Sorry, updates will come...

To anyone still wondering what we're up to and where we've gone - all is good, just adapting back to the UK, but I do intend to finish up the blog with the final leg of the trip etc. In the meantime, check out this article. Its been an amazing week for UK climate activists!
http://www.guardian.co.uk/environment/blog/2009/oct/12/climate-activists-campaigns-greenpeace

11 month trip around South America completed...without setting foot on a plane!

After 15 days and a combination of cargo ship, bus and ferry, we arrived safely in the port of Harwich, UK, on saturday the 19th September. Expect full updates and loads of new photos very soon...x

Bullock's bollocks

The Labour party MP and Mayor of Lewisham Steve Bullock recently wrote a load of old bollocks about The Camp for Climate Action on his blog, comparing climate change activists to football hooligans:
http://www.labouronline.org/wibs/167209/?PageId=2a815d3a-a0ad-aa24-01ec-ceb6b6bbd069

I felt obliged to respond with an email direct to Sir himself. Here's what I said:

Dear Mr Bullock

I am writing in response to your recent ignorant remarks about The Camp for Climate Action. Your comparison of climate campers to violent football thugs is an absolutley disgraceful insult to the diverse, caring, well-informed and peaceful people who make up this extraordinary movement.

Would you have said the same about the Sufferagette movement had you been around to witness their 'selfishness'? And how about the civil rights movement, with that thug-like Martin Luther King?

You say that you believe that the climate change activism movement is counter productive? In what way? Did you miss the last few years worth of positive media coverage about the camp? Did you fail to see how each year the camp has brought the atrocious desicions made by your party into the limelight, such as the expansion of Heathrow or the breath of new life delivered to the coal industry?

Or maybe that is the point. Maybe the fact that these pesky environmentalists are continuosly highlighting the absolute double standards and hypocrisy your party demonstrates in it's climate change policy is the cause of the bee currently residing in your bonnet. You claim to be 'desperately worried' about climate change. So desperately worried that you continue to represent a party who wishes to continue business as usual, with total expansion of airports and building new coal-fired power stations? Are you aware of the work of the world's body of climate scientists?

And please tell me, how will the camp be seen as 'self indulgent' by those currently 'struggling through the recession'? I imagine many of the those affected by the current economic situation may feel some sympathy to a movement which is highlighting and criticising the flawed system which put them into that situation in the first place.

And finally, as if to prove your lack of knowledge about the camp, you air your concerns about the 'repair of the Heath' and collection of rubbish. The carefully organised waste sorting system will make recycling a straightforward affair for the local council, and will serve as a demonstration of good waste management to those visiting from the local area, therefore helping to meet local recycling targets. Locals will be encouraged to visit the camp and participate in a wonderful range of environmental workshops and activities, including activities for the children, making for a great local bank holiday event. So far, after every climate camp, the land has been left in an equal, if not better state than it had been found. This has been noted upon by the landowners of previous camps.

I do hope that you plan to visit this year's camp. You never know, you may learn a thing or two!

Kind regards,

Lewis McNeill

Ps. In further posts you may like to consider using a spell-check. Peopel may pick up on it.

The end is nigh; homeward bound.

I must apologise for my recent slackness in writing anything. I'm way behind, and am once again writing from Colombia, having swiftly traversed the length of Ecuador. The reason I've not written much has not only been our recent push north, but also because all our internet time has been spent applying for jobs back in the UK. With the end of out journey in sight, we've been looking for answers to 'what next'? I applied for a Climate Change Co-ordinator position with an organisation in Leeds. I spent a fair amount of time on the application, and the presentation I had to prepare once I was short-listed for an interview (which was conducted via Skype), but didn't get the job. Undeterred I've appled for two more since, and am waiting for replies. Colette also spotted an opportunity; a placement with Amnesty International. Her application won her a phone interview, and again we await the result.

So really we've been planning the next chapter of our lives, and as a result our minds and hearts have not really been in the 'here & now'. A couple of months ago we'd begun to miss home a little, and even though we've had great times since, the feeling hasn't really subsided. I suppose there comes a point in all big trips where you just feel like you've run out of steam. The thought of a 30- hour bus ride to new lands just doesn't hold the same appeal it once did, the new landscapes and scenes no longer seeming so new.

