Liming in the Windies

You know you are going to have a good time somewhere, when, you not only find yourself on a deserted Caribbean beach at 10am on a Sunday morning, but when you find the only other person around, who happens to be selling drinks and ask her  for a bottle of water, she fixes you with a blank look and says; "Tis Sunday, people only be drinking beer." Beer it is. And that pretty much sets the tone of our week in St Vincent and the Grenadines. 

A small cluster if islands in the Caribbean sea, the SVGs are about an hour's flight from Barbados on the tiniest plane imaginable. We were pratically sitting in the cockpit and had to be weighed before boarding.

The islands include Bequia (where we're staying), Mustique, Canouan, Union, and St Vincent. Bequia (pronounced 'bek-way') is a tiny island community of just 7 square miles. Like all the Grenadine islands it is hilly, lush and green, much more like a south-east Asian island than the super-flat Bahamas. It doesn't long for us to be peppered by mossie bites.

From the airport we're driven by pick-up truck to the villa where we have rented a small studio overlooking Princess Margaret Beach. The beach was originally named after some guy called Tony until Princess Margaret visited Bequia on her honeymoon and fell in love with the beach. So the people of Bequia decided to name it after her instead. I expect Tony was gutted because it is a beautiful beach indeed - a crescent of soft golden sand fringed by frangipani trees and leading down to sparkling clear turqoise sea. If it was good enough for Margs, it certainly suits us.

The snorkelling off the reef near the beach is great, we spot a couple of octopi, Moray eels, lots of brightly-coloured fish and large staghorn corals. The visibility is amazing.

Bequia is very pretty island - pastel-coloured houses and shacks dot the hillside and there are lots of catarmarans and yachts bobbing anchored off the shore. Most people actually sail to Bequia rather than fly. Turns out it's a popular destination where yachtie-types come to relax after exhausting sailing regattas and general stresses of floating around the Caribbean for weeks on end. Walking around the little main town of Port Elizabeth it's easy to spot the yachties, they all have fantastic suntans and can be overheard saying things like: "We've just anchored in the SVGs from the BVIs and the USVIs". 

All the locals are very friendly. We quickly discover that the favourite pastime is 'liming'. To 'lime' basically means just hanging out doing nothing, maybe with your mates or on your own, usually in the shade of a tree, for hours on end, maybe drinking beer, maybe not. Just chilling out. So we start our week making like a local and liming on the beach as much as we can.

It turns out we have arrived in low-season so many of the restaurants and shops are closed much of the time. More time to lime then.

Eating out is pretty rustic, you eat what they catch that morning so restaurant menus consist of three choices - fish (usually tuna or Mahi-Mahi), chicken and of course, conch. Everything is jerk-spiced and served with rice and some kind of 'hard food' like plantain or fried bananas. We quickly learn that the fish is the best bet, there's only so much conch you can eat. 

Bequia is a fantastic place to relax, but we've also chosen to stay there for a very specific resason, it is relatively close to the Tobago Cays. The Tobago Cays are a group of five uninhabited islands that are now nature reserve, protected for their natural beauty, pristine reefs and wildlife. We had hoped to visit them on a lovely peaceful sailing boat but then we discover that the boat is being repaired that week. There is only one option, being that we don't have a yacht to get there ourselves, to go by speedboat. It is apparently the worst way to get to the Tobago Cays - the crossing takes and hour and a half and can get very choppy indeedy . But we are undeterred. Heck, I was vomiting for most of the Inca Trail I'm sure I can handle a bumpy speedbaot ride. 

Captain Nolan's boat can be heard before it arrives at the jetty to pick us up - it is gleaming white, blaring reggae at an ear-bleeding level with three huge speedboat motors on the back. Captain Nolan is wearing a lot of gold jewellery and he tells us he has made his own special rum punch for us. I'm not sure how that will go down with the seasickness tablets we've just taken but we climb aboard anyway.

As soon as we are out in the open water Captain Nolan cranks the speed up. We seem to by flying across the sea and it would feel very cool indeed if we were not getting soaked by sizeable waves crashing over the boat. The boat seems to jump into the air and smack back down again with every wave. It is a wild ride but our captain seems unpeturbed, cranks up the sound system and away we go. We sail by Union and Canouan. It's easy to spot Mustique as we hoon past - a private island, the hilltops are peppered with gleaming mansions owned by Mick Jagger, Bryan Adams and the bloke who owns Nike. Lavish indeed.

An hour and a half later we arrived, intact, at the Tobago Cays. They look exacly like the idyllic desert islands that are in all the pictures. Blinding white sand surrounding tiny islands that are topped with a few artfully placed palm trees at the centre. The water is a brilliant aqua-marine and so clear you can see straight to the bottom. The reefs around the islands are all protected so the snorkelling is amazing - big brain corals and a myriad of rainbow-coloured fish. One areas is a turtle sanctuary for Leatherback turtles. It doesn't take long to spot the Leatherbacks, gracefully cruising along the bottom or popping their heads up out of the water, they are massive. We spot one that is probably about the size of a pub-garden table. We follow them together for ages and count six in all - a very special moment indeed. Before we go we decide to swim out to one of the desert islands for a true shipwrecked moment. Then it's back on board to sample some of Captain Nolan's homemade rum punch, which, after a morning snorkelling on the cays, tasted amazing.

Next and final stop, Tobago, as in Trinidad and Tobago, nothing to do with the Tobago Cays, confusing.

Lots of love

Beth xxx

The Sunshine State?

Departing Long Island and arriving in Miami was a bit of a culture shock - after spending 5 solitary days on a fairly deserted island and then suddenly arriving in a massive city with sixteen-lane freeways, it takes us about half an hour to find our way out of the airport. It is also hammering down with rain. Not what anything you read about Florida leads you to believe. Turns out it is not always the Sunshine state. Pretty hurricany, to be honest. We managed to glimpse Miami beach before the heavens open - it looks like it could be an awesome place to hang out on a sunny day - there are colourful life guard towers, cool beach bars and cabanas. I manage to get one picture before it starts bucketing it down. There is only one thing for it, to seek refuge in Bloomingdales and indulge in some commercialism.

