Day 56 – Pampas to Rurrenabaque

After another roasting and restless night this morning's option of swimming with dolphins seemed marginally more appealing than being left to swelter in my mosquiito and cockroach filled coffin, however having seen and smelt the swamp water I was expected to dive into I quickly re evaluated my wisdom – and the supposed intelligence of the dolphins. I was also somewhat concerned by the guide's reassurance that 'The alligators are scared of the dolphins' because if I was a 3 metre killing machine, I would be scared of a poxy dolphin too.

After lunch we sailed back to Rurrenabaque feeling more tired than a Jennifer Aniston script and sweating like a suicide bomber in sheepskin trousers. I headed straight for the shower which was a wonder to behold; the tiles seemed as if they had been hand crafted by Italian artisans, the water was as fresh as an angels tears and the soap was... Sorry, this analogy would have continued further if the soap had not, at that moment, slipped out of my hands done a perfect arc and landed squarely in the toilet.

Later that day I went to collect my plane ticket for the flight back to La Paz – no way was I spending 20 hours on a stinking bus when the flight was only 45 minutes – 'Sorry sir there is a problem with the Monday flights...they are all delayed'

Not good, 'Until when?'

'Friday'

Not good at all.

Day 55 – Pampas

It is not often that you find yourself waist deep in stinking water first thing in the morning. Today I was. In fairness the room I stayed in last night was so hot, humid, insect ridden and uncomfortable that this was preferable. The fact that the tour guide had buggered off leaving us idiots standing there with the instruction 'Shout if you see an anaconda' made it slightly less so. I can't complain, this was an anaconda hunt we were on so when our guide did find one – and a bloody big one it was too – we were all very pleased if slightly intimidated.

As I only managed about three hours sleep last night I was hoping for a rest in the afternoon, this hope was short-lived as the temperature continued to rise and our wooden room took on all the properties of a sauna – albeit a very unhygienic one. We set off in the boat (which was the only way to keep cool) to fish for piranha, however although a few people caught some it appears I used all my luck in retrieving our clothes two days ago.

As each hour passed another ten mosquitos got through my multiple layers.

Day 54 – Rurrenabaque to Pampas

The day started extremely well with the welcome news that the girl with the foghorn-lungs was not going to be joining us for the rest of the trip so the chances of actually seeing some wildlife have gone up faster than a white flag on a French battlefield.

A three hour jeep ride took the remaining seven of us to a boat for a further two hours ride into the pampas – which I now know is just a far more enticing way of saying swamps, and everybody knows what likes to live in swamps: mosquitos. Millions of mosquitos.

Luckily we had been pre-warned, so the previous day along with the Canadians Geoff and Jenney we had gone to a second-hand clothing shop to buy what we had been assured were the best clothes – very loose white shirts. Being 400km from anywhere remotely inhabited the choice was limited to say the least and hence I was now sporting the sort of shirt Michael Bolton would consider 'looked a bit unmanly'. As well as hoping the mosquitos would be too busy laughing at my ludicrous attire to be able to clamp onto my flesh I was also covering myself in three types of insect repellent, one of which was so strong it melted the plastic coating off the top of my watch. Did any of it stop the mosquitos? Not a bit.

The boat ride was enjoyable enough (apart from the endless slapping of mosquitos which just made us look like a drunken oompah band) and we saw lots of caimans, pink dolphins and turtles. As we neared the accommodation lodge the clouds cleared and the sun started to shine, it continued to beat down, soon the heat was relentless.

The architect who designed our lodge obviously held a secret admiration for Japanese designers, more acurately Japanese designers of the 1940's who specialised in prisoner of war camps. Our lodge was reminiscent of this style without the home comforts. When the guide asked if we would like to sail to the local pub, he was nearly crushed in the stampede and the beers we drank steeled our nerves nicely when he started pulling caimans out of the water on the way home – and neatly explained the question of his missing fingers.

Day 53 – Amazon Jungle to Rurrenabaque

Maybe it was the long day yesterday, maybe the walking, maybe the heat, perhaps all three but I had a great sleep last night. At breakfast a couple of others confirmed they had slept just as well 'I didn't hear the cicadas, the howler monkeys or any other animal, it was the bloody loudmouth Sally who woke me up'. True enough, not content with being boring, she is incredibly annoying and clearly audible from a distance of at least 500 metres – not the best person to be on a wildlife walk with. Poaching is illegal here, I wonder if murder is too?

The boat arrived into the surprisingly pleasant town of Rurrenabaque at around noon and the promise of a hot shower after two days in the jungle was as welcome as a free punch at Christian Ronaldo's head.

