The Tale of Five Vines

God, how time flies when you're a mature student completely out of your depth in a college full of youngsters who think the most important part of college life is getting your hair to look messed up, while secretly spending hours that morning tweaking it to perfection!

I'm going to get my teeth into a 'diary of a mature student caught in the middle' soon - my caught in the middle thing is that I'm not quite old enough to fit in completely with the other mature students, who tend to be mid-30's onwards, and I'm not quite young enough for those school leavers either being, as I am, quite a bit over 18 at this stage... However, today is not the day for beginning that! Before my memory burns out completely and I forget the stories of that beautiful continent of South America altogether, I want to flesh out that tale of ayahuasca in Colombia, since I've now informed my immediate family that I've taken it, and have nothing else to hide!

We had made friends with our hostel owner, Samuel, and talked to him about many things - including the similarities between Ireland and Colombia in so many ways. Samuel was a documentary-maker, who had studied the tribes and ancient customs of Colombia, so was a very knowledgeable person to while away the hours listening to. He explained to us the cultural tribal significance of the ayahuasca, more commonly known as the vine of souls. He believed very strongly in the experience, not just for its power to open you up spiritually, but for its power over your physical well-being. His girlfriend, Paula, was pregnant, and when she was six months, would accompany him to the hills to take the ayahuasca so that their baby would be born with an open mind, spiritual awareness, and full health - for the worriers amongst you, it's worth noting that Paula would only be taking a very small dose, and they have since had their baby, born healthy and strong. The vine of souls is actually seven vines, mixed with almost pure alcohol, and administered by a Shaman, who organises the proceedings into its necessary ritual. It so happened that Samuel, who had taken the vines many times, knew of a Shaman living in the hills above Medallin, who could provide us with the experience we so desired - it sounded so tantalising and mysterious...receiving something so ancient in a ceremony by an actual Shaman. Others in the hostel heard of our plan and decided to come along - a Japanese guy called Hiro, a Canadian man, and two German girls. The cleaning lady also came along, planning to bring her 3-year-old son, who was sick, so that he could take the vine and be cured; however, at the last minute, her father in law protested so vehemently to his grandson taking part in this ancient ritual that the child was left at home. This is quite common amongst the believers in the healing powers of the ayahuasca - children take it, as do elderly and, shown in Paula's case, even pregnant women.

So, on a very cold and rainy day in central Colombia, we set out with Samuel on the local bus up into the hills. We brought gifts for the Shaman - alcohol to mix the vines together, and some plants that Samuel had picked out for us; along with, of course, our payment. About the equivalent of 15 euro, this was not a costly endeavour, and the Shaman only charged us, tourists, so that local people could be administered the ayahuasca for free - none of us argued with this logic; after all, we were rich tourists, by their standards. Our visit to the Shaman would ensure that a homeless man suffering from cancer, due to visit him the next day, would be able to receive the ritual and 'medicine' for free.

The bus journey was uneventful, apart from re-enforcing my belief in the friendliness of Colombian people; I sat next to a young man on the journey, who engaged me in conversation. Though he did not speak any English, we managed to chat away fine about everything from student life in Colombia (he was in university), to his impressions of Ireland as a country, for the hour-long journey, until Samuel called out to us all that our stop was coming up. We got off at the edge of a big motorway, winding through the hills well above the city of Medallin, with the skies still drizzling cold rain on us. It was rather a deserted area, and a small muddy laneway ran off the edge of the road further up into the hills. We set off walking behind Samuel, lugging our sleeping bags and quickly getting pretty damp. It was a very steep climb, and we were glad when we came in sight of the Shaman's home up ahead of us. A very non-descript house, we nonetheless clambered enthusiastically into his living quarters: after all, it's not every day you get to see the home of a real-life Shaman! He was very normal looking, but had a real sense of dignity in his bearing. Younger than I imagined, he soon told us the story of his training (in Spanish - he spoke no English), and that he was very recently qualified - hence he and the also quite young Samuel knowing each other so well. He showed us photos of his 'graduation' (for want of a better word) ceremony, and the old Shaman who trained him. The photos looked wild! Headdresses and ceremonial staffs, fires burning, and something so untamed and tribal about the whole experience! We sat on his dirt floor, while he spoke, and had the opportunity to look around us. On the walls were pictures of Jesus, Buddha, and even some Hindu Gods. Our Shaman - affectionately called 'Shamey' by us Irish (between ourselves of course - we showed him nothing but respect!) - explained that the life of a Shaman does not align itself with one religion, but accepts all religious beliefs into its theory of spirituality, hence the pictures from each religion on his wall. He then began to collect the tools of his art, and told us that he was taking us up to a deserted cabin further up the hills, where another Shaman used to live. Part of the experience of the ayahuasca is to sleep outdoors...something I relished less and less as the rain continued to come down. As we left the house, I spotted peyote (a powerful hallucinogenic cactus we had seen for sale in Bolivia) growing in his front garden...

We headed up to the deserted cabin, whose porch provided welcome shelter from the rain - though we couldn't enter. It was painted in bright colours, with a mural on the front of a stereotypical Shaman, headdress and all. Shamey told us that part of the experience included us collecting firewood to build a fire that would last the night; he would have to perform ceremonies to burn our demons for us while we went on our own spiritual journeys throughout the night. So, we headed off, the mystical spell of it all somewhat broken by first our annoyance at heading out into the rain again, and then our excitement as darkness fell and we stumbled through woods trying to carry, a little competitively, as much branches as we could, before dragging them all back up the hill to our mystical spiritual commander.

If you spot a note of slight cynicism underlying some of my memories, then it is only because it echoes how I was feeling at the time...it wasn't the first time that my cynical inclinations impeded me feeling the full effects of a spiritual excursion, let me tell you!

Anyway, it was decided that the rain was too settled to attempt to sleep in the VERY wide open, so we set up base in the porch of the cabin - which sheltered us only from the rain. From the biting cold we were, at that moment, still unprotected. So, the experience itself began. Any giggles were soon stifled as the Shaman got into his full regalia: headdress made from the plumage of various birds - which he named for us, showing each of their feathers; dried nuts of some kind wrapped around his legs so that every dancing movement sounded like rain trickling down a dry straw roof; white almost robe-like clothing decorated with beautifully woven reds and blues and greens; and a stick with feathers and dried nuts or fruit attached which swished and rattled when shaken. He really did look like the dictionary definition of a Shaman! We got the fire going, also in the shelter of the porch, and drew around it in a circle while he began the ritual. He told stories of the ancient tribes, and how they discovered the uses of the separate vines, he told us of each of the vines used in the mixture and where they can be collected. He even began to tell tales of Jesus, Jehovah and Buddha - all interspersed as though they were one and the same prophet of spirituality. Our understanding of exactly what he said was minimal, as he spoke only Spanish, but the Canadian man translated some of his stories. However, it was not necessary to understand fully, because you were pretty much just transfixed by his voice as he spoke, framed as he was by the flames of the fire in his feathered headdress.

As he spoke, he began laying out the different bottles containing crushed vines...to be honest, I can actually feel myself beginning to gag even describing this bit!...and mixing them together for the first person. Out of the darkness, we began to form a queue to receive this drink which would open our minds, show us the way, answer questions, lead us on the path of spirituality and, for the first while at least, make us very sick! I should point out for anyone not familiar with the process of the ayahuasca or, indeed, peyote: when you take it first, you get suddenly and violently ill...either vomiting or diarrhoea or, for some lucky feckers, both. This is then followed by the opening of the spirit world...or hallucinations, as some of us refer to it!

Ciaran went first, and I went second. By that stage, the foul smell of the stuff had reached my nostrils, and I figured if I didn't get it out of the way first, then I'd balk when it came to my turn. Before anyone took any, it was pointed out that people should try make it down to the end of the porch to get sick, so that nobody was forced to step in anyone elses' vomit. Yes, even in a Shamanic experience, practicalities are not overlooked! Anyway, we stood round the fire, waiting our turn. Ciaran kneeled in front of the Shaman, who chanted something in Spanish, and waved his feathered rattling stick around Ciaran's head and shoulders, before leaning forward with a brown bowl. Ciaran got up and moved off into the darkness, as I took my place. Kneeling down in front of him, I noticed that he was pouring the very strong alcohol in with the different mixtures in the earthen bowl, and that some of the concoction was being poured from an old 7-up bottle. This little vision of modernity snapped me out of the mysticism of it all somewhat, but how-and-ever, I committed myself to the moment, and gazed up as he swished his feathered stick around my head, the sound of the nuts rattling like rain around my ears. Then he leaned forward with the bowl and thrust it into my mouth, immediately tilting it so that I had to gulp the mixture very quickly. God, I really am feeling my stomach knot just thinking about it! A more foul-smelling concoction you'd be hard pushed to find, but if the smell was bad, the taste was even worse! Bits of leaf and bark floated in a murky mix of alcohol and organic matter, and it was all I could do not to spit it back in his serene bloody face when it hit the back of my throat and burned its way down into my stomach! But I got through it, and stood up so that Alan could kneel down behind me. I looked over at Ciaran when I got up, expecting to share a bit of a grimace and wry smile with a fellow-cynic, but his face was pointed downwards, and he seemed to be having some kind of internal struggle going on. As I took my own seat, I realised that his internal struggle was not actually psychological, but purely physical. It immediately felt like my stomach was trying to eject this mixture by every means possible: cramps and battles were waging, and it was all I could do to stop the vomit from coming up straight away! Alan took his place, as did the rest, and we all struggled against the sickness as the Shaman began to sing and dance around the fire, banging his drum and chanting in a measured and rhythmic melody. We were told that the longer we could hold the ayahuasca down without getting sick, the better our experience would be. Having the constitution of an elephant, I held mine far longer than anyone else, and having listened to the strangely uncommented-upon sound of people vomiting in the background for almost an hour, I finally succumbed to the sickness.

