beach and I was rolling around with lots of chickens!" He then proceeds to show us photos of him drunk frolicking around with lots of chickens in his swimwear.  He's completely mad and I love it!  They order more Caipirinhas  and become drunker and louder to the point that all the nearing tables stop and stare at the table of loud gringo's.  Its at this point I realise that our nations have had a role reversal.  Isn't it the English that are meant to be drunk, sun burnt and badly behaved, not the French?  The night carried on with more caipirinhas and their fun, great company.  French people are great fun when they want to be.

The next day me and BB decided to venture to the beaches for which Ilha Grande is famous for. To get to them you either had trek through the jungle for 3-4 hours in the blazing hot sun or you can do what we did and get a water taxi (Not really a hard decision)!  We decided to go Lopes Mendes which we had heard was the most beautiful of all the beaches.  The boat dropped us on the other side of a narrow bit of the island, as no boats are actually allowed to go into Lopes Mendes, so you have to trek across a hill for 30 minutes! "What a pain in the Ass!" I thought, as we set off on the trek.  Once again it being me and BB, we had set off in the midday sun, when most of the locals were walking back after a morning session.  Sweat was dripping from our bodies and I'm suddenly finding myself in a foul mood!  The good thing about finding heaven is, it doesn't matter how badder mood you are in: Heaven can change the worse feelings in the world into a moment of beauty, and that's what happened when I reached the end of that 30 minute trek, pouring in sweat, hot, thirsty and not feeling the best.  We saw a little bit of heaven on earth and it beamed at us in all its glory and any bad feelings I had, subsided and where replaced with this over whelming feeling of happiness, and you need nothing more than this.  Lopes Mendes was just as beautiful if not more, as everyone had said.  A long stretch of white sand for as far as the eye could see, bordered with turquoise clear waters which were crowned with deep blue skies.  There was not a building in site apart from a rustic life guard shack.  There were no boats, no tacky souvenir shops, bars or touts.  The few people there was either basked in the sun and the waves or hid from the heat under the palms that lined the beach.  Heaven it truly was, but words don't do justice to heaven, because to truly feel heaven you have to see it with your own eyes.

Its hard to figure out what to do with yourself after having a little taste of paradise of which me and BB had experienced that day.  So we did the next best thing we knew which was to head to the bar and have Caiparinhas!!! Me and BB where sat in the "Happening" bar of the island that night, quite content in each others company when a guy approaches our table.  He's tall olived skin with a mop of dark curly hair. He's also extremely confident.
"Hi ladies, me and my friends, wonder whether you would like to join us for a drink?"  Me and BB look at each other.  "Why not?"
We sit down at their table. The instigator David, who has a slight American accent, lives in Sao Paulo.  Another is Raphael who is tall, fair with a warm friendly comic personality and who is also carrying a graze on his cheek from a fishing accident early that day, and then there is Thomas!  They are all French, but I had already figured that out before.  Since I have started travelling I have this habit of scanning a room and trying to figure out where people are from.  I couldn't really tell from David; Maybe  a little from Raphael, but Thomas yes! I can tell he is French.  He has that brooding moody look and doesn't smile much.  So that makes him French!  I decide to call him "Happy" due to this.  I sit down opposite him.  "He does have beautiful eyes though!" I think to myself.  We start talking.  It turns out he has a good sense of humour too.  Actually he's quite funny.  After one too many Caiparinias we find ourselves at the beach, where for some reason David thinks its a good idea to go for a skinny dip.  I try to be terribly English and try not to look, but of course I can't help but catch a glimpse and its at this point that I realise that David is Jewish (Figure it out)!  As David wades back to the shore after his little outing in the waves, there is a group of local men waiting for him.  Now let me explain something.  Brazil is probably one of the most sexual places I have ever been on my travels, where everything oozes sex, people stand around in trunks and bikini's that leave very little to the imagination, and monogamy isn't a very popular word. All that said Brazil still prides itself on being very religious and family orientated, so God help anyone who decides to go naked in public as David was about to find out.  The men approached him straight away and start shouting.  David who seems quite drunk, doesn't really seem to give a shit, which I think annoys them more.  David lives in Brazil, speaks the language, and clearly knows the customs, and that doing something like this is going to get him in trouble.  He acts dumb and says he's on holiday from France and its OK to go naked in France, which it is (The French love to get naked).   There is a point where I think he might get lynched or a least punched in the face, until another local guy cuts in and calms the situation.  David dresses and we decide to leave the beach before he decides to strip off again.  The guys walk us back to our guest house and wander off up the road, saying they are off to do some star gazing.  What the Hell!

