Kat & Marty

Our first exposure to Peru was the lush Lima domestic airport. We flew in from Bogota at 1:30am and didn´t depart until 5:30am so we had plenty of time to explore all the expensive tourist shops, talk to a gentleman who ran a 300 hectare ranch retreat that provided natural cancer remedies, and drink lots of tea at a cafe. Marty went and downloaded some photos from our ipod and I sat in the cafe reading until our flight was called.

The early morning flight to Cusco was almost empty and we enjoyed having a row of plush leather seats to ourselves - especially since we felt so tired from losing a night´s sleep. Flying into Cusco was something else. We came in over a range of mountains then took a sharp left hand turn past one more peak to come into view of the colonial city that was built on Inca foundations. Our first impressions were full of gigantic cathedrals and churchs that crowd around the main plaza - Plaza de Armas.

Plaza de Armas houses the main cathedral as well as another enormous church I would usually call a cathedral. Cusco is located at 3400m so the air felt a little thin and had us panting at every step. We stayed at a hostel recommended by a fellow traveller that required walking up narrow cobblestone streets, then a street, named Resbelosa (meaning slippery - which it certainly was, especially after rain) that had stairs instead of the normal road for cars to drive up. We took a tiny room there that had a fantastic view over the picturesque city. A few inquiries soon revealed that the soonest group departing for the Inca Trail in 5 days, so we booked ourselves in to that tour then into some much needed Spanish lessons for our time in Cusco.

Our first day of lessons were great! There were so many simple things we need to say every day that had been eluding us and our teachers soon unravelled many mysteries to our eager minds. The other students at our school were really nice also and we were given a free salsa class with our language lessons that gave us a chance to socialise a little. Through some of the other students we discovered a nice cafe/restaurant on the Plaza de Armas that served delicous foods and coffees, my first brie since travelling was imbibed here.

We had a Sunday free, so joined a tour up to the Sacred Valley of the Incas and spent the day touring the Pisac markets full of handicrafts and the Pisac ruins that sit high above the town serving as part of the Inca watch tower system. From there we drove on to the Olytantembo ruins where we would return to begin the Inca Trail hike in 3 days, then finaly a town called Chichinera which had a fine colonial church that reminded me of a Maori marae with it´s rafters and roof panels painted in intricate designs of deep blue and red. This town had a small market where local people sold table runners of all things. The patterns were skillful and intricate. Thinking we could get one later, we are still kicking ourselves for not having splashed out on a nice one - of which there where many.

Our next two days were a mixture of Spanish lessons, preparing for our 4 day hike to Machu Pichu, and trying to fit in some local sight seeing. We visited the Plaza de Armas church for a small fortune (the cathdral was out of reach) and enjoyed being able to climb up into the towers and also descend into the lower rooms where a tunnel that connected the churches of Cusco was laid bare. It would have been awful for the monks trying to squeeze through such a tiny tunnel where even a small man would have to bend over double.

Finally the day arrived for the Inca Trail. We departed our hostal at 6:30am and spent an hour and a half waiting around in a full mini van waiting to leave while porters etc fussed about. We grew hungrier and hungrier and it was a form of small torture to stop for a brief moment and have one of the porters jump out and buy bread and pastries to pass around amongst his friends. We had a 15 minute stop at Olytantambo and seized the opportunity to feast on breads and orange juice and coffee for breakfast - aware we would soon be hiking. From there was a two minute drive to the hike entrance. Immediately the camp cook began to prepare an enormous early lunch of soup and spaghetti. Of course we could barely fit it in!

The first afternoon of hiking had us moving along at a fair pace along a few hills to approach the major ´Dead Women´s Pass´ of the second day. We passed our first sets of ruins, small outlying towns of Machu Pichu now protected by national law from looters and squatters. We were lucky to have porters set up our tents from which we took shelter from the incessant rain, before amassing in a straw roofed shelter for tea, then dinner (a distinct difference on this journey). Tea was popcorn and a choice of coffee or various teas including the prolific mate de coca which I actually quite enjoy. We had an early night after agreeing to be up at 5am.

Our 2nd day began with a wake up cup of tea from the porters - I could certainly get used to that! We were packed and breakfasted and on the road before 6:30am.  We had an immediate checkpoint which another group was going through at the same time. The pressure to walk hard and fast was on. Soon though the pass had everyone settle into their own pace including ourselves. The top of the pass is 4200m so as we climbed we began to feel the altitude as well as our muscles working hard. When we reached the half way point I thought we were at the pass for a moment as it seemed so high up but there was more slogging ahead. We trudged slowly up amongst a long line of porters mixed with tourists. We reached the pass at 10:00am and met up with all other members of our group (apart from a lovely couple who had decided the altitude wasn´t worth it). From there I left Marty chatting to a fellow Australian and joined a French/Spanish gentleman with whom I had a strange but fun Spanglish conversation. It didn´t take long to drop down to our campsite - one of many nestled into a small valley with a gorgeous waterfall pouring down icy glacier fed water from above. These mountain streams were carefully guided through waterways by the Incas for daily use. Our campsite was a long hike from the bathroom but we had greater problems than that when at midnight Marty woke up to find us awash in rainwater. We had to move everything from off the floor and try and isloate the small central dry part of the tent. I was a bit annoyed with myself for leaving my only dry clothes on the tent floor and having them soaked.

Our 3rd morning dawned clearish - or at least with high cloud that soon began to move in. We hiked up a much smaller 2nd pass visiting another Inca military tower ruin before going on. We visited another ruin soon after - a much larger military outpost once again affording spectacular views down multiple valleys. The high Andes mountains, at this point, reminded me of NZ mountains with their tussocks and clear streams and clouds pouring through. We stopped for lunch at a tent our porters had erected. Our guide, Fabien, told us about the Peruvian tradition of giving coca leaves to the patchmama or earth mother. It was kind of interesting but I had a huge conflict of belief so couldn´t involve myself. After lunch we spread our wet sleeping bags, mattresses and clothing to dry before a brief siesta. Our final section of the trail for the day was a sudden drop of 1000 metres. There have often been times in my life where I would consider that a good days walk by itself. At our final campsite we had the 5 soles (local currency) option of a hot shower which we gratefully took. My gratefulness soon ran out when I found they had two filthy mud covered showers to service the female side of 300 tourists and same again for the gents. My shower was brief due to a huge queue and didn´t leave me feeling much cleaner. This night we had a dinner of various dishes brought in to a restaurant type complex. After this our guide reminded us it was time to tip the porters. It was quite an unusual situation to be in as he brought our cook and porters (plus a few extras) in to recieve our thanks. We had had no interaction with them on the trip whatsoever despite friendly overtures and even shaking our hands there was no eye contact. Something wasn´t right and when we saw one of our porters lining up at another table I think we all felt a bit gipped - and needlessly as we were generous with our financial thanks. Then again, we may have been more generous if the porters managed to put up our tents properly. After dinner, we ran through the heaviest rain so far, back to our tent. The fly wasn´t put up correctly so was touching all four sides allowing water to pour in again. Marty spent a good 20 minutes using our spare rope we conveniently had on hand, to tie up the fly in a more useful manner. He used a rubbish bag and his rain poncho to stop the rain that was falling through the center of the roof and then we were relatively dry. We lay listening to the rain for a couple of hours, hearing it finally abate we decided to make a toilet run. The bathrooms were far from our campsite, but we were completely flummoxed to arrive at them on the very edge of desperation to find them locked. The only toilet room that wasn´t locked was full, wall to wall, with sleeping porters and they told us where to go pretty quickly. After running around for a while we finally used the tree method (not so good in a big campsite like this one) and finally managed an hour or two´s sleep.