Feeling refreshed – both by the shower and the ice cold beer – we were forced to tackle the problem of our clothes. As the ones we had been wearing for the last two days were so filthy they were starting to move by themselves (that could have been all the insects) we had to quickly wash our stuff and get it onto the roof in the hope that the sun would dry it in time for tomorrow morning when we left civilization for another two days in the wilderness.

After diligently washing and hanging all our stuff out to dry I returned two hours later to find that CIara had moved it all to a 'sunnier spot'. What she has failed to realise was that although the spot was far sunnier it was also over a 10 metre drop and thus a large part of our very small wardrobe was now staring up at us from the corrugated-iron roof of next door's restaurant. After much deliberation and the realisation that we could not get anywhere near the roof we hacked down the hotel washing line and tied it to my Swiss Army knife (attachments fully opened) then spent the next 30 minutes enjoying a huge fairground-like fishing game where the prizes were some very poor quality clothing goods.

Sud América Gut Rot League © – Pacena is Bolivia's best selling beer – I just can't see why. I don't think a Bolivian beer is going to make it into the charts, still it made the fishing far more enjoyable.

1. Cristal

2. Pilsen Polar

3. Franca

4. Cusqueña Negra

5. Conquer

Day 52 – Amazon Jungle

I have seen less dirt on a tramps vest than on the pillows we were given by our guide last night, but I won't complain as they were comfortable and the manufacturers boast of the tent being waterproof stood up to a good midnight soaking and gave two fingers to the rain.

The boat sailed deeper into the jungle today whilst the group jumped off for walks through the rainforest along the way. On one such walk the Chilean girl (Claudia) had regaled us with her previous travel stories which included being kidnapped at gunpoint, robbed (4 times) and in general enjoying the kind of luck a turkey gets at Christmas – I think the boat may have found it's Jonah. You would have thought that someone as error prone as her – upon arrival at the edge of a waterfall – would have shown an extreme amount of caution. I had that exact thought, exactly four seconds before she slipped and disappeared over the top. Before the rest of us were able to start dividing-up her food rations for the rest of the week our guides had leapt into action and somehow managed to stop her from plunging further down the rock face to certain doom below escaping with just a few cuts and bruises.

That evening after a night walk through the jungle we camped deep in the forest. As luck would have it, our group contained one of those incredibly outdoorsy types, the sort of bloke who spends three weeks in Wales during November with just a compass, a Swiss Army Knife and a tin of corned beef. It was great fortune for us, as all I had to say was 'Shall we make a fire?' before Tom was scaling trees for wood, binding tree-trunks together for benches and digging out irrigation channels.

Day 51 – La Paz to the Amazon Jungle

Today was the start of a three day boat ride into the Amazon Jungle, as has been typical over the last couple of weeks it was lashing rain as we were picked up at 5am and consequently the promised five hour bus ride to the river gradually got longer and longer and longer. There was six other people on the trip with us; two Canadians, three English and a Chilean as well as our guide, the cook and a couple of dubious looking helpers.

I would like to say it was a beautiful relaxing bus ride and I was able to leisurely read my book and contemplate the meaning of life and the greater universe, I found that impossible however as our driver would career around hairpin corners as I was left peering down 300m sheer cliff faces onto the raging river below. You can't imagine the joy I felt when we would come bumper-to-bumper with another bus or oil tanker and would then have to reverse back around the same bend. The Great Gatesby has never been read with such a feeling that the end of the book would never be reached.

In due course we made it to the Rio Beni river and the extreme terror of the bus journey was left behind to a more sedate sail along the river and into the jungle. Due to the lateness of the bus and the imminent setting sun we did not make it as far downriver as the campsite, so our guide was forced to haggle with an elderly native to let us stay in his village which was great, however, I made sure that the giant cooking pot in the corner was never put near the fire.

Whenever CIara and I find ourselves in a new tour group we play a game called Country Name Drop. The rules are simple, anyone who unnecessarily manages to crow-bar a country that they have visited into the conversation gets a point. It is usually won by people who have done very little travelling, people who are incredibly dull or Australians. Recently, we have heard such winning lines as 'This is the same kind of rain you get in Vietnam', 'This is not like the forest in Pananma'. Today we came across an English girl (Sally) who in the space of just seven hours managed a staggering 24 points – not even Pele can boast that strike rate – as anticipated, each story was tedious enough to bore a Buddhist into a life of debauchery.

Day 50 – La Paz

Another day, another tour to be booked and another morning spent trying to sort out the myriad options and more importantly the cowboys from the legitimate operators. After finding a decent company who would guide us for the next week into the Amazon jungle and pampas regions of Northern Bolivia we were then hindered by the fact that very few ATMs seem to work in La Paz and those that do dispense about enough cash to buy a packet of crisps. Having wandered for what seemed an eternity, we then did the same again looking for a supermarket to buy supplies for the jungle.