The next day me and BB decided to take a boat tour round the island.  Its eventful for the fact that we seem to get adopted by the Brazilian family on the trip with us who can't speak a word of English and we no Portuguese, which makes communication interesting. We also I realise that we can't tell straight men and gay from one another in Brazil as straight men seem to dress just as camp here, especially in the swimwear department.  That night BB goes to bed early as she is not feeling well.  I bump into the little guy who's name I can't pronounce, who works at our guest house.  Through my shit Spanish I make out that there is a Samba band playing at the church square, and he wanted to know if I would go with him.  I wasn't in the mood for an early night (rarely am) so I say yes.  We walk to the square and as he said, there is a band playing Samba music.
I soon notice that the little guy with unpronounceable name is flirting with me. As he comes up to my chest and there is a big language barrier I'm really not interested. I suddenly spy the Frenchies at a table in a bar next to the square, sipping on caipirinhas.
"Oh I have to go and say hi to my friends. Bye!" I say as I dash away from unpronounceable name. I've never been so glad to see French people in my life and have soon resided myself with them sipping caipirinhas at the table. I'm quite happy, great music, great drinks and great company. Well that is until someone starts a fight in the square and the next thing there is smashed glass everywhere and the local police whacking the hell out of people with their batons. This ends the music and the festivities. We sit through the whole fight still drinking our caipirinhas watching the whole spectacle as if it's some nightly performance put on for the tourists.
Later, after a few too many Caipirinhas (Caipirinhas seem to feature in this blog a lot!) I find myself alone near the beach talking to Thomas. I'm not quite sure where the others are as I'm feeling a bit blurry. I like talking to "Happy." I like his humour and we get on, and he has the most beautiful eyes. It's at this point I realise I'm completely attracted to him. Oh shit! He suggests he walks me home. As we are saying good night outside my guest house, we linger a little bit too long and the next thing I know we are kissing the faces off each other. I like it and he's a good kisser.  I don't know how long this went on for but then in the corner of my eye I can see David and Raphael coming up the path. I freak out and push him off and shout "Goodnight. Bye!" And run off inside like a scared school girl.
Now I can't really remember a lot of what happened next. Most of this account comes from BB telling me the next day, but it kinda of goes something like this. I stumble into the room and bang around a lot.
"BB! Are you awake?" No response.
"BB! Are you a sleep?" I shout
"I was!" Responds BB.
"I kissed that French guy! Thomas!" I say drunkenly.
"He has a girlfriend you know?"
"Yes! I know! What am I doing? I'm meant to be going back to Uruguay to see Nico? I like Nico don't I? BB am I a bad person?"
"No carls! Your drunk and Nico is not your boyfriend so you are a free agent! Besides Frenchie does have beautiful eyes!" She replies.
"I know he does doesn't he. I'm been thinking that for a while now! Beautiful eyes! Hiccup!"
"Right I'm going back to sleep Carls" responds BB.
More banging around in the dark continues until:
"BB!" I shout excitedly "There is a armadillo in the garden! Hiccup!"
"Carls!"
"No BB there really is. You have to come see the armadillo now!"
I'm practically dragging BB out of bed to come see this bloody armadillo. I think she did like seeing the armadillo though I think she would of like it more if it wasn't 4am.
"Can I go back to sleep now Carls?"
"Yes! Hiccup! BB! I kissed a French guy and we saw an armadillo! Hiccup." No response. BB has either passed out already or decided to ignore the annoying drunken person. I wake up the next day hugging my tooth brush and BB's mobile, still half dressed.

