The End

Words cannot describe how incredible this year has been and how much it has changed me. There have been difficult times, but I know that I’ve become a stronger and, ultimately, a happier person. I’ve been to Germany, Thailand, Russia, Spain and Peru, and with each new adventure, I’ve confronted new challenges, but I’ve also had some life-changing, unforgettable experiences and met some really amazing people. I feel like I’ve just scratched the surface of what the world has to offer, and it’s made me want to push the boundaries and explore ever further.

I lost two grandparents this year, and this has been the toughest part of all. A year  ago today, my Gramps died of cancer, and tomorrow I’ll be saying goodbye to my Grandpa, who passed away two weeks ago after suffering a heart attack. My blog was always read to my Gramps at his bedside, and my Grandpa was always my most devoted reader; I never dreamt I’d have to say goodbye to him before I came to the end. I can only hope that, were they alive today, they’d be proud of all that I’ve done. I’m going to do all I can to keep doing them proud and to live the life they always wanted me to have: full of adventure, love and passion.

12th September: I’m Coming Home

The journey home was exhausting. I woke up at 6am, left the house with Doris at 7, and got dropped off by Rafael at 7.30. The queue to check in was the worst I’ve ever seen; it snaked around the entire airport and it took me nearly an hour to get to the front. When it finally came round to my turn, I sent my suitcase away and was about to rush to Departures when a security guard stopped me. He told me to come with him and there was nothing I could do but obey.

All the way into the back room, I was trying to find out what was going on, but he wouldn’t tell me anything. My passport and all my belongings were taken from me without a word and I was instructed to stand by and watch while everything was searched - including the suitcase I’d just seen go onto the conveyor belt.

I tried to suppress the feeling of panic that was beginning to take over my body, racking my brain for anything that could possibly have aroused their suspicion about my luggage. The man checking my hold luggage spoke quickly and in a barely decipherable mumble; it was lucky I spoke good Spanish, or I don’t know what I would have done. I answered every question as honestly as I could, even telling him about the presents I had in my suitcase from my Peruvian family, even though I knew they were completely safe.

After what felt like hours but could only have been minutes, my belongings were thrown back into my cases and I was given back my passport and sent on my way. I was never told why I was stopped, but I can only think it has something to do with the two English girls my age who got stopped a few weeks ago for drug smuggling and are now locked up in Peruvian prison. Whatever the reason, it was terrifying and I never want to  have to go through it again.

Once released from the back room, I had to rush to get through to the gate on time, queuing at migration and again for the usual hand luggage security checks. By the time I got on the plane, I was exhausted.

Typically for me, I made another friend on the plane journey to Madrid, a really cool artsy, kind-of-emo girl a few years older than me called Inés. I knew I’d like her as soon as I saw her board the plane in her knitted jumper, teal biker boots and purple trilby. She’d been born in Lima and had lived in Spain for a few years, then gone back to Lima, and was now moving back to Barcelona again to live with her parents and finish her degree. She’d been studying as a journalist in Lima but seemed to be pretty talented at art and photography, too, and was going back to Barcelona to study restaurant management. The bad thing was that she was leaving behind her friends and her girlfriend who was clearly perfect for her. She had a letter and some pictures of her girlfriend in an envelope, which she was keen to show me.

We spent a lot of the journey chatting to each other and showing each other photos, when we weren’t trying (and failing) to sleep or making our own interpretations of the awful film they’d put on, watching it without sound. When we finally landed in Madrid at 4.30am (10.30pm for us), we exchanged names and said we’d stay in touch.

I then had another three hours to wait for my connecting flight to London. Luckily, there were no delays this time and I got straight through. I even arrived at Gatwick early and got on an earlier train to Reading; unfortunately I couldn’t change my ticket from Reading to Birmingham, but I spent the hour sitting in a little cafe run by a lovely local woman. When I reached Birmingham, I jumped straight on the connecting train to Wolverhampton and was there at 2.45. Ten minutes later, my mum was pulling up in the Audi I’d always moaned about, but had never been so glad to see. I ran into my mum’s arms and suddenly realised how good it was to be home.

10th September: Mistura

I woke up at 6.15 the next morning with my hair still damp from the shower the night before, feeling exhausted and full of cold. I was glad I hadn’t made things worse by going out.

The same couldn’t be said for Alex; when it got to 6.45 and there was still no sign of her, I went into her room to wake her. To say she looked a mess was an understatement: her hair and make-up was all over the place, she was bleary-eyed and, to finish off the look, completely covered in UV paint. I said softly, “Alex, what happened to you?” She said she’d had some mosquito bites, so I’m not sure she fully knew what was going on.

There was no sign whatsoever of Eleanor. Matt was the only one composed and ready to go, but since his flight was later than ours, he said he would wait for the other two. In the meantime, I helped Elise shove all her things into her bags and grabbed us a taxi to the airport.

When we’d checked in and had breakfast, there was still no sign of the other three. Finally we saw them enter the airport, only to be turned away from the check-in and disappear from sight. There was nothing Elise and I could do but go through to the gate and hope the others were ok, because if we missed this flight, we’d miss our flights back to the UK, too.

Eventually, with five minutes to boarding, we spotted the others across the hall. They’d had to wait for Eleanor, who’d left at 6 to go to the market, and then when they’d finally arrived at the airport, Alex had been refused entry onto the plane until she sobered up and got rid of the paint. Apparently it had been an amazing night, but poor Alex was definitely feeling the effects of it now.

When the plane landed at 10.15, I had to rush to retrieve my bag and make my way to the entrance to meet Doris, who was picking me up. Doris is a friend of my Pily, my Peruvian mamá, who had asked her to look after me whilst the family were away in Mexico. Doris was a lovely, tiny Peruvian lady, about fifty years old. We phoned Rafael and he arrived within fifteen minutes to pick us up and drop us off at the house.

Once Doris had let us into the house, opening all the various doors and locks and turning off the alarm, I freshened up and grabbed some breakfast (once I’d convinced Doris that I could actually do it myself). Then she walked me to Plaza San Miguel, where I needed to find presents for my Peruvian family.

A couple of hours later, I’d accomplished my mission and was on my way to Mistura, an international food festival held in Lima every year, in Rafael’s taxi once again. It’s been quite handy having my own personal taxi driver, I have to say. Anyway, when we pulled up at Mistura at around 3.30, it was already packed, despite apparently being the quietest day of the festival. 

I thought it might be quite lonely on my own, but within moments of entering, I stopped to ask someone to take a picture of me and ended up tagging along with him and his family. His name was Eche and he was from Sweden but had moved to Peru eight years ago and now had a wife and two young daughters, who he was with that day. He was fascinated to learn all about me and my travels, and had a fair amount of stories to tell himself. The whole family, including their friend Ronnie, was lovely and pretended I was one of them so I could stay with them in the family queue for the aquarium.

The aquarium was, according to Peru’s president, the main attraction of the festival - and it was pretty impressive. The amount of work and investment that’s gone into it is amazing; it’s a proper building with tanks, interactive features and videos. It’s not surprising, then, that we had to wait over an hour to get in. The visit was short, as it was only a small building, but it was interesting to see it from the inside, as well as to observe the purpose of the construction - which was to raise awareness about caring for sea life.

As we were leaving the aquarium, we were offered a free photograph, which would be sent to our email addresses, so I asked Eche if he would have one with me. We had two taken - one for him and one for me, as a memory of one another. He’d already taken a short clip of me on the family camcorder. He gave me his email address and told me to stay in touch, before I said I should probably go off on my own so he could spend the rest of the day with his family.

Once I began to explore the rest of the festival, I realised how incredibly huge it was. It was divided into sections, the food split up into: Amazonian; Andean; anticuchos (grilled skewered meat); ceviche; dishes from Lima; chifa and nikkei (Peruvian versions of Chinese and Japanese food); grill; sandwiches; dishes from the South; dishes from the North; and desserts. There were also tavernas and bars, as well as the Gran Mercado (market), and the Mundos (worlds) of bread, quinoa and coffee. To top it all off, there was an exhibition on chocolate and a huge conference hall hosting talks from South American chefs.

