Well, it’s been a while since I last rambled on here! Have I been a lazy cow? Not at all! Months have whizzed by while I’ve been tied up with work, preparing for trips and immersed in various other writing projects. Still, absence makes the heart grow fonder! Or something like that…
So how did I fare on the Inca Trail? Aside from feeling I’d aged by about four decades as I wearily plodded towards the trail’s highest point, Dead Woman’s Pass, fine! Anyone considering following in my footsteps (not to mention those of the Incas and about a zillion other tourists) might like to check out my ‘warts n’ all’ guide for some honest advice on how to prepare, pack and cope: http://www.simonseeks.com/travel-guides/inca-trail-survival-guide-how-prepare-pack-and-cope__118868
I’ve recently soothed my ‘itchy feet’ with a cultural trip to Krakow (including a visit to the obviously grim but fascinating Auschwitz-Birkenau), but the need for an adventurous trip grows stronger by the day…
No, nothing to do with the footwear I purchased in my last instalment. More to do with the fact that my Peruvian adventure seemed unbearably far away…
And when life feels quite uninteresting, when you’re hit by a case of the ‘stuck in England’ blues, when you’re supposed to be saving money for a ‘big’ adventure – but then an email bursting with last-minute deals slides into your inbox, there’s only one thing to do: tell yourself that you deserve it / life is short / you HAVE been working incredibly hard lately, blah blah blah – grab your credit card and take the plunge!
Besides, if all those facets come together it’s practically a sign, isn’t it? Well, if you want it to be one, that is…
So that’s how I found myself flying out to Port El Kantaoui, Tunisia with my boyfriend for a supposedly conventional, relaxing holiday. (With Peruvian adventures not really being his cup of tea, it’d also be a chance for us to do something together, I reasoned. See? No shortage of excuses!)
“Uh…do you two not want to see the beach or the pool?” joked the travel company rep when we handed her our excursion booking form. “No one signs up for that much in a week!” “We don’t do things by halves!” I jovially retorted, disguising the fact that I was secretly wondering whether we’d been overly optimistic and a tad rash in deciding to tour most of the country in six days. Particularly when it transpired that almost every morning would entail a 5am start (the exception being a 4am one…)
The coach journeys this involved were almost interminable. But let’s make one thing clear: interminable doesn’t necessarily mean boring. Particularly when said journeys bore a greater resemblance to magical mystery tours than fully-explained ferrying from known points A to B. For we hadn’t reckoned on having Tunisia’s answer to Borat as our guide…
Trips tended to follow a pattern. The first half hour of a journey – the bit when everyone’s eyes are still open and most tour guides are waxing lyrical about the cultural and historical delights in store - was generally spent in an unorthodox silence. Oh well, we thought, maybe that’s the way it’s done in Tunisia.
Miles of arid countryside would fly by, the early morning sun beating through the coach windows; you’d snuggle into your seat and slip some shades on. Eyelids would seemingly bear the weight of the world as the proverbial Land of Nod beckoned irresistibly...
And that was precisely the point at which Borat Mk II would launch into his commentary. His monotone commentary. In Arabic. And German. Then Dutch. And French. It would probably have required consumption of a gallon of Red Bull and a pile of Pro-Plus to remain conscious by this point. By the time he got round to English (a term used loosely!) those Brits still in the land of the living wore frowns, questioning eyebrows or merely stared at him blankly.
The coach pulled up at a kerb. The Arabs, Germans, Dutch and French grabbed their belongings, descended the coach steps and bounded out into the bright Tunisian sunshine. We Brits observed the goings-on, picked up our bags, gathered in a group on the pavement and tried to piece together the random words of English we’d been able to understand.
We were in a village. That much was clear.
“Uhm, so what are we doing now?” I asked Borat, trying to catch up with him. “Thees is village” he replied. “Sidi-“ (I didn’t catch the rest). “Coach leave three-fifteen.” Well that cleared that up… He directed us up a hill, then disappeared in the opposite direction.
