It's not right, but it's okay

So here I am, at my job, again. However, on this occasion, I'm not going to talk about the monstrosity that is work! Oh no! Instead I will write about what I've been doing. And what a backward country I am currently residing in. To be honest it's not that bad, I'd even go as far as to say it's entertaining. Today I arrived at work to find a roll of toilet paper on my desk. I like loo roll paper as much as the next person. However it was a quite a surprise. Apparently staff are given a toilet paper allocation each month. Yes, that's right. A toilet paper allocation. Men get one roll, women get two. Bonkers I know. But kinda good. I just need to make sure that I don't get a bout of diarrhoea before October 23 (ie the next time the paper is dished out).

Aside from their crazy toilet culture, I've also been immersing myself in the world of steel pan drums. An amazing 70-year-old man called Roy Geddes is teaching me to play and he is awesome. He's quite possibly the deepest (albeit preachy) man I have ever met and so far I have learnt the F scale as well as Doe A Deer! Oh yeah! It's only a matter of time until I have a band of my own. I think it will be called the Browntones. Other than that, I've been to Bartica, seen Eddy Grant's island house, declined my father's hot friend because of tiredness and had my sidies waxed off for the same price as in England. Shocking, no? I've also tried tirelessly to meet a minister. He keeps palming me off. So I've been harassing his secretary.He's now ignoring me. Oh dear. Tomorrow, I have another drum lesson, then on Friday I am going to West Coast for some roasted aubergine. I can't wait. My cousin actually makes the best food in the world and my belly is ready for it.

So on that note, I will be seeing ya.

PS How can that 13 year old child get everyone under the sun to read her blog and not one person reads mine!!!!

The sign off?

Ageism is rife.

I think I might die...

So it's my sixth night in a row working. And, to be honest, this could quite possible be the worst job in the world. It's horrible. I hate it. Even more than my last job and that's saying something. Would it really be inappropriate to quit on Monday? I think perhaps. But given my current state of mind, I think it's the only thing I can do to save my soul. I am working for one sixth of my pay, six nights a week and it is quite possibly the most awful thing ever. And I mean ever. Hang on I think I've said this. This is slave labour man. Total and utter slave labour. If this is Guyanese culture, then they can stick it up their fat ass. I come to work. Go on facebook. Sub some terrible stories. Check my facebook again. Look at hotmail. Develop a sense of paranoia. See who's on messenger. Get told my job description is sub-editor. Cry because this too horrible a thought to contemplate. Have to listen to another annoying sub-editor. Want to smack her in the face. Infact I want to smack everyone in the face. Oooh rage is what I feel. Pure and utter rage. I am thinking the only way out is to head to Panama. Perhaps I can seek salvation there and speak alot of pigeon Spanish again. That's all from me.

Time waster

I am worried. My blog is no longer thrilling (was it ever?). Instead, it may be worth less than a shilling. Sorry, I just wanted to rhyme. I am still in Guyana, working, six night's a week, proofreading, words, many many words. Oh man, it is sending me potty and partially blind. Worse yet, the work is sporadic, so this means I get itchy fingers. Which means I constantly check messenger. There's no one there as there's a time difference. And I send emails. Many emails. I've never written so many emails in my life. I am worried that as I send so many, certain people won't reply. Especially after my dream last night. Which I can't go into, as I am a little ashamed. Oh well, they have been sent. What can I do? What did I expect? The content is not even as bad as I am insinuating, but as I have nothing to do, I will procrastinate. I like that word, procrastinate, and I like this new style of writing. Short, sharp sentences.

That's enough about work. I went to a visit a man today. Not just any man, but a steel pan player extraordinaire. Man, this dude was amazing. And deep. I start on Monday as part of my little Guyanese culture fest. His garden is packed with plants. His garage is packed with awards. And his house is packed with dogs. I am going to be visiting him three days a week. So by the end of the month, or however long I last, I will be able to start my own band. Excitement ensues and boredom engulfs. So I will go.

The sign off?
Give me some work!

The mother of all motherlands...

I almost feel like this new chapter should herald the start of a new blog. You see, back in February, I visited Guyana, the land of many waters, many bottles of rum and where my many (well two) parents are from. From the moment I stepped off the plane I was taken by the intensely hot humidity, the soft breeze caressing the palm leaves and the shot of golden El Dorado rum you got upon entering Cheddi Jagan International Airport. I felt like I belonged and it was part of the reason I chose to leave my life in London and travel around South America as, I wanted more that anything to end up in Guyana and stay here for a couple of months, get in touch with my roots, pen my novel, drink rum and perhaps find a goat-herding husband. So, here I am, at my first day of work (however that's another story).

I've been here for a week so far and already it's been quite an adventure. As to how long I will stay, I'm still not sure. Given the fact that I'm at work and bored already is probably not the best sign, however hopefully, finger's crossed things will pick up and get better.

