Slimer's Adventures in South America

Sitting in my room in Hostel Tanauso, overlooking the sea and beaches where children paddle in the sunset, I can do nothing but ponder over the last thing I read before setting off on my journey from London some 21 hours ago. It was from the Worst Case Survival Handbook - Travel Edition and it read, "Always be prepared to deal with the unexpected for if something can go wrong it often does." Now this has nothing to do with the fact that I arrived at the wrong terminal at Heathrow (T3 instead of T2) or that my London to Paris flight was delayed by an hour meaning I almost missed my Jumbo Jet to Caracas. It's more the fact that Air France LOST my main ruck sack and all my gear within it. Doh! Or as the airline rep told me straight after a quick computer check, "We don't know where the hell it is." Now I'm left wondering how I can continue (or even start) my trip without my stuff! If I were to replace my kit, Caracas doesn't strike me as the safest place to undergo a major shopping expedition! None the less, I'm to phone Air France back tomorrow after 11 O'Clock to see if it's turned up anywhere; which scuppered my original plans of flying to Cuidad Bolivar first thing in the morning.

Given that all the tourist books harp on about being mugged in Caracas, no sooner had I left customs upon landing, I was very wary about being set upon by Mike Angel. A big burly guy who seemed intent on being my un-official tour guide and my new best friend! Not wanting to become a statistic just yet I ditched him by getting his phone number and saying I may phone him tomorrow for some taxi work. I found a tourist information point and was relieved to find the girl behind the counter spoke English. She laughed when I said I wanted a place for $40 US a night (they're into 4/5 star hotels which cost many times more). But a few phone calls later, it seemed everywhere was booked up except for a place for $41 US (Ha!) plus an extra $25 US for the hostel to come pick up and bring me back to the airport tomorrow if needed.

The taxi ride was scary, we passed lots of street markets with bored, desperate looking young men. Forget getting mugged by the taxi driver, I thought we were going to get car-jacked! Amidst all this we pulled into the hostel, through some security gates and the usual fat security guard. This not looking the safest place in town I figured I'd eat in tonight!

At reception I paid for the night in USD and converted $70 US into local groats but the girl only gave $50 US worth of currency. By the time I noticed I was too tired to argue, nobody here speaks English. So I take a kip, a cold shower (grrr) and head to the restaurant for 20:20 and order mixed grilled meat and chips. The waitress is a short plump woman with huge breasts and a face which looks like she could have been a vampire extra in "From Dusk 'till Dawn"! The plate looked huge and greasy but I eat it all, along with 2 Polar Ice beers (much needed). I feel like I could sleep for days so I decide to give it a try.

My Spanish Sucks! And nobody speaks English. Worse still, they don't understand my Spanish. That morning I was delighted to find the shower had HOT water so I try washing my hair with hand soap (my shampoo being in the lost rucksack). Messing around I find a wicked way to wear my money belt (under the trousers round the back, like a bum belt).

In the hotel reception I meet Blake and Will, 2 Americans who also flew in yesterday to start their 7 month South American trek, except they speak Spanish. They thought I very brave doing the same, only on my own, with a stutter and with *no* grasp of Spanish whatsoever. I said I was stupid. (Apparently it's easy to pick up Spanish in parts of the States due to the Latin influence.)

After Breakfast with Blake, Will and a crazy old Slovakian bloke (who refused to speak Spanish, claiming they all speak English and just grabbed his balls whenever the waitress asked him what he wanted), Blake helped me phone the airport. And guess what, my bag is coming! So we all grab a ride to the airport in a HUGE black American Ford muscle car (see the end of Fast'n'Furious). I sit in the "armchair" in the front! Despite it's size it was very beat up but still looked very cool!

I've a few hours to kill until my bag turns up so I buy an evening flight to Ciudad Bolivar for 200,000 Bs (�50) and head to the bar. There I meet the crazy Slovak! Except now he's normal-ish and is intent on feeding me life advice. He's over 54, has a grey bushy beard and a corporate baseball cap. It seems he's an Electrical Engineer and is here to help install a Cement Factory. He has a penchant for girls and claims to have slept with over 250 of them. He kisses 2 random girls goodbye as they leave the bar whilst I watch. I accidental buy him a beer. My Spanish sucks. Nobody speaks English.

• Bad News:
  The 3:00pm flight from Paris with my bag on, is 3.5 hours late, meaning I miss the 7:30 flight to Ciudad Bolivar I paid for earlier.

• Good News:
  I meet a Slovakian Tour Guide (with Slovaks in tow) who speaks Spanish and who is trying to get his troupe to Canaima, the same place I wanna get to.

• Change of Plan:
  In the following mad 3 minute rush I join them and buy a ticket to Puerto Ordaz for 170,000 Bs. I don't know where Puerto Ordaz is!

After arriving in Puerto Ordaz at 23:00, Peter (the Slovak Guide) found all the hostels were booked up. Ooer. I stuck close and handed him my phone card (he speaks Spanish, I don't). Once he used it I knew he'd have to sort me out some accommodation too! Good thing he did for the armed Police were telling us the airport was closing and we all had leave. He booked me into a triple room (well, concrete room with 3 floor mats) with him and another of his group. It only cost 33,000 Bs (�8) including taxis there and back. Cool!

It turns out that Peter often does real expeditions here - proper shit. He showed me lots of photos of him canoeing up river for 12 days before climbing a Mountain (Tapui), complete with boat, and abseiling down the other side. He gave me his card and a CD with 100's of his photos on. He's even been in a film about him (and his group) climbing Angel Falls which has been shown in 25 film festivals all over the world. If I email him, he'll send me a DVD of it!

Up at 06:00 to grab another muscle car taxi, only this one was even more beat up than the last and sported a nice pair of shiny "slicks" for tyres. This car was so run down even the needles on the dials on the dashboard had fallen off! Good excuse for speeding I suppose! At the airport the Slovaks decide to it's too expensive to fly to Canaima (claiming it to be 880,000 Bs per head) and prefer to taxi it to Ciudad Bolivar instead for cheaper airfares. They ditch me because I'm an odd number and they didn't want 5 in a car for a 100 km journey. So I buy me a ticket to Canaima for only 270,000 Bs!? My Spanish sucks. Nobody here speaks English. Simple questions like "one-way or return" elude me. I end up buying a one-way ticket, naturally!

The plane is a small 10 seater and was 1½ hours late. I board with a French couple Patrice and Claude (his wife) and another couple, Sean (a Canadian from Vancouver) and Monika (his Hungarian wife) who've been living in Shepards bush for a while. Sean and Monika also arrived the other day from Heathrow but via Frankfurt. Their bags didn't arrive either! And they don't turn up until midway through their trip to Angel Falls. The airline offered to ship them out to the jungle, but as they couldn't even ship them to a mainline airport, they wisely turned the offer down!

It turns out that Sean and Monika are doing the Angel Falls trip with Bernal Tours, the same people that I want to do it with, meaning I should meet a rep at Canaima airport.

The flight took an unexpected detour for a flyover of Angel Falls! Brilliant! And the sights of the Tepuis (table top mountains) were awesome. Once we rocked up to the tiny Canaima airstrip it became obvious that I was meant to have paid for the trip before I arrived; everyone is asking for a pre-paid white voucher. Naturally, I don't have one. Sean helped explain that I wanted the same trip as them, and I paid the rep $160 US for a 3 day / 2 night tour. We walk for 5 mins and transfer to a small boat with an outboard to the island. On arrival I spy an amazing latina babe sunning herself on the rocks, sporting a skimpy bikini and a sexy pose. Little did I know she'd become a good mate over the next few days along with her British fiance Will!

The camp is brilliant. The mess tables and hammocks are all in view of the spectacular Salto Golondrina waterfalls. I lend Sean and Monika a big dry bag and pick a hammock next to theirs; they're really friendly and include me in everything. I change into swim gear and follow a large group for a tour of the waterfalls. First stop is a beach by a lake and ALL the girls instantly strip down to bikinis and start splashing about in the water! I take a dip also, the water's warm and orange (due to the roots of the water plants) and when I look down I look like I've a fake tan. We see Eagles and walk under and over the waterfall by the lake before heading to the BIG waterfall by the camp site.

The relentless brutal pounding of the rocks by the waterfall is awesome. Combine that with actually standing under it with lots of squealing bikini babes in a tropical paradise setting and you may understand why I had an ecstatic smile on my face that I couldn't wipe off!

At dinner I notice the Slovaks are here too and Peter greets me with a hearty, "I told you we'd meet again!" Sean and Monika went to bed (well, hammock) early and I spent the evening around a fire on the beach chatting to Sarah, a girl from Poweys, North Wales no less. I feel like I've finally done it, I've started travelling around South America - I'm doing it, I'm doing it!

