It's Monday Morning, I have no job, got some good coffee, I'm inspired

Right, chapter 4 it is then, that and I'm at home, so I finally have time to write about some of the things I remember since Rio, that and the only moment I had time was in France, and the keyboard sucked amazingly bad nuts.....

I missed the bit about Rio. We spent 2 nights in Rio after a 12 hour bus ride from Curitiba, and it was surprisingly much more fun than I expected. The people of Rio are cool (maybe a little too cool?), but they have a right to be, because they are some cool Mofos over there. The guys are buff, really buff, and the girls are gorgeous, mostly because they believe they are gorgeous, which tells me that confidence is the real key. So Ipanema was too cool, and we were fortunate enough to get good weather, which meant that everybody flocked to the beaches while we were there so that David and myself could stare out onto the beach all day, which is what we tried to do until it started getting too hot. The unfortunate thing about the weather being so good, was it brought out the derros onto the beach, and it's hard to judge whether it was such a good or bad thing that we were offered a variety of drugs to be used with any of our orifices, but nonetheless it added some colour. Amongst the other highlights of Rio was watching David spend the whole day asking strangers about how to catch buses to the sugar loaf, christ the redeemer and the dodge markets in central Rio. One of the problems with David's high quality physical (almost slapstic) quest for directions, (think of David mimicking christ with his hands extended) was his inability to discern between a dodgy looking bastard and an old harmless looking lady. I personally would have chosen the latter, but my co-pilot was more than happy to give everybody a chance to answer his questions even though one looked like a time-worn homemaker and the other looked like he would have been more happy with our wallets in his pockets. To add more feeling to our choice of transport and seeing as it was not recommended/tried by most people we met, it appeared that in all the buses to all of our destinations, we were the only tourists on the public buses, and at every destination there appeared to be half a million tourists. This clearly spoke to me, but it was David's last day of his vacation, so he was allowed full piloting rights. Finally, after 9 days in Brazil, we made it to a Churasco Restaurant, which for all those who don't know, is a restaurant where they bring out skewers of bbq'ed pork/chicken/lamb/beef and is all you can eat of everything. Having eaten my guts out (read, nearly vomitted the 4 kilos of meat I consumed), I was struck by a large collage of famous faces pictures in the foyer area. Porcao is a churasco restaurant which is popular enough to be an international chain and amongst the famous people that had traversed the restaurant (that I know of) was Naomi Campbell, some gorgeous Brazillian actress which I can't remember the name of, and most importantly, that fat bastard number 9 of the Brazillian international soccer team....... I guess he wasn't lying when he denied rumours about eating too much pie.

Then to iceland, not that the 2 days in London in between Rio and Iceland aren't worth mentioning, but it was spent eating and trying hard to forget the memories of David. David, my travelling partner was bound for home and was to spend 48 hours flying because of his round the world ticket without his luggage which had been lost between Rio and London.

Iceland started off with a bang. Having needed to urgently visit the restroom after getting off the plane, I spent so much time there that by the time I made passport control, I was walking through a room empty of passengers and had the choice between 2 officials both who looked much like 2 oversized Dolph Lungdrens from Rocky 4. Having asked me the routine questions, my conversation with Captain Ivan Drago number 1 and number 2 went something like this:

(please watch rocky 4 to get the accents)

Cpt Ivan Drago 1: So..... Do you know Toby
Ly Yiv (shitting himself slightly) : Sorry? who?
Cpt Ivan Drago 2 (smirks): Toby, he is from Australia
Ly Yiv (thinking of making a run for it): I'm afraid I don't know a Toby

(the 2 Cpt Ivan Drago's start discussing in Ocelandic/Sputnik and start laughing)

Cpt Ivan Drago 1: He is from Melbourne, you know, Toby
Ly Yiv (jocks now soiled) : I'm from Adelaide, I'm afraid I don't know a Toby..

