Let's find something really dangerous to do... again.

I have been learning quite a bit about myself in the last while. I've learned that I should never believe anything I say. When I start a sentence with the words 'I'd never do...' I usually end up doing that very thing within a week of swearing I'd never do it, or sometimes even within the hour. I said I would never do a bungee jump and then two hours later I was signed up to do one. It's like when I was doing the death road cycle and I saw a rock on the path, my brain said 'cycle away from it' but my body directed the bike towards it and I always ended up cycling over it and nearly falling off the bike. Its pretty much the same effect with my morals too, I think I have them but I don't. I'm not complaining though, people with no morals have the most fun!

Another thing I am realising is that the more dangerous the activity, the more craic it is. Luckily Naomi has the same view point and the things we are seeking out to do are getting more and more riskey to the point that we had the following discussion over dinner the other day.

Naomi - 'What extreme things can we do here?'

Niamh - 'We can do the zip lines' (high ropes located a few hundred feet or so over the jungle, which you speed down when attached to a harness)

Naomi - 'Hmm, I'm afraid they won't be dangerous enough. Maybe we can do them without the safety harness?'

We did the bungee jump in Argentina and got picked up by two woman working for the activity company driving a massive old American car. The women looked like they were straight from some Latino gang with long greasy hair and wearing basketball tops. They drove around the back street ghettos making various stops without telling us anything. They then stopped off at a high rise building and picked up a young boy who joined us for the rest of the trip. They also stopped off at a garage to service the car whilst Naomi and I waited. All this time I was shitting myself over the thought of jumping off a bridge. We arrived at the place of the bungee jump, it looked so unofficial, like the rope had been sitting there for months unused. I happily saw this as an excuse not to do it and suddenly got brave and said 'I'm totally up for doing one, but I'm just not sure this particular one is safe'. Against my better judgement, I did it and it was fun! We got back into the car for the journey home with the Latino gang ladies, they put on the Bad Boys song from Cops and we cruised around the hood again, dropping the boy off where we had picked him up again with no explanation as to who he was.



The view from the back seat of the car with our three Latino friends in the front.

We got an 8 hour bus to a place called Tulpiza so that we could go horse treking. The bus was insane, full of locals (they stink) and it off roaded for most of the journey so there was literally no road, no track, nothing. We bounced over shrubs and rocks and dust came through the windows. Screw signing up for extreme sports, just getting a bus in Bolivia is white knuckle all the way. Naomi and I booked into a two day tour in a place that looks just like the wild wild west. It was great. We had wanted to do some proper ranching where you actually get to castrate cows, shoot and lassoo things, but we haven't been lucky enough to find anyone that will let us do that yet....some day. We rocked up to the stables and met our guide, a 14 year old local boy. Parts of Argentina, like Bolivia are run by children. I think people must die at an average age of about 16, because everywhere we go, restaurants, ticket offices, tours and activities are all run by kids.

The trek was great, the scenery was amazing but my horse was an asshole. I hated him, lazy ass mother fucker. A horse that doesnt want to move. He also hated all the other horses and kicked and bit them whenever they passed by. I liked when he did this to Naomi's horse though. Our guides horse was like a cartoon character. He was tiny and trotted rather than cantered or galloped, his short legs stretching far in front of him and his head held high, it was the weirdest looking animal I've ever seen.

We are now in Buenos Aries, Argentina. It's nice to be in a city for a while after the dirt roads and smelly locals of Bolivia. We didn't receive the warmest of welcomes here though, as we were letting ourselves into the apartment we are renting for a week, a cyclist passed by and shouted 'Bitches' at us, and then 'Fuck you'. Nice.

We headed out on the piss the other night. We are finding it very easy to get talking to Argentian men. All you have to do is sit still and within seconds they come over. I got chatted up by a cute enough looking one, cute until he opened his mouth. He spat all over my face when he spoke and just kept saying 'I'm a lawyer' over and over. I wiped my face, bid him farewell and left not too soon after that.