Unfortunately I'm not to travel in the same boat as Sean and Monika and Will and Adriana but with the po-faced Slovaks (laugh or smile damn it!) along with Patrice and Claude and with Peter and Martin, two Check dudes from Prague who do marketing for Intel. After starting an hour late, it's a 4 or 5 hour affair in a long wooden boat. The jungle scenery is stunning and as the day wears on, the Tepuis (flat topped mountains) loom larger. We stop by a mini waterfall and rock pool for lunch. Peter and I take a dip. Halfway through another boat stops for lunch, it's full off Latina bikini babes who instantly start splashing about and posing for cameras. This country is wicked!

Back to the boat and we start motoring up Grade 1 rapids! Occasionally the engine stalls and we start floating backwards and picking up speed. We just sit there as the guides start to panic, try to stop us pummelling into the banks and attempt to re-start the engine! At one point we all get out and the boat makes a running start at some real shallow rapids. It's not uncommon to hear rocks scrape under the the bottom of the boat. It's dry season and the river isn't that deep anymore. And yes, we get soaked, constantly. Martin remarked that it's better than the Log Fume at Disneyland, I retort, "Nope, this is the real thing!"

We reach camp at 16:00 and I've a real sore arse from sitting on the wooden plank seat for 4 hours. We ditch our kit and take the 1 hour trek through a jungle forest to a view point. The path is just a mass of rocks and tree roots. The we see it - Angel Falls; the crash site of Jimmy Angel. Cool! The guys from the other boat turn up. They waited an extra 1½ hours for another couple to turn up (Mark and Lisa who flew in with 20 frozen chickens and a 20" flat screen TV!). Their boat engine was under powered and due to hitting rocks in the shallow, they had to change the propeller 3 or 4 times! After soaking up the scenery Sean and Monika, Will and Adriana and I all walk back together before getting naked to bath in the river (there is no shower) with the falls in the background. Sean and Will both reckoned the river had a high shrinkage factor. Pansies!

Sean wakes me up at 5:30 am for we decided last night to hot foot it back to the falls for dawn. I make it in half an hour, not bad for a fat Welsh boy! I don't stop at the view point but continue round the corner to take a dip in a pool under the falls itself. More bikini babes! A refreshing cool dip is just what I needed after a hot sweaty trek. I love this place! I walk back to camp with Will and Adriana (they're engaged and hope to marry in a few months) just in time for breakfast; slice of ham, slice of cheese, scrambled eggs and arrata (local corn pattie). It's then back on the long boats for the ride down the rapids back to Bernal Tours, stopping only for a quick swim off a sandy beach river bank and to take photos of a face in the rock. Oh, and again when the boat gets grounded, we all had to jump off to float it free. We also had to walk for half an hour overland while the boat went around and met us on the other side. We were supposed to visit an Indian village - but I only saw a souvenir shop. Whatever! I decide to go topless and catch some midday rays for the duration of the walk.

The Checks think I'm very brave doing the jungle thing and touring South America with no grasp of Spanish. In fact, most people think the Angel Falls trip is an adventure, hence think what I'm about to undertake is very extreme. Actually, when I think of it, everyone has commented on how brave I am and it's even been mentioned that the British in particular have a sense of adventure. The Checks make a point of saying goodbye and give me their email address to hear how the jungle went. Sean and Monika, Will and Adriana also leave the Bernal Camp - I'll miss them all.

Only the Brits Mark and Lisa and Steve, another Canadian, are left. This is, until Susanne arrives. A short, large breasted Venezuelan girl - man, I love bikinis! I go out with them for another tour of the falls. Susanne is quite bubbly and takes a shine to me, holding on to me whilst walking down steep downhill bits. She catches her bikini bottoms in the back zip of her denim skirt and asks me to sort it. It's wedges in pretty good and I fail. Still, I got a good unexpected view of her arse! The waterfalls have dried up significantly over the past 2 days, however the BIG one is awesome still. On the walk back Steve has the gift of the gab and inadvertently steals Susanne away from me. I can not compete. He is further triumphant on returning to camp as his multi-tool has a pair of pliers which he uses to release the stuck zip. Defeated I head to the shower to wash some clothes. On my return I gross everyone out because I took a photo of a toad in the toilet with a huge blood sucking tick on it's side!

Speaking to the owner of the camp, she lets me stay for an extra night or two for free as long as I pay for food. Cool. But she's concerned about my one-way ticket as there's nowhere in Canaima to buy a return! Ulp! She gets on her Walkie Talkie and says she'll sort something out. (this whole conversation in Spanish of course!) After dinner, which always comprises of meat in sauce, rice and salad, we head to the beach and start a fire. I spend most of the night chatting to Lisa whilst Mark, Patrice and Steve find wood and tend to the fire. After the couples leave, only Susanne, Steve and I are left. I feel awkward for the other two seem to be getting um, close. So I head back early to my hammock. Shame, because I was really enjoying staring at the stars in the sky.

I spend most of the morning packing up my stuff and trying to make it all fit in my rucksack once more! It would have been quicker if an evil centipede with long legs had not buried itself in my pack after jumping off a hammock and scuttling across my face. Meaning I had to un-pack it all to find it - it looked poisonous and I didn't want to find it unexpectedly! Steve gives me some blue "Happy Pills" for use when I'm in real pain and some other pills for bacterial diarrhoea. Susanne left for Angel Falls on her own and the rest of us headed to the airstrip. The owner had sorted me out a flight for 160,000 Bs (dirt cheap!). Lisa and Mark were staying in a Posada (guest house) for the night in Ciudad Bolivar and gave me it's name. As they were taking a different plane they said they would wait half an hour for me at the other end. I said not to bother for everything here is either late, delayed or cancelled but on-one ever seems to care. All times mentioned just seem to be loose recommendations! Observations had taught me that 5 mins = ½ hour and I'd just been asked to wait 20 mins!

My plane (only 1 hour later) is a 4 seater Cessna and as I'm flying with a family of 4, I ride co-pilot! Half way there the pilot asks me if I'm going to Peurto Ordaz! I tell him "No" and he starts nattering on the radio. We're still going to Peurto Odaz, but then he's going to fly me to Cuidad Bolivar! Despite flying banged up little Cessnas (i.e. the fuel gauges on my plane didn't work and spent their whole life jammed on full!) the pilots still wear pressed white shirt uniforms, how cute! Another pilot joined us for the short hop to Bolivar. The two spent their time making gay jokes and clapped and cheered when we landed, as if they were happy to still be alive! Mark and Lisa were waiting for me. By this time, as predicted, I was 2 hours late!

Mental Note: Never try to catch some sun the day before you have carry your overloaded rucksack. Ouch!

Lisa and Mark had already checked me in. The hostel (Postada Angostura) was luxurious and cost me 80,000 Bs a night. My room is on-suite with a shower, ceiling fan and air-con! I decide to stay for 2 more nights until I leave for Caracas. We wander up the Rio Orinoco river front and call into Adrenaline Adventures to ask for directions to a restaurant. There we met a couple who had cycled up from Argentina! We eat at a Colombian place round the corner. There's no menu, we just had to answer these 3 difficult questions:

Q1: Meat?
A1: Si!

Q2. Rice?
A2. Si!

Q3. Salad?
A3. Si!

Food was tasty, plentiful and only 10,000 Bs (~£2.5) compared to 30,000 Bs at the hostel. Beer is 1,000 Bs for a big stubbie. Back at the Posada we meet the Frenchies (Patrice and Claude) who it seems are also staying here. Popular place! They're waiting for a bag to turn which an airline lost a week ago! When a taxi finally pulls up, it's not to deliver the bag, but to take Patrice to the airport so he can collect it! Whilst drinking Brahma Chapp beer at the hostel (it has a slight bitter taste!) we chat to Cecil and Sue on the roof top veranda. They're a couple of OAPs who are waiting for their passports to turn up after leaving them hidden under a bed during a trip to the Delta de Orinoco! Cecil was an Electronic Engineer who worked for the British government designing manned and unmanned aircraft and satellites. Not bad work!

I sleep in, grab a hot shower and shave. When I say shave, I mean shave! My beard has gone for the first time since I bought a beard trimmer some 5½ years ago. Short hair, no beard, I look 24 years old! I join Lisa and Mark for breakfast. I ask how they met and Lisa inadvertently blurts out, "I was married to his cousin." It all goes quiet. Oops. Lisa researches nutrition and Mark is / was a Carpenter. They leave to do some scuba diving in Lod Roqs. I chat to the Frencies (who are sporting sandals from their newly recovered bag!) for a bit before they leave for the Delta de Orinoco. I'm on my own again. It's largely a wasted day. I walk along the waterfront, buy a couple of "bacon rolls" (bread rolls with pig bits in), convert my 1st Travellers Cheque into local groats, use the Internet to tell people I'm still alive and go back to the Colombian for dinner. Well the food is good and the girls are mighty pretty. Today I get a choice of red or black salsa on my carne! I choose black. Then back to the hostel before dark, a cheeky beer and an early night.

