The Farm?

For those of you who don't know WWOOFing (Willing Workers On Organic Farms) is basically a system where you work in return for free board and food, so given our lack of funds (tacos aren't as cheap as we thought) we decided to give it a try.

As it turns out our first experience of WWOOFing was not so 'organic' after all but it was an adventure all the same. Barton Creek Outpost is a camp site in the middle of the Belizian jungle and in terms of its location it's a little piece of heaven. The Outpost can only be reached by an hours drive along a dirt track in a 4 by 4 which involves actually driving through the Creek at one point (which I got the opportunity to try myself later in the week in a very trusting local guy's car!). However soon after we arrived it became apparent that the other volunteers were quite disillusioned with the placement, a feeling that we soon began to share. The outpost is run by an American family that have no interest in the environment what so ever, the father appeared to make it his personal mission to be as mean as possible and the mother seemed to be on the verge on a nervous break down, bizarrely all three Kids seemed fairly well rounded! We made our decision to leave the Creek early when we were three days in and at the dinner table Abi remarked 'my water tastes like bleach' to which the another volunteer replied with 'yep, that's how they clean it' hardly believing our ears we stuck our heads around the kitchen door and sure enough right next to the barrel of drinking water stood a bottle of household bleach. Whats especially crazy is that everyone else in the area drinks the water just the way it is and have never been sick. They also endlessly washed clothes, dishes and everything with nasty detergents and chemicals which all drain directly into the Creek. Now Abi and I may not be fully fledged tree hugging hippies but we have our limits.

Typically our day began at 7.30, when we would sweep the floor, squeeze OJ, prepare breakfast and if we were lucky clean the toilets. After this our tasks varied each day from folding the family's laundry to potting plants. One day we were lucky enough to be given the task of picking oranges which largely involved us hanging out in the branches of the trees in the orange grove. Generally the work wasn't bad at all but often it seemed a little redundant, for example one day Jackie decided she'd like us to dig up one area of grass at the back of the lawn and move it to the front where the chemicals from the washing machine water had killed all the grass. This was quite back breaking and given that she had no intention of stopping to put chemicals into the soil no doubt the new grass would last only a matter of weeks, but hey who are we to argue. Our worst day of work by far was when we were asked to accompany Jackie and her gaggle to the Saturday market in town. Jackie liked to think of herself as a bit of an entrepreneur and had the genius idea of selling bunches of flowers on valentines day. The only problem being that they were incredibly over priced and the very concept of giving a bunch of flowers seems to be quite alien to most Belizians. On the day itself we were rudely awaken at 4am to pick flowers in the dark. We were then asked to man the market stall until 3pm in the blistering sun with no food or water. The final straw though was when Jackie told us we needed to tour the local bars and shops trying to flog the blasted bouquet. Now I'm a pretty flexible person, and I've had my fare share of random jobs in the past, but no amount of free food was worth entering a bar as two young gringo girls and trying to persuade a load of drunken middle aged men that they want to buy their wives flowers. Funnily enough this was a job Jackie didn't feel the need to take part in herself.

Still despite this obscure juxtaposition of people and place we managed to have our own little jungle adventure whilst there which led us to have a different wildlife related experience pretty much every day. We spent our evenings playing poker with the local rangers, swam in the creek every day and drank freshly hand squeezed OJ every morning so really it wasn't all bad. On our last evening the rangers took us on a midnight tour of the cave that sits at the mouth of the creek. The cave is quite magical, particularly at night and I can assure you that stalagmites and stalactites are a lot more fun after a couple of rum based beverages. Perhaps this is why I was convinced we were in the belly of a whale, or maybe I just have the mind of a 5 year old who's just had their first taste of Pinocchio, either way the likeness was uncanny. We kayaked right to the back, where we hiked up a steep slope from which you can see pottery and a human skull which has been left from a Mayan sacrifice. On the way back I saw a bat hanging about a meter from my head.

Anyway If I were to write a diary for the weeks jungle related experiences it would probably go something like this...

Monday

Whilst putting Razzel Dazzel the goat back in her pen I came across Edwin (a local guy who's employed by the family and a suspected cousin of Indiana Jones) poking something with his machete. Turned out he'd just killed a coral snake which was inches from his leg. These babies will kill you in a matter of a couple of hours. Seeming alarmingly laid back he proceeded to tell me the tale of a man from his village who got killed by one of these snakes not so long ago and how if we are to walk after dark we really aught to carry a machete with us... 'just in case'. Knowing full well that we would be utterly useless with a machete, and were more likely to mame each other then stop a deadly snake from injecting venom into one of our legs, we foolishly walked to bed without one or even a torch that night. Half way through our journey I looked down just in time to see Abi step right over our slivery foe. (This turned out to be two of 5 different face to face encounters we had with deadly poisonous snakes.)

Tuesday

Abi went to check on Logan (the son) who was sick in the family home. When she arrived she found a trail of army ants marching right across the bed he was sleeping in. These babies aren't dangerous but they give a nasty bite!

Wednesday

Not sure if this one really counts as local wild life but it was damn funny. A Mennonite neighbour snuck over for a cheeky bit of film watching (Mennonites are similar to the Amish community and don't believe in using technology). She brought with her a Mennonite dog. Barton creaks dog (Necicito) is a male dog, with male dog needs. Whilst eating dinner I glanced up to see Necicito meeting these needs with the female Mennonite dog. I learnt something new that day. Apparently when dogs, umm, make puppies they get, well, stuck for quite some time after they've done the deed, something to do with swelling so I'm told but we'll leave the details there. Anyway, given that the female dog was chained up this meant the two of them where soon found by a very embarrassed looking owner who according to Mennonite practises won't be able to hold her future husbands hand until after he had proposed, let alone anything else. Unsurprisingly she left soon after the dog was released and we didn't see her for the rest of the week.

Thursday

Edwin sling shotted a bread fruit from a branch of a tree 30 feet above us and we chopped it up and fried it like chips it was delicious with salt, lime and ketchup. The other volunteers told us that the day before we arrived he used the same sling shot to kill an iguana and later cooked it for their dinner.

Friday

Saw Toucans fly from a mango tree right in front of us. Magic.

Saturday

Edwin invited us to his village to play football. This required us to walk through dense jungle for well over an hour. Learnt the following: chewing gum comes from the sap of a tree, there is a tree in the jungle with sap that can kill (obviously not the same tree), Edwin once had worms under his skin that he had to cut out with a knife.

When walking back through the jungle long after dark a Yellow Jaw (Fer de Lance) came straight for us. Edwin used his machete to chop it into 4 different pieces. Looked up Yellow Jaws in a snake book when we got back. Note the following extract:

^{This species is irritable, fast-moving and agile. It is also regarded as being excitable and unpredictable and has a reputation for being aggressive. Its large size and habit of raising its head high off the ground can result in bites above the knee. It has also been observed to eject venom over a distance of at least 6 feet (1.8m) in fine jets from the tips of its fangs (Mole, 1924). Bite symptoms include pain, oozing from the puncture wounds, local swelling that may increase for up to 36 hours, bruising that spreads from the bite site, blisters, numbness, mild fever, headaches, bleeding from the nose and gums, gastrointestinal bleeding, nausea, vomiting, impaired conciousness and tenderness of the spleen. In untrested cases, local necrosis frequently occurs and may require amputation. In fatal cases the cause of death is usually septicemia, intracranial hemorrhage, acute renal failure with hyperkalemia and metabolic acidosis and hemorrhagic shock.}

I don´t know what half of this means but it sounds as scary as hell.

