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.

MY GOD IS THE SUN: GUARDA DO EMBAU AND RIO DE JANEIRO

I suffer from many things in life: Bad taste in men; an addiction to Purdey's vitamin drinks, a phobia of sandwiches; and watching too much of the reality show goggle box (I'm sorry but I love it)! Another thing that I suffer badly from is S.A.D. S.A.D or seasonal affective disorder is where a persons moods are effected by the weather or seasons.  It can effect people in both summer and winter, but for me, I am effected by winter depression.  The winter with its long cold days has slowly become my enemy.  With every passing year my fear of this season has become worse.  A dark cloud comes over me and the simplest every day things in life become a huge task.  I pray for the winters to end and for this feeling to pass.  In bygone times civilisations use to worship the sun: The Romans; The Aztecs and the Vikings.  I can see why, for now my God is the sun. I follow him where ever he may go and worship him as he glows in all his glory, and pours rays of happiness upon me.  Yes my God truly is the sun.  He is one of the main reason I travel so much, and was a very big reason for me to head to Brazil!

I left Montevideo on a 19 hour bus journey which consisted of complete boredom as I was on my own, had no music to listen to (No phone remember?), and I couldn't read (I get car sick)! I also nearly got hypothermia due to the fact the bus company seemed to want to kill all its passengers by blasting us to death with air con (Why do they always do that)?  I arrived in Florianópolis shivering.  As I had no phone (I know I keep going on about it!) the only information I had to get to BB and Prue was a name of a town and a hostel they were staying at scrawled on the last page of my book.  Add to that I have also entered Brazil.  Its a whole new ball game people!  When I first arrived in Latin America  3 years ago I spoke no Spanish at all.  I spent most of my first weeks feeling like a monkey that points at things and mimics a lot with big hand gestures and stupid facial expressions to get myself understood.  In Brazil they don't speak Spanish.  They speak Portuguese.  I don't speak any Portuguese!  I am once again a monkey! I'm feeling thirsty and in need of refreshment so go to a kiosk and order myself a lovely fruit smoothie with my monkey language and pay for it.  I can't wait!  A minute later I am handed a huge ice cream cone  with a chocolate finger sticking out the top! "How the Hell did this happen! I wanted a refreshing fruit smoothie instead I'm stood here shivering in a bus station with an ice cream with a God Dam chocolate finger!" I think to myself.  Of course I don't say anything.  I'm English we don't like to complain.  My next task is to buy my bus ticket.  I go to the desk and say where I want to go to.  Everyone looks at me. I say the name again.  Still everyone looks at me.  I see it written on a sign behind the desk and point.
"Oh! Guarda do Embau" says the man behind the desk while everyone else laughs.
"Yes! Guarda do Embau" I say thinking "That's what I said in the bloody first place?"
I'm now on a bus feeling pretty proud of myself, when after a while it occurs to me that I haven't got a clue where this "Embau" place is.  Maybe I have already gone past it? I go up to the driver and I point at my ticket.  He shakes his head.  "What the Hell does that mean?" I think to myself. I go back to my seat.  Twenty minutes later I repeat the process and the driver shakes his head again and gives me a look to say "Sit down stupid monkey pointing girl!" After a while he indicates to me with his hands and the next thing I know me and my bag are shoved off the bus onto the street and I'm stood there thinking "Where the Hell am I?"

After asking a dozen people for directions in monkey language and not understanding any of the responses I arrive hot, sweaty and tired at the hostel, to find a fat guy passed out on the floor in just his Y fronts, while a big Labrador is strecthed out on him.  Next to him are 2 young guys in board shorts sat in a hammock smoking a joint.
"Hola. I am looking for 2 English girls? Are they here?"  I say slowly and clearly.  The two guys look at me blankly. The fat guy is still passed out.
"Prue and Becky?" I ask pleadingly hoping they will understand.  They look blank again for a second and then the one with the Mohawk hair, face lights up.
"Yes Prue! Becky.  Prue, Becky friend? Carla?"
"Yes! That's me! Well actually its Carly, but Carla will do!" I respond with complete happiness that I have made it, and everyone seems happy.  Even the fat guy passed out on the floor opens his eyes for a second to see what all the noise is about.  The stoned guys show me to the room door where BB and Prue have left me a note.
"We have gone to the beach.  Come and meet us.  Cross over the river and we will be in front of the stall with the Brazilian flag."
"How exciting.  Hand written notes" I think to myself  "Its sounds like a little adventure maybe this not having a phone business isn't that bad after all."