We tried to find a gym in Salta. We eventually got to one but it was closing so we asked if we could just have a look around. Next thing I see Naomi headed for a door with 'Sauna' written over it. Seconds later she runs out grinning and saying 'Oh my God, oh my God'. 'Did you see something?' I asked her. 'YES', she said as she legged it out of the gym. She saw about 30 naked men, sitting on plastic chairs all faced in her direction. She said she focused on one in particular 'very hairy', got the shock of her life and then ran out.

Still need to work on my Spanish. We asked the man who works on reception at the apartment block e are renting if he could organise a cleaner for us before we have to leave. He has no English so it was pigeon Spanish and charades all the way. A few hours later our land lady phoned and wanted to know why we had asked the man on reception to get his wife to sit with us for a couple of hours. Lost in translation yet again, love it!

Hanging out with my parasite in Bolivia.....

Biggest disappointment of the trip so far....I was booked to do a tour to go see the salt planes, a really amazing thing to do here in Bolivia, but couldnt face getting on the 15 hour overnight bus as I got really sick. I woke up having contractions. Recognising the symptoms as a stomach parasite (everyone gets them here), I knew I was going to be in a bad way until my parasite, a man in a top hat and tails tap dancing on my insides decided to stop. I bid a very weak farewell to my travel companions as they went to get the bus and I staggered to my new room, a sick haven all to myself so that I didnt have to share a dorm and subject strangers to my exercosim type behaviour as the parasite (a protestant) gave me his best moves. I spent that night writhing around in my own skin, unable to be comfortable in any position, my body buckling from the stomach up and levitating off the bed sometimes as much as three feet. My head even did a full 360 degree turn, it was madness.

Some of the above is exaggerated. I will leave it up to you to work out which part or parts (if any at all).

My Parasite...Bastard.

I need to work on my Spanish. I went into a shop the other day and asked where the nearest ATM was, the man behind the counter took out a stanley knife and pointed at it. Either I had just walked into a killers lair or I need to get out that phrase book.

Naomi and I actually paid good money to cycle down ´The Worlds Most Dangerous Road´. It is really ´The Worlds Most Dangerous Road´ and not just a tourist gimmick. There have been over 300 tourists killed on it in recent years, they have simply cycled off the edge to a 600 metre drop, enough to kill even the bounciest of people. None of the companies have been closed down and the most recent victim went with a company that is still open and recommended by the top guide books. I was a little nervous about signing up, mainly because I have learned after my sandboarding experience that the danger level of activites is greatly underestimated here. I asked the lady in the tour office if there had been any recent accidents on the tour. "No accidents," she told me with a smile. Here we go I thought, the Latino freedom of lying. "Deaths," she continued with a smile and slid a flat hand accross the air helpfully to illustrate as best as she could what a cyclist might look like soaring off the edge of a cliff.

True to form and as I was afraid of, Naomi and I were in the fast group (two of the only three females in it, we should have been born boys) and sped our way down the mountain as fast as we could without killing ourselves. It was pretty crazy though. In any other part of the world this road would be closed down, it certaintly wouldnt be a tourist attraction but I have to admit that it was FUN!

Death Road.

So, having spent the last few days on my own, I am now entirely sick of my own company. I don´t know how you people put up with me, even the parasite left after a brief argument, which I won´t go into. So, I´m now in the desert waiting to meet up with the others. The biggest news I have for them is that I think I was in the craziest toilet yet. On the night bus on the way here the toilet had a large window with no curtain and was all lit up. I went to use it when the bus was stopped at a traffic light, the street outside was full of locals selling stuff and looking in at me. I was totally exposed, it was like some weird Amsterdam window show for them. I couldn´t do it. That last sentence is a lie (I really needed to go).

I am now in the middle of nowhere, but in true typical backpacking style I have already seen three people I recognise, all doing the gringo trail like me. One of them in particular was someone I was hoping to avoid. I was in a bar in La Paz last week, everyone was hammered and he came over to ask me to smack him as hard as I could on the arse....jeans on. Of course I obliged, again and again and again. I´m not sure what either of us got out of it, but it was making Julie laugh, so I kept doing it. The guy smiled, perhaps a little too much and walked away. I ended up sitting next to him in an internet cafe this morning some 15 hours drive away from where I smacked him. I pretended not to see him of course.

