Top Ten Photos

After five months of travelling it takes a while to review more than twenty thousand photos.
I picked the following photos to provide a visual summary of my journey.

They are in chronological order.

Khumbu Glacier near Everest Base Camp, Nepal

After eight days trekking through the Himalayas we come to a beautiful valley carved out by the Khumbu Glacier. On the ninth day we walk on the glacier as we reach Everest Base Camp. This photo was taken looking away from base camp about half an hour before we got there, at about 5300m .

Maasai warriors from the Mara, Kenya

Blood and milk are an important part of these warriors diet. All the Maasai men consider themselves warriors. Their ancient belief is that in the beginning of creation the masaii come down from heaven with their herds and that they are the rightful owners of all cattle.

Farmers in Tanzania raise imported European cattle to avoid raids by the Maasai.

Migration of animals in the Serengeti.

Zebra and wildebeest can be seen throughout the rift valley but most live their lives in this one great noisy herd which is always on the move, seeking greener pastures. The herd follows a large circular path each year.

St Paul's Cathedral London.

After an overnight flight from Nairobi, I had half a day in London. I barely had time to take this photo before returning to Heathrow to catch a flight to Cairo.

Sunrise over the Nile, Egypt.

Out of 24 flights on my trip only one of them was in a balloon. I had to get up early in the morning to take this photo looking east towards the Nile River and Luxor - the ancient city of Thebes.

On a bright sunny day, people in boats, in a lake, in a park, in Madrid, Spain.

How do they avoid running into one another?

The Galapagos Islands

Everyday in the Galapagos brought new and wondrous surprises.

Colca Valley, Peru

Machu Picchu, Peru

The mist was continually coming in and fading out, creating surreal vistas of this amazing area.

A river in the Amazon, Peru.

It's cold on the river in the early morning hours. This is a tributary to a tributary to the Amazon river.

Iguazu Falls, Argentina

From Brazil, we take day trip into Argentina to see the falls close up. In the photo you can see massive amounts of water tumbling down in the foreground. In the background, the falls go on and on. The most impressive point is further back and out of sight.

And yes, there are eleven pictures in my top ten photos. I just couldn't cut the collection down any further.

Brazil in Brief

My holiday s coming to an end so I am going to quickly describe my time in Brazil.

We enter from Bolivia after a horrible overnight train trip.

The Pantanal

In Brazil we head straight for our lodge in the Pantanal - a forest area similar to the Amazon but without the thick jungles. A lot more open space.

A dozen capivaras graze by the path as we carry our luggage to our rooms.

After we check in we head to the pier to fish for piranha. I have a vegetarian conscience crisis about the fishing but I decide that since I do eat fish I should be prepared to catch the fish as well. These are fish that really bite. I catch two. Most of the others caught more and everyone caught at least one. They all end up in the evening soup.

There are plenty of caymans on the banks of the river. Caymans are like small crocodiles. They are the size of freshies but have the shape of salties but with shorter thicker tails.

We walk along a raised wooden path over the wetlands. The sun sets and fireflies flicker by.

The next day we go for a horse ride. Well, we sit on horses that calmly plod along a familiar path. Not, really very adventurous. Still, I end up saddle-sore. In the afternoon we go for a walk. Our guide catches piranha and feeds them to the caymans. We see some raccoons, rheas (flightless birds like small emus) and an armadillo.

The next day we have a boat ride and go swimming in the river with the piranhas and caymans. Even though we couldn't see them while we were swimming we knew they were there.

The Prata River.

We float downstream in the Prata river with mask and snorkel. I was a bit concerned about snorkeling without flippers but my wet suit is extra buoyant so I don´t have to expend any energy floating.

The water is crystal clear. We have been warned not to stir the sand and silt on the river bed.

Two metres below, an underwater spring turns sand like an underwater bubbling volcano.

I drift down stream with my face down. I have a fish eye view of the river. There are fallen tree branches in the water covered with flowing moss and leaves. It is like an underwater forest. Dappled sunlight shines brightly through the trees above and plays on the river floor. Fish the size of my arm swim upstream or downstream. Alone or in schools. They are not concerned by my presence.

Large marble rocks, irregular shapes are covered in a grey-green slime, except where they have been chipped or broken and the white quartz-like stone is exposed.

When the current directs me to a rock or a branch it can be difficult to avoid it. Instead I learn to twist my body around obstacles.

I start to feel that I am in my element. The water temperature is cool and refreshing. The water is fresh and sweet. I feel like a fish. I move with the water.

Further downstream the large fish become larger still. The river joins a larger river. The water is deeper. Now the sunlight streams down through the water. I watch as my arm casts a deep shadow. Spears of light slip between my fingers down to the river bottom.

Iguazu Falls

We get up at five AM to ride in a bus most of the day. In the afternoon we go to the Brazilian side of Iguazu falls. The falls are 3km wide (If you stretched them out into a straight line). They just go on and on.

The next day we cross into Argentina for a day trip to see the other side of the falls.

The Argentinian side of Iguassu is fantastic.

I go for a boat ride and get thoroughly drenched from the spray as we get close to the falls. One of the men working the boat tells me the falls have twice as much water as the day before due to recent rains. A week ago there was a lot less water in the falls so we are very lucky.

We walk over the river on a long metal path to stare down the throat of the main waterfall. It is phenomenal - awe inspiring.

It is one of the great wonders of my trip. Up there along with;

• The final approach to Everest base camp.
• The migration of wildebeast and zebra in the serengetti.
• The top of Kilimanjaro.
• The Galapagos islands.
• Machu Picchu.

The Atlantic

We walk 8KM through the Atlantic rainforest. A thick mist spoils much of the view.

A hummingbird flitters by the path. When I see it, it takes my breath away. I try to take a photo of it fluttering suspended over a flower. Whenever I focus on it, it has already moved away. Hummingbirds are unattainable. You know from the beginning that they will soon be gone.

On Honey Island I swim in the Atlantic Ocean. Sometimes I dive into the waves. Sometimes I stand my ground and challenge them to knock me over. For all my travelling this is the first time I have swam in the Atlantic.

Rio

An overnight bus to Rio. It doesn't suit my stomach. I am sick. It's not pretty.

In Rio, we check into our hotel in Copacabana. We visit the Statue of Christ the Redeemer high on Corcovada. We also catch the cable car up Sugar Loaf Mountain.

Some of us go on a tour of one of the favelas. You can only visit these slums on organised tours that have the permission of the local drug lords.

My tour group disbands and I find my own accomodation. I find an appartment which is cheaper that most hotels.

It has a lounge, a bedroom, a small kichen amd a bathroom. It has been a long time since I have had so much space and all to myself. Now I have things in "the other room". It is strange to have multiple rooms.

I visit the botanical gardens. This is a huge park and includes a lovely walk through a section of rainforest.

I visit a large shopping centre. (What many international travelers call a "mall" - but not us Australians.) It is much like any other shopping centre.

Conclusion

And that's it for Rio.

And that's it for Brazil.

And that's it for South America.

And that's it for my Grand Adventure and what a grand adventure it has been.

Tomorrow I fly home to Melbourne.

There are still a lot of gaps in my blog and maybe I'll fill them in some day.

And I haven't given up travelling altogether so stay tuned.

Through Bolivia

Bolivians in their finery. La Paz May 2009

More travelling, less writing.