So one week ago, I arrived back here. Of course, it was a culture shock all over again as I am sure it was for my pal. Especially when we both learned what a crazy albeit lovely mothering (and smothering) Aunt I had. Everywhere we walked she came, anytime we crossed the road, she'd shout "get in the corner", and anytime we wanted to go out she'd ask why. But she's cool and fun and it's one way to experience the culture. We spent the week galavanting around town, drinking and hanging out with my dad's smokingly hot, hippie-esque, 55-year-old friend. Man this dude is amazing! He smokes special herbs, he sups virgin pina coladas, does yoga, listens to Michael Buble and dances as though he's making love. In fact I think I am in love, although I am pretty sure he is in love with my friend! Damn, how I wish I was white sometimes. It would have given me an edge in this town.

So as my friend departed on Saturday, I thought it was best that I get myself a some kind of job. The Merdien bar beckoned, but the pay was a pittance. Hence, why I am sat at a little newspaper at 11pm on a Monday night proofreading pages about garbage pile-ups and women getting beaten with a bat. Nice, right? Everyone keeps saying to me "you won't last long", and at this rate I probably won't especially as I have to work six days a week for one sixth of my pay back at home. However I will not let this hinder my plan, even the dead cow and dog spewed across the street yesterday won't send me running from this garbage-infested country! I wanted to come, learn about my roots and so forth garner a better understanding of myself. It may take a while, but I guess I have four weeks (if I so wish) of proofreading (god help me, as soon as monday hits, I am beggin to do some reporting), sipping rum and getting bitten by mosquitoes.

Heaven help me!

It's been so long!

So my blog fell has apparently fallen to the waste side since I've been travelling which was a shame, as I think it was rather entertaining. I was in Peru last time. Peru got better and better you know. I was not so sure about it at first. All that hiking through the jungle and up hills all to see some Incan ruins. However, the more I spent time in Cusco, the more I fell in love with it. From the gorgeous restaurants to the swanky bars to the drop-dead gorgeous... scenery! It was amazing. And the shopping was pretty awesome. We met a really cool German girl while we were travelling round Lake Titicaca (you know, the big blue bowl of floating reads, random Bolivian dancing and hiking galore), so we ended going to Cusco with her and staying at party central Loki. It was good times all around and during that week I shopped alot and hiked, yes, hiked, up Macchu Piccu! It was one of the most amazing sights I've ever witnessed. Lush green land all around with an awe-inspiring Incan village plonked in the middle. I totally and utterly fell in love with it.

We also got change to travel to Lima which, contrary to reports I'd heard, was beautiful and after that it was on to Columbia which was okay. I had PMT however so that more or less hampered my experience there. After Bogota, it was so to Venezuela which was gorgeous. We travelled to a remote little village called Choroni where there were huge expanses of long sandy beaches set against towering mountains lush with vegetation and the twinkling blue sea sparkling from the other side. The men, however, were way too intense for my liking and in the end I was glad to make my escape. However it was bittersweet as I could feel my travels coming to the end. Trinidad beckoned for one day and one day only before it was time for the motherland… Guyana.

And on to Peru

I´ve noticed that my blog doesn´t really centre around my travels, but all the hot boys I tend to fall in love with. This, I need to rectify. I must remember why I came on this trip. It was not to become infatuated by a different man in every country, but rather to find myself and all that cliched shizzle!

Last time I updated this, I believe I was in La Paz. La Paz was cool, although as soon as I had adjusted to the altitude çand got over hummous gate, we set off to the Salar de Uyuni, the world´s largest salt plains. Man, I have never seen so much salt in my life. There was a lot of salt, and would you believe, not a sprinkling of pepper in sight. The trip was pretty awesome, although the highlight was getting on the bus and hearing some Northern bloke (who, as it turns out, lives just round the corner from me) utter, "it´s an f·$&ing desolated waaaste land out theeere with people pissing everywheerre". Oh the shame to even be associated with Preston.

Um, my blog was just posted by accident, so any reader that I may have, please don´t be confused. So more about my salty trip! We were in a group of six, and after looking at some dead mummies, four of us managed to get trashed on Bolivian rum in the middle of the desert with the sounds of Pitbull echoing in the background. It was pretty cool, up until I got back, had no clue where I was, picked an unwanted fight with my travel pal (yes I am still ashamed), fell asleep, woke up five minutes later, demanded she take me to the loo as I thought I was in some random discoteca, she refused, so the random Spanish boy had to take me. Once I got to the bottom, there was clarity. I knew where I was and I just felt like a stupid drunk idiot.