I went for lunch earlier. The waitress was an 8 year old girl. I asked for lunch and was told no lunch only breakfast. I asked for coffee and was told no coffee, only tea. Asked for tea and was told they had no milk, also had no bread, no butter, no eggs. I basically had jam and water for lunch. I sat there and drank my water out of their "Worlds Best Grandma" mug and smiled feeling worthy of a mug I have not yet earned. Crazy, yes I know. I think the last few days alone have proved that solitude breeds the crazy in me.

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Our breasts are big in Peru:

So far we have found the locals to be really friendly and nice. The men are sleazy but in a non threatening way. We literally can’t walk two steps without getting wolf whistled at, beeped at, kissing noises made at us or a “hola”. We’ve also been called “princesses” from across the street and “first class”. So, it’s now official, I am a first class princess, glad to finally have it confirmed. Lima was especially funny, men were nearly breaking their necks hanging out of cars, buses and off motorbikes to look at us and by ‘us’ I mean our breasts. Our boobs are big in South America, literally. Julie was followed down the street the other day by a local man who felt her arse as he walked by, the same man did it again fifteen minutes later. This made me laugh ALOT! Ha ha.

We’re pretty tired from all the activities we’ve been doing lately. In Ariquipa Naomi and I booked to go white water rafting, I went along but didn’t get on the raft in the end as had some toilet issues. Wearing a wet suit, stuck on a raft and worrying about having irregular toiletry activites is not my idea of a good time. Naomi had a little admirer, a Chilian man who worked for the rafting company, he kindly helped her put on her wet suit and also helped her take it off afterwards. He got into his wet suit in front of us so we both saw him naked, which we enjoyed.

We are still struggling with Spanish, annoyingly my plan for fluency to just leak effortlessly into my brain has not happened as I’d hoped. We did a couple of Spanish lessons whilst in Cusco, our teacher was a Peruvian lady in her mid fifties called Beni. I think it was the first time I’ve been in a class with Naomi where one of us wasn’t sitting at the bold table. Beni was impressed with our eagerness to learn and gave us a big “MUY BIEN” whenever we got anything right. Her patience was admirable as we, like remedial students slowly spelt out our names in the Spanish alphabet, getting it wrong time and time again. “A’s” incorrectly became “e’s” and “i’s” became “y’s”, my head spinning from having to use my usually dormant brain. When Naomi finally spelt her name right I looked at her with envy as Beni gave her a big “MUY BIEN.” I wanted Beni to think I was smart and confidently spelt my own name aloud, getting it wrong just the once, I beamed at Naomi as I got the “MUY BIEN” I had been craving. When Naomi managed a full sentence during a roll play where I was the taxi driver I was genuinely proud and gave her a big round of applause. Julie joined the class on day two (she missed day one due to the shits), Naomi was now utterly confident in her own abilities and at this stage was very good at spelling her own name. I caught her whispering answers to Julie on a few occasions, luckily for her Beni was too nice to have a bold chair or she would have relived her time in secondary school.

Julie was in a bad way, her visits to the toilet were at an all time high. She hadn’t eaten in days and we were booked into do the Inca trail, a four day trek to Manchu Picchu in a few days so decided to call her a doctor. A young Peruvian doctor arrived at our hostel bedroom adorning a white coat and stetchoscope around his neck, looking quite the part. He inspected her in a very professional manner and diagnosed a gastric infection, ouch. Never one to miss an opportunity Naomi asked if he wouldn’t mind us taking a photo of him. Upon her request, his face lit up and he nodded enthaustically. Hilariously, he then took out his own camera and passed it to Naomi for her to capture the moment for himself. Julie, weak from the parasite in her stomach and not eating, sat on the edge of the bed with the doctor, posing for a photo as he gave a big thumbs up and grinned. Before he left he gave all three of us kisses and bounced happily out the door. What he will do with that photo, who knows!