 We are staying in the Art Deco district on Ocean Drive and the buildings are spectacular, the art deco architecture is beautifully preserved, they are all painted in strong marine and yellow shades or pastel pinks and fronted by palm trees. It is like being on a film set just strolling along Ocean Drive. Women are of course, roller blading in bikinis and everyone is driving convertible Mustangs. It is out and out glamour, a sightseeing experience in itself and so we stop for a ridiculously pink and overpriced Miami Heat cocktail on Ocean Drive  and people-watch. 

Now we are back in the USA we are determined to have an amazing American steak. It takes some researching but we eventually settle on Prime 112, a famous steakhouse on Ocean Drive. Apparently you usually have to book about 3 weeks in advance, unless you are Beyonce and Jay-Z. Thankfully, perhaps because it is a Wednesday and the weather is shocking, they can indeed squeeze us in. It is full of guys who probably drive Mustangs and models who probably roller-blade by day. Seems to be steak on the menu for the guys and liquid refreshment in the form of martinis for the models. 

We order a 30oz rib-eye steak to share. It arrives on an enormous platter and I start to get the meat sweats just looking at it but my God, it is the best steak that I have ever eaten. Melt in the mouth and perfectly cooked. It is also exciting because Stef is convinced James Cameron is seated at a table next to us. Until 'James' starts speaking French like a true Frenchman. So we are forced to accept perhaps it isn't he of Titanic fame. Merde.

Next day, we are determined to drive to the Florida Keys, and even perhaps make it as far as Key West for a slice of Key Lime pie. 

The Florida Keys actually start a good hour or so out of Miami, and they are a strange wonder indeed - a very long chain of small islands that are now connected by one long road and a series of bridges, including the famous Seven Mile bridge, which, as the name implies, is 7 miles long. I would imagine that it is a beautiful drive down to Key West, with the ocean of Florida Bay on one side and the Gulf of Mexico on the other, lapping the edges of the road. But when the rain is lashing down so much that the car is aqua-planing and you can't see more than about 3 metres in front of the windscreen, you could be anywhere. 

The rain is so bad that all the Key Lime pie bakeries and shops, all of which, of course, claim to serve the best pie on the Keys, are shut. We debate whether it is worth spending 3 hours driving in a thunderstorm to Key West. Then decide that we have nothing better to do and no where to stay that night so we may as well press on and continue the quest for the pie. 

By some miracle, as we drive off Seven Mile bridge, the rain stops and the clouds part. The sun sparkles off the sea on either side of us, we can see loads of tiny islands stretching ahead into the distance. The Keys are a truly amazing sight. We make it to Key West just before sunset, it is a very chic town, the main streets are lined with high-end boutiques and swish hotels. One of which is serving Key Lime pie. Which we washed down with a couple of glasses of wine and watching the sun set, exactly are you are meant to do in the Keys. Then we have to drive back as far away from Key West as we can until we can find a motel we can afford to stay in. 

Next day we get in the car at dawn and are very excited because the sun is shining and we have planned to spend the whole day exploring the Everglades. I am desperate to go on one of those big boats with the huge propellers on the back that glide across the Everglades, as seen in Flipper and Gentle Ben. It turns out they are called airboats so we manage to book on an trip that afternoon.

In the morning, we have planned to go on a 15 mile bike ride through Shark Valley, along on a special trail through the Everglades National Park because we have heard it's a great way to spot wild alligators. We're hoping we might see one or two.  

As we start riding, the sheer size of the Everglades hits me, it is apparently 1.5 million acres and is often described as a 'river of grass'. It's not hard to see why, the sky reflects of marshy water that is covered by dense grasses, as far as the eye can see. It doesn't take long for us to spot some gators. We see a few eyes emerging from the water at the side of the bike trail after we've been riding a few minutes. We stop to take photos, apparently, you only need to panic if gators lunge at you. Then I'm not sure what else you could do but panic, so the advice is that it's just best to hope that doesn't happen. Fair play. As we ride deeper into the park, we start seeing alligators everywhere. It's amazing, and slightly disconcerting having to cycle around 2m-long beasts that are lying on the trail, basking in the sun. We see big ones, baby ones, swimming ones, some that are walking along the trail. It is one of the most fascinating experiences - there are no other Everglades in the world, it has such a unique eco-system where alligators are king and in such plentiful populations, they are everywhere. We can't resist taking photos of each other cycling past alligators. Some people choose to walk the trail but I was glad we were on bikes, just in case we needed to make a quick getaway. We also see lots of herons and Anhingas, birds who warm their wings in the sun. There are also lots of fish and turtles in the shallow water, gator-bait indeed.

That afternoon we arrive at the airboat mooring. Our captain explains that airboats can go up to 60 mph and they are literally air-propelled over the grass and water of the Everglades by the giant propeller at the back. I practically shriek with excitement as we get on board the boat, it is just like the one in Gentle Ben. And do they go quickly, it feels as if we are flying over the wilderness, big alligators cruise in the waters as we scoot along. A points it just looks like the boat is cruising over grass. It's a breathtaking sight - herons and other birds soar around us in the sky and there is nothing but water, sky and grass for miles. 

It is obvious why the Everglades got their name, they do indeed seem to go on forever and it was amazing to see such a bizarre environment and eco-system up close and teeming with life. A great way to end our adventure in Florida. I think we finally saw the sunshine state at its sunny best.

Until the next time, from Bequia in the Grenadines...