I really thought that I'd got the job, and had begun planning the journey home. Despite being unsuccessful, I feel that there are too many opportunities for a job passing by at the moment, and being so far away without the power of flight may be hindering my application. Hopefully Colette will get her position, but it would begin in September.

We feel ready to return, and so we've booked our cargo passage home. We will board the ship on September 6th in Cartagena, Colombia, and 13 days later or so we should be back in the UK. We're very excited!

I've still got a bit of catching up to do, so I'll be writing a few more posts, including the advice on cargo ship travel that I've been promising from the start, as well as the 'very incomplete guide to vegetarian eating in South America'.

In the meantime I'm planning to leave civilisation for a few days to enjoy our final week in Colombia; we're off to the beautiful Playa Blanca to camp, swim and laze around in hammocks drinking rum. And then we take the ship to the Dominican Republic for some final Caribbean fun before crossing the Atlantic once more.

The clean-burning stove project: life in the Peruvian sticks (Soundtrack: Santiago, Santiago, Santiago)

The clean burning stove project was one of the few projects that we'd known about before setting off and had wanted to take part in. The organisation builds highly efficient eco-stoves in the homes of the villagers of San Juan del Iscos, near the city of Huancayo. The idea is simple: the stoves both reduce high rates of respiratory disease sustained by the villagers (due to smoke-filled cooking areas associated with cooking on an open fire in an enclosed space) and reduce local deforestation, as less fire wood is required for the more efficient new stoves.


We were fortunate with our timing. The day we arrived in the little village was the first day of the year's biggest event, the Fiesta of the village saint; Santiago. The men & boys of the village were all dressed in a unique uniform of knee-high Maralyn Manson type boots, combat trousers, blue blazers, yellow capes and perculiarly hats adroned with colourful feathers.


They wandered around holding what could be described as mini whips, swilling beer from little plastic cups and emitting manic, high-pitched laughter (this 'Santiago cackle' became a tad tedious during our stay). The Cholitas were dressed in their finest home-spun dresses of amazing colours and their traditional hats. They were all so warm and welcoming. Before I knew what was happening I was adorned with my very own yellow cape, a whip was shoved into one hand, a beer into the other and it was demanded I join in with the general cackling and dancing. The dance, like those we'd experienced of the indigenous people of Bolivia, consisted of steady shuffle around in pairs of two, with the occasional 360 swirl. It's slightly less challenging than, say, Tango, but nevertheless the locals seemed impressed with our natural ability! One tradition involved a local youth climbing a 40 ft tree trunk, dislodging the fruit and beer that had been hung along its length, to reach the basket of goodies that hung at its zenith. I was so releived that no one asked me, the visiter of the village, to get up there myself. At one point, different groups of visiters battled each over in the main square. It was a bizarre event, and we still haven't worked out its trus significance. They wore very non-PC masks meant to resemble the African slaves who were brought over by the Spanish, and we gathered that this was something to do with the whips. The men from different villages entered the centre of the square in the uniforms and masks, fooling around in a very slapstick manner pretending to be bumbling oaths, much to the amusement of the hundreds of onlookers. Then, a 'referee' would appear inbetween them, before they began thrahing each other with the whips. After a brief tussle which each time looked like it might boil over into a full on braul they would give each other a manly hug, and walk off together, leaving the next two in line to begin. For the second time that day i was glad to have been left out of tradition.

It was clearly quite novel to have a few gringos present and everywhere we went people invited us to sit down and drink with them. There's a bit of an etiquette involved. Take the bottle of beer and fill the communal plastic cup provided. Pass the bottle to whoever you select to take the next drink before nodding in their direction and saying "salud pappi" before downing the beer, flicking away the foamy dreggs and passing them the cup. A few people we'd come accross in parts of Peru seemed to associate foreigners with swine flu. It certainly wasn't an issue here as the foamy little cups circulated from mouth to mouth.