We had another admirer, a man who worked in the hostel and was from the Jungle. He had black curly waist length hair (nice) and every time he saw us, insisted on giving us open mouthed kisses (his mouth was open, ours not) on the edge of our lips leaving a sliver of spit across them. I became an expert at dodging the kisses after a while; my tactic was to suddenly become interested in reading whatever was near so I looked like I was in a trance like state not to be interrupted. He also once followed us down the road and into a pub, pretending it was a coincidence to see us there and that he was waiting for his friend (surprisingly the imaginary friend didn’t turn up). Sure enough, in he went for the kiss, again I managed to dodge it, suddenly interested in studying the menu in front of me, Julie also intensely read the menu and missed getting slimed on but Naomi was not so lucky.

The highlight of my trip so far has been the four day Inca trail trek to Manchu Picchu. We did a group trek with 11 of us tourists in total and 2 tour guides, Bruno and Roy, both Peruvian and clearly not their real names, but who cares? Bruno was the sensible one with vast local knowledge and Roy was the perv fond of calling us “baby” and wolf whistling whenever we were near. Julie was still recovering from her illness so walked behind the rest of the group during the trek, taking it at her own pace. Roy, a perv never to miss an opportunity recognised her weakness as a blessing and lagged behind with her. When she finally caught up with us (hours later) she told us that he had tried to hold her hand, had picked her flowers along the route, tried to snog her and my favourite, had actually walked behind her for a good while, watching her and wolf whistling at her backside. “That’s very unique” Naomi commented on his picking up technique when Julie later told us the story. It became a running joke in the camp and Julie’s morning pancakes came out with chocolate syrup love hearts drawn on them, as did Roys. Even the chef was in on it. Naomi didn’t help, telling Roy in Julie’s absence that she had come back from the trek and told us that he was her favourite guide, that she said he took great care of her and that she would like to salsa dance with him on the last night. He was delighted.

The trek itself was hard work, but great. We got up most mornings at about 4am and were walking by 5am. After the 4 days, we were knackered but still went out on the piss when we got back to the town. We hadn’t slept in 24 hours so were wrecked but persevered. Julie stayed in bed as was still recovering from her illness (she’s lost about a stone, so jealous), so Naomi and I took to the local nightlife scene. We found some local hovel and hit the dance floor; I did my shuffling from side to side whilst rhythmically punching the air in aerobics class type move. I did this over and over, occasionally looking down at my feet for some variation of the move. It’s my worst nightmare to somehow have to watch myself dancing without the music and without the blinking lights. I don’t think I would ever go out again.

Cut to a few hours later, I was sitting at the bar drinking a cocktail (my sixth) surrounded by two local Peruvian men, as tall as my elbow making shapes out of paper in order to win my affections. I was a little confused at this strange exhibition of an ‘origami off’. I looked across at Naomi who was surrounded by at least 5 guys (some hot) all hoping for their chance with her and then back at my two Peruvian weirdos stood in front of me intensely concentrating on folding shapes into their paper dinosaur and paper rose and wondered where it all went wrong. An Irish guy came over to me then to tell me how hot my friend was (happens all the time) before noticing this exhibit before me. “Nothing unusual happening here” I told him as I shrugged by shoulders whilst one of the men trotted his dinosaur over the air in front of my face like a child would do with a toy. “Muy bien” I told him. I have to admit that the rose beat the dinosaur hands down but even if these men had the ability to literally turn water into Jack Daniels and I was not happily married (as I told them), I would not be interested. Full marks for originality though.



Me and the dinosaur man.


The Rose.

We’ve been generally lucky with the standard of accommodation so far, usually getting a private room for just the three of us. Only bad place so far was in Cusco where I was drifting off to sleep when I heard a loud gnawing sound. “That’s a fucking rat” Naomi said but she was wrong, it was numerous fucking rats. We told reception and a round Peruvian man as wide as he was tall and with no English came up to have a look.