Love Beth xxx

Bahamas & Blue Holes

These days it is apparently becoming trickier than ever to experience the 'real' Bahamas. We discovered this for ourselves when, because we were unable to get a connecting flight from Nassau to Long Island on the same day, we were forced to spend a night in Nassau. Located on New Providence Island, Nassau was probably once very beautiful, but it is now over run with mega-resorts, high-rises and Starbucks. There is no escape - even the beaches come at a price. As we found out when we tried to stroll along Cable Beach (famed to be the nicest beach on New Providence) and were promptly asked to leave by a security guard. We had accidentally stumbled onto beach owned by a swanky hotel - Sandals Royal Bahamian, in case anyone is interested.

I struggle with the concept of beaches being 'owned'. We calmly asked if it would be permitted for us to walk along the waterline to the next beach and we promised to leave only footprints. After all, Sandals can't possibly claim to own the waves lapping the shore too? Apparently they can, and we were told to go. Not the chilled out Bahamian vibes we were hoping for. 

So we were both delighted to board a tiny plane with just 20 seats the following day that would take us (via San Salvador) to Long Island, in the outer Exumas. It's only an hour's flight but what a journey- the ocean is what can only be described as Bahamas Blue, there are tiny cays dotted about and pristine-looking reefs.

Landing at Long Island airport we literally can't stop grinning because it is little more than a yellow shed on a runway. We practically have to lift our own bags from the hold. It is remote alright and exactly what we'd been hoping for.

Our first encounter with the real Bahamas is with a man called Mr T from whom we have arranged to hire a car for the 5 days of our stay. We'll need one because Long Island, as the name suggests, is 80 miles long and 4 miles wide at its widest point. So there is some exploring to do. Mr T gives us the keys to a battered-looking Toyota, we hand him some cash and he tells us to leave the car at the airport when we leave. No forms to fill out, no fuss. Magic.

Long Island, like many Bahamian islands, had a windward-side which is battered by the Atlantic. And a leeward side, gently lapped by the Caribbean sea. We are staying in a little studio on the leeward side. It is fringed by swaying palms and the water is a glassy turquiose as calm as a swimming pool. The lady who we are renting the studio from tells us that Long Island has some of the most beautiful beaches in the world, and we will probably be the only people on them.

This turns out to be entirely true. We head to Gordons, at the South end of the island. It takes about an hour and a half to drive there, we pass through settlements, many of which are named after families who live on the island. The settlements are a scant few houses here and there. Apart from goats we hardly pass another car. Just loads and loads of churches. A staggering amount in fact. Sunday is a big deal in the Bahamas.

Gordons beach is mind-blowingly beautiful. A long, pristine curve of alabaster sand, crystal clear millpond-still water and not another soul in sight. We keep wondering when everyone is going to turn up to claim a patch of sand on this postcard-perfect beach. But no one does. There are no beach bars, no hotels, nothing. It is the most peaceful place I have ever visited.

All the beaches on Long Island are like this. On the Atlantic side, there beaches are pounded by powerful waves and there are craggy, imposing limestone rock formations. One particularly stunning beach we are tipped off about is known by the locals as Compass Rose. Sheltered from the Atlantic by a perfect semi-circle of rock creating a calm natural pool and bordered by sand dunes it is secluded and amazing.

Cape Santa Maria Beach, at the North end of the island has a hotel at one end but there seemed to be no one staying there, we had the white sand to ourselves. It is no wonder that Christopher Columbus apparently said Long Island was one of the most beautiful places he'd ever seen. It's a tough one to top.

There are lots of little restaurants lining the one main road, many of which seem to be set up on peoples' front porches. We eat a lot of conch - meat from giant conch shells which are in plentiful supply in the Bahamas. Conch fritters, cracked conch, conch salad, conch burgers... you name it, they conch it.

Everyone is also so friendly and helpful. We go to a Rake n' Shake night at a bar, at 5pm people are already dancing to the Rake n' Shake band who are strumming what looks like cheesegraters and a rusty saw along to a distinctly Bahamian beat, and of course, a few Bob Marley classics. As we sit down to sip heavy-on-the-rum Bahama Mamas, people come over to ask us who we are, how long we are staying for and what we think of the island. I don't know where the toilets are and a blind lady offers to show me, taking my hand and leading me outside.

 Next day, when our car gets a flat tyre on a remote stretch of road and we are jacking it up, a guy pulls up next to us, jumps out of his car and helps us change the tyre. So we return the island spirit by giving local kids, who hitch hike everywhere, lifts. They are very polite, calling us Sir and Ma'am and we have to try not to giggle.

Long Island is also home to a natural phenomenon called Deans Blue Hole. At 663ft (202m) it is the world's deepest blue hole, a limestone cavern plunging deep into the sea bed. Viewed from the cliffs above it is awe-inspiring and beautiful - a white sandbank that is in ankle-deep water suddenly plunges off into a perfectly circular hole of a deep midnight blue. You can sense the depth just by looking at it.

There are signs near the hole warning people that the drop-off is very sudden. There are also three gravestones, where apparently, three women were swept out into the hole and drowned. It really is a mysterious place. Unpeturbed we decide to take a dip. Snorkelling over the hole you can really appreciate how deep it suddenly gets, I've never seen anything like it. The power and weight of the water beneath me was really apparent. 

Stefan is also fortunate enough to have family who live on Long Island. His cousin Will and his wife Britta have made the very sensible decision to live there for several months a year. Lucky, lucky them. But they also live there for a very practical reason too - Will, a champion free diver, currently holds the world record for no-fins freediving to the unfathomable depth of 101m. Wow. He lives on Long Island so he can train at Deans Blue Hole, which, as the world's deepest swimming pool, is kind of like his office. And Britta's too - she is a yoga instructor specialising in teaching breathing techniques and yoga to the free diving community.

To Stef's joy, he managed to contact Will through good old facebook as as luck would have it, he and Britta were still on the island because 

Will is currently training for his next world record attempt this month.They very kindly invited us over to their house for drinks and a delicious home cooked dinner. They are a really fun couple, it was great to meet them and learn a bit more about the island culture, they love Long Island and it is not difficult to see why. Britta's grandparents also live there too and they popped in to say hi to us, great to meet the extended family all round. 

