Hairdressers, cuy, toe-pokes, gym posers, the Peruvian 'winter'...and now Buenos Aires

3pm Thu 14 June: I'm in Nati's hairdressers with bleach on my head, so have an hour to write a blog in my notebook.
Our eight weeks in Lima are up as, on Tuesday, we head to Buenos Aires (in my top three world cities with Melbourne and Sydney) before London on June 27, nine months and nine days after we left on Sep 18 last year.
We've enjoyed our time in Peru. I couldn't just sit here and do nothing, so, now, I can understand just about any conversation in Spanish; my irritating shoulder problems are improving after gym sessions which also gave me (more!) muscle, and; thanks to the internet, I've polished off nine months of business and personal tasks which awaited me in England.
The world makes a lot more sense now, too, thanks to the great history book mentioned in previous blog (below).
Did you know the reason Britain became a world power was because the 1381 Peasants' Revolt ended the feudal system 400 years before countries like France? No? Well, now you do.
The weather here's got an England-in-September feel to it now, but this is 'winter.' Peruvians love complaining about how 'cold' it is...even running for shelter when a ferocious storm of light drizzle broke out the other day.
The food in Nati's family's house is as sensational as ever (oh, those beans...bring it on!).
There's some cuy (guinea pig, Peru's second-most famous dish after ceviche (raw fish marinated in lemon)) in the house at the mo...but unfortunately won't be eating it as it's running round the garden as the new family pet.
Still playing football with my Limenos pals, although some aspects of the sport here may explain why Peru were 4-0 down to Mexico in 28mins the other day.
Apart from not passing and shooting from impossible distance or angles (often both), deliberate handball is perfectly acceptable, as is standing 20cm from the subsequent free-kick.
It doesn't stop there.
The toe-poke, derided as a skilless punt by anyone over the age of eight in England, is the preferred style of pass and...you've guessed it...shot.
An hour in a Peruvian gym is equally amusing, but with a colossal dollop of vanity thrown in. Duncan, even you would wince!
The most popular technique is this:
1 Noisily drag bench to most prominent space available (blocking walkway if possible).
2 Take ridiculous position, preferably lie-on-back-at-45-degrees-angle-with-legs-in-air, grunt louder than Maria Sharapova hitting a booming forehand and lift weights too heavy for you, so pals have help you complete lift.
3 Dramatically toss dumb-bells on floor; flex muscles in mirror for minimum 10secs.
Note: Never put weights back on rack, leave on floor for someone to trip on.
Other techniques: One short, actually-quite-fat guy squat-jumps across the gym with weights, attempting to get as much attention as possible afterwards by appearing exhausted as if on the verge of death. Then, he does sprints across gym, dodging people lifting 50kg, followed by the point-of-death routine again.
Two other guys whipped their shirts off for a photoshoot on their friend´s mobile phone camera. Then, the other day, one of them took his top off in a packed gym, to parade in the mirror front of everyone. Oh my God...loser!
Ok, my blog's finished and so is my hair-dying. It's not all blonde...I´m too mature for that...just highlights.
Thanks from both of us for the emails and remember you can comment by clicking the ‘COMMENTS’ tab below. Click on 'Anonymous' to publish comment.
Saludos to all. If you're in Peru, hasta luego and, if you're in England, hasta pronto.
Ali y Nati