In La Paz there is an area known as the witches market. Many stores sell supplies for spells and charms including dried llama foetuses.

In Potosi we descend into the silver mines where men of poor prospects trade years of health to put bread on their tables.

In Sucre dinosaur tracks in ancient mud have been raised vertical. Or perhaps there were once spider dinosaurs that could run up and down cliffs.

At night we go see a local dance performance. Afterwards we still feel restless so we go out on the town.

Someone shouts a round of absinthe shots. I have never had absinthe before, but I have heard of its reputation - a strong woody drink with poisons in it that can drive you crazy if you have to much of it. The general consensus around the table is that it tastes awful. I don't mind it though - at least, I find it tolerable. Maybe because it meets my expectations.

The bar is too quiet so we wander the streets looking for some place lively. We hear the promise of music coming from somewhere - an energetic drumbeat playing ticca-ticca-TAC ticca-TAC ticca-TACCA-tacca ...

Soon we see a group of people outside a night spot. But as we get closer we realise they are just loitering around a bottle shop. There is an old car sitting in the street in front of the shop, unoccupied with its engine idling and rattling, ticca-ticca-TAC ticca-TAC ticca-TACCA-tacca ...

We wander on an eventually we do find a nightclub. In the upstairs room they play music in English and Spanish with an alternative rock sound. We dance with the locals. There's one crazy track I immediately love that I think I'd like to play at my next party. I try to remember some of the lyrics and months later I will scour the internet for it, but to no avail.

Copacabana, Bolivia

The bus leaves Cuzco, Peru at 8:30 am and arrives at Copacabana just as the sun is setting. Copacabana is a small town nestled between hills on the shore of lake Titicaca in Bolivia.
The bus driver recommends a hotel on the shore.

I lug my pack up six flights of stairs to a nice room with the best view. A large window looks west out over the small harbour where dozens of ferries float on the water as well as several kayaks and about a hundred duck shaped recreational paddle boats.

The lake stretches out beyond to the horizon. It is twilight. The sun has set but there is still enough light to set the clouds afire, red, orange and yellow, bright beneath a darkening blue sky.

Because the town is small the tourist shops, restaurants and other services are concentrated in a single street which spans several blocks. I visit a travel agent, money exchange, internet cafe and restaurant.

In the morning the view is still beautiful. The dawn light stretches around the horizon to lightly colour the clouds above the blue lake.

I go down to the harbour and board a boat that heads out over the expanse of blue. There are about thirty passengers on the small ferry. I go up on the roof where there are bench seats but there are several smokers upwind so I go below to get some fresh air.

At the front of the boat there is a small hatch which I can stick my head through but in doing so I knock off my hat. The black hat I bought in Ecuador slides briefly over the roof before it tumbles over the side.

I am upset for a moment but I quickly resolve myself to its loss. I go to the back of the boat to look for it. It has overturned and floats lopsided on the water, a miniature boat drifting away in our wake.

It is a two hour ride to Isla del Sol and the weather is beautiful.

We walk up a stone path past rural houses and crops sparsely planted on the terraces. As in Peru there are more terraces than there are people who are prepared to farm them. I walk with a Swedish girl I met on the boat. We discuss travel, vegetarianism, the eradication of the native Tasmanian, social injustice and much more.

We walk across a sandy beach on the lake shore. The sand is fine and contains no evidence of shells. We walk from the north of the island to the south. We see an ancient Incan stone tablet that was used for human sacrifice and the remains of an Incan village. The remaining walls form a labyrinth. It is impossible to distinguish rooms from halls and street paths.

But the highlight is the walk itself, over the top of the island. Up and down hills. Wonderful views of the lake which looks like a sea. Bays, beaches, trees. The snow capped mountains of Bolivia.

It is a good day.

Amazon Jungle, Peru

After Machu Picchu we return to Cuzco. From here we take a forty minute flight to Puerto Maldonado in the Amazon Jungle. We cross over snow capped Andean peaks before descending to flat tree covered land with large brown winding rivers.

Any area down from the mountains that is part of the catchment area of the Amazon River is referred to as 'Amazon' and this makes up about forty percent of South America.

It is a three hour boat ride up river to our jungle lodge. Along the way we see a couple of boats with crude pipes and mechanisms that sift through the silt of the river looking for gold.

On the shore there is a small family of capybaras, the worlds largest rodent, about the size of a pig. We also spot a juvenile red howler monkey.

The lodge room is large and spacious with high wooden ceilings. One wall is open to the jungle. The en suite is comfortable but the shower only has cold water.

Several years ago when I first visited the lush tropical rainforest of Northern Queensland I thought how much like a jungle it seemed. Now that I am in the jungle I have to admit, it reminds me very much of Northern Queensland.

We climb a tower thirty metres high to stand above the upper canopy. Even though it is late afternoon, the direct sun is uncomfortably hot and I soon descend to the warm shade of the jungle floor.

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The next morning we rise early and walk to a lake where we board a large row boat. In the trees we see a group of stinky birds - brown fowls with beautiful wings, long necks and small heads. As there name suggests, they are not good eating.

A dozen small bats roost on a tree trunk sticking out of the water. They are well camouflaged but start to jiggle as we get closer.

Towards the end of the lake I think I see a couple of ducks on the surface.

"Ooh, ooh, look!" cries our guide with great excitement. "Ooh look. It is the giant otters. Ooh, can you see? The giant otters. Oh, you are so lucky. Oh look."

Our guide is breaking her own rule of being quite so as not to disturb the animals. "Oooh look! Oh, I haven't seen for so long. Oh, you are so lucky."

She has reason to be excited. Giant otters are rare. They are the largest otters in the world. Perhaps fifteen hundred in the world and only one hundred and twenty in this area of South America. She hasn't seen one for two years.

In my best photo from fifty metres away I can make out the heads of the two otters. They look like potatoes.

Our guide gives us dry crackers and directs us to crumble them over the side of the boat. The water is in turmoil as voracious piranha fish rush to the surface to devour the crumbs with their razor sharp teeth. At least, I imagine they have razor sharp teeth. I can't actually see them in the murky water. Some of the others in the boat have a better angle to catch a glimpse of them.

I think a school of goldfish would be just as animated with the prospect of feasting on cracker crumbs.

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In the jungle, we visit a huge capok tree and ginormous Brazil nut trees. The fruit of the Brazil nut is like a small hard coconut, about half the diameter of a coconut and without the surrounding thick fibrous husk. Inside the sphere are the nuts we know and love encased in their tough wedge shaped shells. Cracking open these shells, the raw nut has a kind of coconut taste. Despite the similarities the Brazil nut tree is no relation to the coconut which is a palm.

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In the night we don head light torches to look for insects. Five minutes into the walk I am already regretting it as we study a spider, a beetle, some ants, a cockroach. All insects that could be studied better in the daytime. Where are the jaguars?

On the way back from the walk I turn off my light and try to navigate using as much of the sparse moonlight that manages to penetrate the thick jungle canopy. This is also a way of avoiding having to stop and look at every cockroach and spider we pass.

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The next morning I bid farewell to my travelling companions with whom I have shared my Peruvian adventures. They return to Lima to finish the tour.

There is no going back for me however. I have elected to stay an extra two days in the jungle before resuming my grand adventure.