It took me ages to choose which meals to try, especially since being a vegetarian severely complicated matters. I eventually settled for an Amazonian dish called rumo juane or juane de yuca, made from mashed yuca and an expensive fish called paiche (which lives in the Amazonian rivers) all served in a bijao leaf. It was good, and I was glad I’d tried something new.

After that I decided to go for a dessert I knew I loved: mazamorra (made from purple corn) and arroz zambito (like rice pudding with cinnamon). By this time it was nearly 7pm and I thought I’d better call Doris, since she wanted to know an hour in advance when I’d be back at the flat so she could get back in time to let me in.

Since there were far more people waiting for taxis outside the festival than cars to accommodate them, I decided to follow the steady flow of people walking up the steep hill to central Miraflores. On my way to catch a taxi I stopped to take photos and got chatted up by a policeman (classic Peru).

I got back to the apartment building only to discover that Doris was going to be another half-hour, but luckily a kind woman let me into the building, where I was able to pass the time looking through the photographs of the last few days. When Doris finally arrived, I rushed upstairs to pack and write all my ‘thank you’ notes to my Peruvian family to accompany the presents I was leaving for them on the kitchen table. Before I knew it, my last day in Peru was over.

9th September: Machu Picchu

The mornings are just getting earlier and earlier. This time, we were unceremoniously snatched from our sleep at 4 o’clock in the morning, to be ready to leave the hostel half an hour later.

We had no choice but to force our bodies to wake up as we began the walk to the first Machu Picchu checkpoint, which we had to be at before 5.30. It was still pitch-black at this stage and we were determined to make it to the top before sunrise, and before the rest of the tourists started arriving in their droves.

The ascent, even sharing backpacks and swapping every now and again, was exhausting. Alex and I took the lead, with poor Elise quickly falling behind. The trouble was finding a balance between waiting for her to catch up and take rests while making sure we didn’t reach the top too late. Thankfully, the spectacular views we were rewarded with made the gruelling trek up the hundreds upon hundreds of steep stone steps almost bearable. As we reached the upper stages, dawn was slowly breaking over Huayna Picchu and the surrounding mountains, offering us a stunning panorama over the whole valley.

When, after several rests for water, food, stripping down of layers and recuperation of breath, the top finally came into view, we put our favourite motivational tunes on Alex’s iPod: Quiero Casarme Contigo and Vivir Mi Vida. The feeling of achievement when we crested the hill was incredible; it felt like hours had passed, though it had barely been fifty minutes. We’d seen several tourist buses go past at the various landing stages (“Bus wankers”) and felt like we’d truly deserved our spot in the queue. We even took a picture of us looking bedraggled and exhausted at the back of the line.

After we’d got through the check point with our tickets, it was another short climb to the Machu Picchu ruins themselves. Being one of the first groups to enter the site, we were fortunate enough to see the ruins before they became overrun with crowds: the view was spectacular. There aren’t words to describe the feeling of gazing over the mountainside upon the ancient Inca ruins. It was truly overwhelming - and the knowledge that we had climbed up there made it all the more magical.

At 7am we had a private tour with our group, led by our guide, Amoroso. We were able to descend right into the ruins and observe all the inner workings of the place, with much-needed explanations of the previous purpose of what little remains. We also got the opportunity to get up close and personal with the resident llamas.

After the tour, which went on until around 9.30, Alex and I dropped off our rucksack at the cloakroom ready to ascend the even steeper mountain of Huayna Picchu, 360m above the Machu Picchu site. While Machu Picchu literally translates as ‘old mountain’, Huayna Picchu is its ‘young’ twin, and was apparently the residence of high priests and virgins. A small group would reputedly walk to Machu Picchu every morning to signal the coming of the new day - a whole lot of effort for something which seems inherently obvious, if you ask me. At the top of the mountain is the Temple of the Moon and the Great Cavern.

Only 400 people are admitted onto the Huayna Picchu site each day, and Eleanor, Alex, Matt and I had been lucky enough to secure these tickets. Elise hadn’t managed to get a ticket, but since her struggle up the first mountain, I think she was quite glad. However, the climb up Huayna Picchu didn’t feel nearly as gruelling as the climb to Machu Picchu itself - possibly because it was shorter, or maybe because we didn’t have our rucksack, or, most likely, because we weren’t rushing to get to the top and took our time instead, stopping for rests and to take photographs. We actually spent most of the ascent in fits of uncontrollable laughter; I’m not sure whether we suddenly all became hilarious people or whether the altitude was just getting to our heads. The mountain itself did actually provide quite a lot of the entertainment in the form of tiny caves we had to crawl through on our hands and knees, which would certainly have been a challenge for a slightly-fatter-than-average person.

We’d just about exhausted all the photographic opportunities at every angle at the top of the mountain, and were beginning our descent, singing The Circle of Life, when we bumped into a Brazilian guy trying to take a selfie. I offered to take the picture for him, which got us talking, and he soon turned out to be pretty cool, as well as pretty attractive - and he spoke perfect English, which was a winner. He said he’d heard us singing The Lion King and, presumably because he realised what a cool bunch of people we were, decided to tag along with us.

He said he had an English name, Newton (I wondered out loud what his Portuguese one was - as if there hadn’t been enough blonde jokes the past few days). We chatted for a while at the foot of the mountain before going our separate ways. Only half an hour later we bumped into him again, and again half an hour after that on our way to the Inca Bridge.

After taking in some last sites at the Inca Bridge, which was another tough uphill walk away, we decided we should start heading back. We were just on our way to the exit, when who should we bump into but the German guy (the one who’d rushed off to the disco on Saturday). Alex and I were polite but soon made our excuses to escape.

The steep descent took us just as long as the ascent had that morning - probably because by this time, we’d been walking for nearly twelve hours, and the steps were so steep that we had to take them slowly to avoid falling over or damaging our knees. We had several false alarms, thinking we’d reached the bottom, before the bridge finally came into sight.

By 5pm we’d collected our bags from the hostel and were sitting down for a three-course meal, with nachos and drinks, all for S/.15. We were just tucking into our food when who should turn up, but Newton! It seemed like some kind of weird twist of fate, so he took our Facebook details so we could stay in touch. Not only that, but on our way to the train station, we were walking past the hostel when we heard someone calling us: it was Simo, the Israeli guy! Since he’d been on the four-day tour, his trek had finally caught up with ours! 

By the time we finally got on the train at 6.45, we were exhausted and I could feel an illness coming on. We’d spotted the German guy yet again as we were boarding the train and had bets on that we’d end up next to him - thankfully, we were in luck and he didn’t even see us. I’ve never seen such a sorry-looking group of passengers in my life; the whole train was full of smelly, dirty, exhausted travellers. In the short hour-and-a-half journey to Ollantaytambo, I fell into such a deep sleep that it was difficult to come round at the end of the line.

When we got off the train, we were expecting to see our tour bus already waiting, and we were getting quite concerned when fifteen minutes went by without any sign of any Loki representative. Finally, we saw someone approaching with a Loki placard and we set off on our way.

I didn’t sleep at all during the bumpy, windy journey through the mountains, and by the time we reached the drop-off point in Cusco, I was feeling awful. We’d been planning to go to Loki to meet the Australians for drinks, but I didn’t think I could face it.

We got back to the hostel to find Elise already in her pyjamas; she’d been violently sick all the way home and was feeling even worse than the rest of us. Knowing the hectic few days I’d got ahead of me, I decided not to risk making myself seriously ill and skipped the night out (taking the sensible option for once) to make sure I finish my stay in Peru on a high.