Or rather, the sickness finally overtook me, because at a certain point I became blindingly aware that there was no way I could hold it in any longer: it was the most physical thing I've ever felt. Literally, my stomach was ejecting this mixture, and there was NOTHING I could do about it! I barely made it to the end of the porch before I was doubled over and vomiting like I never have, and hopefully never will, ever again! It's hard to describe the feeling unless you've gone through it yourself, but as I ran towards the end of the porch, with the sickness rising, I didn't feel any sense of panic or embarrassment - after all, everyone else had already done it. But it wasn't just that - the vine seems to work on you straight away in making you incredibly calm and accepting about it all...or maybe that was just me. I vomited for about 5 minutes straight, from what I can tell, and it was a strange kind of sickness: it felt as though it was being drawn from my toes right up through my body, and was clearing out my whole system. I could see why people felt that it had healing properties, for I literally felt like every bad thing in my body - both physical and psychological - was being FLUNG out of my system by this wonderful vine of souls. I was doubled over for the whole retching experience, but when I straightened up the world flattened out into 2D, and the rustling of the trees and long grass around seemed like a language I could finally understand. For others, the effect had been more instantaneous and powerful - they had immediately wandered off into hallucinogenic fogs of altered perception. For me, unfortunately, the hallucinations ended there, and I made my way back to the fireside with an only slightly altered state of mind. From talking to Samuel beforehand, I knew that this often happened on some people’s first experience – that they would only feel the true effects of the ayahuasca after taking it a few times. His first ‘real’ experience on the vine of souls had been his third, and he had never looked back.

I was disappointed: despite my cynicism and slight mockery of the whole thing, I had really wanted a spiritual epiphany – something to truly shake me up and make me feel changed and new, and I had thought that this wondrous vine of souls might do it. As I sat round the fire, I realised that Alan was – as always – very much on my wavelength, and neither of us were experiencing anything close to some of the others. The two German girls, who I felt were a little young and possibly a bit silly to begin with, were giggling in their sleeping bags, curled up together under the porch. Samuel had retired to his sleeping bag away from the main group straight after taking the ayahuasca, as he had said he would, and was groaning to himself in obvious struggle with something deep inside. Hiro was in the bushes talking to the trees, and Ed and some of the others were wandering out in the darkness, silently in discussion with their own consciousness. Myself, Ciaran, Daragh and Alan, however, were circled round the fire, listening to the Shaman continue his singing and talking, and gazing into the flames. Once or twice I felt slight hallucinations cloud my vision, but I jumped on them so quickly – with my bloody rationality – that they disappeared instantaneously. I tried a different tactic of allowing the ‘visions’ to materialise without trying to focus on them, but they remained as insubstantial as smoke.

Hours passed this way, and the Shaman noticed that the four of us were not feeling the effects of the vines as much as the others, and offered us a second mixture, which we accepted. I thought, I might as well be hung for the sheep as the lamb, and tried not to remember how vile the mixture had been all those hours ago... So, we queued up again, and my stomach cramped in horror at the disgust of that murky mess we had to swallow. The other lads, as before, got sick very soon afterwards, and faded away into their own personal experiences, and myself and Alan – by prior arrangement – settled into our sleeping bags in front of the cabin under the shelter of the porch. As before, I held onto the sickness longer than the others, and it was later that I finally succumbed again to the horrifically physical retching of the vine, straightening up again in the hopes of some kind of spiritual vision but, again, being disappointed. I retired to my sleeping bag, feeling a bit pissed off that after all my effort – drinking the damn stuff two times, for Christ sake, and vomiting what felt like all my internal organs into a wet Colombian night – I still was feeling nothing stronger than a slightly vague feeling of dissimilarity, but so insubstantial that it was as close to nothing as seemed to make little difference.

As I lay there, on the hard ground, feeling cold and cross, I began to really and truly be annoyed by how sick I felt, and how bloody freezing it was, and when would that bloody Shaman stop banging his bloody drum, and shut up so that we could go to sleep and get the hell out of here! I’m sure my state of mind had something to do with no spiritual epiphany forthcoming, but the sickness in my stomach certainly played a part in my temper. After the last vomiting party, I had felt immediately better, and no nausea remained behind, but this time I was left with stomach still churning, so that I couldn’t sleep with the cramps and pain of it. More than once I got up to the end of the porch, and tried to force myself to get sick, thinking this would make me feel better, but I couldn’t. As the night wore on, people began to quiet down – some to sleep, some to simply think. But I couldn’t sleep with the nausea, and lay there seething at the stupidity of the whole situation. As the night wore into early morning, I felt new stirrings in my body...was this the spiritual epiphany I had hoped for? Something seemed to be happening! But it only took me moments to realise that this was nothing spiritual, and another couple of seconds to figure out that if I didn’t get out of that sleeping bag, I was in severe danger of soiling myself...

I struggled out of the zips, and stumbled like a drunkard with no real sense of my footing to the end of the porch – I had never stepped off it, having only vomited off the edge, but these were desperate times, and I jumped straight into the darkness, misjudging the height and landing heavily into the grass. Not stopping to think of the vomit I might have just fell into (luckily the rain had washed everything away, so it was clean-ish in that area!), I staggered forward into the darkness, my prudishness and wish not to be heard or seen by anyone forcing me to push onwards to distance myself from the cabin, despite the PRESSING need of my bowels. One definite altering effect that the vine had had was on my walking, as I now had severe trouble staying in a straight line, and couldn’t really control my direction. In the darkness, I fell into a muddy hole up to my knees, water and muck drenching my trousers and entering my shoes and socks...and this was the catalyst my body needed, for I barely managed to drop my trousers before I lost control completely! It was horrific...and if you think READING about it is bad, you should try bloody experiencing it! God, it was the most undignified, horrible diarrhoea of my life, and I felt like my body would explode...at least Harry had a toilet under him in ‘Dumb and Dumber’, I had rain on my head, grass at my feet, darkness all around me, and moderate hallucinations beginning to fly past my eyes!

Thankfully, when Samuel had explained that some people suffer THIS instead of vomiting, I had assumed the worse – that I would be the one to get that instead of sickness – and stuffed toilet roll in every pocket of my coat and trousers. Never has my pessimism worked so well to my advantage...at least I could return to my sleeping bag without the added indignity of a dirty bum!!!

As I stumbled back through the darkness trying to avoid the bloody hole again, I was frightened by the sudden appearance of Hiro out of the darkness; stumbling like a young startled deer into my eye line, he glanced at me fleetingly, before galloping off into the darkness again. Strange times.

I passed the rest of the night/early morning in my now slightly damp sleeping bag – lying awake, listening to the Shaman’s moans and occasional rattles by the fire, Samuel’s groans from his sleeping bag, and the odd cry from the wilderness, where I could only assume Hiro was still stumbling. However, I felt perfectly at peace. The sickness had mostly passed, and I felt no embarrassment about all the bodily expulsions, and was feeling quite bright and cheerful as I lay in my sleeping bag, gazing at the slowly brightening sky and listening to the soft and almost comprehendible language of the swaying trees. I felt at that moment that it was not necessary to fully understand the entirety of nature around me, but simply to be a part of it, and to relax in its comfort. So maybe that was my spiritual epiphany: to simply relax in my life, slow down, and accept that something at simple as a tree blowing in the wind can be the most beautiful thing on earth.

By about 8am, everyone was up and about, and talking about their night of ayahuasca. Hiro had been welcomed by the trees and plants into their world, and they had leaned towards him and spoken to him – however, things had turned nasty when he stumbled through the forest and accidently trampled some plants in his path...the trees and flowers had turned on him and began to hold him back, and he was forced to fight his way through back to the safety of the cabin. The German girls had spoken to God...apparently. On their way up to the cabin the day before, they had said that this was the thing they wanted to do in their experience, so I can’t help but feel that the whole thing was self-induced in their case. However, they had enjoyed their night, and laughed the whole way to the bus about it all. Alan had experienced a similar night to me, minus the bowel excursion of course, while Ed, Daragh and Bones had more positive personal experiences, and some even felt a profound change. As this is a document of my time with ayahuasca, it’s not my place to detail their journey – but suffice to say, I was impressed by their experience, and of course, slightly jealous that I hadn’t had something stronger happen.

The Shaman had one last piece of ceremony to perform, and the lads took off their shirts to be blessed by him after their dance with the ayahuasca – he shook his rattling stick about their heads, and filled his mouth with the alcohol, before spraying their bodies and faces with it. I decided that I had been blessed enough without doing this, and politely declined the added chill of cold alcohol being spat at me! So, we packed up our gear and headed down the mountain, chattering about the night, and telling our stories. It turned out that the Shaman had also suffered the same problem as me, but his was due to his battling the demons escaping from all of us, and trying to fight them into the fire. Poor guy.

As we headed back to the hostel on the bus, all I could think about was how tired I was, and how dirty I felt. By the time we got back, the euphoric feeling I had experienced while lying in my sleeping bag and gazing at the trees had long since subsided, and all I wanted to do was get into my bed and sleep, which I did without further talk, ignoring everyone in favour of a good rest. When I awoke, I had a long shower, and cleaned out my sleeping bag, as well as sending my clothes out for a wash. At this point, I felt more myself, and realised that ‘myself’ is someone who is open to new experiences, but also someone who quite likes being clean, dry, well-rested and well-fed! Which isn’t such a bad thing...

Despite the sickness and diarrhoea, the nausea and rain, the cold and the muck, I genuinely am glad that I took part in the ceremony. I was disappointed that I had no spiritual awakening, or faced any of my demons, or even had some hallucinations to liven the time. But at the end of the day, this is not something that’s purely a tourist attraction, and I’m glad we had the experience of a real Shaman and a real medicine being administered by somebody who believes strongly in its power. It was an honour to have been a part of something so ancient and mysterious, and despite the sickness, I feel that I pushed my boundaries and extended my comfort zone enough for it to truly count as a unique and amazing experience.