I spend the morning fathing about with clean clothes, showers and packing when I spotted 2 large holes in my main pair of trousers. Doh! I change into a new pair and then fath about even more trying to attach my passport to them as they don't have any zippable pockets. Once done I leave the hostel, head to the river front, buy a "bacon roll" and some water and jump on the No. 1 bus to the airport. The bus had about 6 rows of seats and was in such state of disrepair that most seats has lost their padding and were just bare metal skeletons. The bus never picked up any speed because it can't. I hop off once Jimmy Angels plane is in sight (the airport) and find the big hotel as instructed.

I'm here to cash in some travellers cheques for USD cash but the hotel reception tell me the dude I want to see is in the airport. So I cross the road and speak to an English speaking tour operator. He laughs at me. Nobody will sell you USD for they are worth far too much on the black market. I decide travellers cheques suck and wait outside for a bus to go back. I wait for over an hour and am passed by two No. 2 buses but no No. 1. Every passerby stares at me whist I wait at the bus stop. Meanwhile the temperature clocked up an amazing 37°C. Far too hot for little ol' me so I hail a cab, or two. The first one drove off because he didn't understand me! My Spanish sucks. Nobody speaks English.

Back in town I grab a an hour on the Internet, a hot dog from a stand with ALL the extras (not a easy challenge to order), back to the Posada for chill time and back out again for dinner. I go to my favourite Colombian with the babes behind the bar. Today I have the choice of Meat or Fish. Wow! I choose fish for a change. If KFC did fish this is what it's taste like! I sweated all throughout the meal for it was still 33°C!

The place turns out to be a bit of an old mans pub and a well to do, but stubbly, lanky man a few seats down at the bar starts talking to me. Well at me, because I don't understand a word he says! But he points, gestures and uses sign language and it turns out that one of the babes behind the bar has as speech problem because she's deaf (hence also a bit dumb) and the other happy bubbly one is on medication after slitting her wrists!? The deaf one also paints landscape paintings from photos (as seen hanging on the walls around the bar). He also says I can't walk back to the Posada because I'll get mugged or shot. He buys me a beer. And so it continues for the next 6. I stick around because I need to practice 'hearing' Spanish even if I don't understand it.

We leave after saying goodbye to all his amigos in the bar. I thought he was going to take me to a taxi rank but instead we end up in another bar! It's an old man's bar but he knows the owner. My new friend takes great pleasure in introducing me to other people, I'm a show piece! But he's not happy at all when some younger lads start chatting to me. I was *his* find and they're stealing his thunder! He succeeds in shoo-ing them away, apparently fearing for my safety. he checks outside constantly to see if they're hanging around. I just thought they were any combination of drunk, friendly or gay! (Lots of handshakes and hugs.) I mean, they even bought us a beer! It seems I'm a bit of a novelty and everyone want to claim ownership. After a few more beers we leave and hail a cab. It costs me a staggering 10,000 Bs to go four blocks up the road! Still, I pay because me new friend has been good to me. Adios Amigo!

Walking into the Posada I see a big plate of salad, decide I'm hungry and tell the staff so. I was hoping for a quick sarnie but they're more than happy to whip me up a 3 course meal instead! Then the main guy (Francesco) sits with me. Still no English speaker in sight so it's back to pigeon Spanish and sign language. My Spanish sucks. Nobody speaks English.

I'm in bed for 10 O'clock - I feel completely shagged out. I blame the heat!

I spend most of the day on the Internet setting up (this) blog, typing up days and uploading photos (as well as the usual trip to the bakers!) I must comment on the cars here. You see an abandoned vehicle on the side of the road, no lights, no bumpers, doors hanging off and rusting from wheel to roof. Then you notice a person inside. You get a little closer and the thing drives off. Incredible! If it has doors then it usually has a Taxi sticker slapped on the windscreen too! They also like their American muscle cars (i.e. Ford Mustangs and their lookalikes) with oversize wheels. Most of them look like custom home made jobs!

I'm still upset about the useless Travellers Cheques, I can't believe no-one told me I can't cash my USD cheques into USD cash, only local groats. That sucks 'cos the black market rate for USD is far greater than the official one I get for cheques. e.g. 2,200 Bs : 1 USD official compared to 3,000 Bs : 1 USD black market. More over USD can be used anywhere, it's the Euro of South America! Had I know I'd have brought a shed load more USD with me.

Anyhow, tonight I plan to get a coach to Caracas where I fly to Guyana. Will had told me stories of how the coaches in Venezuela were nice and clean but have the air-con jammed on full (to gently squeeze the bladder) and all the toilets locked! Therefore I pack an empty plastic bottle and my jumper in my day-pack. Before I leave the Posada all the staff warn me against the banditos in Caracas. Francesco says they'll even rob the pants off me! If I wasn't nervous before, I am now!

The Posada calls me a taxi to the bus station for 10,000 Bs. I'm there for 19:45 - it's chaos. Lots of buses, lots of coaches, lots of people and lots of shouting touts. I sign up to the 1st person I hear shouting, "Caracas, Caracas!" for 40,000 Bs. I choose the 9:30 bus over the 8:30 'cos it gets in at 6:30am when I hope it'll be day light (it'll be safer then see!). As the time clocks on, lots of coaches come and go. I motion to the cowboys who sold me the ticket. They tell me to stay seated. I watch them sit outside their office and harass any unsuspecting female who walks past. There's a posh office next to their shabby one and I begin to wish I bought my Caracas ticket there, especially as 9:30 seems to be the generic last bus time. So if mine doesn't turn up then I'm screwed with regards to getting to the airport in time. But it does, some 20 minutes late and far from what I was expecting, it's very nice - with large inclinable seats upstairs. I settle in and would have had a fantastic nights sleep if it wasn't for the air-con jammed on full! I was cold, the jumper wasn't enough and looking around, everyone else had brought a blanket. Thankfully I didn't drink enough to need the empty bottle - for the toilet, as foretold, was indeed locked.

Georgetown (the capital of Guyana), like Caracas comes with grave warnings from the Foreign Office. They say do not resist being robbed for those who do are shot dead. I'm to make my way from one to the other via 3 flights and neither airport is close to their corresponding city centre. Lets go...

After a disturbed nights sleep we arrive at Caracas Bus Station. Well I assumed it was as there weren't any signs anywhere, everyone got off and my bag was ejected from the hold. And yippee, it's daylight! The chances of being mugged or shot (or both) had just been halved! I grab an official looking cab to the airport for 100,000 Bs. It has blacked out windows! It takes some 45 mins and the road takes us through some pitiful slums. Although largely made from brick, the houses look like port-a-cabins that were dropped haphazardly on top of one another. They often have crumbling missing walls and they sprawl out all over the hill side.

Breakfast was the same as last night's dinner - a bread roll with a sweet fig like jam filling. After complementing myself on how less bulky my day-pack had become I realised I'd left my travel pillow on the bus. I'm really gutted as last night it added an immeasurable amount of comfort. I don't know how I'm going to sleep without it!?

The first flight is without incident. At Polamar I walk from the domestic terminal to the international terminal where I'm told my next flight is delayed by 2 hours. It's not unexpected given the nature of this country but it's only a 45 min flight! It also means I miss my connecting flight to Georgetown. In broken English the Comviassa flight rep assures me that her boss will sort me out in the Port of Spain with another flight and / or a hotel for the night. Why am I not convinced!?

Note: My chin stubble feels weird.

Okay, so the flight is actually delayed by 4 hours but it's not so bad - plenty of time to listen to my Spanish tapes. And I get chatting to John and Christie, Western looking folk from Trinidad who talk like they walked straight out of a Malibu advert, "for real, man"! The airline offers us free Coke with ice, which I mix with cheap Duty Free Rum - instant Cubra Libra! We try to get the rep to explain why the long wait. All we can make out from her little English is that our plane crashed yesterday and we have to fly out in a different one. Christie isn't happy! They've been away for a week on a beach holiday (away from their 2 daughters) and they miss the Trinidad food very much. Apparently I must try a "bad habit" from the road side grills. It consists of lumps of chicken fried up with cheese and spices and is the BEST burger in town! Once arrived, our turbo-prop plane is to take us to the Port of Spain, the capital of Trinidad! Cool, a new country I wasn't expecting to visit! More Cubra Libras on the plane and John gives me his email address and asks me to tell him how Guyana goes. Weird, because I barely mentioned it!?