The 4th morning was madness. We recieved a wake up call at 4am - no cups of tea this morning - and when I came out of the tent with my bag packed all the other tents were down and the rest of our group were halfway through their breakfast. We ate as fast as possible then joined the queue to get through the control gate that opened at 5am. We were about halfway along the queue but once through the gate we all bolted. Every single group was the same, everyone were going hell for leather for the sun gate and the first view of Machu Pichu. I was determined not to be left behind as I was the slowest in our group, so I huffed and puffed away behind everyone. What a waste of time! We got there and all that could be seen was white. The cloud was so thick we could barely see 10 meters down the trail. Our group hardly paused, we all kept right on walking straight down into the ruins. We went and dropped our backpacks off at a storage hut then Fabien talked us through the major points of the ruins, the royal tomb, the 3 windows (?!?) special because of their relation to the sun at solstices, the architecture (for which the Incas are so famous), the sun dial (used for seasons rather than time) and finally two mirrors or shallow pans of water that were supposed to reflect certain constallations at certain times of the year. We were then given the day to ourselves until 3pm when we were to meet our guide in the town of Agua Caliente (Hot Water) far below. Marty and I wandered around a little and took a few photos through the clouds then went down to the cafe for a coffee or two in the hope of gaining some energy after our second sleepless night. We almost didn´t go back into the ruins but at midday decided to go for one final look and were so glad to have made that decision. The clouds had completely pulled away leaving the entire stunning vista on show. We took lots of photos before walking around to see an Incan bridge. The walk took us along a 1000m drop to the river below. Looking over gave me a slight sense of vertigo. The bridge itself was built up on rocks across a cliff face and we debated wether the walk had been worth it. It was time to go down to meet the guide, and taking a stand against people who take the mickey out of tourists when setting their prices, we boycotted the US$6 10 minute bus ride down and walked instead. The walk was steep and we passed an entire school walking up. I was relieved not to be one of them. Little boys dressed in Incan costumes would occasionally race past us - their job to say ádios, goodbye´at every bend of the road to departing buses. You could hear their cries ring through the forest every 5 minutes. Once down we enjoyed a good lunch while resting our knees. Our guide almost slept through the time to see us to the train, but emerged at the last minute and had us all running through a market to the station where the train departed only a moment after we boarded.

We sat opposite the couple who had turned back from the high pass of the Inca Trail. Alejandra and Marcia where from Salvador in Brazil and we soon had a great conversation going, partly in Spanish but mostly in English. Alejandra ran an engineering related business and Marcia was an optician. If we can find the time we will visit them up in Brazil...

We arrived back in Cusco after dark, and after quick farewells headed back to the Resbelosa Hostal. We bought some junk food from a convenience store which we took back to our room for dinner before crashing.

In the morning we woke late and by the time we showered we were already past check-out time. Fortunately they didn´t charge us. We had until late afternoon when we would catch an overnight bus to Nazca to visit the Nazca lines. We wandered down to the Plaza de Armas and had a good breakfast at our favourite cafe there while overlooking some sort of political demonstration with army bands and lots of people in suits wandering about. The regional elections were only 3 days away and the different parties were ramping up their presentations. We then went down and visited the markets where we saw lots of plump ladies with long braids sitting on piles of vegetables, people furiously pedalling old singer sewing machines, and from the roof dried llama fetuses hanging down. In the butchers section pig´s heads sat proudly on benches next to sausages and goodness knows what else - I didn´t dare look closely. The rest of the afternoon we sat in the refuge of an internet cafe before catching our lush bus with lots of leg room and TVs actually playing movies. We were so pleased with ourselves for getting on such a nice bus that even gave us dinner, when it broke down for 2 hours. Men furiously worked underneath the bus, Marty suspected they were changing out the fan belt.

We arrived in Nazca 5 hours late after breaking down 4 more times. The terrain outside the bus window was dry and desolate. We had passed through several small very remote and islolated towns where the adobe brick buildings melded with the dusty landscape behind. Nazca was bigger but just as dusty and brown looking. A taxi driver pursuaded us to take a ride into town and ended up ferrying us around to get bus tickets for that night to Arequipa, then out to his family business for a plane ride over the famous Nazca lines. First we watched a National Geographic program on the lines. The main fact that stood out to me was that walking in straight lines was very important to the Incas. They would parade in straight lines around various things, including the Nazca lines, but if you happened to get out of line it was all your fault if it didn´t rain that year. Seeing as the land is a desert, they must have blamed lots of people for walking out of line. We then had a couple of hours to wait before they found someone to fill the final seat in the 4 seater Cessna we flew in. The ride was really bumpy and we could see dust willy willies off in the distance. Despite my trusty travel sick pills, my stomach was soon in my throat and even Marty felt the effects of the constant turning and dropping. The lines themselves are a variety of animal shapes only visible from the air. Apparently the Incas got the idea for the aerial view from taking halluciagenics which made them feel as though they were flying like birds. They used some sort of mathematical system for transferring a small pattern into a much larger one. Even though the shapes were big enough to parade around, from the air they looked quite small and I even missed seeing a couple of them. The strangest one was of a human figure that looks like an astronaut with a smile and a wave into space. Another one I really liked was a monkey with a spiral tail. The flight took 30 minutes then we were back on the ground relieved not to have had to use an air sick bag. We were given a ride back into town and turned down an offer for a 30 minute drive into the desert to visit an area where you could see mummies in their natural habitat, lying around exposed to the desert sun. Seeing all these dead people is something I am beginning to pass up. I am beginning to question if it is better to let them rest in peace.

We rested in the Nazca plaza. I lay out on a park bench with Marty´s knees as a pillow and closed my eyes. Soon he had a crowd of young boys around him asking lots of questions. His Spanish was brilliant as he answered them and joked with them. I had to join in the fun and sat up and watched what was happening. After an hour or so we left them to it and wandered the streets,buying snacks for our 2nd overnight bus ride in a row. At last it was time to leave and we boarded another really nice bus. Cial is a luxury company giving out cheap tickets in an attempt to build up a client base and we were more than happy to take advantage of their promotions. We both fell asleep almost immediately.

