Homeward Bound

I had actually made my decision to come home quite some time ago, and booked my flight when I was in Arequipa, Peru on October 27th. No huge drama had occurred to precipitate my decision, I just felt it was the right time. I looked at what was left of he trip and realised I had done and been almost everywhere I set out to achieve. I guess also I was just missing you guys and most of all I wanted to come for Christmas to see my little girl.

Well now that my secret is out I guess there is nothing left but to finish the blog.

What a way to finish!

The flight, to which I referred on my last blog, was actually from Buenos Aires to Iguazu falls. The falls sit on the border between Argentina and Brazil. I visited the falls the next day, not really sure what to expect.

They are incredible, loads better than Aysgarth. There must be something over 50 falls in total over a huge area. It is simply the most spectacular setting and fantastic sight.

You take a bus from Iguazu to the entrance of the National Park which hosts the falls.

Inside the Park are several, well marked, trails which take you to more and more amazing angles and views of the water. The main trail to El Diablo (a lot of things are called that around here), carries you out over the river and finishes on viewing platforms right above the biggest (about 80metres), and most ferocious, of the falls. There are other trails taking you right over the edge, and to the bottom of other waterfalls, where you get drenched by the spray. I finished my day there by hiking several miles to a last smaller fall where I swam fully clothed, in an attempt to wash my one change of clothes (while I remember, the story about leaving my new clothes in the wardrobe in Buenos Aires was absolutely true, except they were not clothes for the southern region of South America, obviously). I really had the most wonderful 8 hours at Iguazu, and would not hesitate to return, given the chance.

I had visited the bus station on many occasions to try and secure my ticket for my next, and final, destination. I was firstly assured I had a ticket on the bus the next day, Thursday, for the 23 hour journey. I was then informed that every bus was full until the following Tuesday. As there were no flights available, things were looking bleak. I eventually tracked down another bus running from Foz Do Iguasu on the Brazilian side of the Falls at 12 noon the next day. I booked the ticket and went back to my Hostel, contented.

Next morning, Thursday, I woke early, packed (I booked a room without a frickin' wardrobe), and went to the bus station. It was 9.45am. The girl looked sheepishly at me and asked "why had I not allowed 3 hours for the journey and to clear Customs?" I replied displaying admirable restraint under the circumstances "Because you did not tell me I needed to be here 3 hours before the alotted time". She countered with "Well that is not really my concern, is it?" "So when is the next bus?" I enquired. "Tuesday" came the dis-interested response. Now my Spanish has come on a bit since Alaska??? and I can now name some body parts as well as fruit and veg and she got THE LOT. I managed to have the whole office in uproar in seconds. There were 3 girls in there from Austalia/New Zealand, and I thought they were going to cry. When the Office Manager finally got involved they agreed to pay my taxi fare over to the Brazilian Bus Station. I made it with seconds to spare.

I should have guessed the journey was not going to be the smoothest when, in order to get the bus moving on the 1500km journey, we had to "bump it off". I was allocated the seat next to the toilet. I do not think it had been cleaned. EVER!. It was so bad it made my eyes water. Thank goodness it was only 23 HOURS! The seats are called "semi-cama" which SHOULD mean you can recline them in order to sleep. OUR semi-cama meant that the seats were not fixed to the floor properly and everytime I leaned back I ended up in the lap of a mean looking Brazilian woman, who looked ready to rip my head off. We broke down 4 times on the journey and arrived nearly 30 hours after we left. A side note, by the way, the bus from the Argentinian side was brand new, had fully reclining "bed" seats and a bar and was half the price of the bus from Brazil (30 miles closer, and in the same country).

So, what can I tell you about....

RIO de JANEIRO

The locals call this place "Cidade Maravilhosa" (the Marvellous City) and 5 minutes here is all you need to see why. I absobloodylutely LOVE IT. It has an energy, a vibrancy and an atmosphere like nowhere else I have visited (except maybe Havana).

I stayed at a place called Ace Backpackers in Botafogo, about 50 metres from the beach and with views up the street to the Christ the Redeemer statue.

I met a couple of guys in the Hostel so on Friday night we went down to an area called Lapa. It is regarded as pretty dangerous territory and a no-go area during the week, but come the weekend the place is a throbbing mass of party people out for the best time. We sat in a bar on the main street, drank beer (Skol !!!!   I thought they had stopped making that 30 years ago when they found other uses for bats' urine) and watched the World go by. A great night.

There is a notable difference in the "look" of the girls here. In Bueno Aires the fashion seemed to be to pluck/wax your eyebrows so that every female walked around with a look of constant surprise and amazement on her face. At least that is what I thought it was until I realised I had been walking around commando with my flies open for 5 days. In Rio there is definitely a lean towards a fuller "mono-brow" look.

Now, as you know, I suscribe to the adage "when in Rome, do as the Romans" and so when next day, as I left the Hostel, I was approached and asked "have you ever had a Brazilian?" (after a thousand images crashed through my head), I answered "No, but lets give it a go". I now look like Dennis Healey!