I would probably pack more toilet-roll the next time I take it, though...

Yet another memory

Well, another South America memory has popped up...having a lovely sing-a-long-a-ling into the wee hours of the morning with the ballsome boys from the country - Cormac, James and Liam. The guitar was in full flow, the rum was in even fuller flow, and our singing was going above the beyond beyond. Fun times!

So, general songs were being pulled out of the hat, and we were all having a great time, lying in our hammocks and lapping up the happiness of a sweet Colombian sun rising above the Caribbean sea, when the guitar was passed to Kee. He plucked away for a while, as we all chatted and lazed, foggy with the edges of drunkeness bordering on hangover, then began breaking into Nirvana's 'My Girl'...so we all sang along to the first half of the song with enthusiasm, when suddenly we all simultaneously broke into the unplugged version. So, with the first twinges of a red dawn lighting up the sky, most of the hostel asleep apart from our handful of Irish lying about in the hammocks, we belted out the WHERE DID YOU SLEEP LAST NIGHT at the top of our lungs, screaming it into the sky with passion, laughter, and not a little rum! One of the best nights out of the entire trip, and a memory that will stay with me for such a long time...

God, those nights can never be again, but as Ed always tells me, don't be sad it's over, be glad it happened!

Keano, Keano, Keano!

Our newest Irish player gives his first interview to the Liverpool FC website....and I'm very excited! I really think he's gonna work well with Torres, and I look forward to seeing him play....WELL DONE, ROBBIE!!!!

And, another quote from the website shows Robbie's what we can expect in terms of commitment to the team - The lifelong Red was just nine years old last time the club won the league back at a time when he slept under Liverpool bedsheets and walked around in his club tracksuit. Keane added: "I was a little bit too young to fully remember the last title. Hopefully I can contribute to changing that as part of this team. Obviously that would be great for the people of Liverpool. "My whole family are Liverpool fans. I remember every Christmas asking for jerseys and tracksuits – it's great now that I get the tracksuits for free!"

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Robbie, you're a Liverpool fan – this must be a dream come true?

It is a dream come true. I have been a massive fan all my life and to be sat here today is overwhelming.

Why is now the right time to come to Liverpool?

Because the opportunity came along. You know, Liverpool came in for me and it was something I always dreamed about as a kid. I am at the stage now where I want to kick on a bit and win a lot of trophies. I believe that Liverpool can do that with the squad of players we have.

Is it right you had the opportunity to come here when you were a teenager?

I had the opportunity when I was 14. I could have signed but I just thought that, at the age I was, I might have a better chance of playing first-team football at Wolves – and that's how it worked out. I don't regret it, because I got into the Wolves team when I was just 17. I never regret things in life. By being at Wolves and going to the clubs I've been to – these things have led me to where I am today. There has been talk and speculation about a transfer since then but until now it has always been speculation.

What has Rafa Benitez told you about your role here?

I have spoken to him about the situation. He knows how I play and hopefully I can do a job for him. It is up to me to prove that I can stay in the team every week. You don't just come into a club and expect to walk straight into the team; you have to earn your place and I am looking forward to doing that.

You'll be working day in, day out with Rafa – was he a big factor in you signing?

Yes, he was. He is a fantastic manager and has done a lot for Liverpool Football Club. He has won the Champions League. That is a massive factor. But no one has to sell Liverpool Football Club to me. It sold itself a long, long time ago. When an opportunity like this comes along, you have to grab it with both hands.

You've played with some of the best strikers around in the last few years and I guess you are chomping at the bit to get out there and play with perhaps the best forward in the world, Fernando Torres…

He has been a revelation since he came to the Premier League. He was absolutely outstanding last year and also in the Euros with Spain. It is hard to leave Tottenham with some of the players they had – like Dimitar Berbatov, who I had a great relationship with – but Torres is probably the best striker in the world right now. Hopefully we can play a lot of games together and do well.

Do you see yourself as a second striker, someone who can play a bit deeper behind, say, Torres, or as a striker in your own right?

I see myself as a second striker. I can play off the shoulder, link things up and play in the hole. You are always judged on scoring goals as a striker and I have always scored a lot of goals. Hopefully I can continue that here at Liverpool.

How keen are you to pull on that number seven shirt here at Liverpool?

Yes, as a Liverpool fan the number seven jersey is massive. It is a fantastic opportunity for me that obviously I'm relishing. The people who have worn the number seven here, like Kevin Keegan and Kenny Dalglish – if I do half the job they did at Liverpool I will be happy.

Was the lure of the Champions League a big factor?

I have only played in Champions League qualifiers before but, you know, it's the whole package. I have always wanted to come here but, yes, the Champions League and being able to win things is a major factor.

At 28, would you say you are in your prime?

Yes, I think so. The last four years have been great for me and I believe I am at my peak. I am at a good age and if I didn't come to Liverpool now, maybe the opportunity wouldn't come again. It has worked out perfectly for me and, hopefully, for Liverpool Football Club as well.

You scored two against us last year – was that strange, as a Liverpool fan?

It is difficult. I support Liverpool but you have to blank that out of your mind. It was nice to score at the Kop end but now I am looking forward to scoring at the Kop end in a red shirt.

It's Villarreal on Wednesday, then Rangers at the weekend. Either of these would be great to make your debut, wouldn't they?

Regardless of who it's against it will be fantastic. It's something I am really looking to. I'm not too bothered who it is against, I'm just looking forward to pulling on that red shirt and playing for Liverpool. It's something I've always dreamed about and sometimes dreams do come true.

You are famous for your cartwheel celebration – might we see that at Anfield any time soon?

I will probably bring it out once for the Liverpool fans as I've done it down the years, but after that it will probably go back in the box.

And this must be a nice way to end a brilliant summer for you, what with you getting married as well?

Yes, it's been a fantastic year for me all in all, with Tottenham doing well and winning the League Cup, then getting married and now coming to the club I love. I will never, ever forget this year.

Was it a difficult decision to leave Tottenham?

It was, because of the relationship I had with everyone there, and being vice-captain. Ledley King has been injured quite a lot, so I've had to take on the role of captain quite a bit. The relationship I had with the fans and the chairman meant it was difficult to leave. I am leaving good friends behind, but if there is one club that could take me away from Tottenham it is Liverpool.

Do you have a message for the Tottenham supporters?

Sometimes in life you don't get many opportunities to go somewhere you have dreamed of going. The Tottenham fans have been absolutely brilliant with me and I want to thank them for their support over the years. I look forward to seeing them again and I will never forget the way they treated me.

And what would you say to Liverpool fans who are obviously very excited about seeing you here?

I can't wait to put the jersey on and hopefully they are looking forward to it too. I will always give 100 per cent for this club and hopefully score and create goals.

http://www.liverpoolfc.tv/news/drilldown/N160687080729-0826.htm

The Dark Knight

The law of diminishing returns does not apply when it comes to comic adaptations – in fact, the opposite is usually true. A first movie in a series is, by necessity, the story of the beginning – how our hero came to be, and what demons he faces. This frees up the second movie to be purely action-driven, with little focus on story.

‘The Dark Knight’ not only satisfies these assumptions, but goes beyond the requisite staple for comic sequels. Bale’s Batman is dark, complex, and totally at odds with what Bruce Wayne would wish him to be – he is not the hero of Gotham, he is simply a man forced to do what is right in difficult circumstances. Even if what is right results in the vilification and hatred of what should be a symbol of good…

Gotham is less dark than in ‘Batman Begins’, with criminals actually fearing the Batman and his brand of justice. But it is still a city of rules – held in place by the tenuous line Batman walks between vigilantism and integrity. Enter, stage right, The Joker. Pre-release hype had placed Heath Ledger in the ranks of acting gods before anybody had seen a smirk or snicker – talk was, could he return on this build-up? Ledger’s Joker can, and does. Jack Nicholson has long been the epitome of the criminal – dancing with the devil in the pale moonlight all over Keaton’s Batman, but Ledger’s Joker goes one step further. He combines the manic craziness of previous Jokers’ with the smooth, terrifying anarchy of a man possessed by no other driving force than cold, murderous energy. Though it is not important to the story, it is relevant to know that Ledger lived alone in a hotel room for a month preparing for the role, devising the character’s bearing, voice and psychology. His work and dedication paid off, and he has given us a Joker to remember – a sad loss, indeed, to the acting world.

Over-complicating things slightly, as far as story goes, is the romance element – Rachel is still working in the DA’s office, but has rather shockingly morphed from Katie Holmes into Maggie Gyllenhaal. Something audiences are bound to notice, despite best attempts to the contrary! Rachel Dawes is, however, a fairly minor character – working chiefly as a foil to Bruce’s playboy pretensions, her sanctimonious lecturing can wear a little thin. It is with great gusto, therefore, that Aaron Eckhart takes the mantle of social conscience as Harvey Dent – shooting his lines like bullets, and injecting Two-Face with a back story worthy of the character.

The film is carried, all in all, between Bale, Ledger and Eckhart, but supporting characters give their tuppance. Gary Oldman’s Gordan is upright and forceful, Michael Caine is British and brash, and Morgan Freeman is wise and forgiving – everything in its place!

All in all, ‘The Dark Knight’ capitalises on an adult demographic drawn to the tale of a hero torn between what is good, what is right and what will make him hunted. Despite the Joker’s constant questioning, ‘Why so serious’, this is not a movie to be taken lightly. A darker vein in the comic adaptation, ‘The Dark Knight’ carries a sinister Batman further from the light-hearted goon, and more into the shadows he deserves.

A couple of repressed memories from S. America!

