Trumpet fish won't rule the world.

So there you all are, thinking 'They must be in Panama by now, surely!'
Guess what?
We're not!
We're still stuck in Colombia, waiting for a man and his bloody boat. For Christ's sake, Colombian Time, argh............
But hey, I shan't complain too much. After two frustrating weeks of having the captain push the sailing date back further and further and very little sign of any other option, we bailed on Cartagena for a lovely little hamlet on the coast by the name of Tananga. Three or so hours north of Cartagena, Tananga is reminiscent of a Medditeranean fishing village, except full of Colombians littering every available piece of beach and sea, and where dogs rule and cats dare not tread. Not painting a very pretty picture am I! Despite the rubbish, the dogs are quite cool, some of them at least, and it is very pretty.
The diving ain't bad either. So Mike and I got brave and signed up for our Open Water Dive Certificate. Apparently it is cheap here and we hoped to make something good out of the time we had sat and waited for afore mentioned boat.
I admit that I only signed up because I didn't want to be bored ****less while Mike went off and had fun, and I also admit that I was scared ****less. The thought of deep water has always brought about a fear of being being eaten by Jaws, treading on a stone fish, or being stung by a Blue Bottle or Box Jelly Fish. The Australian Pacific coast has a lot to answer for. After being assured that there were no 'creepy crawlies' in the water who could eat me, I had the pleasure of watching the very naff and Americanised PADI video of learning to dive - for three hours.
Eventually we got into the water and to my suprise I found it quite relaxing to breathe. Pretending I was Darth Vader, without a light saber. Despite a panic attack with tears and begging the instructor not to make me go back under water (I was above water at the time thank god), I managed to get through and pass the course.
My favourite fish was the Porcipine Fish. For those of you who have seen Finding Nemo, this is one of those fish that blows up into a balloon and has spikes when scared. Sadly though, they can only do this about three times before dying.
But of all the fish, I guess the award for 'Tries hard, but just isn't bright' goes to the Trumpet Fish. There were loads where we were diving, big ones, small ones, bright canary yellow ones. Ey, just hang on a sec, Trumpet fish aren't supposed to be bright canary yellow. They are when they're camouflaging themselves in a school of other canary yellow fish. Sounds like a clever little habbit, being able to change colour to match their environment. Unfortunately this is where it comes unstuck for poor Mr Turmpet Fish. On this occasion, he missed the fact that he was about 20 times larger and a completely different shape to the fish he was trying to blend in with, remaining completely conspicuous. Ah bless 'im though, he gets points for trying.

Anyways, we're sat, once again, in an Internet Cafe in Cartagena. We should find out in about an hour whether there is a boat leaving tomorrow, so fingers crossed.

End of the road (End of Chapter 1 - almost)

After an arguement about the price of breakfast and a quick paddle in the delightful waters of the Carribean, its back on the bikes for a three hour ride to the end of the road in South America for us - Cartagena. My clever new jacket becomes a little frustrating when we pass through rain storm, after rain storm - waterproof lining on, waterproof lining off, waterproof lining on waterproof lining off. But still, I arrive in one solid piece rather than a melting mess.

Cartagena is a large and hectic city. It has a very beautiful Old Town full of colonial architecture, horse drawn carriages and touts. Of course, the hotel we'd booked was in the scabby area just outside the Old Town, full of hookers, pick pockets and drug dealers apparently. After two nights there, we left the very friendly Villa Colonial and moved downtown to La Bocagrande, full of horse drawn carriages, highrisers and touts.
We're now hanging out in our 'holiday apartment' filling our days with lazing by the roof top pool, catching up on all the little things that we've been meaning to do and drinking rum and cokes in the evening. I'm still waiting for my rear shock absorber to arrive from the US and we're still waiting to hear about a man and his boat. Fingers crossed both happen very soon.