The people were some of the friendliest we've met on the trip. They would tow us around making sure we'd met all of their families and several even invited us to the dances thay were holding at their houses as part of the festivities.

That was our introduction to San Juan de Iscos, and we were promised that the best of the partying was still to come. We were introduced to our host family of the week, a stout Cholita called Maruha, her elusive husband whose name I forget and their daughter Katty.

The accommodation was just as traditional as we'd hoped; a modest farm house made from adobe mud bricks, complete with two cows, two puppies, a pig, a sheep, and about 400 guinipigs, all of which were bundled into the small yard every night for safe keeping. We shared our bedroom with another volunteer. I had the top bunk, which lay about a metre underneath the bare wooden beams and broken tiles which let narrow streams of light penetrate the otherwise dark room during the day. Sometimes I'd wake to find little piles of brick dust on my pillow, dislodged by a mouse or early morning bird on the roof above.

We happily settled into the daily routine of life on the farm. Each morning I'd wake at about 5am to the hideous sound of a local donkey who quite clearly thought it was a cockrel. I'd hop out of my bunk (whilst Colette slept on, being the earlybird she is) and wander out into the fresh morning air to visit the toilet; an outhouse accross the lane with a classic squat-over-the-hole-in-the-ground model loo. Then I'd shovel up the impressive quantity of offerings left by the cows on the yard floor during the night, before feeding the ungrateful, squeeling guini-herds. Of course guinipigs are a delicacy here in Peru and so our family have a bit of a scheme going on with around 10 pens of the little blighters.

Then, after a carbohydrate-packed breakfast (sometimes consisting of chips and rice!), we'd attempt to milk the cows. There's definately a knack to it, its all about the rythm 'n' squeeze. After that we sometimes helped to cut some grass for the animals, using little hand scythes. The tools used in these parts are all manual, including the ox-drawn ploughs. I'll definately be purchasing one of these effieicant little scythes for future allotment adventures.

By 9am we'd be finished with the chores, and ready to meet with the local primary school kids for classes. The schools had been shutdown due to the old swine flu, so the organisation had agreed to hold classes in a little eucalyptus wood nearby. From 9.30-12.oo we'd teach environmental education and english, and sometimes play a bit of footie. It was really good fun, and the kids loved our recycled craft activities. I came up with a deforestation session, aimed at backing up the stove project, which involved an adaptation of musical chairs where another tree had been chopped down each time the music (my harmonica) had stopped.

In the afternoons we'd get down to the nitty gritty; making the stoves. We'd walk to the home of whoever had arranged to have a stove built (there was a list in order of priority - those deemed to need a stove most urgently would be selected first), carrying a couple of sections of tin chimney and a steel 'counter' which forms the upper surface of the stove. All the villager had to do was be ready with a pile of 'barro' (mud made from clay-like mud and donkey crap), a couple of large adobe bricks, and about 20 normal bricks.

Making the stove first involved the destruction of the existing stove. this could be pretty hard work, as the kitchens were generally cramped and dark, with little ventilation. Due to years of cooking with no chimney, the walls and ceiling around the stove were caked in thick soot which formed stalacmite-like formations. We'd have to use a mattock to break up the bricks, many of which were still hot from lunchtime, making the still air thick with ash and soot. We'd be blowing black dust from our noses for days afterwards.

Then came the fun bit. After levelling out the ground you must grab handfulls of barro and slap it onto the ground before placing the adobe bricks on top. Each new layer of bricks needed a new layer of barro lobbed on, sending splatterings of mud everywhere. We'd come away caked in the stuff. Finally we'd add the counter, fit the chimney, and then use the rest of the mud to seal any gaps and smooth the whole thing over. They look amazing. We hope to bring this skill back with us, with Colette's mum being the first in line for a free installment in the garden!

Usually the owner of the house would put on some tea or pour us tin mugs of homemade Chicha, a drink made from fermented maize. We'd clean ourselves up, sip our drinks and admire our new creation, each stoves being slightly different in structure from the last.