Unbelizeble times

Wow time really feels like its been on fast forward recently so I will get straight to the point and start off where we left you last.

From learning Spanish in Oaxaca we headed further south to a small town called Palenque. This is serious backpacker territory which was a little disappointing at first, but with the jungle at your door step its easy to see why so many people are lured this way. Whilst in Palenque we stayed in a little cabana in the middle of the jungle which was basic but set in a stunning location. This is where I discovered my status as a fast food chain in the mosquito under world. It turns out I am more popular than Mcdonalds with a two for one special on blood burgers, either that or I am an exceptionally exquisite restaurant were reservations must be made a month in advance (obviously the latter is a more favorable notion) either way the little bastards can't get enough of me! I suppose I should consider it a compliment. One morning I woke up to find one had taken a fancy to my eye lid and no amount of make up was going to disguise my bulbous and lopsided face, Quasimodo wasn't really the look I was going for two days before my birthday! Anyway I decided to head to the pharmacy in light of the fact I couldn't really see properly. Feeling incredibly self conscious and a little drowsy from taking too many piriton I managed to find the worst possible chemist in the whole of Mexico. Only in Mexico will you find a drug store with someone pitched outside with a microphone trying to sell you a 'buy one get one free' offer on Viagra whilst set to a techno base line. After managing to decline this kind offer I headed straight for the young man behind the counter, and pointed at my face, no words needed. Just as the pharmacist started to issue me my remedy a man in an inflatable doctors costume (as in the kind you find at Disney land) came and put his arm around me and peered over at my prescription! Just imagine if I had been purchasing something more personal!

Quite miraculously my eye actually went down in time for my birthday which was a huge relief as we had an action packed day ahead of us. Palenque itself is largely famed for its Mayan ruins, so what better way to spend your day of birth than sitting on top of an ancient pyramid pretending you are from the year 615 AD and a sacrifice is about to take place! This is actually where Mel Gibson's Apocolipto was filmed for those of you who know the movie. The second part of the day was spent visiting some local waterfalls and naturally in true Abi and Jaz fashion, getting told off by a life guard for swimming too close to them!

From Palenque we joined up with our friend Amy and visited the Yucatan capital, Merida. This is another beautiful little Spanish colonial town with a similar sort of buzz as many of the places we'd visited in the north of Mexico. What I've yet to mention about these locations is that while sitting in the corner of a plaza sipping a coffee and looking out over grand limestone churches and town halls is a pleasurable experience, you can't help but feel a little uncomfortable knowing that this is largely due to Spain's ruthless colonization of the area, toppling the local American civilizations in the process and imposing Christianity. During a historical tour of Merida we learnt that in the mid 16Th century Spanish colonizers knocked down the 5 pyramids that made up Merida´s town centre and used the stone to build their own churches right on top of them! It seems that exploiting, displacing and pretty much exterminating indigenous populations was not done subtly, one of the oldest buildings in the town even has a mural of the Spanish invaders proudly treading on the decapitated heads of their Mayan rivals!

From Merida we headed to the north of the Yucatan peninsula to a tiny town called Valladolid. The main reason for this pit stop was to explore the local sink holes other wise known as cenotes which are basically big under ground swimming holes. But how are they formed I hear you cry! Well The Yucatan Peninsula is a porous limestone shelf with no visible rivers; all the fresh water rivers are underground which means that caverns and caves form where the fresh water collects. The cenotes are filled with stalactites and stalagmites and the first one we visited was 47 meters deep, making it a pretty exciting swim. While the others had a quick dip and then got out I was quite transfixed by these under ground caverns and spent a significant amount of time
exploring different crevices and getting covered in bat poo in the process in a gollum like fashion. When cycling home from the cenotes we got caught in torrential rain which left us drenched through to the skin whilst attempting to peddle through a good 5 inches of water so all in all it was a pretty exhilarating experience.

From Valladolid we made our way swiftly to Isla Mujeres with one purpose in mind, to visit Abi's long lost relative who lives on an island made of plastic bottles! Isla Mujeres is as you may expect from an island off the cost of Cancun, a little over priced and filled to the brim with tourists. Richie Sowa's Island on the other hand is quite something else.In a nut shell Richie has hand-built and lived on two Islands, which floated on over 300,000 recycled bottles! The first Island was destroyed by Hurricane Emily in 2005. Eighteen months ago he began to build a replacement so the Island we visited him on is a kind of a Eco-work-of-art in progress. Still the new Island is quite awe inspiring with a two story house, a solar power cooker, a wave washing machine and a conch shell intercom system! He created the Island by filling nets with empty discarded plastic bottles to support a structure of plywood and bamboo , on which he poured sand and planted numerous plants, including mangroves which hold the structure together. To check out this crazy concept go to the following web address and check out the videos on it,
http://www.spiralislanders.com.

Now this is all well and good, and I am a big supporter of Richie's work but lets be honest anyone who comes up with the idea of making an island out of plastic bottles has to be a little nuts, and this man was no exception to the echo warrior stereotype. Whilst joining him for an organic juice on the island he informed us of many of his theories about the wider world. One of them, quite profound, is that a persons name defines who they are. This can be done by making anagrams with the letters of your name. He provided us a with a few examples to illustrate his point, Hugh
Heffner for example: huge hug on a fur rug or out of Adolf Hitler you can make hate and hit. Quite enthused by this theory we asked him to have a look at our names, after pondering over Abi´s for a little while he came up with the following 'ill' and 'big gal' at which point Amy and I chuckled and pointed out that it was a good job she wasn't, to which he responded by looking her up and down and stating 'well she's carrying a bit of extra weight, she´s got the potential'! At this point Abi decided that their family connection wasn't that strong after all and soon after that we left with Abi giving uncle Richie (or Rishi as he now likes to be called) a rather cool hug good bye.

From Isla Mujeres we headed for our final destination in Mexico, Tulum. This is a little piece of heaven that although long discovered by backpackers, has been left largely untouched by high rise hotels and hungry holiday makers. The sand was white, the sea turquoise and there was not a cloud to be seen in the sky, so naturally we did what any Brit does who's been starved of good weather most of their life, we spent our entire time on the beach! Actually that's not quite true we did also visit yet more Mayan ruins, but these are actually on the beach so I'm not sure they
count as a cultural expedition. Whilst there we took coconuts from a palm tree and drank the milk from them, swam in the sea and gradually turned a delightful shade of cancer brown.

So just over two months later we finally bid farewell to our beloved Mexico and crossed the border into Belize. This had the potential to be a complete disaster as when we crossed the border into Mexico from the USA we simply walked straight across with no passport check and therefore no stamp, according to the customs officer in Belize the lack of this stamp automatically requires us to pay a 100 dollar fine on the spot. Thankfully he didn't seem too fussed about rules and regulations and he let us pass free of charge. It is quite incredible how two countries sitting
side by side can be worlds apart. Within minutes of being on the bus we were offered plantain chips, whilst staring out over one of the lushes green landscapes I've ever seen, sat amongst such an ethnically diverse bunch of people you'd think we were auditioning for a gap advert. Our first destination was Belize City where we dined on fried chicken, fish, rice and beans which we washed down with a Belikin beer. The following day we ventured out into town where we met an unforgettable character who went by the name of Prince Charles Perez who insisted on giving us a run down of Belizian history. He taught us that Belize was originally called Belikini after a Mayan goddess back in 1650, that Belize didn't gain Independence from Britain until 1981 (which I guess I should have already known!) and that in general the country is quite unbeliezable and we were sure to love it, which indeed we did. According to Prince Charles Perez 'everyone wants a piece of Belize because there's peace in Belize' and I think he might be right. The country has an unbelievably chilled out vibe which hits you like a heat wave.

