New Blog Project

Hi there!

After years of neglect of this account due to formatting frustrations, I have opened a new blog project here: https://chelseystravelstories.wordpress.com/ Feel free to check it out!

I will be importing some of my favorite posts from here into my new blog as well.

Happy Travels!

Will Hitchhike for Yoga

 A yoga teacher (Yoga with Adriene) I have been following online for almost 2 years was teaching a class in Amsterdam. Having thoroughly enjoyed her online classes for so long, I was very excited about participating in one of her live classes. A friend of mine, N, came along for the journey. She had the idea that we should hitch hike there and back, as a means of cutting costs, along with the current plan of couchsurfing the night. For both of us it was our first proper hitch hiking adventure – I had done it once with T to get to the top of the ski slopes in New Zealand, but that was it. This is the story of our adventure.

The evening before I lay awake, conjuring up images of everything terrible that could happen to us. I awoke, after 3 hours of sleep, with large knots in my stomach. I was terrified. I lay in bed breathing deeply, trying to work my way through the fear. I took the bus into Aachen to meet up with N, unlike me she was happy and excited, looking forward to the adventure. 

Amsterdam was beautiful
in Autumn colours.  

After some debate about where to find our first ride, we decided to follow the advice of the local Hitchwiki page and took the bus out to the ‘Aachener Land’ shell station in Eschweiler, it was in the opposite direction to where we were going, but right on the Autobahn. Our first challenge was to walk 1.1km each way through the grass on the side of the road, to make a safe bridge crossing over the autobahn, to the shell on the other side – so that we were facing in the right direction.

With wet feet, but finally at a good starting spot we tried to get started. My stomach pains had upgraded to feeling like I was being punched with every bad thought. N, was feeling bubbly and enthusiastic. Neither of us knew where to start. Finally we puckered up some courage and asked a girl travelling alone, filling up her car. She couldn’t help us but the friendly encounter filled us with hope. One couple we asked soon after felt bad that they couldn’t offer us a lift, so they invited us to drink a coffee with them. The kindness of them washed away my fears and I was ready to hitch our first lift. Soon after the coffee break we found a lift to the next petrol station over the border into the Netherlands, with a friendly young couple, having their first holiday without their kids in 3 years.

This petrol station, Essolangveld, was quiet. Very quiet. We found some shop rebate vouchers from the toilets (50 cents each) and used them to buy snack foods for 20cents. While hanging out at the station we met fellow Australians from the band Dub FX, who are currently touring around Europe, really nice guys. At this station we were also joined by 2 experienced hitch hikers who were on the way to Utrecht. We were happy to meet other hitch hikers and ask about their experiences. With time and the kindness (and finding many people on the way to Belgium) of a retired Belgian man, the 4 of us found a lift to the Esso ‘De Groote Bleek’, he had gone out of his way to take us there and we were very thankful to him.

Our next lift came almost instantly with a young Dutch man, driving an Audi, who works in football player management. He was funny and introduced us to a great Dutch band. He dropped us in the Total Tankstation just under Utrecht. Here a lady who couldn’t give us a lift, flagged down a leaving customer to see if he could help, which he did! Our last ride was with a lovely old Dutch man, who told us he used to hitch hike with his wife when they were younger. He took us to his hometown in Amstelveen, where we took a local tram into Amsterdam centre.

Time taken: 5hrs
Money spent: 8,05 euros (buses around Aachen, tram into Amsterdam) 

We spent the evening at the home of a kind couchsurfing host. We cooked dinner for him and ate together, talking like old friends. He offered us a comfortable bed in a private room and we slept well, excited and exhausted from the days adventures.

My sign.

The next morning we breakfasted together and bid farewell to our kind host. We set off in the direction of the Sporthalle Zuid, so I could participate in the Yoga with Adriene masterclass. The room was filled, mat to mat, with 500 people, all eager to do yoga with Adriene in person. Everyone was friendly and chatty, a nervous excitement fluttered in the room. When she appeared everyone clapped and cheered, this woman has touched so many lives without even knowing the people. The yoga class was moving, honest and sometimes very funny. Trying to secure a lift home, I tied a note to my bag saying “Driving to Aachen/Maastricht/Heerlen area with 2 spare seats? We have cookies!” I saw many people looking, but no one had so far said anything. After the class and Q & A, I asked permission to ask the class. I stood with the microphone, hands shaking, asking if anyone was driving in our direction. Before I’d even finished, and without hesitation, a wonderful Belgian woman offered us a lift to Maastricht. We gathered our belongings, glowing from the class and shared a wonderful, heartfelt conversation.

At Maastricht we hugged our new friend goodbye, and set out to take the bus the last leg home. The bus, naturally, burst a tire 5 minutes into the journey, however this was soon sorted and we made our way home.

This weekend was a welcome reminder for me about the goodness of people. Thank you to each of the drivers for giving us a lift, sharing your conversation on the journey. Thank you to N for helping me challenge myself. Thank you to each kind person we spoke to. Thank you to P, our couch surfing host. And thank you to Adriene, for bringing such a wonderful group of people together - you touch so many peoples lives and I was amazed by how much energy and enthusiasm you brought to your last class. Also thank you for allowing me to make an announcement to find a lift home.

I am so very happy to have faced this fear, and come out on the other side feeling richer and happier for the experience.

For pictures taken at the event see here. See if you can spot a fairy looking for a lift!

A banner created by one of the attendants =)

Stormy Slovakia

In July 2015 we were fortunate enough to be invited along to an annual trip to a cabin in Podbanské, Slovakia by some old flatmates. The cabin is in a thick pine forest and the area is what dreams are made of; crystal clear springs bubbling up from the ground; berries of the rasp-, straw- and blue- varieties covering the undergrowth, ready to pick; and a wild freedom, away from electricity, hot water and noise.

One of the days we attempted to climb a mountain. This is the story of that day.

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Witches country.

It started as a hot, sticky day. We had awoken with thick heads. The previous night we had all seemingly forgotten about our planned adventure and we had not gone to bed until the early hours of the morning. Choosing to instead sit around an open fire, drinking, telling stories, cooking meats and cheeses on sticks and when it was sufficiently dark, bathing naked as a group in a chilling spring a hundred meters away.

Dense from our hangovers we managed to pull ourselves together enough to go for our planned 10ish hour hike. We didn't really know the correct path to where we were going, but with a direction in mind, the 9 of us set off through the Slovakian forest. Tall pine trees surrounded us, shading us from the hot sun, wild blueberries blanketed the ground. We walked in the direction of the mountain we wished to summit, looking for symbols on trees to guide us to the correct path. 