Spanglish humour, fruit madness, footballers who don´t pass and Thundercats

7pm Wed 28 May: There have been some unfortunate moments during my DIY Spanish lessons in Lima.
Like the time I used the handy tip that many Spanish words are the old-fashioned English ones with an 'o' or 'a' on the end.
Errr...apart from embarazo and yo caliente.
They don't mean embarrassed and I´m hot...but pregnant and I´m horny. Oh, that's why Nati's family were laughing.
Dropped an even bigger clanger yesterday.
Announcing to Nati that my pal Cago had emailed me, muffled guffaws broke out, as Nati explained cago actually means I´m sh*tting!
Moving on...we´ve had five fun weeks in Peru. It's very different to England and attracts 60,000 British tourists every year.
If you want to find out more about the Land of the Incas, do one of the following: ask Nati and I; ask Neil and Jules (they visited a couple of years ago); watch the new Indiana Jones movie (see those Nazca Lines? Bounced over them in a shaky four-seater Cessna a few years ago), or; click on http://www.lonelyplanet.com/worldguide/peru/
My favourite trip wasn't to an Inca ruin or old church, but to Lima's colossal fruit markets. Think entire indoor calles de platanos (streets of bananas)...went a bit crazy and we've just finished (thank God) a crate of 100 tunas (delicious cactus fruit, watch the spikes) and another of 100 oranges. Please never show me an orange again, I will have to punch you.
Playing footy every Saturday with friends of Nati's cousin, Martin. It's enjoyable but the word 'pass' has obviously never been translated into Spanish.
And educating myself (don't say it...) with this excellent world history book:
http://www.amazon.com/History-World-Plantagenet-Somerset-Fry/dp/0756612446
Lima has just ground to a halt (literally - they closed all the main roads) for a big conference in which Venezuela president Hugo Chavez accused Germany's Chancellor Angela Merkel of sharing Hitler's ideas.
When the roads are open, you have to remember a golden rule when crossing: always look the wrong way, even if it seems inconceivable that a tiny moto (tuk-tuk) would shoot the wrong way down a dual carriageway. Believe me, they do.
I still love my favourite internet cafe - I've now got my own chair and they even watch Thundercats, my favourite cartoon as a child and funnier when Lion-O speaks dubbed Spanish.
Going to Buenos Aires for a week at the end of June, then heading back to London at the start of July.
Hope you are well, thanks for the emails and look forward to seeing you soon.
Ali y Nati

I've finally given this blog a big update...so grab a coffee, put your feet up, have a read below and I might even entertain you.
Let us know what you think by clicking the ‘COMMENTS’ tab below. It takes two seconds - click on 'Anonymous' to publish your comment.
You can now check out some cool pics from our last five months on the road here: http://picasaweb.google.com/agrantabroad/Alinatipics

Lima, www.di.fm, the best food, aerobics, habla espanol & ceviche,

3pm Apr 25: I'm in my favourite Peruvian cybercafe (quick broadband; 1 sol or 17p an hour; 1min to Nati's house), listening to undoubtedly the internet's best invention, the marvellous, thumping home of house and trance music which is http://www.di.fm/.
You may have heard me rave about di before - but click on the 'Listen Now' tab and your net time will never be the same, I promise.
Nati's very happy to be with her family again and I'm really enjoying being in Lima as well. As usual here, I'm loving genuinely the best food I've ever tasted from Nati's amazing mum. Sorry, mum, she's better - it's true!
Joined a gym for hardcore aerobic dance classes (!!) and to sort out my dodgy shoulders once and for all, and studying Spanish every day.
Also signing up for a footy team, brushing up on my world history with the great book my Lincoln pal Phil's lent me, and celebrating my 31st birthday tomorrow with Peru's best food, ceviche (raw fish marinated in lemon; http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ceviche) and a particularly massive night out.
Lima can get a bad rep from backpackers. It's true parts aren't that nice...but, hey, this is South America, man, and anyone been to Brixton lately?
We're having fun with Nati's family and friends, hitting the mall and spending time with Nati's abu (granny) in Chosica, a nice town with a beautiful Plaza de Armas (main square) full of old men playing chess.
It's autumn here now, and that doesn't mean cold, dark, rainy days but mid-20s sunshine all day every day, perfect shorts & T-shirt weather.
Now I have time to catch up on the net, I'll blog again soon.
Saludos a todo
Ali y Nati

VIP, aramettos and Santiago's coolest suburb

7pm Sun 20 Apr: We're en route to Lima and are abusing the food and bar (ok, it's mainly me) in Sao Paulo airport's VIP lounge (British Airways card blag!), so I've got time to write a notebook blog about Santiago before ordering another amaretto liqueur...hic.

Chile's capital seemed a bit boring when I visited three years ago, but this time, with a tip from LAN's in-flight magazine, we found hip Barrio Bellas Artes.

This triangular suburb of characterful buildings and pavement cafes is a stroll through Parque Forestal from the city centre.

Had a very pleasant (romantic even) couple of days sipping hot chocolates and admiring grand old architecture. Also hung out with Natalie from France, seen with Nati admiring 20 different fruits on offer in the pic above.

