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.

1st September: Last Weekend with my Peruvian Family

My Grandpa passed away on Thursday evening. It’s all come as such of a shock, I’m not sure I’ve really processed it yet. When I look back to when my Gramps died almost this time last year, I remember being so racked with pain that it took over my whole body, that I cried for hours and at any reminder of him. This time, I took the news as though completely numb. It feels as if I have no tears left; I haven’t cried, nor even told anyone here about it. I don’t think I can take their sympathy.

I found out the news in an email from my Mum; she’d been trying to phone, but my English phone had no credit on it and my Peruvian phone wasn’t working either. Reading about his death in black and white made the fact irrefutable but somehow impossible to take in as reality. I feel so far away from it all. I am surrounded by so many distractions that I think I’m avoiding the reality, and when I eventually confront it, the emotions will come flooding in. For now, all I can do is carry on.

Just after I received the news, I had to leave with the family to go to their beach house, an hour and a half south of Lima. I just had time to reply to my mum before Omar was calling us all to get us loaded into the car, and I didn’t have time to think about what had just happened. Suddenly, we were being rushed out the door with our heaps of belongings, completely disproportionate to the amount of time we were going to be away from the flat. We looked like we were moving house. I couldn’t help but laugh when someone called the lift on floor seven, only to find a disorganised mess of people and luggage. I was even carrying the pet rabbit in his little cage.

He’d had a traumatic day, poor Rex. He’d spent most of it at what we have affectionately termed the bunny spa - i.e. the vet’s surgery, where he goes every six weeks (more often than I have my hair cut) to have a bath and blow-dry, a groom and a bunny pedicure. This may sound nice and relaxing to you and me, but bearing in mind he is a rabbit, it’s probably quite a stressful experience.

Anyway, we were soon on our way, the big four-by-four filled to bursting with bags, people, food, blankets and a bunny. The ascent into the mountains began almost immediately, as I realised with a shock when Nicole exhaled a spectacularly over-dramatic gasp-like breath to try and pop her ears (an amusing habit which continued to make me jump throughout the journey). We were just like any other family; the parents were arguing over the directions, the teenager was complaining about the Wi-Fi and the little girl was moaning she was hungry. I had to smile to myself; some things never change, no matter where you are in the world. As soon as we were out of Lima, we pulled in at a petrol station to fill up and buy supplies for the road. The petrol stations here are still like the ones we had years ago, with staff working alongside the pumps to fill up the vehicles.

Once we had all bought food and drinks, everyone seemed to perk up, and we spent the rest of the journey singing along to Natsumi’s iPod, which she plugged in to the speakers. I knew a lot of the songs already, since a lot were American or English, or South American ones I’d picked up whilst in Peru. The best fun were the Shakira songs, which I only knew in English - so contributed my own version to the singalong.  

When we arrived at the beach house, it had long gone dark and the air was fresh and cool. Breathing in the sea air was a blissful contrast to the smog of Lima, and I could only imagine how beautiful it would be there in the summer. As it was, the beach house was just as cold as the flat in Lima, although it was also just as modern and comfortable. Omar and the girls showed me around the complex whilst Pily rustled us up something to eat.

The Diaz Muñoz’ beach house is a modern, white building of two storeys, the ground floor comprising a kitchen-diner, utility room, three bedrooms with two sets of bunk beds each and a bathroom to share, and a master bedroom with en suite. Going up a set of stone steps takes you to a small, tiled roof terrace with seating and a small swimming pool. Downstairs, outside the main door, is another square patio surrounded by a stone wall, where the family put specially-designed cushions to sit on.

The house is part of a modern complex of a hundred-odd properties, all similar but with designs as directed by their owners. They have to comply with the rules of the complex in order to maintain the overall look and feel, in an effort to encroach on the environment as little as possible. As yet, it’s only half-finished, since construction is limited to the low season between April and September, but it will be beautiful when it’s complete. There are three large pools and plenty of open spaces, all opening onto a vast sea front and surrounded by majestic dunes.