Picking wild berries

We came across a clearing, where the trees had fallen from the heavy winds. Wild flowers colourfully covered the tree remains, with death springing new life. From here we could clearly see the gorgeous mountains around us and I saw the first glimpse of where we were headed – a clear mountaintop far in the distance. The sun hit us and we were instantly reminded of our sins from the previous night, as the sweat poured out of us, traced with alcohol.

After an hour of walking we found the correct path, regrouped and stopped in the shade for some sweet relief. From here, according to the map, we would have a 3 and a half hour walk uphill through a rainforest to the summit. The sounds of a stream only 50m away, but unreachable through the terrain teased us with the images of being cool. Above us, clouds had started to form in the sky and we heard the distant rumble of thunder.

Wild flowers and ancient mountains

Around 45minutes into our ascent light rain sprinkled down on us, the relief was bitter sweet, as the temperature plummeted. The thunder was drawing closer, the rain heavier. A few of us deciding that a 4 hour hike on a hangover is still a decent hike, turned around, we didn't want to be caught on a mountain top in a storm. The muddy path we had walked up 20 minutes before had turned unto a stream with frogs, who were happily splashing about in search of food. Seeing this confirmed in my mind that turning back was the right decision even though the rain had ceased.

As we returned to the bare foot hills, the sun came out and soon we were once again too hot to function, our clothes began to dry. The clear sky did not hang around however. Soon we were surrounded by ominous dark clouds and rumbling thunder. As we entered the ground level forest, the heavens opened, and they opened wide. Pouring buckets of freezing rain on top of us. Soaked to the bone, I sang the song in my head that always comes to mind in such situations 'just keep swimming, just keep swimming, you can do it, just keep swimming'.

Map checking

Our journey outbound had not been a straight one, so coming home, in a forest of winding paths and similar style cabins was not going to be an easy one. We followed a straightish path which ended at the main road, we hid in a small wooden hut to regroup. Where to from here?

We resolved to follow the main road back to the cabin. The rain was still heavy, there was no footpath, the visibility was low, the lightening, thick and fast, and the wind, oh the wind. We soldiered on. By this stage I was soaked, freezing and anxious. With each crack of lightening and car racing past, my panic levels rose. With each gust the pine trees bent to impossible angles, groaning and creaking in the wind. In the distance we could hear trees falling. Just keep moving Fairypants, just keep moving, I repeated in my head, you will get through this. The wind blew hard. After fighting for too long, a tree just on the other side of the road could no longer withhold. The tree let out an agonising creak and fell to the ground, covering the road, spraying us with pine needles. Having narrowly missed being hit by a falling tree, my anxiety levels went through the roof. 'Get me out, get me out, get me out' screaming through my head, I hurriedly requested to the others that we make a pit stop in a road side bar 100m in front of us.

Jonas and Lubka 

We were not the first to have this thought. Huddled under a tin roof with no walls, were hikers and cyclists who had also been caught out. The rest stop cum bar had no indoor area – aside from a toilet, which someone suggested to me I could go into to be warmer. The times to see the best in humans are in times such as these. Everyone there was happy and smiling, despite being soaked, frozen and essentially still outside. The mateship was strong, even if we couldn't speak the same language.

Realising the windows were still open in the cabin, 2 of our group hiked off into the rain to get home. Deciding that I had faced death enough for one day, Tom, one of our Slovakian friends and I waited for the rain to finish. As the sun began to shine again, we set off, discovering (of course) that after hiking for hours in the pouring rain, we had stopped within a 10 minute walk of the cabin.

That evening we made fires, shared stories, cooked meals, drank wine and eventually when it was sufficiently dark went for an evening swim. The circle was complete for the day, although this evening I was feeling slightly more grateful for being alive.  

The last day in the mountains, with about half of the group.

Airport Security

Over the past 27 years I have been travelling overseas by plane at least once a year. I embarked on my first overseas flight when I was 8 weeks old and have never looked back. During these years I have watched the airport security evolve. In the humble beginnings of my flying life a bag scan and walking through a metal detector, sometimes with precautionary pat down was considered more than ample. However, step by step, scan by scan, under the hushed (or sometimes shouting) tone of 'preventing terrorism', these checks have become more and more intense. You can now also enjoy full body scans, bomb swabs, questioning and surrendering of your liquids and knitting needles with each overseas flight.

While I quietly feel that putting under 100ml of liquids in a clear bag and surrendering nail files is a touch ridiculous, I go along with it as much a the next person. Laughing at the fact that while airports in countries such as the UK and USA scrutinise everything from the flakes of your skin to the souvenir snow globe you just purchased, many airports in smaller countries don't really give a damn and sometimes don't even scan your carry on (let alone care about liquids).

On my most recent flight, however, leaving Stanstead, UK things went too far! I have reached my breaking point with this system. Let me tell you why. After my bag went through the scanner it was put to one side. After waiting a few minutes a friendly lady greeted me and promptly opened my bag and proceeded to dig through my dirty knickers (I was on my way home...). Confident it would just be my empty water bottle I chatted away with her, until she delivered a foul blow. An insult which will make Australians abroad cry. She extracted a brand new jar of Vegemite and then, announcing to me that it is classed as a liquid (has she ever even seen Vegemite???), she promptly threw it in the bin. I was shocked. I wanted to cry. She didn't even let me say goodbye, or taste its bitter salty flavor one last time. Does she know how was this jar of black gold is to find in the Northern Hemisphere? I promptly informed her that she has just saddened Australians worldwide.

I call to you now people. Enough is enough. Stop this ridiculousness! I know that no one understands Vegemite like Australians, and I know that English people think Marmite is better. But really, do they have to go so far as throwing out a brand new jar because it is a 'liquid'? And all to stop terrorism.... Really now, we have to be going too far.

End the reign of 'terror', stop convincing people to be afraid and let us keep our Vegemite!

Zagoa - a journey through the Merzouga desert

A Goosebumbs game box appeared out of nowhere...

It started with a journey. A long, hot, roundabout journey. We had packed our bags and left the hostel on the edge of town. It was the middle of the day, but the hostel owner had promised us it was 'just 15 minutes' to the meeting point. We set off on foot, bags on our backs, into the desert, not knowing exactly where we were going. We followed the road initially, taking detours across the sand to see the names of near by hotels, all that we knew was that we were looking for Kasbah Timbouktou and that it was the finest hotel in the area.