Cpt Ivan Drago 2: He is from Rockstar Supernova
Ly Yiv : Come again? Rockstar Supernova? I've never heard of it.....
Cpt Ivan Drago 1: nanannnna..........nannannnnnnnaa (I can't remember the tune he was nannnaanaa'ring)
Cpt Ivan Drago 2: You know, where they want to be rockstar... competition

Noticing that he hadn't released my passport to me yet, my good memory allowed me to remember the INXS reality tv show and asked whether it was to do with that, but apparently I was only partially correct and my friend Toby is from the second season and appears to be quite popular amongst the Icelandic people, that or it's the only reality tv show they get or it's the only Australian they had ever seen. I would have appreciated it much more if they asked me about Steve Erwin, whose unfortunate death I'd only heard about on Easter Island. He was a nutter, but a cool, enthusiastic and true blue nutter who represented Australia much better than any of the famous Aussie gimps out there now.

To put it straight, Iceland tore me a new one. The place is so seriously hip, and their economy is so far through the roof that it appears that England may be Iceland's younger brother when it comes to expensive crap. I stayed at Domus guesthouse which I recommend, and for $45 Aussie a night I was treated to a 25 bed warehouse Dorm Room, but space was plenty and rooms clean enough. Too bad everything, especially the Showers smelt severely of sulfur (geothermal being their main source of power and heating). All the pretty sites are worth a visit, Geysir, Gullfoss, Pengvellir, blue lagoon thermal baths and the way too cool northern lights. Another cool sight I was fortunate to see was an icelandic attempt at jumpstarting a car. In the 5 days in Iceland, I didn't see a car which was less than 10 years old, so it came as no surprise when at 1 in the morning, I witnessed in the middle of town 2 young lads trying to jumpstart a car with both headlights, hazard lights and interior lights all on.Then there's Mugison who is ostensibly Iceland's most current up and coming musician. Low on travelling cash, and not willing to fork out $130 just to see 1 act for half an hour during 'Iceland Airwaves' (Icelands 4 day Big Day Out), I managed to catch a free Mugison concert at the Prikith Bar, which is much like the Cranker was but barely a quarter the size. Now, Mugison is a good musician and I like the sound, but everytime Mugison decides to sing an English song, I can't help but wonder whether it's a game of placing the words to match the music, because with my salvageable ESL english and 2 glasses of $18 gin and tonics, I couldn't understand for the life of me what the guy was singing about. By the 5th english song, at which point the whole bar was singing along, I had visions of Icelanders, with their Celtic bloodline (which according to History, is very prominent), learning a somewhat advanced form of English, which by far overwhelmed ours, and further provided inarguable evidence that Bjork is a much more supreme artist than I once thought she was. What I once thought was incomprehensible was merely my lack of knowledge and rudimentary understanding of the english language. I salute you Bjork, and Mugison, you rock.

2 nights in Munich, 2 nights in Slovenia, 2 nights in Venice were spent with Tim and Geordie. The old firm was together again, and It was a sweet visit, in quality surroundings..... Munich, cool city, regimented, clean, quality German engineering.... Slovenia, cool city, sexy and magnificent nature surroundings, good ratio, definitely going back there.......... Venice, dodgy eyetalians, but still very cool, great ice cream, great coffee other than the 8 euro coffee at saint Marcs square, funky town, maybe a little too many tourists..... and then to Paris....

In Paris, I hit really relaxed mode..... eat, drink, eat..... wedding (not mine)..... eat, more drink....... Chocolate Expo....... eat lots of chocolate..... lot's of Michel Cluizel.........saw most of the sites last time........ try to say hello to you folks but the keyboard is an absolute bitch...... so no writing, no reading..... just eat..... and after 7 days.... it appears that the brick house is slowly becoming mud again and that thankfully I might very well be back in Sirmixalots good books again. Being so close to Italy you'd think these guys would know how to make a decent cuppa, but it appears not........ found a good coffee shop, espresso excellent, anything with milk sucks. Back to London..... really wound down now.