After I confuse immigration with blank bits in the "where are you staying" section of my immigration card I go on a wild goose chase to find a Comviassa Airline rep. None is found but I am put on the LAST flight to Georgetown. It's great that people speak English again. As I walk away I am interrupted by Lisa, a female member of airport staff, who after a short chat gives me her telephone no (as I had none to give her)!!! She's no supermodel but I wouldn't kick her out of bed, so to speak. She's expecting a call from me on my return within the month. Hmmm...! As I badly need a shower and change of clothes I can't help wonder if it was a dare from her friends? Or it could be I look like a true British explorer; boots, trek trousers, shirt with rolled up sleeves, an unclean rugged look and carrying my 19 Kg pack on a shoulder up and down the aisles. (Mr Summers would have been proud!) Or maybe she was touting for extra, after hours, work? Who knows, as I'm flying straight out never to return, I'll never know.

At security I'm not allowed to take the remainder of my cheap rum on the plane so they make me take a couple of big swigs before I kiss it goodbye and leave it behind. It's seriously easy going here man! At duty free I buy a big bottle of Fernandes Black Label Rum for $6 USD as recommended by John and Christie. Realising I had over an hour to waste in the departure lounge I curse myself for not chatting to Lisa over a coffee and mess up my Rubiks cube for the first time.

There's a whole coven of Muslims that fill up the plane, more triggers than I can cope with on my own. I spot a black American football player looking type as a walk down the plane and decide he's the one who's going to have to help me should things kick off. Every single trigger is coughing, spluttering and snorting. I decide there's an endemic in their community and am keen not to catch it. On landing in Guyana,0 immigration and customs are a nightmare. The Muslims are re-locating and have 3 suitcases each. Customs insist on opening up every case. After a long wait I get waved through. Arrivals is just a tin shack - no cash point. Two official taxi drivers instantly start arguing over me. I choose the younger one who claims the other guy pushed in and wasn't waiting his turn. His name is Raoul and it costs me $25 USD to go some 25 km to Georgetown. Whist overtaking on double yellows and swerving around stray dogs we chat about the Rasta language, man.

Georgetown, for a capital city, is a piss ant backwater village in the middle of nowhere. Raoul points out Parliament, the high courts, the cathedral, etc. Like every other building they're all just ponced up wooden shacks next door to each other, set back from a dirt track (sorry, I mean main road). The place has a feel of an old fashioned wild west town to it. When we arrive at Tower Hotel at midnight, a girl jumps in the taxi and some guy asks Raoul to make sure his prostitute gets home safely. After checking in I'm led to my room via the pool and bar. J-King (not Jo-King) sees me in. It's lush; a double bed, desk, chairs, shower, air-con and has dark wood panelling all round. As he leaves J-King informs me he's head of security and that should I want any girls I should let him know. He repeats himself with a sincere look and asks if I understand. In my messed up, rugged state I wonder if I look like a real adventurer, or just a dick? I head to the bar for a local beer (Banks) and whilst drinking it overlooking the dark pool I realise I had just argued with the bar staff (as the bar had actually just closed). I'm tired, dirty, had a rough couple of days and especially in my get-up, I feel like an adventurer. Maybe my confidence is growing after all? I ponder over J-King's proposition but the logistics don't work out. I need a good shower, some laundry and then I should really get some sleep. Maybe ma�ana.

For those who don't know I'm here to do a Jungle Survival Course with Bushmasters.

After waiting ½ hour at the bar for a coffee and an egg toastie I return to my room to be greeted by Richard, another Bushmaster tourist. He's a bit shorter than myself, looks, sounds and is built like a public school boy. He's been working as a deck hand and tender captain on a £2 billion boat in the Caribbean for the past 9 months and flew in from Barbados yesterday. We go for a walk around Georgetown. We're the only white people around and suffice to say, we stand out. At the cash point I draw out the maximum amount allowed by the machine, some 40,000 groats (£100 ish) and it offers up a wad of cash the size of a brick! I have trouble closing my wallet. Previously Richard had drawn out 3 times that amount and now has fistfuls of notes pouring out of all his pockets.

We head to the market, it's total bedlam. Thousands of people jammed in little corridors fighting to get past each other. Every corner sells different stuff: fish, clothes, gold, food, whatever. We head out of the centre and walk along the Sea Wall, specifically because the Foreign Office doesn't recommend it! Walking back to the hotel we stop in a bar for a beer and couple games of pool. Richard is good. I lose.

Back at the hotel we knock on Ian "Bushmaster" Craddock's door. He's a small pleasant chap with a very un-assuming character which belays his Special Forces background (that's SAS to you!). We head out for beers and a burger and are joined by Sarah "Bushmaster" Jones and Graham, the other survivalist to be. He's a fair skinned, ginger, office job looking person who appears rather shy. Oh, and the airline has lost his main pack too! I share a twin room with Richard for the night as it's on the Bushmaster's tab.

After Brekkie we head to the Oasis Cafe for real, proper coffee and a to mooch over the itinerary for the next few weeks. It seems we're to spend at least 3 days in isolation! Gulp! We hear lots of tales of local Amerindians and hunting with bows and arrows. Sarah, Richard and Graham head back to the airport - Graham, to pick up his lost bag and Richard to change his return flight.

Ian and I head to the Georgetown zoo. Ian is full of,

"That tastes good",
"You'll be hunting that",
"Definitely fire some arrows at one of those",
"Those bite back" and
"These taste real good!"

Wicked! I'm starting to get excited!

More time in Oasis (with Internet!) and then on to Pegasus (the Meridian Hotel) for drinks and dinner. I get a rep for being "into" my alcohol and cocktails! I dunno how that happened!?

We also discover that the $20 note here is worth just 5p! Maybe I'm not so rich here after all!

I arrive late for breakfast but fortunately the waiter packs up my fruit slices, butters and jams my toast, decants fruit juice and coffee into sealed polystyrene cups and hands it to me nicely packed in bag. Voila! Instant brekkie to go! I spice up the fruit juice with Trinidads finest (rum) and board the taxi to Ogle Airport. As our bags get stowed onto a little Cessna we have to report to immigration (Why? We're not leaving the country!?), which I kid you not, is a little wooden hut. The officials in smart, ironed uniforms within took their jobs very seriously and refused to smile. One was doing the very important job of drawing red rule lines in a note pad. (Keep up the good work soldier!) The other (not the sharpest tool in the shed) took down our details. The interrogation with Ian went like this:

"Where have you stayed?"
"Tower Hotel."
"What's your occupation?"
"Tourism."
"What industry is that?"
"Tourism."
"What's that involve?"
"Tours."
"What do you do?"
"Lead Tours."
"What's your occupation?"
"Tourism."
"Where have you stayed?"
"Tower Hotel."
etc...

It look a while. Anyway, I fly co-pilot again and the others cram into the back. The whole flight was a white out in the clouds so we all try to catch some uncomfortable Zs. After 1½ hours we land at the airstrip at Rock View Lodge. Wow! It's a very well to do and expensive colonial resort run by a very English and public school boy speaking, Colin. Except for a dirt track round the back, the airstrip is the only way to get to this little oasis in the middle of nowhere, sorry, I mean the Guyana Interior.

After lunch and some pool time (the only pool in the Interior, so we're told) we go over our kit and get our Machetes! Custom hand made leather sheaves too! Everything goes into dry bags.

Dinner and evening beers are spent with Peter, a zoologist and Caiman (Croc) Catcher, also known as the Mad American. Peter and Ian chat about politics, characters, giant spiders, giant spider eating wasps, snakes, giant snakes, supersize Anacondas, Caiman, giant Caiman, Anteaters, giant Anteat... you get the idea. I mainly listen, spellbound to the conversation. Guyana is truly the lost / forgotten world. It appears that Brazil and the Amazon is just a tourist resort by comparison. Guyana is where it's all at.

After Brekkie we wait for our 4x4 ride to arrive. It's a Toyota Hilux pick-up truck, the most indestructible vehicle in the world! We are all decked out in our military gear for the first time and feel like a crack commando squadron about to leave on a mission.

We take a dirt track to a village some 45 minutes away where we ditch our un-needed kit and pick up our bows and arrows. Graham picks one up, has a play and snaps it in two! We weren't aware they have to be moistened and tensioned up first. Ulp! It's another 30 minutes in the 4x4 to the Bura Bura river with us all bundled in the back where transfer to a couple of dug out canoes for a 2 hour paddle down stream. Along the way we encounter Howler monkeys, a Green Emerald Boa Snake and a 4 foot Fire Snake!

On arrival at the campsite it's cheese and crackers for lunch and straight into machete training! These things are cool! It is the only thing you need to survive in the Jungle. This thing is sharp and will cut down a tree - we know, we tried! Awesome.