Some random memories keep popping into my head from my time away in South America, and I guess I'd better write them down, because I might never remember them again! So here's today's batch of shockers.....


1. The roof incident in Medallin. I won't mention names, but I will just mention some of my flashbacks on the subject....like sleeping through the whole noisy debauchal; the apparent 'Mrs. Doyle-ness' of the whole fall; the urge to laugh, but also scream about the whole thing; the worry all the next day that it might rain through the hole in the roof!!

2. In Taganga, Colombia, when I bought a snickers, and ate half of it, then didn't want to eat it in front of the others in case they asked me for a bite (selfish cow!!), so I wrapped it in it's wrapper, and left it on the shelf in my (very warm) room while we went out for a few drinks, then returned home later on and thought to myself how lovely a snickers would taste right about now! So, I dashed into the room, and grabbed the snickers, peeling off it's wrapper from sticky chocolate and taking a HUGE bite of it! And just when I started chomping it around my mouth, savouring the delicious taste, I glanced down at the rest of the bar and realised that it was completely crawling with creeping ants. And that my mouth was completely FULL of crawling creeping ants. I think I spat for about an hour after that!! The deserving end to me being a bit of a selfish cow....

3. Hiking up the hills of Medallin in Colombia, to meet a Shaman who was giving us some ayahuasca, and hopefully bringing us a spiritual epiphany, but who only succeeding in making me very ill. I'll write about it in more detail at a later date, but suffice to say that when you drink it, you become immediately and violently ill. For some people it's vomiting, for some people it's the other end. And for some unlucky people it's both. Let's just say I'm not a very lucky person.....

Camping out in nothing but a sleeping bag, with darkness all around, in the lashing rain, dashing into the trees for relief only to fall up to your knees in a sludge hole, while simultaneously experiencing some mild hallucinations might have it's moments, but they escaped me........


So, just three for today......and number three definitely bears some fleshing out, so I might hit that tomorrow!! Toodles.....

Happy Birthday to my first niece and nephew

A little early, but I was thinking of you both yesterday, and some words just popped into my head for you....missed you so much while I was away, and now I feel like I'm missing you again, because you're getting so grown up - I still get the hugs and kisses, though, so I guess I shouldn't complain......anyway, here it is......

For Sorcha and Cammy

Sometimes I can't breathe for thinking of you both,
young, pudgy - so innocently sweet.
But you grew up - you both grew up -
from curly red hair, and reddy blonde crown,
to both of you ten - big and strong.
And sometimes I think of those little moments
those times we shared when you were too young to know it

...but I knew it....

and I still think of that time, now, while your freckled noses
and your equally brilliant smiles
tell me about school,
about stolen moments with friends, running through fields,
jumping in rivers,
fishing for frogs,
and I feel tears clawing my eyes,
because you'll never be babies again.

You'll never come looking for me
showing me something small,
wishing it big.

(Though, this is you, now - small,
wishing to be big,
and getting there so fast
that sometimes I worry that time has sped up,
and I am being pulled along against my will)

Did I appreciate those times?
Did I gabble back to you in baby talk -
listen to your tales of woe,
when parents thwarted your plans -
an auntly duty, best performed when punishment
is not your game, as it was sometimes mine.
Or did I pass those times as if you would be there
young and fresh
mine and wholesome
for longer than these short years?

I hope not.

I hope that every second of your growing up
has been my growing up too.
And, after all, you're not so old yet,
my first niece and nephew,
and there is still time to listen to more stories,
to tell you things you did not know,
to hear your happy laughs,
and see those too-big teeth fighting for dominance
in your still-a-baby mouth.
Ten years.
Ten years of knowing you.
Ten years of loving you.

17 July 2008

P.S. I'll update on actual life soon.....just a wee thought that kept me going while I was travelling and missing home so much - that my gorgeous, hilarious, and always amazing nieces and nephews were waiting for me here!!

Cuba and Wembley and Family, Oh My!

Well, as I type this I am looking out on some glorious Irish weather...yes yes, I am home again! And I've been sadly neglecting the blog - apologies!


So, where did I leave you all? At my fantastic resort in Playas del Este, methinks! Well, we travelled back into Havana for the May 1st celebrations, as promised, and met up with our fantastic Good Samaritans for some drinkies, and of course to pay them back for their generosity, and made a 'date' for the next evening, as they would be marching from their part of town to the Plaza de la Revolucion, and we would be coming from the Centro. We read the TINY section on the May 1st celebrations in the Lonely Planet guide, and it said that 1.2 million people convene on the square, and that you should arrive at about 7.00 am. So, being Irish, we of course totally ignored that little snippet of information, and decided that 8.30 would be a fine time to arrive - fashionably late, and allowing for all the shenanigans to get into full flow, we assumed the party would be only starting at this stage, and the 7.00 am comment was for people to get a good 'seat', wheras we wanted to be in the thick of it.


I think 'thick' would certainly be the operative word here....


As we finished up our breakfast at 8, and strolled leisurely towards the Plaza, we noticed quite the amount of people heading the opposite direction. All dressed in red. And carrying flags. Hmmm...we wondered if maybe we had missed the initial celebrations. But no, the crowds increased by the second, and it was with sinking hearts that we realised that this was, in fact, the 1.2 million people, and they were all heading home. At 8 in the morning!


Coming from Ireland, you understand, this was of course unheard of! If they say something is starting at 7.00 am (well, firstly, NOTHING would start that early in Ireland!), then it REALLY means it starts at 10.00! So, you see, after 7 months travelling through other cultures, and absorbing their many varieties and styles, we were still stuck back in good old Ireland...


But so it was! We arrived at the Plaza to discover papers blowing in the early morning breeze, plastic chairs knocked to one side, and the general feeling of having missed something big hanging in the air. But, as I said to Alan, it's a funnier story to have been in Havana for one of the biggest events of the year, and to have missed it, than to have actually experienced it. I keep telling myself that, anyway!


That evening we met up with Oskan and Ismail for some dinner and frozen daquiries in Hemingways bar - Floripa, I think it's called - and listened to some lovely music, and generally had a brilliant night. Next day we set forth for Santa Clara, with the advice of a hostel from our Turkish brethren, Orlando's on the main square - he is a man worth staying with purely for his stories, as we discovered on arrival in the grotty and dingy town of Santa Clara. We got there about 3pm, and headed straight for his hostel. On gaining board for the night, we headed straight out to the Che Guevara monument, for which the town exists (as far as I can see). It is a beautiful statue, visible for miles around, but still more beautiful is the mausaleum below. Where elsewhere the image of Che is abused for government propoganda purposes, and called upon to sell everything from rum to t-shirts to shower-curtains, here it is as I would imagine the man himself would have liked it. Below the statue, a darkened room sits, with all 26 rebels recovered from the mass grave in Bolivia interred on equal footing. A bronze door bearing the face of the departed fighter shows their final resting place, and Che's is distinguished not by size or colour, but by merely a slight seperation from the rest, and a single lily hanging in front. He was a man of the people, and his resting place bears that out - he lies equal and amongst his brother soldiers, all of them immortalised in this small room, and with the eternal flame burning in the corner.


From that sombre and impressive area to another, the Che museum is fantastic! Some amazing photos I have never seen chart the history of a man I have come to admire so much, and for whom I have a strange feeling of kinship - not on any political level, for I am no communist, but purely on the basis of his always doing what was right, and doing what was good. I have so much admiration for him, and see such humanity in his eyes - in fact, travelling through Cuba, I built up quite the collection of Che postcards and photos, purely for the joy it gives me simply to look at his face. Always laughing! Any photo I have of him, has him laughing, because it seems his most nautural and common expression. It was also heartening to see his father written as Ernesto Guevara Lynch - and see the chair where Nana Lynch sat with her grandson, Che, on her knee. A wonderful Irish connection to be proud of!


Besides this, though, Santa Clara holds few pleasures. We ate that night an admittadly gorgeous meal in our hostel, but expensive, and we decided to head to Trinidad the very next day rather than spend another day in the town. Orlando sat with us at dinner, and told us many stories of his youth - being brought across to Hungary as an example of a 'good worker', and speaking in factories over there to the communist people, and flying the whole way in a twin-propeller plane, which hopped up the coast of the Americas, before jumping to Shannon on his way to the Eastern Bloc. Orlanda also met Che Guevara, and was in fact his guide to the area when the rebels took the island - he has a photo of them both together, and has much pride in both his country, and in that great man.


The next day we took an hilarious journey to Trinidad. Frustrating, yes, but also very funny! Instead of taking the main road to Trinidad, the drivers took side roads, adding 2 hours to our journey. And why? To run errands, no less! Every five minutes we were stopping at some house or other dropping off pails of milk, postage, picking up boxes, and generally giving the locals something to gape at as our huge bus pulled into their driveways!


Trinidad was just gorgeous! We were so happy to arrive there anyway, and the heat was unmerciful, but we were lucky enough to procure an excellent hostel called El Chino - named after it's owner, who looked Chinese, hence the nickname. A lovely lovely man! We ended up staying longer than planned, because he was so fantastic, and the town was so beautiful. I confess, we loved it more than Havana, purely for it's lack of pollution, which can make breathing in Havana quite the struggle! Another town with very few restaurants, so we ate every night with the family - well, in their sitting room...they cooked us dinner each night for a small fee, and breakfast every morning at whatever time we liked. With the heat, though, you rarely sleep past 9 in the mornings, so they loved us - everyone in Cuba rises early, and half their day is over by the time you get up at your 'early' hour of 8.30.