8th September: How Not to do a Zip-Wire

The next morning was painful. I don’t know why it was so bad because I don’t think I drank an unreasonable amount and I remembered to have plenty of water when I got in. At any rate, when Amoroso woke us up at the obscene hour of 9 o’clock, I was not happy. It was hot outside, too; the sun came blazing through the open door. To make matters worse, it was one of those really queasy hangovers and before I knew it, I was vomiting, very ungracefully, into the cardboard box I found behind the door. 

Now, as anyone who has ever had a hangover will know, doing strenuous physical activity with said hangover is the worst feeling in the world. So, as you can imagine, that morning’s zip wire adventure was not ideal. I ate what I could of the chocolate and banana pancake at breakfast before dragging myself to the zip wire briefing and making myself feel even more sick by watching videos of what I was about to do.

A short minibus ride into the mountains took us to the highest zip wires in South America, where we all lined up in the searing heat to wait for our turn. There were five in total, and as word had got round by now about my cardboard box incident, everyone cheered every time I made it to the other side without throwing up. Kurt, one of the Australians, unfortunately didn’t fare so well and ended up vomiting in the bushes while waiting to go on. 

I somehow managed to have fun doing it, even though it was touch and go at times. Since we’d got there late, the wind was already strong, meaning we all kept stopping before the end and had to hoist ourselves to the other side or be rescued by an impatient member of staff. The final wire was the biggest challenge - there was little chance of stopping, but we were allowed to freestyle on our position. Not wanting to miss out, I wanted to have a go at zip-wiring upside down like most of the others (quite a challenge when you feel as sick as I did). I’m pleased to say I managed it and was glad I tried it.

Just when I thought I’d got over the final obstacle, I was presented with a massive, wooden, rickety rope bridge, which we were expected to cross. Too dazed to protest, I was clipped haplessly to the bridge and told to go on my way; it was terrifying. Kurt and I were the last two to go, and were encouraging each other through it. The worst part was that, not only did you have to look down into the abyss below to watch your feet, but you had to unclip your safety harness from the bridge every time you came across one of the intervening metal frames, and all the while the bridge was shaking so much I felt like I could fall off at any time.

Finally we all made it across the bridge alive, and the last group of us had to jump in the van to join the others at Hidroelectrica for lunch. During the short bus ride, Kurt was sick several times, both out the window and all over his T-shirt, and Alex had a massive vomit scare that made us officially the Chunder Bus. Somehow I got the impression this was not the way one was meant to see the Sacred Valley.

After lunch we had a three-hour walk to Aguas Calientes along the train tracks of the famous Hiram Bingham train. Thankfully, by this stage I was feeling a bit more human, but even so, the long walk in the heat of the afternoon with all our bags was a challenge. It was lucky we had the Australians to keep us amused.

When we finally arrived at the town of Aguas Calientes, anyone would have thought we were a group of Muslim pilgrims arriving at Mecca, such was our elation. We were just sitting on the wall getting our next briefing when who should run up and hug me but Olga, the Dutch lady from the jungle! I couldn’t believe my eyes.

Arriving at the hostel was even better; we had private rooms and hot showers! In a state of bliss, we unpacked our things and made straight for the hot springs, which were just ten minute’s walk (up a steep hill) up the road. No one could believe their luck; the hot springs cost only S/.10 per person and they were amazing. Apparently the best way to get the most of the medicinal properties of the water is to switch between the warm springs and the freezing cold showers - which I bravely did twice.

After an amazingly hot shower back at the hostel, we were escorted to dinner where we were given an actual menu to choose from. It was then that we found out that, on most nights, the Australian lads went out for a second dinner - not surprising, really, when you think how much weed they smoke; they must have the munchies all the time. Bizarrely, we were waiting for our dinners to arrive when one of the guys caught a moth and ate it whole, just like that. I couldn’t quite believe what I was seeing.

After dinner, we all bought supplies for the next day, and when we got back to the hostel, a couple of the Australian guys were eating pizza and doing the worst job of packing I think I’ve ever seen. We were all sharing bags in twos, and considering these two were planning on running to the top of Machu Picchu to be the first ones there, they’d packed an obscene amount of food, as well as six litres of water. The backpack weighed nearly as much as I did.

Eventually, they managed to cut the weight down to a reasonable amount and we sat and chatted for a while before deciding we should probably get some sleep. I was just getting into bed when I realised I needed to hang up my bra, which I’d washed since it had inexplicably turned a bizarre greeny-red colour, so Alex and I called them in to take advantage of their tallness and get them to hang it up on the curtain rail. The weird thing was, it wasn’t weird at all.

7th September: Beginning the Inka Jungle Trek

Waking up at 5.25 today, only to find that the hot shower I’d been waiting for was in fact freezing cold, was not a good start. Knowing I’d be roughing it for a few days, I didn’t want to start the trek feeling disgusting so settled for washing my body and hair as well as I could over the sink with lukewarm water.

An hour later, we were on the road, the five of us (as Matt was part of our little VolunTeach group, too) at the back of the old minibus, surrounded by other half-asleep passengers from around the world. I soon forgot my tiredness as we climbed higher into the mountains and its spectacular scenery. It would have been too much of a shame to sleep through the journey and miss such incredible views. We also passed the city and archeological site of Ollantaytambo, which used to be the royal estate of the Inca Emperor Pachacuti.

Unfortunately, the altitude was already taking its toll on poor Matt, and we weren’t long into the winding journey before he was being sick out the window: not a very good start. A two-hour bus ride took us to the upper part of Abra Málaga, at about 4,200m above sea level. From there, we were to begin our decent into the valley on bike - but first, we had to put on all the protective equipment: helmets, knee-pads and even body protectors. It was lucky we had Simo the Israeli guy there, or I would have got myself in a complete muddle. It was at this point that (for some reason which probably seemed logical at the time), I started to nickname him Barbie, a name which, unfortunately for him, stuck for the rest of the day. Unfortunately for me, my ditsy behaviour got me the nickname Blondie.

The bike ride, being predominately downhill, was great fun and required virtually no physical exertion - my idea of a perfect trip. The only slight challenge (and I use the term loosely), was the strip ominously named the Gringo Killer, since several tourists have been killed there. It was really very simple; all we had to do was change gear when going  down towards the streams, in order to cycle successfully up the other side; the rest of the group loudly shouted “Change!” to remind me.

As we descended deep into the valley, the temperature got hotter and hotter until it was almost unbearable to be in my joggers and thick jumper, let alone with all the protective gear on top, especially as we were constantly racing each other. When we eventually made it to the bottom, where our minibus was waiting, we all stripped off and put on layers of insect repellent and suncream; we had cycled into a completely different climate.

Whilst we were eating our three-course lunch (which was, along with the next day’s meals and the final day’s breakfast, included in the tour price) the sky became ominously overcast. Only Eleanor, Alex, Elise and I were doing the rafting, and by the time we’d changed into our shorts and T-shirts, the storm had begun. We’d already paid for our rafting and we weren’t about to be put off by a bit of rain, so we jumped into the car that was waiting for us and went on our way.

As we reached the rafting centre, the rain became torrential and I wondered what on earth we’d let ourselves in for. Glancing down at the river, I noticed apprehensively that the white water rapids had grown even stronger; at the very least, we were going to get drenched, and at the worst, we were going to seriously injure ourselves.

The guy giving us our equipment didn’t help matters; he’d clearly had enough of English tourists and wasn’t in the least bit helpful or even slightly friendly. We were all crowded into a tiny, cold little room and it was clear he’d rather be anywhere else than here, trying to explain rafting techniques to some English girls. He soon perked up, though, when we inadvertently did something to make his day. We asked what clothes we should wear, and when he said that all our clothes would probably get drenched, all four of us, without a second thought, spontaneously took our tops off. The astonished guy didn’t know where to look.