One grateful old chap invited us back for breakfast on the following saturday at 7.30. Unable to refuse the offer, we headed back there for the agreed time, after being w
I loved life in the country. We soon felt like part of the community and helped out where we could. Every Wednesday afternoon the community gets together to share out tasks, help each other harvest the crops oken up to the increasingly tedious sounds of Santiago music at 4am. Unlike the recorded music which would blare from the neighbours house from about 7am, this was a live band. Four o'clock in the morning! We anticipated that the breakfast may involve some kind of meat and so we'd decided that we would eat what we were given so as not to offend. I think we were both secretly hoping for some tasty free-range bacon, sliced from the family swine merely minutes before serving. It was not to be. We were sat down right next to the CD player which was pumping Santiago at full blast, manic laughter n all. And then he lovingly placed our breakfast before us; bowls of hot water containing pieces of chunky corn and what appeared to be some kind of internal organ. I identified the grey, papilated slithers as stomach lining. We'd seen many of them hanging on the washing lines of those we during our installation trips, drying out in the sun alongside other miscallaneous internal organs and smalls. Well I say 'smalls', but as a general rule the Cholitas are far from petite. Bravely we began to slurp, chew and gulp, with forced smiles and "muy bien"'s. Colette was in fact far braver than I, finishing every last drop. Lets just say I was happy at the arrival of the family cat...
from the communal land and prepare the goods for sale in the nearest town. All profitss are shared. Socialism at work.

Like in many of the more rural places we've visited, the rural folk of Iscos are very much aware of the rapidly changing climate. As people who spend long days out in the fields they are very connected to the outdoor environment and more sensitive than most to the change. Many told me about the times when they can no longer work during the day, due to the intense heat. They pointed to the distant glacier that sits above the city of Huancayo, telling me that when they were young you couldn't see any of the dark rock beneath the ice. Now about half of the visible mountain top has its rock exposed to the sun. Before, the light coloured ice would reflect the sun's heat and keep the glacier cool. Now the dark surface of the rock absorbs more of the heat, melting more of the ice around it in a self-enforcing process known as a 'positive feedback'. Other examples of these phenomena are of course being observed in sea ice, with the melted ice being replaced with dark ocean water which in turn absorbs more heat. It's the people like those living in Iscos, who live low impact lifestyles and have done the least to cause anthropocentric climate change, who will be the ones who first feel its brunt.

One day, as we returned to the house we were met by the sound of an ongoing, hideous scream. We identified the awful noise as pig. Realising it was our friendly pig Thomas, we rushed back to find him pinned down by three men, whilst another held a nasty looking sharp object. It was time for Thomas to bid farewell to his testicles. It was pretty grim. There didn't seem to be any anesthetic involved. We couldn't watch. Thomas was just not his friendly self for days. I understood completely.

Our last day just so happened to coincide with the final Santiago blow-out. People from as far away as Lima had come to witness the festivities. There was plenty more dancing and Santiago laughter. This time different families teamed up in their best threads to 'battle' each other with group dances in the square. One family that we'd befriended insisted that we join their family as part of their dance, as were 'good dancers'. There were no traditional costumes left, so they tied my hoodie around me like a sash, and popped a Cholita hat on me as there were no 'man-hats' left, and I was left to prance around in a distinclty less macho manner. The dance was a success, and our presence was enjoyed by the crowd, although we never did find out who won. Later that evening we had to take the bus to Lima. After saying goodbye to our family, and the many other lovely people who'd made us feel so welcome, we took the bus to Huancayo, and then the night coach to Lima.

Climate Camp - a video response to the London MET's request for information!!!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7gKRl5lsPOA

Have you voted for this year's 'Britain's got direct action'?!

Have your say on which of our celebrity coal-fired power stations will get a visit from activistd this october!

http://climatecamp.org.uk/press/2009/08/08/activists-launch-public-online-vote-to-choose-a-coal-plant-to-shut-down

http://www.thegreatclimateswoop.org/?q=about

...and why? Because...