That morning I head out with a group of people to a bird hide to look for parrots and macaws. A few show up at a distance. I spend half of the time reading a book. A couple of monkeys drop by to relieve the monotony.

I realise I have a bit of a cold. Back at the lodge I have a nap before lunch. I decide I should rest so I spend the afternoon in bed reading and watching TV shows stored on my mobile phone - my last remaining functional device of advanced technology.

That night it begins to rain with determination. I realise I have a lot of a cold.
After breakfast I spot an agouti wandering around in the rain. These large rodents have sharp teeth which they use to eat Brazil nuts.

I continues to rain all day. One of the guides describes this as "female rain". The male rain lasts for ten minutes. It is quickly over and people return to whatever they were doing. The female rain goes on and on without respite. Nobody can do anything.

I spend most of the day resting and sleeping. The next day I rise early to catch a boat out of the jungle.

Despite my illness I still appreciate the beauty of the enormous wild greenery. I huddle from the cold wind as our boat speeds down the swollen river. The dawn light through the early morning clouds and the mist hanging over trees and water is something I will long remember.

Trek to Machu Picchu

Lares Trek

The trip I booked in September was an eight day hike which combined the Salcantay trek with the Inca Trail. It is very important to book the Inca trail well in advance because there are limits on the number of people permitted.

In February I found out my trip had been cancelled due to insufficient numbers. I was on Safari in Kenya at the time and I had a very poor internet connection. It was difficult to organise an alternative trip. It took about three weeks to sort everything out and by that time there were no more Inca Trail permits available until June.

The Lares Trek is a suitable alternative. We rise early and leave Cuzco by bus to arrive at the starting point of our trek late morning.

It feels good to have the Earth beneath my feet again - stretch my leg muscles and traverse mountains and valleys using only the inherent strength of my own body. I can't fly and I am a lousy swimmer but my boots were made for walking.

We hike up a steep grassy hill overlooking a small village of stone houses with thatched roofs and fields of potatoes, broad beans and corn.

The horses carrying our packs quickly overtake us. Llamas grazing on the hillside gaze curiously as we pass. We come to a small lake and the path becomes steeper and rockier. Mist envelopes us as we climb up through a pass. We put on rain gear as the thick mist wets us. We catch glimpses of nearby hills and ponds.

We descend into a valley dominated by a cascading river. The mist clears. We cross the river which turns and tumbles down into a lower wider valley. The path descends into the valley.

At the bottom is a small village and many tent sites. A road beyond the village spoils the magic of remoteness somewhat.

The next morning there is less mist. A mountain topped by a glacier appears and disappears behind temperamental clouds.

We climb to the other side of the valley. We marvel at where we walked the previous day. A few eagles fly by. "Are they condors?" asks someone who hasn't seen a condor yet.

The mist returns. We rest.

"Harku, Harku." says Gladys, our guide. This means "let's go" in Quechua.

I compose a Haiku.

On high mountain paths

Empty lungs in thin air

Peru in our hearts.

Over the the hill into a new valley with a new village below. A new river and new mountain to gaze at. Local women at the side of the path bring out local goods for sale. We give presents of pencils or bread to the young children.

On the third day we descend into a small town. We stop at the local primary school to donate supplies of pencils and paper. We walk along a dirt road beside a creek lined with gum trees. It is a very Australian scene.

We go by bus to Ollantaytambo. A quaint old town of Incan origins overlooked by Incan ruins on the slopes above. From here we catch a train that follows the river downstream through a deep valley.

Gum trees disappear and are replaced by jungle vegetation. The powerful rapids of the river foam white. Hills above become mountains. Over some nearby craggy peaks, condors fly appearing as distant specks. Snow capped mountains in the background.

The train stops at Aguas Calientes. Even my very basic Spanish is enough to translate this. It literally means "hot waters" and is so named because of the hot springs I spend half an hour relaxing in that evening.

A nice way to end a trek. A hot bath, a clean baño and a comfortable bed.

Machu Picchu

I was disappointed about not being able to hike the Inca Trail so I was damned if I was going to catch a bus up to Machu Picchu.

At a quarter to five in the morning I set off in the dark to begin my hike. The temperature is mild but the air is humid so I am quickly warmed by my exertion. I follow the path by the river down stream and out of town. On the other side of a bridge a path of stone steps progresses steeply up the hill. I don't know it at the time, but this is the restored Incan Path which Hiram Bingham climbed when he 'rediscovered' the sacred city in 1911. At intervals it crosses the bus road which also winds its way up the mountain, a much longer, not so steep path with many switchbacks.

For half an hour I labour up the path seeing little more than the stone steps in front of me, panting and sweating and not regretting an instant. With the faintest light appearing in the sky, I switch off my headlamp and allow my eyes to adjust to the gloom. At twenty to six the sky is light enough to enjoy the view as the jungle trail opens out to look down upon a huge hill jutting out of the morning mist.

At five past six I reach the top and battle with the crowds at the entrance gate before rejoining my companions who have ascended by bus.

Machu Picchu is glorious. It was abandoned in the sixteenth century and consequently escaped discovery and destruction by the Spaniards. It remained hidden in the Jungle for centuries.

The jungle has now been cleared from the site. The city is mostly intact except for the thatch roofs which have long decayed. Also the site has been cleared of any artefacts that could be carried away.

Only the stones are left. Stone buildings, stone temples, stone paths and stone fountains - a series of basic stone outlets with running water fed by hidden springs.

Llamas roam freely over the lawns keeping the grass town. Rabbit like viscacha with bushy ears and tails can also be seen darting here and there.

The ruins slope up the land either side so from just about any spot we have a great view of the city spread out before us, the high surrounding hills, the rivers far below and distant hills and mountains. Clouds roll in and out, temporarily obscuring parts of the vista, exposing and highlighting others.

I climb the steep nearby peak of Huayna Picchu. This takes an hour. At the top are more Incan ruins. I look down on the city of Machu Picchu, the Inca Trail that leads to it, the road and trail leading up from Aguas Calientes and various hills and valleys of Peru.

Without a doubt, Machu Picchu is one of the highlights of my journey.

Peru Highlands

Colca Canyon

We head up into higher ground away from the desert. Grass and low lying shrubs appear on the hills. Vicuñas - smaller versions of alpacas - wander freely over the hills with a backdrop of snow covered mountains.

We stop to take photos and within two minutes two women appear accompanied by small children. They spread out their blankets and sell us jewellery and clothes made of alpaca wool.

This is a Peru which fits within the scope of my imagination - in contrast with the unbelievable coastal desert.

Our accommodation is on the outskirts of a small town at the end of a bumpy road overlooking the Colca Valley. I lie in a hammock looking down on the valley and fields of wheat, barley and potatoes. There are some snow capped mountains in the distance partially obscured by a nearby hill. On my left, a few gum trees, tall and straight, remind me of home.

In the morning we drive down the Colca Valley which slowly gets wider and deeper. Eventually we come to the Colca Canyon. The deepest part of the canyon is three thousand metres. The section we visit is only twelve hundred metres deep and is sufficiently impressive.

We walk along the edge of the canyon and gasp as condors with three metre wing spans fly overhead.

In the afternoon we go for a walk up the steep hills near our hotel. It feels good to stretch my legs after so many days travelling in buses.