Then we pick a site for our house and pitch our hammocks. This included a lot of fathing about as we learnt how to tie knots and the pick the rights trees to use. Then it was time for a dip and a wash in the river, followed by dinner and our first beer in the jungle - in the middle of absolute nowhere!

(I am writing this tucked up in my sleeping system, watching fire-flies dance around the black night.)

After brekkie we re-adjust our hammocks because they sagged overnight in the heavy rain - all night, rain kept pooling up on my basha sheet (the plastic roof) and pouring off in a big dump every 5 minutes. We also re-adjust our mosquito nets to stop Vampire Bats sucking at our faces too! Whilst doing so I look up and see a large silhouette on the basha sheet. On closer inspection, on the other side, it's a giant bullet ant crawling around. This thing is bigger than my thumb! I double check my mosquito net and tighten it up.

Then it's straight into archery, Amerindian style. We're putting our metal tipped training arrows (i.e. no barbs) through our target some 20 feet away. My accuracy was so good to begin with that everyone thought I was a natural. So I tried very hard to prove them wrong! The bow string, after fired, has a tendency to twang back and bruise your wrist and the feather flights start to wear away the fleshy bit between finger and thumb. I fashioned a bandage to stop it getting any worse and kept practicing. I even tried a couple of double arrow shots (firing 2 arrows at once) - it works and is very cool!

After lunch we learn about rainforests (jungles) and the nasties that lurk within. To prove they really exist the local boys brought in some examples they found lying around the camp site in the past hour. They are all tucked away in bamboo tubes, sealed by leaves stuffed down the end. They brought in the usual; a huge brown spider, a yellow scorpion, a small snake and a giant bullet ant (probably from my basha sheet!). Invariably they all scuttle around, fall off the dinner table and get lost somewhere under our feet.

During dinner Ian tries to mislead us with regards to the isolation phase by feeding us mis-information. Net result, we don't know how many days or nights we're going to be alone for or when we're getting back to civilisation. Then it's back into the Caiman (croc) and Piranha infested river for a swim(!) and a wash.

Night time and we paddle up the same river for some wildlife spotting. With only head torches guiding us, all we see are outlines of eerie vines dangling down into the river. The local boys often call out to the various wildlife and usually get a response too! We saw the biggest Emerald Tree Boa ever, Possums, Kingfishers, Kinkajous (the cute big eyed pet that Paris Hilton had once) and a Pit Viper. At one point we looked up to see a huge stalk perched above us, who then promptly took an almighty dump in our boat, landing just 1 foot in front of me! Grr, if only I had my bow and arrow.

Now I'm in my hammock, in torrential rain, giant moths landing on my mosie net and a hole in my basha dripping water on my head. Night night!

The end of the evening saw us drink up our entire stash of beer. Meaning I then had a hell of job writing up my dairy after everyone else had gone to bed (well, hammock). In fact, what I wrote in my drunken state looks so comical, I've pictured it to the left and translated it below:

"Howler Monkeys - sound like a cross between eerie Ogres, evil winds and a 747 jet. Today, learned how to make fire, find and eat big white grubs. Went fishing, caught and ate Piranha. Floods from last night have risen the river by a good metre. Drank beer, lots of."

I'll now attempt to be a little more descriptive.

The night had brought a troop of Howler Monkeys passing through the camp. You couldn't see them in the pitch black of the jungle night but, boy could you hear them! They scream a low un-earthly howl bringing visions of eerie un-dead and evil mystical spirits. The sound they propagate through the canopy is truly the stuff of nightmares. Still, I slept soundly!

Morning then, we learnt how to make fire. The husks from nuts fallen from the silk cotton tree contain a cotton wool like filing, which when dry is excellent for catching sparks and turning it into a flame. Tiny twiglets are then used for kinder, followed by twigs, followed by bigger sticks. It's an involved process which takes a lot of preparation. But an essential one to master.

We rummaged around for kutkrit nuts fallen from the kutkrit tree which, more often than not, have been impregnated by the kutkrit beetle and harbour small white grubs. These small nuts have to be delicately held between fore finger and thumb in one hand whilst the other wields an oversized machete down upon it in an attempt to cleave the end off. Thereby presenting the kutkrit grub inside. Given these nuts are as hard as stone they necessitate a hefty wallop with the machete, just millimetres from your fingers. Challenging is a word I'd use to describe it, especially if you're kak handed like me!

Oh, and why you may ask! Why, to eat them of course! Being as cool as I am, I went first, flicked one up in the air and caught it in my mouth. They're juicy and taste, well, nutty!

The afternoon sees us trying our hand at fishing. It seems crazy but we fish for piranha in the same river that we wash and swim in at the end of the day! We make some little Yari Yari (fishing) rods from sticks and add some fine fishing line and a hook. With these we fish for little baby cat fish, using kutkrit grubs for bait. These baby fish are then used as bait for bigger fish and piranha!

I hate fishing. I'm crap at it. (One inevitably leads to the other!) I swear all I do is feed the bloody fish! The local boys on the other hand, using the same tools as us, but with a smattering of skill, pull fish and piranha out left, right and centre! It's good news because we eat the piranha for dinner. Man bites back!

After retentioning my bow (by twisting the string) I'm handed my 3 real arrows. 2 barbed for fish and birds and 1 spear tipped for mammals. I'm told that in isolation everyone encounters a situation to use them, it's up to you as to whether you make the most of it or not.

Today's remit is to trek into the Jungle, spot trees, make fire and fish. We spot plenty of Kutkrit palms whose fallen nuts contain the big white beetle grubs we ate yesterday. We chopped down a Heart of Palm tree (with Machetes, f*cking cool tool eh?) and ate its starchy heart; a small cabbage-esk tasting, leek looking bit at the top. Around Gum (aka rubber) trees you find lumps of sap which had oozed out of the branches up high. These rock looking lumps actually burn very well and can be used to start fires and to make old fashioned flaming torches. Silk Cotton trees produce nuts whose husks contain cotton wool, fire starting material. And of course the water vine! You cut a section out, upturn it and drink water! You cut the top first, then the bottom, otherwise capillary action sucks the water straight to the top of the vine faster than you can chop it down! We were also shown a vine which the locals reckon is a cure to snake bites and a cure to cancer! As most of the world's medicine is based on jungle plants and knowledge, I've a tendency to believe them.

We found a little creek where we tried our hand at fishing again - both traditional and with bow and arrow! And dead eye Graham shot a little fish! We gutted it, made a fire, grilled and roasted it (and others which the locals caught). We came across the remains of a big Bush Cow that'd been had by a Jaguar! I pulled out and kept some of it's fangs - I figure they'd look good on a necklace.

I wore my Leopard print posing pouch thongs for my Piranha Jungle wash today. The guys weren't impressed. Jealousy huh!? After dinner we spotted a Brown Fishing Eagle asleep in a tree near the camp so we wasted a couple of training arrows taking pop shots at it with our lethal bows and arrows. We all missed although dead-eye Graham ruffled it's feathers. The Eagle kept on sleeping.

Everyone went to bed after finishing off the remains of last nights beer and messing around with fire torches made from the sap of the Gum tree. Whilst sat on my own, Lionel (local guide) dragged me out to see a huge fish he'd just caught and an armoured, talking(!) cat fish. Then we headed out in the canoe to see a huge tree boa they'd spotted. Awesome! (A word I find myself using a lot on this trip!). The local guys later come back for a shot of rum. I showed them the photos of Guyana I've taken so far - they love it! And the recent sound recording of the talking cat fish really cracks them up!

The weather was dry ALL day and beautiful to boot, but still hot and humid. Although we didn't walk that far my shirt, and everyone else's except for the local boys, was permanently soaked with sweat. On the walk alone I drank 4 litres of water (8 pints) and only went for a waz twice!

Today we hunt. So it's a little dead eye target practice first thing with the ol' bow'n'arrow. After brekkie we watch one the lads hack apart a living tortoise. It only dies once they've cracked it open, ripped the legs off and pulled out the spinal column. Nice!

Into the canoes we paddle upstream, past some giant otters, land and begin stalking prey. This loosely involved stealthy following Harry (local lad, 52 today) through the undergrowth. He shot a bush turkey before anyone knew it was even there! It flew off with his arrow embedded in it's side, and so the chase began - those arrows are valuable you know! After our confirmed kill (when we found the turkey) we all lay low to ambush some Trumpet birds. Amazingly, as the local lads called out to them, they answered back and started walking straight toward us and our trap! A foray of arrows rang out as they approached but we all missed, so we decide to poison some fish instead.

On our way we saw Jaguar scratch marks on a tree - Bejesus, they were some 2½ metres up a tree with a 3" spacing between the claw marks! He's a big, agile, lethal cat!