Chilled out in artists' favourite Valparaiso, a rather grubby port with hillsides full of gorgeous, pastel-coloured homes.
Right...that's enough blogging...barman! Another of those nice amaretto things...obrigado.

Moais, Long Ears, Short Ears, wars, birdmen, Kon Tiki & an old jeep - in the most remote place in the world

8pm Fri 18 Apr: We're in busy Chilean beach town Vina del Mar on a chilly autumn evening - so I've got time to scratch my head over one of the world's biggest mysteries, in the most isolated place on the globe: Easter Island.
The planet's most remote inhabited island, famous for its giant Moai heads, is 3,700km west of South America and 1,900km east of Pitcairn Island (population 50 and of Mutiny on the Bounty fame; see French Polynesia blog below). In fact, EI, or Rapa Nui in Polynesian, is so in the middle of nowhere that, although it's a Chilean territory, it's actually in Oceania.
The stone Moais, up to 10m tall, stood on the 245 ceremonial centres which once packed this tiny 6km x 20km volcanic speck.
How on earth did people from Indonesia & the Philippines first travel here 1,200 years ago? Why did their society split into the Long Ears and Short Ears? How did they carve moais using not chisels and hammers but blunt rocks...and then move them up to 18km? Why did their civilisation destroy itself in wars which toppled every moai? And how did the even-more-mysterious birdman culture take over?
See http://www.bbc.co.uk/science/horizon/2003/easterisland.shtml and http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Easter_Island for more on this fascinating, baffling place.
For me, the most amazing thing is that the moais, which resemble the remains of a culture like the ancient Egyptians or Greeks, were knocked down fewer than 200 years ago.
And the birdman cult - the real deal, not Alcatraz - sent men tumbling down cliffs, rafting to a wild island, searching for bird eggs, with the winner living in a cave for a year, until 1867.
This is the story which the amazing Thor Heyerdahl (of Kon Tiki fame; http://www.guardian.co.uk/Archive/Article/0,4273,4397210,00.html) tackled by arguing the vast Pacific's islands were settled not by Asians, but by South Americans.
Something really amazing actually happened on EI.
We hired a jeep as old as the moais themselves and bumped down one of the island's many abysmal tracks on a day when it had rained continuously since 8am.
Walking round Ahu Akivi's seven moais by ourselves in the rain, the sun surprisingly ducked beneath a cloud over the sea, flooding the statues in sunset light and creating a double rainbow (one thick, paint-like), arcing perfectly over the moais.
It was absolutely unexpected and, genuinely, one of the most breathtaking moments in my life.
Alongside that time Lincoln City beat Grimsby, of course.
The Easter Island photos which blog readers may recognise are of Ahu Tongariki, a line-up of 15 moais on a plain between two volcanos, backed by crashing Pacific waves, and Rano Raraku, the bewildering quarry of 600 moais either poking out from green hillside or peering over a giant crater lake.
Being the most isloated place in the world, EI is a bit of a country bumpkin place.
This really hit home on a night out, which made Ritzy in Lincoln, the Watershed in Wimbledon and that awful 10p-a-pint, late-night Irish pub whose name escapes me in Southampton, seem like a Ferrero Rocher ambassador's reception.
Arriving at EI's (only) pub with our nice Chilean friend Mariana, locals including pensioners were either slumped (asleep or semi-conscious) over their tables, or dancing wobbily to a so-called DJ's ridiculous song selection. First was synth-pop panpipes, then salsa, then techno, then remixed Erasure.
At least we didn't come to the most remote inhabited place in the world to go clubbing.

Mutiny on the Bounty, black pearls, pamplemousse, do nothing, a ray ride & Finding Nemo

FRENCH POLYNESIA

Depending on the person, the word 'Tahiti' brings to mind images of honeymoon bungalows on stilts in the sea; white-sand atolls; the Mutiny on the Bounty http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mutiny_on_the_Bounty); amazing coral and surf; and tales of South Seas black pearls.

However...the reality is that overpopulated, black-sand Tahiti (in vast French Polynesia) does not fulfill these Robinson Crusoe fantasties.

But the really, really great news is that the surrounding islands do that and more.

Scattered across the South Pacific, the Society Islands, which we're visiting, are ancient volcanic peaks, now bursting with plants and trees and sticking out of lagoons of varying jaw-dropping shades of blue-green-white. See pic above.