Whilst wandering the streets I was intrigued when I saw a couple of dread-locked fire-jugglers performing for cars at a traffic intersection, I was astounded when I realised that they were actually Europeans (they looked French, you can always tell by the red trousers). Begging in a third-world country, have they no shame?

Day 49 – Lake Titicaca to La Paz

Early impressions of La Paz were not great – looming darkly in the distance like a drunk priest at a children's party it didn't get any more appealing as we arrived, just lots of traffic, lots of smoke, lots of badly maintained buildings and being so high – very little air. The most impressive church – San Francisco – sits nicely behind an eight-lane motorway in the centre of town.

I found a place to stay that has it's own on-site micro-brewery, which was novel – but not much else. It was fully booked for tomorrow so we were forced to look for something else, being the highest capital city in the world, La Paz is not the sort of place where you can really just enjoy walking the streets, unfortunately as every hotel seems to be full of dreadlocked, tree-hugging, work-shy students we did not have much choice.

There are some very eclectic markets to explore selling all manner of tourist tat and products that would be considered luxury in any Poundland store. My favorite market was The Witches Market which tempts you with all manner of potions, powders and the odd dried llama foetus for every kind of hex you may wish to lay on some unfortunate soul.

Sud América Gut Rot League © – A new country and a new beer to try El Inca – and this is one you can make yourself; take one can of Guinness open and leave to stand for eight days, after which add two tablespoons of treacle, stir and enjoy. Or not. I didn't.

1. Cristal
2. Pilsen Polar
3. Franca
4. Cusqueña Negra
5. Conquer

Day 48 – Cusco to Lake Titicaca

Back to the early starts and a 7am bus ride to Puno on the shores of Lake Titicaca, I had initially planned to spend a few days in Puno but upon arrival I was informed that a bus strike was about to hit the entire country in two days which could last for weeks. Peruvian bus drivers don't strike like they do in London (stand around the depot smoking and drinking endless cups of tea before pissing off home to watch Judge Judy at noon) these fellas mean business, they blockade roads, throw bricks at vehicles transporting passengers, harass elderly llamas – you get the picture, not nice.

After booking a ticket for tomorrow morning to take me into Bolivia, I managed to get on a boat that was doing an afternoon/evening tour of the islands which are still inhabited as they have been for generations, although I think when the Spanish first arrived they didn't so much as barter for the goods on offer as chop off a lot of heads.

So with darkest Peru now behind us, it's time for those all important awards, all winners will receive a pair of my socks at the end of the trip, they may even be dry by then and you can't ask for more than that:

Best hostel – Alegria (Nazca) a very swanky hotel at cut-price rates, I'm still not sure how we managed to beat the receptionist down quite so handsomely, she was only small I suppose.

Best activity – Machu Piccu, cold, wet and exhausted what's not to like?

Best meal – Chili Heaven (Huarez) twice the price of what I normally pay for a meal but worth every one of those extra £2.

Best snack – Spicy chicken Empanada (Huarez), beats a stale roll and jam for breakfast all day.

Best beer – Cristal, I'm not sure that it is the same Cristal that R&B singers and footballers enjoy but it's good.

Day 47 – Cusco

As we didn't arrive back into Cusco until 1am rather than the promised 9pm so what I really needed was a good sleep and a long lie-in. I suppose I should have told the cleaners, perhaps I did, PERHAPS, they didn't understand my accent and thought that what I actually said was 'Please put the radio on at 6am, I realise it is on the first floor and you are working on the fourth so be my guest and turn it up as loud as possible'.

After four days of being drenched at every opportunity that mother nature could find I felt I deserved a day of doing nothing but watching football and relaxing, so I did.

In the evening another blow was struck against any wishes I may have to become friends with Heather Mills as I feasted on the Peruvian National dish of a delicious oven roasted cuy or to use it's more common western name a lovely cuddly guinea pig. I finished the day by catching up with some of the people from our trek in Paddy's authentic Irish bar – they sold Guinness which is much more authentic than it usually gets around here.

Day 46 – Trek to Machu Picchu

To reach Machu Piccu for sunrise you need an early start. A very early start. I was out of bed at 3am putting on a t-shirt that I had slept on top of (in a vain attempt to dry it) and trousers that were so dirty a tramp would pass on them. As I stepped out of my (not very) warm room into a dark, cold, rainy night with only the prospect of a hard walk up the mountain ahead of me I did wonder why I didn't just go to Tenerife for two weeks.

The walk up the mountain to Machu Piccu is through a jungle in pitch black, it's steep and slippery when raining (which it was, of course) and altogether not the ideal way to spend the middle of the night. Covered in cheap plastic ponchos we trudged up the mountain following the small patches of light our torches threw out – a very sorry sight indeed.

