In Puerto Rico, we fly kites

Last week I decided to fly the Mexican nest for an adventure a little further afield, to visit my friend Imogen who is currently on her study abroad semester in Martinique. En route I even managed to fit in a cheeky stop over in the lovely island of Puerto Rico, where I couchsurfed one night with an energetic local called Omar, who did an incredible job of showing me around the old town in the short time I had.

It actually took three connecting flights to get to Martinique, which meant I also got to have breakfast in Miami at TGI Friday's. Yuuuuuuummy.

Most of my time in Puerto was spent simply wandering around the town (and I do love a good wander, me) hopping in and out of various bars, cafes and even an arts university. Omar knew just about anyone and everyone we bumped into, making the 'local' experience that I love about couchsurfing all the more authentic. One place in particular that we stopped off at was a bar that had once been Pedro Albizu Campos's house, one of Puerto Rico's most important revolutionaries (if not the most important, or at least that's the impression I got!) It was really interesting for me to see as one of my modules at university is the Revolutions of the 20th Century, and there I was in his house, seeing the bullet holes in the wall and original newspaper clippings from the time.

Some of the street art around the city. Of course I had to get a touristy picture next to the Puerto Rican flag.

Beautiful little cobbled streets and colourful buildings.

Whilst we were sitting having a drink at the plastics school, I noticed there were dozens of kites hanging from the trees in the courtyard. My first thought was that it was some kind of design or artsy statement, after all it is an arts university, but my ponderings were soon answered by Omar as we walked across the beach (which is located just outside the school, making it one of the most picturesque places to study I have ever encountered).

'When you're a kid in the UK, your dad takes you to play soccer, right? And in the States they throw a football. Well here in Puerto Rico, we fly kites.'

Father and son kite flying time.

A good portion of our time was spent exploring what Omar called the 'barrio' which literally translates to 'neighbourhood' or 'suburb'. The difference between the barrio streets and those in the centre of Old San Juan were immediately evident; much more miss-matched and improvised much like those that I've grown accustomed to in my beloved Mexico, splattered with vibrant graffiti creating a unique atmosphere on every corner. It was clear that the houses where not of a government funded project, but each had been individually laboured over by its owner, creating a beautiful maze of colour and shapes as we wound ourselves through the higgledy-piggledy network of homes, corner stores and bars. Perhaps it was the complete rawness of the place and the people, or the utter disorganised organisation that pulsed from every wall, but this is the part of San Juan that really stole my heart. The part that isn't done up for the tourists, but the real, gritty Puerto Rico.

And LOOK where it is located. Just, wow.

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We continued our tour of the town, stopping by a few bars on the way of course, and thus my sampling of local cuisine began. The food was great, especially this fried plantain/potato/meat combo called 'Alcapuria' (pictured below) and a very fancy looking prawn cocktail with plantain crisps. Basically all the plantains, which is funny for me because the only other Puerto Rican guy I've ever known used to bring plantains to every potluck dinner we had... It would appear that some stereotypes really are true.

Omar telling me to 'pretend to eat it' for the picture, until we realised that it kinda just looked like a giant, deep-fried penis (it is nicknamed 'El Bisexual'), which of course I couldn't stop laughing about for several hours.

Although the food was great I can't say the same for the beer. As Puerto Rico is technically part of the United States (but also not at the same time, apparently not even people from the island understand exactly how this works), unfortunately they have the same crappy 'light beer' that they have in the States, which basically just tastes like beer flavoured water. I'm sorry guys, European beer is still the best. However, unlike in the States, it was relatively inexpensive and they didn't check my I.D. every five seconds, so I suppose I really can't complain too much.

The night continued in a similar vein, more exploring, drinking (apparently the more light beer you drink, the better it starts to taste) and we even met some other couchsurfers in a bar owned by Omar's friend, who we eventually went salsa dancing with. The salsa bar even had a live band in which the majority of the musicians had dreadlocks *swoons*. So despite the fact that by this point I hadn't slept in about 48 hours and I was borderline delirious, I had a pretty awesome night.

The next morning we decided to take a stroll (well, more like a clamber, I'm hardly graceful) across the rocks and corals on the beach.  It was a beautiful morning, the sea air was fresh and inviting and the water endless and full of life. I just love the sea. I don't know if I've ever shared this on here, but my biggest dream is to own my own hostel on a beach, so every time I visit the shore my heart strings are tugged on just a little more. There's something about the water that just calls to me and I can't wait for the day when I don't have to leave.