We woke in the early morning to see more harsh, dry plateaus and mountains stretching out as far as we could see. Everything was a burnt amber colour. We took a taxi to a hostal listed in the Lonely Planet Guide and thoroughly annoyed the driver by not taking his advice that they wouldn´t have room for us without a reservation. Actually they ended up sending us down the road to a second establishment they were running but we were very excited to be given a spotless room with clean white sheets and towels and soaps. After a brief discussion about visiting the Culca Canyon we went to catch up on some sleep.

We woke at 2pm feeling groggy and fluish. Marty was still fighting a bad stomach. We both really wanted to visit the muesem that housed the Íce Maiden´: Juanita, so dragged ourselves out to do so. Juanita is an Incan girl, probably of royal descent who was sacrificed on a mountain top near Arequipa over 500 years ago to the rain gods. Melting ice and a landslide exposed Juanita from her icy coffin to the sun and elements for a couple of weeks before she was found, still mostly preserved. Once again we watched a National Geographic program on her discovery before being escorted by a muesem guide to see textiles, ceramics and idols found buried with Juanita and other sacrificial victims archeologists had dug up in the area. As a grand climax we were taken into a cold room where Juanita, a tiny girl, sits in a chilled glass box, still in her entirety. Although the elements would soon have returned her to the dust from which she came, it felt macabre to view her and know that people are searching out and digging up her fellow sacrifices partly in the name of science and partly in the name of protecting the graves from grave robbers. Digging up dead people seems like a grisly business.

The next morning we departed on our bus tour of the Culca Canyon. I had no idea it was so touristy. The bus stopped at many villages with the sole purpose of giving us a chance to buy yet more souveneirs. When we reached the town where we were to stay the night, we were given a traditional lunch, then taken on a walk through some pastoral land. One thing that had been piquing our curiosity was the cactus people planted on top of rock walls. In the towns we had thought it was for security but in isolated fields it hardly seemed necessary. It turns out they are planted to stop the rain corroding the walls away as they are bonded by mud. We weren´t really sure what the destination of our walk was so it was a bit of a surprise to end up at some Inca tombs where a pyrimid of skulls smiled out at us. We passed on the option to visit some hot pools, resting our tired bodies instead. We did get up to have dinner and see a folk dancing show though. We went back to our rooms around 10pm to sleep, but right outside our hotel, election candidates were singing and performing at top volume. At 2am we though enough was enough. It sounded like they had left a recording on to play through the night. Marty was going to go out and see if he could find some way to stop the terrible catawauling but hte hotel lobby was locked against us. At 3am they finally stopped... and we slept for the 3 hours until our early wake up call.

After breakfast we were back on the bus for an hour or two out to a point where condors soar up from the canyon floor. We were fortunate to see 10 of them circling up, at times flying right over our heads. Apparently it was rare to see so many. We got back in our bus where we were stopped for more souveneir shopping before another traditional buffet lunch and the long drive back to Arequipa.

Back at our lovely clean hostal we booked on to climb a volcano of 5,800m that towered over Arequipa. Marty had been wanting to climb a volcano and this was the quintessential picture perfect volcano to climb. For $50 each we were given all the gear we needed including tent, down mountaineering pants and sleeping bags, a guide, dinner and breakfast and the 4X4 ride in and out again. Bargain!

We were picked up at 8amish and after stopping for water and lunches we were on our way. Another gentleman Jordi from Spain was joining us. Our guide Herman was also lovely and I think he takes first place as far as guides go. Our driver was gentle and slow nursing us over the slightly rutted dirt road. He dropped us off with a friendly wave at the 3,415m mark - a healthy start on our climb.

The air was thin and we wound upwards at a slow pace, stopping to rest every now and then to give our bodies a chance to aclimatise. My mind cleared and I remembered this was why I liked walking up mountains so much. Everything becomes simplified. One step after another, one breath after the other... Soon one´s mind is free to look at the world in different ways and from different aspects. Jordie, the Spanish gentleman with us, offered around a bag of coca leaves so we kept on up with a big wad tucked into each of our cheeks. It is supposed to provide energy and help alleviate altitude sickness. It didn´t seem too long until we had made it to the first camp, and at our guide´s recommendation, none of us had any problem with walking an extra twenty minutes or so to the second higher camp in a dim bid to make the next day easier. No sooner had we put our bags down at the second camp than a completely spontaneous snowstorm burst over our heads. There was barely any warning and in seconds our fingures were frozen as wrestled with the hire tent we had never put up before. In the rush the tent pegs were lost through an unseen hole in their bag so we threw large stones in the tent corners to pin it down. In my hurry I threw our fly on upside down causing no end of problems. It was too cold so we jumped inside and got into our still dry down pants, our warm gloves and hats and then our sleeping bags to wait out the summer storm. In half an hour the snow stopped falling and possibly in another hour a lot of it at our level had melted away, leaving a wet, soppy, irredeemable tent for us to sleep in. The guide made us a thick soup of cous cous with vegetables and chicken followed by mate de coca. We went to bed after watching a blood red sun droop down into the cloud layers of the valley below.

At 2am our guide had us up trying to force down bread with jam. At this altitude our appetites had fled. Jordie supplied us with more coca leaves but it turned bad on Marty. The flavour made him feel like throwing up. Below us the lights of Arequipa sparkled - a blanket of light in the darkness of night. Our path zigzagged a little then went straight up a rocky ridge. Each step became it´s own separate mission, the higher we went the harder it became to keep going and the more frequently we needed to stop to rest. Jordie, unaffected by the altitude left us with the guide and went ahead. As we came up to 5000m Marty started to get really ill and began throwing up. I didn´t feel nauseous but my legs were like lead and I felt exhausted. Now we were in reach of the top and sulphur fumes wafted down to repel us even more. The last few metres up to the crator were an eternity to walk, particularly for Marty as each step higher increased his nausea. I was so proud of him for making it to the top. The highest point, marked by a large metal cross was still another 60 metres or so higher so I left Marty on the crater rim and trudged up to the cross for the team. The view from the top was pretty amazing, I could see down into the center of the crator where clouds of sulphurous steam wafted up. Walking down to Marty took only a moment of the time it took me to walk up. Going down the mountain was the best! Next to the rocky ridge we had climbed up, was a chute of fine volcanic sand/ash. Our guide led us over the edge and using our walking poles we pretty much skiied down the chute in our hiking boots. It was so much fun! The ridge had taken us 6-7 hours to walk up, to come down took us less than 40 minutes and it was the fastest 40 minutes of our lives. Reaching camp we quickly packed had a small snack then took some more sand chutes down to the foot of the volcano. The last part of the hike involved hiking out over sandy and dusty paths. When we got to the car park there was no sign of our pick up vehicle. Fortunately the guide had a cell phone and was able to call the company who had forgotton to send someone out. An hour later in the hot sun and a 4X4 showed up to take us back to town where we showered and fell asleep for the rest of the day.