Next stop, Panama (And Chapter 2)

Iron Butts

After a few errands the next morning we head out of Medellin, excited at the prospect of camping again. We come across another extremely helpfull Medellinian (is that what they call someone from Medellin or did I just make that up?) who leads us out of town on his scooter after coming across a major route that's closed for road works.
The two hour ride to Rio Claro that Mr Suzuki told us about, turns out to be three very twisty hours and we arrive, tired and hungry with no food in preparation for camping. Despite it blowing our budget (but not by too much) we opt for staying in the hostal instead of camping, a decission I'm very happy about later that evening when a large and spectacular thunderstorm passes through. I'm no longer hardcore!
The hostal is really cool, much better than our Amazon expedition. It's like a big tree house with our dorm being open on two sides to the jungle. The owner is a biker himself but we don't give him too much of a chance to chat as we're keen to get into the river and cool off.
Thankfully the staff have got breakfast ready for us for 7am, despite a power cut due to the storm and by half past, we're out the door, probably our earliest start with the bikes yet. It's going to be a long day, 3 hours back to Medellin then another 8 or so to the Carribean.

Hanging out with the military boys! (Hey, nice new jacket and all)

After 5 years of riding, I've finally got the hang of going around corners which is just as well as we're on twisty roads until lunch time, passing many military guys with AK47s and sub machine guns. They assure us that there are no 'combatos' and that we're safe. We also pass a lot of guys in orange boiler suits, reparing the roads and trimming the verges. Despite the traffic in Colombia, you have to give it to them, their roads are in pretty decent nick.

When we hit the warmer, lower altitudes, I decide to stop and unzip my new flashy jacket to 'cool' mode. Mike didn't hear me beep to let him know I was stopping - ear plugs, that and my horn is a bit rubbish by all accounts - and keeps riding. When I've stripped down, I'm thinking he'll be waiting just down the road. He was. It's just that I didn't see him 'cause I was overtaking a semi trailer at the time. Riding on for about half an hour, keeping a close eye out for him, I was beginning to think that he'd finally had enough of waiting for me and had just kept riding. I did stop at some road works and ask the 'stop and go' girl whether she'd seen 'A grande moto paseo, 5-10 minutos ago', but obvioulsy my Spanglish didn't quite get the question across and she replied 'Si'. So there I am, hurtling along thinking 'Well if he isn't going to wait for me, I'd better get a move on and try to catch up.' About another 10 minutes later, looking in my mirror, I see a flustered BMW rider coming up quite fast behind me. Oops, did a get a slap on the wrists for even thinking that he would ride on without me!

The rest of the Iron Butt ride is less eventful, passing through Braham cattle (For some strange reason these are my favourite sort of cows, I don't know why) country. Despite the heat and being in the tropics, the scenery is somewhat Autumnal and it really is a pleasant ride. And managing to avoid donkeys and after a few near misses with cyclists swerving all over the road, we make it to the Carribean, after dark but in time for cerveza.
Ahh, the lovely sea side.

Salud!

Murder capital of the world.

In the 80/90s, for as little as $30US you could hire a Sicarios (Hormone ravaged teenager) to settle a score in Medellin. Drug gang warfare had escalated to the point that Medellin had the dubious honour of being given the title of murder capital of the world. I think it avaraged something like 7 murders a day.
Times have changed a bit and although the drug trade still makes up 25% of Colombia's GNP, Medellin is the friendliest place we've been to on the entire trip. Understandably, tourists seem a little reluctant to come here still and maybe that's why the locals are so generous and kind. They've not grown jaded to the visitors yet and they're excited about the evolution of their city into something they can be proud of. To be fair, we did stay in what appeared to be a posh part of the city, El Poblado, but we had bike friendly accommodation here, food that wasn't rice and chicken and decent coffee available just around the corner. Oh and did I mention all the lovely, lovely bike shops - with motorcylce kit for women, in my size! Mike fell in love with a Kawasaki Ninja 1400 too! I wonder if he'll let me have a ride!
Of course the BMW shop wasn't just around the corner with all of the other bike shops, but they made up for it in being the best BMW dealership place I've been to. I don't even own a BMW and I got given decent coffee, free Ruta 40 (name of the dealership) and Colombian flag stickers (which I proceded to stick on upside down - doh!) and a free t-shirt. And the owner, Mauricio, who had some very cool photos of his own TransAmerican Adventures on the walls gave Mike a free rear brake light lens cover for free. The guys there, including some of the other customers, couldn't have been nicer.
Also nicer, were the Suzuki guys, where I bought a rather cool (litterally) new bike jacket. My ever faithful old red jacket had seen better days and with the heat and humidity of Central America looming, with no ventilation in it, the jacket was just too hot. It was a sad farewell to a jacket that had seen me through several winters in the UK plus protected me all the times I fell off the KLR in Wales and the scrap on Ruta 40 in Argentina, but needs must and my nice new very CLEAN jacket will hopefully serve me just as well. So look out for the new black jacket in the next lot of photos.