I quickly shower and change and head for the beach.  Like the note says I have to cross a river first, so I strip off to my bikini and wade through the water which is up to my chest.  The river and the beach are surrounded by forested mountains, which have a dream like effect from the distant.  Its all very dramatic and magical.  I can see why the girls have chosen this place. I walk around but I cannot see a flag, until in the distance I see a limp shredded Brazilian flag in front of a stall.  I head to it but cannot see the girls.  "Maybe they have gone for a swim?" I think to myself.  I sit and wait, and then I wait some more, and then some more! I feel like everyone is staring a me as the girl on her own on the beach.  "Where the Hell are they?" I think.  Suddenly hand written notes don't seem that adventurous or exciting anymore.  They are just God dam stupid notes actually, that's why God invented Mobile phones! OH yeah! Its that thing again! A Mobile phone, which would have been really handy at that moment in time to text them and ask them where they were, but Yes! I don't have one! I'm in a really fowl mood and have been sat on my own for well over an hour when I see another Brazilian flag straight in front of me. "Oh shit!" I think to myself.

I eventually find the girls in front of the flag.  We do the usual girly happy to see again shriek and hug.
"Did you find the place alright.  Were there some guys there when you arrived?" asks Prue.
"Yeah! There was some fat guy passed out in his Y fronts and two stoned guys" I reply.
"The fat guy is the owner.  He got drunk last night.  Did one of the guys have a Mohawk?" Prue continues.
"Yes."
"That's F**k junior! He is like a mosquito flying around me.  He just won't leave me alone" Prue carries on talking about the traumas of having a Brazilian mosquito as an admirer, when I interrupt.
"Wait a minute! F**k Junior! F**k Junior! What kind of name is that?"
"Its his name! He changed it by dipole to Derek F**k Junior or something like that" responds Prue.  I later find this out to be true when a couple of nights later on the beach F**k Junior proudly displays his bank card with that very name branded on it!  I soon see what Prue is on about, as every time we return F**k Junior is around her like the mosquito she described, trying to touch her and get her attention.  When we go out at night he is there too,  trying to keep any other male predators away from her. One day after many other advances, Prue looses it with him.
"Will you leave me alone! Your like a mosquito!"
Instead of being offended by this F**k Junior seems very happy at being referred to as a mosquito and even starts to laugh and make a buzzing noise like one.  Nothing seems to deter this guy.  I actually think he was in love with Prue, as he could never take his eyes off her and looks at her like some love sick puppy.  Part of me for a second felt slightly sorry for him and then I remembered that he was called F**k Junior by choice and then all sympathy went out the window!

We spent our days in Guarda do Embau sunbathing on the beach, drinking fresh Coconuts, surrounded by what felt like paradise. Our nights were spent drinking too many Caipariania's and dancing to the early hours of the morning at the only real bar in town.  We could of quite easily stayed there forever but then there was Rio waiting for us and no one can ever refuse Rio. Rio de Janeiro, from all my travels is probably the most beautiful cities of them all.  You have everything any modern city provides but then on your door step you have golden sandy beaches, surrounded by jungle mountains.  There is even a lake.  Rio is about many things: beauty, fun, excitement, but the main thing Rio is about, is SEX! It oozes it from every pore.  Its like everyone is on heat or something? Everyone is on display permanently, be it someone that is fat, thin, young, old beautiful or ugly.  No matter who you are or what you look like, everyone is giving off some sexual vibe and  there is no better place to see it than the beach.  The beaches of Rio are a city within themselves and like a city they all have their different sections. There is the Gay section; the family section, the beautiful people section; the intellectual section, the list is endless. Yes the beaches of Rio are truly the places to be seen, and with not a lot on either.  OK so you never go naked or even topless but you don't leave a lot to the imagination either. Me and girls had now become fully accustomed to having our asses on full display and even kind of liked it!  The men were just as bad with some of the smallest swimming trunks in history (You could tell what side they dressed too, and I wasn't even perving! You couldn't help but notice)! We were sat on the beach one afternoon when we were looking through some photos we had taken earlier.  Prue was complaining how awful she looked in the photos.  Now Prue is a very beautiful girl, but I could see what she meant.  She  was not making the most of herself.  "Why do you always look so good in photos?" she exclaimed to me.
"That's because I'm a complete and utter poser Prue, and you need to learn The Carly School of Posing!"
I'm not ashamed to say I'm a poser.  I am by no means a great beauty but I feel everyone should make the most of what they have got and posing makes you do that.  Besides I have spent 5 years of my life in relationships with professional photographers.  You learn quickly what makes a good photograph and what doesn't. So I taught Prue The Carly School of Posing that day in one of the most posy places on earth: Ipanema beach.  The rules of The Carly School of Posing go something like this:

