One week down...

My trip has officially started and, believe it or not, I am enjoying my backpack. It´s kind of fun, kind of cool and I think it may help me lose a little weight in the long run. Here´s hoping anyway. So perhaps the best thing to do is give a little rundown (one word two? who knows and who cares) on what I´ve been doing.

I arrived, which is normal, took a trip to my hippie hostel and promptly fell in lust with the super- hot receptionist, Vigo (or something to that effect). After three days in Rio which included a trip to Jesus Christ Superstar, Sugar Loaf, a quick (if illegal) dip in the Copocabana Palace Hotel (no-one told me you had to stay there), people watching on Ipanema and Copocabana Beach and a fab Favela tour where we flew kites on the roof (petrifying to say the least) we headed to Illhe Grande. Ooh we also took a trip to Lapa and tried to reenact the Snoop Dogg video on those amazing steps, however it didn´t go to plan as unfortunately I was accosted by a crazy man who´d never seen an Indian before. After trying to swallow my face, he told me I had no respect for him and thought of him merely as a little boy. Two words: psycho and boundaries (please omit the and that´ll be two).

So Ilhe Grande beckoned. Basically it´s a very big island. It´s very nice but it rained for three days straight, however on the upside, it provided me with, quite possibly, the funniest incident I have ever witnessed. My travelling buddy and I headed off to the hostel bar (quite a new concept for me as I am not so ofay with hostel etiquette - being nice to everyone can prove quite an effort) and after four mega strong caiparinhas, things got a little rowdy. I told my pal I fancied an Irish man who had a girlfriend, she asked him if he was in love with said girlfriend, he proceeded to call us both C U Next Tuesdays, so my pal kicked him in the balls. Then screamed at him. And probably tried to kick him again while I laughed, alot. Needless to say the rest of our trip was spent trying to avoid anyone who´d been at the bar and suffering from attacks of paranoia and the mother of all hangovers! Ha ha! Oh, how it still makes me chuckle!! We did manage to fit in a trip to the one of the top ten beaches in the world, Lopes Mendes which was utterly gorgeous, then headed off to Paraty on the ferry boat! Yeah, I was totally on a boat (Lonely Island reference).

Since the island incident, we´ve taken the bus to Sao Paulo, where it rained alot, sambaed our socks off at O do Brigadaro (very cool), sat on a another bus for 16 mother-f@%$ing hours and been to Iguazu falls, which all in all, takes me to this moment in time, where I am sat furiously typing away, at a blog that may not be read while sniffling as I am suffering from a cold. No, not swine flu, a cold! Damn weather change.

So I believe that´s all from me. I will now go to the supermarket, buy some cake then go to bed and dry my hood with a hairdryer (but perhaps the other way around). Oh the exciting life of a traveller.

As for the sign off? I will go for the Brazilian favourite, which also relates to this trip...

It´s nice (it needs to be said Borat-stylee)!

Leaving on a jet plane...

Tomorrow I leave for pastures unknown! South America is calling and I am petrified. I've never travelled before. I don't even know if I like travelling. I know I don't like hostels and I know I don't like grotty toilets or someone else's hair getting wrapped around my toes. Hence the essential pair of flip-flops which will be permanently glued to my feet. I think I like my travelling companion, however after six weeks of living in each other's pockets I don't know how much that statement will still stand. But I guess it's a good adventure. It's just come around so quickly and now I have to furiously download lots of music to keep me occupied. Will The Saturdays provide a good soundtrack to my South American backdrop? Who knows! We will just have to wait and see.

So I don't really have much to say. Perhaps I will go and gaze at my backpack for a while and contemplate what lies ahead. Two months of friendship bracelet-loving hippies with matted rastafari plaits I think. Yikes, I'm petrified again.

The sign off?

Never trust a hippie...

Packing sucks

I'm not sure what else I can say about this topic! It's rubbish. I hate backpacks and I hate packing them, it's almost as bad as having to talk to my stupid Greek landlord on the telephone (FYI I'm not, in any way, shape or form, trying to be racialist about Greeks, oh no, I like Greek people - my friend is marrying one - I also love My Big Fat Greek Wedding and hummous is a my favourite low-fat snack however whenever I talk to him, his stupid accent just weedles it's way into my inner psyche and grates on me). The three words that best describes both situations? Tiresome, agitating, infuriating and can I have one more? Irritating.