“There are ratas in the room” I told him as I made a rat face and clawed the wall beside me (Beni would not have been proud of my attempts, no “MUY BIEN” here).

He found where the noise was coming from and said “no problem”.

“There is a problem” I told him “there are ratas!”

“No problem”

He shook his head when I asked if there was another room available. So, with “no problem” and no other rooms we had to try and sleep with the rats running all over the room. I turned off the light and lay there, eyes wide open waiting for the sound to start again. Sure enough within minutes I heard a loud gnawing noise from under my bed. I jumped up, turned on the light and stood on my bed. Naomi did the same. We got our walking sticks (from trekking) and began randomly stabbing the heaps of clothes on the floor with them and saying “Where are you fuckers?” which surprisingly didn’t make any difference. I didn’t get the “We’re under your backpack” answer that I wanted. I ended up hopping into bed with Julie over the other side of the room, which may have looked odd to anyone that was not us as there were two spare, empty beds, but I had a false sense of security then and managed to get some sleep. No doubt some other backpackers were shown to that very room after we left because why not? There was “no problem” after all, right?

We are now in Bolivia. We got a night bus here from Cusco. I was sitting beside a young (not unattractive man). Naomi saw him, gave me a grin and a nod as if to say “go for it”. There is something quite unsettling about sleeping next to a strange man on a bus and waking up almost face to face, him asleep with his mouth wide open, snoring and breathing heavily into your face. He also had his elbow jammed into my side, causing me great discomfort. However, in true Irish fashion, I didn’t ask him to move it but instead quietly hated him in my mind. That’ll learn him.

Quote of the week....
Pissed, playing draughts with Naomi (also pissed) and she says: “This is very like a game of draughts”.

Peru!

PERU!
We got here safe and sound and without any glitches. I managed to resist my urge to lie to the customs officer in Atlanta during the stop over. I always feel instantly guilty of crimes I have only ever dreamt of committing when talking to airport security, especially when entering the States. He asked me twice what job I do back home and I had an overwhelming urge to say “I’m a Doctor”. It was just resting on the tip of my tongue begging to be released, but I restrained myself. I told him I was a Town Planner, which technically is a lie as I am now officially unemployed. Just even saying that small untruth and getting away with it gave me a bit of a buzz. Niamh: 1, America: 0! Whuu huu!

We’ve been to three different places in Peru so far, Lima, Nasca and now Ariquipa (just place names to you). We got an 8 hour bus journey from Lima to Nasca. The route is notorious for hijacking and we’ve heard stories about tourists being stripped of all their clothes and left in the middle of nowhere by South American baddies. I made sure I had matching underwear on that day. If I’m going to end up in some police station filling out a report in my pants I want to make sure I’m at least looking semi respectable.

The bus was surprisingly good as was the road. Money has been poured into both in recent years, I guess to entice hesitant backpackers following bad press over the hijackers. We were shown a video on board, which unashamedly boasted about the extensive comforts of the bus, talk about bigging yourself up. The video showed an attractive lady working for the bus company actually going around and tucking the overnight passengers in, wrapping a nice fluffy blanket over them as she smiled sexily at them and then at the camera. In reality, this might happen just before some rebel with a machete gets on and orders everyone to hand over their valuables, clothes and the fluffy blanket. The tucking in seems little compensation then I bet. The video went on to brag about the fabulous toilet on board. However, it was heavily emphasised that it was to be used for “urination purposes only”. This was repeated a couple of times, the second time in a more stern voice “I repeat urination purposes only”. If passengers needed to do anything other than urinate, they had to alert the driver at the earliest possibility so he could stop the bus. That wouldn’t be at all embarrassing, no.

We drove through the desert and passed by some amazing landscape before we arrived at our destination, Nasca, a spit and sawdust town in the middle of nowhere but with a simple charm. The next day from there we got a small 6 seater plane over the Nasca lines, which are drawings and lines etched into the desert terrain by ancient Incas for unknown reasons (read my theory on the lines also on this blog). It was very cool but the plane kept being turned on its side so we could get a better look at the images. It was impossible not to feel sick, the guy sitting in front of me puked into a bag. I was down wind of this, which was a treat. He apologised and I said it was okay, but I didn’t mean it and if I had a hit list, he would now be on it.