In London I get this homely feel, only because of the people I stay with. Shout outs to Phuong and Hoa, and Dostal. Thanks for looking after me guys. 7 days in London, is once again an expensive affair, with 3 visits to tate modern (I'm worn out after 4 hours a day) I get a chance to see some of the best exhibitions I've ever seen so check it out if any of you have a chance.......
http://www.tate.org.uk/modern/
David Smith and Fischli & Weiss exhibitions are amazing

Porgy and Bess at the Savoy was too cool, it was unfortunate that the 5 friends I went with didn't like it so much.

and shopping in Convent Gardens I have my brush with fame in the Paul Smith Store where I lock eyes with Jason Statham, who I enter into a staring contest with until he turned away after he decided I recognised him. Folks, he looks like a thug, talks like a thug and I get the impression he really is a thug. 'What Tommy? before ze germans get you?'

Then finally Tokyo, which was way beyond any of my expectations....The Japanese women, like the Brazillian women, hold themselves on a pedestal and under 50 pounds of make up, but it's because of this concerted confidence that you can't help but be allured by them. There's a number of you down this email list in particular who I strongly suggest not going lest you wanted to snap from getting weak at the knees like Bruce Reid. The first evening I decide to hit Shinjuku which is the more famous of the red light districts in Tokyo where I find myself in a coincidental naturally evolving social experiment to which the result is that I now believe I am truly alien to this world. I cross into 'the zone' alongside 2 American sounding blokes at the lights, both looking suspiciously dodgy, and myself in t-shirt carrying backpack. What happens is I am pulled aside by 2 policeman who start rambling some crap in Japanese, and after responding confusedly that I don't speak Japanese, I'm asked to be searched for weapons. Feeling much like Iraq, they tell me I'm in a 'dangelous prace' and I may have a knife. So walking side by side with 2 other tourists, it appears that I'm taken as a suspicious tourist, or I look sufficiently Japanese, but dodgey with my milimeter hair, ragged clothes and pathetic 2 day growth to warrant a 10 minute full bag search. I'm thinking more the latter.

The Japanese don't want me.

Then there's the tourist couple who ask me to take a photo for them along Ginza. Having spoken manageable Australian am thanked about 5 times with head bows and 'arigatos'. Do I freakin talk with a Japanese accent? Did I not say to them 'I think there may not be enough light to take a good photo, but I'll try anyway'. Or did it sound more like 'no light, photo no good, I tly anyway'. For crying out loud.

The English speaking world doesn't want me either.

so at this point I am officially resolved to be of no official origin.

On the other hand, I am now happy to say that I like the Japanese much much more than I did before, and this is merely from the fact that having made myself blindingly lost about 15 times in the 3 days I was there, I was assisted by people on the street with all their might, each and every time. A prime example of this, is when I asked a train driver to help me work out where to catch the next train, to which he exits the train which is due to leave and spends the next 5 minutes helping me while carriage loads of passengers are waiting to leave. I get this kind of help consistently through out every disastrous turn I make, which was made worst by the mad sign fetish that they have. Even if they don't speak a word of english, they will work their arses off to help you on your way. Asking for directions in a coffee shop, I'm helped by 4 assistants and the manager, and with not a single english speaker they help me until it's resolved. This leads me to the belief that a number of us have been considerably harsh to Japanese Tourists because these people will help you in their own country to no end, and sure they plague countries by the bucketload, but people with such goodwill would surely make a good plague.

Glad to be back, off to Cambodia in 2 weeks, so hopefully I can catch some of you before I go, otherwise, I'll catch you at new years, maybe.......

Dave´s first kiss, David Caresh and Dangerous Brazil

so far so good. Now where was I....

The night before we left Cusco, we deemed it appropriate to pay a visit and say good bye to a friendly waiter who had been taking care of us at a restaurant that we visited 5 times called ´Macondo´ (Pete, note the reference, they pride themselves on that swanky name, even though it has more to do with Columbia). A bit of a chic restaurant with really good food for a reasonable price. Gabriel is more than surprised and delighted at the gesture and shows his appreciation by giving Dave a handshake, which moved onto a cheek kiss, which in turn more than surprised my companion. Dave´s countenance more than made up for my kiss on the cheek. Seeing as I was much closer to Gabriel, and he reached for Dave first, I think Dave threw on his old chastity belt before he went to sleep that night.