Oh yes, this supposedly conventional, relaxing holiday was quickly becoming quite an adventure…
Much like a more ungainly version of the ‘Cinderella’ story, where the footwear in question is a pair of chunky walking boots rather than a dainty glass slipper, the outcome is a happy one. OK, my new Karrimors (Pair no.2) won’t grant me entrance to a ball (not that I plan on going to a ball…) - but I SHALL go trekking! (Well, providing Swine Flu hasn’t made life as we know it impossible in the interim, of course!)
Sadly the rather fantastic deal I landed a few weeks ago on Pair no.1 turned to colossal disappointment on discovering a manufacturing fault on the inside of the left boot. Merely strolling across my local park found the protrusion in the lining (seemingly caused by the back of one of the metal lacing-hooks sticking out) trying to gouge a painful crater in the front of my ankle.
Disappointed? Damn right I was! The footwear in question was already reduced from 90 quid to 45. Then, spotting a very junior assistant on the till of the shop (that shall remain nameless), I thought I’d try my luck with an additional 10 percent discount awarded to employees of the company I work for. I expected to be told I wouldn’t be able to get a discount on a sale item – but I wasn’t. So I left the shop with a bounce in my step, feeling rather pleased with myself for acquiring such a bargain.
Needless to say, discovering I’d then have to take them back (by which time they were no longer the ‘offer of the week’) left me feeling extremely peeved! Maybe it served me right for being cheeky…
So when I snapped up Pair no.2 (still a good deal, but not quite as cheap as Pair no.1), I was delighted to find, following another stroll across my local park, that they fit so well they wouldn’t even need breaking in! Not only was that quite astonishing, but also rather handy, particularly when you’re pushed for time. Like I was last year...
It was just before a trip to Borneo that I decided I’d HAVE to buy some jungle boots. I’d previously been hoping that my Goretex walking ones would suffice, but reading up on jungle trekking suggested they’d retain any water that entered the boots and give me trench foot. (See what I meant last time about never having enough gear?!)
So, returning home from Nomad with a pair of jungle boots, safe in the knowledge that my feet now wouldn’t rot and drop off, I realised that the time I had available to break them in was somewhat limited. There was only one solution to the problem: I’d have to wear them to work. So I did.
Not often do people wear jungle boots to the office. But then I’ve never been one to follow conventions. And it wasn’t like I was stupid enough to wear them with a skirt or anything. Besides, they wouldn’t really notice under a pair of black trousers, would they? Well, true, they didn’t stand out a mile; but they did make me walk in a somewhat heavy fashion. And more than once, as I strode across the Sales floor, I heard people sniggering about the Terminator.
Resisting the urge to go and terminate them, I still felt a little smug. After all, I was going to Borneo. They weren’t. Who was laughing now?
Alas, seeing as not even I am unconventional/ foolish/ brave enough to team chunky, khaki-coloured walking boots with smart black trousers and march through the Sales department – combined with the very slim possibility of any Prince Charming scouring the land for the owner of a chunky khaki-coloured walking boot should one happen to fall off as I flee the building at 5pm - I can now breathe a sigh of relief for multiple reasons!
Ever noticed, no matter how many adventures you’ve embarked upon, no matter how many climates you’ve experienced, no matter how many times you’ve thought “Okay, if I just buy [insert name of object] I’ll have everything I could possibly need for any trip I do in the future!”, there’s ALWAYS something else – usually a whole bunch of things – that you just HAVE to buy for wherever you’re heading next?
Without fail, there’s always something bigger/ smaller/ warmer/ cooler/ more sophisticated/ more straightforward than any comparable items in the extensive (and probably expensive) collection of gear you already own.