To me, it seems Long Island has the perfect blend of tangible culture, some of the most perfect beaches I've ever seen, fun, if you want it, and absolute tranquility if you don't. It takes a little bit more effort to get there than most Bahamian destinations but we will definitely be back for another slice of paradise, soon I hope.

If anyone would like to check out Will's world record 101m free dive at Deans Blue Hole on Long Island, here's the link: http://bit.ly/16EC4XM

Next stop, exploring the vices Miami has to offer...

Until the next time, 

Love Beth x

Pink dolphins, Piranahs & Shamen

Landing in Iquitos, a city on the Amazon river, one thing is evident from the get-go, the 'junglist massive' indeed. We have been flying over lush green rainforest and nothing else for about an hour before we touch down. 

Iquitos is one of the most isolated cities in the world, home to 650,000 people, it can only be reached by plane or boat, cut-off from the rest of Peru by dense jungle. There are no roads in or out. We are soon to experience the Amazon jungle for ourselves because we are staying in an eco-lodge in a remote area 165km up the Amazon from Iquitos - it's a three hour boat ride away.

The humidity is overpowering the moment we step off the plane - the air is hot, steamy and damp. It has just been raining. Our guide, Johnathan, greets us and informs us that the humidity is around 80 percent. I didn't really need anyone to tell me that because it is evident in my hair, which is doing what can only be described as a Mick Hucknall.

Johnathan also tells us there are only two seasons in the Amazon - the rainy season and the really rainy season. We have arrived in the 'really rainy'season - when the river floods the surrounding jungle by up to 15 metres for 5 months of the year. So everyone gets everywhere by boat or canoe.

As we make our way up the Amazon the scale of it really blows me away - it is a mighty river indeed, it actually looks more like a huge lake.

We pass remote villages built on stilts, kids paddle about in canoes, waving at us. We learn that these people are called the Riberena  people, tribes and communities that live on the Amazon. They even drink the water straight from it. Yikes. 

We soon experience the full extent of the rainy season when a big storm hits the river - it is impossible to see more than a couple of meters ahead because the rain is hitting the water so hard it turns the air into thick mist. Our boat is forced to dock at a little village for an hour until the storm passes.

After a couple of hours the boat turns up a tributary called the Tayhuno River. Eventually, we arrive at the lodge. It is basically a huge tree house, with wooden walkways connecting wooden cabins.  There is also a research centre where scientists studying the Amazon wildlife spend several months a year. The cabins are pretty basic - mesh walls, beds covered by mosquito nets and cold showers with water straight from the river - which we are warned not to swallow otherwise 'It could be very bad'. Fair play.

The first thing that strikes me about the jungle is the noise - it is deafening - the sound of macaws, monkeys, frogs, crickets and everything else,  it is thrumming with life all day and all night.

At 6am next morning Johnathan takes us to vist a reserve called Terra Firma (yes, all very Jurassic Park). It takes two hour by boat but we have the best chance of finding the elusive Poison Dart Frog there. Terra Firma is the only part of jungle that isn't flooded because it is on higher ground. We are issued jungle boots and have to tuck our socks into them to prevent stuff getting in  mainly scorpions and spiders.

 Travelling by boat through the undergrowth to reach Terra Firma is hairy experience in itself because everytime the boat bumps a tree or bush, a smorgasboard of bugs and insects drop into the boat, and all over us. At first I am petrified - there are big crickets, stick insects and some sizeable spiders. Stef and I get used to flicking the bugs off each other after every brush with a tree. We also learn not to look up to admire the huge vines, creepers and trees with our mouths open pretty quickly.

As we arrive at Terra Firma, following Johnathan - who is reassuringly armed with a machete to hack away at the undergrowth, we start hunting for the frogs. After two hours we've seen loads of multi-coloured frogs and toads and some massive ants and wasps. But no Poison Darts. Suddenly one of the guides shouts us over. There, on a leaf, is a tiny red, yellow and black frog about the size of a thumbnail - the Poison Dart. For a frog it is incredibly pretty. We actually see quite a few in the end.

There are mozzies everywhere. Johnathan goes over to a huge termite nest hanging from one of the trees, he grabs a big handful of termites, crushes them between his palms and rubs them all over his face, informing us that the scent crushed termites give off is a natural insect repellant popular with local tribes. He offers me a handful of crushed termites to rub on my face. It is all getting a bit too 'Bear Grylls' for me so I decline. Plus I have already marinated myself in deet. But Stef gamely has a go.

Johnathan then takes us to a large hollow tree that has fallen on its side.

"If we crawl through we will see hundreds of vampire bats, fruit bats and scorpions. Maybe even a tarantula" he explains excitedly, switching on his head torch. Oh. My. God.

I decide to sit this one out and am so glad I did becuse the second Stef follows Johnathan into the Tree of Horrors loads of bats fly out. He emerges filthy but chuffed because they saw a big Whip-Tailed Scorpion, and about three vareties of bats that were flapping around their faces. Nice.

As we take the boat back to the lodge as we pass a low hanging tree. Suddenly a large brown monkey drops onto the boat. It is the most amazing moment - I have never been that close to a monkey before. The guides tell us it is an Amazonian Brown Woolly Monkey. They give us a few bananas, unable to resist the monkey comes and sits on my lap, peels a banana and wolfs it down. I am speechless. She then goes to sit on Stef's lap and does the same. We learn she was rescued by the lodge as a baby from the black market trade in Iquitos. The lodge released her back into the wild but they check in on her once a week  to make sure she is doing ok. Her name is Dorila and apparently she always drops into the boat in search of a snack. Amazing. We also see a tiny Pygmy marmoset - the world's smallest monkey that is super-cute, a teeny monkey about the size of a hamster. 