We all borrowed waterproof jackets that went over our heads and fastened with velcro at the neck, as well as helmets, life jackets and oars. A short minibus ride took us down to the river, where we were introduced to some poor guy who would be rowing with us, and the instructor. We abandoned our impractical shoes (from daps, to walking boots, to my dolly shoes) at the shore and waded through the cold water onto the raft. Eleanor thought this would be a good opportunity to ask if anyone had ever died doing this; the instructor just nodded gravely and said, “Yes, there were two deaths here last year.” Good grief.

Our initial efforts were an absolute disaster: Elise had never rafted before and Eleanor just got confused, so both of them, to the instructor’s dismay, ended up rowing in the wrong direction. I’m not surprised he was horrified, to be honest; he’s probably never had anyone actually get confused between rowing forwards and backwards before (it was quite funny though). 

As we were approaching our first set of big rapids, he told us vehemently how important it was for us to paddle ‘for our lives’ as otherwise we would flip over - more than a little worrying to hear. Before we knew it, the rapids were upon us - and it was amazing. When we got through to the calmer water on the other side, he asked us to make a team name. I jokingly suggested ‘Team Georgie’; Alex scoffed and told me to dream on. The instructor took this to be our suggestion and before we knew it, we were Team Dream On. 

The next hour went really fast, the best rapids being a set we spiralled through like a whirlpool and another we crested as though surfing. We even got off the raft in the middle to have  a swim in the river; we were so wet by this stage we thought we might as well. By the end of it we were working really well as a team, and Alex had won the heart of the instructor by being a ‘skilled rafter’ as well as ‘very beautiful’.

In the minibus on the way back to the centre, the driver put on some remixes of English songs redone in Spanish, which we got so excited about he turned up full-blast. On the off-chance, we asked if he had our favourite song, Quiero Casarme Contigo, on the CD - and he did! Alex’s new biggest fan insisted we play it on repeat the rest of the way. 

When we got back to the rafting centre there was just time for some quick photos and a change of clothes before we had to grab our stuff and jump into the back of a minibus full of impatient Peruvians. Then we had a forty-minute drive through the mountains, along precarious cliff-top tracks which barely had room for one vehicle.

By some miracle, we didn’t fall off the cliff and arrived at the hostel to find Matt surrounded by a massive crowd of Australians, all in their twenties, who were part of the four-day trek, and whose group we’d now be joining. After running upstairs to freshen up with a cold shower (and without a towel, too), I came down half-an-hour later to get to know everyone. They seemed like a friendly and crazy bunch of people.

After a few drinks on the street, we were led down the road to a small restaurant by our new guide, a native from the area whose name was Amoroso, and served another three-course meal. A few of the Australians had already started on the weed before dinner was over, and by the time we were finished everyone was up for a big night (well, as big as would be possible in this sleepy mountain town).

Alex, Eleanor, Matt and I shared a vodka and Sprite and sat chatting and meeting new people all evening. At around 11 we met a German guy who was, in his very German way, worried about getting to the disco on time - despite the fact that we would probably be the only people in there.

Anyway, a little while later, we were all ready to leave, and headed for the single club in the town, which we filled. There were literally only a handful of people apart from us, but it didn’t matter; I had a great night dancing salsa with a couple of natives and a guy I met from our tour who was from Chesire. We were the last ones left in the club when it closed not long after 1am.

6th September: Return to Cusco

I must have been woken up at 7am this morning as scheduled, but it was 7.10 before I actually came round, and to the sounds of a slightly frustrated Spanish voice telling me to hurry up and get ready.

An hour later, the Dutch people, Luis, Emma and I were all at reception ready to leave. The boat ride back to Puerto Maldonado lasted two hours since we were travelling against the current. From there, we were picked up by the EcoAmazonia minibus and taken to the small company office to pick up our tickets and fill in some questionnaires before our final drop-off at the airport.

The airport was the tiniest I’d ever seen - even smaller than the one in Koh Samui, Thailand, where I flew into almost this time last year. There was only one cafe, so after we’d checked in our bags, Luis, Emma and I went for a drink before going through the single security conveyor belt to the two flight gates on the other side.

We were split up during the flight, but when we arrived at Cusco we found each other again and collected our bags together. When I rang Edgar, my cusqueño taxi driver friend, he said he wasn’t working that day, meaning I’d have to catch one of the really expensive airport taxis. Thankfully, Emma and Luis were being met by their tour company and suggested I came with them. Their tour rep happened to be one of the loveliest I’ve  ever met, and said they could drop me just a few metres from my hostel, no problem.

I was dropped at the traffic lights and only had time for a hasty goodbye; luckily, I’d already exchanged details with Luis and Emma, who had suggested meeting up that night for dinner or drinks. After checking in at Milhouse and finding out that my friends from VolunTeach, Alex, Eleanor and Elise, wouldn’t be back from their walking tour for a while, I made my way on foot to Loki Hostel. We’re doing the Inka Jungle Trek with them tomorrow, so the final balance had to be paid by 5.30 today.

Walking up the massive hill to the hostel in the afternoon heat, completely out of breath from the altitude, was a challenge. I was glad to get it over with, though - now I could enjoy the rest of the afternoon without worrying about it. Job done, I walked to the cathedral, which is the focal point of the beautiful Plaza de Armas. It was S/.12 to enter, with a free audio guide in Spanish, and it was definitely worth the visit. Not only does this magnificent building feature a spectacular sixteenth-century exterior and interior, but it is also home to more than 400 works of the famous Cusco school of art.

Visiting the cathedral took me nearly two hours, since, typically, I had a million and one phone calls during it (thankfully my phone was on silent). Most were from Eleanor, who was by this time stressing about the payment details for the trek, but one was from little Nicole, my Peruvian sister, who’d phoned to see how I was, bless her.

When I came out, the warmth of the afternoon was already giving way to an evening chill, so I fetched my llama jumper from the hostel and dropped off all my valuables before walking down the hill to the handicrafts market. I’d expected to be able to buy all sorts of souvenirs there, but when my friends rang me at 6.30, I’d only bought a few things - including a very touristy Machu Picchu cap which I hoped, being so embarrassing,  would at least protect my face from the sun on our trek.

I met the others at the main square, and we walked down one of the side streets to find something to eat. We struck lucky and found a restaurant offering a three-course meal and drink for S/.15 (less than £4). We were even able to try traditional Cusco cuisine; two of them even had roast alpaca. 

We had to rush to be back at Loki in time for the trek briefing. The tour guide was already there with Matt, another VolunTeach volunteer I hadn’t met but had spoken to online. Opposite them was an Israeli guy in his late twenties, who seemed a lot more Western than Israeli in the way he dressed, looked and acted. He seemed like he’d be up for a laugh, at any rate.

After the briefing, the girls and I went back to Milhouse, where we packed our bags ready for the morning and made the most of the two-for-one cocktails that were being put on during the Peru-Uruguay football game. While we were sitting outside, an Austrian girl  who Alex had met the day before came up to us (Alex is German, though she tries to forget it) and started chatting to us in German. I asked if she was German and, when she asked me if I was, I was pretty pleased.

With a very early start the next day, we weren’t out of bed long and decided to get a good night’s sleep before beginning our trek.

5th September: A Jungle Man and a Giant Spider

The next morning, someone was calling “Choro!” at the indecent hour of 5 o’clock. I grumpily grunted some indistinguishable words of recognition and rolled over. Before I knew it, it was nearly time for breakfast and I had to throw on my incredibly unsuitable black joggers, a vest-top and my thick grey Aeropostal hoody and run to the dining room.

After breakfast, I was the first one ready out of the group of eleven, giving me a chance to chat with the new guide, Alex. On finding out that my name was Georgina, he insisted on calling me the Spanish version, which is incredibly ugly and pronounced Hey-or-hee-na. I protested but it was no use; it wasn’t long before he was calling me Jorge (Hor-hey).