Near the top of the hill, at the base of a cliff, we see an ancient pre-Incan cemetery. Small stone buildings with windows facing east. Some of the skulls have an unusually high cranium. This was due to deliberate deformation. It was an ancient practice to bind a wooden splint to the growing head resulting in an elongated skull.

Titicaca

We drive back through the highlands and on to Puno on the shores of Lake Titicaca. Along the way we pass many herds of llamas tended to by women in traditional clothes, often accompanied by small pre-school children.

We visit Taquile island. The two thousand inhabitants live in small houses along the rocky path that winds its way up the large hill. What I find most amusing is that almost all the trees on the Titicaca islands are eucalypts.

We walk up to the top and have a nice lunch by the quaint town square overlooking the lake and with the Bolivian Andes in the distance. The lake is so large it feels like a sea.

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In the afternoon we go to another island. Our tour guide tells us of the "seven wonders" this island holds.

1. A police station with no police.
2. A jail with no prisoners.
3. A hospital with no doctors or patients.
4. A power generator that doesn't work.
5. A church with no priest or parishioners.
6. A hostel that never has any guests.
7. A water pump that doesn't work.
   

Members of the local families that will provide our nights accommodation meet us at the dock. We split into small groups of two or three. I join a couple from New Zealand.

A young woman, Marie, leads us up the hill to her parents house. Our rooms are nice enough. Soft beds covered with thick, heavy, knitted blankets and the downstairs baño is nicely tiled and has running water.

After we settle in, Marie takes us further up the hill to meet the rest of our group. Some of us start a game of soccer against the locals. It is a mismatched game - seven of us against nine of them. All of their players are skilled and have no problems with the four thousand metre altitude.

After five minutes I am huffing and puffing wildly. After ten minutes I have to leave the field. Lying by the sideline, the ball comes in my direction and I kick it back into play with the heel of my boot without getting up.

After several minutes I return to the field. I take a forward position where the action is infrequent. Most of our team is playing defence and our goalie Sherry is doing a great job preventing the opposition from scoring.

I leave the field again, rest and return. The ball comes my way and I manage to return it to a team mate. He kicks it to our best player who kicks the one and only winning goal. By some unspoken agreement this signals the end of the game.

We are presented with a trophy and both teams gather for a photo opportunity. I lie down exhausted in front of everyone and hold the trophy up with one hand. Sherry picks up the smallest member of the opposition and holds him in her arms like a baby, much to his alarm and everyone else's amusement.

The game went longer than planned. After all this activity there are only two of us who feel like walking up higher and catching the remains of the sunset. My energy returns almost as quickly as it left. From the top we can see the fading light, red above the lake, Puno and the hills of Peru.

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We return to the soccer field where Marie's father meets us and guides us silently back to his home for dinner.

The kitchen / dining room is small with a dirt floor. Three of us sit on a bench seat with our back to the wall in front of a small low table. A tasty vegetable soup is followed by a similar vegetable stew with rice. Marie sits across from us by the clay fire place with a cast iron top, tending the food in clay pots and thin aluminium pans. Her mother sits silently to the right knitting. Marie's father sits in the shadows at the far end of the room on our left. The room is dimly lit by the fireplace, a candle and a half watt bulb. The candle goes out.

Over dinner we have a limited conversation in Spanish which is no ones preferred language. The islanders native language is Quechua. The conversation focuses on family, numbers and ages of brothers and sisters and animals in different countries. I tell the story of the girl in Ecuador who accidentally put salt in her coffee, not once, but twice.

After dinner our hosts dress us in local clothes in preparation for a dance. For the women, this involves several layers of skirts, blouses and belts. The men simply slip on a poncho.

In the small town hall, two local bands take turns to play music at opposite ends of the hall. Battle of the bands. We all dance in a group, then in pairs, then there is a display of the local dances. Then it all wraps up rather quickly, much to my disappointment. I only got to dance with two girls and there are several others I would have liked to have danced with.

Floating Islands

The next day we visit the amazing floating islands of Lake Titicaca.

The long totura reeds of the lake have an edible stalk that tastes a bit like a wet mild celery. (Yes, I ate some.) When the reeds are dried and flattened they look like giant pieces of yellow straw two centimetres wide and two metres long. these are layered on top of each other again and again to form a huge compact mat two metres thick. This floats with about twenty centimetres above the water.

The island we visit is large enough to hold about ten small houses, a school room and several incidental buildings. All the buildings except for the school room are made of the reeds as are beds, tables, seats, etc. A few ponds and swimming holes are cut into the centre of the island.

The islanders drink direct from the fresh water of the lake. They fish and make handicrafts including beautiful tapestries. Several stalls await us.

There are scores of similar islands nearby. This island has about seven families living on it. There used to be another two families but they decided to separate. This was achieved with a handsaw.

Walking on the island is like walking on a spongy straw mat. The surface gives because of the top layers of reeds - not because it is floating on water.

A boy sits outside the school room playing with a hammer, nail and a board. Two young boys run out and urinate into the nearby pond. Inside the school room are about sixteen children between the ages of three and ten running and playing. An adult supervises.

We go for a short ride in a large reed row boat. Then it is time to leave.

Three women sing us songs as we board our boat. As we pull out from the shore they yell in unison, "Hasta la vista, baby."

Sadly, this island life is not good for the health. The islands are two small for decent exercise and the spongy surface promotes a sedentary lifestyle. Life expectancy on the islands is between fifty five and sixty five.

Peru Coast

The Coast of Peru.

The coast of Peru is not what I expected. A dry sandy desert with forbidding barren mountains. Occasionally there is green life where there is underground water or where a river has made its long way from the Andes.

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We take a boat out to the Ballestas islands. Rocky high cliffs rich in guano. Astounding quantities of bird life nest on the rocks, fly overhead or skim over the water looking for fish. Here and there, several groups of penguins stand proudly on the rocks near the water. Sea lions also bask on the rocks, sleeping in the sun.

We come to a beach a hundred metres wide with thousands of sea lions crowded together. The surrounding cliffs amplify the cacophony of barking and squealing. Young pups, black and shiny like fat leeches squirm along the beach. The shallow waters near the shore churn with the splashing and swimming creatures.

Sea lions at the Ballestas islands

Sandboarding on my belly at the sand dunes of Huacachina

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Near Nazca we climb a lookout tower to get a better view of the ancient shapes cut into the dry desert surface.



We drive out further from Nazca to see a pre-Incan cemetery. The local farmers buried their dead in a fetal position facing the sun. In the past century the wind has lifted away some of the sand to expose the remains. Human bones and cotton wrappings litter the sandy surface. Grave robbers have also caused damage.

Burial pits have been excavated and contain multiple skeletons, intact and dressed. Some bodies have been mummified by the dry heat where it rarely rains.

The people usually died of disease between their twenties and forties. There are many remains of children and few remains of the elderly.

I find the experience emotionally draining as I am still mourning the loss of my friend Linda. Linda and I went to University together. We would get together for the occasional dinner and we would often have long chats on the telephone except for the times when she was ill when she would become reclusive.

---

Arequipa is the second largest city in Peru with a population of one million. Here we visit a large and beautiful nunnery. The secluded city within a city with streets and houses and courtyards. The dominant colour for the inner walls is a deep sky blue - the outer walls, a rich terracotta brown.