That afternoon we head off in search of the famous Amazonian Pink Dolphin. They swim in a particular area of deep water and are apparently very shy. We arrived in an open-topped boat in the middle of another pelting thunderstorm. I am getting used to being drenched most of the time in the Amazon. We are so soaked that some of the boys in our group, Stef included, jump into the murky water. After half an hour the rain subsides - suddenly, Pink Dolphins appear from nowhere - they only surface for a nano-second but they are definitely pink. They seem quite curious - they don't come closer than 10 metres or so but circle the boat for quite a while. Another crazy creature of the Amazon - they are pink because of a particular plant acid that is present in the river water that turns their skin pink over time. It is a pretty special moment - this place is one of the few areas on the Amazon where you can see these dolphins.

That night I decide to man-up and join Stef and Johnathan on a tarantula-hunting mission. Being terrified of spiders, this is a big deal for me. Thankfully Johnathan is armed with his machete again which gives me some comfort. We get into a tiny three man canoe - apparently the best place to see tarantulas and other big scary beasties is at night on tree trunks close to the water line. I tell Johnathan I am relieved that we will be in a canoe and not exploring on foot. But he looks confused. "Yes, but we have swimming spiders and tarantulas too," he explains, "But don't worry, they bite but they aren't poisonous, you won't die."

By this stage I am paralysed with fear. As we set off in the canoe into the pitch black jungle Johnathan tells us to switch on our head torches because the best way to spot a tarantula in the dark is to look for two red eyes glowing on the tree trunks. I sit in the canoe with my jacket zipped up around my head, thinking I can see red eyes everywhere.

It doesn't take long to see them for real. In the glow of my head lamp I suddenly see a big furry, palm-sized spider on a tree trunk about six inches from my face. "I think that's a tarantula" I stammer.

Johnathan tells us it is indeed a pink-toed tarantula. I can't tell if its toes are pink or not because I am trying not to scream. 

Johnathan then starts hacking away at some undergrowth taking us deeper into the jungle in search of more stuff. He calmly points out a swimming spider - it is about the same size as the tarantula and it is indeed swimming. Suddenly something plops into the water from a 

It is an amazing experience to see these creatures up close but it is the longest two hours of my life. I am proud to admit that I didn't scream though.  

The lodge is a fantastic place to experience the jungle - the guides are so knowledgable and if you are game they will happily take you in search of anything you want - and they seem to always know where to find it.

There is only one drawback about staying at a remote eco-lodge deep in the jungle - it in attracts it's fair share of eclectic characters who are determined to commune with nature and 'find themselves'. It makes from some pretty interesting conversations around the communal dining table. 

First we meet two Canadian women in their sixties who tell us they are energy healers - as far as I can tell this involves doing some kind of rebirthing therapy for adults in a pitch black swimming pool and using their 'great heart energy'. Then we meet an electrician from the UK and his wife who have jacked everything in to become professional Buddhists. But they explain that they have yet to become 'fully enlightened'. So they are travelling the world on various pilgrimmages hoping to meet Buddhist teachers who will enlighten them. Stef and I keep very quiet about what we do - admitting to any kind of corporate teat will probabably throw everyones chakras out of whack. 

Little did we know that just two nights later we would be sitting in a circle, holding hands with them all in the pitch black and getting blessed by a Shaman.

We stumbled upon the Shamanistic ritual entirely by accident, but once we were in the middle of it all, there wasn't any escape.

It all started when one of the Canadian energy healers caught a cold. I offered her some Nurofen, but she declined, explaining she had asked one of the guides to call in the Shamen from one of the local villages to see if he could help. She also revealed that during the night she woke up to find the spirit of a monkey bouncing on her bed. Stef gently asks her if perhaps it was an actual monkey that had been bouncing on her bed, given that we were indeed in the heart of the Amazon jungle. But she insists it is a monkey spirit and that she wants to see the Shamen so he can call the monkey back to find out why he visited her. I agree that Nurofen probably won't help with that, so the Shamen is called. Curious, so we decide to go along and see what it is all about.

The energy healers and a few others are sitting in the hammock room in front of the Shamen. I don't notice that they are actually sitting in a circle with their shoes and socks off until it is too late and we have plonked ourselves down next to them.

I am delighted to discover that the Shamen is indeed an old, wizened man. In front of him are lots of dusty bottles filled with various potions. Through an interpreter, because the Shamen only speaks Quechua, he explains what all the potions are - various tree roots, herbs and bark that are used to cure everything, from colds to impotence. He offers samples round. The energy healers are necking everything, from cold remedies to aphrodisiacs. Given that I am only just beginning to feel normal again after my tummy problems I decline.

The Shamen then explains that during a ceremony he is going to give each one of us an animal spirit guide that will stay with us forever. Stef and I exchange glances - it is too late to back out now and neither of us wants to contend with an offended Shamen. The Shamen gives everyone an animal guide. Stef and I are happy because we have both been given hawks. The Professional Buddhist is also chuffed because he has been given a Panther. However, the energy healers don't look too happy because they have both been given a Black Electric Eel as their guide. 

The ceremony begins - the lights are turned out and we are all asked to hold hands. Stef is first up - the Shamen blows smoke over him, then starts chanting whilst dousing his head in a pungent-smelling potion. I am trying not to laugh because it is running down Stef's face. The Shamen then starts waving palms leaves above Stef's head. He goes around us all in turn. It is really interesting to watch, so I am very grateful to the energy healers. They never did see the spirit monkey again though, funnily enough.

Johnathan later tells us that Shamanism is dying out in the Amazon because many of the young people in the tribes and villages no longer want to study it or follow the strict fasting diet and rituals involved to become a Shamen. He tells us that he once took part in a frog poison ritual in one village. It involves having your arm pricked in several places with a burning wooden stick then the poison from a particular frog is rubbed into the wounds. He shows us the scars on his arm. The poison instantly makes you vomit - which the Shamens believe cleanses you and gives you energy. Johnathan said that after the ceremony he was out of it for a couple of hours but then felt great and was able to play football the whole day. 