A sad farewell to my beloved jacket

Despite selling me a jacket, the Suzuki guy also told us of a cool place to go see. And sent his secretary out to buy us a map of Colombia (with more accurate squiggles indicting twisty roads).
Next stop then, Rio Claro.

100% Colombian

So we're primed and ready to spend 3-4 hours at the border to cross into Colombia - apparently that's the standard crossing time according to all other bikers we've met. Up early we make it to the border just before 9am. Some how, just before 10am we're through, possibly this had something to do with the rather camp border crossing guard taking a shine to Mike but I can't be sure.
It was a good thing though that it didn't take the normal 3-4 hours as although it was a beautiful ride to Popyan, our first night's destination, with all of the twisty roads, it was also a very long ride. Mike's GPS shows relatively straight lines between the villages and towns and my map wasn't much better, but looking back on where we'd actually riden, the GPS plotted a course that looked rather like a child had got hold of a crayon and squiggled out the straight lines.
Popyan is a nice colonial town and after a foot blistering hour walking around in his bike boots, Mike came up with one of the few places to have parking for two motos. Very basic but also very very cheap. This meant we had money to spare to try the local beers and rum. Ah got to love rum (these were straight with lime, I'm now onto the rum and cokes - a bit easier to take).

Our actual route is the dotted line. Not quite what WorldMap is showing.

With a slight hangover we head off the next morning, aiming for coffee country. We'd hoped to stay on a coffee finka - coffee plantation, not a coffee drinking philosopher with a lisp - which we should be able to book through the tourist office in Puira, unfortunately, we remember rather conveniently, that as it is Saturday, the tourist office is closed. Damn, another search for a hotel that has parking. However, this time we're not so lucky with the price or the parking. It's expensive, the guide book not helping by listing the two most expensive hotels in the entire city, and we end up parking in a parquedero.
You know when you get a feeling about a place and it's not a good one, well we got that about this place. Searching for dinner was a nightmare with loads of derilict people begging and drunks littering the sidewalks, arguments between the down and outers and loads of gambling dens. We got some nasty food - which is all we could afford - and holed up in the hotel for the rest of the evening.
Next morning things didn't get better. Thinking that we had only a reasonable distance to travel to Medellin, we had a slow start, being a Sunday and all. Stupidly we tried to pay for the parking before we'd finished loading up the bikes. What we didn't count on was being charged almost double what we'd expected. This lead to an argument and getting locked in the parking lot. Eventually the police were called and I have to admitt I was a little nervous at this point, but true to form, the two motorcycle police who turned up were gems. After a phone call to their superior, we agreed to split the difference of the extra charge for parking. Which, in hindsight, was fair enough. 'parque para noche - moto $4500' didn't come with any times actually listed but we were there for almost 16 hours.
A bit of the usual chat about the bikes, we ask how do we get out of town. Being a Sunday morning, these guys had nothing better to than give us a Police escort. Best thing about this one though was we got to ride in the bus lanes, down one way streets the wrong way and over pavements etc all with police authority and quite a few strange looks from the public. Saved us hours of getting lost and frustrated.

