Rosalita Flores

I arrived in Cusco at about 5am having not booked anywhere to stay, and went off with someone shouting "!habitaçion!" at the bus station for the first time. Early the next morning, I boarded a bus and met two American girls, two Danish girls, a German couple and an Argentinian woman; my group for the next four days. The bus wound through little farming villages to the starting point of the Inca Trail, where we met our guide, the chef and the porters. The morning walk was fairly easy; although the porters and chef ran, ready and waiting for us at the lunch spot. I soon understood why all six porter´s bags weighed 25kgs; as we sat down at a folding table and got served a delicious, restaurant standard four course meal! Before arriving at the ... read more

Susan and I attempted getting an early night to recover, but next door were a loud group of ten who had earlier been spotted coming in from the streets holding a bin-bag full of something. They were playing a drinking game, but replacing every single sip with a snort, which resulted in conversation only consisting of grunts and shouts. Welcome to La Paz, the capital of cocaine tourism! Here it´s not just the altitude that´s high; the taxi drivers are dealers and world´s first cocaine bar sells it´s cheap, strong specialism, to (only) tourists every night... and morning. I sleepily headed to the American Embassy, the last thing on my to-do list after having all of my documents stolen. My cheap flight home via Miami transits for just five hours, but crazy paranoid Americans being crazy ... read more

Women crowded round me saying "tranquilla, tranquilla" (relax) as I muttered something about all of my dinero, passaporte, debit cards, "todo" (everything). As usual, I couldn´t make out the replies, but then heard someone speaking to me in English through all the other voices. A woman put her arm around me saying "I can help you, I´ll take you to the police and the embassy and give you whatever you need". Apparently I´d turned into a toddler, and latched onto her as she led me through the park to some police standing on the corner. As we waited to get taken to the police station, she handed me a phone to cancel my cards, saying it would be quicker to get someone in England to do it. I called my Mum, and managed to keep my ... read more

I´m now a month in and about to leave my first country, so it´s time for some sweeping generalisations and cliche insights. Where better to do this than in Latin America; where everyone is so warm, open, expressive, sexual, assertive, revolutionary and proud, compared to us cold, closed, repressed, apologetic, stoic and guilt ridden Brits. Right? Clearly, national stereotypes are bullshit if taken too far; but equally clearly, different cultures encourage different ways of being, so they hold some truth. The national election meant that the whole city was shut down and hostel parties were the way forward. The hostel chefs started talking about "Inglesas" and how horribly cold, closed and generally evil they are (I quickly unfolded my arms and sat up straight). Some American girls enjoyed this, but just quietly smirked for my benefit. ... read more

After taking the bus back, I arrived in Buenos Aires where it was miserable, cloudy and raining heavily. The weather proved omninous. Being in real light and having flash photos taken had made me realise that a bad ginger dye-job (the work of an evil hairdresser in London) was starting to show through the darker dye I´ve been badly trying to cover it up with. Clearly, the only way out of this grave predicament was to put my faith in an Argentinian hairdresser. I have a bit of a tempestuous history with hairdressers. They like to traumatise me. Really, it´s become quite an issue. Maybe I should take a leaf out of the Argentine´s book and see a therapist. I spent a year trying to get rid of a bright yellow do (a Brummie hairdresser´s creative ... read more