On our last day we ask Johnathan if he could take us to see some piranahs. He looks delighted. "Let's go fishing," he smiles. The second our fishing lines, baited with raw beef, hit the water we can feel things nibbling it in the murky depths. Johnathan catches his first piranah in seconds - it's a red-bellied piranah, the most aggressive kind apparently. He shows us it's razor-sharp teeth, they are indeed a creeyp, prehistoric looking fish. Johnathan catches them left, right and centre. Stef and I catch everything else but piranah. Back at the lodge, Johnathan frys them up for our lunch. They are surprisingly delicious. As a parting gift, he gives us the jaws of the piranah which he has cleaned for us. A very cool present from the jungle and a reminder of a truly fascinating part of our adventure.

Next stop, the Outer Exumas in the Bahamas, man, until the next time...

Love Beth xxx

Machu Picchu

It's incredibly difficult to describe Machu Picchu for the simple reason that  no one really knows why it was built or what purpose it served. That secret died with the Incas. But there are many theories about it and they all serve to add to the mystery surrounding what many people now call one of the new wonders of the world.

Some say it was a palace or summer house for the Inca king. Others think it was a place of study or university - because there are compass shaped rocks, places to observe the stars and the sun and of course scores of farming terraces that could have been designed for argricultural experimentation. Other people think it was a simply a small city because there are houses and what looks like a jail. There are also tombs indicating people obviously were buried in Machu Picchu when they died.

The first thing that strikes me about Machu Picchu is the sheer size of it - we've seen some impressive and large Inca ruins on the walk but Machu Picchu is massive, clinging precariously to a mountain ridge between two peaks called Machu Picchu (Old Mountain) and Huyana Pichu (Young Mountain). Below the ruins the terraces fan downwards towards the valley below. 

Despite its size it is easy to see why the place stayed hidden for centuries. Tucked away in the High Jungle, unless you knew Machu Picchu was there, you'd never find it.

Perhaps that's why it survived the Spanish invasion of Peru - in the 15th century, when the Inca King heard the Spanish had conquered Cusco, he ordered Machu Picchu (which was still being built) to be abandoned. And so it was left a ghost town, covered by the jungle for centuries until an American called Hiram Bingham discovered the ruins about 100 years ago. Even now there are still parts of Machu Picchu that have yet to be discovered.

I felt the best place to view Machu Picchu, once we had trekked down from the Sun Gate, was actually on a rocky outcrop near a building called the guards tower. It is the classic viewpoint you see in many of the photos and it is as mindblowing as you might expect. By this point the sun is shining, the mist has cleared. Our group spends ages on the rock taking photos and congratulating each other.

It's easy to tell the people who have just completed the Inca Trail - they are all on a natural (or perhaps coca induced) high, plus they are filthy, having walked for 4 days and endured extreme physical challenges to arrive the Inca way.

 The day trippers from Cusco mark a stark contrast - they are in huge tour groups wandering around the ruins and feasting on 'Machu Picchu burgers' (what else) in the cafeteria outside.

We couldn't help resenting them a bit - of course, the Inca Trail isn't for everyone  but we couldn't help wondering if they really appreciated Machu Picchu like the people who had lived and breathed it for four days. But perhaps after completing the trail I had a false sense of entitlement, coupled with a smattering of envy for their freshly washed hair and clothes.

Our guide shows us round the ruins and gives us his version of what he believes to be the story behind them. The masonry is amazing - so precise, the Inca building bricks are cut to perfection and it's mind boggling to wonder how they did it. But again, no one knows. We see what was believed to be the King's bedroom and his temples. His observatory for star gazing. Courtyards and the quarry where the stones were cut.

Later, Stef and Steven decide they want to climb Huyana Picchu, the famous vertical peak towering over the ruins. The view from the top is meant to be awesome but I don't have the energy - it is the steepest climb on the trail, part of it involves pulling yourself up on a rope, climbing floating steps and squeezing through narrow tunnels. It takes them 40 mins to reach the top and although it is a bit hairy, there are more ruins at the summit to explore and a postcard perfect view over Machu Picchu and the Andes.

I'm just content to wander around the ruins - there is so much to see and a day doesn't feel long enough.

At the risk of sounding too much like a hippy (I appreciate in the last post I go on about leaving coca leaves for Mother Nature, bear with me, it was an emotional few days) the rumour is that in a few years it might not be possible to trek the Inca trail anymore. It is already closed for a couple of months a year for maintenance and apparently the Peruvian government are concerned about erosion of the trail so are considering closing it to trekkers.

We therefore feel lucky to have been able to do the walk, see the incredible sights along the way and celebrate the end game arriving through the Sun Gate at Machu Picchu. It truly felt as if our journey there was just as important as the final destination since it was such an epic experience (hippy ramblings over!) 

As a thank you, Stef leaves his hiking boots (with some coca leaves tucked in the toe) for the porters. 

Before we leave the ruins our guide Reynaldo turns to us all and says;

"Look around you, this is Peru, welcome."

We are all in agreement that Peru is indeed an incredible country.

I can't wait for the next stage in our Peruvian adventure - a trip north to Iquitos and the Amazon jungle...

Until the next time,

Love Beth xxx

A Long Walk to the Lost City

Day 1

Our alarm goes off at 3am. But I am already awake, in fact, I have been for hours because my case of Peruvian tummy seems to have become worse. I am feeling so ill that I am seriously doubting that I will be able to trek the Inca Trail at all. It is devastating for both Stef and I. We talk it over and decide that I probably have the two hour bus journey from Cusco to Kilometre 82 (where we pass the check point and the Inca Trail begins) to decide whether I am able to go through with it or not. If not, I will have to go back to Cusco on the bus.

Somehow, Stef helps me into my hiking gear and we make our way to join our guides Marcelino and Reynaldo and the other seven members of our group on the waiting bus.