We had a very challenging day earlier this week (I have no idea what day it is anymore). We got up at 4am to be driven 40 minutes into the desert in order to climb the highest sand dune in the world (how this is decided upon I have no clue, but after climbing it I believe it!), we were then going to surf down it. They tend to let you do anything here without warning of whether it’s hard or dangerous, as long as you pay for it you can do whatever you want. I plan to test this theory out at some stage perhaps by attempting to preform surgery on someone. They told us the trek would be two and a half hours; it took us seven and a half, in the desert, in belting heat, on sand, whilst carrying day packs and a surfboard each. We were lead by our guide Juan Carlo who looked 12 and had terrible English. I asked him how long the trek would take (in English); he looked at me with a horrified expression and said “no”. I placed all my trust in him, good one.

We climbed rocky terrain at first, practically clambering up on our hands and knees. Naomi got scratched by a cactus “hopefully hallucigenic” she said, but unfortunately not. Cut to an hour and some coco leaves later, it was really tough and the leaves weren’t helping. Julie was struggling and kept having to stop and said things like “my body is shit, I’m dying”. In contrast, Naomi was like a mountain goat almost skipping over the rocky landscape, no problem to her. Also, throughout the day Julie and I got through two and a half litres of water each, Naomi just had a few sips of the tiny bottle she brought. Part mountain goat, part camel, I hate her.

The terrain finally changed from rock to sand and eventually (after hours) we made it to a smallish dune, which we were meant to practice surfing on and then walk back up. Me and Naomi weren’t up for the walking back up it part and told our guide, “screw this, lets just go straight to the big dune”. The big one was massive, 2000 metres in height and only slightly less inclined than a free fall. We did a few “It’s been nice knowing you” to each other when were at the summit and looking at what we had to surf down. Juan Carlo took off at speed and went tumbling down it head first, no idea what he was doing, his surfing was almost as impressive as his English. I started off on my ass, creating a massive sand avalanche behind me that chased me a quarter of the way down the dune and filled up my knickers with so much sand that my trousers started falling down. A couple of times I managed to get up on the board for a few seconds before falling on my arse at high speed. I have two perfectly symetrical bruises on both cheeks and I am proud of them, bruising not caused by drunken activities for a change.

Julie lagged exhausted far far behind and became nothing more than a speck on the horizon. She said after that she is never doing anything again that the guide book calls the “highest, longest or deepest in the world” of things. It says that about practically everything! Ha ha. As tough as it was the scenery was amazing and although Julie and I were aching after it (Naomi, the half mountain goat, half camel was fine of course) it was a cool thing to have done and a satisfying challenge (although Julie would disagree). We got back to the hostel and fell asleep and I dreamt of climbing over never ending sand dunes. One of them had Naomi sliding down it, panic etched on her face, with her hand out trying to reach me screaming “I’m engaged, help”. I’m sure this tells me something!

Photo of big dune below, the avalance I created can be seen if you look closely.

Quote of the week:
Naomi standing on the largest sand dune in the world, in the desert after hiking hours to get to it and she says whilst emptying sand out of her shoe....... “There is fucking sand everywhere“

Things I had forgotten about backpacking:

Drying yourself with your t-shirt because your travel towel is buried so far down inside your back pack that it’s gone past the point of no return.

Balancing on one leg whilst trying to put clothes on in hostel shower cubicles without getting them wet.

Eating loads and loads of eggs.

Conversations with travel companions about their toilet movements. “Did you go? How was it?” being a regular question.

How much I hate Irish skin but how much I like being Irish.

Regretting how much money I spent on booze recently at home considering how far it could get me over here. But then admitting to self that wouldn’t have done it any other way and the craic was worth it.

Ordering something from the menu but getting a surprise.

The date and time meaning nothing.

No matter how many people are in the room, the insects will bite me and only me.