From Arequipa we took a Cial bus to Puno - another luxurious ride. Though a large tourist destination, Puno is notorious for being a dump. However from there it was possible to take a 3 hour tour out to the famous floating reed islands on Lake Titicaca. We took a boat out with about 30 other tourists. Arriving at the islands we saw a line of reed boats and islands, each with their own woven watch tower that allowed you to see over the back to where the locals really lived. Not in the picturesque reed huts, but in tin roofed houses with solar panels, televisions and all the mod cons. Standing on one of the islands felt strange, the ground was springy and slightly uneven. The local children rough and tumbled all over the place with no harm, the candy they continously chewed on having more ill effects than the falls they took on the bouncy reeds. The Uros first created their floating islands around 700 years ago to escape the Inca and Colla warriers on the mainland. The islands are made by tying roots of native totara reed plants in bunches to create an earthern mattress, then reeds are crisscrossed upwards over several months to create a depth of several meters. This floating island is then anchored to mud banks in Lake Titicaca. Each island can have up to 8 families living on it. If they don´t want to share their island together any longer they are able to cut the island in half and move away from each other. Though reed boats are still made and used to give tourists ferry rides between islands on, the local people were using wooden rowboats for fishing and transport. They rowed forward, standing up to get leverage rather than the back strokes we usually use. We took a ride on one of the reed boats for a price of course and joined all the other tourists in buying souveneirs. Everyone seemed very free with their spending.

A few days later we saw an expose by BBC on the reed islands. The news story conveyed that the islanders were starving, the children severely nutritionaly depleted. Food supplies from Bolivia were swept away in flash floods (these floods did happen), leaving the Peruvian people, just across the border, destitute. It went on to describe how only the lucky ones could get work to earn up to one dollar a day. The camera showed a family outside a reed hut sitting around a cooking fire, the children being dished out some sort of root vegetable. Marty and I were stunned. Only 3 days before, we had seen the Puno markets overflowing with fruits and vegetables and grains. Our tour group - the last of that particular day, had given at least $150US straight into islander hands, and our tour boat was only one of many daily tours. We know the islanders live in reasonable housing, not the reed huts they greet the tourists from, and it seemed to us any nutritional deficincies in the children were more likely to be caused by an overindulgence in coca cola (evidenced by piles of empty soda bottles) and candy rather than inability to access proper food. Our faith in BBC news was severely tried. 

In the morning we rose early, leaving the dusty streets of Puno behind and took a much rougher bus over the border to Bolivia - no leather seats or toilets in the back of this one. Driving along the shores of Lake Titicaca I looked forward with anticipation to our next adventures.

We had decided after 48 hours of no washing with salt water clinging to our skin and hair to splurge on some nice accomodation that night. We took a taxi past the stone, canon mounted walls of the old city to the Lonely Planet recommendation and found that not only had the price more than doubled, they required a prior booking. With our limited Spanish abilities we decided to pass as the front desk was being less than helpful (maybe because we looked so rough), but the doorman helped us out by directing us to a smaller boutique hotel named the Casa India Catalina. It was beautiful. The rooms were set in a hacienda style around a cental patio with a pool and our room was spacious with fresh, clean, white sheets and air conditioning. Even here though, the shower only ran cold water! Since it was permantly hot outside this wasn´t really a problem. The room wasn´t ready immediately so we went for lunch over the road to a nice pizza pasta restaurant with the most delicous herbal oil to put on the pizza. Finally we could go into our room and relax. After cleaning up and feeling human again we went back to the yacht club and collected our passports with no incidents.

We had dinner with our old boat friends. It was almost quite flat as we were all so tired. We ate at a small restaurant with a set menu of pasta and fresh fruit juices. THe waiter was having huge problems dealing with a group of 7 people and when Marty and I went to pay he thought we were ordering againg and brought us more juices instead of the bill. Once we had that sorted out we went back to our room and slept the sleep of the dead. It was so nice to be in clean sheets with room to move around.

The morning began late for us. We had intended to change over to a cheaper hostel room that night but didn´t have the heart to leave our comfortable room behind so booked for another night. The breakfast included with the room was fresh fruit followed by scrambled eggs with orange juice and coffee. We went out and found the tourist information office to see if we could find information about hiking to Ciudad Perdida or the Lost City. They didn´t know anything about it so we pushed our way back past the hustlers waiting outside and walked back through the sticky heat to a park where we sat down and made a plan of attack. There are so many beautiful buildings and places to visit in Cartegena, so we decided to wander around and take in the sights a little. We went into the cathedral. It was being renovated but it was so peaceful in there. The walls were stark white with frescos. It was a nice place to pray and rest from the bustling streets outside.

At 1:30pm we met a gentleman with an eyepatch who had lent us some money for lemonade at the yacht club until we could go out and change our money. He took us out to an emerald factory where we had a tour of the back room where about 17 jewellers worked at desks carving out emeralds, then we learnt about the history of the mine that supplied the emeralds and how emeralds are made etc. Of course the tour ended up in a shop and I was able to try on a huge emerald worth $40,000 US. We regretfully declined the offer of buying it, but had lots of fun looking.

The next morning our hotel helped us to get a shuttle bus to Santa Marta where we would be able to find out more about the Lost City. After looking on the internet it seemed like it would be safe enough to do. Driving north to Santa Marta was quite an experience. The first leg of the journey ended up being in a taxi  that took the 80km road at 140km overtaking anything and everything in our path no matter what corner we were on. In a small town we were transferred to a shuttle in which the other passengers seemed to be quite wealthy older Colombian women. On the last leg before we came into Santa Marta we passed through the worst slum I have ever seen in my life. Little shacks made of driftwood and at times plastic, no bigger than the size of a double bed served as family homes. It was right on the beach and next to a salt plant, so I suppose the locals could work there and catch fish to live on. I felt irrational anger at seeing a coca cola truck parked up at the store. It seemed wrong to market to people living in this sort of poverty, but, they still deserve free choice to spend their money on what they want. Being deprived of buying soft drinks is possibly worse ethically.

Santa Marta sits on the Carribean Ocean, but the harbour wasn´t clear and though still warm, the air wasn´t hot like the other Carribean beaches we had been to.  We stayed in a hostel called Casa Familiar who booked us onto a the Lost City hike for the next day. As we were in the process of doing so, a couple arrived back from the hike and they raved about it so we felt any last uncertainties laid to rest. We didn´t really hang around on the beach at all, instead preparing for the hike the next day.

We were picked up at around 9am in a Landcuiser base with the usual cab replaced with a garish colourful deck. We sat up in the back, Marty´s head hitting the padded roof as we bounced over potholes. We stopped next to the Tayrona National Park entrance to pick up the rest of our hiking group. They were actually a group of people on a Dutch tour through Colombia and were quite an interesting group. There was one American with them, Kevin, a doctor, who we enjoyed some great conversations with. The two ladies, Erica and Ana, were both Colombian born and adopted by Dutch families so were on the tour to learn a little about their routes. The remaining guys, Norman, Arch and Martin were either with the ladies or just there for a holiday. We all had guanabana juices before hitting the road again.

We were driven to the start of the track over a 13km 4 wheel drive road that was like nothing else I have ever been on. Frequent rain meant the clay road had lots of corrosion and we must have come pretty close to rolling on a couple of occasions. But, to my surprise, we made it in incident free - though Marty might have gained a couple of bruises on his arm from me hanging on to him so tightly.