Anyway, on arrival in Trinidad, we hired bikes and headed out the sun-drenched road to the beach...11 km away. And what a cycle! Lovely going out, because it ended in white-sandy beaches with aqua-marine sea lapping the shore...the Caribbean again. But the way back? With no shade, and no let-up from the blistering sun, I became badly sun stroked (is it an adjective?), and actually thought I was going to vomit with the pain of it! But we made it home - to the amusement of El Chino, who laughed somewhat hysterically at our red skin...his brown skin like leather from many years of that hot star! What a nice man, though. We had many conversations with him - all in Spanish, as he spoke no English - and I add him to my ever-extending list of examples of Cuban hospitality.

The next day, thanks to sunstroke and fear of DYING from the heat, we spent the day wandering the cobbled streets of Trinidad, winding our way through the beautiful markets, where locals display their ware - homespun clothes, crocheted everything, and beautiful linen embroidery, all hanging next to wood work and the usual jewellery collections. But it was a lovely day! And that night we attended the Casa de Musica - a central area of the town where large and wide stone steps lead you up to two patio areas (seperated by more of the stone steps, which double for seats as the area fills up), where tables and chairs are scattered about, and waitresses and waiters dance between the tables refilling your drinks, as bands preform at the edge. We were treated first to traditional Cuban music, followed by more a more trova style, and then a percussion group, and finally the bands took a break, and the speaker system pumped out some samba/Cuban music, as couples everywhere began to emerge from the crowds now gathered. The couples were mesmerising - but most especially the men! Coming from a country where swaying from side to side while balancing your pint is considered dancing, it is always surprising to me how much genuine joy men in other countries seem to take from the passtime. And these guys were amazing! The twirled and twisted the girls all around them and, in one particularily awe-inspiring moment, three men joined together, with their partners, and began an impromptu dance performance (not for the crowd, but only for themselves), where partners were swapped and twisted in elaborate moves- all in perfect time with the music. And the guys asked girls all over to dance - and nothing sexual about it....they just wanted to dance!

So we spent a happy night watching and listening to Cuban life, and next day decided against bikes again, instead hiring our first ever scooter! We headed out to yet another fantastic beach, and swam in the bath-like water, lay on the white sand, and generally enjoyed every second of our last day in Trinidad. The scooter was great fun....Alan driving, and me on the back singing 'Baby We Were Born To Run' out of tune, and at the top of my voice! We took the opportunity to visit a slave tower out the other side of Trinidad, and drove through the Valley de Los Indes on the power-scooter....great fun! And a chance to see the lush, beautiful countryside of this amazing country.

Next day El Chino had organised a taxi to take us to Havana for the same price as the bus - if you can get four people in a taxi, it will always cost you the same as the bus. We joined a couple and their small child for the journey, and the man turned out to be an avid learner of the English language, so I had a nice chat with him along the way, and we got to Havana fairly early. On leaving El Chino, he presented me with a necklace - to remember him! Lovely man!

We went back to Marias, of course, since she has the best hostel in Havana! And we just spent our last couple of days shopping for gifts for those back home - as we had taken the perhaps foolish step of booking a flight home for the same day as we left Cuba. Our flight was due to leave Havana at 7.00 am, and land in Caracas at 10.00, so as our flight to Frankfurt/Dublin left at 5.00 pm, we thought we could chance it, rather than spend ANY more time than necessary in Caracas (or 'El Shithole', as I will forever refer to it as). So, we arrived at the airport at 4.30 in the morning, ready to leave Cuba, and discovered the board announcing our flight delated until 4.00 pm...which would mean we would miss our flight home..... We went over to the Cubana helpdesk, and were told to go to the supervisor check-in area, which we did, and she sent us back to the helpdesk. At this point, I said to Alan that I was going to start crying, so that they would pay attention to us, and take us seriously. So, I diligently began to cry - forcing more and more tears out to make them see our plight, as Alan began gesticulating and explaining next to me. But then, horror of horrors, it actually began to seem like there was no way they were going to get us out of Havana in time, and my crocodile tears quickly became real tears...and within seconds, I had gone from gentle weeping to full-on, nose-streaming, mouth-drooling WAILING! And I couldn't stop! We saw that there was a charter flight leaving at 6.30 to Caracas, but supervisor bitch continued to be completely unhelpful, as we begged to be allowed onboard in any capacity - she kept staring at us with a smirk, and repeated the Spanish equivalent of "computer says no - *cough, cough*"!!

FINALLY, and by the grace of God, we were directed to a lovely man, who began moving heaven and earth to try get us to Caracas, offering us seats on flights to Panama that would get us to Caracas by 3.00pm and everything. But, in the end, he managed to discover 6 free seats on the charter flight to Caracas, and nip us in at the very last second. Snotty and teary, I hugged and kissed him, as we raced through security and joined a group of injured and maimed heading onto our plane - which we discovered was a charter flight of people from Venezuela that have been brought to Cuba for free healthcare and operations. We had time, while running onto the plane, to buy the limited edition Che Guevara Swatch watches only available in Havana airport...sure you'd have to!

When we arrived in Caracas, Lufthansa treated us like kings, and we happily got onto our plane with time to spare, enjoying a fabulous flight back to Frankfurt! I had neglected to tell my family of my change in flights - arriving home a week earlier than expected - and had enlisted Grainne to collect me in the airport, and complete operation 'Freak Out Griffin Family'! As it turned out, our quick turnaround in Frankfurt meant that we arrived, but our bags didn't. Ah well! The airline would ship them down later, so it saved me carrying it!

When we came through arrivals, Grainne had done the impossible, and found my sister and husband and kids upstairs on their way for a holiday to Lanzarote, and they were all waiting for me out front - so one of the first things I did on Irish soil was to kiss my beautiful nieces and nephews!! How good it felt to be home! I said goodbye to Alan in the airport, and Grainne drove me down to my house, where I knocked on the door and jumped out at my Mam -producing a reaction from her more akin to tragedy than joy, as she stood shaking in front of me, white-faced and distraught. Finally, she hugged the life out of me, and brought me into my Dad whose reaction of 'Oh Jesus Sal, it's you' - quitely and calmly - truely showed me I was home! Next my sister arrived in, and echoed my Dad's calm reaction, though betraying more of the emotion by a couple of tears and bringing me out for dinner. And lastly, but not leastly (not a word!), I hid in my sisters car as she drove me up to my brother's house, and I jumped in on him and his fiance, and my gorgeous nephews and niece! Oh, it's good to be home!

That weekend, myself and Alan joined his family in London. We had dinner on the Friday night with Oskan and Louis in their lovely Stoke Newington apartment, heading out to Anna's afterwards for her usual hospitality - she looks after us of the best any time we're in London, and I love coming to see her! Saturday we headed to Wembley, and the stadium looked amazing! We had a few drinks with the family, then headed in with the Bluebird fansto cheer on their fantastic team as they played the FA Cup Final. Unfortunately, the team did not triumph, but the fans were so proud of their team, and the atmosphere in Wembley was fantastic, so it was a great event to be a part of! We had family dinner in a lovely Thai restaurant in Wembley, before heading back to Anna's again, and the next day we had lovely Sunday lunch with her, before she brought us out to Stanstead, and I was home again!

So, I've been relaxing quite a bit at home - got my photos all in order, printed out, and entered in albums, so I've been spending time with my family, and enjoying having all the kids around me again. I have no regrets, and spent as much time as I wanted away. I loved every second of South America, and feel that I saw that continent well and fully - but still leave lots to do on another return trip. Argentina would be my favourite overall country - for the mental array of geographical craziness from tip to toe, and for the wondeful welcomeness of the people. Colombia would be a close second, the coastal beauty, and the fabulous people. Cuba was fantastic, but I think I might need to be a bit further from all the pain and terror of getting to and from the place to consider it more fairly. Give it another month or so!

Next week I'm off to France for a few days to visit my very good friend Sarah, and Alan is helping me get my car back on the road, so everything is going well. My family are in good health, Ireland looks fantastic, and I'm filling up on Tayto, Cadbury's and home-cooked dinners.

It's great to be home, and it's great to look back on these experiences I have had with happiness and joy. Life is good.

Cuba Libre!!

Well, we're here....finally, finally, finally! And it was an adventure from start to finish...


So, we left our beautiful Colombian town sadly, but with great excitement, for here was to begin our great Cuban adventure! We took the 12 noon bus from Santa Marta and, as usual in Colombia, it was way overpriced! Especially since the seats were uncomfortable, you don't get fed, and the toilet worked for about half an hour, before giving up the ghost with a splurge of inorganic chemicals and organic mess, making the freezing cold journey even harder to bear because of the all-pervading smell emenating from behind us! That coupled with the fact the driver seemed intent on proving his capabilites as a world rally driver meant that between myself and Alan we got about 10 minutes sleep... So, we arrived at the Venezuelan border none too fresh and none to happy. We had heard all the traveller advice on money - Venezuela's currency system is stuck on a 1997 exchange rate in the banks, meaning that when you withdraw Bolivars directly from the machines, it charges you a rate of 1 Bolivar for 1 Dollar. This is clearly crazy, so you are forced to hit the black markets for your money exchanges, and it's been known to receive 4 Bolivars for 1 Dollar in these circles! We were happy, however, with our exchange of 2.5 for 1, which we got at a Casio de Cambio next to the exit area of Colombia...it meant that our chosen hotel room would cost us about 15 euro instead of 32. Anyway, we then walked across the border no-man's-land to Venezuela, where we got our entry stamp. As we commenced boarding the bus, we were told the guards were going to search every bag on the bus, and that it would take about 2 hours. Five minutes later, a fellow passenger took up a 'collection' of 5 Bolivars per person, to give the guard as a bribe so that they would let us pass unmolested. Standard practice, apparently! So, bribe paid, we got back on our stinky bus, and wove our way through the bleak Venezuelan countryside to Caracas, city of crap....seriously! I have never seen a so called socialist state so plastered with advertising, and so overrun with shanty towns. Unbelievable! Maybe Chavez is working hard in the rest of the country, but Caracas is going to the dogs. Anyway, we got to the bus station by 6am, thanks to our drivers rally experience, and had to wait for the sun to rise in order to head out to get a taxi out to Catia del Mar, the seaside town ten minutes from the airport. We happened to ask a lady in a shop how to get an official taxi, and she very nicely phoned one for us. He arrived and took us to his tinted windowed car, and wove out of the horrible city into an even more horrible 'seaside town' for an extorcionate price...such is the way of the Venezuelan people, we were soon to discover! Our hotel was dingy and horrible, with insects everywhere, and sticky floors. However, it had a tv in the room, and that's all we wanted to while away the evening before heading for the airport in the morning.