Anyway, more about the packing nightmare that is currently engulfing me and consequently draining, squeezing and ringing any excitement that I may have had about my pending trip out of me. I am attempting to pack three years of clothes (I like clothes, infact no, that's an understatement, I love clothes - it's my thing) into one tiny stupid, 60 litre backpack - all because I thought it was necessary to travel the world (well South America to be precise) to find myself. Now tell me, how does one fit everything in? I've just packed my underpants and toiletries, and lo and behold, my stupid backpack is already full!!!! How do people do this? How, I scream from within, how? I think I might cry. It may seem ungrateful but this is too much for me to take. Backpacks suck! Royally. Sucks.

I now have to go and bake some cakes to avoid the blue canvas explosion that is lying all over my bed!

The sign off for today?

Backpacks suck!

My first blog...

Wow, how strange. I've never blogged before. I am pretty excited by this prospect. I can write about anything, anyone or anywhere. I feel this blog may lack purpose at the moment, but hey, it's making me smile so surely that's gotta be a good thing.

Well, perhaps I'll start with a bit about what's happening in my world. That's what these things are for, right? And a rant, too? Brilliant! So here goes. After three years of living it up in the big smoke, I've swapped my high-flying glossy magazine job for two months travelling around South America. Perhaps not the smartest thing to do given the stupid recession and all (my dad still isn't talking to me) and the fact that I've NEVER backpacked before (what? I can only fit three pairs of shoes in my super-swish backpack? Jeez, I am screwed), but hey you gotta just live (as Welsh Elliot, my former dance teacher once said). Now I haven't embarked upon my travels just yet. Oh no. I am currently living it up in my hometown... the glorious, the wonderful, the fan-bloody-tastic, P City! Yep, that's right, Preston. Don't get me wrong, I like Preston, I'd even go as fast to say I love it (sometimes) - who can complain when two double vodkas (mixer included) costs less than a fiver (I did what last weekend?) and you can purchase a mega tasty jacket potato, cheese and beans for £2, then sit on a bench, surrounded by pigeons, in the middle of the market and get chatted up by a drunk at 3 in the afternoon! It's pretty cool. And while I do lament for my old life, I am trying to think of the latter - the potato that is, not the drunk!

Um, yes this blog is still rather pointless, I know. So what else have I done? I've been to the post office many a time, I've got a bit of an ebay habit! Some ASBO's just screamed obscenities about my baggy jeans (I ran). And I went on a date with a 40-year-old (oh the shame). This is what boredom does to me. And the reason I mention his age is because I'm not 40, not nearly, and no, I'm not ageist - well maybe a little. It was actually quite fun, aside from the fact that he's into fitness (I on the other hand can run for five minutes before dying), I think he was wearing fake tan (I'm 'of colour' so it seems kinda pointless to me) and he matched the colour of his shoes to his belt to his bracelet (ever heard of overkill?).

Nevertheless it was a most entertaining three hours where we talked hamstrings, Camden and bingo wings - oh and mid-life crisis's! I even thought it went quite alright up until he tried to pin me to a wall in broad daylight. That I can forgive, if it wasn't seven in the evening and I wasn't sober I may have gone along with it (yes alcohol is my crutch). However, what really rattled my cage was when he suggested we meet again on Saturday and yes, you guessed it, never called. I waited for two days, then my impatience got the better of me, so I asked him out, then there was no reply, so I sent a mildly crazed message how all men were weirdos and yeah, just weirdos. Hey, I'm on a time limit, don't you know (and not desperate at all, although this blog seems to suggest otherwise). Needless to say there was no reply! That's right, I have officially been dumped by a fake-tan wearing, convertible-driving, bracelet-matching 40-year-old! And now I think I am starting to sound like that crazy little ginger girl from He's Just Not That Into You! Don't judge me! It's my first blog! I don't know what I'm writing! I've never done this before! And that's why I am going to stop! Now!

Comments would be most welcomed, or advice, or just general chit chat, ooh or maybe a new word for the week. I also think I will end with some kind of cool sign off every time! Brap brap? Does that work? No, not really. Okay then I will go with my usual and try and improve next time.

Peace out

PS This blogging malarky rocks!