We began our walk along a river, at one point stopping to swim in it despite some nibbley fish and spiders on the rocks. We had to walk up a hill to our first camp and no words could have prepared us for the continual verticle climb up a muddy clay track. This walk soon decided the places we would all walk in. One of the ladies was extremely driven to walk/run as hard as she could till she reached her destination and the single guys tended to keep up with her. Marty and I walked in the middle at a more moderate pace that allowed me to breathe and one of the Dutch guys walked at our speed also. Taking the end was the Dutch couple, Ana and Martin, who were on their first hike. This was a tough one to begin on.

At the top our guide, Wilmar, caught up with us riding a mule. Later on we discovered it was his farm we were walking over. He pointed out coca fields to us and a coca processing hut lying unused at the time of sight. We continued walking up to our first stop and in fact over walked it into a huge mud bog before our guide picked it and called us back. We had a small room with buckets of cold water to shower with - a relief as we were pretty hot and sweaty. Up here in the jungle covered mountains it was a lot cooler than Santa Marta and I wore a sweater for the first time in months. We were given a delicous dinner of rice with chicken in a tomato sauce and salad followed by cookies and a coca tea known as mate de coca. Hammocks were strung up on a balconey for us to sleep in. A few of us stayed up until 8pm playing cards then retired to the balconey. I read my Wilbur Smith book for a while. Ocasionally Marty would turn on his torch and move around a bit. I asked him if he was ok every time and he muttered he was. After a midnight bathroom mission I finally fell asleep - strange animal sounds from the livestock around the house having kept me awake.

We breakfasted on scrambled eggs and sweet white bread followed by home grown Colombian coffee. As we packed up our bags one of the guys suddenly yelled "get it off me!" I went to help, but seeing a gigantic, hairy spider on his back I screamed and ran away instead leaving Marty to beat it off with a t-shirt. After the excitement died down Marty admitted that a giant cockroach had kept crawling up the inside of his mosquito net the night before and flying onto his face, hence the torch and moving around. He didn´t want to tell me as he knew I would freak out and wake everyone if I knew.

Soon (at 7:30am) we were on the road again. We walked around the side of a hill through farmland. After an hour or so we were stopped for a break next to a couple of scrubby bushes. Sandflies or No-see-ums attacked me vicously despite a solid coating of insect repellant. I was going crazy until Marty picked me a branch of leaves which discouraged the biteys as I waved it around madly. It was so humid and I was sweating so much that any repellant must soon have been washed off. After a snack we moved on again. The front party soon left us behind and Marty and I found ourselves walking alone. We saw a coral snake on the path - a rare and perhaps dangerous sighting. At one point we thought we may have somehow become lost but finding some freshly cut pineapple under some leaves at a river let us know we were on the right track. This snack had been promised us earlier. Later we walked past an indigenous farmstead and some little girls ran out to say hello. I asked them in Spanish if our friends had walked past and they told us `yes`which was a relief. We moved on up past a village. The round houses were made of adobe with thatched rooves and the traditional white dresses/tunics they wore were spread out to dry on some bushes. We didn´t see anyone though so kept on walking. At this point we had been almost 5 hours without seeing someone we knew and barely taking a break so at the next river we stopped and took a swim. It was such a relief to get rid of the sweat and heat in the cold mountain water. I was feeling a bit cranky that we had been left to ourselves for so long and not sure of how much longer we needed to walk. Marty said with conviction it would be less than half an hour. I mocked him for being so sure but he was right - 20 minutes later we walked into our second camp. This one was two open sided shelters with cooking fires and room for hammocks to be strung as well as some picnic tables and chairs. We went down and took a swim in a swimming hole under a water fall in the big river that thundered past. Refreshed I came back up, needing to put on long clothes as anytime I stopped still mosquitos and no-see-ums would begin to feast on me. We had all just got into clean dry clothes and set ourselves up at a picnic table to relax when a curtain of rain began to fall. It was unreal how much water came down and it lasted for hours. The couple who took the rear of our hike hadn`t arrived yet and I felt really bad for them that on their first hiking experience they had to walk through such rain. They didn´t arrive for a couple of hours and rumours were rife that they may have turned back as the trail was pretty steep and tough. The relief on their faces as they walked in was obvious and we gave them a big cheer.

In the morning I woke cozy and well rested, snuggled in my hammock under a Bob the Builder fleece blanket. Marty swung my hammock until I finally dragged myself out. In the frenzy of packing up I lost the blanket to someone else and ended up with a smelly sleeping bag. I tried to take it in good grace but inside felt a bit ripped off and my mood swung downhill fast. I snapped at Marty and generally made things worse for myself. The start of our walk was quite fun over rocky ledges that dropped away to the churning river below. Our first crossing was chest deep on me and I carried my pack across on my shoulders. From there we had a steep uphill that kept going up. I was determined to keep up with the front group but no matter how fast I went the leading lady needed to be at the front and eventually I gave up. I was feeling really anxious about being left behind and my throat constricted so I couldn´t breathe. It was all a bit unecessary. Marty tried to be supportive but I was so grumpy it was hard for him. At the top of the hill we had pineapple then descended down to do a group of 7 river crossings in the valley that contained the Lost City. Before beginning the crossings we had lunch. A salad, the cook, Jose, whipped up right on the side of the river on giant leaves.  The crossings were fun and I began to cheer up a bit. It was nice to have cold water soothe the itchiness of the bites on my legs.

The final leg for the day was climbing the stairs to the Lost City. 1900 slippery, downhill sloping, tiny stairs. My whole foot was too big for most of the stairs and I think Marty must have only been able to fit his toes on them. We got up safely and I actually enjoyed the climb up. Emerging onto the terraces of the Lost City did feel like arriving into a lost jungle paradise. Clouds and drizzle acentuated the remoteness of it. The city itself is stunning. The main plaza or terraces were immaculately manacured with green grass. Apparently dignitaries are able to visit and land there in helicopters. Originally tourists did the same, but they pilfered so much of the ruins that now it is forbidden.

We went and showered and Marty and I made friends again after he read my dairy entry and worked out what my problem was. We went down into the Lost City and made videos of each other to send our parents. The mosquitos were unbelievable. Marty joked that Australian mosquitos are quite snobby - if they come across insect repellant they won´t bite it. Ciudad Perdida mosquitos were only deterred by layers of fabric they couldn´t reach through. After a very early dinner, the cook and guide left to spend the night with the caretakers and we played cards by candlelight for a while before retiring to the bliss of mattresses laid out on a multistoried building´s floor for us. I felt claustophobic under the insect net but being out from under it was worse. Eventually I fell asleep.