Around 40 percent of the population are Creole, a group usually defined as English speaking who originally descended from African slaves. The second largest ethnic group, are identified as Mestizos, or persons of mixed Hispanic-Amerindian origin and then the rest of the population are made up of smaller ethnic groups ranging from East Indians, Arabs, Chinese, and Euro-Americans, including a size-able community of German-speaking Mennonites who live a similar life to The Amish and contribute to 80 percent of the fruit and veg harvested throughout the land. It is the only country to have human beings depicted on its national flag and considering this incredible diversity, there appears to be few racial tensions. Despite Belize's easy going nature it is still clearly a developing country. In general things are remarkably expensive considering this fact, which begs the question, where does all the money go? Certainly not into housing that's for sure. Many of the houses are little more than wooden huts built upon stilts. If you met a big bad wolf who threatened to huff and puff you couldn't be blamed for being genuinely concerned that your house really would be blown down, and in some respects that is exactly what happens whenever a tornado hits town. It seems someone in Belize has some pretty fat pockets. The other slightly concerning fact we learnt whilst chatting to a local guy was that a company called Bowen and Bowen bought the rights for importing all beverages into Belize, including water. Bowen and Bowen are owned by Coca Cola and therefore in effect Coca Cola have made it illegal to import any brand of alcohol, soft drink or water into the country that isn't owned by them! Politically, historically and culturally Belize was fascinating, unfortunately we only had a fortnight there. From Belize City we headed straight for San Ignacio which was the closest town to the 'farm' we intended to volunteer on for a fortnight in return for food and board. This turned out to be such a unique experience that I will dedicate an entire blog to it in a few days time! But for now know this... WWOOF (Willing Workers On Organic Farms) is not really up to speed with the appropriateness of their placements and we didn't make it through our two week stint!

If it weren't for all you stinkers at home Abi and I would have moved to Mexico by now!

Abi and I have fallen in love with Mexico, hence the fact we are still here after spending almost two months in the country! Following Christmas we made our way over to the main land to a city called Guadalajara. This contrasted quite considerably with Baja California and being immersed in a fully fledged city was a welcome shock to the system. Guadalajara has an artsy bohemian feel to it, and like much of main land Mexico had a sense of youth and vibrancy. In fact the youth of Mexico as a whole appear to be effortlessly cool. The punk and rock scene are 'in' and long locks are modelled by young men in a way that no English bloke could pull off successfully! Whilst in Guadalajara we experienced the hustle and bustle of a food market selling all sorts of wierd and wonderful new things for us to try, including some crystallised honey and a tiny cup of very rich caramel/toffee which we later found out comes from goats milk. We've had the pleasure of doing this in pretty much every city we've been to, providing a perfect opportunity for a spot of people watching and a cheap meal. We also hired bikes once more as the local council very thoughtfully close the main road that runs through the centre of city on Sundays, giving power over to the pedestrians for a few hours each week. Other activities included checking out Orozco's murals, some impressively scary paintings depicting the Mexican revolution, and going to see Lucha Libre wrestling for an evening which was undeniably homo erotic. Each wrestler sports his own tightly fitting costume, complete with a full head mask and some times, if your lucky a cape. They then proceed to bend each other into all sorts of crazy positions, jump on each other a lot, and then eventually one of them sucumbs to his opponent. Although the whole charade is nothing more than a pantomime, it makes for a highly entertaining night particularly for young children, who eagerly wait around the ring in hope of getting their favourite character's autograph.

From Guadalajara we took a brief detour to Tequila, yep thats right there is an actual town called Tequila! We took a tour around a distillery and were naturally obliged to try some of the local produce. Despite our slight inebriation by the time we finished I managed to retain some information, that, if you're avid drinker of the stuff, you may find interesting. The one distillery we looked around produces 64 thousand litres of Tequila per day, someone clearly likes it! The agave plant that Tequila comes from is in fact a giant bulb from the Lilly family as opposed to a cactus... Oh and much the same as Champagne, it can only legally be deemed as Tequila if it comes from from the state of Jalisco where Tequila the town is located.

From Tequila we headed for Guanajuato where we welcomed in the new year with a night of salsa and yet more local liquors. Here we had a slightly bizarre experience when visiting some mummified bodies in glass cabinets with a group of Mexicans who were a little too keen to get their picture taken with a corpse. Each mummy had a small caption next to it stating something along the lines of 'hi, I'm Pedro, I was burried alive when I was only 23, before I died I liked hanging out with my friend Pablo, who is now lying next to me...' slightly distasteful to say the least as the bodies where still far too fresh for my liking, skin, eyes, pubic hair, and all!

From Guanajuato we swiftly made our way to Mexico City with no real expectations of particularly liking the place but a strong desire to start making our way down south. We were blown away! The second we exited the tube into the Zocalo we were hit with a buzz that only a city of such magnitude can provide. We headed for the streets straight away in exploration and discovered what appeared to be a mariachi convention! There were well over a hundred mariachi bands all simultaneously entertaining different members of the public at once. We paid 1 pound for a rendition of Guantanamera (shamelessly cliche, but a classic all the same). We then spent the rest of the night talking Spanglish to some Mexican youths, and got truly inspired by the idea of a Mexican themed party which we are intent on having upon our return, all are invited of course but only on the condition that you dress up as one of the following:

A cactus
A mariachi band member
A dia del muerta skeleton
A taco
An Aztec or Mayan coolio
A Lucha Libre wrestler
A piñata.... or anything else Mexican inspired!

The rest of our time in Mexico city was spent getting a cultural fix from various museums and galleries, and learning a little more about Diego Rivera, Frida Kahlo and her infamous mono-brow. We also took a rather colourful trip on a canal boat...yep that's right Mexico City has canals! Heading to the canals on a Sunday afternoon appears to be a popular activity amongst locals and tourists alike, the river heaved with families picnicking upon their own private floating dining room. For once the popularity of this activity only added to our enjoyment of the experience as the canals were alive with colour and the sound of good banter. Whilst being punted down the river we encountered a very scary 'doll island' created by a local man with the intent to fend off evil spirits. Anyone who has watched a 90's horror film involving clowns or dolls will appreciate why witnessing several dolls heads and various limbs hanging from a tree is enough to keep you up several nights in a row trying to think of happy thoughts!