Hiking through the sand

Heat rose from the sand, distorting the hard lines of the buildings in the distance. We gave up on the road and walked in the direction of a cluster of buildings. As we drew near, 30 minutes later, two men under a woven palm leaf shade waved us over. 'Come my friends' they beckoned, 'take a rest, it is very hot'. We gladly accepted, the sun was high and we had already been walking twice as long as we had expected, with Timbouktou nowhere in sight. We asked our new friends where to find it, 'oh it is not far, 15 minutes from here' they said. They offered to call us a taxi or accompany us, but we politely declined, we had set off on foot and we wanted to complete the journey on foot. Besides... it was only 15 minutes... The men gave us directions, we thanked them for their shade and once again walked out into the heat.

The wrong hotel on the hill

After following the directions given for 15 minutes we spotted a hotel on a hill in the distance. That MUST be it we said, we kept our heads down and kept on trekking. The sand had given way to hot black shale, every small breeze brought a wave of heat, scorching our skin and it wasn't long before the water in our bottles was as hot as we were. By the time we had reached the hotel on the hill I was dizzy and delirious, my heart broke as we realised it was the wrong hotel. We sat in the shade in the car park of the hotel, hot and faint. A staff member saw us and beckoned us inside, we gratefully followed him. He gave us tea and peanuts and let us hang out in the lounge area for as long as we pleased, showing true Moroccan hospitality. Once we had revived ourselves we asked him about Timbouktou, 'It is not far, just 15 minutes from here' he said, although somehow we were expecting this answer. He took us to a window and pointed to a building in the distance 'That is Timbouktou'. At last we could see it, it really did exist! We picked up our bags, thanked our hosts and continued on our way through the desert, our spirits revived.

Making friends on the road..

After another 20 minutes we were there, we had made it! A man with a backpack on greeted us. 'Are you here for the party?' He enquired, 'They have changed the meeting place, it is now on the other side of the next village'. I was a mix of emotions, half of me wanted to laugh and the other half wanted to scream, but I knew no matter what I had to keep on walking. We were joined by another 6 people from all over Europe and Morocco and all 9 of us set off together, walking steadily, chatting and sharing water. After another 30 minutes a bus pulled over, 'Are you going to the party? Hop in, we'll take you to the meeting point', all out Christmas's had come at once. We all hopped in and collapsed into the seats, any remaining energy we had was sucked out of us once we knew everything was ok. Exhausted and relieved we arrived at the meeting point, a hotel with a pool, and lay in the shade for hours.

Sandstorm in the desert

When we finally arrived to the party in the middle of the desert we felt like we truly earned it. The next few days were a wash of thunderstorms, sandstorms, dancing, colour, hot sun and cold rain, beautiful people and an incredible lack of organisation. We met some amazing people and definitely came out with some strange stories. 

Getting home was another journey altogether! 

Beautiful desert sunrise. 

Marrakech Madness: Souks and Scams

The taxi driver parked in an alleyway, none of the places in sight had the name of our hostel. He jumped out of the car and urged us, without a common language, to get our bags and follow him. He kept a fast pace, winding down endless narrow alleyways. We struggled to keep up as we wound around groups of people with our backpacks on. It was not long before I realised that I would not be able to find my way back again as, in my efforts to keep up with him, I hadn't paid enough attention to the turns we were making. After 5 minutes he warmly greets a man chilling on his motorbike in the alley, they shake hands, hug and exchange friendly greetings. The driver leads us into a small entrance and the other man follows, a sense of relief washes over me as I realise this is our hostel and the man that runs it. It is beautifully decorated in the Moroccan style and we immediately like the place. 

Shops in the Souks of Medina sell
weird and wonderful things...

We had picked a hostel in Medina, the walled old town, as it is close to the hustle and bustle of Marrakech, it wasn't long before we were out exploring our surroundings. The streets of Medina are a giant marketplace in every direction connecting like veins to the heart of Medina, Place Jemaa el Fina, a vibrant, bustling marketplace that has been in action since the 11th century, packed full of snake charmers, drumming circles, henna ladies, handicrafts laid out beautifully on rugs and 50 food stalls all selling exactly the same thing. The surrounding streets are awash with colour; brightly coloured ceramics, spices and clothes fill up every available space. Here you can find everything you could ever want, and more: jewellery, clothes, tagines, scarves from Pakistan, teapots, herbs, traditional medicines, swords, fossils, and even live turtles. Tourists explore the busy narrow streets, street cats and motorbikes dart through them in every direction. "Come look at my shop" The touts beckon, "Looking is free!" More often than not we are greeted in French and we immediately resolve to learn some. Touts we stopped to talk to invited us to drink tea with them, not knowing the etiquette and not knowing if this would be a costly mistake we politely refused the offers.

We weren't in Marrakech long before we were subject to our first scam. We had made our way back to Place Jemaa el Fina and were exploring the busy square. An old lady grabbed my hand and began to henna it, despite our protests, making it sound as though we get a tester for free. After 5 minutes I had a design spanning from the top of my finger to halfway up my forearm, Tom wasn't safe either. "350 Dirham" she said, approximately 35 euro or AU$50. We looked at each other dumbfounded, she had to be kidding. "But we didn't even want it", we protested. "It is very good henna, it will last 3 weeks" she countered (In reality it had started to fade after 5 days and had almost disappeared after 7). We told her it was way too much, I had had it done in Australia for much cheaper. Her arguing grew louder, making sure other people could hear, "But it is a good design, you pay me now". We offered her 50 Dirham (5 euro/$7.50) which of course she refused. We were tired and out of our depth, we convinced her that we only had 100 Dirham on us, which she accepted. It was still way too much to pay, but almost a quarter of what she initially demanded. She smiled broadly and kissed us both on the cheeks and walked off proudly, we knew 100% that we had been had. Henna ladies look old and sweet, but are strong and merciless! 

The henna may have been expensive, but she gave us free glitter!

A Berber Pharmacy  (The bottom
2 are deodorant and lipstick)

The next day we wandered deeper into the Souks, with no real destination in mind. At some point the tourist markets gave way to local fruit and vegetable markets. Raw meat smells wafted though the air, piles of oranges and trailer loads of watermelons are on display, hundreds of bees feast on the open slices of melon. The alley came to a T and we stopped to decide a way to go, a sign on the wall was pointing towards the old palace and we decided this was a good option. Just as we started to move a friendly local man began to talk to us, telling us that there was nothing in that direction and that we should instead go the other direction towards the tannery. "It is very interesting, you must go, it is on today only" he urged. Following his advice we begin to walk in the other direction, down a long, quiet, narrow alleyway. After a 100m or so we stop to survey the street, another man stops to tell us about the tannery, parroting what the first an had said and offering to take us there with him. The enthusiasm of these men gives us a weird feeling and we decide to politely decline and walk back in the direction we came. An hour or so later we met a couple in a local restaurant, they asked us if we had visited the tannery, then proceeded to tell us a similar story to our own, except they didn't turn around. The tannery is there everyday, they had to pay 200 Dirham each for 'entry' (we later found out it is free) and 300 Dirham to the man for the pleasure of his company, 700 Dirham/AU$100 in total. Happy that we were getting better at trusting our instincts we gave each other a mental high 5.