The first part of our tour consisted of a short boat ride along Madre de Dios to a point further along the bank. From there, we were led on foot through the jungle to a smaller river, where we boarded a long wooden canoe. Alex immediately called me to the front and told me to get onto the boat first, which wasn’t ideal as I’m sure it was less balanced with no people in it, and I’m not exactly renowned for my elegance. When the rest of the group had got on in their twos, the people in the middle were handed oars and Alex skillfully walked along the edge of the canoe to get to the back, from where he would row to navigate us along the channel.

It was quite nice being at the back at first, as I got to chat in Spanish with Alex and he pointed out all the different species of animals and plants to me on the way. Unfortunately, it wasn’t long before he started asking me awkward questions like if I had a boyfriend and if I was staying alone. When he started telling me I was beautiful, I got even more suspicious. Being the object of the guides’ obsessions can have its advantages and he did pick me a beautiful waterlily from the river. He also made me a much-needed sun-hat from the leaves of the elephant plant on the banks. It was at this point that I realised I needed to put some repellent on, and, try as I might, I couldn’t hide the fact that I was struggling to apply it to my back. At first I declined his offer of help, but then conceded that I didn’t really have much choice; it was that, or get bitten to death. This might have actually been the better option.

On the plus side, I did get to see a lot more wildlife than the rest of the group; although apparently I had very good eyes myself (which he also described as very beautiful - not a cliche at all...) I saw some beautiful birds, caimans, monkeys and butterflies, and we even heard a huge roar, which Alex identified as a jaguar.

I was somewhat relieved to get out of the conversation with Alex when Olga started to speak to me in German. We were chatting for ages and I was glad that I was still able to converse easily enough. I decided to stay closer to her and the rest of the group and further from Alex when we got to the shore.

What I hadn’t accounted for was the fact that, being at the back of the boat, I would automatically be the last one to get off, and before I knew it, the rest of the group had gone ahead, leaving me with jungle man. He randomly asked me if anyone else in the group spoke Spanish; in hindsight, I should definitely have lied and said they did, because that would have stopped him from saying what he said next. I won’t repeat it, but it was a pretty inappropriate suggestion on any level, let alone considering he was a member of staff...

When we all re-grouped on the other side of the swamp, I managed to escape Alex and fall in at the back. We now had a 5km hike back to the main river, looking out for wildlife and plants on the way. Amongst other things, we saw some more incredible trees; I had a photo taken of me hugging one which was about twenty times the width of me. We also stopped to observe the strangest tree I’ve ever seen; it’s called a Cashapona, or Walking Palm, and its roots stand on the surface of the soil. Apparently, this is so it can literally walk to follow the sunlight (several centimetres each year). However, my brief Internet research has revealed a lot of theories in opposition of this. I’m not sure whether to trust the scientists or the people who actually live there; either way, they’re pretty weird trees.

The most amazing thing we saw on the walk was something I’d been hoping to see - but from a very safe distance. We’d seen several tarantula nests over the previous few days, but this time, the guide was able to tempt one to come out. I nearly had a heart attack; it was huge, black and hairy, just as I’d feared. I was glad I’d seen one, but I never wanted to see one again.

After a couple of hours’ walk in the close heat of the afternoon, we were all tired and overheated, so it was a relief when we arrived at the river bank. A short boat ride later, we arrived back at the lodge, giving me time to shower and jump in the pool before lunch. I found Emma and Luis at the poolside so was able to catch up with them. After lunch, I lay in one of the hammocks overlooking the river and napped in the shade.

When my alarm went off a couple of hours later, I was in a daze and almost didn’t recognise the tone; it took me a good few minutes for me to identify it as my alarm, figure out where I was and eventually come round. I made my way to the main reception, where we were meant to be meeting to go on a tour of the lodge gardens. Unfortunately, when I arrived, there was only one other person there out of the entire group; everyone else was obviously too tired and had decided to sleep through the afternoon instead.

The Swedish woman who had turned up was busy talking to one of the guys on reception about ayahuasca, a powerful hallucinogen that our lodge was well-known for. Word had already got round that her husband (or partner, I’m not sure which) was here especially to do the drug, and came several times a year for a few days for the same purpose. I was surprised to find out that his calm and gentile-looking partner was going to try it out too. It’s a natural hallucinogen found in the Amazon rainforest; nevertheless, it’s dangerous to consume it without the help of a shaman. At EcoAmazonia lodge, a skilled shaman comes to hold the ayahuasca ceremony in a special ceremonial room slightly outside the complex.

I was interested to know the effects of taking it - if it wasn’t dangerous, I’d be tempted to take it myself, to get the full jungle experience. The Swedish woman and the guys on reception started telling me about the spiritual revelations brought about by taking the drug - about finding deep insights into life and the universe, and even spiritual enlightenment. There have even been cases of contact with the dead, which I shuddered at - but the Swedish told me she had already had contact with dead relatives and that it was something truly beautiful. I’m not sure the spirit world is something I want to mess with, and I’m fairly convinced that seeing any of my recently-deceased relatives would bring me the opposite of inner peace.

The most disturbing part for me was hearing about the fact that, particularly on the first consumption of ayahuasca, drinkers are forced to confront their fears, which appear vividly before them. I asked lightly if this would mean confronting a giant spider, and the Swedish lady nodded solemnly. I wasn’t sure this was my idea of fun. I’d also heard around the lodge that it is recommended to take the drug for at least three consecutive days in order to feel the full benefits, and wanted to know what would happen if you took it for just one night (since I only had one night left). I was told that the first experience is very often an unpleasant one and can leave the drinker with feelings of temporary emotional and psychological distress, which didn’t sound fun at all. Not only that, but most people experience nausea, diarrhea and cold flashes, and vomit violently one hour after consumption. Alex told me that if I was going back into civilization the next day, it wasn’t ideal. I decided I’d leave my spiritual enlightenment for another time. 

When it became clear that no one else was coming, the three of us set off on our little tour. On our way, I was shocked to see three gorgeous baby monkeys playing in one of the nearby trees; one of them came right down to the ground and let Alex stroke him. Alex told me to go closer, and before I knew it, I was sitting on the floor playing with the adorable baby red capuchin monkey. Alex told us that the lodge had started feeding the monkeys when their mother had died and the poor things had been left orphaned. I could barely tear myself away when it was time to move on.

We’d only walked a few strides when I realised that the baby monkey, whose name was Miguel, was following us. Before I knew what was happening, Miguel was climbing up my leg and sitting on my shoulder, his tail wrapped closely around my neck for balance. He stayed like that for the whole tour, his little furry hands snatching playfully towards all the fruits and flowers that Alex picked to show us, particularly a beautiful fuchsia-coloured flower that Alex gave me to match my pink top.

Now I had my pet monkey, the garden tour seemed fairly dull in comparison, especially when we came across more animals tamed by the lodge - three different types of brightly-coloured parrots, which allowed me to touch them gently on the head. Nevertheless, it was interesting to discover all the different varieties of tree and plant that grew right within the complex - red bananas, pineapples, turmeric, basil, papaya, mandarin, and trees with all kinds of purposes, from the Muira Puama herb, which acts as a natural viagra, to a Dragon Blood Tree, so-called because of its thick, red sap which has healing properties. 

When we’d toured the entire premises, it was time to say goodbye to my monkey friend - but every time I put him on the ground, he followed me again. Eventually, a man had to come out with a bunch of bananas to tempt him away.

On the way back up to the reception, Alex switched to Spanish again and tried to convince me to meet him at the hammocks after dinner that night. Turning people down is uncomfortable enough on a night out, let alone in broad daylight without the chance of a quick escape. I muttered something about it not being a good idea and tried to get away, but he said he would wait for me. As mean as I’d feel, I’d just have to stand him up.

I was writing my diary this evening, lying face-down on the bed next to mine, when the worst thing happened. I’d been lying there for about an hour and had just written the word ‘tarantula’ when I happened to look up; there, on my bed, less than a metre away from me, was a brown, hairy, hideous tarantula. 