"Apartheid didn’t collapse, people got together and struggled, and sang, and persisted. Women weren’t given the vote, they joined with each other and made universal suffrage essential. And so it goes. It’s a well-worn argument, but that doesn’t make it less right. Most of the freedoms we enjoy today have been won by people stepping out of line to make the world a better place by taking back power. And this means confronting the powerful who wish to preserve the status quo. Climate change won’t just go away until we, that’s you and me, get together and create moments of resistance and celebration that break through this grey, complacent slide towards catastrophe".

An interesting debate of an apocolyptic nature....

http://www.guardian.co.uk/commentisfree/cif-green/2009/aug/17/environment-climate-change

Climate camp sets up in Wales

http://www.guardian.co.uk/environment/blog/2009/aug/12/climate-camp-cymru-blog
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/uk_news/wales/8198012.stm

Paro in Peru - stuck in a blockade again

We decided to go straight to the capital, Lima, from Cuzco and found some cheapish ticksts at the station. The journey was to take around 20 hours, starting at 8pm. As is quite common in these parts the journey was a roller coaster ride with the bus rattling along at full speed round winding mountain roads, despite the thick night fog. After the initial anxiety, as per usual we were able to salvage some very broken sleep until the early hours.


At around 3am the coach stopped. At first I thought it was a loo break, and fell back into a slumber, happy that the stationary vehicle would offer a better prospect of sleep. But as the day of light increased, a glimpse through the window revealed that we were one of maybe 40 coaches bumper to bumper, sitting along a road in the middle of nowhere. It was quite clear that we were stuck in a blockade, or 'Paro'.

In the previous month there had been a series of high profile paros in Peru, targeting the main routes between the major cities. I'm still not completely sure about what they have been in opposition to, although I know some may have been in response to the horrendous government masacre of indigeous people in the Amazon back in June (see earler 'News roundup' post) , and others against the government's water privatisation proposals.

At the front of the line I could make out group of people and a small plume of black smoke. Wiping the sleep from my eyes I grabbed the camera and went to investigate. There were groups of people engaged in heated arguments between those responsible for the blockade and those caught up in it. The scenery combined with the filthy black smoke form the burning tires on the roadside created a post-apocolyptic, Mad Max II -like scene. There were a group of men with a crowbar trying to dislodge a huge boulder that sat on an embankment a few metres above the road. I asked a few people what it was all about. Some said lack of jobs, others mentioned that the main road through the nearby town needed serious work, and that it had done for 15 years; the people of the town had taken advantage of a strike on the previous day to finally send a powerful message the government -get on with it!

As the time passed, tensions began to run high as patience dwindelled. Occasionally someone one would begin to roll or kick rocks off the road, only to be met by the angry, old Cholitas (indig enous women), who imediately began to replace each rock with 3 more. At one point, a rock-throwing battle broke, initiated by some idiot teenagers. There was a lot of shouting and people began moving back out of the wa y, and a few of the vehicles at the front reversed out of the danger zone. I scuttled higher up the embankment from which I viewed the situation, along with many other spectators. It was all over pretty quickly, with the offending youths retreating high among the rocks, perching like baseball-capped v ultures. Thankfully, despite the high tension of the situation, that was the only violent incedent of the day.

We spent the rest of the day chatting with other bemused travellers (many of which were on their way to catch a flight) and sitting in the sun relaxing. It was a fine place to be stuck in a blockade. People began to eat their lunches on the grass and, to our disappointment, followed the local tradition of using any availabl e place of natural beauty as a bin. We d ecided to try and set an example by wandering around bagging the litter. Some looked shocked whilst others, the bus driver included, sniggered and made snide remarks. It did have the desired effect though; a lady with her children came up to us thanked us, pressing her children to follow our example, and shortly afterwards we saw others picking up wrappers and bottles too.

During the day we'd become concern ed about the many children caught up in this - would they really make us stay put throughout a cold night with no heating or supplies? During one of the many community debates and meetings which took place on the frontline, I had my say. I too am an activist, I said, and am supportive of peaceful direct action when the government continuosly fails to listen to the people. But surley holding up young mothers and babies, without water or food is unfair, and no way to drum up sympathy and support for the cause?.