So, bright and early the next day, we headed to Caracas airport, and cling-wrapped our bags for safety at the entrance, before attempting to sign in. Nothing so simple! We had to buy our tourist visa for Cuba, which was fine, we knew we had to do it! But then there was the state tax to pay. Fine. OK, so we hadn't enough money for all of this new costings, so I said to the lovely (sarcasm doesn't come across so well in text!) 'lady' we had to go to the banklink, and I'd come back. So we traipsed across the airport to find a banklink, found one, took out the exact amount...meaning, of course, we were getting the 1997 exchange rate on the withdrawal. Then headed back to the stupid cow with cash in hand, to find an equally tourist-friendly man in her place who informed us that we had also to pay airport tax. Oh, sure why would you tell us our total costs all at one time? That would make life EASIER for us! So, with many a scowl and clenching of teeth, I headed BACK to the stupid banklink for more stupid overpriced money for their stupid taxes and charges. After all of this costly endevour, we had enough left for a wee something to eat out the other side, and nothing else. So, we headed through their stupid security (everything in Venezuela was stupid by this stage) airside, and discovered within a couple of hours that our flight was delayed...for 9 hours! Armed with enough cash for a paltry Burger King, we thus reconcoiled ourselves with the airport seats. As an aside, we also thought we might need further cash, but discovered there were no banklinks airside. Sure why would you need THOSE in an area filled with shops, restaurants and other establishments requiring money????

Anyway, I'm not gonna hash over everything yet again, but suffice to say the nine hours dragged by! Luckily, Cubana provided lunch and dinner for us all...at the cheapest restaurant in the airport, but food is food, and who am I to complain? At 10.00 pm, we were all herded upstairs...to an airplane, I presumed, but on reaching the top of the stairs discovered it was to climb onto buses. Our flight had been cancelled, and they were taking us to a hotel. So, on route to said hotel we met with two Turkish men...brothers Oskan and Asmail. Oskan has been living in London some 20 years, and has British citizenship, as well as perfect English. Despite Asmial's little English, he was engaging and friendly, and we had a good chat on our way to the hotel. It turned out to be a lovely hotel in Catia del Mar with a pool and everything...but then again, considering you couldn't leave the hotel environs at any stage, it would want to be! Plus, we only had the clothes we were wearing, so we couldn't exactly dive into the pool! Anyway, it was late, so we all parted ways for some sleep. Next day we arose hoping for news on the flight...nothing. We had breakfast, and watched television all day, before discovering at 4.30pm that they would be collecting everyone from the hotel at 5 bound for the airport. Nice of them to let us know! What would have happened if we hadn't chanced to call reception? Anyway! Headed out for the airport, found a GIGANTIC queue of people awaiting us, and some big frenzy about how half of the flight had been heading to a conference, so they got priority, and a second plane would carry the rest of us. At this stage I didn't even care! We eventually got through the queue in about an hour and a half, to be told that the airport might have to be paid again! Well, this was not happening! Alan had lost the sticker on his ticket so we couldn't prove that we had paid yesterday, and when I explained this to the Cubana man, he shrugged his shoulders. I was forced, then, I admit, to throw away my diplomacy and gritted smile long learned from past struggles with service providers, and curse a little! Sorry Mam....but basically, he then promised we wouldn't have to pay it again! As it turns out, though, nobody had to pay it again, because Cubana had to foot the bill....although this only resulted after all the passangers encamped at the airport tax desk and refused to pay! THEN we finally got through, for a further three hours waiting airside, where we got to know our Turkish friends a little better. When the plane finally arrived to much jubulation at 9.30, we leapt aboard! And it was the smallest plane imaginable...dry ice sufficed for air conditioning, and my knees were practically to my chin onboard. So, in this tiny junk box, freezing cold from the dry ice smoking up around me at all times, we shuddered our way across to Cuba, to land at 3.00 in the morning. When we got there, we decided to sleep in the airport until 7, then head into town together - the two of us, and the Turkish brothers.

On waking cramped and uncomfortable at 7.00, we discovered that my card wouldn't work in any of the machines...credit card, that is, because no debit cards work here anyway. We thought we should try some banks in the city, so Oskan and Asmail offered to pay for the taxi in and then we could pay them back when we got to a bank. So, we headed into the fabulous city of Havana, but I was a bit worried about the money, so didn't take things in as much as I could have. When we arrived, they spotted us breakfast, while we waited for the banks to open at 9. They then minded our bags as we headed off to various banks. Three establishments later, we were told that my credit card, though European, had done business with America, and was therefore useless in Cuba. Brilliant! We thought that maybe we'd be able to withdraw money using my passport and account details, so we stored our bags at Oskan and Asmail's lodgings, and headed out walking. A chance encounter with a creepy old gringo obviously living in Havana a long time sent us to Assistur, the only money-transfer option available between Cuba and other countries. Creepy? Because Alan says he got the distinct impression he was asking if we needed money badly enough to sell me to him for a while.....eeewww!

So, we went to Assistur, and discovered that our nearest transfer option was England, and then only from HSBC bank...they also took a humungous cut of the transfer, as payment. But it was our only hope! We went back to Oskan, and they loaned us enough money for lodgings, and we also bought a bag of bread and some water...feasted for days on that paltry bundle, let me tell you! Anyway, we moved to a Casa Particular in the city, then got on the internet and emailed home, and my cousin Anna in London, asking them to send the full cash that we would need for the whole holiday. This panicked everyone exceedingly...in fact, my mother thought that we'd been taken hostage and I was forced to write the email to get money! Such thoughts averted, they fell to helping us, but we had to wait until the banks opened on the morrow. We met the boys again that night, because they refused to let us wallow in our miserable situation, and kind souls that they are, they wanted us to come out with them! So, we went to Monseratte, a lovely bar next to Hemingway's favourite haunt, but better for the lack of brash tourists pointing cameras up your nostrils, where they shouted us a couple of beers, and we were entertained by a fabulous Cuban band who funked the room up something rotten! Fantastic! Next day, sick to our stomachs with both fear, trepidation and hunger, we went to Assistur to see had any money come through. Nothing! Turns out HSBC wouldn't let Anna send money with them as she is not a member of their bank, so she tried it through her bank, and they said the confirmation would take longer. So, we had another day of this to contend with! Despite everything, we spent our days pacing around Havana, gazing at it's fabulously faded grandeur, and drinking in it's liveliness and musical flavour for free!

Again that night, Oskan and Asmail would not let us wallow, and we went into Viajo, the lively pedestrianised zone above the port, and took in another free show...this time flamenco (though the band also played a weirdly wonderful version of 'Zombie' by the Cranberries!). Next morning, we awoke with the by now familiar trepidation. We awoke in better surroundings, though, because we had moved casa's to Dulce Maria's - a famous casa the same price as our last, but which included breakfast! So we dined heartily on food besides bread - the first to touch our lips in two days - and headed out to the internet to see what news awaited us. On switching on my phone, though, I discovered that my Mam had been in touch with Anna, discovered that the money transfer was NOT going to go through, and had taken it upon herself to drive to Dublin and plead with the British Embassy to help. I might add, at this stage, that the nearest Irish Embassy to Cuba is Mexico...some help to us! Not an hour later, I received another text, confirming that the money would hopefully be awaiting us in the British Embassy. We had to walk, having no money for taxis, and took the 5.5 km in the blistering midday heat out to Verdado, where the Embassies reign. It was a long walk, and I got a little crazed from the sun, but it was all forever worth it when we walked in the door and a lovely lady behind the counter said 'are you Sarah'? Oh what joy!!! She even mentioned that my mother had been very worried about me.....!!! So, we collected our money, joyously and with great relief, and took a taxi back to our Casa. I cannot TELL you how worrying those days were! We couldn't change our flights, so would have been stuck in Cuba with nothing. And if we hadn't met those fantastic brothers, we would have never even have been able to leave the airport! So, you sometimes have to think things happen for a reason...if the flight had not been cancelled, we would not have had the opportunity to make friends with people from the flight, and would have landed in Cuba friendless, moneyless, and alone!

Sadly, our two friends had gone to Trinidad that morning, and we now await their return for the May 1st celebrations in Havana, where we will repay their money and kindness, and take them out for dinner and drinks as a thank you!!

So, to update on life since then, we are LOVING Cuba! It is the most amazing wonderful fantastic country on earth, and we love every second! After Havana, we headed to Vinales, where the tobacco fields cluster amid wonderful limestone cliff faces, and the countryside is so lush and green that it takes your breath away! Staying all the while in Casas - family homes with spare rooms they make available to tourists - we eat hearty breakfast of eggs and fresh fruit in the mornings, and in Vinales, even took dinner made by the family. It certainly improves your Spanish, as nobody speaks English here! Our first day we cycled the countrside, and marvelled at the red earth, tall palm trees, and high cliffs...Alan took a solitary cycle later, and saw a massive snake basking on the road! Already afraid of snakes, this scared the hell out of him! Our second day we took the tourist hop-on-hop-off bus around the area, and met two Irish on holidays here (he from Clare, she from Cork), and had a good laugh spending the day with them! We also visited a smallholding, where we were shown a drying room....a heavily slanted straw hut containing countless tobacco leaves hanging from poles strung lengthways. The owner rolled a cigar for is in front of our very eyes...it was amazing! And he presented it to us free of charge, though we did leave a tip for his kindness! Next day we headed back to Havana, and from there on to our two days of luxury already counted for within our budget....Playas del Este! We headed to an all-inclusive holiday resort on the edge of the ocean, with a HUGE transluscent pool, and a palm-treed, white-sanded, aquamarine sea reached by means of a wooden footbridge over a sandy lagoon. So, we are lapping up the luxury here...eating what we please, and certainly DRINKING what we please, all for the low-low price of 50 euro per day (that's our accommodation, food, drink, EVERYTHING included). So we're happy!