If climbing for over an hour to get to Machu Piccu was not punishment enough, for those foolish enough to want to continue higher there is a further climb up Huayna Picchu which towers over the sight giving great views, this second climb is considerably steeper and more hazardous so only the first 400 people through the gates are allowed a ticket. Ciara and I arrived at 4.45am with a Dutch couple (Jan and Yvonne) from our group easily within the first 400, so if the jubilation of being soaked and sweating once was not enough for us we had the chance to do it all again under much tougher conditions.

As the gates do not open until 6am we had over an hour of watching irate climbers come close to blows as less hardy souls turned up later and tried to push into the queue to claim the golden ticket of more misery. Personally I would have been happy to have been number 401.As the gates finally opened the rain stopped at last and even the fog felt it was the right time to lift. The original nine people from our group all met up, all cold, all wet but all hopeful that the sun would start shining on us at last.

Last night our guide had ordered that if we were not inside the complex at 6.20am she would leave without us, I have come to realise over the last few days however that when a Peruvian tells you a time there is a simple mathematical equation that must be used in order to properly understand that time, thus:

Peruvian Time + 90 minutes before 9am or 60 minutes between 9-11am or 30 minutes after 11am = Actual Time

When the guide finally ambled along with her cup of tea, smoking a cigar the nine bedraggled souls that stood waiting were not impressed, as luck would have it Yvonne is even less intolerant of stupid people than I am and spent the next five minutes berating her which cheered me up no end.

The guide turned out to be hopeless, we would have been better off spending the time we waited walking back to town and buying a guide book. Just after her tour began, the weather – which had been fine all the time we were waiting – became biblical, ducks were putting on life jackets and the fog was so thick Lord Lucan could have been tap dancing naked three foot away but we wouldn't have seen him. It is impossible to stay enthusiastic watching someone struggle to say 'Zis is de altar' when the rain is so hard it is stinging your face. What she lacked in English skills she made up for in perception as she asked if we would like to cut the tour short. As always, I gave a tip. Buy a fucking watch.

We decided to wait until 10am in the hope that a break in the weather may happen, it didn't we just got colder. As we trudged to the exit of one of the newly crowned Seven Wonders of the World I couldn't help wondering what it looked like. Then, as if the great Inca gods had had enough fun with us, first the rain stopped, then the fog lifted and some time later it even started to be... warm!

Having been two minutes from leaving we spent the next six hours exploring the site and even walked up the higher mountain, it really is amazing, you should go, I would highly recommend taking either the train or helicopter.

Back in town, our useless excuse for a tour company had failed to get our return train tickets sorted so rather than having a slap-up meal and a celebratory drink we had to queue for an hour for the tickets and ate a pack of crisps. The train left on time at 6.10pm then stopped at 6.22pm and returned to the station. After seeking out the conductor I was told that the engine was broken, but don't worry as another is 'On it's way'. When she broke the news that it was on it's way from a station two hours away, the silence was only broken by the Australian 'Shit! We haven't got nearly enough beer for that'.

Having overcome the train journey the final leg back to Cusco was a two hour bus ride over the mountains. As I got on the bus only two seats remained on the back seat, I soon realised why as the bloke sitting there spent the whole ride back shrieking at imaginary monsters, punching himself in the face and generally acting like he had just managed to pull off a big white jacket and come on holiday to Peru.

Day 45 – Trek to Machu Picchu

As bad hostels go, last night's ranked amongst the worst I have encountered and certainly the worst I have stayed in on this trip. The blaring Peruvian disco music until the early hours was bad enough, but I considered myself lucky that it was mostly drowned out by the torrential rain that beat down on the metal roof for the entire night. The real clencher was the insect farms that I discovered the proprietor to be cultivating in a number of beds around the place which has left me with bites over my face, back and legs.

Scratching like a street dog with a personal flea circus, I set off for the day's planned six hour walk. The morning was uneventful and not nearly as interesting as yesterday but as I closed in on Agua Calientes the rain once again started to fall heavily. I reached the town late afternoon and after discarding my sodden clothes realised that I no longer had any dry clothes but only a choice of drenched, sodden or wet.

Is this fun or what?

Day 44 – Trek to Machu Picchu

The rain had at last stopped which considering I had nine hours walking in front of me was much appreciated and long overdue and although my socks had dried out nicely my shoes were still wet so it made little difference.

The tour company's 100% guarantee of no more than 10 people in a group looked just fine yesterday with the nine that were on our bus, it started to look slightly dodgy today as the numbers swelled to 25 and far too many to even bother attempting to talk to. We followed tracks along the cliff edges and through the jungles following the river Rio Vilcanota which would lead us to Machu Picchu. The scenery was superb in places but not for the faint hearted as the narrow tracks clung precariously to the mountain side.

I arrived in the small village of Santa Teresa where I spent the next three hours lollygagging in the thermal springs and enjoying the first hot water I have felt since leaving Cusco after which we had a relaxing evening in a local bar.