Just off centre!

We spent a few days in Quito running around trying to get parts for the bike. For once, the BMW is proving easier to fix than the KLR, despite having a Kawasaki dealer in town. No air filters, no brake pads, no rear shock and no womens motorcycle clothing. They do have a front sproket but can't get the old one off to change it. Word of advide for Kawasaki riders in Quito, don't bother with the really nice, but somewhat inept guys at Kawasaki in Quito.
Two days later, we've sorted all but a new jacket, with ventilation, for me. I've a new rear shock on it's way to Colombia from the US and Mike found a German guy who loves KLRs to fix all the bits that need fixing.

A bit of sightseeing in the old town and we're out of there. We've decided to skip the Galapagos Islands due to a lack of funds and an ever diminishing amount of time. So it's up to the middle of the world - the equator - for a quick photo and then Tulcan, our last night before crossing into Colombia. The thing is, the toursity middle of the world, isn't quite in the middle. It's about 240m off centre. Some French blokes used astromony to set out where they thought the equator was, several years ago. About 5 years ago, some clever people with their GPS discovered that the French had got it wrong. In fact, some pre-Inca indians had built some temples exactly on the equator, on top of a hill and lined up the soltices and equinoxs. Seems the French had been a little lazy and only studdied the site for three months before thinking, 'nobody will notice if it isn't exact'. So we stopped for the obligatory photos but didn't get refund on our entry fee for 'false advertising'. We did carry on and find the correct equator on Mike's GPS though.

The obligatory photo, depsite the false advertising!

The real equator!

It was then a rather hairy ride on a gravelly/sandy road north to Ottavalo. This was in fact due to Mike loosing his back brakes - not good on down hill sections. Pretty scenery though.
Then on to Ibarra where we took Mark and Diasy's suggestion of having an icecream - best ron y pasas (That'd be rum and raison) we'd had in the entire South America. Highly reccommended.
We made it into Tulcan at night fall. Full of nervous aniticpation about the 4 hour border crossing and 'guerilla' infested jungles of Colombia that we would face tomorrow.

Welcome to the jungle...

...we've got fun and games
And insects that bite, fish that bite and reptiles that bite.
After a rough ride to Coca (glad we weren't on the bus), we get set up with a place to leave the bikes for a few days while we're in the jungle. It's a 4am start in order to catch a bus that has come from Tena and is going through to Limoncocha. Fortunately our guide, Orlando, is on it. 3 hours later we're at Limoncocha Laguna on a river taxi to our very basic cabañas. Note to self, always try and get photos of your accommodation before booking excursions. Actually it was ok, at least the mosquito net didn't have any holes in it. It's just that the 'thunderbox' toilet was a bit off putting. If you actually used it, there was something down in the pit that made a squeaking noise, I'm not sure if it was a happy squeaking noise or a 'why do you have to p**s all over me' squeaking noise. Either way, I went bush for the next few days.
So that morning's walk through the jungle was quite interesting. I became a jungle princess for a day, with a woven headband and face paint. We were told about plants and seeds and nuts etc. Not much in the way of animal sightings though. After siesta in the hammocks, it was pirahna fishing time. I like fishing, despite being rubbish at it. But I didn't particularly enjoy this fishing, why? Because there was a rather large hole in the boat - at the waterline! And above that, wet rot. Orlando thought it was rather amuzing that I gasped, everytime the boat rocked slightly towards the hole. For god's sake, there were pirahna in the water. What did he expect me to do.
Anyways, Orlando is a natural at fishing with a twig and worm and starts realing in the fish. He was keeping the best bait for himself though, I'm sure. I manage to catch only one and the smallest fish, about 4cm long. Mike catches a beauty, a big red pirahna - beginner's luck. Then proceeds to drop it into the boat, leaving it flipping, flapping and snapping at my butt. I'm trying not to panic and I can't exactly move otherwise I'll rock the boat and water will get in. Finally Orlando has stopped laughing and manages to get it into the bucket. We get to see some large Cappaccino (that's not the correct spelling but it's something like that) monkies in the distance and some cool pre-historic looking birds from the boat.
Guess what's for dinner? Yep, Mike's favourite, fish! I quite enjoyed it though. Early to bed as there's 'f' all to do in the jungle at night except watch fire flies.