Heading back to Havana tomorrow for the May 1st celebrations. The Plaza de la Revolucion reportadly fills with 1.2 million people, and Fidel addresses the crowd. I think it will be Raul this year, but sure either way, it's an experience I am unwilling to miss! And, yes, I am aware of my hypocrisy in coming from this luxurious havan into a march celebrating workers rights...but I really don't mind! Everything in Cuba is so gloriously distributed, that any money I spent here, in this wonderfully delapidated hotel (which, despite it's appearances, is as plastered with photos of Fidel and Che as anywhere else), will be evenly spread out. Not one shanty town have we seen since our arrival here, and everyone is happy and healthy, and the kids are at school every day. Communism seems to be succeeding far better here than Chavez's socialism in Venezuela, and he would do well to take serious note.....

Internet is very expensive here, so my next blog could be from home, but suffice to say I absolutely adore this country, it's people, and every second I spend in it. Don't worry, I will be back to it before long! It has a very strong pull....

Hasta la victoire siempre!!

Ode to the Departed

Yes, we haven`t moved an inch! Largely due to the arrival in our hostel of some extremely sound, and bloody good fun, lads from back home! We had met them in Lima - well, I can`t really boast that, because I wasn`t talking to them in Lima, but the other lads knew them well - and by pure chance they landed up in our hostel here. And I soon got to know them! Liam had his guitar, and knew amazingly varied and wonderful songs, and James and Cormac sang along with gusto....they brightened up our little trip something rotten!!

And, in a little "small world, isn`t it" twist, Cormac is the nephew of someone I work with back in Dublin! Crazy!

Anyway, we decided not to move on to Cartagena, as Bones was leaving on Tuesday, and Mac came back from there to celebrate (or mourn) Bones`s last weekend with us! So Saturday night, we sent him off in STYLE! With four litres of rum, and copious amounts of beer, we headed to An Garaiste, the best nightclub in town. Well...everyone else headed off, I had to be put to bed at that stage (about 2am) on account of drinking a tad too much, but when they returned from the club, I gamely hopped out of bed and joined the singalong until the wee hours - about 9 am the next day! AND I had my first public preformance - I played and sang along to Willie McBride on the guitar, and got a good reception! Maybe they were all drunk, but they lavished praise on me, so I`m suitable big headed now, even though I still play like Father Ted.....ha ha!

But it was a great sending off for del Bone, who has been the most amazing travelling companion these past months, and I miss him already! I know I`ll see him in a month back home, but it`s never the same, is it? Over here, I saw him for breakfast, lunch and dinner, and slept in the same room as him for 90% of the time, and we`ll never have that closeness again....so I miss that, but as Tedly has said, don`t be sad that it`s over, be glad that it happened! So we said a tearful (well, I cried anyway!) goodbye to him Tuesday morning. He`s back home now, and says he`s already overdosed on tea.......

And of course, Maca himself, who ALSO left on the day Bones left! I hadn`t thought about it, because I`ve said goodbye to Mac before - back in La Paz when he was on his way to meet his destiny in Buenos Aires - but now he`ll either be back in Ireland before us, or just after us, and either way, I also won`t see him for a month. I`m glad to know such a man, I really am, because he is one of the steadiest and genuinely nicest guys I`ve ever met. I`ve never known someone to have such regard for others in everything he does, and he has the best and biggest heart I`ve ever seen. So hopefully the friendship will continue as strong back in Ireland, because I feel like I`ve strengthened a friendship over here!

And then Wednesday.....what a day.....we said goodbye to Ed and Emer and Kee, who are gone on to Cartagena! It was great getting to know Emer and Kee, who I didn`t really know before, and I had great craic with them - especially Emer, who is a bloody lovely girl!! And as for Ed....what can I say? I never knew him before we came away, and now I don`t know how I went so long in my life without knowing this amazing guy! So I cried on his departure too, probably most of all, because he is just one of the best people I know, and I am so happy that we came along on this trip together! I would never have known his happy outlook on life, his coolness under pressure, his ability to smooth over tensions, and his sensitivity to everyone`s feelings. The man is a saint, but not in a cheesy overly-nice way, he just genuinely wants for people to be happy, and I can`t find fault with a second of our time over here together.

And on Thursday, we said goodbye to our newfound friends from back home, and since they are heading to Australia after South America, they`re not likely to hit Ireland again until 2009, so renewing the friendship could be tougher in this case, but we`re hopeful it`ll be done. Really, we`ve met such amazing people on this trip - we`ve been so lucky!

So, today, it was just myself and Alan, sweating and trying to organise accomodation for Caracas, the most dangerous city in South America! We`re hoping to just stay in a village ten minutes from the airport, rather than Caracas itself, but everytime we call it, we get hung up on by the impatient and rude receptionist....what a hijo de puta! So we might have to stay in the city. We`ve heard such stories of the place from fellow travellers! One girl from Cork was on a tour around the country - bear in mind, this meant they were ferried EVERYWHERE in a private buses, and all sleeping arrangements organised by guides - and from the 20 people on board, 8 were stabbed in Caracas. One woman, a 55 year old lady, was stabbed in her HAND as she tried to protect herself....

Another story? Irish guys there took the official black taxis to the airport, and they are four by fours so that if traffic stops up ahead, the drive onto the dirt roads beside it and bypass the stoppage, as it is popular to hold up taxis full of gringos....the cars have blacked-out windows, and you can`t roll down the window for fear of being seen.

Another? Carl Cox (idiot DJ) played a set in a Caracas nightclub in November, and a gunman opened fire on the crowd, killing 4 people. Security failed to evacuate, despite the bodies lying bleeding on the ground, and the gunman opened fire again five minutes later, killing a further 6.

Another? All hostels and hotels (even the Hilton and other branded ones) are enclosed in barred gates, and signs advise revellers to stay in after dark (6 o clock), and police impose a curfew after 10pm. Even eating in a restaurant 500 meters down the road, you are advised to take a taxi.

Another? Police in Venezuela get onto buses randomly to view the passangers. You are told to face forward, and keep your eyes straight ahead (take off sunglasses). Making eye contact will be seen as being "cheeky" and may result in some random police brutality.

And the last one! Coming across the border, the border guards board the bus and say "we will search this whole bus, and hold you up for 2 hours, or else you can all pay 10 Bolivars, and we will let you through without a search". Coupled with this little nugget is that 3 out of 4 people carry guns in Caracas. Not `have` guns....CARRY guns. Factor out old people and kids, and you are probably looking at the entire male population "packing"!

So, I look forward to Sunday, when we fly to Cuba. Much safer destination! Whatever Chavez is doing, it`s not reaching Caracas......

Roll on Cuba!!!

Still in Taganga....

Yes, we`re still here! And loving every minute of it...I guess we should be trying to squash as much fun into our last few weeks away as possible, but considering I`ll be back to work within two weeks of my return, I`m enjoying the relaxation of it all! Lying in hammocks reading my books, practising my guitar, swimming in the sea...it`s not a bad life, right now!

We`ve changed our flights for returning home, as Al`s cousin Stephen has led his team into the FA Cup Final on May 17th in Wembly, so we`re landing home and heading to London for the match. My official return date is now 18 May, and I`ll be back to work on the 9th of June. So I`ll be home for my birthday!! Woo hoo!! I just cannot WAIT to see everyone again!

But, between now and then, we have CUBA to look forward to! We`re so excited! We`re gonna do a few more Spanish lessons here, maybe, as we`ll really need our Spanish in Cuba...but we`ll see how it goes! A friend of Bones and Ed`s from back home - David Kee - arrived here last week with his girlfriend Emer, so we`ve been having a great time hanging out with them, and we all headed into Park Tayrona at the weekend - after the Cardiff game, and returned in time for the Liverpool game with Arsenal. Got our priorities sorted!

The Park was fantastic! We slept at Arrecifes Beach, where you can`t swim because of currents, but it is just beautiful! You pay the equivalant of 3.50 a night for your hammock, which is strung up under a woven roof in the area where the jungle meets the sea. So, unfortunately, this means a healthy supply of insects! We brought our mossie nets, but they`re very hard to string up over hammocks! I had a termite in mine who gave me an awful bite, but Alan got the worst when a mossie got stuck INSIDE his net with him, and chomped on his face, eyelid and ear!! Next morning we hiked across to La Piscina, where it`s safe to swim, and in doing so crossed some amazing beaches, replete with palm trees and turqoise water...this is definitely the Caribbean we dreamed of! And there were WAVES!! Much as I love Taganga, the beach is stoney, and because we`re in a bay, it`s like swimming in a lake, there are no waves. So, we spent the day swimming, jumping off of rocks, and getting frazzled in the sunshine! That night we got some bottles of rum, and enjoyed the solitude of the Park! Beautiful! And the stars at night - because there are no lights for miles - were just unbelievable!

We might head on to Cartagena after the weekend with the lads, or else on to Palimino - an area along the coast an Irish girl who lives in Taganga told us about. It depends on Bones, really! He`s leaving the soonest from here, so whatever he wants to do, we`ll follow!

Scuba Diving AGAIN!