To poison fish we rip up the roots of a poison vine, mash it up with a make shift hammer and dunk it in the stream to release it's milky poison. It drains the water of oxygen meaning all the fish swim to the surface - while we lie in wait with bow and arrows! We cook them up on a make shift barbie, head home, take another dip in the piranha infested river and eat tortoise stew!

It was so hot and humid today that my shirt was completely drenched through and dripped with sweat, and effectively all I was doing was just walking about!

Harry and Thomas (with a little help from Ian) build a shelter to show us how it's done. It's got a water and wind proof roof, a bed, a fire and a stove (complete with cooking pot). It even has a radiator to keep you warm! Mental! And it only took them 20 minutes! Graham, Richard and I have a go collectively - it took us 1½ hours to get anywhere close! Whilst cutting down a palm tree for the roof I get stung - lots - by these bee waspy things - Ouch! Oh well, it is the Jungle, could have been worse! e.g. Thomas, whilst cutting down his palm accidentally chops a snake in half - he didn't see it! All the other locals find his poor eyesight hilarious!

We each make a cooking pot from a large section of bamboo. I start a start a fire (for practice) and then it's on to the good stuff - Traps! We were shown two: a bow and arrow trap and a spring loaded snare. Awesome!

The afternoon was the calm before the storm. We all milled around checking and rechecking the contents of our survival kit. All we know is that tomorrow (Monday) morning we go into isolation and that by the end of Thursday, somehow, we'll be in Somara Village. The scenario I'm playing is that I'm a researcher heading to a Lodge up the river. I send all my stuff up with the porters in a canoe up front whilst I follow behind in my own canoe - it sinks! Therefore it'll be the end of the day before they realise I'm not there, another day to organise a search party and another day to find me. But when they do, they'll have no provisions and we'll all have to make our own way back to the village, somehow. For all those worried people, I will have a walkie talkie as a life line - that is, if I'm not too injured to use it!

The day has fallen, night has come and all I can say whilst I write this is, "Bring It On!" Graham asked if I had any last requests should I die - all I could think of was, "Tell everyone I was killed by a Jaguar and that I died with a smile on my face!"

We arrive at my crash site by canoe and immediately spot giant Bush Cow footprints on the river bank. Ian led me up an embankment and set a bearing on my compass to a giant Silk Cotton tree - useful should I get lost. He then gave me a quick list of things I need to achieve before my rescue and disappeared. They were:

1. Make a shelter
2. Make a fire
3. Catch food
4. Make a trap

The first thing I did was to mark my territory like a dog - several times. I really had to go! Next I sat down on a log and thought about my situation whilst sharpening my gutting knife. That stopped when I slipped and slit my right fore finger. No worries, I just need to find a site for my shelter. So I start looking about and after ½ hour I realise I quite disorientated; mainly because what I thought was North, my compass said was South! Eeek! Then I couldn't find my way back to the river! Was I reading the compass right? Red is North yeah? I start to question even the simplest things. Gulp! If I can't find the river, water's gonna be hard to find, and I'm gonna be ever harder to find! But I trust common sense and my compass and find my way back to the Silk Cotton tree. Phew! That was quite a panic.

I found 3 trees, which I could easily recognise, close to my landmark and decide to use them as the basis of my shelter. Needing 4, I tried crafting the 4th tree but as it wouldn't stand up, it wasn't an option. So I had to use a real 4th tree some distance away making it the biggest shelter ever! Finding tree's tall and straight enough to build the shelter became an issue. Afternoon came and I was no where near finished. I switched to chopping down bamboo as an alternative, but the bamboo spikes ended up cutting chunks out of me instead!

Then I stumbled across a tiny 4 tree den - but it was very overgrown with shrubbery and rotting vine roots. "F*ck it!" I thought, time was is of the essence - I needed a shelter before dark. My machete made short work of the overgrown ground. I hauled all my chopped trees over and re-assembled them in my new den. Job done - almost. I only had time to chop down 2 giant Kutkrit palm leaves for the roof, leaving big gaping holes in it. I just hoped it wouldn't rain!

I get my fire started just before dark - phew! And then spend the evening chopping up firewood by firelight. It only lasts 6 out of the 12 hours needed. I also had the most uncomfortable bed; a mix of Kutkrit palm, bamboo and tree logs - very uneven. Some hard and rigid, some soft, some saggy, some raised, some etc... But there is something to be said about sharpening your machete at night by an open fire, in a shelter you've just hand crafted, in a jungle in the middle of freaking nowhere! Very Rambo-esk! Very cool!

During the night, the Bush Cow cometh... no big deal as I figured if I didn't disturb it, it wouldn't disturb me. Not that I could disturb it mind, as without a fire you can't even see your hand in front of your face! But it was there and it was close! I heard rummaging about, it was big and it was snorting. Having heard the local lads imitate it's sounds whilst hunting I knew exactly what I was listening too.

I woke up feeling like shit; my bed was stupidly uncomfortable. Due to its layout I had practically been sleeping on 2 sticks. I was cold, it was pitch black and I waited for daylight. I figure I was without a fire for 6 hours. As I had no watch I based this assumption on the lack of scary Howler Monkey sounds which are supposed to start at 3 am. I think I was only able to doze for a few hours at the most.

Once I came to (which took a while) I slowly added more kutkrit palms to my roof. I was lucky that it didn't rain much last night - tonight may be a different story. I didn't want to be cold and wet! Whilst skimming the sharp corners off the palms with my machete I slice into my thump. Instant blood. 1st aid required. I blame it on being lethargic and tired. I continue and build up a decent roof, and the stems I use to make a very comfortable bed. They were all the same height and had a little springy give in them. Arrrr... I was looking forward to night time already!

I then stumble upon the remains of an old shelter and decide it'd make good fire wood. So I haul it back to base. Time for fishing - only I lost my Yari Yari (fishing) rod so I fashion myself a rough looking new one and add a hook and line. Then, whilst chopping up the tiny kutkrit nuts for grubs to use for bait, I literally cleave off a slice from the top of my left middle finger - right through the nail. Bugger. Well it's still hanging on a bit so I decide to leave it there and wash it out in the Piranha infested river (where else?). I could feel the end flapping about as I swished it around in the water. I apply 1st aid. There is nothing more anyone else can do for it so I continue fishing, but I leave the nut cracking for now! For all my efforts I catch 1 tiny catfish, bait size! Oh, a wise Amerindian recently told me that a sharp machete makes an excellent slave but it has no honour. I now understand.

It looks like late afternoon so I hang up my marker tape on an overhanging tree by the river so the search team know where I am and head home to start a fire. It starts on my 3rd attempt. Phew! (My silk cotton was running out!) Despite being very tired I start chopping wood. I notice a huge blister on my right fore finger caused by using the machete - arse. I bandage it with my grubby sweatband.

Whilst chopping up a length of old bamboo, from a hole I'd just made, swarms of 1000s of big red fire ants came gushing out and coated then entire log! Woah! There were so many it was unreal. It looked like a scene from "The Mummy Returns" or any similar Hollywood film! Forget chopping, that whole bamboo log went straight on the fire! As it was, there and then! Burn suckers, burn!

I chopped and I chopped and I chopped me up a shed load of fire wood but I still had a feeling it wouldn't be enough for a 12 hour blaze.

Jungle = 12 hours daylight + 12 hours blackness

I stoked up the fire, had a rest and fell asleep. When I woke up some time later I had no clue as to where I was. It was pitch black. I stumbled around looking for a light switch. When I couldn't find one I realised I was outside. Strange, where was everyone else? There was no light, but plenty of rain and then I noticed some slight red glowing embers on the floor. The penny drops, it all comes back to me.

I'm in the jungle, all alone. Crap.

I look at the fire. It went out some time ago. Double crap.

Methodical panic ensues as I fumble about on the floor for the tiny twigs and dried leaves I had prepared earlier for such an event. Then, after some character building moments I brought my fire back to fire. The phoenix rises from the ashes once again!

There is an art to keeping a flame going on a fire for 12 hours as I found out, especially after several close calls. You need a flame to burn fresh bits of wood, especially when it's damp and raining out side. (Most logs were in the shelter but the rain still found it's way in.) It rained hard throughout most of the night and only a couple of drops / drips made it through the roof. I also took many, many micro naps (waking up with a jolt, determined not to let the fire go out again). With my new comfy kutkrit palm bed I was warm and cosy (well sweating hard to be honest!) and when I called it a night at 4am (ish) I slept well into mid morning.

Every digit of every hand pains. They all either have nicks, scratches, splinters, cuts, burns, blisters (or any combination of) or just have chunks missing from them! My back is real stiff (probably from the night before last), I feel tired and weary and my mouth feels furry. Oh what fun!