I tried to stay calm enough to ease myself away from it without making it jump, and even managed to think sensibly enough to remember to put on some insect repellent (and some clothes) before leaving the room. I attempted to take a photo, but not wanting to get very close or use flash in case I shocked it into scuttling out of sight, the picture just turned out a brown blur. I think I was shaking too much to make it come out well, and after one failed attempt decided I’d been in close proximity for far too long, and ran to reception.

Arriving at reception, I did my best not to sound hysterical as I told one of the guys about my unwelcome intruder. He looked slightly amused, and when one of the other guys shouted over about my phobia, they all had a good chuckle at my expense. Luckily, on seeing that I was genuinely quite distressed, one of the guys asked me to lead him to my bungalow, spider-catching equipment in hand (a plastic bag).

When we arrived, I told him where it was and said, “You first”. I panicked when he said he couldn’t see anything, worrying it had scuttled away somewhere out of sight. There was no choice but to go in - and, sure enough, it was still lurking on the corner of the bed, camouflaged in the shadows of the bed sheet. I told the guy where it was and vacated the area.

A good few minutes later, he reemerged and emptied the bag into the bushes. I hoped to God he had actually caught the horrible monster and wasn’t just pretending. When I asked him if he could make sure there was nothing else hiding in the darkness, he made a vague notion of looking around the room before saying nonchalantly that everything was fine. Considering I had previously been assured nothing could possibly get into my room, this did not fill me with confidence. 

At dinner, I told everyone about my ordeal and word soon got round to Alex, who said he would protect me if I came and stayed in his room - how reassuring. After I’d eaten, I went over to Luis and Emma, who’d been put on the other side of the room this time, and tried to make it obvious I’d be spending the evening with them. We had a quiet evening chatting and drinking cocktails before lights out at 10pm, when we all rushed back to our rooms to get into bed before the electricity cut out and we were left in complete darkness.

4th September: Day 2 in the Jungle

I was jolted awake at 7am the next morning by someone shouting my room name, Choro, right outside my door. It was such a shock that I threw my mobile phone, which I’d kept by my pillow just in case, up in the air and it fell to the floor with a dramatic clatter. I think I scared the wake-up guy half to death.

Having been so violently awakened, it was no problem to jump straight out of bed and throw on some clothes, and I was down at the dining hall in no time. Breakfast consisted mainly of fresh fruits picked from the forest - passionfruit and watermelon, amongst others I couldn’t identify and which I’m sure we can’t even get in England.

We were meant to be going fishing that morning, but the threat of a violent storm had brought strong winds that made it dangerous to go out in the boat. We waited it out a little while before admitting defeat and deciding on some alternative plans. At 9am we met up again, this time with a young Italian couple tagging along, to go on a walk to a nearby lake. While I was waiting for the others, I wandered the grounds to take a closer look at the beautiful flowers and vibrantly-coloured birds, with their exotic bird calls which sound like water droplets. When I reached the reception, I found a large black bird with long, stork-like legs peering standing on the table, peering into the fish tank and singing a strange lament at them through the glass. He had a cheeky little face and I got the impression that this was a habit of his.

When everyone was ready to go, David took us to one of the gardens to explain some of the fruits to us. Almost all the foods consumed at the lodge are grown within its own grounds; this includes passionfruit, tiny bananas, avocado, coffee beans and coca., as well as some fruits unique to the Amazonian jungle. Before we knew it, David was fetching down a large coca using a long wooden pole, and chopping it with his machete. Inside was a light, watery liquid which he got us all to drink.

Then it was time to begin our walk to the lake, which was around 1km along the jungle trail. On our way, we saw many more species, including tiny squirrel monkeys, jumping incredible distances from tree to tree, and a gecko which David picked up for me to stroke. We also saw more enormous trees with buttress roots, many of which were acting as hosts for the clever parasite trees, smaller trees which latch on to a host and deprive it of its nutrients, growing so strong that the host tree eventually dies. The jungle ecosystem is based on fierce competition to survive, even amongst the trees and plants. All are fighting for nutrients from the soil and light from the sun, and are adapted to survive and kill off the competition. Another amazing tree we saw was covered in spikes to prevent animals from climbing its trunk and eating its fruit. Another had strange lumps coming off it at its base, which David took great delight in explaining, several times, was known as a penis tree.

When we arrived at the lake, we climbed some wooden steps to a large platform over its banks, from where we could observe all the surrounding wildlife. Almost immediately, I spotted a caiman moving in the water below, and was excited to catch my first glimpse. It was about to get much better; David had brought a bag of raw meat, which he now spread out along a plank just outside the water. It didn’t take long for the caimans to begin to emerge from the murky water, and soon, there were more than five white caimans all trying to get their share of the food. 

We stayed watching the caimans until all the meat had gone, and afterwards to observe the beautiful birds on the other side, and the brightly-covered dragonflies flitting over the water’s surface. After David had insisted on taking a photo of me overlooking the lake, we all walked back towards the lodge, stopping along the way to look at more wildlife.  As we walked along, David and I chatted some more and I found out he owned Peruvian paso horses; maybe I would run away to the jungle with him after all. He also made me a  jungle crown out of leaves and twine, which was actually quite impressive. One particularly interesting stop we made was at a tree whose branches stretched to the ground and back to the trunk, forming a natural swing. Another had a thin trunk but was strong enough to support David’s weight as he spontaneously decided to climb his way right to the top. 

When we got back to the lodge, I had an hour reading my guide book by the pool before lunch. After yet another huge meal, I had a lovely nap by the pool before meeting the group again mid-afternoon to go fishing on the river. I’ve never really understood the fishing thing, but I thought it might be a bit more interesting in the Amazon rainforest. I was mistaken; I was bored within five minutes, and everyone laughed when I lay down with my fishing rod (made from a branch and a piece of string) in my right hand, hanging over the boat, and listened to music. David asked what I was listening to, and when the driver overheard that it was reggaeton, tried to convince me to dance. I didn’t think this was the time or place.

On a couple of occasions I nearly caught a fish, but got in such a panic of what to actually do with the things that I never actually managed to pull them into the boat. Everyone’s efforts were a bit half-hearted really, and it was only the Italian guy who actually managed to pull in a catch, and even that wasn’t exactly sizable.

When we got back to the lodge, there were still a couple of hours before dinner, so I went into the common room to read. When I overheard two people, who were playing pool, talking English, I got excited and made an effort to join in with their conversation. A few minutes later they came over to sit with me. The guy, Luis, was from New Zealand and in his mid-twenties, and the girl, Emma, was in her thirties and by some incredible coincidence, was from Wolverhampton. They’d only met a few days ago since they happened to be with the same tour operator, who had organised their entire trip around Peru. You’d never have guessed they’d only met a few days before - I’d taken them for a married couple.

Since they were the only two people in their group, at dinner that night, they came and joined mine, which was great. I was glad I’d managed to find another couple of friends and wasn’t going to be a lone traveller after all.

After dinner, a big group of us had to meet at reception for a talk about the following day - which, to my slight relief, was to be with another guide, who was also only twenty six. His name (apparently) was Alex, and he seemed a little more normal than floaty David. Straight after the talk, we were taken in the motor boat to go caiman-spotting in the river. We manage to spot several, and it was worth the trip out just to be able float on the river in the still evening; we turned off the motors and Alex pointed out the constellations, which were perfectly clear in the dark night sky. It had been a long time since I’d seen stars so clear and beautiful; it was truly breathtaking. 

On my way back to my room I spotted a pile of books in the reception, which was a relief, since I’d now read enough of my Peruvian guide book to be somewhat of an expert, and was starting to crave something a little lighter. I didn’t find any novels, but I did find a book in Russian, which I thought might at least be a break from my guide book and a good bit of practice. I asked Alex if I could take it, at which he raised his eyebrows dubiously and asked me if I knew what language the book was in. I said, “Yes, it’s Russian, and it’s on the secrets of Russian history.” He asked me if I spoke Russian and was impressed (and somewhat surprised) when I explained about my degree. I guess I am pretty strange.