Marcelino takes one look at my waxy complexion and hands me a bin liner for the journey. Everyone looks at me sympathetically. There's nothing like sharing your tummy troubles with a bus load of strangers to break the ice. My saviours come in the form of two Brazlian bombshell doctors called Gabriella and Leticia who are part of our group. They give me a handful of pills they have brought with them from Brazil. Marcelino our guide suggests I try herbal tea instead. I take the Brazilian pills. I don't know what they were but I crash out on the bus and by some mircale, when Stef shakes me awake at Kilometre 82 I feel so much better. And I decide I can do it.

As we get off the bus we finally meet our porters. There are 16 of them and they are busy loading everything we need for the trek - 4 days worth of food, camping gear, gas and tents into huge backpacks. We all lay our kit out on tarps on the ground and check we have everything we need for the trek including our passports to pass the checkpoints along the way. Only 500 people are permitted to start the Inca Trail each day and if you don't have your passport and permit, you can't start the trail.

Stef and I have paid extra for a porter to carry some of our gear so all we need to take is our day packs containing our water, cameras and waterproof clothes.

Once everyone is ready we are all feeling pretty excited - taking photos of each other beside the Kilometre 82 sign. We pass the checkpoint, get our passports stamped and then cross a perilous-looking bridge over the raging river beside the checkpoint and we are off. No turning back now - we are walking for 4 days.

Our group is a mixed bag - as well as us, there are two Irish lads called Andrew and Steven, the Brazilian bombshells, a Texan called Mark, a 20 year old Austrian called Cristo and Laura who is in her forties and from LA.

At first the trail slopes gently upwards and runs alongside the river and the railway line (these days it is possuble to take a train from Cusco to just outside Machu Picchu). As the train whistles past us Marcelino points and says 'That train is for the losers, we are the ones who are doing it the Inca way and making the pilgrimmage to Machu Picchu'. It is a pretty special moment. Especially because we all know there are going to tbe tough times ahead. The Inca Trail is 45km, which doesn't sound far given the trek is spread over 4 days. But it's not the distance that is the difficult part, it is the very steep uphill climbs and downhill climbs - we are soon to discover that flat isn't a word associated with the Inca Trail. Apart from the first hour or so of walking, the rest of the trail is either a gruelling uphill or downhill slog. 

We start at 9000ft and as the trail begins to climb upwards we see more of the Andes high above us - there are huge glaciers and soaring peaks. It is a glorious day, the sun is beating down and the trail winds past rivers and streams. 

Suddenly our guides shout 'porters!' and we all flatten ourselves against the mountain side as our team of porters thunder past. It is a humbling sight - each of them is carry a 25kg backpack and they run the trail, many in little more than a pair of flipflops. I can't help feeling a bit conscious of my brand new hiking boots. The porters always start walking after us but overtake and finish before us. The first time we see them they are all wearing red and we nickname them 'the Red Ninjas'.

The tough climb starts and by the time we reach our first lunch stop we are all panting, sweating and generally exhausted. Apart from Cristo, the Austrian, who we discover lives in the Alps at altitude and climbs moutains every day or something.

By some miracle the porters have set up a big dining tent, there are bowls ready for us to wash in and then we are served a three course lunch right there on the mountain side. It is delicious and everyone is starving.

That afternoon we see our first Inca ruin. What I hadn't realised about the Inca Trail is that apart from the end game of Machu Picchu there are heaps of amazing Inca forts, temples and outposts along the trail that served the Incas as they made their pilgrimmage to Machu Picchu. The first is a sizable town, complete with the famous Inca terraces. It is impressive - and I can only imagine what Machu Picchu must be like in comparison.

That afternoon we climb to around 11,000ft, a gain of 2000ft on rocky, uneven ground. It's hot and relentless.

We've covered 14km by the time we reach our camp and I flop down on the grass - both Stef and I are soaked through with sweat (nice). Even the Brazilian bombshells are looking a bit hot and bothered. It has been an exhausting but rewarding first day - we got through it and I am just so glad to be there on the trail. The view from our tent is jaw-dropping, we are on a cliff and the Andes are soaring high above and below us.

We have a happy hour in the dining tent (hot chocolate and lots of popcorn) and our guide talks us through the briefing for the following day. Day Two is the day everyone is most nervous about and the most challenging day of the trail. As if Day 1 wasn't tough enough.

Day 2

We get woken up by the porters with a cup of coca tea at 5am. Stef has caught a stinking cold and with the altitude he is struggling to breathe. Our guides give him some coca leaves to chew to numb his sore throat (coca leaves are the cure for everything it seems).

As everyone eats breakfast in the dining tent we are all very quiet and the apprehension is palpable because today we will be covering 16km, climbing to the top of the infamous Dead Woman's Pass at 13,800ft. Since we camped at 11,000 we will be climbing nearly 3,000ft up a steep stone staircase laid by those crazy Incas. Then once we have reached the summit we then have to climb down the otherside another 2,000ft. All of this is to be done before lunch. 

I assume it is called Dead Woman's Pass because that is how you feel when you reach the summit but our guides tell us it's because the mountain resembles the sillhouette of a dead woman staring at the sky.

There's nothing to be done but grit our teeth and get on with it. What a slog. Step up after step up. But the landscape changes dramatically as we climb higher and we reach the edge of the cloud forest - there are orchids and condors circling. Big ferns and dense trees. Then suddenly we are through the forest and climbing higher and the cloud line is getting closer. The porters thunder past and I am exhausted just watching them. After two hours solid climbing we stop for a snack. Then it's another two hours climb to the summit.

The path winds on but suddenly we round a bend on the mountain and I can make out a few people at the summit. It is in sight and it gives me the boost I need.

Stef and I decide to power up it as fast as we can. The air is much thinner now so we are more out of breath. But finally we are on the last step and at the top. Everyone in our group is estatically high fiving each other. My legs are trembling after 4 hours solid climbing but I don't care - we did it. We are at the cloud line and clouds and mist are swirling around us. The temperature drops dramatically. We are in the High Andes now at nearly 14,000ft. I feel on top of the world.