The Nazca lines explained.....

The Nazca lines, ancient and mysterious drawings and lines etched in the desert landscape many many many many years ago..... Official Theory below;

When the aliens arrived on planet earth with their elongated skulls and big blinky eyes circa 800AD (date is approximate), their spaceship landed in the Peruvian desert where they resided for a period of up to two weeks, which is as much as two and a half weeks in alien local time.

The aliens came to Peru to buy llama wool from the locals as their planet, which is located approximately four miles from earth (give or take some scientific talk I don’t understand) gets very cold. As you are aware, the aliens were not always friendly and are the same species responsible for the extinction of dinosaurs, the recent abduction of Michael Jackson and Terri Henris goal against Ireland last week.

Upon their arrival in Peru all those years ago however they became pacified due to the large amounts of coco leaves they consumed, which made their big blinky eyes seem even bigger and more blinky. Their newly found placid mood ignited an artistic flair within them never experienced on their own planet. They etched large images of monkeys, a whale, and a humming bird onto the hot desert terrain which are still clearly visible today. One alien even drew a self portrait on the side of a rock of him waving hello to other aliens as they arrived to collect the llama wool. He is 32 metres in height, perhaps actual size, which leaves us females to wonder whether he was built in proportion.

The aliens left after a few weeks and went on to feature in such movies as ET and Men in Black. They have messengers here and are especially proud of Tom Cruise and the work he does for them here on planet earth.

MY ALIBI RELIES UPON.....

Travel Companion No. 1:

Mister Naomi Murray:

- Just turned 30 and has "rotting eggs."

- Excited about going to Colombia because "It's so dangerous."

- Once kept a heavy breather on the phone for so long that he hung up on her.

- Has a fetish for small dogs.

- Is the first person I would call if I was in real trouble, because it would more than likely be her fault.

Travel Companion No. 2:

Lady Julie Galbraith:














- Appears way more sensible than she actually is.

- Comes from a family of 11 children, as a result bombs could go off around her without her even flinching. Let's hope we don't test that one.

- Drank 16 pints of Guinness one St. Patricks Day and collapsed on her 17th (see, doesn't look the type, does she?)

- Can't swim, so will be easy to drown if she pisses me off.

- Like me, never knows when to go home.

- Contrary to the first point above, is being relied upon to be the 'sensible one.'

Me:

- Once described as 'mentally ill' by a man who was 23 years on death row.

- Been known to sleepwalk naked (outside). Naomi is particularly excited about this one.

- "Borderline arrogant" apparently.

- Amazing at everything.

- Birthday celebrated on the wrong day for 8 years by parents.

- Once cheated in maths exam and still only got 18%.

- Excited about Peru and Bolivia mostly, but no idea why.

“Who will be the organised one out of the three of you?”

I hate this question, because the answer worries me. None of us even realised that we had booked to go to South America at the start of the rainy season. Someone brought this to my attention and when I told my travel companions this is what it went like….

Niamh to Naomi: “We’re traveling during the rainy season.”
Naomi to Niamh: “Fuck, I hate the rain!”

Niamh to Julie: “We’re traveling during the rainy season.”
Julie to Niamh: “Shit! We’ll have to change our plans”
Niamh to Julie: “What plans?”
Julie to Niamh: “Oh yeah! Ha ha.”

Ladies and Gentlemen, I think we’re in trouble.

PREPARATION, WHAT'S THAT?

1. Booked plane ticket.
2. Got insurance and injections (cheaper than a funeral.)

Impressive eh? So, as far as preparation goes, I think I’ve proved myself adequately.

‘Preparation’ is not a word used in my regular vocabulary as my friend Jason (my 'ask anything’ buddy) can vouch for. He often gets texts from me asking such questions as “when is the next train from Birmingham to London and how much does it cost?” or “I am abandoned in Crewe, the bus driver just threatened to kill me, how do I get home?” I’ll miss reading the words “You are a nightmare woman!” from him. My lack of organisational skills is enough to make him go into anxious convulsions. He came to Dublin for the weekend with a colour coded map (created by him) with arrows printed on and a timed itinerary of attractions he wanted to see. I once told him that I don’t use maps “because I like the challenge,” no surprise that he’s not coming traveling with me.