Our destination was a quiet beach a little way down from the barrio. where we came locals kitted out with their fishing gear and taking a morning paddle.

And this is where the real fun began. We'd timed our little adventure perfectly, to give us enough time for a short swim before returning back to the house, grabbing my bags and heading off to the airport to catch my flight. However, this is me and I like to do stupid things to ruin plans because that's just what I'm good at. Let's just say I learned a very valuable lesson about swimming through coral reefs that morning.

Exhibit A: How to Swim through a coral reef like a pro:

Exhibit B: How to swim through a coral reef like an idiot, not factoring in the salt content in the water making it a lot harder to stay under the water than you're used to, thus causing you to float to the top scratching your back and dragging your hand across a sea urchin which hurts like HELL and almost results in a trip to the hospital just hours before your flight:

How to Treat a Sea Urchin Sting

The picture actually doesn't make it seem so bad, but I promise you it was bloody agony, and I have a pretty high pain threshold. To make matters worse I couldn't actually go to the hospital in Puerto Rico because I didn't actually have health insurance there, and we couldn't get any of the spines out ourselves so I just had to board my flight with a swollen, bloody hand and wait until I arrived in Martinique, which is thankfully part of France (three cheers for European health insurance!). Luckily, it turned out I didn't even need to go to hospital in the end, but in case anyone else finds themselves in a similar situation, I've included the link of how to treat a sea urchin sting above, because it would have been bloomin' useful for me to know this at the time. You live and you learn eh?

So in less than 24 hours I managed to get a whole lot fit in and I really enjoyed my stay. It almost felt like a taster session of the country and I definitely feel like I'll have to return one day!

San Cristóbal de las Casas

I know, I can't believe it either, but I'm FINALLY getting around to writing about what happened during my time in San Cristóbal de las Casas. It's going to take more than one post (I did live there for over a month!) so bear with me, and I hope you find it as interesting to read about as I did living it.

If you were following my adventures all those months ago in July (oopsy), you may recall that my last actual travel post was Camping in the Clouds and I'd basically just arrived in San Cris before heading off to camp in the jungle for a few days. Well you'll be happy to know that I didn't die from those ridiculous bug bites I'd received from whatever nasties decided to gnaw at my poor leg, nor did the exhaustion entirely stop me from putting my tourist hat on (though I was a tad lazy for the first two weeks...).

I did a lot of pottering about the city by myself in the following days, as both Adriana and Manu have jobs and the like, To be honest I thoroughly enjoyed this down time as Greg and I had been doing some really fast, hardcore travelling through the country for a month, and it was nice to just take a breather for a few days. Thus began my love affair with Jack Kerouac and Chiapas' finest hot chocolate, because seriously, no one does hot chocolate like the Mexicans. I tried a LOT of it while I was there, but if you're ever in town I'd recommend Oh La La, which is a French bakery and also does A-MAY-ZING chocolate eclairs, or another place, that is slightly more pricey but worth every penny, called something like Xocolates and can be found in a mini shopping centre thing just off Guadalupe. The whole cafe is dedicated to hot chocolate, meaning you can have it made just the way you like it, down to the flavour, sweetness and type of milk they use.

Source: Murdo McDermid.

'I stumbled after as usual as I've been doing all my life after people that interest me, because the only people that interest me are the mas ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones that never yawn or say a commonplace thing... but burn, burn, burn like roman candles across the night...'

- Jack Kerouac, On The Road

As well as chilling in the days, I tended to use the nights to party with the locals and couchsurfing friends, resulting in one fateful mezcal story (which unfortunately isn't blog appropriate) and ridiculous amounts of dancing. It was here I actually discovered just how much I adore salsa dancing, and I still can't get over the novelty of being asked to dance rather than simply having someone come up behind me and grind on me/touch me inappropriately. It's nice to be able to go out at night without having to punch someone in the mouth for being a total perv.

Most of our nights where spent in a bar called Revolución (ironically situated directly across from a Burger King), which is probably the most popular in the city and has a different music themed night every day of the week. However, I should probably note that as much fun as it can be, it's one of those places where you always see the same people, which tends to result in a lot of drama and the inability to escape your antics from the previous nights. One of those 'everybody knows everybody's business' kind of places. But fun, nevertheless.