* Never slouch. It looks horrible! As a person that slouches a lot in life I have learnt not to on photos.  Extend that spinal column.  It makes you look thinner as well.

* Always bend one leg, otherwise you look like a statue!

* Turn slightly to the side.  Its more flattering.

* Put your hands on your hips, never on your waist as it can make unflattering ceases in the stomach.

* Tilt your head, a little.  I don't why! I just do it!

* Lastly always have quite a smug look on your face, that says "I don't really give a Dam if you think I'm a vain, self obsessed, poser, because I'm making the most of what I have got, which at times isn't a lot (Believe me)!So there!"

THIS IS THE CARLY SCHOOL OF POSING! AMEN!

Another things Brazilians are obsessed with is music.  Well dancing and music to be precise.  We really wanted to go to a real Brazilian music night, not some night set up by a hostel where you down a load of cheap shots; end up being sick and wake up the morning after with some faint memory that you might of kissed an 18 year old on his gap year (That has never happened to me)???? We had been told by one of our guides about a Forró night that all the locals went to and not really any Gringo's. Perfect! Forró is a form of music from Northwest Brazil, just so you all know. We took a taxi to the address given and found ourselves outside a huge old building with a lot of locals milling outside.  It felt very intimidating as we looked out of place and everyone was looking at us.  This only got worse when we walked inside.  A huge dark hall was filled with dancing locals.  There was only one problem with this.  They were all dancing as couples!!!! Now the last time anyone danced together in Britain was probably during World War 2 or your Grandparents at family function when they start doing some embarrassing slow waltz or something.  I have never danced as a couple in my life, nor have the girls.  We are prettified.  We look like rabbits in the head lights. We quickly head to the bar for some courage from a Caiparinia. We stand round the side of the dance floor, sipping our Caiparinias like girls at a prom with out a date.  We watch the dancing.  Well if you can call it that.  Don't get me wrong there is some fancy foot work but a lot of its seems like they are grinding on the dance floor.  In fact they praticially look like they are having sex!
"Well I won't be dancing!" says Prue
"Me neither" Says BB looking uncomfortable for once. I then recall I had danced as a couple once before.  In Bogota in Colombia, in a Salsa club.  I remembered the initial terror of having to dance and how it cleared and in the end I'd had, one of the funniest nights ever.
"I will!" I said "I just need another Caiparinia first!"
Prue is the first of us to be asked to dance.
"No I can't . I'm English.  I don't know how!" she says looking very stiff and proper. A guy then comes and asks me and gets the same response.
"Then why are you here" he asks and walks off.  I realise then how terribly English we are being and feel angry at myself.  Five minutes later another guy comes and asks me to dance as well, but this time I decide to remove the rod from up my ass and go with the flow.  He holds me by the hips and pulls me close to him, so that we are cheek to cheek.
"Feel the rhythm and follow my lead" he says leaving me shocked that he can speak English.  We start to move and I find myself for the first minute mainly standing on his feet, but he is kind and encouraging and we continue, till at the end of the dance I find some rhythm. The music stops and he says "Thank you" and I'm left there standing on the dance floor, wondering why he hasn't tried to make a move on me, as that's what I expected from dancing like that and then me having to make awkward excuses at turning him down! But no!  Nothing! I'm only alone for a second before I'm dancing the next dance with another guy.  With every dance I feel like I'm getting better.  The trick is to move from the hip and follow the guy in the grinding process.  It feels weird at first to be doing such an intimate, sexual dance with a complete stranger who is so close to you, you can feel his sweat fall on to you.  The end result was the same though with every guy saying thank you at the end of the dance and leaving you alone.  It made a refreshing change from having your ass felt up by sleazy drunk guys on the dance floor, even if I was pratically having sex on the dance floor.  I look around and see that Prue and BB have let go of their fears too and are now enjoying a dance with some locals too.  At the end of the night as we take a taxi back I'm feeling happy.  It was good to let go of our English up tightness for a night.  "Hmmm! I grinded 8 guys on the dance floor tonight! Not bad for a Tuesday night!" I think to myself.
Next stop Ilha Grande.