Thanks to a suggestion by Kretsch (that´s 2 drinks) we flew to Puerto Maldonado, and headed 30km up stream to a lodge located on the Tambopata reserve, the Peruvian part of the Amazon. We were fortunate enough to have a really broad range of amazonian weather ranging from the stinking hot, to thunder and lightning for 12 hours straight. For me, it was the latter which made it work, that and the barrage of animals and jungle trees we got to see, especially monkeys and plenty of netballers(I mean wild boars, Hi Tara), and lots of them. The lodge itself was very well setup with a hammock room for chilling out mid-afternoon, but it wasn´t until the second night that I started getting concerned about what the lodge may have been a front for. Lying in the hammock at about 6 in the evening, a loud wave of music hit the room, obviously eminating from the room across from ours which was pouring out smoke (maybe from a smoker, maybe from incense) but it was the loud twang of the sitar and the trance of hari-krishna that brought memories of David Caresh. The idea that we were stuck out here along the amazon 30kms away from other people in the cult of a male love machine made me almost wish that jesus had made it out here. This continued on the next night, when I decided to find out where it was coming from, and funnily enough, it was some fat American Tourist who thought everybody might be interested in Hari, Hari, Hari. Folks, I recommend getting out here if you´re in Peru, it was definitely a highlight and probably much cheaper than Brazil. I won´t dwell on how cool the animals and jungle was, but I did once again, get my arse chewed out by mozzies.

In the Sao Paulo airport, we booked lodging with Pausada Evelina in Foz Do Iguacu, the Brazilian city of Iguacu and was greeted by her daughter Christina. Evelina is Polish, and speaks 7 different languages, with the same applying to both her daughters Graciela and Christina. Evelina is cool, she´s loud, happy and always excited, but it takes about 15 minutes to realise that she´s one pushy lady. It appears that both daughters are equal in nature, each of which have daughters of their own, but ostensibly all 3 appear not to have any husbands. Go figure. Anyway, we decided we´d make for the Brazilian side of the falls the next day, just to see what all the hype was about, but Graciela suggests that we go on the Evelina tour to the Argentinian side. Her selling point is a private ride across the border, and 3 swedish girls. Come again? There didn´t appear much else she wanted to sell out of their custom tour other than a ride from the hostel to Argentina, and 3 SWEDISH GIRLS. right. So, 57 Reais for a bus ride to Argentina, tickets into the national park to see the falls, and 3 SWEDISH girls. That´s right. We did take the tour to the Argentinian side only because of the value, and the hassle free pass over to the Argentinian side, and yes, the three swedish girls were quite good to look at, but the thing that amused me the most about this was that the poor Swiss and Brazillian girls that were also on the tour that didn´t even get a mention. Once again, beauty sells. However, I´m not sure how she sold ´2 Aussie Boys´ to the swedish girls.

On to Iguazu, and I have to say, these falls deserve their place in the natural wonders of the world. Simply amazing. The roaring of all these falls is so powerful and so loud, it´s like the roar of 1000 Imran Khans (how´s that for an analogy). It really is something to look at and I can´t describe it any other way. Should I ever get a wife, or an animal, male or female remotely interested, I´d consider bringing it here for our honeymoon. That´s right, I´ve said it. I might marry something someday.

After spending 4 nights in Iguacu, seeing the Argentinian side with 3 swedish girls once and the Brazilian side with 2 Norwegian gents, we headed towards Curitiba, a town in the middle somewhere between Iguacu and Rio which is known in particular for having the most beautiful train ride in Brazil, which I guess is a decent rap. It appears also that Curitiba is the model town for Brazil, with the best city planning, and quality economics. This equates to a city which is very much similar to Adelaide, in appearance, population, and a major mall. Hampered by a misty day, the train ride was not all that beautiful, but the railway was somewhat of an engineering masterpiece. However, my experience, was made much better when I met Leila, a Brazillian girl from Foz Do Iguacu who I spend the next 3 hours talking to. Leila speaks to me in broken spanish, broken english and portuguese, and in return I spoke in pretty much broken everything. Firstly, she tells me how the train ride sucked, because all there was was mist, trees, and more trees which I guess was fair enough. Then she tells me that Foz Do Iguacu is a very dangerous place, and Curitiba, Brazils´ model city is just as dangerous. Having spent a 6 days and nights wondering the two towns looking for food, I didn´t get this impression which may be because we stuck to the main accesses of town, so I ask her about Rio De Janeiro, and what I get in return is a self-deprecating laugh-cry and shake of the head with a yelp of ´muito perigroso´ (most/much dangerous) which pretty much made me shit my pants. It appears that Leila lives close to a favela (watch ´City Of God´) in Iguacu and her friend was murdered 5 years ago for no other reason than ´just cause´. She asks me how it is where I´m from, and I don´t have the heart to tell her how good it is, and instead I tell her it´s ok and hot. We´ve got it pretty good folks, and this made me miss Adelaide.