Outside Revo after the unlucky Mexico vs Holland World Cup match.

I was also lucky enough to be in the city for the festival of San Juan Chamula, which is a festival in the indigenous town of the same name, situated in the hills next to San Cris. It was quite a surreal experience, not only because my friend Justin and I where clearly the only blonde people around, but also because the language spoken in the town was Tzotzil, not Spanish, so even my other Spanish-speaking Mexican friends stood out. We were surrounded by people in their traditional dress (which unfortunately I couldn't take any pictures of at the time because cameras weren't allowed), with loud music blasting from the huge stage at the front which reminded me of something between Mexican folk and a German Oompah ensemble.

The church was another other-worldly experience. Due to the Spanish Conquest and the subsequent 'conversions' to Christianity that took place, the religious practices of the people have taken on a compromise combining Christian practices with those of the traditional Mayan religion. There were giant statues of saints bordering a spacious hall, all of which were ornately decorated with colourful fabrics and tinsel, whilst the floor was littered with hay and candles. Seriously, there were candles everywhere (healthy and safety alert!). The local people were kneeling by various saints with their little lines of candles, praying and utter rituals, which involved pouring sweet drinks such as Coke and others I didn't recognise around their candle-altars. Some swayed and others seemed to be blessing family members, and we even saw one sacrifice a chicken.

Perhaps it was the copious amounts of Pox we had been drinking or the sugar high I was getting from the delicious, delicious churros I was gorging on, but the whole scene was utterly enchanting, despite being somewhat bizarre. It felt very strange to be an onlooker to all this; I didn't feel right treating other's personal, religious beliefs and a spectacle to be leered at, especially by some white, privileged tourist without the foggiest idea about what was actually going on. Finding the line between intrigue and accidental disrespect for another culture can often be quite difficult. So feeling enlightened, yet a bit awkward, we decided to leave and head back to San Cris to leave the locals to do their thing in peace.

Source: Murdo McDermid

To give you an idea of the traditional dress, these are a few of the street sellers from San Cris who's picture Murdo took with permission. Apparently in some of the communities it is believed that by having your picture taken can be dangerous because the camera can steal your soul through your eyes, which means that you can even be arrested for taking a picture in some areas. So respect local customs and don't go wielding your camera like a lunatic unless you know what the deal is.

In amongst the chilling and the hot chocolate and the partying, I also had the opportunity to help Adriana out in teaching some of her English classes in the local area: one in a rural community about one and a half hours drive away through the hills and another in the prison of a neighbouring town. And surprisingly, the two experiences weren't all that different. Whilst I've previously taught in a school back home, I have never come across a group of children so eager to learn and grateful for their lessons as I did in the village. We just did a simple English lesson about family (which, if you know my rather complicated, modern family, is always an interesting one!) but they were all so enthusiastic and excited to learn, unlike a lot of the kids back home. It was a lovely to share just a few hours with such a delightful group of children and the time flew by.

The main difference between that class and the one in the prison, mainly just lay in the age of the pupils. It is a male-only prison and the class is of course free and completely voluntary, yet so many people showed up! We taught a little about the differences between British English and American English, as well as attempting to explain the UK, Great Britain and England (no, they are not all the same thing). The guys were so lovely and full of questions, it made it really difficult for me to believe that these were actually 'criminals', locked up for one reason or another. It was one of those perspective changing situations, and I was really sad to have to say goodbye to the class, knowing it's likely that I won't be able to return for a very long time, if at all.

Finally, I got to meet so many awesome people in my first two weeks of stay. I spent a lot of time with Adriana's flatmate Brenda, and consequently ended up meeting a lot of the couchsurfers she had staying over. This further resulted in meeting random people in the street during meal times, because a lot of the tables would be situated outside of a restaurant, and well, the world is just a small place and everyone seems to know everyone in San Cris. So our unlikely band of 'hitch-hikers' spent a lot of time together dreaming up all sorts of ridiculous plans, playing cards and munching on cheap empanadas. And to my surprise, these hypothetical ideas of hitch-hiking became reality, and I ended up joining an Italian guy called Mirko in hitch-hiking to Palenque and escaping San Cris for a little while. But that's its own blog post entirely. 