Ecuador - Quito and Mindo

Good Friday Parade in Quito

Our group tour of Ecuador finishes in Quito. The next day is Good Friday.

Thousands of people parade the streets dressed in purple hooded robes similar to Ku Klux Klan outfits. Interspersed between the purple marchers are different marching bands and many men dressed as Jesus carrying crosses of different sizes.

Sometimes they are accompanied by men dressed as Roman soldiers. Many carry their crosses with cushions on their shoulders. They stop to change sides or to rest. One cross is as big as a telephone pole. Its bearer drags it through the street helped by friends.

Some don´t carry full crosses. They have large wooden beams across their shoulders. Some drag heavy chains from their feet. It is a solumn occassion.

The parade stretches on for over a kilometre and takes two hours to pass. How do you start a parade of that size? Where does everyone gather before they begin their march?



Mindo

The next day I take Ailsa's advice and catch a local bus to Mindo. Mindo is a small town on the edge of a cloud forest and is well known as a birdwatchers' paradise.

The town is full this night and I have a hard time finding a room. I take what I can get. My "room" is a second floor balcony under a roof alcove. There is just enough room for a single bed and for the door to swing open. The railing is about a foot high. My hostess advises me not to drink as I could fall over the edge. There is no window or curtain. Just open space. There is a mosquito net over the bed.

The view is magnificent. It looks out onto lovely trees and there are sounds of a stream just beyond.

At night I lie in bed and listen to a group of people singing South American songs as someone plays guitar. This would be lovely except they start at 12:30 am and they play until 2:30 am. They are close by and I don't have a window to shut out the noise. I don't get to sleep until four and I wake up at daylight.

At breakfast I watch a hummingbird hover near a bird feeder before flying away.

Late that morning I check into the hotel next door which has a large room with ensuite and a door to balcony with a hammock. This balcony is larger than my previous nights accommodation.

The view is just as beautiful, looking out over the tree covered town and beyond to the nearby hills and forest.

My balcony view, Mindo.

Here I take a holiday from my holiday. There is no need to leave my room to see anything. Everything I need is here. The restaurant downstairs has excellent food at a good price. Pretty Ecuadorian girls smile shyly as they take my orders in Spanish and return to the kitchen to giggle.

I spend two days in my room writting. My laptop stops working unexpectedly. I switch to pen and paper. I will have to wait until I return to Melbourne before I can get the laptop fixed under warranty.

I return to Quito. My photos are all safely stored on an external harddrive. I buy a second harddrive for backup.

An hour before I have to leave for my flight to Lima I receive an email and learn that a friend has died.

Baños

Baños, Ecuador, in the shadow of the active volcano Tungurahua

Back from the Ecuadorian Amazon Jungle we come to the adventure town of Baños.

I decide to do a ´pendulum´ bungee jump which means I don´t have to fall head first - I stay right way up, jump of a brisge and swing backwards and forwards under another bridge.

As I step off the bridge I am thinking - *#@%.

I am falling. I know that I will be fine but that is some time in the future. It doesn´t mean much during free fall.

After a second or two, tension returns to the bungee cord and my panic subsides. From then on its just east swinging.


Baños Ecuador - Rafting

(The next day.)

Our rafts are large rubber dinghies. Six of us are assigned to the red raft, another six to the yellow raft. Each raft also has a pilot that sits in the back. We all have wetsuits and wet runners. I also have wet socks because I have found this helps protect my blisters and prevent new ones.

Our pilot teaches us the basics: forward, forward-faster, back, back-faster, stop and inside. 'Inside' is where we give up trying to control the raft, assume a kind of kneeling/praying position and hang on for dear life. He also teaches us how to retrieve fallen comrades.

The last raft I was on was a bamboo raft in Thailand. That had a totally different set of instructions. It was six bamboo poles eight metres long and six centimetre diameter lashed together. On that, we stood up and used long poles to steer. The ten year old pilot instructing us, "Left... left... left......... LIGHT-LIGHT-LIGHT-LIGHT-LIGHT".

We take the raft to the river and get in but we don start down the river yet. First our pilot drills us through all the commands including body retrieval. Then he gets us all to stand under a waterfall. I think this is a good idea. You don't want anyone to have any delusions about not getting wet.

I am in the front left position and have been designated 'Captain Left'. My left foot is shoved forward into a pocket on the floor of the craft. My right foot is aft, jammed under a large inflated which streches across the width of the raft and helps to give it structure. Like everyone else I am sitting on the side of the raft, facing forward.

The stalwart, bearded Brad is 'Captain Right'. Our pilot has stressed that we have to keep our strokes synchronised. The rest of the crew will follow our lead.

Roanna has had plenty of experience in rafts before so she is 'back-seat driver right'. She stresses how important my position is in order for the raft to safely navigate the rapids and she urges me to row well.

I had been planning to row to the best of my ability but now I review my strategy. I can't come up with anything better so I decide to stick with my initial plan.

'Forward' shouts the pilot, his voice muffled by the roar of the river. 'Forward' echoes the crew, passing the message on to those who didn't hear it.

'Forward-fast' shouts the pilot as we repeatedly lean forward into the river plunging our paddles deep into the river and dragging as much water as possible behind us.

'Stop' shouts the pilot as we let the rapid current draw us along. All this time the pilot has been using his paddle to steer us in the right direction.

The yellow raft takes the lead, the critical 'Captain Left' position occupied by a valient thirteen year old girl. We know that we will catch up with them, red rafts being naturally faster than yellow rafts, and we discuss with the pilot the aqua-dynamic advantages racing stripes could bring.

'Forward-forward' shouts the pilot. 'What the hell is forward-forward?' I think as I start up a forward stroke. I guess it's just a more insistent version of 'forward'.

As we proceed through the rapids we row as the raft bucks and sways. Sometimes the water drops beneath us and we have to reach down far outside the raft or else we are paddling air.

On one of the rapids Captain Left Yellow falls overboard and is successfully rescued.

'Go! Go!' shouts Roanna. 'What does "Go" mean?' I yell back continuing with my 'forward' strokes. Apparently it is 'forward' translated into New Zealand rafting terminology. A short word quick and to the point. Well, that's fine now that I know.

We stop and are led to a bank below a bridge and are instructed to jump in the river and swim to shore. This, I assume is a test for our pilots to see how well we can swim and how strong our nerve is. We are then led through a series of progressively higher jumps. Captain Left Yellow makes each jump twice.

When you are travelling down rapids and the craft rocks and sways and drops down falls and crashes into and over waves you can move your body backwards or forwards as if you were riding a horse and this makes the ride easier. That is, if the pilot has yelled 'stop'.

If the pilot yells 'forward' it doesn't matter if the raft is inclined dangerously down into the trough before an upcoming four foot wave of water. You have to lean forward, further outside the boat, into the danger and stretch out to reach the water.

And that is probably what I am doing when the river suddenly lifts the boat and I fall out. Well, nearly. My body is right out of the craft leaning backwards but my legs still hold on. I have a lot of strength in my legs from walking and dancing so I don't fall out. But my stomach and back muscles aren't that great so I am having a hell of a time trying to right myself. I have to hold that position for about five seconds before Brad grabs my hand and helps me back up.

After another set of rapids I try to ask the pilot how much farther we have to go. Are we half way I suggest? There is a communication problem and I don't get an answer. Then we are descending another set of rapids. Two minutes later we head to shore and our trip is over.