Cool pre-historic bird.

(Photo courtesy of Mike)

Day two and it's obvious Orlando can't be bothered and would rather be somewhere else. But we're off to primary rain forest this morning. Wellies and long sleeves on, machette weilding Orlando leads us on a three hour walk. The shaman doesn't turn up so Orlando makes me kneel down while he wacks me on the head with some leaves, apparently scaring away evil spirits. When's it Mike's turn to get some attention? We get to swing on a rather large swing and see some quite tall trees though. I end up suggesting more things about the plants that I learned in biology that Orlando just 'humphs' agreement to. So all in all, not a particualry interesting walk.
Afternoon siesta before meeting an indigenous family who are to show us how they live and also how they make their craft and weaving. What we actually get is walked around the garden of the family whose cabaña we are staying in, where Mike finally gets his turn at local traditions. Apparently, when they have muscle pain, they drag leaves across the affected area. What Orlando fails to explain to Mike is that the leaf has thistles on it. Within a minute, poor Mike's arm has turned into a mass of welts - gee thanks Orlando! At least it took the attention away from the pain in your arm, Mike!

Pain in the arm!

Mike's welts.

So Orlando turns out to be the master craftsman and shows us how to make thread/rope out of a plant, a bit like flax. We then walk to the field where the husband and wife are slashing and burning and crop rotating corn and stuff. It's Mike's turn again and this time he gets to carry the heavy basket of sweet pototoe back to the farm house for them. Great! We don't even get to eat any! Back at the cabaña we get the sell on the local craft. Of course it's Orlando's own work, how convenient. When I ask to buy one of the net bags that the owner of the cabaña makes, how convenient that he doesn't have any for sale.
That night it's caiman hunting. This is quite cool actually. We have a bigger canoe, without holes and Mr Caiman, owner of the cabaña, is coming with us. As we get down to the water's edge, there are some really cool insects, glowing in the dark. The frogs are going mental and a few obvioulsy have no taste in beer. 'Bud'-'weis'-'er', 'bud'-'weis'-'er' is being chortled in different octaves along the edge of the lagoon. As we get further into the lagoon, the glowing insect increase and the edge looks like a city lit up at night. Mr Caiman, with his mating call (sounds like he's just clearing his throat) is a bit rubbish at spotting caiman. Orlando's torch is as bad as mine so he's rubbish too. Mike's a natural and with his super power torch is able to pick them a mile away. The little fellas are a bit shy though and it takes us a while to get close enough to one that doesn't run away. He's about two meters long and not really scary at all. They have little heads. I'm sure it would hurt but even the two metre long one looked like he'd only have your pinkie off.

Who's a pretty boy!

Things that bite!

Mosquito larve anyone.

Day three, thank god! We canoe up to the protected area in, you guessed it, another leaking canoe. This one I refuse to go in until the hole is bunged up, rags will have to do. Mike and I take it turns to empty the boat of water and paddle. An hour of sweaty excercise we arrive. Orlando's not talking to us much. So it's my turn to laugh when he nearly jumps out of his skin. I'd just gasped, again, at the site of a three meter long black and yellow diamond patterned snake. Orlando hadn't seen it but almost stepped on it. Stupidly, I wasn't quick enough with the camera and it slid away before I could get a photo. That was about the highlight of wild life viewing, we saw a few birds and monkies off in the distance but without binouclars, they could have been pigeons and cats playing in the tree tops. So after walking around for another 2 hours in our wellies, it was time to canoe back for lunch and then chill out, again, in the hammocks. It was late afternoon before our water taxi came to take us out of there and catch a bus back to Coca.
So I didn't get to see pink dolphins but at least the hotel in Coca had some mad parrots and a Toucan running around. Oh, plus some tiny wee monkies and large tailess rat things.