We returned to Rio for BB's last day and night before she returned back to London. After spending a lovely day once again on the beach we decided to head up into the hills to Santa Theresa the oldest part of Rio. We had met a girl local to Rio in Ilha Grande who had told us about a samba troupe who practiced every Tuesday ready for carnival in a community centre in a favela up in the hills. She had said it was a 'must' to see, so off me and BB went. We arrive at the community centre in the middle of the  favela. On first impressions it didn't seem that appealing, with a ram shackled group of musicians warming up in the hall. Hardly carnival! There is also an array of varying characters. There is a guy dressed like a woman, dancing and rolling around on the floor, who is obliviously high on crack or some thing? Then there is a young girl wandering around in a bikini top with so much attitude she looks like she might explode from it. My favourite though is the frail old black lady who can hardly walk and sucks on her gums because she has no teeth. Yes it's all a bit odd. Then something strange happens. The drinks start following, the music starts to play, more and more people arrive, the dancing and singing begin. It's infectious. Soon everyone is dancing including the Tranny and Granny who may not be able to hardly walk but she still knows how to move. The sunsets over Rio and I have this most amazing feeling. You see heaven on earth can present itself in many forms, it doesn't have to be white sandy beaches, or grand palaces.  I'm going to sound like the biggest hippy now,  but it's not about what you see or where you are, it's about the feeling it gives you. It's the feeling of being more alive than you have ever felt. So in a Favela in the hills above Rio watching the sun go down, listening to the sounds of Samba, with a dancing Tranny and a Granny I found another little bit of heaven on earth , that  gives me that alive feeling. I turned to BB and said "This is why I come travelling; for moments like this!"

The next day BB left and I was alone but not for long. Lauren (remember her?) my long suffering travelling partner from India was in town, as she was travelling around South America with four friends. She convinced me to come and stay at her hostel. Now Lauren is 9 years younger than me at the age of 25, but this has never really been a factor in our friendship due to the fact I'm still acting like I'm 21, or maybe not? I started to realise maybe I was starting to get older as I checked into the party hostel she was staying at. The first signs of this was checking into my dorm to find one of my new roomies fully naked as he had just got out of the shower. Well I guess that's one way of getting to know someone quickly? I am then informed by my other roomie Brad ( a Californian life guard that rather fancies himself) that the bed I am occupying was last night used in a threesome by the last occupant, an Argentine guy and 2 girls he picked up.
"Man I don't know how he fitted them  all in there but they were fucking away all night man! So jealous!" Brad continues, as I lie down unsure on my bed looking for stains and hairs! I must admit that when I couldn't sleep that night I did find myself thinking of how the Argentine had managed it, in such a small space and what positions he might have used to over come this problem!  In the meantime I have received an email from "Happy" and Raphael asking me to meet them for drinks that night as they are in Rio, which is great as I need to get out if the party hostel and I'm rather keen to see "Happy's" beautiful eyes again after my sudden departure the other night. I go and find Lauren, who fills me in on her misdemeanours of her past weeks in South America.
"Carly I have been so bad! I don't know what's got into me.  I have just been man mad!"
"If you recall Lauren I was hardly Mother Theresa last time I was here" I say thinking of my past exploits on my last visit "I think they put something in the water here? Speaking of which I'm going to have a drink and go and meet a French man tonight if you want to come?" This is said casually as an invitation, but the next thing I know Lauren has invited all the girls, she is travelling which is cool, but then they also seem to invite the whole hostel, to something that was meant to be a quiet drink!
"So where is this bar? Is it any good? What kind of music do they play?" Is what everyone keeps coming up to me and asking. I look a little bewildered, and tell them I haven't got a clue and I'm just meeting friends for a quiet drink. Two hours later (as that's how long it takes to get a nearly a whole hostel of people together!) we leave. I'm sat in the taxi fretting as it's taken so long to get out of the hostel with everyone, I'm very late and the Frenchies could of left and I have no phone to let them know. The taxis drop our huge group outside a little old fashioned cafe with an open front with a group of old men playing samba music inside. This is our destination, which I think is rather sweet. I spot Thomas and Raphael and feel glad to see them again, especially Thomas. The rest of my group seem less than impressed by the choice of venue. 