Camping in The Clouds

I survived my first journey as a lone traveller safe and sound, and arrived in San Cristobal after a very uneventful night bus from Oaxaca. Saying farewell to Greg proved harder than I thought it would, not only because we'd got on so well and had such a great trip, but also because he was my last piece of England out here; the last piece of England that I am going to see for at least six months. So I got a little teary and he got a little awkward, but all in all I think I kept it together pretty well until I got onto the bus and could bury my face in my double chocolate chip cookie. Never down play the benefits of comfort eating.

In San Cristobal, however, I was quickly comforted as I was met by the beautiful chica, Adriana, one of my closest friends from my first term of university who I haven't seen since she returned home from her exchange last January. In true Em style, I was rather animated about the ordeal and was so, so excited to catch up on all the gossip of the past year and a half. I've said it before, but finding little pieces of home away from home all over the world really is one of the joys of traveling. For me, home isn't necessarily a fixed place, but instead it's a feeling you find inside any person you love and feel comfortable with. It's those little perks that make these adventures so addictive.

Adriana took this just after I arrived.

I stayed just one night at Adriana's house before we set off for the jungle the next day. Adriana and Manu (her boyfriend) had picked a place for us to camp in the heart of the jungle called Las Nubes, which required around four and a half hours in various modes of transport to get there. In the morning Adriana and I had been teaching an English class in a rural community about a hour and a half drive form the city, which meant we were in a bit of a rush, and by the time we'd finished a quick lunch of roast chicken (priorities!) we were already setting off pretty late. It turns out this would then cause the start of our adventure to begin long before we arrived at our destination campsite.

We were about 10km when we arrived in a rural community near Las Nubes in the dark, with little money and no means to get to our destination due to the only connecting bridge being under construction. We had been kicked off the bus by the driver who told us that 'el puente' (the bridge), wasn't far away. LIES. We ended up having to negotiate with a family of locals, who tried to extort us for all we were worth for a lift either to Las Nubes or the bridge. We even debated staying in a room that they offered to rent us for the night, but in the end, due to a combination of mistrust and Manu's expertise on all things nature related, we decided to risk getting a lift to the bridge, camp out there for the night and carry on the next day. So we jumped in the back of the 'helpful' family's pick up truck (for the fee of 100 pesos) and were off.

Although by this point I was exhausted, rather scared and pissed at the situation, there is still very little that compares to the feeling of riding in the back of a pick-up truck after a long day, the warm rainforest air suddenly de-sticking your sweaty clothes from your back and making you feel alive again. Just don't open your mouth... I learned that the hard way.

We spent the night by the river, the extremes of the intense humidity and pounding rain each preventing the other from driving me completely insane. I've come to find that Mexico is a very extreme kind of place in many aspects, be it the weather or the people. It's taking a little getting used to.

Everything seems so much less sinister in the light. Turns out our camping spot was pretty beautiful once the sun rose.

The next morning we got ready pretty sharpish as the night watchman of the bridge has offered to give us a ride to Las Nubes when his shift finished in the early hours. So another pick-up truck ride and a short walk later, we arrived, tired and drenched in sweat, but (for me, at least) utterly relieved. It's not that I didn't enjoy our first night camping, it was just nice to finally feel safe again and I think the feelings of uncertainty are always perpetuated in an unfamiliar setting (such as being in another continent, on the other side of the world, in the jungle...)

Staying in Las Nubes was a really relaxing time. We swam and slept and explored and I had a lot of time for writing which is always lovely. We ate fresh mangos from the trees (Adriana told me that mangos here are like a religion; I'm totally converted) and bought beans from a little old lady down the road who thought we were nuts for coming out here with so little money and food, and at night time I lay in a sea of fireflies staring at the clearst sky I've seen in a very long time. I think it's all too easy to forget how breath-taking the stars can be.

There wasn't much space for swimming because the current was so strong and the rapids were crazy, so we made the most of a little area by the campsite which was sheltered by trees. It was pretty incredible to have the place to ourselves.

I can't tell you how happy I am that we had Manu as a guide through the woods, because there is no way we would have been able to find our way in and out alone!

Yes mum, I actually cooked! The guys at the campsite were really confused when we turned down food because we has our own and asked if we were vegetarians... We obviously looked like the crazy hippy traveler types.

Las Nubes is famous for it's waterfalls, and there is no debate as to why. Walking through the forest alongside the river, you can see exactly just how dramatic these falls are, with huge rapids and twenty foot drops appearing almost from no where, weaving in and out of a valley carved through the dense greenary. There's a walk of just less than a kilometer that you can take up to a mirador (look-out point), from which you can see just how vast these rapid and waterfalls become once they escape the forest.