In Rio now, there´s some nutters out here, but we haven´t lost our pants yet, although most of the women on Ipanema appear to have lost pretty much everything.

Right.... it's been a while, and I'm sure you all miss me

after a much needed rest from monitors, I'm beginning to think those prescription glasses I got before I left were a waste of money. Well, much of GU's money anyway. I'm well, how are you all?

To continue where I left the rambling last, this chapter starts with a wonderful train ride directly into the rising sun for 4 hours to Aguas Calientes, a town of no significance other than it's proximity to Machu Picchu. The view into the sun was made much better with the presence of 2 very good looking Canadian girls who Dave started chatting to the moment we sat down. 5 minutes into the conversation, I realised that these 2 were nutters, as their plan was to take a 4 hour train ride to AC, then 45 minutes on the bus to Machu Picchu, which leaves them a good 3 hours to explore the site, then catch the bus back to AC and return to Cusco on the 4pm train, next day sraight to Puno and back. 10 minutes into the conversation, it became quite apparent that the 2 Canadians were a shining example of how beauty really does come with its flaws. The younger of the 2 directly opposite myself had decided it was ok to leave her bag unattended in a cafe in Lima, which meant that she now needed to return to Lima after Puno, to get her replacement Passport, tickets, cards, and just about everything else important to her, including all of her money. Fortunately for her, as she puts it, her Arnette sunglasses were on her head when she visited the bathroom, possibly the most important possesion of them all. To add salt to her wounds, a co-worker of hers from Argentina had warned her days before she left to make sure she carried a hidden wallet, irrespective of which country she was going to in South America, which, because of her travel experiences with Contiki Europe and Australia, she thought was a joke. Judging from her attire, I'm not sure she would have found a good enough place for a hidden wallet, without it protruding heavily. Granted, something like this may happen to me one day, but at least I have the knowledge I tried to prevent it from happening. Anyway, as some of you may have heard from me, Aguas is as boring as watching paint talk about drying, there's not much there apart from a heavily tourist orientated setup and some hot springs, which I didn't even bother with. We arrived, at 11:00am and pretty much waited the day out, so we could get an early start at 6:00am to avoid the hoard of tourists on MP.

Machu Picchu is impressive, much more impressive than the Sacred Valley ruins. We spent a good 7 hours exploring the site, and climbing Huayna Picchu which is a must if you're going to come here (sorry kaps). From Hyuana Picchu you can see MP in it's entirety, as well as the ruins on HP which is 400 meters higher than MP, which in itself is quite impressive. However, parts of me can't help but think, what if the Cambodians were involved in the construction of it, which is due to the fact I've been spoilt by the ruins of Angkor. Sure, the Incans were a bunch of really strong bastards, sure they dragged those rocks up 2400m, but why drag it all the way up there just to stack them. If you go to all that trouble to drag it up there, you may as well do something really cool with it. Anyway, it was worth the effort, and I recommend you all come by sometime and have a look.

Having returned from boring Aguas Calientes, we finally checked out sacsayhuaman 30 minutes out of Cusco. Fortunately, there was the festival of Incans on which involved over 1000 colourful dressed lads, so we spent the day at the festival with many of the locals watching as these teenagers played what appeared to be a sports day to impress the Incan King. Had to be there.