MONTEVIDEO: ROBERT PATTISON

I'm sat having breakfast in the hippie commune in Punta del Diablo.  Me and Prue are feeling kind of fresh as we managed to go to sleep at the all so reasonable time of before 1am instead of 5am.  When I say sleep I'm using that term loosely as its very hard to get any sleep when you have a full live band playing directly below your room and then dance music after that until the early hours.  There was also some girl screaming like some one had been murdered at God knows what time, and then a stampede of people running to see what was going on.  For all I know some one could of been murdered' but by then I was in such a foul mood to really even care.  So yes! I was sort of feeling fresh that morning? While trying to eat some porridge oats with milk out of a mug (Yes! This is my breakfast!), one of the Uruguayan guys stomps up to me.  Its Martin.  Me and Prue are not his greatest fan, as one of the first things he said to us when we were introduced was that he "Hated English people!" (He sure know how to make a first good impression)?????  He also has a permanent scowl on his face, which makes me want to hit it a lot.  Me and Prue refer to him as "A Punk!"
"Hey! What's your Face Book name?" he abruptly says.  "And Good Morning to you Martin! Yes I'm find thanks!" I think to myself while looking at him and wanting to hit him again!
"Why?" I ask
"My friend wants to find you on Face Book!" he replies still in the same manner.
"Which friend?"
"My friend Nico!" he responds.  I look at him blank.
"The Croatian!" He continues.  I still look blank.
"The guy you where hanging out with the other night!" Something clicks in my head.
"Oh you mean Robert Pattison?" I say.
He looks blank for a minute and then begrudgingly says "Yes Robert Pattison!"
"Sorry I was really drunk! I actually don't remember his real name!" I say, thinking "How bad am I?"

A day or so later I go to an Internet cafe to check my emails and Face book.  There is a Face book request off a guy called Nicolas with unpronounceable surname.  I check his pictures.  It's Robert Pattison, though I don't think he actually looks like Robert Pattison, but the name has stuck now, and is in my head.  I except his friend request and think nothing more of it, as I only met him one night and he left early the next day. We had no Internet in Diablo unless we went to a cyber cafe, but we were far too busy doing things like getting a tan and drinking rum and coke, so we never really checked the Internet, which was actually quite nice for a couple of days.  We spent a night in Montevideo and the next day decided to get the bus and the ferry back to Buenos Aires.
"Carly! The bus has Wi-Fi" Said Prue as we sat there on another journey.
I decided to check my emails, and there it was, a very long message from Robert Pattison staying how much he had enjoyed meeting me, wanted to see me again and if I was in Montevideo I could stay with him and he would show me around.  "Shit!" I thought "Just typical! I'm on a bloody bus leaving Montevideo!" I wrote back and said I was leaving Uruguay for Buenos Aires and that I was sorry.  Like most stories in my life, it usually ends there, but this time it didn't.  Robert Pattison, would still write to me; everyday; lots of times in a day, and I to him.  To be honest I was a bit thrown at first.  You see in England, actually most men in the western world, you get a text message or face book response maybe three days after you have sent them something.  Well hey!  They don't want to seem too keen, as you might want to marry them and have their kids or something! God forbid!  This was a complete but refreshing change.  You say something: You get a response!  You ask something: you get a response! And guess what? I don't want to marry him or have his kids.  Amazing!  I think this is called "A normal conversation!" Robert Pattison was the first guy in a long time that was open.  He showed no cowardice or fear, or played any games.
I quoted at the beginning of this trip to South America a quote from Mark Twain.  I still stand by that quote:

"Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things you didn't do than by the ones you did do."