View from our campsite.

 From on top of the mirador. As always things never look quite as good in pictures, but man it was stunning.

Our third adventure of our three day trip began when the time finally came to go home. Unfortunately we'd severely underestimated the amount of money we'd need to get back and I'd some how managed to lose 100 pesos, meaning that we had to walk much of the 6km walk back to the bridge. On an average day 6km would be nothing to me, but with all the camping gear, lack of food/water and the serious heat, it was proving a bit more of a challenge. Luckily, a family on their way to the next town picked us up and took us most of the way, and in that moment I've never wanted to hug someone so much. So after trundling along in a car with seven people, but built for five, that had almost no windows or seatbelts (pretty much no-one uses seat belts here) and a short walk and another combi ride, we reached the bridge, to catch another combi to Comitan (about three hours away), where we caught our final hour long combi ride back to San Cris. Journey's like this are really common out here and I actually quite enjoy the fact that no-one really seems to be in a rush to get anywhere. It's qutie refreshing to take the pace down a few pegs from London.

So we made it home, safe and sound. I showered, we ate some delicious quesadillas at a really cool place down the road and then slept for about a bazillion hours. And aside from the GIANORMOUS bug bites I'd received, we'd done it all pretty much unscathed too.

I'm not sure how well you can make that out, but that bite was basically the size of my entire thigh (bigger than my hand). We spectulated a lot, possibly a spider or a really nasty ant, but basically, I'm just very allergic to tropical bugs.

Oaxaca, Oaxaca

This blog post is named in honour of the man who roamed around the city playing his guitar singing his own song called, 'Oaxaca, Oaxaca', whilst trying to sell his CD. I wish to commemorate his efforts and determination, due to the fact that the song contained only one repeated chord and only one phrase, which was indeed, 'Oaxaca, Oaxaca'. Bless him.

I'm aware that it has been a little while since I last wrote. Since my last detailed post, Greg and I have parted ways (sad face) and I have been living in and exploring San Cristóbal de las Casas, Chiapas. It's been a rather crazy week and a bit and there's still a bit left to tell from Oaxaca, so there's going to be a fair amount of writing coming your way in the next few days.

After a few days in Oaxaca, it became clear to Greg and I that due to Greg's flight in Cancún, it wouldn't be possible for us to stick to our original plan, so as I posted at the time, we decided to stay an extra few days in Oaxaca before parting ways. We decided, therefore, to visit some of the touristy sights ourselves without taking a tour (as we originally intended), simply because we share the opinion that you get a much better experience that way, plus you can take as long as you want and it generally ends up costing less.

After Monte Albán we decided to visit a big tree in a place called Tule that we'd heard a lot of people talking about. Now I'm aware that doesn't sound terribly exciting and in all honesty, it wasn't, but considering it cost us very little for transport and entry (entrance was 50p, so really we couldn't complain) and it could potentially be the oldest known tree in the world, I didn't feel too disappointed. I mean, although it was just a tree, it was a really flipping impressive tree. We also had fun reading the translations of ' Está prohibido cortar las ramas del árbol' (it's forbidden to cut the branches of the tree) written around the tree in French 'Il est interdit de couper les', English 'Forbidden, branches of thee tree', and what we could only guess was meant to be Japanese.

Árbol del Tule

Our next trip was supposed to be to 'Hierve el Agua' which literally means, 'the water boils', ironic considering their also known as 'the frozen waterfalls'. However, the night before Greg and a friend Dave who we met in our hostel dorm, decided to try and determine who was the most hardened drinker over a few games of cards, and Greg ended up consuming so much tequila that the sheer idea of movement made him want to be sick, so he gave me his blessing to head off with Dave, whilst he stayed in bed. We had quite the adventure to get there, as we had to take a shared taxi for the first half of the journey, which involved me sitting on Dave's knee in the front seat of a taxi without a back or passenger seat window, and then changing in the the town Mitlan (about an hour later) to the back of the pick up truck for the next hour or so. All of which are completely legal in Mexico?!

All the safety...

It turns out that the falls are actually formed by natural gisers of water flowing over the mountain sides for centuries, which have hardened into some kind of rock formation (I'm not much of a geography student!) and due to all the different shades and colours of the mierals, it looks like frozen waterfalls. On the top of the waterfalls, the gisers have formed natural infinity pools, which are pretty darn cold, but provide an amazing view of the surrounding mountain ranges and greenery. In short, it's an absolutely stunning place.