Anyhow, after waking from a comfy slumber I plan my days activities;

1. Water,
2. 1st Aid,
3. Trap / Snare making,
4. Firewood

No sooner had I made a mud slide down the embankment to the river and iodined some water... Hark! Is that the rescue team I hear? Bugger, I've not set me snare yet. So I race back into the jungle, grab me a bendy tree, cut some rope, whittle down a trigger from a stick and rack my brains to recall how the release mechanism works. But it's too late, the rescue team are here, Ian and Lionel walk over with chocolate bars. They look over my shelter and give it a nod of approval - Lionel even remarks that it's the best of the lot! He inspects my trap. I apologise for not having to time to set it but says it's okay as all the right triggers and release mechanisms are there and it would work when set. Cool! It seems I pulled it off just in time. All 4 survival objectives met!

I kiss my home (shelter) goodbye and am taken to join the others. They both made it through too - although Graham, after being drenched, cold and wet all through last night decided to call it quits and radioed in - only to be told the rescue team were on their way anyway! It also transpires they both found shelter remains on their first night and just re-built it! Grrr... Ian is adamant that in future all used shelters are going straight in the river!

Back to the survival scenario. We may have been found but we've still got to get ourselves back to civilisation and what better way than to paddle ourselves upstream for 4 hours to another campsite! The guy up front in the canoe is mainly the engine whilst the guy at the back uses his paddle strokes to steer. Luckily we had Richard, the yachtsman, who was well practiced in boat steering. I tried it for ½ hour and quite frankly, I was crap! Even under Richards expert guidance! I found powering the boat from up front was actually less tiring!?

Ian, who's on a canoe with the local lads just messes about on the river and has him a little hunting practice (while watching us struggle!). He even mortally wounds a baby Kapibary through the lungs after Lionel pointed it out through the bushes. Harry then swiftly delivers a fatal shot to the head and pulls it out of the water. Lionel finds it all very amusing that Ian managed it hit something and claims it was just the law of averages. With all the shots Ian was putting into the bush, he was bound to hit something sooner or later!

Our new campsite is absolutely stunning once again. We empty the canoes and set up our basha / hammock sites. Ian gets a guilt complex over killing the cute, 2 month old baby and reckons his girlfriend Sarah would never forgive him! Never the less, we de-fur it, gut it and roast it on an open fire for dinner. The meat is tender, sorta porky and delicious, especially as it was still feeding off its mothers milk before it met it's early demise.

I survived. Nuff said.

We get up, pack up and start walking. A few hours later we pass our last tree, walk into the Savannah and arrive at Surama Eco-Lodge. Tonight we have cold showers, beds and real flushing toilets! It's an interesting observation that when most westerners mention cold showers, it's in the context of a rustic novelty but here it's mentioned as a luxury! We hang up and dry out our kit. I decide to buy my bow and arrow and a couple of training arrows to send back to the UK and also buy a Gootie - a rubber pot the locals use to keep their booze in.

Lionel turns up and takes us for a walk around his Surama village. It is literally just a few huts! Still, they are very proud of their wooden school buildings. There's a school assembly going on outside which we stand and watch. But we decide to move on when it becomes apparent that the whole assembly had stopped to watch the watching westerners!

We go to the animal sanctuary. Spurred on by a German TV company the idea is that they catch wild animals, hold them captive for a 3 months or so whilst they're filmed "in the wild" and then released. Apparently if you watch the credits of almost any nature program it'll say, "filmed in controlled circumstances." As for this place is concerned, I'll just say that their Puma has been caged for the past 3 years and it paces up and down in distress. They keep a bush deer in the cage right next door to it - I swear that poor deer hasn't slept a wink in the past 3 years. Would you with your natural adversary sleeping next door? Poor frightened thing! They also have a very friendly Bush Cow (Tapia), some monkeys, an armadillo (!) and other stuff. We leave to visit the village shop, pick up a couple slabs of beer and head back.

We throw up a couple of lazy hammocks in the upstairs of the main Behab and marvel at the tranquility of the view; jungle mountains slinking off behind the Savannah. Ian kindly donates a lazy hammock to my traveling cause; the only catch being the others get to choose which one. Hmm. So you know that sickly purple & yellow floral psychedelic one that we all laughed at when it was first brought out? Well it's now mine! We are joined by Morden & Elizabeth, a young Danish couple who recently arrived in Guyana for a quick holiday. Elizabeth has piercing googley eyes and spends most of the night talking to me. :-) I fill up my Gootie with Rum and once the slabs of beer are finished, drunken Rum chaos ensues into the early morning.

Today I was impressed to find my first ticks - one on my waist and another behind a knee. You catch them scraping through tree ands shrubs in the jungle. Needless to say, the resilient blood sucking monsters didn't last for long once I found them!

I hurriedly reconcile my jungle gear with my main bag, re-pack everything and load it onto the 4x4. All the local boys had turned up to say goodbye. It was a real nice gesture. They were all fantastic, kind, keen to impart knowledge and I'll miss them all. We leave to head back to Rock View Lodge to catch a plane - I conveniently leave my head torch behind. Doh!

In the back of the truck with me was Uncle Theo, the oldest elder in the village with 11 children. He says he's going to Rock View to take care of "business". I rib him that he's going to see a woman! Oh, how the old ones are the best! (Cool, is that a pun!?) Lionel and his wife come too, all decked out in their Sunday best - they're going to see their daughters Head Mistress in Annai in the afternoon. There's just enough time to buy each other a beer before the plane turns up (another tiny Cessna).

It's a clear day and during the flight all we can see is miles and miles of Jungle. Should we survive a plane crash, I realise I'm not bothered about living in the Jungle until a search party turns up. The pilot thinks we're all crazy.

Landing at Kaieteur Falls I realise I look like a colourful tourist. I decide I'm no bothered as I've just proved I'm a hardened jungle survivalist! Ian reckons not even the local Amerindian boys would willingly undertake what we just done, especially with no real jungle knowledge and no lighter!

A park ranger takes us on a tour of the various viewpoints of Kaieteur - each one getting closer and closer to the falls itself. It is just simply awesome! The longest single drop waterfall in the world (Angel falls was just the highest) and it has 3 times the amount of water flowing over it as Niagara! The best bit is that you get to stand right by it, in it and on some very precarious rocks nearby! We also spy some little Golden frogs whose toxin is 160 times more powerful than cocaine!

Back on the plane we head to Baganara, an exclusive Island resort on the Essequibo river as used by the likes of Mick Jagger. A fantastic, nay beautiful, colonial looking resort - it just oozes upper class. It even has HOT showers! With Bushmasters as the only guests on the island we spend the afternoon knee boarding, wake boarding, playing cricket, football, pool and table tennis! I shave off my beard and rip off the floppy bit of my finger so it can heal properly. After dinner it's beer, vodka and karaoke until 3am.

In the morning our personal speedboat parks up on the beach outside our house to pick us up. We load up and cruise down the river at speed for 1 ½ hours, skimming the river bank all the way. We transfer into a land taxi (how novel!) for a trip to Georgetown airport to drop Graham off. To get there we need to cross the biggest / longest floating bridge in the world. Only it's due to close mid morning to let some big ships sail through. So our driver speeds hell for leather down congested town roads for some 45 minutes to ensure we make it to the bridge on time. We all agree it was a real scary experience - skimming pedestrians, horse & carts and on-coming traffic at 60mph plus by not much more than a foot clearance. Still, we survived (again!) and we say goodbye to Graham. Graham kindly takes my machete and other nic naks back to the UK for me - save me lugging them around South America and getting constantly "ruffled" by city Police.

Back in Georgetown, Richard and I check into Buddies Sleep Inn Hotel for the night ($35 - $50 US pppn). Not only did I leave my Bow and Arrow at Baganara but I've also lost my Cirrus Bank Card. I curse myself for everywhere is closed at the weekend. Cirrus is the only thing the cash points take in this backwards country, leaving me cashless. Richard kindly helps sort me out and Ian asks Baganara to stick my Bow and Arrow on their next flight to Georgetown.

Ian had been going on about having a big night out with his mates on that night but it seems a Timbo had a massive Scottish Burns party the night before and everyone is recovering instead. Shame really, especially as he had been going on about the Twin Towers of Georgetown - 2 fun, black, twin girls he knows, each over 6' plus heels and large frontal appendages! Instead we opt for a quiet beer and dinner at Pegasus before moving on to Wendies Sports bar. Then Terrence turns up, a big black Guyanese geezer. Ian leaves us to crash out so me move on to the Palm Bar where we happen to meet Dion, one of the Twin Towers. Wow! Slowly a crowd of friends builds up and I get some quality time chatting to Dion. It seems she tried her hand at modelling before managing a rock band and their tours around the Caribbean. We move onto El Latinos Club but Terrence doesn't want to go into the "club" part so we chat and drink in the bar part instead. Richard leaves - he has to get a taxi at 6 am to get to the airport. Back to Barbados for a week before re-joining his boat. I find saying goodbye is getting harder, I seem to be doing a lot of it of late. Anyhow, a few more drinks and I'm home for a reasonable 4 am.