We relaxed after a few days, we had a better grasp on fair prices and we worked on our haggling techniques. We could walk the souks with confidence, drink sweet Berber tea with touts, enjoyed conversations, learned weird and wonderful uses for all sorts of herbs and spices and learned the difference between hospitality and a sales pitch. We even learned how to shake off the henna ladies, although they were never as aggressive as our first night. 

Buying a car in Austria (For the English speaker)

My partner and I recently bought a car in Austria. Given that neither of us had brought a car before and that my German is less than average this was no easy task.

We did a lot of researching online and posted questions in forums and were fortunate enough to find some helpful people. As I found it hard to find all the information we needed (in English) in one place, I decided to write the following step by step guide, to help people in the same position in the future.

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Finding Cars

To register a car in Austria you need to be a registered citizen with an address. 

Austria is known to be slightly more expensive to buy cars than Germany and some other surrounding countries. However, if you buy a car from another country you must pay an import tax and obtain a road worthy certificate, 2 (potentially large - depending on the condition of the car) expenses you can avoid if you buy the car in Austria.

Good websites to use to look at cars are: www.autoscout24.com, http://www.car4you.at and http://www.gebrauchtwagen.at
Hint: You can translate pages into English by right clicking the mouse and selecting 'translate into English'.



Variables To Take Into Account

The horse power (Pferde-Stärker) of the car will be a major factor on the price of your insurance. The higher the horse power, the higher the insurance.
Pickerl (Report § 57a) is the term for road worthy certificate. You do not need a pickerl to sell a car in Austria, but you do need one to register the car. As a rule, aim for a car with a pickerl as if will help you avoid unexpected costs in repairs when you register the car, as well as the cost of obtaining the pickerl. When the pickerl runs out you have up to 4 months to replace it while you're still driving it. The pickerl can be checked by looking at the sticker on the windscreen - the cars licence plate will be on the sticker - if you get a new licence plate the sticker should be changed - this is free. 

Pickerl
Image credit:  www.mats.at

 

 See if the car has a valid 'Autobahn Vignette'. You will need this to drive on all 'A' roads and on the spot fines apply if you are caught without one. This can be bought for periods of 10 days, 2 months or a full year.

Note: The Autobahn Vignette does not cover all roads - there are still privately owned toll roads around Austria with varying costs. One way to know where these are is by using online tools such as this one: http://www.viamichelin.com/
If it is coming into winter you should check whether the vehicle has winter tires or snow chains (some restrictions apply with snow chains). Regardless of conditions it is mandatory that you have winter tires or snow chains on your vehicle between 1 November and 15 April. Winter tires can be used in summer as well.
Insurance
Once you have a car in mind you should compare insurance prices. It is compulsory to have third party insurance - known as Haftpflichtversicherung -  when you register your car.  You can organise this directly through an insurer, Versicherungsunternehmen, an insurance broker, Versicherungsmakler or through an online comparison tool such as https://durchblicker.at. With cars over about 10 years old you can only get third party insurance, not insurance for your own car. You can also organise roadside assistance, legal assistance and passenger insurance with your Haftpflichtversicherung.
In Austria you start off with a rating 9 on the bonus/malus scheme, which is the lowest ranked entry level. If you have already had insurance on a vehicle in your home country you can write to the company and ask them to send your insurance record. Be honest with them and let them know you have moved overseas and would like your record to obtain insurance in a new country and they will comply with a nice letter with all the information you need. Most insurance companies in Austria will accept your previous record and rank you accordingly. Depending on how long you have been accident free this can make a huge difference on the amount you pay. If the insurance company you are looking at doesn't accept this, go elsewhere as many companies will.  With some companies you will pay a percentage more if you want to pay monthly instead of yearly. Ask your insurance company if this will make a difference.

Some companies will also offer lower prices (deductions) in exchange for a higher excess in certain situations. For example if the driver is aged under 25, if someone other than the insured driver is driving, if you don't want roadside assistance etc. Have a play around on the websites and see the differences it will make.

Viewing The Cars

Once you have found some cars you are interested in and know the insurance costs you will need to contact the seller. We have found that Austrian's are most responsive if contacted by phone, regardless of any language barrier. Sending emails is easier, but you are less likely to receive a response. If your German is not great, use a translator (such as google translate) to prepare a few sentences along the lines of 'I am interested in your car, is it still available?', 'When could I view the car?' etc, to save being caught out if they don't speak English (though many people do). 

Many prices are 'by negotiation', so if you want the car you can ask for a lower price - although it is rude to bargain if you do not actually want the car. 

The Paperwork

Once you decide upon a vehicle and an agreed price you will need to hand over the cash and fill out paperwork (autoverkauf vertrag)  with the owner, this is the legal document signing the car over to you and is needed when you get your insurance. You will also receive documents about the car, the service history (if available) and pickerl documents. 

You then leave the car with the seller and contact your insurer - you may need to make an appointment. 

Back To The Insurer

Safety Triangle
Image credit: www.rtpromotions.co.uk

Once you have filled out the paperwork for your car with the seller, you need to visit your chosen insurance company, where you will also register the car. You will need to bring with you, your passport or photo ID, (international) drivers licence, the autoverkauf vertrag (Car-sale contract),  pickerl (Report (§ 57a) documents (if your car does not come with a valid pickerl you will need to obtain this before registering the car). The initial registration & licence plates will cost approximately 170-200 euros, depending on your insurer. 

Once the registration and insurance is complete you will receive your licence plates (Autokennzeichen) ready to put on your new car, a pickerl with the new licence plate details (but same validity date) and have third party insurance and be almost ready to drive your new car. The documents you receive will need to live somewhere in your car and the new pickerl is placed on the front windscreen.

By law when driving in Austria you need to have with you a reflective safety vest, a reflective hazard triangle and a first aid kit. These can generally be found in service stations and at border crossings.   