I woke up on the right side of bed - a blessing for everyone concerned and after fish and cheese tomales for breakfast, we packed our bags and followed our guide down to the Lost City for a tour. Wilmar, spoke Spanish so Norman, who could speak Spanish better than us, translated for us. The people who lived there had buillt such a steep staircase so the Spanish Inquistadors couldn´t ride their horses up. People who lived in the river valley below were killed by the Spanish and the inhabitants of the city were driven higher into the cloud forested mountains where they died of dieseases. I could easily see why as the jungle is a ferocious and unfriendly place for people. The Lost City was only discovered in the 60s by grave robbers and their squabbles over the spoils grabbed the attention of the government. Soon it was policed but after a few years when the police attention was needed elsewhere, tourists took what the grave robbers hadn´t. Now only a few broken mortars and pestles remain along the foundations of the round houses. Beneath the undergrowth many more ruins remain to be uncovered so there may well be more undiscovered treasure there.

The chief of the village we had seen the day before walked through and told our guide there would be a lot of rain so we left the city behind to try and get as far as possible before heavy rain hit. Actually the heavy rain held off and it was more of a soaking drizzle that began as we departed the beautiful lush terraces. Some clouds moved and we saw a waterfall above the city completing the idea of paradise - though one with serpents.

Going down the stairs wasn´t as bad as I thought it would be. Crossing the river in the valley below wasn´t too bad either though the rain was clearly swelling the waters. Going back over the steep clay track was slippery and hard work but quite fun. Water ran over the clay and it was a challenge to stay on our feet. Eventually we reached the big river near our camp. The rain by this time had swollen the river and we didn´t want to tackle the place we had crossed earlier without the guide to show us where. There was a cable car that some of our party had used earlier to cross but it looked completely dodgy. To get into it you had to jump into it off a ledge. It was made of a square metal frame with some rotting boards at the bottom. On the other side there was a steep slippery rock to step out on that fell to the river quite far below. We finally made up our minds to cross and Norman made it safely. He was going to help me out from the other side. I was about to step in when Wilmar came around the corner. He laughed when he saw what we were doing but said it was safe. He took the rope off Marty and when I got in he let it go really fast. I made the mistake of looking down at the churning waters below, but made it across safely with Norman´s help. Marty came across with our bags - then Wilmar crossed the river!

What a relief to get back to camp and put on dry clothes! Nothing that had got wet had dried out at all despite hanging it all out every night and it smelt like our things - including our packs were growing mushrooms. A couple of the local village people came and looked at the photos Marty had taken of the Lost City with me. It was really special for me to have local people want to communicate with me about something not involving money. Everyone went to bed after bean casserole adn pork sausages at around 7pm. I stayed up a little talking to Kevin about not much before retreating to my donkey urine soaked sleeping bag to read myself to sleep.

Marty swung my hammock to the accompionment of strange dreams before I tore myself from sleep. We had a more relaxed start this morning with a later breakfast. Two local village ladies came and talked to us. One introduced herself to me asking where I was from and telling me her name was Alicia. Her friend had a baby that was really ill and they were looking for medicine. When I saw the baby I cried as it looked quite horrific, Kevin also had a look and told them to take it to hospital straight away. They didn´t seem to understand the enormity of the illness. The mother was happy and laughing and it was soon obvious she wasn´t going to Santa Marta. The jungle truly is a harsh place to live.

We walked back down, then up, then down to our next camp. Walking up the hill was tough and when I stopped for a much needed water break I was swarmed by mosquitos. They bit me so ferociously I cried. My legs were a mass of welts that only cold water relieved. Fortunately for me, after that hill the going wasn´t so bad. We stopped at a lady selling coca cola and indulged ourselves. Ten minutes on we stopped for a lunch break. While we were waiting for the last people Marty and I walked down the river a little and found the best swimming hole. A waterfall poured into it - you could probably ride it down, and a rope ladder hung down the side of a huge rock to get back out. We both jumped in before returning for a hearty vegetable soup.

After lunch we visited a cocaine factory. It consisted of a little wooden shelter with a smooth dirt floor on which a large pile of coca leaves lay. A man talked us through the entire organic chemical process of extracting the cocaine. Although we had heard of other travellers trying the white paste they make, we weren´t keen to try. Apparently it numbs your mouth. We met another traveller later on who had smoked some and said it left his whole face and throat numb on two puffs. Leaving the finca, we walked back to the same place we had stayed on our first night, pausing at a small store on the way. There were rumours of an army patrol in the area so we were relieved they hadn´t found us on our illegal tour. Just after reaching the farmhouse it began to rain again. Despite a good dinner, it felt miserable with so many insect bites, wet smelly clothes and for Marty donkey urine smelling and for me BO smelling hammocks to bed down in. After a few rounds of cards we went to bed extremely late at 8:30pm!

A noisy rooster woke us well before dawn. It was the most leisurely morning on our hike and we stood around chatting. We were fed big, fatty, egg stuffed, corn tomales. I ate all of mine sure in the knowlegde it would all be burnt off on our walk out. Walking down the steep hill we began on, we met the army platoon in full fatigues. The poor guys! It was such a hot, humid day. Fortunately for us the soldiers were friendly and we exchanged greetings with most of them. Down at the bottom of the hill we swam in the town dam. Down here the water was a lot murkier but still great on the insect bites!

Wilmar´s entire family joined us in the bright landcruiser for the ride out so we packed in like sardines with a few guys up on the roof also. With the rain of the day before the road out was worse than ever and there were some pretty hairy moments, once again it was a relief to make it out. After fruit juices we drove back into Santa Marta and ran around trying to do errands but failing miserabley before we met our fellow hikers for one last dinner before going our separate ways. We had big juicy steaks with side plates of french fries and they tasted great!

 Our final morning in Santa Marta was spent trying to get hold of funds to purchase tickets out.  The travel agent who was dealing with us didn ´t know how to authorise the use of Marty´s visa so we spent hours  trying the bank and a large string of non-working ATMs before we finally  found one that let us take cash out. We were just in time to catch a 3pm flight to Bogota. The plane we ended up on was obviously for well to do Colombians and the extra leg room afforded us was put to good use by Martin with his long legs. The airport at Bogota was surprisingly modern and a travel agent there helped us book an early flight  from Lima to Cusco in Peru for the following morning. After a delicous though small portioned salad and pasta meal, we boarded another plane full of business people and good looking women, for Lima.

Our first day of sailing was idyllic for me. There was barely a breeze and the ocean was almost perfectly flat meaning that for once, even though I had the aid of travel sick pills, I wasn't sea sick. Occasionaly we had to use the engine but mostly were still able to get enough of a breeze to move along slowly. The guys dropped a line off the back of the boat and we caught 5 fish one after the other which we cooked up almost immediately for lunch. Jefe taught us a new technique of dripping one or two drops of alcohol into the fish gills to kill them immediately. It seemed much more humane than watching their bodies twitch for ages on end, even once they received their death blows.