The day went on, and the radio reports m ade their various predictions for how long it would last, the favourite being 48 hou rs (this was bac ked up by the "VIVA EL PARO! 48 HORAS"! grafitti that had been painted on the windscreens of each vehicle hours before. Supprisingly the police were nowhere to be seen for most of the day. I couldnt help but imagine the police response on the UK if a major route had been blockaded! Helicopters, video cameras and truncheons all round. The light began to dwindle, and we began to wander if it really would last so long. Then , suddenly the coach engines started up one by one. They were letting us through! We had been there for 16 hours!

So, the 20 hour journey had turned into one of 36, so we were happy to reach a hostel in the early hours mist of Lima. The plan was to sleep for an hour, find migration to sort out our illegal status, and then head off to begi n a voluntary project in a rural village; making ecological stoves out of mud and donkey shit.

Climate Camp Video

Oh yeah, did I mention how amazing The Camp for Climate Action is and how you should go this month?
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FWk6_iN3o2Y

Machu Picchu

Originally we'd planned to find the ruins of Machu Picchu by ourselves, bypassing the plethora of tour agencies and following the route in our own time. However we'd met some people who had recommended the 'jungle tour' which included some mountain biking and trecking all for a pretty decent price. I was well up for the cycling bit, so in the end we booked onto a tour.

Our group was a nice varied bunch, made up of a couple from Oz, another from Barcelona, a couple of comedy welsh fellas, a guy from South Korea, and a bunch of rowdy young Chilean cousins.

On the first day we travelled high up into the mountains to Abra Malaga (4316 m) where we were surrounded by the snowcapped Huacay Willca Mountains. Here we were issued our bikes, helmets and gloves, and began a two hour descent, bombing through different ecological zones at a crazy speed. I loved it! It's been a while since I've mounted my trusty stead, the majestc Raleigh Mantaray, and I've certainly never reached speeds like that before. At times it felt like 'Tour de France', the 15 of us cruising down, passing each other and various other groups along the way. The views were awsome. It made for pretty good buzz and has wet my appetite for more mountain biking. Can't beat a good bit of wholesome, carbon-free fun! As we descended the temperature rose, the insects began to sing and the sweet unmistakable scent of tropical forest became frequent. That night we stayed in the small town of Santa Maria, which felt to us a bit like Colombia, and where the local kids seem to play volleyball twenty four hours a day.

The next day was on foot. We walked for many hours, climbing narrow paths which ascended through the forest, passing the remote homes of banana growing families. It was a pretty tough day, which made the natural hot springs all the more rewarding when we got there. We stopped for the night in another tiny town, and all went out for some food and cocktails.

Next day was a 4am start, and we continued along the sacred valley of the Incas, following the beautiful Urubamba river and a disused railway track. It was a nice walk, and we reached the town of Aguas Calientes in good time, where we relaxed for the afternoon.

The next morning we started at about 3am and hiked up to the entrance of the ruins. It was pretty tough going, steep step after steep step for about 2 hours, along with the hoards of others making the same pilgramage. By the time we reached the top, there were probably eighty or so people already there, from all over the world and by the time we were allowed to enter the crowd probably swelled to about three hundred.

The 'Lost city of the Incas' were every bit as impressive as the pictures, and being there for the sunrise was nice, especially as only a fraction of the 2500 or so daily visiters were clambering around at that point.

The Incas had commenced its construction around AD 1430 as a kind of exclusive dwelling for the Inca rulers (although there are various theories about its purpose), but was abandoned a hundred years later as the Spanish pushed futher into the territory on their bloody conquest, although it turned out they had'nt even known about it anyway. Consequently they did'nt destroy it like the many other significant inca settlements they left smashed in their wake.