We also had our first taste of prehispanic culture when visiting Teotihuacan. This is an enormous archaeological site just outside of Mexico City, containing some of the largest pyramids in the world. Teotihuacan was the largest city in the pre-Columbian Americas and during its hay day it would have had more than 100,000 inhabitants roaming arounds its busy streets. When visiting the site its easy to get lost in wonder as to what it would have been like when thriving with life. This was greatly enhanced by our guide who went by the name of Gorilla and quite frankly was a complete dude, so cool in fact that when he removed his sun glasses from his face he was left with a distinct aviator tan line. During our journey throughout the site he told us of his experience of taking peyote (an halucianagenic which helps you find the inner 'you'), along with giving us our mayan names according to our birthdays. Abi must now be refered to as Tochtlimixtla which means The heart of the rabbit in the moon, and I am Alttzintonalli, Fire waterfall! He also told us that according to the Mayan calendar, the world is going to end on the 23rd of December 2012 so you folks better get living your dreams quick!

Naturally Mexico City wasn't the cheapest of places to fall in love with, and therefore a few nights couch surfing were in order. On this occasion we stayed with a girl named Alisa who again turned out to be perfectly sane with no intention of killing us. I hope the sceptics amongst you are beginning to see that we aren't in fact risking our lives by staying with complete strangers throughout this trip, and that sleeping on random peoples sofas is nothing more than a cultural exchange?!

So from Mexico City to Oaxaca. On our way to Oaxaca we were accompanied by Rob, an Aussie friend we made in L.A, with whom we spent a few brief days exploring the city before starting language school. Learning Spanish for a fortnight provided us with a much needed challenge of testing our brain cells after two years out of education. It also acted as a complete sanctuary as we stayed with a host family during this time and experienced the delights of a home cooked meals and sheets that smelt of fabric conditioner. The family we were staying with were warm and welcoming and having a base for a short time was absolute luxury. We did however discover that they are keen members of the church of Jehova, and spent one evening eating dinner with 20 of their friends whilst watching a film about 'brotherhood'. There wasn't much hope of converting us though, given that it was a week before my birthday, and I'd be damned if I wasn't going to celebrate in style!

Whilst at language school we spent our weekends exploring the surrounding mountains by day (including a cheeky skinny dip under a waterfall) and salsa dancing by night. Oaxaca itself is yet another vibrant, cosmopolitan city, full of life. People appear to be permanently socialising. Its the sort of place you find yourself content sitting in a small cafe and simply watching other peoples daily routine play out before your eyes, their lives set against a back drop of cobbled streets, stunning churches and distant mountains puncturing a perfect blue sky. In fact if it weren't so darn far away from the UK I'd be tempted to up and move there! Whilst staying in the city we met a fare few Mexicans with whom we shared a beer or two. Each one of them turned out to be hard working, intelligent and great conversationalists, a million miles away from their American stereotype of being idol sombrero wearing lay abouts. In fact Mexico itself is so much more developed than I had anticipated, obviously the country still has its fair share of social issues, poverty being one of them, but I feel a little niave to have expected such a lack of wealth. You may, or may not know that Mexico for the large part is classed as a North American country as opposed to Central American, therefore the concept of referring to the U.S.A as 'America' can be deemed by some people to be quite offensive.

Briefly before I forget I must mention the local grub, as I'm sure if you are as much of a food fan as we are, you'll be keen to find out whats on the menu. One thing that has to be said about Mexican cuisine is that there is a serious lack of veggies. We have pretty much survived on tacos, tortas and rice and beans for the last two months, which is perfect for the cheese lover in me, but alas I am struggling with the lack of green things in my daily diet. On the plus side though, fruit is in abundance, and if you are feeling a little lazy you can simply pick up a litre sized cup from a street stall full of pineapple, papaya, mango, and just about anything else you fancy, for 75p. Chilli and fresh lime juice is sprayed on pretty much anything you put in your mouth (including beer) and I have also discovered a new found love for guavas. Street stalls sell a range of arse widening snacks including a cup of maize mixed with chili, lime (of course) mayo and cheese, delicious comfort food.

Lastly on a more general note I need to throw in a few facts that don't fit in nicely with any of the other paragraphs, but deserve a mention all the same:

1. In Mexico the 24th of December and the 6th of January are actually considered the most significant days of the Christmas period, not the 25th.
2. All of the Christmas trees in the public squares are sponsored/owned by Coca Cola.
3. Having shiny shoes must be very important to Mexicans as shoe shining stalls are absolutely everywhere!
4. A popular method of advertising throughout Mexico is to attach a loud speaker to the back of a truck and drive it around the streets at a snails pace obnoxiously loudly, one of the country's less pleasant attributes.
5. What else? Ah yes best of all live music is everywhere, including on the local buses, where you will often find a musician or two hop on, busk for 10 minutes and then hop off again!

Feliz Navidad!

After three weeks in Mexico it is time for me to update you on our travelling tales, but first there are a few general observations that deserve a mention before I rush in to telling you what we've been up to. Firstly Mexicans are a lot shorter and rounder than I ever realised! I imagine this may be due to their staple diet of rice, beans and tacos, which concerns me slightly as I have certainly noticed my clothing feeling a little tighter... still 'when in Rome'! Secondly the role of the police seems to differ drastically here, their main responsibility first and foremost is to look good. Pretty much every officer we have come across has been proudly displaying a pair of aviators, a tight black t-shirt and a belt with a range of amo attached to it that I have only ever seen worn by action men figures. We have also seen, on several occasions, an officer on the back of a truck with a mounted machine gun, which seems a tad un-necessary in an area with no great political unrest. Thirdly I knew Mexico was a Catholic country but boy do they love their nativities at Christmas, Mary and Joseph and their entourage show up everywhere, often several times in the same small town. Now I'm not normally one to go into Grinch mode every time tinsel hits our shelves in early October but when you are trying to forget what your missing back home, a tiny mocking baby Jesus looking back at you everywhere you go is enough to drive you crazy. Anyway enough of the bah humbug talk and on with the shenanigans.

I left you in Tijuana, a border town with a dangerous reputation for people/drug smuggling but in reality a relatively tame location provided you are sensible. Naturally Tijuana´s notoriety throughout the media, combined with the fall of the dollar, has turned it into a ghost town and the only other foreigner we met whilst there was an Israeli guy named Shai. Its funny how travellers manage to gravitate towards one another, even without the aid of a hostel or a lonely planet, and within 24 hours of knowing Shai we had arranged to rent a car with him and travel Southward through Baja California, the spit of land on the west coast of Mexico. This proved incredibly useful, as Shai´s dark features could easily be mistaken as Mexican and we received virtually no hassle from men whilst in his company.

Simply renting a car, was in itself, a total adventure as driving a manual on (what we Brits consider) the wrong side of the road, was something I was unsure I´d be able to do. Yet (and I say this with a shameful amount of pride) considering it took me over two years to pass my test in the first place, I found it relatively easy. The only sticky situation we got ourselves into was when Shai supposedly didn´t stop at an 'alto' sign and we got pulled over by the police. Whether or not the alto sign even existed was dubious. The clearly bent cop that pulled us over insisted that we follow him to a suspiciously small looking 'station' and proceeded to ask us to pay a forty dollar fine, but was unable to provide any paper work to go with it. When we questioned the legitamacy of the fine he proceeded to tell us that if we went to the main police station they might be able to give us a discount but we wouldn´t want to do that as the station was on the other side of town. When we assured him that we´d be more than happy to make the journey he finally let us go, and thankfully we didn´t part with a penny.