 

In this picture, I'm swimming in the infinity pool on top of the 'waterfall' in the next picture.

View from the facing waterfall.

The whole area is situated in a huge mountain range. You could literally see for miles and it was a bloody long way down.

When we eventually managed to tear ourselves away, we discovered that we had to head back via a different route. Basically, the two villages next to Hierve el Agua have had some kind of fall out, which meant that the residents from each can't pass through the other one, even when driving tourists through. So instead of taking a much more direct route back, we had to take a windy road over a huge mountain, still in the back of a pick up truck. Scenic, yes, but potentially life threatening as well.

Quite possibly the most Mexican picture I've ever taken. All that's missing is their owner in a sombero, who I just missed out of the shot. Hanging on for dear life and photography are two difficult skills to combine.

We intended to spend our last day simply chilling out, watching some football and eating lots of Mole, however as things tend to go with me, we weren't quite able to stick to the plan. It turns out that when we crossed the border at Tijuana, we were supposed to receive tourist papers, that in order to legally be in the country, we were supposed to carry with us at all times, which we weren't given. Not only that, but the woman didn't even check our passports, so we had no stamps, thus no evidence to prove when exactly we had entered the country. Greg had been briefly checking out some stuff for his flight when all this information came to light, and we figured that we better take a trip to the immagration office, because we were basically illegal immigrants. Seriously, how does one accidentally enter into a country illegally, that is free to enter and not realise for nearly a month? 

Anyway it turned out we didn't really have much to worry about, because Mexicans being Mexicans, although a little confused at how we'd managed to get ourselves into such a ridiculous situation, were really chill about the whole thing and gave us information on what to do. And although I am yet to cross the border at Guatemala and return to Mexico to get some proper documentation, Greg has already made it home fine and dandy, so thank goodness for that! I'll hopefully be getting around to sorting out my stuff at some point this week, I'll just have to try my best not to get arrested between now and then, because deportation a month before I begin my studies would be rather inconvenient.

Hollywood Boulevard

We're currently lounging in the beautiful morning sunshine on our second full day in LA, eating another signature Rochester breakfast at the Mansion (our hostel), which turns out to be the old home of Eddie 'Rochester' Anderson, who acted in Gone With The Wind, and has been converted into a hostel which is run by his son! It's such an awesome hostel that we decided to stay another night before heading off to Tijuana tomorrow.

Yesterday we spent most of the day in Hollywood, firstly visiting universal studios then walking up and down the boulevard. We went with two of the guys from our hostel called Daniel and Peter who are from Poland.

En route to universal studios.

My feet and Fleetwood Mac.

Moon landing!

My fav ❤

We also managed to get a pretty awesome view of the Hollywood sign and paid a visit to the Chinese Theatre, where I got to put my hand where Rupert Grint's and Johnny Depp's hands had been and it made my life complete.

After a morning chilling with the stars, we decided to go off and explore downtown for a little while. It turned out to be, to quote Greg, very accurately represented in Grand Theft Auto, and also strangely empty compared to London or any English city. We mainly wandered aimlessly, but did come across a few gems along the way, such as the Walt Disney Concert Hall.

Greg's arty Instagram of inside the concert hall.

In the evening we came back to the hostel to enjoy some beers in the pool and take some hilarious underwater pictures, involving a lemon picked from a tree and a lost button. It's the simple things eh? However, as I don't have access to a computer yet to upload my camera shots, you'll have to sit tight for Greg's sexy underwater snaps.

Today's plan so far consists of heading to Venice Beach (because I want to make myself feel as ugly as possible for some reason) and perhaps a trip around Beverley Hills. So I have to attempt to dress a little more 'fancy' than usual. Wish me luck! 

What happened in Vegas...

First of all, no, we did not get married in Vegas. Let's just clear that up right away.  Not to say we didn't consider it though... (I'm joking)

We spent three days there all in all and if I'm honest, I wasn't really a fan. I was really quite relieved to get out of there yesterday, not only for the heat but mainly for the sheer hedonistic excess of the place. However like in everyone I meet and everything I do, I like to try and find the good stuff, so I'll try and write a little about that first.