Pick Up Your New Wheels

Go back to the previous owner and car. Put on your shiny new licence plates and pickerl. Shake hands. Drive home. Do a dance and open a beer =D

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Please note I am not an expert and by no means is this legal advice. This is just a collection of information as I believed to be true at the time of writing. Have an excellent day =)

I am your servant

Learning a new language, you always discover phrases and sayings that seem hilarious, ridiculous or down right strange. Whilst we have equally as bizarre sayings in English, we are so used to saying them that we don't even recognise the strangeness in what we're saying. Learning a new language in situ gives you the added bonus of learning local greetings and customs that are specific to an area. Here in the Tirol district my two favorite common greetings are 'Servus' and 'Mahlzeit'. they are also used in other parts of Austria and Germany to differing extents. 

Servus is a greeting that is used all day for any situation where you encounter someone. It can be used with friends and strangers alike as a hello, a goodbye, a polite greeting, when you walk into a shop, when you bump into someone on the street, if there is more than one person involved, you can use it. 'Servus'... 'Servus!' The person will always repeat the greeting and if someone says it to you it is polite to reciprocate. For a casual encounter nothing more need be said, 'Servus'...'Servus' and carry about your business. Servus literally translates to 'I am your servant' or 'at your service'. Whilst it isn't taken at its meaning and rather is used as a politeness it still makes me giggle thinking about an encounter with the direct meaning. Imaging walking into a cafe or bumping someones shoulder, 'I am your servant', 'I am your servant', images of top hats and walking canes fill my mind.

The other greeting that makes me giggle is Mahlzeit. Mahlzeit is used when people are sitting down to a meal, going out for dinner (or breakfast or lunch...) and in some areas is used as a greeting between 12 and 2 whether or not food is involved. When I first heard the phrase I assumed it would have a similar translation to bon appetite, however I soon found out that the literal translation is 'meal time'. I have heard the greeting used in conversations with gusto, 'Hello, how are you? Meal time!' Sitting down to dinner, 'Meal time'...'Meal time!' Passing someone in the street 'Meal time'...'Meal time!' When looking up Mahlzeit I discovered is actually a shortened term of the phrase 'Gesegnete Mahlzeit', meaning 'Blessed Meal time', which makes more sense, like many phrases in the English language the formality has been dropped, however the meaning is still there. Though for anyone who is not from the area the true meaning is lost so all you hear is 'meal time', which alone sounds funny to me.

I often wonder what strange things we say in the English language that must confuse people or make them giggle when they're learning our language, or travelling around different English speaking countries. Of course being that it is all natural to me none of it seems strange. I'm sure I'll think of some soon though.

Alles ist Möglich

I can't snowboard and I can't speak German. These 2 facts have hit me more than once a week since I have been living in Austria. Sometimes they hit me with hilarity, while I belly slide down a slope unable to stop myself or when someone speaks to me and all my German practice goes out the window and all I can say is '...errrrrr'. Other times they hit me with such defeat that all I can do is sit in the snow, body aching, and cry.  I was very aware of both of these facts before I packed up my life and moved over here, but it doesn't stop it from being any less of a blow. Not when I've fallen over for the 15th time, smashing my head and lower back on the ground and bounced around, sitting up with a face full of snow and a splitting headache knowing that no matter what, I have to get back on the board at least to get to the bottom of the mountain. Each time down the mountain I get a little better at snowboarding and I am significantly better than I was in NZ, however some days it is hard to remember this - even when my ever patient snowboarding instructor (Tom) is sitting in the snow next to me, waiting for me to dust the snow off, encouraging me and reminding me how far I've come. 

Not knowing the local language is a lot more isolating when you're not living in a hostel. You don't have the safety of other travelers who you can band together with. Of course, being Europe and Europeans being linguistic geniuses, 90% of people here speak English, but I don't want to be that person, if you know what I mean. So a lot of the time I opt to not speak unless very necessary (which means poor Tom gets all of my silliness). I am doing online German lessons, which currently provide more entertainment than usefulness. I have learned all sorts of phrases such as Ich habe eine Ente (I have a duck), Ich bin nicht normal (I am not normal), Deiner Mann isst der Insekt (Your husband eats the insect) and Der bär trägt ihre kleider (The bear is wearing her clothes). But there has been not so much on the useful phrases side. I am focusing on the little wins, a few weeks ago I went to a cafe on my own and managed to get through the whole process in German, which I was quite happy about. 

So, I can't snowboard and I can't speak German, but I am definitely trying to do both. Alles ist Möglich - anything is possible, with each phrase and each run down the mountain I get a little better, I just have to remember to keep on standing back up & keep pushing myself to talk =)






Innsbruck is beautiful though =)

It's a FINE city.

After 2 weeks of chilled out beach time, rock climbing, slack lining, living in a bamboo hut, being visited by monkeys and badgers Werky and I decided we had to leave Tonsai before we ended up spending the rest of our trip there, or not leaving ever. Beautiful beaches, lush rainforest, lagoon hikes, and climbing rock faces filled our days, with each day bringing something new and beautiful to discover. At the end of each day we'd meet up with new found friends, with no prior meeting point discussed, and passed evenings playing pool on the beach, making pictures out of rock formations and chilling out over a beer or two. Truly a hard place to leave.

Needing new visas and something different we decided to make a visa run to Singapore, also a good excuse to visit Linds and Henrick who were living there. Singapore is one huge city that is also a country, with an amazing rail system. Coming from our 1 street beach paradise it was a bit of a culture shock going into a massive city and back into Western prices. $16 each for a bed in a dorm room, whaaaaaat? Regardless of how sterile and crazy Singapore seemed we were determined to have fun and succeeded in doing so. One of my favourite pastimes was to take  photos of funny signs telling you not to do things and the fine attached if you get caught doing so. One of Chris's favourite pastimes was seeing of many of these laws he could break in said photos without being caught. Our favourite was the 'No durian' signs on public transport (durian is a particularly smelly fruit).

It was great being to catch up with Linds and meet Henrick when he wasn't too busy working. We passed our days away visiting little India (amazing food), China town, going to Sentosa - a theme park island! Too cheap to pay to go into any of the theme park areas the 3 of us chilled on the beach, drank cocktails and swam in the horizon-less ocean (horizon-less due to the sheer amount of large boats moored just off the shore). Being back in a first world country was a massive culture shock,  but we both feel more prepared for coming home because of it.  It was amazing how quickly we readjusted to masses of security cameras everywhere, big brother always watching.

 After 4 days of exploring Singapore we had to finally make our decision, Philippines for diving, or Koh Tao for diving and Songkran? After careful consideration (read which one had cheaper flights) we went back up to Thailand and are now passing away our days on beautiful Koh Tao.

Weirdly looking forward to coming home, but am still loving every minute I have here =) 

Feather in the wind

So the answer to the previous post was.....PIKER! I didn't even start. The day before i was due to take a train to Birmingham it snowed. At which point I chose defeat. In fact I chose to book a ticket out of the country. Out of the continent. Out of the cold and back to sunny Thailand.