We decided weeks before that we were going to attempt the choquequirao trek, so after a good couple days rest in Cusco, we booked our trek up. The trek is an absolute bitch. It involved a

4 hour bus ride to Cuchora, which is the base of the first mountain. On the first day, you climb mountain number 1 for approx 2800m, then go down to the first camp near the river. Second Day you go down to the river, cross it, then climb choquequirao for 3100m, check out choquequirao which is not as physically impressive as Machu Picchu, but historically impressive, in terms of height and structure. Camp the night just below choquequirao, then next morning, make your way back the same bloody way you started. Having done this trek, ostensibly Sir Mixalot no longer has any use for me. Folks, don't get me wrong, it was definitely worth the effort, the ruins are fantastic, and the view was stunning, but according to many of the guides, it's one of the harder treks to do, so be warned. That, or you can check out my brick house when I get back.

On the trek, I had much time to think, and the reason I was thinking was based on the first day of the trek when we got off the bus in Cuchora to have lunch and then start the trek. The bus driver, being quite curious of my accent, asked where I was from, to which I replied Australia. This illicited a physical response from him which involved the extension of his 2 index fingers, with elegant poise he placed them on the temple side of each eye and proceeded to stretch his eyes into obscurity. I hadn't seen this kind of response since I was in year 6, whereby my aboriginal friend at the time, Greg decided to respond to the gesticulator by physically hurting him. (Greg, I'm still waiting for that 80 cents you owe me, 5 years in the pen is no excuse pal). To add to the gesture, the bus driver muttered, 'Bruce Lee', which suprised me, but was 10 times better than 'konitchiwa'. Anyway, back to the thinking, and it's because it's happened on average, once every 2 days, and that is when everytime David and myself say we're Australian, we get 'Kangaroo', which to me sucks. We need to be recognized for something more significant other than some bouncy, stinky, violent and untasty marsupial. It's not like everytime somebody says, 'I'm from Peru', that we mention, 'ah, rodent eating monkeys'. Once upon a time, the US, was recognised for 'Disneyland' or 'Hollywood', which is why I think somebody crafty, like say my friend Peter Byrne, should start up a 'Flaming Galah' world or something like that. How cool would it be if say you're in remote Tanzania and you tell a local, 'I'm From Australia' and he responds with, 'Ah, Flaming Galah'. Qantas logo would look pretty cool with a flaming Galah on it.

Which almost brings us up to date. We just returned from 3 nights in Puno, where we spent 1 night on Amantani Island with a local family on Lake Titikaka, which was pretty cool. There was a number of times where we were concerned about the food that was being cooked for us, for no other reason than the fact that host/cook, Marcellina, picked up a piece of fried potato from the dirt, brushed and then blew at it, and then put it in her mouth. Marcellina was a graceful host however, and she will be remembered, even though she found it hard to remember my name, which was made much worst by David who decided this woman who has never been off the island (let alone know what a TV is) could remember it much easier if she thought of Bruce Lee.

Will be in the Amazon next coupla days, time for my mosquito friends to feed.

It's long.... but most of you don't really work anyway... let me bore the F' out of you

Finally made it to cusco 3 flights later. I already miss Rapa Nui.

Our 1 and only night in Santiago was a bit of a shitter, having arrived at 2pm, I was faced with a queue to pay for my Chilean visa which was US 56 dollars. David had struck a conversation with some New Zealanders on the plane and had agreed to share a taxi with them as well as spend the night at the same accomodation. Because I had to pay for the visa, they headed out first and agreed to meet us at the baggage claim area, but by the time I´d paid for the visa, the immigration line had increased 3 fold. It took us a solid hour before we arrived to be greeted by a bunch of supposedly official taxi monkeys who liked to have their hands planted on our luggage. David is determined to find his new found friends, only to be discouraged later by the fact that we were the only ones left in the Arrival area, and there were what appeared to be a growing number of ´official´ taxi drivers. At this time we decided our friends had left and decided on Gustavo, a friendly chap who had been following us all around the airport since we stepped out of customs. I´m once again mistaken for a Japanese tourist and am ready to beat the living crap out of this guy, but fortunately I remember that I´m no longer in my own country. We decided to go to David´s choice of the hour hostel which was agreed with the NZ´ders, the more than upmarket San Patricia. I notice that Gustavo has a funny knack of of talking with both hands whilst driving at a consistent speed of 80km/h where on 2 occasions David was taking control of the wheel.