Glad to be getting out of there?

Who needs Rio...

...when you've got crazy Ecuadorians.

Carnaval weekend.

We'd arrived in Tena, hoping to organize an excursion into the Amazon Jungle. What we got instead was a weekend filled with tubing races, eating with a sloth, and the biggest water fight I have ever been part of.

After two days of hunting down an excursion that seemed to tick all of the boxes, we lined up a trip to Laguna Limoncocha. But as it was Carnaval weekend, no-one was heading out of town until Monday, so we had to stick around.

The line up started on Saturday with the inagural beach party at Shandia, a local indian community about half an hour's bumpy bus ride out of Tena. We were the only tourists to show up. Although there was a Canadian volunteer based in the community who filled us in on the day's events. It was a fun day - rather like being invited to an extended family's (one that you don't know) BBQ lunch. Mike came third in a inner tube race down the river while I upset the local kids by taking some of their photos. Jealousy kicked in and pushing and shoving ensued followed by tears as they all tried to get their photos taken. They just loved to see themselves in the display on the digital camera.
So after a hectic day's BBQing and being eaten alive by sand flies, we opt for a salad at Tena's finest restaurant. It's a slightly surreal set up, with the young, akward waiter, trying so hard to do silver service that he can't manage the small details i.e. Like when I started to cough and was obvioulsy in need of water, he proceeded to slowly and carefully lay out my napkin and cutlery followed by Mike's, before even thinking about getting me some water. All the while, I've turned a strange purple/red colour and Mike insisting 'Agua pronto, pronto, rapido, rapido'.
Then came the sloth, crawling along the rafters, hanging down stealing the folded napkins from the wine glasses. She kept us amuzed for a while as we ate our rather scrumptious salads, anything was better than chicken and rice.

Sunday was spent in Misahuali, a half hour bus ride in the other direction. This party was much better organised and has been an annual event for years. There were latin bands, girl bands, boy bands and rock bands. All this in between the bikini girl wet (beer) t-shirt competition, which of course had all the guys cheering heartedly. I think there was a section of muscle men posing on stage too but that somehow didn't seem to rouse the crowd as much. Not quite what the missionaries had in mind when they converted the locals to Christianity all those years ago, I'm sure.
Besides the music and frivolities on stage, the crowd were entertainig themselves as well with water fights, flour bombs and something like shaving cream being squirted over any unsuspecting party goer. I think some girls took a fancy to Mike and we ended up getting saturated and squirted all afternoon.

Lava flow anyone?

So after the delicious feed of pancakes, it's time to hit the road. It will be a hard day's ride, a whole 40km to Baños. Still we decide to get up at our usual time and suprisingly are on the road just after 9am.
Heading out of town, sun is shining and things are looking rosy. That's until we hit this, see below:

Oh dear!

Always up for a challange, we decide that we can get through this. It's jackets off, panniers and luggage off and away we go. There is a small track with bike tyres, obvioulsy the locals have been through here already. After an hour of trying to push (Mike was riding it) my lardy bike up a very steep section, I'm covered in sand/ash and the KLR is bogged down. It's time to admit defeat. The KLR is too big to get through, so the BMW stands no chance. We somehow manage to get the KLR out of the rut it's dug itself into and get loaded up.

Now this lava flow/Avalanche happened in August last year, so imagine our suprise when just as we're getting our helmets back on, this earth mover comes around the bend, being led by a rather tipsy foreman.

To the rescue

We decide to see how long it will take him to clear a path. In the meantime, two locals pull up on a little 200cc. They're a bit annoyed that the track that they could have got through on has been totally ruined. 2 hours later though, and after being asked for a bribe by the other biker 'to pass', all three bikes, with the foreman now hitching a lift on the 200cc - yes, that's correct, three men on one 200cc bike - are through.