I gave England 3 weeks in total. A week in Newbury, a week in Stourbridge and and week in London. With some trips to Oxford for good measure. Caught up with old mates, family and friends from previous travels, had crazy fun times dancing in a latino bar and going on a hunt for faberge eggs in the middle of the night. Made new friends. And had a bunch of laughs. But after 3 weeks I knew my money would never last. I didn't want to work 'cause the wages are terrible and decided that I really wasn't in the mood to wait around for warmer weather.

Have just spent the last week in Tonsai. Living in a bamboo hut that only has electricity from 6pm to 6am. Spending lots of time climbing huge rock faces, chilling out on the beach and exploring lush rainforest. Pretty damned amazing. Only use the internet every few days. Feels so good being disconnected from the outside world. With aching muscles and cuts and bruises all over me from climbing I can say for sure I definitely made the right choice coming back here.

/Fairy Out

The Plan.....? & The Challenge

The last week has been spent at my fathers house putting in serious thought as to what i'm going to do for the next little while. Knowing that you have every opportunity in the world to do whatever you want leaves you with a hell of a lot of options. I do know that my plans once I leave the UK include couch surfing and WWOOFing my way around Europe. But that's about as far as i've gotten, due to the fact that as soon as I make a decision something will happen to change it.

While I'm in the UK i'm determined to see as many of my friends and family members as I can. However a year of travelling, especially in countries like Peru, Bolivia and Laos has skewed my rational of prices. A 12 hour bus ride should cost no more than $20, accomodation should cost no more than $7 for a private room and meals should work out to roughly $5 for two people plus drinks.

With these prices in my head I couldn't justify public transport costs in the UK. Hence the challenge has arisen. I am going to attempt to ride all the way from Stourbridge (Birmingham) to Willingham (Cambridge), down to Stortford (Hertfordshire) then potentially down to London, over the space of about a week, stopping at various friends houses along the way. I am fully aware of how ridiculous this is and thus will accept any betting on how far I make it before saying sod it and just taking the train down to London (although from Stortford doesn't count, as i'm probably going to be out of time by then as I want to make it to London before the weekend). If anyone lives within a reasonable distance of this let me know and I might just add you in. Leaving out the leg to London this is 151miles - or for those playing along at home that is 241km. So approximately 50km for each day i'm actually riding.

Proposed Route

This does sound doable.... until you realise the last time I rode a bike was in Argentina almost a year ago, under much different circumstances (read drinking). With this is mind dad and I are going to do a test ride on Saturday, if all goes well then I'm on my way.  If it doesn't go well i'm not going to do it and will look like a total pratt.  Watch this space kids.

                                         If i know that I just put my mind to it, I can ride a bike!

New Haircut, New Bikini, New Adventure.

The last few days I have been tempted to postpone my flight to the UK. It's going to be cold. I don't have a plan. I don't have a time frame. It would be so easy to take a bus (or 3) up to another Thai island, join some friends and resume my position on a hammock playing ukulele while the days passed by. The more I thought about it, the more tempted I became. Until I realised I wanted it because it was the easy option. Sure it'd be a new island, but it would be so safe, in a bubble with my friends, living the lazy life. I wouldn't be forced to meet people, I wouldn't need to be vulnerable and in such, I probably wouldn't learn much. Just continue on in a happy state of limbo for a few more weeks.

Who wants the safe option anyway? So with that thought in mind I knew continuing on alone (well not too alone, i'm visiting my dad and previous travel mates) to England, without a plan was what I needed to do. Maybe I'll get a house and a job, maybe i'll nomad around Europe, who knows?

Feeling pleased and settled in my decision I cemented it in my brain. I got a hair cut (thanks to Ash's syling skills), a new bikini (anyone who has had the (dis)pleasure of seeing my old one knows that this was a must) and a new sense of adventure in my heart. Reigniting the thrill of throwing myself to the wind, being vulnerable and discovering.

Phuket....Phuk-It....Or not.

So, after beautiful, peaceful Pai, our first impressions and thoughts of Phuket may not have been the best. The term Phuk-It was tossed around often and the outlooks grim. It's big, it's loud, people harass you on the street all the time to buy their stuff, or see their show, or visit their club. The beach is crowded and not as clean as the pictures made out. It's full of Australians. Everything is 5x the price of Pai. We missed our Pai friends. However, with 5 nights of complimentary luxury accommodation (thanks bro) on our hands, we were determined to make the most of it.... no matter how many topless 70-80year old women and men in speedos we had to endure.

 We ended up adopting two strategies. 1) Hide out by the pool of the hotel - leaving only in search of cheap food and 2) if you can't beat 'em, join 'em.  Instead of getting annoyed, we joked with the stall holders, tour operators and taxi drivers (no you buy from me, oh you want taxi? I'll take you...)- once to the point of the taxi driver getting in the back seat of his car and me in the drivers seat. We spent a day on the beach...well a morning, there was waaay too much octogenarian porn for us to completely relax. We spent a night drinking on Bangla - playing a dice game with the locals, hugged a 'polar bear' in a bar completely made out of ice and smashed our ice shot glasses on the ground as per tradition, laughed, danced and got the hell out. To our surprise we even ended up having fun.

I spent a day diving out at Racha Noi and Racha Yai (with Thailand Divers - good, safe, professional company), including my first wreck dive. It was only then I really saw how beautiful Phuket was. No not because my head was underwater, but because I finally left Patong (read tourist district), lush greenery, white sands, blue water, paradise. Completely unlike the neon lit streets that never sleep in Patong.

My advice would be, avoid Patong unless you are a) 18 and just want to get drunk or b) overweight, aging and want to work on your all over tan.

Sitting on our veranda last night, I found myself looking over the neon streets with a begrudged fondness. It's not what I would associate with Thailand but, as ever, everything is what you make it.

The life of Pai

Pai is beautiful. Pai with 7 amazing friends, living in bamboo huts by a river is pretty much the best thing ever. It is with a heavy heart I sit in Phuket knowing that the dream is over. 7 days just flew by, melting into each other into one cloud of happy, shiney memories. Everywhere you look, Pai eminates love, happiness and a general chilled out attitude. The people likewise. Even the animals are chilled. 
Days were passed chilling in hammocks, playing ukulele, hanging out at the pool with chilled beats, riding scooters to explore new places, bathing in hot springs (where you can also bring eggs to boil for dinner), eating amazing cheesecake, chilling at the night markets, playing catchphrase, sliding down waterfalls, jamming by campfires, watching sunsets, setting off fireworks and lanterns. It was the 'season of love' in Pai and we really did love it.