"Is this it? This is shit! Oh my God this is a major fail on your part Carly!" are some of the comments. I'm stood feeling a little bit embarrassed, in front of Thomas and Raphael.
"Right we are off to go and find a proper bar Carly. This place is crap! Are coming?" asks Lauren. I then realise I'm not 25 and I am quite happy to have a quiet drink and chat and not go and get pissed up downing shots till the early hours of the morning.
"No I'm going to stay" I reply.
"Really! I wonder why?" Says Lauren looking at Thomas. "He is cute and has really nice eyes" Lauren says a bit too loud for my liking.
"Shut up Lauren!" I say under my breath.
"Enjoy" she says as she leaves with a knowing smile on her face. My face is bright red by now.
I spend most of the night talking to Thomas and trying not too much to look at his eyes, but I'm glad I stayed. Towards the end of the night I find myself sat in another bar with them talking about travels. Thomas talks about how he wants to travel more. We get onto the subject of Havana in Cuba.
"I have always wanted to go. I need to go before Castro dies" I say.
"Me too. I really want to go" says Thomas.
"Why don't you both go together?" Says Raphael out of the blue.  I laugh.
"Why not? Thomas you want to travel more and you don't want to go back to Paris. Carly you want to go and you love travel. You should go together. Its perfect!" continues Raphael.
Thomas looks at me, "OK! Yes why not? Let's go!" He says in that very matter of a fact way the French have. It's at this point I realise he's not joking. I think he's serious?
"We can't! You leave tomorrow and you have a girlfriend and a job to go back to and I can't just change my whole travel plans, can I? It would be crazy!" I say a little speechless.
It's the end of the night and Thomas has walked me to a taxi and Raphael has conveniently disappeared again. It's that awkward moment when you are trying to say goodnight.
"Can I see you again tomorrow?" He asks.
"Yes" I reply and the next thing we are kissing each others faces off again. I'm sat in the taxi alone on the way home thinking "Why do you always get yourself into these situations?"
We arrange to meet the next day in a bar. This time Thomas comes alone. We talk for a bit and decide to walk to the beach. As we walk the subject of Havana comes up again.
"We should go. Why don't you come with me to Texas tonight on the plane and then we can get to Havana" he asks.
"I can't! I met this guy in Uruguay I'm meant to be going back to see him. I like him and besides you have a girlfriend remember?" I retort.
"I really like you!"
"I like you too!"
"Then you have a decision to make. You can either go back to Montevideo or we go travel together?" He says.
I don't know what to say. It's this kind of crazy stuff that I love. The impulse! Every part of me wants to go and buy a ticket to Havana. We walk a long the beach.
"You should go for a swim" he says. I suddenly feel quite shy at the thought of stripping off to my bikini in front of him, which isn't like me and I think he senses this as he says "You nothing to worry about, you look good in a bikini. Your perfect!"
I should have told him I wasn't perfect, far from it, but for once I'm speechless. No one has ever called me perfect before. We sit and watch the waves, and talk, then lay there, until our time has run out. I walk him back to his hostel.
"Don't go to Texas. Stay here with me. We can go to Paraty together!" I blurt out in desperation as I realise I don't want him to leave, but we both know it's not going to happen. We kiss goodbye one last time and I get into a taxi.  As  the car pulls away I wind down the window and shout,
"Good bye Happy! Always remember to be happy!" He waves and smiles goodbye.
A week later I get an email. It's Thomas.
"I want to come back please" he says.
I tell him it's too late, that he should of never got on the flight. I'm back with Nico in Montevideo. The decision has already been made. I'm not going to lie though; I often think of what it would have been like running off to Havana with a French man with beautiful eyes, but I guess I will never know sadly.
Next stop Montevideo again.