These lagoons (swimming heaven) are surounded by reef and coral islands ('motus', full of coconut trees), onto which big waves pound.

Maupiti was our favourite spot amid this baffling beauty, and not just for a reason some of you have heard about! This 4km-wide island, population 1,000 and more beautiful than Bora Bora, amazingly attracts almost no tourists. There are no hotels, only pensions.

There are also virtually no food supplies, due to a boat row, meaning the options for us (two of the world's leading fruit fans) were the fantastically-named pamplemousse, more pamplemousse and even more pamplemousse.

It's an enormous grapefruit, sweeter than in England and sometimes the size of my head.

Pamplemousse problems aside, we stayed Chez Manu, a lovely, plump Polynesian lady who had a sideline in paninis and had a very thin, lazy boyfriend called Jean-Claude.

Many women in these parts are big girls, and we found out why when Manu's long-overdue panini cafe food delivery arrived. A fully-stocked van was unloaded, consisting, to my amusement, entirely of Coca-Cola and Fanta.

We got stuck into another pamplemousse and quickly adopted to the locals' way of life, which consisted of doing nothing all day, then going to bed at 9pm.

The people aren't lazy - there just aren't any jobs in this tiny place, as is the case on many of French Polynesia's 118 islands spread across 2.5million square km of the South Pacific.

Major activites are drinking Hinano beer and playing ukeleles and petanque (boules).

We passed the time at a majestic beach, which we visited on bizarre bikes with fixed-chain brakes, and kayaking and swimming. This included - breathtakingly - a dip in the middle of the lagoon, with a volcano on one side and motu sand island on the other, possible after wading out on a submerged sand-spit.

Bora Bora is like a bigger Maupiti, but not quite as nice. It's jammed with tourists thanks to honeymoon holiday marketing continuing the popularity which began with American soldiers based here in World War Two.

To be fair, it's still pretty amazing, though.

The breezy balcony where I'm writing this blog is lovely and we had a crazy day yesterday snorkelling with 1.5m black-tip sharks, 2.5m lemon sharks and 1m-wingspan stingrays.

The rays were so friendly, somewhat alarmingly brushing their jellyish skin on our chests. Managed to briefly ride a ray - not every day you can say that! - dangling a fish in front of his mouth before the big fella sucked in (they have no teeth) his lunch so strongly he almost took my fingers with it.

Dived into French Poly's tumultous history of settlement (by catamaran canoe from Indonesia...Sir Steve Redgrave eat your heart out), explorers, whalers, missionaries, conquest and the almost-total destruction of native Polynesian culture.

That is is one thing travelling has taught me: every country I've visited where European colonists took over had its natives die in apalling numbers, through persecution, wars and, most devastatingly, disease - as these people had no natural immunity against European illnesses.

Got in touch with the locals in French Poly by learning their surfers' hello gesture (outstretched thumb and little finger)...this is where surfing was invented, after all. Also got picked out at a dance show to join in a mini-Tahitian traditional Olympics, throwing spears at a coconut and lifting a giant rock to head-height. Didn't try the open-a-coconut-with-your-teeth trick, though.

Now time to put right a few misconceptions about Tahiti and French Poly.

There are almost NO sandy beaches here. Even on the motu reef islands, beaches are sometimes beautifully sandy but equally as often scattered with spiky coral.

And as for the underwater coral itself, it's often not that impressive, certainly compared to reefs in Australia, SE Asia and Egypt.

What are impressive are the staggering lagoons and the fish - and the phenomenal quantity of them. Spotted dozens of species we'd never seen before, including the Nemo clownfish, found hiding in their anemone house on an island called Huahine, which strangely and amusingly (well, for me, anyway), translates as 'vagina.'

As French Poly is so remote, with almost everything imported, it's extortionately expensive, more than twice the price of England and above prices in Japan, Norway or Switzerland. The problem is the quality of accommodation and general infastructure is closer to that of Thailand.

The good news: a package holiday (which we didn't do) slashes the £600 A NIGHT cost of a hotel bungalow on stilts in the sea.

We juggled the costs, made a load of friends hitching around (public transport is almost non-existent)...and...what's better than sipping a bottle of gorgeous French wine on a Bora Bora pension balcony anyway?