'So soon?' I ask. I look at my watch but all I see is a bare wrist. My watch is gone.

That water resistent $5 watch has been to a lot of places. I think I got it about six years ago before I went to Samoa. I really only wear a watch when travelling so it has been more of an international watch. Good times. Now it is gone. An innocent victim of the powerful Ecuadorian river.

-------------------------
Baños Ecuador - Canyoning.

(Same day.)

I had never heard of canyoning until yesterday and I got some sort of idea that it was like a triathalon of water sports - a combination of absailing and water slides and swinging through rapids, all within a canyon of course.

Well what we are doing is first and foremost absailing down waterfalls. This is fun but you spend a lot of time waiting for your turn. Thankfully there are only four of us along with two instructors: Brad, Ailsa, David and myself. David has been our tour guide through Ecuador and for professional reasons he has come along to see what he has been getting his clients into.

We are wearing wet suits, runners, helmets, some kind of water proof tops and harnesses that look like big yellow nappies. The rope is secured above and thread through some metal loops at the front of my harness. It then goes by my waist at the right. I hold it behind my back with my right hand. This creates enough tension to hold my weight. The rest of the rope dangles behind me down to the bottem of the fall. As I release the tension on the rope with my right hand I slowly lower myself down and I use my feet to walk backwards down the nearly vertical rocks. Basically the left hand has to stay out of the way.

There is also a guide rope the instructor above can secure in an emergency and the second instructor below is able pull on my rope and create enough tension in the harness to stop me.

I have been absailing a couple of times in the past but this time has a few added difficulties.

First - I am not wearing any gloves. This means I have to go slow. One of the fun things with absailing is jumping backwards and letting the rope out quickly. This way you can jump down several metres at a time and descend a cliff quickly. But if I try that without gloves all that rope threading quickly through my right hand will give me a nasty rope burn.

Second - the water on smooth rocks is super slippery. My footware has no grip. If I had known I would have worn my own Dunlop Volleys with a better tread - not that it would have made much difference. Normally, absailng on dry rock I would have good boots that would make me sure footed and I would be able to freely scramble from side to side. You can jump out from the rock and have fun bouncing around. Here I have to move carefully so I don't slip over. Its best to lean right back at a ninety degree angle to the rock surface so that all the pressure is directed straight at the rock.

We descend several falls. In general we avoid the stream of water. We go down beside the falls or where the water is shallowest. The rocks are usually still wet and slippery. The first falls are eight to twelve metres. Then we come to a fifteen metre fall and a thirty metre fall.

Now it is raining and cold. While we wait for our turn we move around to keep warm or else we huddle close to the rocks out of the light wind.

Near the top of one of the falls, I am not leaning back enough. My feet slip and I fall forward. My face mashes into the hard wet rock. Suddenly it's not so fun anymore. I make sure my rope is secure and that I am not going to fall. My nose is bleeding. I slowly get to my knees. The instructor is calling to me to climb back up but I don't feel like going anywhere just yet. It's safer to stay still for now.

My nose is sore but undamaged. I have had plenty of experience with blood noses and I want to wait a minute or two until it stops. Soon the blood flow has nearly stopped and I am ready to move on. I carefully get to my feet. I tell the instructor I would rather proceed down and he agrees that would be a better plan if I am up to it. I start down slowly but quickly regain me confidence and make it to the bottem without incident. By the time I start the next descent I am back to having fun again.

We have to go back up to the road before we make the final descent down a fourty-five metre fall. At this point we are looking like a pack of miserable wet bedragelled kittens. But courageous miserable wet bedraggled kittens none the less. Brad and Ailsa decide they have had enough fun for one day. They retire to the mini bus and drink cups of a sweet 'tea' that tastes like hot barley sugar water.

I decide to continue on to the final fall. Not that I expect to enjoy it but I want to complete the course. David will do it if and only if I will and I will so he does.

This drop is unlike the others. First for about a metre or two I have to descend, kneeling down, a rock which overhangs the falls. I decide not to look down so I can concentrate on the job at hand. Then I drop from the rock and I am hangin freely by the rope fourty-three metres up in front of a beautiful waterfall.

There is nothing for my feet to touch so the descent is actually easier and less dangerous than the others. I slowly release the rope and carefully lower myself down. I keep a good grip on the rope. A third of the way I feel comfortable enough to look down. I wonder what it would be like to let go of the rope and hang by the emergency rope. I push the thought out of my head. That's the sort of action that gets you a Darwin award.

I continue down at a slow and steady pace until I reach the bottem.

While David is coming down the instructor at the bottem tells me the falls are called 'silent falls'. I say they aren't silent and I can hear them quite well. He points to David and explains that if he falls from that height he will be silent. This is a good conversation considering he can't speak English and I can't speak Spanish.

The final descent was the best and I am glad I did it even though I am pretty sure that's how I got the rope burn on my right hand. My nose is a bit tender but not bruised or broken.

Back in Baños I pay $10 for a watch similar to the one I lost rafting. That's the whole point of a $5 watch. You don't have to be attached to it. It is replaceable. This new watch will always remind me of how I lost the last one.

Good times.

Galapagos

Sunset in the Galapagos

The morning is clear in Quito so I can see snow on one of the nearby mountains as we head to the airport. Our flight has a brief stop in Guayaquil which I keep referring to as 'guilded lily' because I can't remember its name.

As we descend the land is flat and green with wet flooded fields, cold and overcast. We cross a wide river a mud soup with viscous brown curdles. We take off again over hills of endless trees. This is the coast of Ecuador. 'Coast' refers to any land west of the Andes no matter how far away it is from the ocean.

The trees disappear below clouds. The clouds disappear into featureless bright white. When I next look out the window the world is blue above and below with a dividing band of hazy cloud.

It's a decent sized plane with over a hundred passengers. As we land with a sudden dip and bounce a boy behind me exclaims, "wee-hoo!" with delight. "Wee-hoo," I agree, with additional undertones of relief.

We unload onto Isla Baltra's small military airport and are taken by bus to a small port. There are about ten sea lions lounging on the pier, oblivious to our presence. This gives us our first taste of excitement at experiencing the uniqueness of the Galapagos.

(Note: The sea lions are what I would normally just call 'seals'. Technically, this is correct as a sea lion is a specific type of seal. In South America the sea lion is called 'lobo marinos' which translates as 'sea wolf'.)

We are transported by motorised dinghy to our boat, the yate 'Darwin'. A man missed his connection in Peru and had to cancel his trip. This resulted in me having a cabin to myself. I am fortunate to have one of the two passenger cabins on the top deck with a nice window.

The kitchen / bar, dining area, lounge and two more cabins are on the middle deck. Four more passenger cabins are below deck and there are four cabins for our crew of seven. Each passenger cabin has an ensuite with toilet and shower with hot water.

We have a marvelous lunch and set sail. We come to an island and use a motorised dinghy to land on the beach. There are hundreds of red crabs scuttling over the rocks. We briefly spy a green turtle swimming nearby. We snorkle looking for turles but don't see them again.

No matter. There are lots of pretty fish. I see a sea eel covered with brown spots twisting and swimming near the sondy bottem - it looks like a slithering snake. The water is cloudy and my mask is foggy when I see a large fish about two metres long swim past about five metres away. I suspect it is a shark and my heart beats faster.