Most people queue for the twice daily opportunity to climb up Wayna Pichu mountain, which over looks the ruins. After hearing tails of irate tourists fighting tooth and nail to make it for the 200 places allowed, we decided to climb the less often visited Machu Picchu mountain, which stands at the oposite end of the ruins and is much higher, offering an even more spectacular view. And it was worth it. After our sweaty, heart-pounding ascent in the mid-day heat, we were rewarded with a really special view, and spent a few hours up there. To make the day even more memorable, our Australian friend proposed to his girlfriend on the way up, to the cheers of our motley crew! Luckily for us, the sun shone all day with no cloud or mist to obscure the view. All in all it was a wicked trip with a great group of people.

Border crossings - illegal aliens in Peru (Soundtrack: Sting - Englishman in Peru)

We returned to Copacabana had a quick breakfast, went to the book exchange for new reading material and then did a bit of haggling for bus tickets to the city of Cusco, Peru. Unfortunately the official at the border didn't agree with our calculation of 90 days as the total of our duration in Bolivia - he counted 91 days (including the day we arrived as one whole day, as opposed to one day being 24 hours after the moment we arrived). So, we had to join the naughty line to await our charge of about one quid fifty each. The meagre penalty itself we could have lived with - it was what happened afterwards that became a ball ache. As we'd had to spend extra time queuing in two queues we were quite far behind in line, and most of the people from our bus had moved on. The bus conductor was getting impatient and moved us to the front to get our stamp, telling us to hurry up. We got our stamps boarded the bus once more. It wasn't until we had almost reached our destination that we realised that we'd only recieved our exit stamp from Bolivia, and not our entry stamp for Peru! Whilst we had been waiting to pay our fine (which we shouldn't have had to pay in the first place) our fellow passengers had dissapeared, not to the bus as we'd thought, but to another office to get their entry stamps. No one had told us about the other office and we'd been rushed through. So we were illegal aliens in Peru.


As we passed through vast expanses of open fields the air became jet-black with smoke from huge areas of burning grass; some kind of natural pasture burning for grass renewal. It gave the impression of traveling through a war-torn country dotted with the smouldering remains of bombed-out villages.

We arrived in Cusco late and managed to find a fairly cheap hotel despite the 'historical centre of Peru' being possibly one of the most tourist-driven places in South America, due to it's history as the capital of the Inca empire and its close proximity to Machu Picchu.

Despite it being completely over-run with visiting foreigners (ourselves included of course), with over 850,000 visiting in 2007 alone, and with all the high brow accommodation and restaurants to cater for them, Cusco is a pretty nice city. There's plenty of nice old colonial architecture and narrow cobbled roads and stone walls (many of which were built by the Incas), and the many plazas are always bustling. You do get sick to death of the countless people trying to sell you dinners and massages though, prompting the creation of the Irish bar's 'NO GRACIAS!' T-shirt. There were few street parades during our time there and we visited an art exhibition of giant paper mache swine-flu related pigs!

We found respite from the masses in the local semi-open air market, where each we'd start by eating breakfast with the locals. This would consist of a couple of Tamales (steam cooked corn dough, sweet or savoury, wrapped in a corn husk) and bad coffee, and maybe an egg buttie for good measure.

Due to the daily turn over of visiters using Cusco as base to visit Machu Picchu, there's a pretty good night life, with several clubs lining the central plaza. On our second night I asked around to see if I could get a gig or two and soon enough I'd been invited to play at 4 clubs the following night!

The first one had a really nice layout with the booth up on a balcony looking down onto the crowd below. Some classic Hip Hop and Funk coaxed out a couple of B-boys and soon enough there was a battle going on, much to the delight of the circle of onlookers. Thats the first time I've played to the B-boys in a while and it felt good, reminding me of the K0 Rockin'It days! Just shame I was playing on the most basic of CD decks - I was itchin' for a scratch! In the second I played mainly breaks and a bit of reggae, and ended up playing for a good 4-5 hours, so I never made it to clubs 3 and 4!

We booked the mandatory trip to Machu picchu. We chose the 4-day 'jungle tour' which would involve one day of bombing down a mountain on a bike and a few days trecking through the jungle to get to the ancient site. We'd originaly wanted to do it alone, without a tour, but the price was pretty reasonable and I was well up for some mountain biking. So we packed our bags and got ready for some serious walking.....