The next day, we woke up at around 9 to try and get the most out of the day. I’d been excited for a hot shower since Pily had told me that the house had hot water; unfortunately, I’d forgotten that Peruvians seem to have a different take on temperature to what I do. After waiting for ten minutes for it to warm up, I had to accept that it wasn’t going to get any better than slightly lukewarm and took the plunge.

Thankfully, just a couple of hours’ car ride later, we were entering warmer climes; in fact, the temperature gauge on the car was rising every few seconds, with every bit of progress into the mountain valley. By the time we reached the town of Lunahuana, the temperature had reached the mid-twenties and we were glad of our shorts.

The first thing we needed to do then was find a rafting company; Omar did this by winding down the window and casually bartering with people as we cruised slowly down the little street in our massive grey jeep with its tinted windows. When we’d found one for a reasonable price, we parked up and went to get ready.

The journey to the river in the company minibus was an adventure in itself. The windows were rattling, the door barely shut and poor Natsumi practically had some guy sitting on her lap. I hoped the rafting team themselves would be a bit more safety-conscious. Luckily, as soon as we got out the van, we were supplied with some very attractive life jackets and helmets, as well as some blue and yellow plastic oars. After a short safety briefing and an explanation of the main commands (as there would be an expert on the back), we were on our way.

At first, it was absolutely terrifying and I kept thinking I was going to fall in, but I soon got into it and spent most of the rest of the time screaming and laughing. Nicole and Natsumi kept us amused, too - Nicole because she wasn’t paddling and kept on telling us to go faster, and Natsumi because every time we approached a camera, she abandoned her rowing efforts in favour of posing with her arm behind her head like a model.

By the time we emerged from the raft, exhausted and soaking wet, we were all more than ready for lunch and happy to sit down in the nearest cafe. I had an amazing arroz con mariscos (rice with vegetables) which was about the size of two normal meals and contained all kinds of seafood I’d never seen before. I didn’t have any idea what most of them were - some were in shells, some looked like little black worms, some were tiny little tentacles. I was quite proud of myself for being so adventurous.

The downside of this was that I was ridiculously full for the zip wires we went on straight afterwards, after getting a complimentary taxi high up into the mountains. I could barely tuck my legs up when the instructor told me to. Despite this, my extra weight in rice and seafood didn’t break the zip wire and it was amazing fun. By the second wire I’d got my technique sorted and flew to the other side.

It was early evening by this stage, so we decided to make our way back to the beach house to collect our things - and Rex the bunny, of course - and have a bite to eat before heading back to Lima. It was late by the time we got back, so I’d missed the chance to take Evelyn up on her offer of going out (as she’d also invited me to a party the night before). Nevertheless, after a busy day and another fun journey singing, I was grateful for my (cold) shower and bed.

On Saturday morning I was doing some planning in my room when Nicole tentatively knocked on my door. She was watching Oz, the Great and Powerful (in Spanish) and wanted me to watch it with her, so we snuggled up on the playroom sofa together. She’d never seen or even heard of the original Wizard of Oz, so I was really excited to tell her about it and show her some clips on YouTube. 

That afternoon, I had nothing planned so had asked Pily how I could get to Miraflores. I think she was worried or just felt bad for me going alone, because she said that she would go with me in the car, which was nice. I told her I wanted to get a few souvenirs for people back home, but when we looked in Parque Kennedy (the most famous park) there wasn’t much to be found. It was pleasant to look around the area anyway, as I got to see all of the little side streets, the church where all the cats seem to hang out, and the town hall. We also went to the expensive new shopping centre right on the sea front, which is very impressive. The prices are extortionate, and it’s clearly aimed at Lima’s nouveaux rich (quite a poignant contrast to the poverty that exists in districts like Pamplona).

After we had seen the best parts of Miraflores and I had sent off some postcards (which I doubted would get to England before I did), we got back in the car and drove to Plaza San Miguel so I could buy my ticket to the Mistura festival. Mistura is an international food festival in Lima, which takes place over two weeks at the beginning of September. Food enthusiasts from all over the world travel to this event, in which the best restaurants of Peru set up stalls where you can try their staple dishes at an affordable price. It’s become so popular that the organisers have had to change its location to the beach, where there’s more space.