Before we knew it, it was time to move on. Phuket is a massive culture shock for us after chilled out Laos and Pai. We are doing everything in our power to not just say Phuk-It.

Josh, Werky, Linds & Michelle so good to see you kids again after a year of being apart!!
Ryan, you totally have to move into 122!
Gerald, Ashy, Fonzy (token pet dog) and all of you guys, thanks for making the last week so special.

122 Scooter Gang <3
Also, these were the huts we lived in.

Backpack, Back on!

So, after 10 weeks back in Australia catching up with friends and family and trying to earn money and decide what I want to do with my life, I once again packed up my life into a bag to begin another adventure. Once again sacrificing my love for (a very special and shiney) person for my love of adventure and travel. The reality wasn't easy, but the decision was made long ago, before I returned to Australia. It was great to see everyone again, laughs, tears, meals, drinks and hugs were shared and without me even realising the time had passed.

Ukulele in hand, bag on back, friend by side and adventure in our hearts we threw ourselves into the arms of South East Asia, our first stop Vang Viene, Laos.

-----

We had heard mixed reports on Vang Viene, the town most known for tubing and drinking, some people love its party central atmosphere, others are sad it has lost its soul. The tourist area is full of bars and cafes blaring out friends and family guy 24 hours a day, drunken tourists in not enough clothing, and shop after shop selling the same things. We discovered if you look in the right places you can  still see the spiritual, local life of Vang Viene, it just doesn't fit nicely in the minutes of walking from your hotel to the tubing station or stumbling home at 2am. Every morning we woke up early and walked out of the tourist area, we watched all the children riding to school and adults to work on bicycles designed to share and watched monks collecting alms and chanting blessings. Every afternoon we sat and watched the sun go down over the mountains, hot air balloons in the sky flying through sunset colours that look like a watercolour painting.

Tubing was a lot of fun and no where near as dangerous as expected. Due to all the horror stories that made it home, I decided to err on the side of caution and get a life jacket, yes I was that dork in a life jacket - my mother would be so proud. We spoke to an expat running one of the bars, he told us how only 2 weeks before he had watched someone jump to their death just outside his bar. The error was apparently in the landing. But as he said to us - anything you bring to the river you have to be prepared to lose, including your life. Against all odds, being Australians tubing, we survived to live another day. We stopped at a local hang out on the way down, where we met a group of (oh so adorable) Lao girls who were learning English. They we so friendly and lovely and we had great fun trying to understand each other.

The next day we went on a kayaking adventure, exploring caves, having splash flights, tubing through a cave lagoon and stopping at a bar mid afternoon for a drink and swim before kayaking back into town to once more watch the sunset. Bliss.

The moral of the story: the heart and soul is still there, you just need to open your eyes and make the effort to wake up pre 10am.

Final Destination - Colombia

Colombia is a wonderful place. Don't let any amount of horror stories tell you otherwise. Before we left for South America we were warned by everyone about how dangerous South America was, with Colombia being the worst (of course this was all by people who have never actually been there). Once in South America everyone on the backpacker trail told us how great it was. You HAVE to go there they all gushed, no matter how much time you have there, it won't be enough. They were right.  Aside from the hiccup on our second day in Colombia *cough*robbed-at-gun-point*cough* our time there was amazing and memorable.

Cali & Cartagena
We started our adventures in Cali, where we basically hung out, got robbed, went to the police station and flew out. From there we flew up to Cartagena, which is a charming town that is highly susceptible to lots of tropical rain, which the town isn't built for - so every time it rains the streets flood. This brought about the issue of crossing the instantly flooded roads. Well it wasn't an issue for us cause we'd just wade on through, but for the people in business suits (yes they exist - even on the Caribbean Coast of Colombia), wading really isn't an option. The best solution we saw to this was 2 young entrepreneurs (read potential extortionists) who had set up a series of crates, boxes and planks of wood from the curb to the middle of the road (where you could then safely walk to the other side puddle free)  in a busy area, and were charging charging people to use their bridge-like contraption. Gold. People were paying too! The prices we will pay for dry feet.

Playa Blanca
From Cartagena we took a slow boat out to Playa Blanca, Isla Baru. Life is simple on Playa Blanca. You hire a hammock to sleep in, you lay on the beach, you eat simple food, you swim in the sea and you drink cocktails out of coconuts. Lovely. Although this island leads a double life. During the hours of 10-4 this is a massive tourist spot. Latinos and foreigners alike flock to the beach on boats, 500 people cramming up in 2 tiny areas of the long beach, the Islanders trying to sell you everything from food, to clothes, to cocktails, to massages, to jewelry, to shade cloths and chairs - 'but today is a special promotion for you'. The beach is crowded and the atmosphere fun yet intense and busy. As the sun starts to go down, the boats leave, taking with them 500 people. The beach quietens, the whole vibe of the island flips. The Islanders sit down next to you and have a chat, repeating things many times without frustration so you can understand their Spanish. Everyone walks slower and breathes longer. The beach that was just crowded becomes calm and everyone breathes a sigh of relief. Night time brings hammock time and summer storms. Not the best of combinations, but something that can be easily forgiven to stay at this paradise during the quiet hours.

With no sense or need of time, we ate when we were hungry, slept when we were tired and woke to the crashing waves and sun in the morning. Our first night on the island only B and I were in our hammock-house (beach version of guest house), but we felt safe as we had the owner sleeping in the hammock beside us, and Luna the dog sleeping below us. At some hour in the morning I woke with a start. Something had just touched me. Maybe it was the dog? I reasoned. Something touched me again, through the hammock, but harder. Almost like a nudge. The fear of being robbed returned. Was someone feeling inside my hammock to see if i had valuables with me? I look around, something solid was beside me, but with no lights and the grass and plastic roof covering the moon I could not see. Then I saw it, a tail flicked. I had just been headbutted by a cow. The local friendly beach cows had decided to come check out what was up. Turns out they always live by the island philosophy, living in their own time frame.

After 2 nights in this paradise, feeling relaxed and recharged, we headed back to Cartagena to then move on Taganga.

Taganga
Taganga was were I spent my final 2 weeks in South America. We were told by travelers in Bogota that it was paradise. When we first arrived and saw the litter strewn beaches, the washed out dirt streets and cat calling locals we couldn't figure out why. But after a week I didn't want to leave. By the time it came for me to leave 2 weeks later, I had to wrench myself away.