Day 43 – Trek to Machu Picchu

Day one of our four day trek to Machu Picchu started as I fully anticipated any Peruvian organised tour to; disastrously.

As I sat in the hotel reception awaiting our 7.30am pick-up I was blissfully unaware of the events that were about to unfold as I happily watched the morning news of major landslides around the country. With still no sign of a guide after an hour (no great surprise in Peru) and having happily declined the waiter's offer of a ninth bread roll I asked the manager if she would call the tour company and ensure we had not been forgotten.

Obligingly enough she took our receipt, dialled the number and frowned – bad sign number one. She then called the next number and there was that frown again – bad sign number two. It was at this stage that I happened to notice that the company name on the receipt was different to the company whose offices we had been in yesterday and handed our $300 to – these signs were adding up fast. With both the given numbers out of order we found a third on the company website and called that to ask for Luciana who had booked our trip. As the manager got off the phone she said simply 'I think you have a problem'. When a Peruvian mentions that there may be a problem they are generally understating the gravity of the situation, my suspicions were confirmed with the next sentence 'You should go to the police – you have lost your money'.

The company had explained that they had no record of our booking but suggested that as they rent out a desk in their office to a rival operator we may have inadvertently booked with them. He also told told us he had no idea if they were legitimate or even what their name was – he just rented them a desk.

With murderous thoughts gathering and my mind turning to how I would make Luciana's last morning on earth as unpleasant as possible a small Peruvian head appeared around the corner 'I am here to collect Richard and Ciara'. We boarded the bus confused, but pleased, our confusion grew when we met a Dutch couple who were staying in the hostel next door but who had been picked up an hour previously. With hopes raised we set off for a four hour drive before an afternoon bike ride through the mountains. There were seven other people in the group all of whom, we were immensely relived to find, were not only normal but a really good laugh too. Four Dutch, Two Australians and a Canadian – all was going to be just fine.

'We could have a problem', there was that phrase again – only three hours into the trip. The sight that greeted me could be described as problematic, it could also more accurately be described as absolutely terrifying. The combination of two days of torrential rain and the incredibly steep and unstable mountains that were surrounding us, had conspired to create the picture before me. What should have been a shallow river that you would expect to see small animals drinking from had been turned into a deep raging torrent of brown water, earth and rock. This cascade ran down the mountain on one side of us, across the road and then down the mountain on the other side. A problem, he says.

I watched in amazement as a van – far too similar to the one that I was sitting in for comfort – attempted the drive through, before being swept aside by the water and becoming stuck, more than one person called upon the help of the almighty himself before the driver somehow managed to find the right gear and pull the vehicle onto the other side. Mass violence was promised unto our driver if he even considered moving forward.

We waited for over an hour but eventually, and despite every person in the van being convinced the water level was actually rising, our driver took one look at us and with a 'He who dares...' look in his eyes, hit the accelerator. I remember lots of people shouting words of advice, encouragement, prayer and abuse at the driver, I also remember how the water really did knock us sideways but mostly I just remember the relief when we got to the other side. Had the danger not been so real I am sure somebody would have filmed it, but none of us did.

The driver turned to us 'That was close, I hope the big river is not as bad', he just got abuse for that one.

I eventually got to do some mountain bike riding and under normal circumstances I would consider riding downhill in the rain and fog whilst dodging oncoming Peruvian-driven buses rather hazardous, but given what had happened earlier we all quite enjoyed ourselves, beside we had been supplied with safety gloves.

I in Santa Maria in the early evening with enough time to let my drenched clothing catch the last hour of sun in a futile attempt to dry something.

Day 42 – Cusco

The plan for today was simple, visit a tour operator – Cusco has hundreds – and arrange a trek to Machu Picchu, however, I had stupidly forgotten that not only was I dealing with Peruvians but I was on Latino time thus what I expected to take no more than 30 minutes actually took over five hours. Close to exhaustion we eventually found a four day trek/bike ride to the ruins starting the next day.

Upon getting back to the hostel I was delighted to be informed by the receptionist that there had been a balls-up with our reservation and that rather than being booked in for the two nights we had requested we were only booked for one, as if to emphasize the point all our stuff had been taken from our room, put in the hall and the room already re-let. He then told me the place was now full. We didn't exactly go ballistic with anger (we were already too worn out for that) but it was very close so when the manager of the hostel proposed that we didn't pay anything for the previous night we felt we had won a small victory.

The next hostel we found was far better anyway, with a huge balcony and a great view of the city. It would have been perfect if I could have thrown fruit at the windows of the last hostel.