The ticket system in Lima is bizarre. For all major events, including concerts (like the massive One Direction tour that’s coming here soon), you have to buy your tickets in person at small ticket booths located in different malls throughout the city. The one we used was located in a corner of the supermarket Wong in Plaza San Miguel; it’s lucky I’m living with a Peruvian family, otherwise I wouldn’t have had a clue where to go.

Apart from buying my Mistura ticket, we had another important task: I needed to get money out before my trip on Monday. I’m so glad I thought about it in advance, because every cashpoint (and we tried nearly ten) rejected my debit card and refused to give me any money. I literally didn’t know what I would do if I couldn’t get any money. Even though they would probably have lent it to me without a problem, I just felt that asking for money from anyone here would be far too much to ask.

In the early hours of Sunday morning, I heard my phone ring. It was my mum, and knowing she would only phone in an emergency, I panicked. In a daze, I picked up the phone and asked what was wrong. It was 10 in the morning there and my bank had called her to say that there had been suspicious activity on my account. At first, in my half-asleep state, I thought the worst; then, when she told me the amounts that had been requested, I felt sure that they equated to the amounts in dollars that I’d tried to get out earlier that day. My mum, who was a wreck of nerves from having all this responsibility, said that she had confirmed the activity as legitimate because she didn’t want my card to be blocked and for me to be left without any money, so now it was just a waiting game until I could get back onto my online banking in half an hour. Sure enough, everything was in order. The next thing to do was try and take out more cash the next day.

The next morning, I woke up late, having had a disturbed night - not only from being woken up by my phone, but also having been kept awake by the most horrendous collection of insect bites I’ve ever had in my life - all from being out at sunset in Lunahuana. Once we were all ready, the five of us drove to the nearby district of Magdalena, which had little streets full of shops and bakeries. After a walk around and a taste of some delicious Peruvian chocolate, we got back into the car to head to the Plaza.

By this time it was mid-afternoon, so the girls split off to go to T.G.I. Fridays while Pily and Omar took me for a beautiful last lunch in a sushi bar with a Peruvian twist. I’m not usually all that keen on sushi, but this was incredible. We had soup to start, followed by fifty different makis to share, all accompanied by Peruvian sauces and with extra ingredients to give them added flavour. I even had a pretty good go at eating it all with chopsticks (with only a few minor hiccoughs, which we all had a laugh about - maintaining my reputation as the clumsy English girl).

After lunch, we met up with the girls again and took Nicole to Divercity, an entertainment park where kids get to pretend to be adults. Nicole loves it, and I can see why - they get fake money and credit cards; there are fake banks, supermarkets, you name it. Nicole had been excited all day.

While we were waiting for Nicole, the rest of us had a look around the shops, stopping for coffee on the way. By the time she was ready to go home, it was past 7 o’clock and we had to get back to tie up some loose ends before I set off on my travels tomorrow. Pily went through all the details of my return for me, since they leave for Mexico next Friday. She’s arranged for me to be met at the airport by her friend Doris, who will then accompany in Rafael’s taxi to the apartment. Doris will have all the keys and the code to the alarm, and will stay overnight to make sure I get to the airport the next day. There are a lot of components to this plan and I’m a little worried something might go wrong, but nevertheless, I trust Pily entirely.

When I’d finished packing all my things into the two bags Pily and Natsumi have lent me for my trip, I went back downstairs and sat with Natsumi and Omar while they made lists of Latin American musicians so I can download them when I get home. Then I showed everyone some photos of my family, some videos of their bands and some of my choirs. It was strange that we’d had all this time together but all these things had been forgotten until now, but I was glad I’d finally got round to showing them. 

I was just getting into bed when Pily knocked on my door. She handed me two small silver objects; one was a phone charm of a little angel, the other a keyring with a guitar and a Green Peace sign. The angel had Nicole’s name on the back, and the guitar had Natsumi’s on it - they were their confirmation gifts, and they’d given them to me so I’d always have something with me to remind me of them. It felt really special, and I will always cherish them.