We meet Janice, a Korean traveller on her way out who agrees to help us settle into the new place and take us to the supermarket. The street we're in looks like graffiti riddled with walls around it. Janice believes its the safest city she's been in South American, I'm under the impression that Janice has never left the hostal after 5pm, ever. We also meet Donkunnan, a 68 year old German man who's cruising the world on his BMW tourer, having just shipped his motorcycle over from New Zealand, he's heading to the atacama after this from the looks of it. David becomes orgasmic once the German mentions his motorcycle (Sorry sis, I think David's fallen in love with Donkunnan). The camels back was almost broken for me until I settle down to sleep in our shitter of a room, and Texas Walker comes on tv, in spanish no less, which as you all well know, would make any grown man happy.

On to Easter Island. It's the best. Screw other pacific islands (although I've never been to any), this is the place you want to go. Everybody's friendly as all hell and the people there are fucking charming. They love their place, they love tourists, they don't care or need to for that matter about a goddam thing. Our host, Oscar of 'Chez Oscar' (highly recommended) looks like someone from a textbook Hawaii TV show, kind, genuine, but according Dave, a little effeminite, which I didn't notice. This however, is made clear by some English backpackers that David once again makes friends with, who having gotten lost on the island (something which you must be on drugs to do), met a Chilean born local who gave them the local tour and the low down on everything. This includes the fact that all Rapa Nui'n first borns irrespective of sex, are treated like a girl. Someone to watch over the family and take on matron things like kitchen and house duties (ladies, take a leaf out of this book). They're even dressed like girls, taught to act like one and are taught all duties, which becomes quite obvious after 4 days living in and around Oscar. Mind you, he's a fucken fantastic host.

On the island, we spend 2 days with Nadja, a vibrant, enthusiastic girl imbued with vitality, who just so happens to be quite the looker as well. Having taken a photo for her on her horse (the place is riddled with wild horses), she invites us to watch a traditional dance that night. After the dance, we go and have a few drinks at which point we find out she's 1 of a set of 3, all pretty much of equal proportions. Those who know me well, know that I've always wanted an enemy, some guy who despises me with a passion, but to this day, and being monotheistic, I didn't think 'the man' himself would have it in for me. The sadness, it continues. I walk her home at 3 am and David, attempting to be a consumate wingman decides he'll go back to Chez Oscar. After a sweet goodbye, she gives me her number to contact her, so we can catch up at some point on the island the next day, and walking home a good coupla km's away I feel the beauty of Rapa Nui at 3:30 in the morning. It's existence based solely on 3 volcanoes meeting up and some crazy islanders deciding to chance stellar navigation some 3700km away from anywhere. I get back to Chez Oscar to find the mystery of Rapa Nui has fallen on David, a 44 year old School teacher of 20 plus years, with a wife, and one and half kids waiting for me in the bushes because he hasn't figured out how to unlock the door. Fucken what?

The next day we wake up late and hire a motorcycle. David commands the dirt bike like a master, with me on the back we scoot. Nadja was due to pick her bike up at 9:30am and having picked ours up at 10:30am, I resolved that it was pointless to try and catch up, and plus, the day was bloody perfect, and so we decided to ditch the helmets and head on to see the MAOI (mao-eye = heads, some with, some without hats). We're in luck, Nadja appears to have only just woken up and picked her bike up, and we cross her on the main street. So we decide to head out together, and since she's taken the tour before, she's giving us the second hand tour. It works well, and the heads are a sight, and seeing as there was a handful short of a thousand heads all together, admittedly, by the end of it, we're all headed out. People, if you come to this island, be prepared to be impressed by the heads, for a good half an hour, flora and fauna reminds me much of Adelaide, it's dry, arid, and also has eucalyptus trees. The atmosphere is what's left, I still have a number of countries to visit left, but it's really going to be hard to top this one.