3rd September: Arrival in Puerto Maldonado

The next morning, on finding out that the shower was still cold, I washed over the sink before going down to breakfast with Gabrielle. The breakfast, which was included in the price of the hostel, was quite good considering. There were plenty of people already up and about, since a lot of people were leaving early for tours around Cusco. We got talking to an American traveller, who must have been in his sixties and had come to Peru alone for the Amazonian boat race in Iquitos. He’d travelled all over the world and had some amazing stories to tell.

After saying goodbye to Gabrielle, I got the hostel to call me a taxi (which, this time, cost only S/.8 and was with a very friendly man named Edgar) and got to the airport in plenty of time. I was already sitting waiting at the gate when I discovered that my flight was delayed by over an hour and a half. With nothing to do but sit and wait, and hope that the flight was only delayed and not cancelled, I tried to relax enough to settle down and read my Peruvian guide book. I’d been lucky enough to get hold of a second-hand Lonely Planet guide book on Peru by exchanging my German novel, which had cost me around two euros and which I’d finished, at the hostel book exchange.

It wasn’t long before I started getting restless and, hearing some people in the seat behind me talking in English about Puerto Maldonado, turned round to chat to them. By a strange coincidence, they were also from Quebec (meaning that, after never having met anyone from there, I had now met three in the space of three days). They were a middle-aged couple and had just completed the Inca Trail, similar to what I’m doing on Friday. At first I thought it was the exact same one, but felt too awkward to correct them when they started giving me advice for what to do on the ten-hour treks. There was no chance of me walking for ten hours; my Inca Trail was the cheat’s version with rafting and zip wires, and a lot less walking. They’d done the very serious four-day hike and it sounded like they’d barely survived to tell the tale.

We eventually boarded the plane at around 12.30. It turned out it had been coming from Lima and had had to turn around due to a technical fault (not a surprise really, judging by how insecure I’d felt on the last Star Peru flight). The plane that was arriving now was a replacement service.

The flight, which lasted only forty-five minutes, felt like no time at all. Travelling for such a short amount of time and emerging into a completely different climate was surreal; as I stepped off the plane, I was hit by a wall of heat. After retrieving my holdall, I quickly changed into more weather-appropriate clothing before going in search of EcoAmazonia tours. This was the part I had been most worried about, but I spotted the company placard with my name on it straight away.

When I introduced myself to the rep, he seemed a bit confused and thought I was a rep myself, from Loki tours, who I’d booked with. I took this as quite a compliment on my Spanish-speaking abilities. Anyway, once we’d cleared up the fact that I wasn’t actually here to assess him, we got chatting and I found out a bit more about the plan. Soon the rest of the group appeared - two Dutch couples in their fifties, who spoke near-perfect English. 

We were driven in the EcoAmazonia minibus (which, incidentally, had been painted with the logo and obligatory jungle animals, but had no glass in the windows) to the port of Puerto Maldonado, where a long, wooden motorboat was waiting to take us along the Madre de Dios river to our accommodation. Also waiting for us was a local guide, who was introduced to us as David, a name which seemed suspiciously easy for tourists to pronounce. I later found out that he was only twenty three, which seems really young to be doing a job like this. Anyway, our luggage was taken onto the boat and we followed, and were given a life jacket each. Unfortunately, they were all huge on me, so David thought it would be very funny to give me a kids’ one. It was actually a pretty good fit, so I ended up keeping it.

David came across as a friendly guy straight away - unfortunately, friendly soon turned into flirty. As soon as he’d ascertained that I spoke Spanish, he had eyes for no one else and started trying to convince me to run away to the jungle with him. I also made the mistake of showing my amazement when he told me his native tongue was Quechua (since his father is from Arequipa), at which he began to tell me things like “You’re beautiful” in the language.

We pulled up on the bank below EcoAmazonia Lodge around an hour and a half later. As our luggage was carried up for us, we made our way up the steps onto the wooden platform leading to the main reception. I noticed the mosquitos immediately and wasted no time in slapping on layers of repellent to avoid a repeat of the bites I’d got at Lunahuana. From the reception, we were told to make our way straight to the dining room, where our lunch was about to be served.

Lunch comprised three courses typical of the Amazonian region - ceviche, followed by juane (rice, steamed vegetables, olives and egg - and chicken for the meat eaters, all served in a bijao leaf), and watermelon for dessert. It was a huge meal, but just what we needed. It seemed the Dutch people were to be my tour group for the next few days; it was a little awkward being a young English girl tagged on the end of a group of middle-aged Dutch people, but they were really lovely and made an effort to speak English and involve me in the conversation.

After lunch, we quickly checked into our bungalows before our first jungle tour. The bungalows were all named after Amazonian animals, so mine was called Choro, a species of monkey. The grounds had been designed beautifully, with under a hundred lodges interspersed between rich gardens with flowering plants and trees, connected together by a stone path. The rooms were as nice as you could expect in the middle of the Amazon: made entirely of wood, each with an en suite, one dim ceiling light and a ceiling fan. I had a room of four all to myself but was a little worried to discover they had made up the bed nearest to the door - the one with the most chance of eight-legged invasions. I’d already warned the staff about my extreme and irrational arachnophobia. Not only this, but I didn’t have a torch, and electricity at the Lodge only worked between 6pm and 10pm, which was going to be a challenge. 

After someone had helped me drop my bags in my room, I jumped in the shower (which was cold, although this was quite refreshing, as I was already wringing with sweat). When I stepped back out the shower, I didn’t know whether I hadn’t dried myself properly or I’d just got completely bathed in sweat again. Either way, I had no choice but to cover myself up with my makeshift jungle outfit, which consisted of, I kid you not, black Pineapple joggers and a pink pyjama top.

Then it was time to join my new Dutch friends, whose names were Christina, Bernd, Olga and Franz, to go on a short boat ride to the river island opposite, Monkey Island. David was our guide, and considering his dreamy personality and soft, slightly vacant-sounding voice, he knew an incredible amount about the area. As suggested by the name, the island is inhabited mainly by four different species of monkey. As we walked deeper into the jungle, David took every opportunity to explain the plants, trees and animals we came across. Amongst other things, we saw some beautiful and enormous butterflies, as well as some gigantic trees with wide buttress roots, which towered into the sky. We also learnt some of the trees’ properties, for example one tree with medicinal sap. Apparently, local families drink the polluted river water and don’t get any diseases because they drink  a mixture made from this sap three times a day.

As well as chatting to me and ignoring the poor Dutch people again, David thought it would be very amusing to try out some tinta de la selva (jungle paint) on me -  a fruit with a strong orange colour which tribal families use as a natural face paint. Little did I know that he was painting me as a clown - probably not my best look, I admit.

I knew we were getting closer to the main monkey habitat when we began to see some hiding in the trees. When we reached a clearing, David cut up some banana he’d been carrying with him and spread it out along an elevated wooden plank supported on two logs. Within minutes, three different varieties of monkey were climbing down from all the surrounding trees and greedily taking their share of the fruit. They were almost tame and came unbelievably close; I could hardly believe my eyes.

We stayed watching the monkeys until every last piece of banana had been eaten, when we began our short walk back to the river to catch our boat ride back to the lodge. Then, we had a bit of free time to freshen up before meeting in the dining room for another three-course meal. Before that I managed to make some more jungle friends - with the barman and, helpfully, a guy who was willing to lend me a torch to defend myself from those evil eight-legged critters. I went to bed tired but content.

2nd September: A First Glimpse of Cusco

On Monday morning I woke up at 5.45, and forty-five minutes later was saying sad and bleary-eyed goodbyes to the family, who had got up early to wave me off. Then I had to rush downstairs to meet Rafael, who was already outside waiting.