Northern Baja California has a scorched landscape, quite barren, punctured with the occasional vineyard and sporadic bolders. For those of you who´ve seen it, it was like something straight out of the film Tremors. With a basic map and the security of the vehicle we left a lot of our destinations to chance, deciding we liked the name of a town and heading for it. We first stopped in La Bufadora, then on to Sierra De San Pedro Martir National Park the following night, which we took a wild guess might take around thirty minutes to reach from the main road. Three hours, and countless bends later, we reached the entrance to the National Park. This is by far the most remote place Abi and I have ever visited. This is a land of Coyotes and condors, scorpions and stags, and apparently even the occasional puma. There wasn´t a single other person visiting the area, and the only sound to be heard for miles around was that of the wind blowing through the trees. It was quite magical. Despite being captivated by the serene nature of our surroundings we were faced with the slight practical dilemma of not having a tent, or in fact any real food with us and the fact that it was far too late to drive all the way back down the treturuos road that had led us there. But often the best adventures had are those that are unplanned, so we set to work making a roaring fire under dazzling moonlight, and creating a 'soup' which consisted of one remaining carrot, two tomatoes, a cucumber and a few olives left over from lunch in a pan of water. We slept the night in the car and although we all nearly perished from the cold we still managed to fully explore our surroundings the following day.

Once we reached civilisation we stocked up on Baby Ruths and Sugar Daddies, amongst other sweet treats garaunteed to rot your teeth with one bite, and set off on a road that leads straight through the desert. This new landscape left me utterly gob smacked, much like the first time a child sees snow I imagine, and several times we had to stop the car to examine the obscure variety of cacti we'd been observing from the car window. That evening we stayed in Guerro Negro where we accidentaly stumbled into a brothel and a rather plump older lady took a shinning to Abi and spent the evening pursuing her on the dance floor! We also met a young Mexican man who went by the name of Martin who promised to take us whale watching the following day. However Martin never showed up, which I felt I had to mention was hardly surprising considering we met him in a brothel, at which point Shai rather astutely pointed out that he did in fact meet us there also, and I refrained from judging him too harshly.

The following night we stayed in San Ignacio, a little oasis in the middle of the desert. Here we traded in our night in the car for a night in a rather plush yurt which is best described as a grand circular tent with all the provisions of a real home, including bath robes! We spent the afternoon kayaking down a palm lined river to a hot spring where small fish came and ate the dead skin from our feet! This was a rather surreal but pleasant experience until the larger fish thought they´d give it a try and we swiftly got out. Unbeknown to us at the time, this was actually our last night with Shai, and the car, as the following day he had to catch the ferry to the mainland sooner than we had anticipated. At this point it seems our fate changed and we were quite abruptly faced with several unwelcome challenges, one of which I will briefly explain in the following few paragraphs.


After waving goodbye to the creature comforts and convenience of the car we bused our way down to a small town called Mulege. Finding little there to entertain us we headed straight for our next destination, Loreto. Let me briefly explain that although the land scape of Baja is quite exceptional, the towns themselves are not. They are pit-stops, the sort of places Americans find themselves using as a winter base in search of the sun but other than that are quite deserted. There are no hostels and the likely hood of meeting other backpackers is rare. Despite our disappointment with the latest of these towns Abi and I endeavoured to keep ourselves busy. In an attempt to evade home sickness, which was inevitably going to pay us a visit once or twice during the festive season, we took ourselves on a beach walk. This proved to be the perfect distraction from thoughts of loved ones, as we came across several dead puffer fish and manta-rays washed up on the Shore and flocks of pelicans bobbed up and down on the oceans waves. That evening we went out for a drink in a bar which turned out to be full of gringos, owned by a particularly offensive fat middle aged manager who insisted on kissing each of us on arrival, breathing sweat and alcohol onto our cheeks as he did so. This was shortly followed by an equally inebriated middle aged American woman pulled up a seat next to us and slurring that she had three sons our age and we simply must join her for dinner. Intrigue and hunger got the better of us, and we accepted without too much consideration of the consequences. On the way to the house our host very brashly exclaimed while trying to light a cigarette 'my boys won´t try to sleep with you I promise' which was shortly followed by a story about how she was friends with the girls at the local pole dancing club, and really we should go visit them after dinner. Thankfully her sons were indeed the gentlemen she had promised them to be and did not share their mothers enthusiasm at the prospect of having a family night out at the local strip club. We spent a rather amiable evening playing cards with them and it was only when their mother returned from the club with a local timeshares salesman she'd met a matter of minutes before, dumped an over sized sombrero on our heads, plonked herself down next to me and exclaimed ´let mumma play' that we felt it was time to make our exit.


We made our way back to our accommodation, which was naturally the cheapest in town and resembled a 1950´s style motel, much like the one in Hitchcock´s Psycho. Our room was quite far removed from the main road and we were the only guests in the establishment, which we hadn´t considered to be a problem until the following occurred. While entering the motel we had noticed a young guy hanging around outside. We thought little of it until we noticed he was pacing back and forth outside our door. The door itself was made of frosted glass and pretty quickly the pacing turned into window tapping, and eventually he grew bold enough to press his face right up to the glass. Unsure of his intentions, but damn sure they weren't pleasant, we armed ourselves with various 'weapons' including a picture frame, some mozzie repellent and a lighter! Although we screamed countless obscenities in hope of scaring him off/waking the guard he continued to scare us half to death until 4am, when I suddenly remembered I had my English sim card somewhere in the depths of my bag. After some desperate searching through our phrase book we managed to communicate to the police 'malo...hombre...habitacion...exterior' and eventually they turned up and thankfully scared him off. Despite this being a truly awful experience, we only deemed it the worst 24 hours of the trip the following day, when our bus out of this hell hole was cancelled, and we had to wait three hours to get on the next one. Finally what finished us off was the drivers decision to play Celine Dion 'My heart will go on' so offensively loudly that she permeated right through my earphones, leaving Bob Dylan's familiar and consoling lyrics lost and distorted. A single salty tear trickled down my cheek as I gave in to four full hours of power ballads.

Feeling more than a little sorry for ourselves we arrived in La Paz and headed straight for a centrally located gay friendly hotel we´d found on the net. Sure enough when we arrived the guy manning reception was as camp as could be, as if by magic he´d been plucked from the streets of Soho and sent to us by an angel. As we walked to dinner that night we passed a bar with live music blasting out a fantastic rendition of Bob Marley's ´don´t worry about a thing... coz every little thing is going to be alright' And indeed to the large extent it was, La Paz was a charming city and we even managed to coax out the Christmas spirit in us and buy a pinata. We spent Christmas in Los Cabos with Whitney, a friend we made in LA who is on a three month placement working on a resort. Unfortunately Whitney´s flat mate kindly offered to drive us to the beach on Christmas day which turned out to be tourist central, with a Father Christmas sailing up and down the cost on a speed boat and a drinking contest going on twenty meters behind us, with a constant chant of 'drink drink drink' ringing clear. Still we ate like Kings, made a sand man with a carrot nose and swam in the sea, so the day wasn´t altogether lost. On boxing day the three of us hired a car and headed for a totally deserted beach where the only thing hollering was a near by sea-lion. We followed this up in a local bar with a live band and merenge dancing. Finally we made peace with Southern Baja and its people.