But the celebrations are short-lived because it is soon time to descend the other side of Dead Woman's pass and it will take us 2 hours to climb down. It's not as physically exhausting as the uphill but it is more of a mental challenge because you have to think about every step - the suface is very uneven and rocky, it is all too easy to slip and plummet down or twist and ankle. I am so glad I opted for a hiking pole for support. Then it starts to bucket down with rain. We stop and quickly put on our waterproofs and rain ponchos. It's hard to see where we are going and freezing cold. It's true what they say about mountain whether changing in a flash. On the Inca Trail, our guides say it is possible to see four seasons in one day.

By the time we reach our lunch stop we are soaked. We huddle inside the dining tent.

Once we've refuelled it is back out into the elements - we now have to climb 1,500ft up to the second pass and then down another 1,500ft on the other side to reach our camp for the night. As our guide says, 'There is no such thing as flat in the Andes."

We see some amazing Inca ruins on the way and because of the nature of the climb the group splits off. Sometimes we end up walking with the Irish lads who keep us laughing. We stop to rest with them every 10 mins of climbing because we are all getting so tired now. On the steep descent it is just Stef and I alone with the wind whipping us and the Andes all around. It is pretty special. Even more special when we get to camp and I'm the first girl to arrive. All the porters clap and I high five everyone. Once we have all arrived we work out that we have been walking for 10.5 solid hours excluding breaks. About six hours  were continual climbing. I can't believe we did it.

We all go to bed at 8pm because we are all so exhausted - it is also bitterly cold because we are at the cloud line and Stef is feeling really ill with his cold. But unfortunately, because it is so cold not many of us sleep.

Day 3

The day starts off really badly because at about 1am I realise the curse of the Peruvian tummy is back. It is freezing and as I am sitting in our tent throwing up into a plastic bag I wonder what the hell I am doing in these mountains and I have a few tears. Stef does his best to comfort me - he is still feeling terrible himself. The next morning I am still feeling shocking The guides try to get me to eat because I will need the energy - we have an 11km walk with a climb to start and then a 3000ft descent to our final campsite before Machu Picchu. But I can't eat anything. Turns out I am not the only one - poor Irish Steven is in the same boat. We seek out the Brazilians who give us some of their magic pills. I'm feeling very weak and so is Steven because neither of us have been able to eat anything. We climb at the back together, comparing bouts of nausea. Steven has to periodically dash off into the bushes. I am glad I am not the only one feeling like this. I literally drag myself through the climb, only thinking about my feet and where to put them. The meds seems to help a bit and Steven and I manage to eat some biscuits. 

The descent is tough going -  we have now reached the high jungle, it is humid and slippery there are mossies. I just keep thinking about what my feet are doing. But I can't help but notice the beauty around me - hummingbirds flit around, there are huge, lavish orchids and vines. 

By the afternoon we reach camp and after an hour's lie down I feel much better. Our guide takes us to what he says is his favourite Inca ruin - a place called The Town in the Clouds. It's impressive - there are altars, temples with windows over looking the terraces and the valley below. We arrive there at dusk and there is hardly anyone else there. It feels very ancient and mysterious.

We are all pretty excited too because tomorrow morning we will arrive at the Sun Gate before sunrise and get our first glimpse of dawn breaking over Machu Picchu. After the exertion and challenge of the Inca Trail it feels like the Holy Grail is within reach.

Day 4 

The guides wake us at 3am. We have to be ready to get to the last checkpoint at 3.30am. It opens at 5.30am and the queue of other groups is likely to be huge. We want to be one of the first to reach the Sun Gate before everyone else so we need to start walking at 5.30am on the dot. It is a one hour descent then 100 steps up to the Sun Gate that are affectionately known to the guides as the Gringo Killers because they are so steep. Great. From there it is another hour walk down to Machu Picchu. But we are all ready for it.

The day dawns grey, rainy and humid. We pack up for the last time and sit at the last checkpoint in the dark, playing cards. Stef gets out his Ipod and plays The Final Countdown. We are all really pumped and excited - this is it. There are already about 5 groups waiting ahead of us. There are so many people behind. 

When the checkpoint opens everyone cheers and we start hiking. Our guide helpfully tells us that we are on the most dangerous section of the Inca Trail - it is the most narrow and there are often landslides - only last year a woman died in a landslide hiking that section of the trail. 

People are walking quickly - too quickly - some are even running, pushing people out of the way in the bid to reach the Sun Gate first. It's a shame. Our group adopts a speedy pace but we stick together.

We make it up the Gringo Killers and as we do we pass an Inca altar carved into some rock. Reynaldo, our guide, explains that many Incas who had made the pilgrimmage to Machu Picchu stopped there to make an offering to Mother Nature as a thank you for getting them to the end of their journey safely. Stef and I pause - we each take three coca leaves and put them on the altar. We were both so grateful that we had reached the end of our epic journey safely too.

We round a corner and two high stone walls are either side of us, we are walking through a doorway. Our guides congratulate us - we have reached the Sun Gate. I hold my breath desperate for my first look at the lost city. But in front of us is a total white-out - it is so misty we can't see anything. 

"Just wait here," the guides says. We do.

Suddenly, without any warning the clouds break a little far below us. A shaft of sunlight breaks through the cloud and rain and in front of us, a rainbow arcs across the sky and exactly beneath it, illuminated, are the ruins of Machu Picchu. Yes, beneath a rainbow. They are even more spectacular, monolith and mind-blowing than they look in the photos. 

Everyone gapes. Even the guides who have seen it a thousand times. We try taking photos but they can't capture the beauty of that rainbow over the city  in the sky. Our guides say they have never seen a rainbow directly above the ruins before. We were truly lucky and that mental snapshot will stay with me forever.

As we walk down the track to the ruins, taking photos, congratulating each other that we'd made it, ready for a day exploring Machu Picchu, I think we were all silently thanking Mother Nature for making our first glimpse of this place so unforgettably special.