Me? It probably took…ooh, about a minute after parting with the deposit for my Peru trip for me to start making a mental note of items I’d need to buy. This mental note quickly became a list that had to be committed to paper. (Not that there’s anything wrong with my memory. I just happen to have a bit of a penchant for compiling lists…)
So what was on this noble agenda?
Firstly, boots. I’ve already got a fairly expensive pair of trekking boots, but the tread is a bit worn in places. Wouldn’t want to lose my footing and go tumbling over the edge of a cliff, would I? Plus they used to be blue, but now… let’s just say you wouldn’t know that. Even after several attempts at cleaning them. So of course I need a nice fresh pair, ideally with a Vibram sole, an ‘event’ waterproof fabric upper and in a colour that assists in masking dust and dirt. (Okay, I’m hardly going to look fresh as a proverbial daisy after four days on the Inca Trail – but I’d rather not flaunt the resulting blood/ sweat/ tears/ general muck!)
Secondly, a sleeping bag. Okay, I already own two. But one is a lightweight, 1-2 season bag, perfect for African summer evenings. But (near)winter in Peru at high altitude? Tantamount to suicide! Death by hypothermia wouldn’t be cool. Well it WOULD be cool, but it also wouldn’t, if you see what I mean.
The second sleeping bag is much thicker, but sadly a bit too cumbersome for trekking. So of course I need a nice new warm-but-compact one that doesn’t, in conjunction with my pack, contort my spine or send me keeling over backwards. Or both.
Thirdly, thermals. Well yes, I already have a couple of thermal tops, originally bought for a trip to Lapland a few years ago. But discovering how effective they were, I ended up wearing them when the weather got a bit chilly in this country too. Hence they’re now somewhat on the tatty side. And they’re not made from the technologically advanced keep-you-warm-but-dry ‘Thermaplus’ material. And I don’t have any thermal leggings. So of course I need a new set in order to stave off the night-time chill in a sweat-free fashion!
And so the list goes on!
The only positive thing to be said about this seemingly never-ending compulsion for acquiring new gear is that, with outdoor/ travel-gear shops desperate to entice customers through their doors, there are some rather nice deals to be found at the moment. (At least there’s one positive thing to be said about the recession!)
So armed with my list, a credit card and the knowledge that customers are rather special, valued people these days, I’ll soon be heading to the hub of outdoor-store (near-)ubiquity: Covent Garden!
“Oh, and the second day is absolute hell.” Oh good, I thought. That’s exactly the sort of advice I want to hear just after booking my adventure trip to Peru. Still, I’d long been aware that it’s generally a good idea to be at least a teensy bit athletic before tackling the Inca Trail. At least this friend of a friend wasn’t glossing over the gritty details and pretending to be Wonder Woman.
“I was talking to someone at work who trekked the Inca Trail last Autumn and… you won’t believe this,” chuckled my new travel buddy a couple of days ago. “Won’t believe what?” I asked. “She ended up in hospital on the first day!” Great, I thought. So is the first day absolute hell too? “She slipped and injured her leg so badly that she couldn’t walk. But the funny thing is - well, it's not really funny - the following day she was joined in the hospital ward by someone else from her group. Then soon after, another person! Towards the end of the trip the whole group AND the tour leader were in hospital! He’d told everyone it was safe to drink the water. And it wasn’t…”
Why am I chuckling? Hmm, not sure. As the National Lottery people say, it could be you.
So am I now wondering why I didn’t just opt for a week sunning myself on a beach in the Mediterranean like everyone else? Nope! That’d be just a bit too safe. To nab a phrase from Blackadder II, I rather laugh in the face of fear; tweak the nose of terror! Well, sometimes. And the odds of running into any dreadful spindly killer fish on Machu Picchu are probably quite slim…
I’ve got until September to prepare. A few months of reacquainting myself with sporty stuff, some new trekking boots (New travel gear! How I love to acquire new travel gear!), and a rather impressive-looking water-zapper thingy that blasts microbes into oblivion - and fingers crossed, it WON’T be me!