So with that quote in my head, at the end of the week with the girls in Buenos Aires, I decided not to go Iguazu falls with them (I'd been before anyway) and packed my bag and returned to Montevideo.

I arrive at night.  I'm wondering if I will recognise him?  What if he isn't as I remembered?  What if he wasn't there? My bus was late! He might not be? I would just be stuck in a bus station in Montevideo on my own with no where to go.  I entered the bus station feeling a bit scared as I searched the faces of the crowd and there he was, and then everything felt OK.  I went to hug him and I instantly could tell he was shy.  He was quiet and wouldn't look me in the eye. I made most of the conversation, talking about lots of rubbish, like I normally do, as we took a taxi back to his house.  I was nervous too. Not only about meeting him but I had to meet his mother too!  Yes! His mother! You see Robert Pattison mum lives in his house too! I'd  been quite shocked when he first told me and had second thoughts about the visit, but it seems that most people live with their parents in Uruguay as the cost of living far out ways the wages.  I had in my head visions of some big Latin woman with huge breasts and a miserable face who would hate me from the minute she meet me because I was a Gringa and was with her son.  The reality couldn't have been more different.  Robert Pattison had told me his mother was cool (He calls her the gypsy woman) and he was right. Teresita, (Her name) which means little Theresa and couldn't be more fitting.  She was a small petite woman with big dark eyes  and a smile that could light up a room.  Even though she couldn't speak a word of English I instantly warmed to her.  She was friendly and warm and would bend over backwards for you.  She chatted constantly at me and I tried hard to understand what she was saying, of which most went over my head.
The other member of the family that I had to meet was the dog: McShooney!  Actually he wasn't called McShooney.  He had no name!  Mcshooney was a black mixed Labrador, who was blind in one eye.  Robert Pattison had found him in the street a couple of years ago and so had taken the stray home and he had been with them ever since.
"What do mean he has no name?" I asked shocked!
"No he doesn't" He says calmly smoking a cigarette "We just call him the dog!"
"Then why did you refer to him in an email to me as McShawney?"
"Oh! I just said that because it was like an English version of the noise he makes in Spanish."
I'm stood there confused now.  "Does the dog have a name or not? Well I'm just going to call him McShawney from now on because every one needs a name even a dog" I say.
McShawney is later modified to McShooney as that is how it sounds when Robert Pattison says it in his Latin accent.  So that is how a dog with no name became to be know as McShooney!

The more I get to know Robert Pattison the more I get to like him.  He is slightly crazy like me.  He is slightly eccentric like me and he is slightly geeky like me.  I find him very intelligent.  His English is amazing and there isn't anything he doesn't know about an computer.  He also has a great love of music too and we sit for hours on end listening to music  and exchanging notes.  Sometimes he whacks out the guitar as well of which he also good at playing.  I am quite happy in his company and am glad that I came back to Montevideo.