I get up and completely unpack / dismantle everything I own looking for my bank card, but to no avail. Bollocks. I really have lost it. I repack all my kit and head to the Oasis cafe. It seems to be the expat place to be.

I must mention the Georgetown taxis. Essentially any vehicle whose licence plat starts with a H is a taxi (e.g. HB 324). Better than that, they all have oversize bass speakers fitted in the back and you're treated to a sonic experience of whatever favourite tune the driver happens to be playing. Reggae, Rock, Hip Hop, Celine Dion, Abba, whatever. Well it's that or talk politics. The Guyanese love to talk politics with us Brits, as ever since they "gained" their Independence from us everything has stopped working.

So now I've proved I'm a jungle survivor, what do I do now? Well, Bushmasters (Ian and Sarah) have kindly asked me to join them for a week in the South Rupununi whilst they visit some friends on a real live cattle ranch. That's right, I'm to become a Cowboy for a week, riding horses, lassoing calves, rounding cattle and heading out on anti-rustling patrols. (Rustling man, this shit really happens!) Or as the Portuguese call Cowboys, a Vaquero. Ye haa!

The ranch is a 4x4 ride away from Lethem. To get to Lethem it's an overnight bus which means I've a day to kill. Internet at Oasis is down so I end up chatting to Gavin and his bird who I briefly met last night. Gavin is an Irish student who's volunteered to do HIV/AIDS counselling for 2 years. His girlfriend, and subsequent other American friends who turn up, are on a 1 year teaching placement. Gavin is extremely interested in everything I have to say (for some reason?) and I'm happy to recite my recent adventures and impart my new found survival knowledge ("You see, 'cos when you're stuck in the Jungle all you need is...") The teachers and I head to Wendies for a drink or 2 before heading back to Oasis.

The bus departure time on the ticket is 7:30 pm, it's supposed to depart at 8:30 pm but actually departs at 9:30 pm. That's Guyanese efficiency for you! There isn't a bus station, just a bar! The bus service only started about a year ago. 15 minutes after we set off there's a kerfuffle on the coach between the 2 drivers and we head back to the bus station (well OK, the bar) where the driver shouts some abusive words out the window and drives off again!? Whatever!?

This ain't luxury coach either, it's a bus in every sense of the word. No individual reclinable seats, just static, hard benches! Sleep is hard to come by on this journey - especially as it's an off road dirt track all the way. Yep - this is the best road Guyana has to offer!

The coach journey is interrupted by a river crossing on a floating pontoon and a brekkie stop in Rock View Lodge (yep, it's a 12 hour coach ride vs 1½ hours in an airplane!) Oh, and we had to stop and chainsaw up a couple of trees that had fallen across our way! A chainsaw seems to be standard vehicle kit over here!

They call Lethem a border town - I've seen bigger villages! It's an interesting place with no character or tarmac roads. But it has a bank where I can cash some travellers cheques. Phew! (Only open 8am to 1pm) and I check into Takatu Hotel for the night ($3,500 GYD pn). It also transpires that the hand written "3 wks" on my Guyanese Visa Passport Stamp runs out a few days earlier than my cowboy trip ends, so can immigration at the local Police station extend it? Can they buggery. Instead I have to nip over the border to Bonfim in Brazil and get re-stamped on Guyana re-entry! Shesh! So I walk to the river (the border) change some local groats into Brazilian ones, get a boy to water taxi me across to the other side, wait for a taxi to take me to the Brazilian immigration and then into Bonfim where I grab a beer or 2. Then it's the same in reverse! Hassle. The Brazilian border police shout at me - I don't understand, I don't speak Spanish, they don't speak English. I figure it's not important as they let me through anyway.

In Lethem Town centre (1 bar, 1 restaurant, 3 general shops, a cyber cafe and an airstrip) I briefly meet Pauly. An aging larger than life ex(ish) drug runner who always has a six shooter at his side and talks as if he's the Godfather (which in this part of the country, he probably is). He was talking to Ian about having to maybe exchange bullets with another drug gang under the pretence of Cattle Rustling. You get the feeling it's no joke. Whereas Georgetown felt like the Wild west, this place is just wild. Be it West or not. The Police are all in pocket, there is no law.

The morning was spent asking around the 3 Lethem shops for a phone card in an attempt to cancel my lost bank card. Ian & Sarah made last minute preparations for our journey. We pop into a house in Lethem to pick up Charlo and Collette, the owners of the Happy Days Ranch we're about to stay at. Come midday we're ready to embark on our 4 hour 4x4 ride. En route Charlo points out some of the more common smuggler tracks to Brazil. Most of our route is chosen to coincide with some natural shallow river crossings. We stop for lunch at an idyllic stream setting where Charlo says he was born and we have us a little swim.

We cross a river, sorry, drive through a river, and discover a puncture on climbing out on the other side. No big deal, we have 2 spare wheels! Only a pin snaps in the jack, jamming it open, leaving the 4x4 stranded in the air. I suggest we could reverse the 4x4 or knock the jack out with a hammer but there could be safety issues involved. Ian retorts, "Fuck safety, this is Guyana!", reverses the 4x4, releases the jack and we're on our way!

The ranch is amazing - only one walled building (with 2 rooms, a bed room and a kitchen) a couple of visitor huts, a working well and a real corral complete with cows! It has no generator and no electricity - only a bottle gas stove brings the ranch into the 20th Century.

It transpires that Charlo is an leatherman expert. He hand makes all the Bushmasters machete sheaves, saddles, raw hide lassos and bull whips and has a back log of orders from Cowboys all across the Rupununi. He owns all he land as far as the eye can see in all directions. There is also gold in them there mountains and the evening is spent pouring over tales of gold panning and gold lumps so big you need a hacksaw to break it up and drag it home!

I'm looking forward to spending a few days out of my boots because for the past week I've not had any feeling in the ends of my big toes!

Wake up, have breakfast, grab a raw hide lasso and after a couple of failed attempts on the training post it's straight into the corral to do it for real!

The Cowboy day is as follows; Let the calves be with their Mum for a small feed to get the cows all juicy like, then you milk the cows. You then lasso the calves and tie them to the corral for the day whilst the cows go out grazing. This is to get the calves used to being in the corral. Come evening let the calves feed again once the cows are back before lassoing them again so they may roam and graze during the night. They aren't going to stray far from their Mum.

It's great fun trying to lasso a moving mooing target. I didn't get one straight off but Ian got a couple round the back legs and I then got the head - Tag team! I never thought I'd be doing bare foot either! Then I got a big bull by mistake and the others made me ride him! Luckily he was tame and didn't try too hard to damage me!

Lunch and then off with Collette and her Farther (Paula) to go net fishing in the creeks. We grab a bicycle each and head off. The bike ride is really difficult on the Savannah because you're following these little ruts / tracks which are often sandy and are a Bitch to correct when you veer off course even slightly. Collette look the rear and basically laughed at me all the way there and all the way back ! We found these isolated pools of water from a drying up stream and strung a fishing / tennis net across the middle to catch fish. We then went in with casting nets to get the rest; think spider webs with lead weights around the circumference. These things are seriously heavy and I was impressed by Paula's ability to fling it out far with just the flick of his wrist.

Back at the ranch and it's time for a round up. Some cattle have strayed and need to be brought back. I'm given a horse, Rambo! It only has one ear, it lost the other fighting! I also get a Jaguar skin saddle, ye hah! So Francis (a Vaquero), Ian and I ride out. Bear in mind I think I was 12 when I last sat on a horse, and then it just ambled along. When it looks like I'm comfortable we try a trot. Ouch. All of a sudden my balls and tackle are being slapped up into cavities I'm not supposed to have. Once I've re-arranged myself we try a quick gallop - yeah! Wow! Another hours ride and we find the cattle. We radio in and are told in no uncertain terms, "Round 'em up Cowboys!" So we do. The 3 of us split up, keep the cattle hemmed in and drive them back to the ranch, culminating in a full gallop for a good part of the way. We drive them straight into the corral. It's a beautiful feeling! You've just brought all this cattle in from the fields on horseback!

Work isn't over yet. We tend to our steeds, grab some lassos and head back to the corral to put those calves out for the night. I get my first calf in a head shot. Awesome!

Next it's time for a bathe in a beautiful scenic river spot just down the way and back to the ranch for dinner. It's Chicken curry, outdoors in the light of a full moon. I'm telling ya, days just don't get any better than this!