Bidding a fond farewell to China

So since you last heard from us we have been very well behaved and thankfully don't have any near death experiences to report on! From our adventures in the jungle near Jinghong we travelled swiftly east, spending 3 solid days on buses from Jiancheng, to Luchun and finally ending up in Yuanyang. This is a relatively inaccessible part of the Yunnan province which has escaped heavy development for tourism, and so far has been overlooked to a certain extent.These are the sort of places in which you end up entering the kitchen of the place you've chosen to eat in, and pointing at the ingredients you fancy because not one word of English is spoken there, and even if it was, they don't have a menu anyway! Sows and their piglets, Water Buffalo and wild dogs wander the streets freely. The main ethnic group that reside here are the Hani people who have a traditional dress that is quite vibrant in contrast to the dusty grey streets of the towns themselves.Yuanyang is renowned for its rice terraces which were sculpted by bare hand over a thousand years ago. Glancing at the terraces its hard to believe they're man made, they fit so perfectly into the surrounding landscape. The 1000 meters of mountain slope terraces are still in use today. In the winter the terraces are irrigated in preparation for the next crop and this is without doubt the most spectacular time to see them, as at sun rise and sunset, each pool reflects the sky above them perfectly, resembling acres of pockets of liquid gold. Fascinatingly, although these terraces appear quite endless, China is actually the second biggest importer of rice in the world, and the rice that is harvested is only consumed within Yunnan.

From Yuanyang we headed further east to Yangshuo. In contrast, this is the sort of destination that will be on 99% of backpackers agendas when travelling through China, never the less it was still well worth exploring and gave us a chance to feed our new found love for extreme sports. Here we dabbled in more off road cycling, hiked up moon hill, gave rock climbing a bash and even discovered caving. While climbing we very sensibly hired an instructor instead of attempting to scale the rock face all by ourselves. (Side note: Most Chinese people have English names as well as their Chinese ones, which could be considered a slightly patronising way of saying 'you'll never be able to pronounce my actual name so here's something a little easier to digest', ashamedly this is quite accurate. So far we have come across a Frank, a Wendy, a Susan and a Spiderman, which as it turned out was pretty apt.) So with Spiderman's encouragement Abi and I pushed ourselves to our absolute limits and although exhausting, climbing was one of the most exhilarating experiences we had during our time in China. Best of all I have counted 64 different bruises on my legs as a result of this pursuit, which although look quite hideous, make me feel like a bit of a hero! Caving was similarly quite extreme and we found ourselves squeezing through tunnels only an inch or two wider than ourselves. Right in the middle of the cave was a mud pool which we had the opportunity to swim in, turning us into mysterious sea creatures, zombies and many other bizarre monsters our imagination conjured up whilst wallowing.

Not only was Yangshuo a fantastic place to simply have fun, it is also visually stunning. The landscape is dotted with karst peaks (eroded limestone) and orange groves, with the Li river winding its way through the middle of them, giving the area an almost Jurassic feel. This was a perfect place to end our Chinese adventure, as we bid farewell on a complete high. We left wanting more, which, although a little frustrating, can only be a good thing after spending two months in one country.

So from Yangshuo we had two brief days in Hong Kong where we stayed with a couch surfer for the first time. You will be pleased to know we have not been chopped up into little pieces and so far this seems like a really useful way to get to know a city. Michael is a economist by day and an extreme Frisbee player and comedian by night, and most importantly he provided us with free accommodation which was fantastic given how expensive Hong Kong is. On first impression Hong Kong is clean, stylish and wealthy, so much so anybody would think the opium trade was still in full swing!It seems backpacking here is like being taken out to eat in a really posh restaurant when you thought you were going to MacDonald's and realising you're wearing flip flops and jeans while the chick next to you is donning her finest pearls and her Louis Vuitton. The city is so scarily neat and tidy it feels like its been designed by a desperate house wife with too much time on her hands and a bad case of OCD. Every last little detail, of every street, corner has been cleverly thought out to be as pleasant as possible, and even the tube stations contain message boards with helpful suggestions like: 'Take care of the young and old, make safety your priority, lets do more for others! '

From Hong Kong we endured a 29 hour journey, door to door to LA, which I'm convinced was designed by Mrs H Kong's cousin who also had a love for the pristine. LA however, has another more gritty side to it which gives it a little more edge, a side I'm sure we would have discovered in Hong Kong also, had we have been there longer. There is clearly a huge divide between the rich and poor, and it seems the city may be in need of a Robin Hood of its own. Still the fact that cars have seat belts, and people actually stop when there's a red light was definitely a culture shock when we first arrived. I also had to keep reminding myself that talking openly about the person next to you having a bad case of BO is no longer acceptable as they actually understand what you're saying! We spent a week in the USA getting our western fix, and naturally had to par-take in our fare share of touristy activities such as eating burgers in a diner, visiting the Getty centre, Venice beach and of course the Hollywood sign. Here we also couch surfed with another boy called Joey who again turned out not to be a serial killer but in fact a very talented illustrator and a welcoming host. We are beginning to actually have faith in this rather obscure way of travelling. Ironically we managed to get ourselves lost far more than we did in China, as Americans seem to be incapable of giving clear directions, mainly because they drive everywhere! Thankfully this urban jungle turned out to be a lot less scary than its leafy brother, and had we been forced to sleep outside I'm sure there would be a bum to lend us a blanket. Interestingly enough, in the 1920s there was an efficient public tram system connecting this sprawling city but a large Californian based car company bought up all the public transport and dismantled it so everyone had to buy cars, which have now become an extension of their feet.

We have since escaped the USA in fear of turning into complete gluttons and have crossed the border into Tijuana in northern Mexico. Today we were greeted by Rudolf the red nosed rain deer being played on steel drums outside our hotel. I like this place already!

Survival!

The following blog was written about three weeks ago but I've been unable to post it until now... sorry folks! Hope its worth the wait.

The last time I wrote I left you in Dali, which now seems like a life time ago. In reality little more than a fortnight has passed but both Abi and I seem to have lost all concept of time recently, a common symptom of spending, what feels like, eternity stuck on a bus. There we bid a fond farewell to Ali and made our way to Kunming, where we gave Izzy (Abi's friend from uni) a warm welcome. After my rant about development we have endeavoured to immerse ourselves in as much Chinese culture as possible and therefore were forced to par-take in the traditional Chinese fashion of getting a chair lift up yet another mountain as opposed to using our legs. We also attempted to eat huo guo (hot pot) which is where you get given your own stove with a large pot of boiling broth and dip vegetables (or meat) of your choice into it. We didn't get very far with this though as south west China is famous for its spicy food and within a few mouthfuls we had anaesthetised our tongues and killed several taste buds in the process.

We continue to get ourselves into mischief, and committed the cardinal sin of sitting on the grass in a public square whilst in Kunming. This was swiftly put a stop to though as within a few minutes three police men, riding in what can only be described as a golf buggy, armed with a mega phone, approached us and gave us a stern talking to. It seems the sole purpose of these officers is to patrol the area, a quarter of the size of Trafalgar Square, in search of trouble makers such as ourselves, unsurprisingly all three officers where a little tubby to say the least. Ironically whilst journeying around this area (which is suspiciously wealthy) we have come across acres of cannabis plants which seem to have gone conveniently un-noticed. Sell the grass and nobody bats an eye lid... sit on it and you might as well of sat Mao's grave... that's if he wasn't preserved in a glass cabinet.