Of all the things that Vegas has got so so wrong, it's impossible to deny that it really is a testament to man's skill and creativity in architecture. Seriously, in the space of a couple of miles you can visit the Eiffel Tower, New York City and King Arthur's Castle. It's completely nuts.

Before I'd visited, I'd heard stories that people wouldn't leave their hotels at all, and it's easy to see why. Each one is like it's own little city with shops and casinos and pools and shows and the best air-conditioning ever in the world ever. One even has its own aquarium and another a roller coaster! We spent an entire day just exploring the hotels and ended up walking for about 11/12 hours (we guesstimated about ten miles in the blistering -literally for our feet! - 43*C heat).

Little did we know that this was an UNDERestimate.

I also have to say that it was a pretty awesome place to go out at night. On the second day, after raiding an outlet store in the morning and a visit to the 'Welcome to Vegas' sign that nearly killed us, we decided to conserve our energy for the rest of the day and re-explore at night.

We went for dinner at a place called 'Bubba Gump' which is a shrimp restaurant based on Forrest Gump which was super yummy and had a killer view of the strip.

For me I suppose Vegas was an experience, but not necessarily one I'd like to repeat, because for all its star quality, there's so much about it that makes me want to cry a little inside. It's (to use Greg's favourite phrase) an affront to nature, in that it is so unnatural. None of what Vegas is, is an attribution to the beautiful scenery that surrounds it and its excessive energy waste is so ridiculous I had to fight back my inner eco warrior from going on a rampage. It's basically a giant adult playground, that promotes so many things that are wrong with humanity, from the objectification of women to the ignorance of those in poverty - there were people gambling away $1000s in the casino and others starving on the streets outside. That was probably the most painful to watch.

I think it's safe to say that I've done enough of Vegas for one life time, though I can't say I regret going. I think it's a completely unique experience in itself and I'm glad I got to see it (and even gamble a whole dollar myself!)

We're now in Los Angeles after a loooong bus ride (actually it was only 6 hours but I'm out of practice) in the coolest hostel. It's called The Mansion, and as the name suggests it's big white mansion, with the main housed furnished in such a rustic style, we were genuinely confused about what time period we were in. It's also run by the loveliest people who make a killer breakfast (are there any other qualities to look for in a person?) I think we're off to Hollywood today with a couple of guys we met in the hostel, so hopefully it should prove pretty exciting :)

And we're off!

Today we got up at 4.45am to embark on our long awaited trip to the Americas! The flight left Manchester at 9.15am UK time and seeing at the time difference is eight hours, we've been up for nearly 24 now.
 

Here's a few of my ramblings from the plane...

14.55 (uk time)

 

We're just over half way of our flight from Manchester to Vegas and to be honest it's gone pretty quickly so far (touch wood!) PLUS they have 'Frozen' on the flight movie list so with 5 hours to go that gives me at least one or two more watches before we land.

 

Not much to report, aside from the various old men who seem to have 0 sense of spacial awareness and think it's ok to lean over to chat to their mates and forget about where exactly they're putting their asses. Which, btw, seems to be in my face. A lot.

 

We also had some celebratory bubbly for breakfast which is possibly why Greg is completely passed out right now... Poor boy, can't handle his champers.

17.08 (uk time)

 

JUST THREE HOURS TO GO!! (Said with more hysteria than excitement in my groggy state) Still not much to report, I'm actually beginning to get suspicious about how smoothly everything seems to be going. Even the in flight food was kinda tasty! 

 

Sausage and mash apaz by some fancy chef (I've never heard of him but they seemed pretty proud of themselves)

I'm taking a little time off from my headphones and TV after watching The Lego Movie, due to it being a complete and utter mind boggle. It's possibly the weirdest film I've ever watched, so of course I loved every second of it. However it did take me a little while to convince myself that they weren't seeking hallucinogenics in through the air vents. Oh and I finally convinced Greg to watch Frozen and I think we might be on to a winner...

 

***

 

We've now been here for a few hours and things have been much more eventful; I knew I was speaking too soon! However I'm too exhausted to think straight so I'll elaborate tomorrow, just checking in to let you all know that we arrived safe and sound :)

Nostalgic Feels

It's less than two weeks until I head off on my next journey.

I'm excited/nervous/terrified/raring to go/trying to come up with ways to get out of it. Nothing particularly out of the ordinary for when pre-travel stress finally starts to sink in.