The flight to Cusco went smoothly, despite the fact that the plane was so small that the windows rattled and there was even a slight draught coming from somewhere. When I emerged at the other end, I was shocked to find myself in warm sunshine, completely the opposite to the cold rain I’d been expecting. Another pleasant surprise was finding that I wasn’t overwhelmed by the altitude - although I had taken an altitude tablet in advance, just in case. Nevertheless, the worst altitude sickness usually occurs on the second or third day, so I’m told.

As I left the airport, I was surrounded by taxi drivers shouting prices at me - most of them saying S/.20, which seemed much too expensive. I decided to walk a bit further from the exit to see if I could get a better deal, and found another driver just outside the main taxi lane. He quoted me S/.15, which I knew was still expensive, and I told him that I was well aware that everyone was trying to cheat me out of my money. Unfortunately, I couldn’t deny that he was probably right in saying that it wasn’t a good idea to stray far from the airport in search of a cheaper taxi. At least I knew that these guys were working for an official taxi company and weren’t going to rob me or kidnap me.

My mum’s voice in my ear, I decided to bite the bullet and go with the last driver, who introduced himself as Oscar. He seemed a nice enough guy, even if he did spend most of the journey explaining the reason his fares were higher than unofficial taxi drivers’. He insisted I took his card, but I was pretty sure I could get myself a better deal once I knew a bit more about the city.

Milhouse Hostel was about twenty minutes from the airport, right in the historical centre, which was perfect. All the staff were lovely and helpful from the moment I arrived, and all of them generously complimented my Spanish (which made them all the more likable).

By the time I’d checked in and freshened up, it was past midday and I needed to make a plan to get the most out of the afternoon. I booked myself onto a city tour, grabbed a coca tea for the altitude and made my way to the main square, the Plaza de Armas. 

I’ve only seen a little of Cusco so far, but what I have seen is beautiful. At the centre of the Plaza de Armas is a well-kept green with colourful flowerbeds and stone paths, and it is surrounded by cobbled streets, colonial buildings, and a beautiful cathedral and church.

I didn’t have much time to explore today, since I had less than an hour to eat lunch and get back to the hostel for the city tour. I settled for the first cafe I found with a reasonable menu, even though its proximity to the main square made it fairly overpriced. After a rushed but pleasant lunch, I walked back to the hostel, where I met a guide and some other people doing the tour. Happily, there were three other English-speaking girls - two from America, called Amanda and Ruth, and another, Gabrielle, from Quebec. As we walked to the first stop on the itinerary, I got chatting to the guide, who wasn’t much older than me and was impressed by my Spanish. When we split off into other groups, I decided to stay with the other girls from my hostel, and we ended up with a guide who spoke both English and Spanish (although unfortunately, he wasn’t very easy to understand in either language).

Qorikancha is an archeological site consisting of Inca ruins, which form the base of the colonial church and convent of Santo Domingo. It was once the richest temple in the Inca Empire, but when the Spanish arrived, they stripped its walls of their 700 solid-gold sheets and converted the temple into a Catholic place of worship. They also looted and melted down all the site’s other solid-gold treasures such as altars, llamas and baby statues, a replica of the sun and life-size replicas if corn, which were ceremonially planted in agricultural rituals.

This temple was the location of various religious rites and ceremonies. It is believed that the mummified bodies of several previous incas were kept here and brought into the sunlight every day to be offered food and drink, which was then burnt. It also served as an observatory for high priests to monitor celestial activity. Today, although only the lower part of the original stonework remains, it is an interesting combination of Inca and colonial architecture and has a roof of glass and metal.

I was glad that we had a guide (even if he was difficult to understand) because it would be easy to mistake the temple for just another archeological site if you didn’t know what you were looking at. As it was, I was able to appreciate that the stonework is some of the most impressive Inca architecture in the country; like all Inca constructions, the stones are held together without any kind of mortar, but despite this, one 6m-high wall has survived earthquakes that left the rest of the city in ruins.

The individual chambers coming off the courtyard are also interesting; the largest are believed to have been temples to the moon and stars, and were originally covered with solid silver. Their walls are not parallel but perfectly trapezoidal, so precisely that it is sometimes difficult to distinguish where one block ends and another begins. The smaller chambers are thought to have been dedicated to thunder and rainbows. The purpose of the holes in the walls in these chambers is still unknown - they could have been for sacrificial chicha (fermented corn beer), blood or rainwater, or even used as speaking tubes to the outside. This side of the complex also retains the original Inca floor.

When we had completed our visit of Qorikancha, we followed our guide to a minibus, which drove us through the mountains to the ancient military site of Sacsaywamán. The name, in Quechua, means ‘satisfied falcon’, and like Qorikancha, this Inca site suffered much at the hands of the Spanish. Although only 20% of the original fort remains, it still appears immense and impressive. It comprises three different sections and was devised by the ninth inca, Pachacutec, who had envisioned Cusco as a giant puma, with Sacsaywamán as the head. The 22 zigzagged walls, which represent the teeth of the puma, also served as an effective defense mechanism. One of these stones weighs more than 300 tons.

Beyond its archeological significance, the fort also has a historical one, since, in 1536, it was the site of one of the greatest battles in the Spanish conquest. Two years after Pizarro entered Cusco, Sacsaywamán was recaptured by the Inca rebel Manco, who almost succeeded but was thwarted at the last minute by Spanish calvary. The site was littered with the bodies of thousands of Inca soldiers, attracting flocks of Andean condors; it is because of this that Cusco’s coat of arms carries the emblem of eight condors.

From Sacsaywamán, we got back into the coach and drove further uphill to Q’enqo, whose name means ‘zigzag’. This site was considerably smaller but equally interesting; it is a large limestone rock engraved with symbolic carvings and has steps, niches and zigzag channels. The top of the rock was used for ceremonies and contains the etchings of a puma, a condor and a llama. Below is a subterranean cave containing altars.

Another short bus ride took us to Pukapukara, meaning ‘Red Fort’ - probably due to the rock’s slightly pink colour in certain lights. Despite the name, however, it is thought to have served as a hunting lodge, guard post and rest point for travellers.

Our last stop was at Tambomachay and involved a short uphill walk - which was disproportionately tiring due to the altitude. By this stage, the sun had gone down and there was a biting chill in the air, a complete departure from the warm sun of the afternoon. Tambomachay consists of an impressive set of ceremonial fountains that still function today. It is therefore commonly known as El Baño del Inca (The Bath of the Inca), and is believed to be connected to an Inca water cult. The most incredible thing about the site is the origin of the water itself, which remains a mystery to this day. 

After visiting the last item on the agenda, the bus took us to a nearby shop selling clothes and accessories made from alpaca wool (we had been told that we were going for free coca tea, but really the tea was just a sideline). We were all slightly outraged at being tricked in this way, but somehow we seemed to forget this when surrounded by all the lovely alpaca wool. I couldn’t help but laugh when I got back on the bus to find everyone kitted out in brand-new alpaca gear.

When we arrived back in the main square, Amanda, Ruth, Gabrielle and I decided to go back to the hostel to freshen up before going for dinner together. We chose a place recommended by the hostel, where we had 10% discount, but it turned out to be far too geared towards tourists to offer proper Peruvian dishes or value for money. Nevertheless, we had a nice evening and it was nice having a little group to eat with.

On our way back to the hostel, we bought fresh pancakes from one of the street sellers, who was offering all kinds of different toppings. We made it back just in time to get some two for one cocktails at the hostel bar and meet a few people before Gabrielle and I decided we should probably go and get ready for the next day (by happy coincidence, we were in the same dorm). I’d hoped to make the most out of the lovely hot showers the hostel had advertised, but I was sadly disappointed. I think I’m going to have to get used to living a bit more simply - I leave for the jungle tomorrow.