I walked from the Hostel to the Copacabana Beach. WOW!!! Just fantastic. I visited a fort at the end of the beach with glorious views over the full 4.5kms of white sand. Behind me was Pao De Azucar (Sugarloaf Mountain) and towering above the City, Corcovado and the statue of Christ the Redeemer. Breathtaking!!

Making a very obvious fashion statement in my swim shorts and hiking boots I walked the full length of Copacabana beach, and I feel I have to pass comment here. I might have looked a complete "bell end" but the stories I had heard about the "beautiful people" on Copacabana were stretching it a bit. For every Brazilian beauty wearing a very small handkerchief cut into 3 pieces, there were 50 Behemouths in a thong (and some of them were women). They are obviously, and rightly, proud of their bodies but, at times there was enough flesh on display to make me choke on my Caipirinha.

There was a group of "full bodied" VERY scantily clad men and women playing Volleyball. It was like a scene out of H&E, which I recall, as with most guys of my generation, was my first introduction to "naughty mags". It was basically just pictures of nudey, and usually not particularly sveldt, people playing various "sports". At the time I thought H&E stood for "Horny and Eleven".

Actually, when I was younger and had a pretty decent cottage industry going, renting out dirty mags to the lads at school. I used to rent a mag for 25p for 24 hours (if it was returned unsoiled), and 50p................. Anyway I came home from doing my paper-round one day to find the aforementioned magazines strewn all over my bed. After the beating and good talking to I received, I was forced to agree that, age 36 it was time to stop bothering the lads from Yarm Primary and get a proper job.

I then walked around the corner onto Ipanema beach where it was a totally different story. The beach is split into invisible, but very obvious sections. Either end are pretty sparsely populated then the middle section has "the gay area" followed by "the beautiful people bit". Oh, my word there must be 10000 people crammed into an area the size of a Brazilian girls G-string. With all the stunning bodies in teeny tiny bikinis (am I labouring this point a bit?) on display, I could not quite understand all those gay guys laying there playing with each others todgers...... Wait a minute!?!?!?!?

Knowing I would "fit right in", I joined the "beautiful people" area of the beach. However that quickly became tiresome as the shouts of "Free Willy" and the numbers of people trying to drag me back into the sea, throwing buckets of water over me, increased.

Around this area groups of young guys, and girls play keepy-up with footballs. The skill on display is out of this World. They play a game on a Volleyball court of 2-a-side "keepy ups". It is the same basic principal as Volleyball except these guys use anything but their hands. I was invited to join one group, I think they were suitably impressed and nicknamed me Douglas Bader, who I think was a Brazilian footballer in the mould of Pele. I sunbathed, witnessed the best game of football I have seen, on the beach, joined another football match where they told me I played like Mills. "Who David Mills the 1970's 'Boro striker or Mick Mills, the Ipswich and England defender from the same era?" "No, Heather Mills!" I left them to it and watched the sun set over Piedra Dos Irmaos (the 2 Brothers). A GOOD DAY.

That reminds me.........

While I was there I met a Girl from Ipanema...

I said "I know a song named after you"

She asked "What, Clare?"

I said "Yeah!"

" The moment I met you I swear,

I wished I had something to wear"

"'Ere, are you that James Blunt?" she asked.

Coincidentally when I was in Cocacabana, I met a girl called Lola, from Los Angeles

"L.O-L.A. Lola" I greeted her

Lola told me "she was a Showgirl, but that was 30 years ago"

"Where?" I enquired

"At the Copacabana" came the reply

"What!" "the hottest place North of Havana?" said I

"Yeah, I bet you know a song about me don't you?" She asked

"Not unless your middle name is Clare!" I replied

Oh my God! I just wet myself laughing at my own jokes. Sad Git!

On Saturday night a bunch of us from the Hostel returned to Lapa and had a great night. We paid to get into a club where the music was a fantastic mix of Samba, Disco, Rock and Bossa Nova. We danced non stop until 8am. It was the best way to finish a brilliant day.

After a couple of hours sleep I walked back over to Ipanema, visited a pretty cool Hippie Fair and watched the English footy on the telly. I tended to walk everywhere in Rio for the simple reason that I never actually managed to catch a bus that was going within several miles of my intended destination

I spent the rest of my time in the City visiting the various districts, getting lost and walking the length of the beautiful beaches.

On my last day there I set off from the Hostel fully intending to catch a bus and then a train up to Corcavado. As per usual I took the wrong bus and ended up several miles from the train station. I decided to walk from there the 5 miles or so to the base of the mountain then climb up Corcavado to Christ the Redeemer about 750 metres (approx 2500 feet) in my flip flops. By the time I had walked up, and back down again, my feet were shredded. The view from the top, however, made every painful step worthwhile.

My time in Rio came to an end, and it was time to fly home. Surely, after all the trials and tribulations of my previous flights, the journey would be smooth and uneventful?