---

We sail through the night and I get up early to watch the sunrise over new islands.

Birds wing around nearby rocky shores. Sea lions bark in the distance and I use my binoculars to watch them.

After breakfast we take the dinghy to the island. The sun is hot. Iguanas sit under prickly pear cactii waiting for the fruit to drop. The rocks by the beach are shiny, polished by centuries of sea lions crawling over them crushing and smearing their dried droppings over the surfaces. We pass the remains of a long dead sea lion. White bleached bones crushed and wrapped in a flat leather skin. We pass live sea lions as well.

"I hope you don´t get tired of sea lions," says our guide Sergio, "because you are going to see a lot of them every day."

On higher ground we look down from cliffs and watch many birds flying by. We also see them and their young nesting in the rocks.

In the afternoon we snorkle from the boat and see a turtle on the sandy sea floor ten metres deep below. We swim to nearby rocks. SPLASH!! A huge sea lion dives into the water right next to me. There is that fast beating heart again. Soon there are other sea lions swimming playfully beside us. I curl up halfway into a ball and position myself defensively in case a sea lion should attack.

---

Our time in the Galapagos is magical. Each day brings new and exciting experiences.

We go snorkelling every day and have walks on the various islands.

Each Island is different. Some are bare. Lots of cacti. Some have small shrubs, some large shrubs, some with light trees. One island is bare volcanic rock and sand and dust. We climb to the top and examine the various volcanic cones.

The sun is ferocious and in general there is no shelter on the land. Escaping the heat means going swimming or hiding in my air conditioned cabin. The food on the boat is excellent. Good enough for a Christmas dinner.

Walking on many of the beaches we have to wind our way between sea lions. I get used to swimming with the seals. Also the sharks. I get a bad sun burn and start snorkelling with a tee-shirt wrapped over my head. One day I spend fifteen minutes watching a huge turtle feeding two metres away from where I snorkel.



The islands also have lots of iguanas in different varieties. The aquatic iguanas are as black as the rocks they rest upon. On one island the cactus fruit grow close to the ground. The iguanas grow big and fat as they don´t have to wait for the fruit to drop.

The blue footed booby birds dance and squawk and whistle on the rocks and sand above the shore. Their feet are blue. How about that? Go figure.



As we sail between the islands flocks of huge frigate birds accompany us taking advantage of the breeze above the boat. One day we sail alongside a pod of about a hundred dolphins.



A town on a large island has a population of sixteen thousand. On this island we travel up into the highlands to see giant land turtles.

Giant turtle in the highlands.

Look at me! I'm a turtle.

On some islands we see penguins by the shore. A couple of times they swim beside us. We also see some aquatic iguanas feeding under water.

Frigate birds, nesting on an island, balloon up their red throats as part of their courting ritual.

Every day reveals something new and surprising. I wonder, if I stayed longer would this continue? After eight days I regret that I have to leave.

The Galapagos are wonderful. I would enjoy returning someday.

Will I? Who knows? (Do you know?)

Quito, Ecuador

From Madrid, I fly through the long day chasing the sun. It takes twelve hours but when I arrive in Ecuador it is only six hours after I left.

The plane descends through layer after layer of clouds. Green and cold and high in the mountains. A new country. A new continent.

Map, taxi, hotel, ATM, local SIM card, internet. I read emails from a day in the future. I´ve stretched out the day so much it is already the next day in Australia. I am living in the past.

---

Quito

Morning and I start to explore Quito. It was a cold night and when I hit the street it is overcast and foggy. The streets aren´t that interesting in the part of town I am staying. I pass through a sterile park. I decide to make my way to the old section of town. Grafitti on a wall reads, ¨VIVA LOS PUNK¨.

As I progress the fog starts to lift. A large cathedral appears. I see misty hills covered with houses in the background. One hill has a huge statue of an angel on top looking down on the town. (It isn´t really an angel. It is actually Mary with wings.)

In the cathedral a man approaches me and asks if I would like him to show me around the cathedral. I ask him if he will be expecting a tip afterwards. I have been in this position many times before. A local approaches a tourist, offers an unwanted service and afterwards names his fee.

"Well, you know," he says, slightly sheepishly, "a man has to make a living." I offer him a dollar and he says it isn´t much. I don´t know if that´s true or not but it´s the standard response. He would probably say the same if I offered him twenty dollars. We agree on a dollar and he shows me around for fifteen minutes or so. Afterwards I think, " a man has to make an honest living".

The cathedral is beautiful. Light shines brightly through the stained glass windows showing all the Popes up until John Paul II. The most interesting thing is a statue of the infant Mary. It shows Mary as a two year old child dressed up as a Spanish princess which supposedly was the fashion for small town Jewish girls circa 20B.C.

I light a candle in front of the infant Mary in memory of Tanja and Dim. I think Tanja would be perplexed.

Outside the cathedral, I like the look of the hats the locals are wearing and think I should get one for myself. After a while I change my mind as it seems only the women are wearing the hats.

The laughs and shouts I hear tell me I am passing a primary school. There are so many high pitched squeals it sounds like an aviary.

The old part of town is quite charming. It contains numerous churches, museums and ornate old buildings along narrow cobblestone streets.

A man draws my attention to a streak of wet purple paint that is running down my shoulder bag. He points up to suggest the paint has dripped down from above. I look up but can´t see the source. He gives me some tissues and beckons me to the side of the road to cleanup. I thank him and decline. My instinct tells me to leave the scene and I go to the restroom of a nearby restaurant.

There is a line of paint on my shirt, bag and down the leg of my jeans. Another manenters the restroom and notices my misfortune. He speaks in Spanish but I gather he thinks someone squirted paint on me to distract me so they could try to steal my camera or bag. I suspect the helpful stranger with the tissues.

After lunch I sit in a park and relax as the sun comes out warm and bright. I see some men wearing hats and I once again plan to get one. Breathing is already a little difficult at 2600m and the pollution from passing traffic makes it worse.

Town squares like the one I am in are a prominent feature of towns throughout South America. Even small towns will have a Plaza de Armas or a Plaza Mayor, typically a square with a path around the perimeter and four paths leading into the centre form each corner. In the centre is a prominent statue which may be in the middle of a fountain. The rest of the square is usally gerrn grass and trees or bushes.

I head to an Internet cafe for a while and when I come out the sun has gone and it is raining. Typical Melbourne weather.

Madrid, Spain

I arrive at my hotel at 4:30am. I think the taxi driver short-changed me five euros or maybe it was an extra late-night charge.

The tired girl at the front desk explains in broken English that I can leave my bags here but I won't be able to check in until 12 o'clock. "Not possible" she insists. The room needs to be made up and won't be ready till noon. We discuss this for five minutes before she realizes I am not trying to check in early. I am trying to check in late from the day before.

She shows me to my room immediately and it is not long until I am soundly asleep. I wake and sleep a few more times and don't get up until about 10am. The girl apologises for the misunderstanding the night before and gives me a map pointing out local sites.

I hit the streets with two goals in mind:

1. Get a basic orientation of my surroundings (i.e. don't get lost.)
2. Get some breakfast.

It's a sunny day, about twenty degrees. Orientation works out okay and I start looking for breakfast. Unlike Asia and Africa the restaurants don't have English menus. Everything is in Spanish. Eventually I settle on a place with pictures on the menu. I recognise the word "vegetariana" and although the dish isn't available I manage to apply the word to a different dish and get eggs and Spanish vegetables without the meat. After brunch I feel more confident and start wandering in earnest.