Day 41 – Cusco

I have to be honest and say that the first thing I really noticed about Cusco was not the clear mountain air or even the enormous Inka walls, it was the magnificent cobbled streets or more precisely the huge amount of dog poo that is deposited on them. I now not only have to be vigilant for muggers but by the threat of being bespattered from below.

I spent the morning looking around the town but as it was a Sunday almost all of the shops, and a great deal of the bars and restaurants were closed, by the afternoon the meanest looking cloud I have seen in some time had started throwing down cats and dogs (which won't help the problems with the poo) and I was forced to take refuge in a local bar. Then another. Then another.

The rain was torrential and relentless and eventually required the purchase of a poncho from a street kid to get home without drowning.

Sud América Gut Rot League © – Cusco Coco Leaf Beer a drink so bad that I couldn't drink it, luckily Ciara was on hand to down my pint in about five seconds – but that was due to the chili she had inadvertently just eaten.

1. Cristal

2. Pilsen Polar

3. Franca

4. Cusqueña Negra

5. Conquer

Day 40 – Colca Canyon to Cusco

A 5am start today which was not too much of an effort as we had made our excuses early last night and managed to avoid the communal dinner in the only restaurant in town that sold food for the sort of prices you would only usually pay in Knightsbridge. Obviously our guide was incredibly disappointed that we would not be joining in the group festivities and tried his best to persuade us otherwise – not at all concerned about the commission he was missing out on.

We continued into the Canyon stopping along the way at various villages (to be regaled with overpriced tourist tat) and viewpoints – which were fantastic. The day finished with a trek to watch condors in flight, but they were so far away they could have been sparrows.

Another ten hour overnight bus ride but this one was the best by far with the company stewardess even informing the passengers that it was illegal not to wear a seat belt on a bus in Peru – which was ironic as this was the first time I had seen a bloody seat-belt let alone been told to use one.

Sud América Gut Rot League © – I tried two new beers over the last couple of days. the first Arequipa was of such poor quality that it failed to make the top five. The second was a home brew that I stumbled upon in a restaurant, if the dark purple colour was not enough to put you off, then the smell certainly would have, I am not sure this would make a top 500.

1. Cristal

2. Pilsen Polar

3. Franca

4. Cusqueña Negra

5. Conquer

Day 39 – Colca Canyon

I was picked up from the hotel at 6.30am and after waving farewell to the owner – who I am sure had a new pair of socks on – we headed off for the first day of a two-day tour of Colca Canyon which if you happen to be sitting next to any Americans you can smugly tell them is twice as deep as the Grand Canyon (which is not even a real canyon, but that is another story). Ciara and I had deliberated long and hard as to whether to take a bus tour of the canyon or do a walking tour. We finally opted for the former, conscious that we would be doing a big trek from Cusco in a few days time. The fact that the walk started at 3am did not do much to help its cause either.

I was now at the mercy of the dreaded 'tour-group' and after about two hours I realised this one was going to be particularly bad. Anyone of a certain age in England will be aware of the sight before and after school of the 'Crystals Van' for those who are not, I shall elaborate, the Crystals Van was a minibus that would pick-up and drop-off children that did not attend normal schools because they were deemed – in modern parlance – special, or in the language of the times – the spastic mentalists. I was now on that van.

My favourite character was the bloke who put his bag in the overhead rack only for it to fall on his head – FOUR times. Nominee for the 'Person most likely to have their life ended before the end of the day' award was for the German girl who bought along a set of pan pipes and proceeded to play them for the entire morning. Sorry, that is not entirely true, she tried to teach herself how to play them for the entire morning. I can't begin to explain the reeking nuns.

At just after noon we arrived at the rather shabby hotel we would be staying at for the night, and not a moment too soon as I had been having a bit of trouble with my stomach due to a rather badly cooked chicken the night before, no sooner had we got into the room than I was in the toilet cursing the miserable chef and saying a quiet apology to the cleaners.

What I didn't know was whilst I headed for the toilet, Ciara had taken an instant dislike to the room and had gone downstairs to ask to be moved, imagine the delight on my face as I walked into the reception two minutes later to hear Ciara say to one of our fellow Colombian passengers 'That's settled then, we'll just swap rooms'. My valiant attempt to run up the stairs and air the room was in vain as the window steadfastly refused to budge and before you could say 'Must be the drains mate' the new occupants were over the threshold, lamenting the worst swap ever made.

The afternoon saw us taken to some volcanic hot springs which were a brilliant blue colour – at least the tourist pool was, the local's pool looked like it had been used to drown the town's dog population. I was more concerned with avoiding the Colombians.

Day 38 – Arequipa

Having read on the BBC website this morning all the news about the worst weather afflicting the UK for over 30 years, I felt momentarily guilty about the sun being so hot I was forced to spend the majority of the day lounging in the hotel gardens drinking cold beers and taunting the owners dogs. As I said, only momentarily.