I always knew I'd be going away on another big trip again (and again and again and again) but it's been two years since I last left the continent and I've changed a lot since then. Undeniably travel is one of the things I live for, I guess I'm just nervous that it won't love it as much as I love being at home in London. I've become so settled where I am, with awesome family and friends both here and back in my home town and the prospect of leaving them all behind is rather sad. I feel like last time I really had something pushing me to leave; I'd just come out of the most important long term relationship I'd ever had (and still have ever had to be honest) and I was on my gap year between college and uni and all my friends were away having fun at their respective unis. Really, I just wanted to get away from it all, to escape the quiet of my home town and head off on my own adventure, that was more exciting than working three jobs in the town centre. This time it's all a little different, seeing as I've finally found somewhere that I feel settled and happy within myself.

There's also the added factor that some of my bestest friends in the whole wide world who I've hardly seen over the past year will be returning home from their years abroad - in Australia, USA, Hungary, Germany... the list goes on - and I won't be around to see them when they get back. I've been pretty shabby at keeping in touch over the year too (I'm so sorry guys), which makes me miss them EVEN more. Plus there's all the summer fun they'll be having without me...

I know right, BOO HOO to me going off travelling, it's a hard life. Believe me, don't for one second think that I don't feel super lucky to be in the position I am in, but our highlight orientated society dictates that I should focus on all the awesome stuff I am missing out on and sometimes that mentality is difficult not to sink into. It's when I think about that, that I realise exactly why I am so in love with travelling.

I mean, there are no expectations or constraints on you as an individual. Yes, you may be in the expectant mindset of 'THIS IS GOING TO BE THE BEST TRIP EVERRRRR', which isn't a bad one to be in, but there are literally 0 expectations on you as a person, and you learn how to be a much more open-minded and well-rounded person because of this. You can get up when you like, eat when you like, eat what you like, talk to whoever you like (travellers are friendly folk). There are no deadlines, essays, time constraints, meetings, classes, events, nothing that you HAVE to do or anywhere you HAVE to be. Whilst society back home is telling me I should be sad about missing out on the guaranteed fun I could be having there, travel beckons and whispers, 'Who knows what will happen, let's go and explore'. How could I ever say no to offer like that? As cliché as it might sound, there is nothing that can read or buy and no prediction that you can make to 100% prepare you for travelling.

'Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry and narrow-mindedness' - Mark Twain

I was reminiscing with a couple of friends last night about previous trips I've been on, as two of them had come up to stay the night before jetting off this morning on a trip around South America (they'll be in Brazil by tomorrow night!). Of course you remember all the big highlights of your trip: the big mountains climbed and oceans you swam in, but what about all the little things that make the journey so worthwhile? The people you meet, the foods you try, the music you listen to; all the things you would never and could never experienced from the comfort of your own home.

This was taken in San Pedro de Atacama, just before a three day 4x4 trip towards the Salt Flats. We met Steve and Georgia a day and a half earlier when getting off a bus, when I dropped a bag on my foot and swore rather loudly in strong northern accent, to which Steve responded, 'Are you English?'. We then travelled together for a month and a half.

I met Mani in Cusco, when he had tagged along with our crew for a while on his year long world trip. Since then, we've visited each other in our home countries of Germany and England, and no doubt we will do again.

My favourite story to tell is that of an unlikely couple. When Evie and I travelled to Peru, we met a guy called Sam (far right on the cover photo!), who quickly became a close friend of ours. One thing lead to another, we travelled together and then he came to visit us in the UK on the European stretch of his world trip. Which is when he met our friend Niamh, who I'd gone to high school and was living in Edinburgh for uni. The two met, fell in love pretty much instantly and he has now permanently moved to Scotland to be with her and they are making plans to move to Aus after her degree has finished... Sometimes I forget just how crazy-romantic that story is until I say it out loud. I'd like to think that story alone made our trip worthwhile, but we got that and more, along with life-long friends all over the world and some of the craziest stories that you just cannot make up.

These are the things I try to focus on when I get scared about going away, that uncertainty is not necessarily always a bad thing; it can be terrifying and fun and absolutely bewildering all at the same time. Over my travelling years I have done some of the craziest things and met the coolest people, including zip-lining over the Inca Jungle, surviving drugs raids on Peruvian buses, epic car chases and becoming the best of friends with the male version of myself just one afternoon together in a Croatian hostel. Who knows what this next trip is going to entail.