At first glance Madrid is an ordinary city with cars, shops, MacDonald's. As I start to wander, the city starts to reveal itself.

The buildings display a consistent architecture. Metal balconies on all the windows are almost obligatory. Its not uncommon for the building to be adorned with busts and statues. Just about every corner has a plaza with interesting architecture and sights. Unfortunately there is a lot of renovation and construction under way which undermines the plazas' aesthetics.

The Plaza Mayor is a huge square with beautiful buildings on four sides. The most interesting is adorned with three floors of paintings on its wall between its shuttered windows and two large clock towers either side. In the centre of the square is an impressive statue of Philip III mounted on a horse. But the focus of the square is a central large white building, currently under construction which looks like it might turn out to be a visitor centre or perhaps Spain's biggest fruit juice stand.

I buy an English guide to Madrid in a souvenir store. The girl short changes me two euro. I am really going to have to watch my money from now on. I look at some more sites and the guide book explains what I am looking at. But the city is engaging enough without following the itinerary. Soon I get tired and wander off to a park where I sit on the grass by a fountain and relax.

over the next few days, the more I explore the city, the more it reveals its grandeur. The bright sunny weather helps. Cafes and restaurants are well populated. Streets offer long views of beautiful building after building. The prevalence of Spanish and the absence of English keeps me aware of where I am. Ubiquitous paella and jamon. The respect for ham typified by Museo del Jamon stores.

Often my walks are accompanied by lovely music played by skilful buskers. A solo violinist plays bright classical music. A classical guitarist plays Spanish music. A string quartet plays Vivaldi's Four Seasons. An accordionist plays Gershwin's Summertime with a quick tempo. A Mexican band plays Mexican Music. In the Plaza Mayor a three piece band plays as a girl dancing Flamenco before the admiring patrons of an outdoor restaurant.

And this is just the ordinary Madrid - the typical streets. The extraordinary scenes include a lake full of row boats before Roman columns in the Parque Del Retiro. Goya, Velazquez and Brughel in the Museo del Prado. The frescos on the ceilings throughout the Royal Palace. The religious art in numerous churches. The sculptures in the parks.

Madrid is a truly beautiful city. I am sorry I have to leave it so soon.

Leaving Madrid

I count my cash, I have 99.97 euros. My hotel bill is a hundred euros and it will cost me two euros to get a train ticket to the aeropuerto. In case you are not in the mood to do the math I need 2.03 euros to leave the country.

I decide to go to the ATM and take out twenty euro but the minimum I can withdraw is fifty. When I go to check out, the receptionist tells me my first nights accommodation has already been deducted from my credit card so I only have to pay the balance of seventy-five euro.

This leaves me with 72.97 euro for breakfast at the airport. It should be just enough.

Egypt II

Balloons over Luxor

People pay $450 USD for a balloon ride in the Serengeti. I decided a $90 USD balloon ride in Luxor would be better value. For $90 you don't get a champagne breakfast. Instead you get a cup of tea and a slice of Madeira cake sealed in foil especially designed to keep out the freshness.

The balloon basket is about four feet by ten feet, divided into five compartments four feet by two feet. But the compartments aren't all lined up. There is one in each corner of the basket, longways, plus a central compartment across the width of the basket. The balloon pilot, crewman, gas bottles and equipment are in the centre compartment. Each of the other compartments holds five or six passengers with a total of 24 people in our balloon.

About twenty five balloons ascend smoothly into the early morning sky, rising up to five hundred metres.

I am wearing my fleece jacket and beanie to protect against the pre-dawn chill but the beanie mainly protects me from the searing heat of the gas burner which roars whenever the pilot wants to ascend. There is a faint but distinct smell of burnt hair coming from somewhere.

As the gas jets ignite, the flames light up the balloons from within and they glow like huge party lights. Our balloon is yellow.

The sunrise is beautiful. Most of the balloons are spread out in the sky between us and the sunrise. To the east, green fields, the Nile, Luxor known to the ancients as Thebes. To the west, a desert plain, a temple ruin, desert hills.

We can see the shadow of our balloon out over the desert.

Yes it's beautiful, but I must confess, it is not as exciting as I thought it would be. But some excitement returns on the landing. Everyone enjoys the landing best of all.

As we descend it is obvious we will have to land in someone's field. We head towards a cleared field, the remains of a sugar cane crop in evidence. The ground crew come running out. they must have been driving around anticipating our landing site. A large black tape rolls down from the balloon. Ten men grab it and pull with all their strength, trying to guide the huge balloon against a mild breeze.

In my head I go over the pre-flight landing instructions, waiting for the call to assume the "landing position". In any other aircraft it would be called a "crash position".

Amused locals look on from a nearby farm yard. Children run out to watch the landing. We hover over a five foot wide ditch and it looks like we are going to land in it, but the ground crew pulls us over it. The basket scrapes the ground, drags a few feet and stops. A smoother landing than any airplane I have been on. The landing position was never called for.

We have to wait another five minutes for the balloon to become heavy enough so that we can get out without having it fly away. Then we are off to meet the others who didn't do the balloon ride.

Donkey Ride

If the balloon ride was less exciting than I imagined this was well compensated by the seven kilometre donkey ride to the Valley of the Kings.

The donkeys are low enough that you don't need a foot in the stirrup to throw your leg over to get on. Just as well as the soft saddles have no stirrups.

The donkeys trot off down a quiet lane between an irrigation channel and some fields. Michael, the tall Slovakian takes the lead. He looks comical with his large frame perched precariously on his tiny beast. We have nominal control over our animals with the reins, but they know their business better than us and mostly we are enthusiastic but docile passengers.

The animals speed up their trot as we shout "yellar, yellar, yellar". It's unclear if our yelling causes them to go faster or if their increased speed causes us to shout more. I balance carefully as I take photographs ahead, to the side and over my shoulder. We laugh as the animals jostle each other and change position. This is a lot more fun than the camel ride I had a few days earlier.

Lauren speeds by, unable or unwilling to control either her donkey or her laughter. She has named her donkey "Flopsy" because his left ear is torn and droops. Sam calls this a sissy name so I decide to christen my steed "Thunder".

Soon we catch up with another group of donkeys and riders and we progress as one large group. We ride through the streets of a small town. I exert some control over Thunder as we have to cross a busy intersection. Next we come to a wide highway with very little traffic. This is the road to the Valley of the Kings.

My Camera stops working as the batteries go flat. I wait till Thunder is travelling smoothly to take spare batteries out of my shoulder bag. I balance carefully as I unload the old batteries and put them in my shirt pocket but in the process, I knock my sunglasses out of my pocket and they clatter on the road. I pull back on my reins hoping to stop and recover my glasses but Thunder resists and merely slows down and brays in protest.

Now the glasses are back a ways. There's a herd of donkeys behind me and stopping seems to be too much trouble. I give up on the glasses, reload my camera and start taking pictures again.

Eventually we come to the entrance of the Valley of the kings and we regretfully end our donkey ride. One of the men in charge of the donkeys recovered my glasses. Fortunately they were undamaged and I still have them to this very day.