Another thing that Robert Pattison likes, like most South Americans is Football.  It is a religion over here, and they are fanatical about it, and I was about see, how fanatical. Robert Pattison was keen for me to watch his favourite team play: Peñerol, Uruguay's national champions. As I'm quite a keen football fan too, we arranged to go to a match one night against their biggest rivals Nacional.
"I got us tickets for the real supporters area behind the goal.  It is the best place to be" Robert Pattison told me.
As we were  entering the stadium (Which by the way held the first ever world cup final) Robert Pattison turns to me and says "Keep close to me!  There are some very bad and crazy people at these matches do not loose me." I look at him and think he is being over protective, I soon see he is not.  We walk up the steps to the inside of the stadium.  Its a mass of grey concrete and all I can hear is drums.  As we walk further up the stairs the drums get louder and at the top there is massive group of aggressive looking men, most them bare chested with tattoos all over them. They remind me of images I have seen of brutal Mexican gangs. They are cheering and shouting and in the centre of it all, men bang on drums like warriors going to war.  As a person that doesn't like admitting to ever being scared, at this moment I am petrified! I hold Robert Pattisons hand tight, as we try to find our way through the crowd, scared that if I let go I will not make it out.  We eventually find are way to part of the stand away from the central chaos and I can breath again.   We then wait for the match to begin.  What followed was every thing I expected from a South American football match and much more.  Peñerol and Nacional  hate each other, I mean really hate each other.  The teams come out to boos and hisses from each opposing sides fans.  Its at this point, that a flurry of fireworks and streamers (Probably toilet roll I think?) are let off and thrown and the stands of fans becomes a mass of light, music, cheers and movement and a beautiful sight to behold.  The match was kind of slow and I was finding what was going on off the pitch more interesting, like for example the man in front of us smoking the biggest joint you have ever seen, that I felt I was getting stoned from just by smelling it. There was also the vast array of bad tattoos and hair styles, which I couldn't help but stare at.  I mean it's 2014, who the Hell in their right mind thinks a permed mullet is OK? Robert Pattison has a little laugh to himself now and again as he listens the fans chant songs to the Nacional fans.  Now I really couldn't understand any of them apart from the fact that they wanted to do something bad to the Nacional's players mothers.  Hmmmm? The second half gets more interesting as Peñerol concede a penalty against Nacional.  This causes a bit of tension on the pitch as well as off it.  One of the players kicks or punches the an opposition player.  I'm not sure who started it as I'm too busy looking at a guy with a spikey mullet when the incident occurs.  From there on in things kind of escalate.  There is a lot of nose to nose shouting at one another and arm waving, until some one karate kicks someone and the whole sub bench joins in along with the management.  This is where the riot police come in to separate the two teams.  In the mean time the fans have climbed the barriers and are starting to try and climb the metal fortress that surrounds the pitch and after that they have to clear the moat. Yes you read right! The moat!  Football matches in South America is like full on warfare, so castle like defences are you used!  This goes on for some time, to the point that I feel the match will be stopped, but eventually they kiss and make up like good children and it continues.  The final result:
Peñerol: 0                           Naccional: 1
Did I enjoy it? Yes!  Warfare football is far more entertaining than the Premiere league any day.

Check out the match on this video clip.



After a week I had to go.  I had already stayed longer than I should of and I had to catch up with my friends.  So I sadly said goodbye to Teresita with the amazing smile and McShooney the dog with one blind eye.  Most of all I hated to say goodbye to Robert Pattison.  He came and saw me off to the bus station and was just as quiet as when I arrived there a week before, but this time it was different.  We were both sad.  It is never easy to say goodbye to anyone, but I feel like I spend most of life saying it to people, never to see them again.  I didn't want it this time.  I have grown so tired of it, but I had to get on the bus and so once again, it was goodbye.  Goodbye is part of being a traveller, but as I keep saying it is better to regret the things you have done than the things you haven't.  No regrets.  By the way, Robert Pattisons real name? Nico or Nicholas as his mother calls him.
Next stop Brazil!

BUENOS AIRES: STOLEN

Remember the days before mobile phones? The days when people had to actually talk to one another, without the means of Face book, email and Whatsapp! I know! I don't remember either. Your mobile phone these days is like your right arm (left as well if your left handed or ambidextrous, which would be both)! It's like your whole world revolves around this little electronic device and the thought of not having your mobile with you 24/7? Well, it would be the end of the God Dam world, and this is what happened to me recently. I had my right hand cut off. I had my phone stolen!