Mike and I take off. Only to get around the next corner and find even less of a path through the next lava flow. We turn the bikes around, ready to return past the earth mover, with a look of defeat on our faces. The local guys have caught up by this stage and indicate that we should follow them. Sure, why not, we can't even see where the track is.

Easy peasy riding, even I can do it!

Following a little 200cc bike through tracks like this is not easy, actually it's embarrassing with us on our big overland machines, struggling to keep the things upright while this guy just nips through. Fortunately we're in Ecuador and not Peru so the locals are firendly as ever and stop to wait for us and help us push and shove the bikes through. And they also ferry my panniers through when things get a little narrow.

Please don't drop my bike over the edge, Mike!

I play photographer while Mike does all of the hard work.

After about 5 crossings, getting worse with each one (I had to put the camera down and start helping to get the bikes through) we finally get make it. We stop at the turn off for Bilbao and give the guys their bribe. $10 for beers all round, we couldn't have got through with out them.

Unfortunately/fortunately we miss the turn off for Baños and end up taking a 40km detour across to the other side fo the valley. This does provide us with rather spectacular views of the volcano that caused all of this mess. And it is on pavement, so a bit of fun for the last half of the days ride.

We pull into Baños, late afternoon, filthy, tired and starving. Why do all of these 'It will only be a short day' rides always end up taking forever!

If looks could kill...

Slowly travelling into Ecuador, the first thing we notice is that the people seem to be a lot more friendly. They smile and wave at us. It's a refreshing relief from the poverty and dirt of Peru and arriving in the beautiful little town of Cuenca, things seem quite Americanised, sort of familiar. Nice new pick-up trucks and big country homes seem plentiful and florsits and jeans shops are abundant. We find a really nice hostal and settle in for a few days. After purchasing a new pair of jeans we decided to go for a stroll around the city. It's on our way back from the snake, spider and caiman zoo that the attacks start. Unfortunately, as it's approaching Carnaval time, the local children like to throw waterbombs at people, or shoot them with a water pistol. All this as their laughing parents look on. We didn't realise at the time that it was for Carnaval, a bit like Guy Fawkes night and fireworks, and after narrowly missing being drenched by three water bombs from a balcony above us, I decide it's time to turn the corner and get off that street. Only to walk straight into a drive by water bomb attack. A teenager had pelted me, not only completely drenching me, but winding me in the process. After recovering from that attack, filthy looks were being shot everywhere and we hole up in an internet cafe for a while to dry out and calm down.


On the way back to the hotel, little children were running scared as I gave them a 'Don't even F ing think about shooting me with that water pistol otherwise I'll shove it somewhere you won't see it for a while' Unfortunately this only seemed to work on the younger children.


Enroute to Baños, the town, not the toilet, we are attacked several more times. It doesn't seem too bad now that we know it's for Carnaval and it's also warmed up a bit. I use the technique that I have developed at getting past mad dogs, to get past the children by the side of the road with buckets of water. Slow down a little bit so you can see what direction they're going to go, and just when they think they've got you, give it some gas and get out of there. Most of the time this works but sometimes you get a refresshing drenching.


Also enroute we pass an Africa Twin. Mark and Daisy, from Brighton, (www.markincyberspace.com) are heading the opposite direction. The usual 5 minute pull over and chat turns into over an hour of standing by the side of the road swapping stories, email addresses and advice on where to stay and where to go and watch out for dodgy police in Northern Peru. It was a shame to say goodbye as A: they weren't German and B: they were a great laugh as we joked about being asked if we were German all of the time. (Sorry Andreas and Kristina but everybody asks that)

Mark and Daisy

As a result, we only make it to Riobamba for the night. Things happen for a reason and we stop in at the hostal Mark and Daisy had recommended. There we find a Dutch couple and a Swiss fellow. We've got the deluxe room with the tweest four poster bed ever and a kitchenette, and the offer of pancakes from the Dutch couple is too much to resist. Anything but chicken and rice. So we decide to skip any sightseeing and stay in for beers, pancakes and a good chat.