We rode for 8 hours, and cover pretty much half the island, but it's only 20 minutes in that we realise that Nadja is under the belief that she is a motocross champion. She's requesting photo after photo, after video, after photo of her zooming at 100km/hr down some corner, with ocean in the background. Not only that, she's setting most of the shots up as well. She's good value though, and it was a shame she had to head back to where ever it was she came from. We return to the capital, Hanga Roa and send her off, and she writes her Danish details down and it appears that the number she gave the night before was missing a 0. The funny thing about all this is that I cannot for the life of me remember what I did to piss 'the man' off, but he's definitely working a hard case on me. As we settle in some diner for dinner that night, I notice two guys walking by, obviously not native to the island, with white short sleeve t-shirts, black pants and a smart tie to boot. The satchel around their shoulders is all too familiar to me, and I couldn't help but laugh at the idea that maybe these mormons rode their bikes over sea, with Jonno's help, using stellar navigation to make it from, say tahiti some 4000km away. Furthermore, how do you convince the natives who are still trying to work out how their ancestors shifted 70 metric tonnes from stone quarries to some location 10 km's away, that some guy who dug up some gold tablets whilst high on some heavy reefer that he's got the answers for them?

Once again I'm mistaken for a Japanese tourist, but I like these guys too much to get angry, I just can't wait until I get to Japan where I can pretend to be a Japanese Tourist. On the next day, it appears that Nadja has taken the weather with her, it's pissing down and we spend 2 hours in a cafe hiding from the rain. We make friends with Maria, Jazz, and Maria's husband Ognion who's swearing like a trooper about how awful the weather is on their first day on the island. Once the rain clears up, we spend the rest of the day with them wondering around the other half of the island we hadn't discovered yet, and as we return for the evening, we decide it's time. It would appear that David and myself are the only people who have visited the island, who have seen the Kevin Reynold directed, Kevin Kostner produced and Jason Scott Lee Starred blockbuster 'Rapa Nui'. I believe it's the only place in the world that shows it on a big screen, and in 3 different languages. It's a must for all visitors, and if ever you're after the islander cinematic experience, then this is it. Mind you I can't remember half of it, but by the end of it, it hasn't put the island in such a good light. You see, it's about the battle between the long ears, and the short ears, and in the end it appears that the short ears are the victors, but it also appears that the short ears become a bunch of cannibals as well. So I posed the question, are these kind folks decendants of the cannibals? Thankfully, I look much more emaciated than David, and my rare skin disease means that the results of eating me is quite unpredictable. I made a point of this with one of the islanders, and decide it's time to lose more weight, just so I'm last to go, and they take some of the fat Americans that seem to be streaming in.

We've been in Cusco for 3 days now, with the first spent sleeping and suffering from altitude and jet lag. Rapa Nui->Santiago, Santiago->Lima, 1:00am ->5:40am in Lima Airport, and then Lima-> Cusco. It's quite something, and I'm sure running out of words, that and many of you I know will make it here. It's worth the trip. The people here are cool, and the streets are riddled with tourists, so I don't know whether that's good or bad, but my spanish is improving two-fold. Having a relaxing banana milkshake at the local's market, which I recommend because there was only a handful of tourists around, I'm accosted by the girl making the juice, her mother and her sister with rather imposing questions such as my name, age, employment and marital status. It's all in good jest until I realise that she's asking for her daughter, the milkshake maker. Then I'm asked about how my quechuan is, to which I reply Allianchu. So good ole mom decides she'll teach me some new words like, Goodbye, please, and finally "I want a cusco girl", which I'm not told the meaning of until the laughing had died down 3 stalls on either side. They're friendly folks here, well those that aren't trying to tear your arse out, but I think I'll give the Saturday night disco with the locals a miss, as well as the private guided tour of Saqusahuaman (pronounced, Sexy Woman).

Tomorrow, we check out the Sacred Valley, and then on to some half-arsed fortress called Macchu Picchu. All the tourists seem to think it's the shit, I'm resolved to return to Rapa Nui.