The first week we spent chilling out, going into Tyrona national park overnight with new friends to swim at a beautiful beach and have rainforest time, exploring the area and partying. The second week we discovered diving - the reason I had wanted to go to Taganga initially. Diving - something I had only done once before- is amazing. No other word for it. For one, you're breathing underwater, and you can't get much cooler than that.  There is a whole world under the water that you never get to see. Vision and hearing is impaired, you are a weightless, floating being discovering things that you would never encounter on the land. The silence diving provides makes the whole experience more meditative, a silent personal discovery connecting with other people through hand signals when necessary. No matter how much we dived, it was never enough.

Ripping myself away from Taganga felt like I was snapping off an arm. I actually almost didn't catch the plane - they wouldn't let me get my bag back though, which is probably for the best. I will be back, I told myself, although I know it'd never be the same.

Seattle
3 days and 4 flights later (Santa Marta-Bogota-Fort Lauderdale-LA-Seattle) I landed in Seattle to see my favorite family in the States. I became a live in house fairy and enjoyed all the benefits of Western society - especially the food varieties I had forgotten to miss. My time in Seattle was spent sharing meals, doing travel art and yoga classes, having naked spas, dressing up like Pete Smith and chilling out. One day I walked through the streets of downtown Seattle and saw a man wearing a raccoon hat with a great big bushy beard, he was carrying a shopping basket and in the basket was a real live fox, the fox grinned at me. My life felt complete.

Diez Dias en Ecuador

Due to time constraints my time in Ecuador was veeeeeery short compared to my time spent everywhere else. With this is mind I packed as much as I could into 10 days.

After my previously described bus trip of doom, I spent 2 days in a town called Baños. Baños is funny as the literal translation in English is toilet. However, it can also mean hot springs, which this town has a lot of. My main reason of going to Baños was to organise a trip into the jungle. However while I was there I also managed to squeeze in some time to visit one of the towns namesakes. This was hilarious as I was there alone, with about 100 Ecuadorians and about 15 other gringos squeezed in. I then had to play the no eye contact game, which is harder than it sounds when everyone is semi naked, so there are only so many other places you can look. Haha.I managed to win the game and leave unscathed and un-hit on after I was done soaking.

From Baños I took an overnight bus up to a random small town to meet up with my group for 5 days in the jungle. Sitting in the back of a truck with 2 fellow passengers, sitting on all our bags, we were transported to Cuyabeno national park - deep into primary rainforest Amazon. Stunning.


Similar to the jungle in Bolivia, we were transported in a boat along the river to take us to our jungle lodge. From here we spent 5 days doing all sorts of activities including bird watching, day and night rainforest walks, visiting a local shaman, anaconda hunting, piraña fishing, village visiting, and heaps more. We got to see sloths, monkeys, an anaconda, TOUCANS (goal for the trip completed!), other snakes, multiple cool butterflies, insects and other bugs, birds and much more. Out of everything we did there, one of my favorite activities was chilling in the hammocks, listening to the rainforest sounds and talking nonsense with some of the other peeps on my tour. I had a really great tour group and make some great friends on that trip =)


After 5 days we had to pry ourselves from the jungle and take a bus to Quito to continue on our journeys. I'm not going to lie, when I got to Quito I was fairly sure I was going to die. Everyone I met had been robbed in Quito, some of them multiple times. So, at 11pm I arrived in Quito, with no hostel reservation. Being a Friday night all the hostels were booked out....shit! While looking for a hostel we witnessed people smashing bottles, random acts of violence and a guy walking around with a wrench. Freaked out, but still in once piece a hostel was found and sleep was had.

The next day I met up with B and we went sight seeing around Quito.... hiding all of our valuables at all times. When we left Quito a few days later to head for Colombia we breathed a sigh of relief, we had made it out of Quito unscathed... If only we new what was around the corner for us in Colombia...

Equator Land - the journey to

My time left in South America was running out. Keen to maximise the use of this time, I left B at the beach (Mancora) in the north of Peru and set off solo to the depths of Ecuador. Thinking I had found a bus that would take me directly from where I was  to where I wanted to be (Baños) I proceeded to go out all night and spend my final night in Peru partying it up with my Mancora family. With minimal amounts of sleep, I packed my bags, said goodbye to friends and headed for the bus stop with plans of sleeping for most of the 15 hour journey. But as we all know, when travelling, things rarely go to plan. 


It all started at the Ecuador boarder crossing, where I was suddenly informed that I needed to take all of my possessions off the bus as I would be taking a different bus from there. Ok, can deal with that. Collect all belongings and stand in line for 30mins with my backpack on, being physically moved around by a lady from the bus company but never being told what was going on - apparently my Spanish was that bad that she didn't even try. Meanwhile the other people in the queue are amazed at this tiny fairy girl carrying a bag so big that she suspects she can actually fit in it. They would come up behind me and, without saying a word to me, lift up my bag (which is still attached to my back) to see how heavy it was, comment to the people around them and wander off...weird. 


Finally I get to the front counter and the boarder control personnel are less than impressed with my passport and form. So... where are you from? Inglaterra (England) And where do you live? Australia ...And where is this passport from? Inglaterra ... No this passport is from United Kingdom. Yeah...... They then proceeded to examine my passport and pass it around amongst themselves. Eventually they gave up trying to understand and just let me into the country. Finally getting stamped in, the lady from the bus company piled me and 6 other people into a taxi and hurtled us off to a bus station. 


At the bus station while trying to put my bag under the bus as instructed I discovered (through the kind translation of a random girl) that I would in fact have to change buses again, por supuesto. Now, on my own (everyone else was on different buses), and scared shitless that I was going to miss my next bus change I forced myself to stay awake. No easy feat when this leg of the journey started at 9pm and I had a maximum of 2 hours sleep the night before. However, this bus trip wasn't all bad, I did get to sit next to a rich, eccentric Ecuadorian lady for a few hours who chatted to me in basic Spanish, mainly about her ridiculously fluffy cat....which happened to be climbing all over me at the time. hahaha. Random times. 


At 4am we finally arrived at Ambarto, where I once again needed to change buses. Grabbing my bag, I realised that we were not at a bus station, we were just on a main road with not much going on. During this realisation I was informed that my next bus would appear on the other side of the road and that I should go over there and wait. No indication as to when or what company it would be. So, 4am, on the side of a highway in a random Ecuadorian town stood this fairy with all of her worldly possessions. Needless to say I decided to hell with the bus ticket and the correct bus, I'm hopping on the next bus that is going to Baños! Which is exactly what I did. The bus cost $0.80, I decided saving myself from potential death or kidnapping was worth that. 

At 5am I arrived to Baños, found a hostel and finally slept. Alive, physically ok and mostly sane. Nothing is ever easy in the life of bus travel and when things are hard nobody speaks any English!!