Learning Spanish:
I downloaded Spanish lessons on my ipod and told people "I’m going to listen to it for an hour a day"…. never happened, I've listened to it once for 5 minutes. But, I am impressed that I took the time to download the CD. Actually, come to think of it, I didn’t download it, my housemate's boyfriend did. Well, I paid for the CD at least, I definitely paid for it.

Getting Bikini Ready:
Took up boxing because apparently the weight ‘falls off you’ when you do it. Gained weight instead of losing it as my appetite increased ten fold but Julie and Naomi are happy to be traveling with their own personal security guard. Not too sure how my guns will compete against a real gun though, will have to wait and see.

Things that would be useful on the trip:
1. A skeleton Key for escaping from my outdoor cage when I am kidnapped by Latin American gang lords. Although even without one, I am confident that I will orchestrate a heroic Houdini like escape after being held captive for some time, but disappointingly will most likely still return to Ireland with no tan.

2. The Ability To Speak Spanish. It will happen. It will just leak effortlessly into my brain whilst over there and I will be communicating with the natives fluently in no time.

My conversations will go something like this….

Male Native: Hello. You are very sun burnt.

Me: No, I just go this colour in the heat. I’m Irish you see.

Male Native: No! That’s impossible, you sound native, your accent is flawless.

Me: Thank you, I have only been here two weeks and already I am fluent.

Male Native: Very impressive. Would you like to come to Cococabana with me and my handsome male friends?

Me: I would, but I already promised to go there with a team of male model volleyball players that adore me and laugh at all my jokes .

Male Native: I would beg, but I can tell a girl like you gets offers like this all the time, so it would be pointless. I feel lucky to just be talking to you. Thank you.

Me: You are lucky, yes.

Before setting off from Dublin to South America, my parents gave me what they thought was some invaluable advice:

Mom: “Pack your knickers into your shoes” (I assume I should not be wearing either at the time).

Bren: “Never carry anyone’s bag at the airport, especially if it’s a nun or an old lady.” I took Mom’s advice and Bren’s was never going to happen anyway, the old lady can carry her own bag, laden with cocaine or not.

Some other travel advice I took was from a guide book. It said that if being attacked not to scream “help” but “fire” instead. I have stored this information in the back of my mind. I just hope I don’t recall it when I have a gun held to my head.

20 SELF ABSORBED REASONS FOR GOING BACKPACKING

1. Because I deserve it.

2. Not to find myself but to lose myself and then be reintroduced and possibly date myself.

3. To see if I can negotiate my way out of a potential kidnap situation through the power of Irish dance due to my lack of Spanish.

4. To be able to tell guinea pig lovers back home that I ate guinea pig and I LOVED it.

5. Because trekking in Manchu Picchu and paragliding off a mountain is slightly more interesting than working at the Council.

6. Because the words ‘working at the Council’ make me want to vomit, meaning it’s time to move on.

7. To see if I am taller than South American men.

8. To engage with people that I would normally ignore at home.

9. To chew coco leaves until I think I am a coco leaf.

10. To eliminate the phrases “Can I help you?” and “I understand your concern” from my life! Basically, I want to stop lying to people.

11. Because I am more interesting in other countries.

12. To test my laziness.

13. To ‘LOL’ and ‘OMG’ face to face for a change.

14. To do some volunteer work that doesn’t include a lot of work.

15. Because in some of the countries I am going to wine is cheaper than water.

16. Siestas….need I say more?

17. To meet hot Aussie backpackers called ‘Guy’ and ‘Sky’ and to agree vehemently with everything they say….absolutely.

18. Because I haven’t been everywhere, but its on my list.

19. Because I’m not the kind of person who makes lists, but I like to pretend to be.

20. Because I want to prove to my Mom that I can go traveling without ending up on ‘Banged up Abroad.’
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