YEAH, RIGHT. YOU ARE JOKING AREN'T YOU?.

I had to fly from Rio to Madrid then catch a connecting flight from Madrid to Home 2 hours later. Entering the check-in area at Rio airport I asked if it was okay to take my tent through as hand luggage (weird I know, but the only way I could make the weight allowances). I was told that would not be a problem. When I tried to go through Customs, however, not only did they make me completely spread it out on the floor before telling me I had to check it in as luggage, they also informed me they intended to confiscate the 2, very very expensive, bottles of wine I had in my hand luggage. After much gnashing of teeth and me refusing to budge from my spot, holding up several hundreds of people, they relented and allowed me to check the wine through as well.

Getting on the plane, tired and mentally frazzled, I was in the back seat. Despite the Captain giving instructions that, "in preparation for take-off, all seats should be in the upright position " the eejit in front of me, without warning threw his seat into recline and almost forced the bottle of water I was drinking, half way down my throat. I let it be known I was not a happy chap. The guy looked at me, unconcerned.

At 3am, about 2 hours into the flight, the Attendants brought around "dinner". There I was about halfway through the meal when suddenly El Gimpo in front repeats the seat reclining trick resulting in food and drink being dumped all over my lap. I instinctively swung my right arm and punched him in the back of his fat-head. He leapt from his seat and I attempted to do the same but my tray being down, and very little space to manoeuvre due to his seat being reclined, I just looked like a Hobbit on acid.

There I was arms flailing at this bloke, trapped in my seat with maccarone cheese all over my groin. All I succeeded in doing was to knock my creme brulee onto the lap of the lady sitting next to me. I was just a tad angry at this point, well, I was really looking forward to that creme brulee, and was determined to sort out the situation with the lovely gentleman. Anyway one of the Flight Attendants had seen what transpired and quickly intervened moving the lunatic to another seat. She returned to explain he had been making a nuisance of himself since well before take-off.

Oh yeah, and I apologised to the lady next to me who was cool about the whole thing, and I got a second helping of dessert.

So that was it.....until.......we landed at Madrid. My flight from there to Gatwick was 2 hours later on Air Comet. Unbeknown to me at that time Air Comet is a subsidiary of Aerolineas Argentinas (avoid at all costs). I was instructed to wait at the Information Desk and someone from the airline would come down with my boarding pass. Every 20 minutes or so I asked Information to phone upstairs and ask when they were coming down with the "Pass". We were then told the flight was delayed. Nobody knew by how long and the Passenger Information boards gave no indication of any delay. Finally, 15 minutes before we were due to fly, I took matters into my own hands. I passed through Passport Control and walked all the way round the airport to the check-in desk for Air Comet. The girl at the desk informed me, very matter of factly, that check-in for my flight had closed "over an hour ago". I explained my situation, but she was having none of it. I insisted she got her boss who spouted the same rhetoric. I blew up, it was amazing, I knew loads more Spanish, and indeed English words, than I thought I did. I told them I wanted their names, the names or their bosses, then their bosses etc etc. Finally the guy took me over to the Air Comet Information Desk where the girl behind the Counter smiled and said "Oops, I was supposed to pass on the (7) message(s), but I forgot". I thought my head would explode, but at least the guy now decided to let me on the plane. They arranged a hand written boarding pass and I was on my way. I slept the entire journey, and that was it......until......I landed at Gatwick.

There is nothing worse than standing by one of the luggage conveyor belts watching other peoples bags going round, when yours is always LAST to come off. Well mine was not last because it did not bloody come around AT ALL. I stood there (with 16 other people) for over an hour while bags that belonged to some other poor unfortunate sods in God-knows-where went round and round and ours remained in ??????????? It was not until I reported my bag missing that I was told of the link between the 2 airlines and was informed by the guy that "they lose between 10-20 pieces of luggage on this flight EVERY DAY. MOST of it turns up!" I had to laugh, I mean let's face it, it was almost an inevitable ending to the holiday.

I am writing this blog a 3am on Christmas Eve morning. My luggage turned up 3 1/2 hours ago.

So that was it, 8 months to the day since I set off, I returned to England. I have to say the trip was absolutely incredible in so many ways. I have seen things I never thought I would see, I have been to so many amazing places and done fantastic things, too many to mention.

I want to thank so many people for their support, help and encouragement over the past 8 months but as I am bound to forget someone so best say "nowt!". I would, however, like to thank you ALL for putting up with my "rantings" and the kind words and comments you have replied with.

I want to dedicate these blogs to my Mum and Dad, I wish they had been here to share this with me. And, most of all, to Abby who puts up with my constant "wanderlust" and offers me nothing but absolute support and encouragement. Thank you and I love you with all my heart, Abby.

Take care everyone, and I wish you all a very happy, peaceful and healthy 2008

Paul XXX

PS.

At the end of the day, it IS great to be back, and I guess there is only one question left to ask?................

"Does anybody know of any jobs going?"

Paul XXX