In the early evening with the sun setting I visited the Convent of Santa Catalina which you will be staggered to learn was absolutely amazing – one of the highlights of the trip. It is a complete town within the city of Arequipa itself that up until 1970 was still only accessible to the nuns who lived there, the whole place being surrounded by 3m high walls. In 1971 some bright spark nun realised that they could all move to a corner of the town and charge tourists a small fortune to walk around the rest of the place. Capitalist nuns, what is the world coming to?

PERUVIAN POLICE REPORT No 4563217

Statement given to officer Sp.D. Gonzalez by R. Walsham Esq. regarding theft of belongings.

At approximately 10.00am on the 7th of January 2010 Mr Walsham handed to the receptionist in his hotel (whom was later identified as Patricia) a plastic bag, said bag contained two threadbare t-shirts, six pairs of under-crackers and three pairs of malodorous socks. All items were black with most sporting a Primark label. All items were to be laundered and returned to Mr Walsham smelling minty fresh in return for one American Dollar.

At approximately 3.00pm the following day (the 8th) the aforementioned bag was returned to Mr Walsham, his suspicions that something was amiss were first roused by the weight of the bag and upon further inspection it was discovered that two pairs of socks were missing. After interrogating Patricia at length she returned some time later with two pairs of socks that Mr Walsham had not seen before and looked of even more impoverished quality than the ones that he had submitted to her.

Mr Walsham visited the Police Station today to file a report for his insurance company records and having searched his hotel room at length we can confirm that the above mentioned crime did indeed take place, however, a claim one may not be possible as he no longer has the receipt for £0.39.

Signed by

Officer Sp.D. Gonzales

Day 37 – Arequipa

Not the best night's rest I have ever had, but as I didn't manage to sleep for more than about ten minutes at a time that is hardly surprisng. Even the carton of warm peach juice, dry crackers and Michael Jackson videos at 5am failed to raise my spirits but we were alive and, against all expectations, none of our luggage had been stolen so I had to take that as a bonus.

Having spent the last five nights on the coast, Arequipa is back in the Andes mountains but the altitude is only just over 2000m so the temperature is really nice. It's wonderfully sunny but with a beautiful fresh breeze running through the town which is overlooked by the magnificent snow-capped volcano El Misti. The majority of the older colonial buildings are built from a white volcanic rock which makes the town one of the most captivating I have visited so I spent the day happily wandering the streets.

Day 36 – Nazca to Arequipa

When it comes to things that have no logical explanation the Nazca Lines are right up there with Stonehenge and people who buy celebrity magazines. A huge series of shallow designs made in the ground – only properly visible from the air – that cover nearly 500 square km with the largest figure being 270m high. Many theories abound as to why the symbols exist; a calender? an astrological chart? or just a bored Inka with a lot of spare time and a big lawnmower?

I have no idea what they were used for but I do know that anyone in town with a small plane and a Dummies Guide to Flying will offer to take you 3000m into the air to have a look for yourselves. So it was, that Ciara and I found ourselves in a ridiculously flimsy 5-seater plane being pitched to almost 90 degree angles so as to 'fully appreciate' these ancient marvels – which we did. I am not sure how much the pilot appreciated not getting the chicken soup I had eaten two hours previously over his nice white shirt, but he bloody well should have done as it was a monumental effort.

After 30 minutes of being bounced around like a sock in a tumble drier it was a welcome relief to be back on terra firma. I thought I might have got some good photos but later discovered that most of them were of the other three passengers terrified faces as the plane lurched from left to right and my camera swung hopelessly with it.

A long sit down and a good nights sleep was well on the cards, but unfortunately another overnight bus was all that I had to look forward to. Due to an error between me and the spelling (I had booked us on CIAL not CIVA – similar eh?) I had the prospect of eight hours with a company popularly regarded by Peruvian thrill-seekers as the most likely to employ a lunatic, drunk driver to steer a badly maintained bus over a cliffs edge or – if we were lucky – into an oil tanker.

Day 35 – Huacachina to Nazca

Deceptive things sand dunes, one that looks like it can be climbed in about 20 minutes, invariably takes much, much longer. Add the stifling heat and the fact that for every single step up you take up you slide down half and it all adds up to a very, very tiring way to spend the time you should be sitting around the pool having breakfast.

A comparatively short bus journey today of just two hours took us to Nazca and the famous lines.

We found a cracker of a hotel room and spent the evening relaxing and watching television in Spanish, my personal favourite show being 'Peru's Most Amazing Matador Gorings' which was blood-thirtsty, savage and exactly what they deserved, it reminded me of the old adage – 'It's all fun until someone gets hurt, then it's just hilarious'

Peru's inability to get the simplest things done continued in a restaurant that night. In a country that usually takes an order and has the food on your table in two to four minutes we watched in hysterics as a kitchen staff of nine took over an hour to prepare an omelette for me and stir-fried rice for Ciara. There was four other people in the place.