So from Kunming we took a night bus to Lijiang, this is a rather convenient way to travel as you are provided with a small bunk and a duvet, although the last time it was washed doesn't bare thinking about. This time we were spared the pleasure of listening to the symphony of snorers, but instead experienced the delights of someone having a night terror. This involved them wailing very loudly and unexpectedly in the middle of the night causing all drowsiness to be shaken from us and the disappointing realisation set in once more that a good nights sleep on public transport just isn't an option. Still this experience seems of little significance compared to the following night bus we caught a few days later which left me projectile vomiting from a small window for the first 3 hours of the journey. Note to self: heavy drinking + no sleep + rolling hills = Negative impact on body... must not repeat! This was particularly awkward the following day when people had to collect their bags from the side of the bus that was sprayed with the contents of my stomach.

Anyway on a more pleasant note, Lijiang itself was a pretty little town with cobbled streets and a maze of small canals running through it, naturally it was incredibly touristy, but the sun shone brightly the entire time we were there, giving the place a relaxed timeless feel. This made us quite susceptible to over indulging, which is not really acceptable behaviour when you're a budget back packer, but there's no denying how good it feels to be a giddy consumer every now and again, sucked in by the allure of anything aesthetically pleasing to the eye. Inevitably we came away with heavier bellies and bags. But before this begins to sound like an extended shopping excursion our actual motive for visiting this neck of the woods was Tiger Leaping Gorge. The gorge is one of the deepest in the world and given our new found love for burning calves and sweaty backs, it was a must on our to do list. The walk took two days to complete and was nothing short of breath taking. We were quite spoilt with flora and forna along the way, ranging from over sized butterflies, exotic flowers, and humming birds, to mountain goats, and crickets. In fact our travels have been met with an abundance of wild life recently. From Lijiang we headed back to Dali for one night where we experienced cormorant fishing. This is where a fisherman takes you out in a small wooden rowing boat, on the edge of which a family of birds perch mysteriously content, until you reach open water where they proceed to dive into the water and vanish from sight. A few moments later they resurface, settle themselves on the fisherman's arm and regurgitate several whole fish into a bucket. At first we marvelled at how obedient these creatures were and pondered why they wouldn't just consume their catch themselves. Rather disappointingly it soon became apparent that the cormorants were not in fact mans new best friend but actually had a small piece of string around their necks preventing them from swallowing. I can't make up my mind as to whether or not this counts as animal cruelty as despite the fact this must be an incredibly frustrating predicament for the birds they seemed in no way distressed, and actually appeared quite content.

From Dali Abi and I swiftly made our way to Jinghong, leaving Izzy to explore the area in more depth. Jinghong is set in the south of China, bordering Burma and Laos and is therefore heavily influenced by its neighbours culture and dialect. The tropical climate, abundance of palm trees, pineapples and minority groups gives the place a wholly different feel to the north of China. We embraced this laid back South East Asian vibe by treating ourselves to a visit to a blind massage school, set up to provide a sustainable income for blind/partially sighted people in the area. This was a painful but enjoyable experience, although my masseuse made a suspicious amount of eye contact for someone who isn't meant to be able to see. We also took another bike ride through yet more crop fields, which left me feeling like I'd died and gone to vegetable heaven. Had we had access to a kitchen I would have no doubt got myself into more trouble through pillaging from the poor. We also came across a school where a very over enthusiastic English teacher insisted on showing us around, ironically and perhaps a little worryingly, we struggled to communicate with him because his English was so bad.

But now we must move on from the quaint and picturesque, to a more rugged and treacherous tale! The main attraction of Jinghong is the Jungle that sits just a few hours bus ride south of the city. Please note before reading the following couple of paragraphs: besides the large hole in my foot, we are both alive and well.

Lets be honest, though always based on truth, some of the tales I tell throughout these blogs are inevitably embellished slightly for your entertainment. This story however, needs no aid of imagination what so ever, and will be told purely based on facts. So where to begin?...Abi and I fancied the idea of a jungle trek in which we could pretend to be avid explorers of a dangerous land, but with the aid of a local guide to navigate, put plasters on our grazed knees, and generally do all the hard work. The only problem being that guides don't come cheap, and after much searching we couldn't find any other travellers willing to share the expense. We did however, meet Serge from Tel Aviv. Given the two year compulsory military service Israelis are required to under take, Serge had the demeanour of someone who was used to having to survive, an essential jungle trekking quality... or so we thought. He assured us that he had trekked many times and there really was no need for a guide. The following morning we arranged to meet him at the reasonable hour of nine, spend a day trekking, then sleep the night in a small village where we had been told if you knock on villagers doors they will happily put you up for the night. Given this plan we felt there was no need to weigh ourselves down with sleeping bags or any other un-necessary creature comforts. No maps that we know of exist of this area, but we had read that you can simply wonder into the jungle, find a small path and eventually it is sure to lead you to a village, be it the right one or not (what the author failed to mention is that there are actually hundreds of paths throughout the jungle, some made by man, others made by beasts, and that distinguishing between the two is actually quite an art). So when Serge arrived twenty minutes late, wearing flip flops and a sleeveless top and proceeded to tell us that he had gone to bed at 5am and was therefore a little worse for ware, although a tad concerned we were not deterred from setting off. It later transpired that the only food Serge had brought with him was a packet of dried super noodles because he thought there would be shops along the way, had we have known this our decision to persevere may have been abandoned.

Still we spent the day feeling quite exhilarated by our exotic surroundings and although we were faced wih dead ends on more than one occasion, where the path would simply disappear, we thought nothing of it. It was only when six o clock came around and we had taken our umpteenth wrong turn that fear set in. We decided to accept defeat and started to make our way swiftly back to the original village we headed out from. Just as we were debating in jest, who would be spooning who, if the ludicrous situation were to occur, in which we'd have to spend the night in the jungle, we quite literally bumped into two guys in full camo gear carrying rifles and machete's. Communication with these gents was strained to say the least as we spoke not one word of the local dialect, nor were they able to humour our feeble attempts at mandarin. Still through a lot of rather flamboyant hand gestures on our behalves, and a great deal of repetition of the name of the local village pronounced in various ways we managed to gather that they would take us to the second village we had originally been aiming for. This glimmer of hope was short lived, as after an hour of being frog marched back down the path we'd just been down, our guides quite unexpectedly, just as the remaining evening light faded away, left us. The point on the path in which we were abandoned was wet under foot and hosted grass a good meter above our heads on either side. We continued down the 'path' for around half an hour before giving up all hope of finding salvation and found a small clearing under a tree where we sat, quite gob smacked at our predicament, we were actually going to have to spend the night in the jungle. Thankfully Abi, being the resourceful woman that she is, had bought a lighter that morning and with the help of a few worthless bank notes we had in our pockets we were able to start a fire. It was a long and cold night, with a few stories rather desperately exchanged between ourselves and our Israeli friend in order to pass the time, a ban on all tales involving wild beasts was established but this didn't deter our minds from conjuring up all sorts of terrible fates we might be met with. We put in place a food rationing system of one biscuit every hour, and begrudgingly shared them with Surge. Still we survived our night in the wilderness, and managed to make our way back to the original village the following day, a little fatigued but with little more than hunger to complain about. A few days later we discovered another trekker had come across several deadly snakes and spiders while in the area. It is at times like these that I end up asking myself why on earth Abi and I were ever allowed to leave the country together, and wonder whether it would be safer for us both, and potentially the rest of the world, if we had our passports removed and for some form of tracking device to be inserted underneath our skin.