Well, we went again, but I`ll blog about it in detail in my next entry...I just wanted to add a note about the so called "spiderfish". The reason I couldn`t find a photo of it is that it`s actually called an arrow crab, and I`ve found a picture below!

We also took a camera with us this time, so I have uploaded all our photos onto my bebo, and we have a few videos - which are also on bebo too! I`ve stuck the video of the spiderfish (as I will forever call him!!) up here too, to show how brilliant it was!!!

Scuba Sarah!

Just a quick blog to say that today I scuba dived for the first time! And it was WOW amazing! Myself and Alan signed up with Tayrona Diving here in Taganga yesterday, and this morning we presented ourselves nervously at 8.00am for the course! When we arrived we were sized for wet suits, flippers, goggles and other sundries, then we - along with the other divers, two Americans and a Dane - went into a wee room and watched the PADI video...which was extremely cheezy, but very informative. There is so much to know about the scuba equipment!! It`s all so technical, and you really have to pay strict attention to the breathing techniques and the equalisation stuff (basically holding your nose and blowing out your ears to equalise pressure, but you have to do it every meter of descent, so it`s important stuff!). Also, clearing your mask by holding it tight above your eyes and blowing through your nose may seem like an obvious one, but when you`re 18 meters down, it`s a different story! The light seems very far away above you, and a mouth full of sea water is always freaky....

Anyway, after all of this instruction, we set off on the boat for Park Tayrona`s calm waters...as it is a National Park, the coral and fish life is pretty well preserved and untouched by fishermen and tourists. We thought perhaps we`d be in our depth for the first dive of the day but no, we had to jump fully kitted out from the boat into deep-ish water! Eeeek! So, we had our weights put on over our wetsuit, and the backpack attached with our buoyancy device, as well as the tank of air on our backs. The breathing piece was already in our mouths, and you had to just hold your mask with one hand, and the weights with the other, and take a big leap of faith into the water! Very strange feeling, for the first time, when you`re breathing through the mask underwater! Myself and Alan were taken out by Chopper, one of the instructers, and the others went ahead with another guy - the two Americans were qualified diver, and the Danish girl, unfortunately for her, had trouble with her ears, and couldn`t actually dive at all today. Anyway, Chopper let out enough air to bring us just underwater, and then we practised techniques like what happens if your airpiece falls out, and how to clear the water from your goggles. We also went through all the hand signals that we needed to know for safe diving. Then we were off!

On the first dive, we went to a depth of 10 meters, and Chopper held on to both our hands, and guided us through the rocks and coral below. We saw amazing things, the best of which was when he guided us down to the bottom, and we knelt on the sand as he showed us a spider fish below the rock, then took it out and held it on his hand, then passed it onto my hand, then on to Alan`s.....bright yellow, with long spindly legs and a triangular face. Singularily the weirdest thing I`ve ever seen! It looked like it was from a different planet! I couldn`t find a picture of it, because I don`t think I have the right name! We also saw a huge yellow eel - called a Moray eel, which was pretty freaky looking! I wish I had a photo of the spider fish thing though, because it was definitely the weirdest thing I`ve ever seen!

We came up after a while, and got back on the boat, and had lunch in a lovely secluded cove in Tayrona, then back out for dive two! This time, Chopper was much more adventurous with us, and he only held my hand for the first ten minutes! Ha ha.... But he let us just follow him as we swam to depths of 18 meters - a lot of pressure is felt at this depth, believe me, so I have no idea how anyone goes deeper! It was freaky looking upwards and not really seeing the surface clearly, because it was so far above you! This time we got to see amazingly coloured fish, and they weren`t afraid of you, and almost brushed up against you sometimes. Really strange! We saw some amazing coral, too - and little plants that snapped shut when you came near, but if you were a bit away, you could see their little wavey tentacle-like leaves swaying in the current as though by a breeze. It really is a garden down there! We saw huge seaweed structures and coral that looked like trees! Chopper spotted some yellow tentacle things sticking out from under rocks - the looked like octopus legs - and got me to grab one, and it immediately started pulling away from me....it felt like a furry water balloon filled with guts!! Alan touched it, and thought it was pretty disgusting too! Yeuch!! Ha ha....

Then we went across some rocks, and Chopper pointed below us, and we saw huge tentacles/pincers/antannae sticking out from under the rock! Kinda freaked me a little! But as we got closer we saw the big and curious face of a lobster! And as we went over the rock, we discovered at least six more, and some of them were in extremely clear view, so we could see their full bodies. Absolutely amazing!! I know I keep saying that, but there`s no other way to describe it, there really isn`t..... I also saw a guy with a weird split in his tail, a photo of which is below - Alan didn`t get to see him, as I spotted him before he went behind a rock, but he was bloody brilliant!

So, I`ve attached a few photos to show SOME of the fish we saw today - because believe me, if you can dream a colour, we saw it swimming in the Caribbean today! It`s a pity we couldn`t take underwater shots, because it would be great to have visual aids when explaining it, but the memories I will take from today are vivid and colourful, and won`t fade in a hurry!!! That will have to be some consolation.......

Definitely one of the most amazing things I`ve ever done, and we`re thinking of doing another dive here, and definitely of doing another dive in Cuba!! How lucky am I? Believe me, I know it.

This trip just gets better and better!

Music and Cartagena

God, I am so thankfull for my music!! And my audio books on the MP3 player - without them I`d never get to sleep! So, in honour of my Sony MP3 player, I have created a new playlist - it`s quite long, to cover the overnight bus journeys and whatnot. I have christened it `Sing-Along-Aling`, and I can`t wait to get into my car with it and belt out the songs out loud! So, here it is....in order.

Just dropped in (to see what condition my condition was in) - Kenny Rogers
Here Comes Your Man - Pixies
Common People - Pulp
Take on Me - a-Ha
SOS - Abba
Jackson - Johnny Cash
Starman - David Bowie
Red Right Hand - Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds
Goin` Out West - Tom Waits
Your Touch - The Black Keys
Love Burns - Black Rebel Motorcycle Club
Joga - Bjork
Southern Man - Neil Young
Where Did You Sleep Last Night - Nirvana
Gallows Pole - Led Zeppelin
Comfortably Numb - Pink Floyd
Let Down - Radiohead
(Song for my) Sugerspun Sister - The Stone Roses
NYC - Interpol
Space Oddity - David Bowie
Paranoid Android - Radiohead
We are Nowhere, and it`s now - Bright Eyes feat. Emmelou Harris
Lola - The Kinks
The Battle of Evermore - Led Zeppelin
Out of Time - Blur
The Weight - The Band
The Times They are a Changin`- Bob Dylan
Something - The Beatles
Sloop John B - The Beach Boys
Get Back - The Beatles
Born to Run - Bruce Springsteen
Dreaming of You - The Coral
Hotel Yorba - The White Stripes
Touch Me - The Doors
Black Betty - Ram Jam
Standing in the way of control - The Gossip
Someday - The Strokes
Trampled Under Foot - Led Zeppelin
Tightrope - The Stone Roses
Karma Police - Radiohead
I am the Resurrection - The Stone Roses
Offend in Every Way - The White Stripes
Fake Tales of San Fransisco - The Artic Monkeys
The Bucket - Kings of Leon
Whiskey in the Jar - Thin Lizzy
Take Me Out - Franz Ferdinand
Clint Eastwood - Gorillaz
On the Other Side - The Strokes
Love will tear us apart - Joy Division
Don`t Let Me Be Misunderstood - Nina Simone
Where the Wild Roses Grow - Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds feat. Kylie
Get Myself Arrested - Gomez
Psycho Killer - Talking Heads
Ain`t Got No/I Got Life - Nina Simone
Goddess on the Highway - Mercury Rev
Both Sides, Now - Joni Mitchell
Me and Bobby McGee - Janis Joplin
The Sound of Silence - Simon & Garfunkle
So Long, Marianne - Leanard Cohen
Hallelujah - Jeff Buckley

So, that`s my favourite songs to sing along to, all in the one playlist - 60 songs in all!! I`m very proud of it, and love listening to it, and wreck Alan`s head all the time by lying in bed singing along (badly!!). My guitar playing is coming along - Alan says I`m getting really good, but my chord changes are still really slow, a là Father Ted....i.e. "hang on I can get this one....FIELD!". But I love playing it, and love learning new songs, so hopefully that stands to me. Also, I have huge newfound respect for people who play guitar and sing along - it`s like rubbing your stomach and patting your head! Very tough!! So I`m sure I`m not quite a `pleasure` to listen to just yet...

We`re just back from Cartagena, where we spent three nights. Myself and Alan didn`t go on the Lost City trek with the other lads, and decided instead to head off to the most romantic city on the Caribbean, or so it`s called - `The Paris of the North`, I think is the phrase most often used. And it was GORGEOUS!! Imagine a smaller version of Barcelona - the old city - with a Caribbean backdrop! It was beautiful! And we ate in gorgeous restaurants, and strolled through the cobbled streets gazing at wonderful flowers draping from wooden balconies overhead, or strolled through ancient churches and old city wall ruins. We even visited a dungeon in the outer city walls, at the water - brilliant! All the buildings were painted wonderfully bright colours - reds, blues and yellows - so every photo looks fantastic! We didn`t do much there but wander about, but we had a lovely time, and it was very nice to be away with just Alan, so I`m really looking forward to Cuba now, when we`ll have more time to ourselves. Not that I don`t love and adore the other guys, you understand, but sometimes a couple DOES need time to themselves!! Ha ha....

So, we`re back in Taganga now, in the Hotel Delphin, and we`ve just booked ourselves into a day`s scuba diving tomorrow, where we`ll head out to Park Tayrona, and hopefully get to see some coral reefs! Very nervous about it - but also extremely excited! The lads come back tomorrow evening, so we`ll see them then, after our days adventure.....fingers crossed it all goes well, now!!!