Day 34 – Lima to Huacachina

I have read constantly about the need to watch your baggage whilst on buses in Peru and this warning was borne out today when two of our fellow passenger's bag's went missing during our five hour bus trip south. I had my suspicions about the standard of the bus line from the start of the journey (always judge a company by the range and quality of snacks in their cafe) so had been getting off whenever the baggage hold was opened to make sure no light-fingered riff-raff made off with our dirty washing.

To call Huacachina a town would be like calling Jennifer Aniston an actress – it's stretching the truth tremendously.

In reality Huacachina is a small lake surrounded by a smattering of hotels, restaurants and the odd bar flanked by enormous sand dunes – an oasis on the edge of a huge dessert. And Jennifer Aniston is an imbecile who occasionally moves her face in romantic comedies.

The done thing here – not surprisingly – concerns sand and the varying things that can be done with it – sandboarding and buggy riding being the most popular, with sandcastle building not quite making the cut. I rode out on a dune buggy tour in the early evening which was superb and I now have some sympathy for how a 500-year-old building must feel when it gets sand-blasted clean. It was a bit like a roller-coaster ride without all those triffling western safety standards.

Occasionally the driver would stop the buggy, point down a 200m sheer-drop sand dune and invite us to slide down it on a very poorly maintained piece of wood. After setting aside all fears and most common sense I discovered it was a an incredibly fun way to spend the evening. I re-evaluated this sometime later during the three hours it took to remove sand from places that sand had no reason to be.

Day 33 – Lima

After the pleasant surprise of Miraflores on my first day in Lima I visited the old city, first stop was the changing of the palace guards but after waiting 30 minutes for them to start we got bored pretty quickly as brass instruments and men walking in circles has never been my thing, so moved on to the menacingly named Museum of the Inquisition.

Initially we were refused entry for speaking English, but I managed to adopt an Australian accent and was let in. I must admit to being disappointed as the guide chose to ignore all of the gruesome wax exhibits on display, such as a man being stretched on a rack, another being force-fed water and instead regaled us with such random directions as 'Admire the beautiful ceiling' – choosing to ignore the poor sod hanging from it by his feet being beaten with a big stick. So the one place that I had been banking on being half decent joined the ever growing list of South American museum that are rubbish. It could have been saved if Michael Palin had jumped out on a Japanese tourist shouting 'Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition... '. But he didn't.

I decided to head back to the hostel but in order to do this needed to make sure that we got one of the few (out of the thousands) of buses that went down our street. I only realised that we had got the wrong one when I saw the Pacific Ocean and once again pulled into Miraflores. Bugger.

Day 32 – Lima

All is quiet on New Years day. Exceptionally quiet, nothing is open. Still no sign of any of Paddington's relatives.

Day 31 – Lima

It is never a good idea to arrive somewhere as reputedly dangerous as Lima at an ungodly hour so it was with remarkable luck that I arrived at just after 4am. Straight into the sort of sordid looking station that you could smell long before you could see, which was already besieged by all manner of machiavellian looking characters.

After finding a taxi driver who I believed I could beat in a fight, I gave him the address of the hostel I had booked, had a quick pray and headed into the night. It soon became clear the driver had no idea where he was going, which is nothing new in Peru as the plan most taxi drivers seem to employ is to get a punter, agree a price and then worry about the destination.

Eventually he found the place, and after waking the night porter, who was asleep on a bag of potatoes, I got into the hostel and very nice it was too – one knows one is staying in a better class of establishment when the toilet seated is padded – you still have to put the used paper in a bin next to the toilet.

Lima is by far the biggest city that I have visited so far, the hostel is in a very green and tranquil area which is situated midway between the colonial old town and the much more tourist orientated beach area of Miraflores.

With hopes not high about how nice Lima was going to be, our first stop was the ruins of Huallamarca – at least I think that is what it was called as every poster and ticket I saw had a different spelling. The heat was really belting down so I took an afternoon trip to the beach at Miraflores which was like stepping into a different world from the rest of Peru, very modern, very orderly and very clean – I was both confused and amazed, especially when I got the bill for lunch 'Listen amigo, I may be from London but I am not paying London prices'.

The place had some great walks along the cliffs and it was a welcome break. For the first time in South America I came across a McDonalds then rapidly saw the other members of the unholy trio of KFC and Burger King which was then followed by Starbucks and a Pizza Hut – it was time to go.

As it was New Years Eve the British bloke who owned the hostel had organised a party which in typical British fashion consisted of leaving the Australians to fire up the barbeque, the South Africans to make the food and the rest to do the music whilst he stood around doing nothing. Being British I was glad to help.