Me and Prue returned to Buenos Aires, in time to meet our friend Becky Brown or BB as I like to call her, who was arriving that night, but first we had to check into the apartment we had rented for the week. We actually figured that it worked out the same to rent an apartment for the week as it was staying in some sweaty dormitory in a hostel with a load of 18 year old backpackers. Being English we were there on time to pick up the key which surprised the apartment guy when he arrived.  Though I think anything might surprise the apartment guy as he was a little too wired from some acid rave thing, the night before.  He was a strange thing; small with the frame of a child and was wearing some awful double denim outfit, with goth boots! He showed us into the apartment. Now I'm use to staying in places that well?  Maybe aren't up to most peoples standards.  OK! Shit holes! But they are cheap shit holes, OK! So as we get into the apartment I think we are in a palatial place.  When I say say palatial palace this means for me that there are no rats, I don' think I'm going to wake up with bed bugs and there is hot water.  Amazing! Prue has other ideas.  The selling point on this place for us was the fact that it had its own little swimming pool. Prue walks straight out to the pool, where she finds it shaded by a canopy (We were told it would have sun).  The pool itself is extremely dirty and looks like it hasn't been cleaned in a century, maybe more. Prue is not happy and rightly so as we also find a piss smelling towel in the bathroom, though I'm still thinking palatial place.  Prue is not.  What follows is this: A very feisty, determined English woman trying to clean a pool with a brush and then using the handle of the brush to hit the canopy back to the side, while then demanding to speak to the boss.  Child man hands over his phone.  Prue then starts a hostage style negotiation on how the rent should be lowered with the boss.  Its at this point child man has reached his downer from the night before, becomes very stressed and starts smoking a cigarette vigorously. Oh and what was I doing you ask?  I was being terribly English sat downstairs in the bedroom, not wanting to complain and pretending it wasn't happening.
The end result: Reduction on the rent!
Prue: 1           Apartment boss: 0
Conclusion= Do not mess with an English woman on a mission, well not Prue anyway, which I became glad of, especially after her saving us some money and the fact the toilet and the sink started leaking the next day (That's why there was a piss smelling towel in the bathroom)!   Total bastards!

BB arrived in the usual BB manor; happy; excited and wide eyed even though she had been travelling for well over 24 hours.  It was the only Saturday night we had in Buenos Aires and BB was still keen in her over tired state to hit the town.  So we put on our best glad rags and decided to hit the terribly fashionable area of Palermo.  Now we had been told by an Argentinian friend of ours, Alejandro  (Remember him from my last trip to BA, if not read the post here) who was no longer living there, that we had come to Buenos Aires at the worst time of year (Actually he didn't quite say it like that! He said we were f**ked instead: Soooo Ale)! This is because during January most people leave town for the beaches of Brazil or Uruguay because its too dam hot!  Most places shut down and its like a ghost town. "OK, but it still a city" I told myself "There will be something going on? It's Buenos Aires, the party city?"
Only in the beautiful, classy city of Buenos Aires could we end up in a bar that reminded me of Macaulay's bar back in Warrington during my teenage years (Basically rough as shit)! We had been lured to the bar by a sweet talking Argentinian guy with deep blue eyes that you wanted to jump into like the sea.  He was obviously employed by the bar for that reason and it worked! Well that was until you got into the bar and paid ten pounds to wear a band which meant you could drink all you wanted.  When I say drink I mean it was like paint stripper mixed with food colouring which made most of the drinks bright pink! Hmm?  I feel like I'm on a club 18 to 30 holiday, but we have paid our money now and we are going to make the most of it.  Besides we are British and we will drink any old crap! We have two Argentinian guys with us who have tagged along.  They don't speak any English but me and Prue can manage small talk with them.  BB on the other hand doesn't speak any Spanish what so ever or does she? Because its at this point that we are first introduced to the Becky brown school of language.  The Becky Brown school of language consists of this:

1.  You don't speak any other language other than English and you only speak to all foreign people in English.

2.  You smile a lot.

3.  You are extremely nice and lovely so everyone completely loves you even if they can't understand you.

4. You really just don't care, whether you can understand someone or you them; your in Latin America having an amazing time.

The Becky Brown school of language does work though.  There were times throughout the trip where me and Prue were concentrating so hard to understand what people were saying to us without much of a clue, that BB would just turn around to us and say "I understand!"
"How the Hell do you understand when you don't speak any Spanish?" would be are response.
"Because its in their faces!  I can tell what they are saying from their faces and their emotions" she replied, and you know what she could.  The Becky Brown school of language, definitely beats Rosetta Stone any day.