The Wild West

When we left you last we were just about to climb Mount Emei with our new found friend Ali, an experienced mountain climber and generally very useful person to have around... or so we thought. Now don't get me wrong, Ali is a well travelled intelligent individual, however from time to time he does play the part of 'stupid tourist' rather well. One of the main attractions of Mount Emei is the fact that half way up you are likely to come across monkeys. Throughout the climb there are constant signs stating the obvious like 'don't tempt the monkeys with food', 'don't pet the monkeys', 'don't attempt to take a monkey home in your back pack' etc. So what would any sensible person do 2 minutes before entering monkey territory... buy an ice cream of course! For those of you who are as naive as me (I know you are few and far between but humour me please) monkeys are not the cute mischievous little creatures you might imagine. They are evil, or at least these ones were! Now let me set the scene, Abi and I are wondering across a very wobbly rope bridge with Ali in tow, kitted out in a baby blue baseball cap, a tee-shirt proudly stating 'I climbed the great wall of china', a camera in one hand and the infamous ice cream in the other. In slow mo I watched in horror as we were homed in on from all angles, stranded on the bridge of death with no-where to run! Thankfully Ali had the sense to throw his ice cream away but it was too late and a dozen hairy fanged beasts were heading straight for us. Just as one launched itself at Ali's back, out of nowhere a small Chinese lady with the agility of a fox appeared with a catapult, threw herself onto the bridge and started pelting rocks at the approaching enemy. She was our saviour and as it turns out is employed specifically to protect stupid tourists such as ourselves. It was a good couple of hours before any of us dared to mention the idea of lunch.

The mountain itself was no mean feat, being 3077 meters high. It took two days to get to the summit, 8 hours of climbing each day and most of the way the inclines were so steep they made you want to throw a paddy just by looking at them, let alone tackling them! Which to be totally honest I did, more than once! Despite the pain this was not simply at endurance test and once again we were rewarded with breath taking scenery, when we weren't in the middle of cloud forest that is. Our first night on the mountain we slept at a Buddhist monks monastery which would have been the perfect setting for a horror movie. The monks themselves didn't seem the slightest bit enthused by our company. This combined with the thick mist that had quickly descended upon us, creaky wooden floor boards of the monastery and endless dark corridors which you had to venture down every time you needed a wee, made it a pretty scary place. However the next morning we awoke, not on a sacrificial stone slab but in our nice warm beds and eventually after much huffing and puffing made it to the summit where a hugely over-weight giant gold Buddha sat proud, quietly mocking our efforts.

Since the mountain we totally reassessed our route and made the decision to follow the exotic allure of the west. This is a little naughty as the official government warning is that foreigners aren't allowed in this area due to the current political instability, however like a lot of China things aren't always what they first seem. So armed with bobble hats, matching thermal leggings and altitude sickness tablets our journey on the road to Tibet began. Though the journey wasn't easy we spent the best part of a fortnight village hopping on the border of Tibet, from Baoguo to Kanding, to Tagong, and finally to Litang, birth place to two Dali Lamas. Many of the bus rides proved to be a little hairy and putting blind faith in complete strangers has been essential in order to get off the beaten track. The first bus we tried to get the staff refused to sell us tickets because we are white, a Chinese lady then approached us gesturing that she could get us there but a security officer soon came over to observe what was going on. We ended up having to get a taxi with her to the side of the road in the middle of nowhere where she then flagged down the bus for us so that officially we weren't on it. On another occasion we had to negotiate in Chinese with a private mini bus driver to take us to our next destination. This time we weren't allowed through the barrier leading out of the town (again we assume because we are foreign) so the driver paid a villager off to use their pot hole ridden dirt track instead. As it turned out the road was in such a bad condition and the incline was so steep that the vehicle started to roll backwards at quite a speed, luckily we all jumped out just in time before the bus ground to a halt inches away from a large brick wall. This has not been the only time we have had to get out and walk half way through a journey as land slides are common, which combined with narrow icy tracks, could easily prove to be fatal. On the other hand snow capped mountains set against brilliant blue skies make for a pretty spectacular journey and the fear of dribbling on your neighbours shoulder is no longer the only incentive not to fall asleep. Even if my body is lulled into a semi conscious state through the motion of the bus my eyes refuse to shut, fixated on whats laid out before them.

Most of the towns themselves have been basic but beautiful. Its exciting to travel to destinations with no other westerners and staying in guest houses makes for a much more interesting experience than the comfort of a hostel where everything is provided for you. The Tibetan people themselves tend to be beautiful with high cheek bones and chiseled features, and often we found ourselves staring at them with just as much curiosity as they have for us. The population is largely made up of monks, cow boys and women in traditional dress and therefore simply wandering around the streets kept us quite content in most places. In Tagong we trekked on horse back through the rugged terrain we'd spent so long eyeing through frosty windows, which was a great way to explore as at 4000 meters above sea level our lungs weren't really up for any more hiking. Throughout the journey Abi and I bonded with our horses rather well, although mine did have a particularly stubborn nature, permanently straying from the rest of the group in search of tasty shrubs. He also had a terrible flatulence problem, I wonder, can the same be said for horses and their riders as is suggested about owners and their dogs?! In Litang we visited a monastery that was completely free of any other people except for a lone monk who showed us around his living quarters. Areas of the monastery were still being built which was quite fascinating to watch as their attention to detail is quite admirable. While Abi and I were surrounded by coloured prayer flags, friendly monks and paintings of exotic gods, Ali attended a sky burial. In order for you to understand why Abi and I chose not to join Ali in this 'cultural experience' let me paraphrase the lonely planets description of it, 'This is an ancient Buddhist-Tibetan burial tradition that begins with laying the dead body on the ground at the foot hill of a mountain. The religious master of the ceremony then proceeds to cut the flesh of the body into large chunks and the bones and brain are smashed and mixed with barely flour. The smell then draws a large number of vultures that circle impatiently above. Eventually the religious leader steps back and the huge birds descend into a feeding frenzy, tearing at the body and carrying it in pieces up to the heavens.' ...On an up note I suppose this is a very ecologically friendly way of disposing of a body!

Our taste of Tibetan culture was brief but by far the most invigorating experience in china so far, and the last few towns we have ended up in have been a little disappointing in comparison. Shangri-La is supposedly one of the most beautiful ancient cities in China, but like a lot of places deemed worthy of a visit by the Chinese, the place is now a neatly gentrified museum where it is easier to order a pizza than authentic Chinese cuisine. From Shangri-La we visited a similar town called Dali but thank-fully stayed outside of the city walls. We took a bike ride through a stretch of paddy fields surrounding a lake, and for a brief moment kidded ourselves that we were in the deepest darkest depths of rural China, then we returned to our hostel and I ordered a snickers smoothie and began writing this blog. Mind you, three quarters of the way through the electricity went and I lost everything I had written. Development is a strange but fascinating thing, and as a back packer I feel I have a love hate relationship with it. We are constantly seeking more remote destinations, the more culturally diverse from the west the better, yet when it comes down to it we are totally reliant on the home comforts we moan about ruining the authenticity of a country so much. This reliance is something that's hard not to feel a little ashamed of at times, but one I doubt many people escape.