Marty and I had been given a cabin in the stern of the slightly decripid boat. By decrepid I mean that the peeling paint continuosly attached itself to any exposed skin and the kitchen should not be invstigated closely. Washed but not clean, became the trademark saying of our voyage. Our crew mates consisted of two other couples, one French and Mexican match and the other from Perth, Australia, then an English backpacker completed the party. We also had the privelege of one small crab's company, a few bed bugs and a couple of cockroaches that discreetly found themselves set adrift over the side. Fabio was quickly replaced with the name Captain Jack Sparrow (Pirates of the Carribean), as he was the living image and personality of the Johnny Depp character, later this was replaced by the shorter Jefe ("boss" in Spanish). The lad from Perth had a guitar with him and he provided folk music as we drifted along.

We made the San Blas Islands in the early afternoon and had a quick swim in the warm, clear Carribean water over a small patch of sand amidst the reef, while Jefe took our passports onto one island to get our departure stamps for Panama. He came back fairly soon mentioning something about being glad they hadn't checked for his license to carry passengers as he didn´t have one. Sometimes, we think, it is best to turn a deaf ear. We were dropped off on the main island for an hour. It was awful. We were intruding and it soon became clear these people were very much interested in money not in strange guests to their island. Their houses were made of beautifully woven panels of bamboo, but admiring them was invasive. A dance group started dancing everytime we walked by in the hope we would take photos which they would then charge us for, and people hurriedly pulled their handicrafts out on display in hope of a sale. We were supposed to meet Jefe back at the dropoff point in one hour but a local person came and told us there was a change of plans and he now wanted to meet us at the other end of the island (only 2 minutes walk). He found us there a few minutes after our meeting time on foot, his dinghy at the original meeting place. I wonder how many people are got with that practical joke.

We were pleased to get off such an uncomfortable place (too reminiscent of a human zoo with niether the local people or the visitors enjoying the experience) and sail through the sunset to our anchorage in the lee of two small islands. Sailing in through a reef pass we found one island alight with bonfires. The fires flickered high and created an eerie atmosphere through the palm trees. It was easy to imagine how the early explorers felt as they came to strange new lands and witnessed similar sights.

The morning dawned on paradise. We were surrounded by the proverbial tropical desert islands with golden sands and coconut palms. If you were stranded on a desert island what would you take..... these were it! We were close enough to swim to shore were giant conch shells and coconuts were scattered on the sand. Giant coloured starfish sat in the shallows gleaming yellow and red. Marty and I took snorkels in the hope of snagging some lobsters but found only sand banks teaming with starfish nearby. There weren´t many fish in the water at all but Marty did see a ray of some sort jump out of the water from the deck of the boat.  We spent the day lazing in the sun, feasting on coconut flavoured rice and oven baked fish that the local family supplied us with and swimming. At around 3pm Jefe suddenly announced we were departing for another island. We didn't have the time to stow away anything or even take down the heavy canvas shade cloth before we were out in a stiff breeze with main sail and jib full of wind. At one point Jefe tried to tack but the shade cloth was hopelessly in the way. Most of us had hardly been on boats before so weren't much use. I was secretly relieved that Marty knew a bit about sailing as Jefe definitely needed a knowledgable hand fairly frequently.

Just as we came out through the reef pass, Jefe's friend on another boat came sailing in to the anchorage we were leaving. I think Jefe wanted to turn back but by now we were all keen to visit another island. We would have been better off to turn around as the new position was less sheltered and we had a much rougher night. However we passed it with a nice spaghetti dinner and an early night. Jefe proved an admirable chef with a new Italian pasta speciality every night.

The morning still held some wind and chop in the water. Jefe radioed his friend and we were soon under motor back to our original berth. We spent another day there lazing on hammocks strung between palm trees, swimming and reading. Marty joined the others for a game of football and some beach volleyball. We had a lunch of coconut rice, smoked fish and fried plantains. Delicous! Marty pulled starfish out of the water for me to take photos of and I had fun photographing the conch shells and even a coconut as well. The sand was white and the water clear looking turquoise and green off in the distance. As the day drew to a close we went back to our respective boats for dinner. After a couple of guitars were pulled out and we had fun making lots of noise. I dived into the water off the side of the boat and phospherence lit up around me as I swam back to the boat.

The sound of the yacht motor right next to our bed woke me at 5am the next morning as we began our voyage of 48 hours to Cartegena in Colombia. Out in the ocean the choppy waves soon had me sea sick and I spent a couple of hours hanging over the back of the boat then lying in a patch of shade on the deck trying my best not to die. Unusually Marty joined me this time but his recovery rate was a little quicker. Jefe cooked eggs for breakfast which didn`t last long with me and I missed my first watch on the tiller. However things got better. In the afternoon the wind dropped as did the swell and the water turned to glass. Magically I was able to move around again and took my first turn driving the boat. We had the motor going and there was a slightly faulty auto pilot that took control too - you just had to watch it to make sure it didn´t turn itself off.

We had another pasta dinner with eggs and cheese mixed in with a delicous potato and cabbage (an unlikely mix) salad. Marty and I had a sleep before our 10-12pm watch. When we came up on deck again the sky was full of stars. The auto pilot had fixed itself and wasn´t causing any problems so we sat there as shooting stars lit the sky. Once a large container ship came across the horizon toward us but turned away from our path. We saw two low flying aircraft too. One flew so low it must have only been 10m above the waves. We suspect it was a drug runner going beneath the radar. It buzzed us but moved on without causing any problems. At midnight we were more than ready to sleep again. We were up again for the 6-8am watch and everyone else woke up and joined us to watch the blood red sun rise over the flat ocean. One of the others dropped the fishing line over the side and we caught a dolphin fish. It was beautiful, a deep sky blue with yellow markings. The day was hot and I spent it trying to keep in the shade. In the kitchen jefe made flambie bananas. I was washing some dishes when he lit up the first pan full and nearly did a backward flip as the flames rushed up toward the low roof. They tasted like heaven - our first sweet food in days.

Slowly the sun moved across the sky then set streaking colours across the sky in all directions. At around 8pm the lights of Cartegena appeared on the horizon and the next few hours brought them closer and closer. A wind came up and we flew in under sail. All of us passengers sat packed into the stern or ´cockpit´as jefe called it. Eventually Marty and I went down for a nap but were woken an hour later by complete stillness. We went back up to find we had run aground on a sand bank. Jefe slowly nursed the Fenecia off and back into deeper waters. We passed about 10 meteres from a statue of what appeared to be a woman in a robe in Cartegena harbour. Jefe ran around like a mad thing but wasn´t communicating anything for us to do and we ran aground for a second time as we went on the wrong side of a channel marker. Once again Jefe managed to get it back off the sand bank and into deeper water and we put our anchor down next to his friend´s boat who won first place by at least an hour. (In the morning we found the anchor had been put down across someone elses but fortunately they were very graceful about it.) It was past midnight so we slept on the boat rather than go ashore in the strange city. In the morning we planned to get off early and find accomodation then meet Jefe back in the late afternoon to collect our passports with visas in them. The yacht club had made a new policy that it didn´t want backpackers hanging around and the customs officials didn´t want us to leave yet so we had to spend the morning sitting on the hot deck of the boat. Jefe went off to call his family and we couldn´t work out how to use the boat water filter so were feeling quite thirsty and bad tempered by the time a customs official came in a rubber dinghy to take us on shore. At the club we bought much needed lemonade and finally gained permission to go and get accomodation for the night. The plan was to meet back at 4pm to collect our passports. So now for Cartegena Colombia...