Even enough paint stripper drinks couldn't disguise the fact that we were in the shittiest bar in Buenos Aires.  The final straw came when we were trying to dance to some crap house music and saw some heavily pregnant skank teenager dancing and drinking paint stripper behind us.  Time to make a sharp exit, before she gives birth on the dance floor.  We find ourselves in a big night club that looks a whole lot better than club 18 to 30, though by this time we are so drunk anything would look good.  Its from here on in, things become a little hazy.  I remember getting my phone out to take some pictures of us all posing like idiots that would later be probably put up on Face book, where people would probably put that they like them, when really they are thinking, total idiots.  About 10 minutes later when I think I'm dancing amazingly to some Latin beats (I'm not!) I go to my bag to look at my phone to see what time it is.  Nothing! I fumble drunkenly around my bag, but its a small bag.  You could tell if it was there or not, easily.  I also know its impossible for it to have fallen out.  I've been pick pocketed! Bastards!!!!!!  I would of screamed but I think I was too drunk to really of registered what had happened.  Its the fact that I'm so drunk that I decide to go looking on the floor for it, even though I know its been stolen.  I'm kind of clutching a straws.  I'm just barging in between people with my head to the ground and I think at one point I'm on my hands and knees on the floor.  I look up and see the others and wonder what a fly on the wall would think. BB's jet lag seems to have kicked in and she is delirious on the dance floor with her eyes shut, arms open, dancing like some crazy hippie.  Prue is now being dry humped by one of the Argentinian guys on the dance floor (I believe the Latins call this dancing) and I'm crawling around on my hands and knees looking for a phone I will never find.  Another great night out then?

 The next day I wake with a bad head and the realisation that my phone is really gone.  I'm in mourning.  I'm also having flash backs to when we got home from the club.  I recall BB Skyping her parents and them asking me how I was which my response was some thing like "Not so good as some F**cking bastard has stolen my phone! I'm so f**cking angry" (Luckily her parents have a good sense of humour) and then having a rant on live chat with O2 when they informed me that I could not get a new phone or Sim card until I got back to the UK! (I think I told the woman at O2 that she had ruined my life and she was going to go to Hell)! Oh God!  I won't have a phone or a British Sim for over 2 months!  Oh holy mother Mary of God!  In the whole time I have travelled I've never not had a phone.  Its my Internet, my texts, my camera, my music, my blog as well as my phone. Arrrrgghhhhhh!!!!!! Its my everything!  OK! I know its not the end of the world.  No one has died! There are worse things in life.  Anyway living without a phone for 2 months will be liberating, won't it?

We have been having a bit of trouble with wankers on our trip.  They are everywhere.  In our beds, bathrooms, on the streets, everywhere!  We first started to encounter them in Buenos Aires.  They are just horrible and they are so hard to kill! Oh! Sorry! Am I confusing you?  I am not a serial killer unless you are a Buddhist; then I would be classed as one.  I am not referring to men as wankers, though a lot of them are! I'm referring to Cockroaches!  Me and the girls have started calling cockroaches wankers.  I think everyone should do it.  Its very refreshing!  For example nothing can beat the sound of your friend in the morning screaming, "There is another one! There is a wanker in the shower.  I'm going to kill it!" followed by the banging of a flip flop and "Die wanker! Die!" As I said, a very refreshing way to start the day.

I can see why everyone leaves Buenos in January.  Its hot! Really hot! Thank God for the dirty swimming pool!  No really! Thank God for the dirty swimming pool.  Anyway its not too bad as me and Prue cleaned it up a bit and found how to work the filter.  Its a perfect haven in fact.  Now that Prue has demolished the canopy with a broomstick the sun is shining through and as its our own private pool and garden we decide that means our rules.  so in no time its topless sunbathing all round.  Yes!  We finally get to go topless in South America.  In fact its hard to keep your clothes on once we are in the apartment.  we jump into the pool after a day of walking around the city into its ice cold water.  Its so refreshing. There was a moment after one night out, that the heat was far too much for me, which is a rare thing.  It was oppressive and I felt I couldn't breath.  There was only one thing to do.  I stripped completely naked and jumped into the pool.  I was soon followed by Prue.  The water was amazing. So there we are a couple of English girls splashing around naked in a pool in the middle of Buenos Aires in the early hours of the morning, drinking wine.  I'm not sure whether the neighbours could see us? They probably could and thought "What the Hell are those English chicks on?" but in the words of Becky Brown "I don't really care!"
Next stop Montevideo.