Anyway, that´s like so two days ago. Over the following days, I drank in the gorgeous sights of Laguna Colarado, Laguna Verde, the hot geysers (where the P Town man reappeared only to start downing beer and ´looking for titties´ at 8 in the morning) and dreamt I was being suffocated in my cell like accomodation which was SO cold. All in all, the trip was amazing, up until I ate some llama and it gave me food poisoning (yes, yes, I thought llama was meant to bring happiness too). Which, pretty much, takes me up to today. I still have it - the food poisoning that is, and I guess you could also say the llama - I have never been so sick (from both ends) in my life. I am hoping it will pass and I am also hoping it will be a blessing, ie it will make me mega skinny for when I encounter my next beloved, although the Argentinian and Angus are still up there ;)

As for the sign off...

Never trust a llama.

A week of excess...

I can´t believe how fast time has flown. I believe the last time I wrote, or typed rather, a little something something was over a week or two weeks ago. I don´t quite know where to start however after updating this little blog my travel pal and I met two lovely lovely Geordie lasses who we ended up travelling, firstly, to Iguazu Falls -Argentina stylee - then to Buenos Aires where we spent a truly excessive week. That place is totally party central, I have´t drunk so much vodka since university and I haven´t made such a tit out of myself since, um, a week or so ago. We were staying at party hostel central which was tres fun and what it lacked in natural lighting, boy did it make up for it with the mega hot receptionist who I am little enamoured by! Phew, I think I may just have to take a minute.

So perhaps rather than bore you with all the details, I could break it down bullet point stylee, for my own record as much as yours!

Day one
Went to a fab restaurant called Mirandas. Learnt that the best way to go against my Hindu code of conduct is to gorge on beef! Well, when in Argentina... Went back to the hostel, drank way too much cheap vodka. Ended up in the hostel bar, harrassed one young lad by calling him every name in the sun - oops - then tried to chat up his mate Angus (with a beard), who told me I was very intelligent, very confusing and that he couldn´t work me out. Er hello! If I insult you (ie tell you you have nice crow´s feet - don´t ask), it means I like you. Well in my world anyway. Needless to say that foray didn´t culminate in anything remotely mindblowing (he left) and we ended up in some dodgy Argentinian club.... enough said. .

Day two
Coppped a look at the hot receptionist - totally thought we had a connection, much like with Angus, had a terribly uncomfortable (sober) conversation with Angus, ran away, then hit the shops. Thank god for materialism and markets. Two scarves later I was happy as larry and we tangoed the night away.

Day three
Hot receptionist told me I smelt nice. Swoon. I got all flustered and tried to make a witty quip. What is the matter with me? Sometimes it´s best just to say thanks. Went on a fabulous bike ride round Palermo. Now tell me, have you ever rode a Brompton bike, by that, I mean one with curved handlebars not straight handlebars? If not, do it, do it now as they are the shizzle. I felt like such a lady. My back was straight, my helmet cocked to one said - my bike rocked! On our return we went to a very cool restaurant called Krisna, bohemian central, and then ended up at the hostel bar, again, where my friend, um, let´s call her Kat, told me she could get us all drunk in half an hour. Well she´s a Geordie, and she was right. I was hammered, saw my mate Angus, told him he had very lovely nose, tried to chase after him to confess my undying love ( he disappeared) then proceeded to tell everyone else and their mother that I was in love with him. For the record, I am not, just merely deluded. Ended up in yet another dodgy nightclub where I had a brief dalliance with a Londoner who said he was going to nail me so I left.

Day four
Hangover central. Went to La Broca, gorgeous coloured houses, tango galore and so much crap to buy. I was in my element. Went to the hostel bar in the evening, saw the nailer man, ran away then had a terribly uncomfortable debate about the morals of journalism.

Day five
Went to Uruguay for the crack, ate a gizzard and an intestine and supped hot chocolate - aside from the intestine, not the gizzard, it was bliss. These Uruguayians sure know who to eat!

Day six
Rented a golf buggy to zip around town in. Headed back to BA for one last night of excess and went to the hot receptionist´s birthday party, he asked if I was interested, I made another unwitty quip, he told me he´d like an Indian girlfriend, cue more embarrasment, eventually gave in after ten vodkas, had a clandestine (which translates to incredibly drunken) smooch, got in a a taxi with him... oh yeah... then half way home the object of my affections had to get out to throw up not once, not twice but probably about five times. That put pay to any sexy fun, so I took him home, arrived at my hostel at 6.30, then got up for my flight to Bolivia at 7.30. Cripes! Buenos Aires is NOT for the faint-hearted.

This takes me to pretty much today, where I am in La Paz (a dizzyingly beautiful city which may cause me bankruptcy), suffering from chronic PMT (which means stay out of my way). Hence why I am trying to stay out of my travel pal´s way incase I am mean to her (which I think has already happened)! Ooops, where´s the starflower oil when I need it.

So I think that´s all. I think I will like La Paz. I have already bought a love potion from a witch and I am off to the Salt Plains tomorrow in.... a local bus (scary petrified).

On that note, I will sign off with...

Pray for me