Crossing over the border of Panama was our first experience of why this part of the world has a reputation for being so corrupt. We were on an overnight bus from San Jose and were woken from deep sleep for the crossing. Firstly they didn´t want to accept Costa Rican money for the tourist visa payment. Panama uses the US dollar, but all the change houses were closed and there were no ATMs near the border. Eventually one of the guards found one of the dodgy street changers and watched exactly how much money we changed (only US $25 after border fees thank goodness) and we were able to get our visa. Next the guard wanted to see our onward ticket. A sign in the window said if you had a visa card it was sufficient but he was not going to let us through on that basis. After a lot of standing around and him waiting for us to offer a bribe which we didn´t, a tout said he could get us return tickets for $25US - ironically. He took our money, walked around the side of the building and gave it to the guard who in turn gave us a stamp to let us through. Later we found out this crossing is notorious. We weren´t the only ones who had troubles either, they were indiscriminate in who they tried to extort.

Panama City bus station was a wonder to behold. It was worthy of any Western country with a huge range of shops, cafes and the ever useful ATM machines. We had lost our Lonely Planet Guide back in Costa Rica and couldn´t remember the name of the hostal we wanted to stay at. We took a gamble and risked trusting a taxi driver to take us to a backpackers. Amazingly he took us to the exact one we wanted - it was named the Voyager. We wanted this one as it posted local yachties advertisements for crew or spaces for passengers to Cartegena. Marty emailed a few of the contacts then we spent the day sleeping (overnight bus trips are killers), and looking around at the shops. Panama shopping is amazing with clothes and goods really cheap. US products are half the price they are in the USA. Apparently a lot of the shops buy mystery containers from ships going through the canal and sell the goods off really cheaply. It was difficult not to shop for things we didn´t need but we resisted temptation.

The next day we visited the old area of the city reminiscent of Havana in Cuba. After exploring the colonial buildings for a while we went out to the Miraflores Canal Locks and enjoyed looking at the museum there. We watched the painfully slow process of 2 large container ships moving through the locks. They do it in 3 stages, each time opening new gates then lowering the water level to the next gate. It took well over an hour. Back at our hostel we joined some other travellers for Chinese food. It is always fun to hear others stories and it was a good night.

The next morning we met Fabio Massimo, captain of the Fenicia. A crazy Italian who is sailing around the world with his family, he had sent them home to Rome for a couple of months and was looking for backpackers to take down to Cartegena via the Sans Blas Islands. The Sans Blass have a reputation for being the last untouched Carribean Islands where the local people fiercely defend their lifestyle and have thrown off various invaders who have tried to take over. At one point the islanders were driven off their islands deep into the moutains of the mainland but when the police left to help with the building of the Panama Canal, the islanders came down and slaughtered everyone regaining their land. Ever since they have been left alone apart from a recent influx of yachties and their backpacker passengers who buy the local crafts and trade for coconuts. Actually we heard they weren´t interested in money preferring to trade in goods. 

Over the day we found the 7 people Fabio was looking for and at around 4pm we left for the Port of Mira Bella just off Colon. On the way we stopped for supplies at a huge supermarket. From there we rentd a truck for the 45 minute drive through the early evening darkness to the anchorage of Mira Bella. After a locally cooked dinner of lentils, rice, octopus stew and plantanas, we puttered out on an inflatable dinghy through phospherence in the water to spend our first night in a king sized single fitted down in the stern of the Fenicia. It was strange to be lying in a bed hearing water lapping right by my head. In the morning at pre-dawn we woke to see the stunning Mira Bella anchorage slipping away in an early morning haze.

Crossing into Costa Rica from Nicaragua by Tica bus was time consuming but problem free. We didn´t have our bags searched like everyone else (the customs official is probably sick of smelly backpacker clothes), and we didn´t even get asked for an onward ticket which is just as well as we didn´t have one. Over the border we took several connections to get up to the cloud forests of Monteverde. The road up was windy and the scenery stunning. The farms we passed looked prosperous and well cared for, which was a refreshing change from the íf it functions don´t touch it´ approach that Central America lives by. Occasionaly we had glimpses out to the Pacific Coast over hills and small plains. As always, it felt good to be in the mountains again.

In Monteverde we checked into the Pension Santa Helena with friendly English speaking staff. On their recommendation we had dinner at a pizzeria around the corner and had a great night talking to an American couple on holiday as well as meeting another fellow Australian, Graham, who we hiked the cloud forest with the next day.

To see the cloud forest it was recommended we take the first 6am bus up and get a guide at 7am. We did this and arrived before the park staff so sat around trying desperately to wake up. Finally someone arrived to open the coffee shop were we where able to sample some of the local products (cheeses, meats and coffee) before joining a guided group. Our guide was great - he pointed out a lot we would have missed from humming bird nests to orchids so small you almost need a magnifying glass to see them. Later Graham and a pilot named Nachelle from Canada hiked with us through the forest. We saw monkeys and wierd bugs. It was surreal to have cloud settle down around us as we hiked.

Back in town Nachelle and I went and did a tour of an orchid garden which was beautiful and extremely interesting. Orchids are trecherous flowers that lure insects in to pollinate them but give the insect nothing in return. I finally got to see what a Lady´s Slipper looks like and find out all sorts of interesting facts and bits of history like in the 1800s ladies weren´t even allowed to look at orchids because of the sexual connotations they denote. This tour, which lasted about an hour or 2, was the longest Marty and I have been apart since we began our journey. That night Marty cooked gnocchi for dinner then we joined Graham and Nachelle to watch Red October up in a cafe a few minutes walk from the hostel.

The next morning we said goodbye to our new friends and took a jeep-boat-jeep trip to La Fortuna, a small town dwarfed by the Mt Arenal Volcano. Our jeep turned out to be a mini-van packed with travellers. On the way to the lake we had to cross we stopped at a tea shop where a pet parrot kept us entertained - spinning around it´s perch and climbing all over Marty. Our boat ride across the lake was in a small open skiff and afforded us a good view of the cloud covered volcano. That afternoon we joined a tour that walked us up through some rain forest to a lookout of the volcano where, just on dark, we could see tongues of red lava stream down from under the clouded top. We saw a sloth for the first time as well as more howler monkeys. We then went and sampled one of the local hot spring resorts that feed from Arenal. The spring we went to had about 20 pools, one hot enough it would have burnt the skin off you if you made the mistake of going in. We spent most of our time in one of the coolest pools. It was a fun night, but a little disappointing the cloud never cleared to give us a view of the glowing top.

Originally our plan had been to go south of San Jose and hike up Cerro Chirripo for one night but we had some communication difficulties with our reservation - even with the help of a bilingual speaker calling for us - so we flagged that idea and headed for Panama City instead.