Cuzco-zy

Before I begin this latest diatribe, I wanted to point out that sat behind me in this internet cafe are a couple of teenage boys who have been silently watching, again and again over the past 30 minutes, the same YouTube video of a young girl taking a dump on a beach. Each to their own, I suppose.

Ah, that's better. I decided to take a well-deserved break from the hectic and mostly sleepless travel regime I've been adhering to since being in SA and have spent the last few days in lovely, lovely Cuzco. It feels a little like cheating as it's about as close to a UK city here (reminds me a lot of Kingston, actually) as any city I've visited up to now. It's clean, well-kept and there are more gringos here than you can shake a bottle of after-sun at. This does, however, mean that you're constantly plagued by street vendours - the highest number of these, by far, are the continual offers for massages. 'Relaxing massage?', 'Massage, amigo?' There must be at least 10 of these shouts on every street, but what I can't understand is, when you've refused the first nine (they're all about two feet from one another) the 10th still has a go. 'Actually.... Did you say massage? Yeah. I don't know what those other guys wanted, but if it's a massage you're offering (and possible 'extras') then you can count me right on in there.'

Cuzco is a party town and music and dancing is an every day occurance. You can go into any bar at around 6-7ish and they'll play a film (sweet) while you take advantage of their very reasonable happy hour prices. Then, once the social lubrication has oiled in all the right places, go have a chat with some randoms (lucky, lucky randoms) and before you know it, cinema has turned to nightclub and I'm teaching said randoms a little dance I like to call, El Samba Del Diablo. Fused with a bit of MC Hammer shit, obviously.

After a night off the Diablo I spent the day white water rafting - look, there I am. Long time readers will know I did this for the first time in Canada and I have to say, it didn't really match up to the great River Ottawa. It's always nice to see girls fall in the drink and emerge like frightened porpoise and this trip had that by the boat-load, but maybe when you've tried something and loved it, like I did with the rafting in Canada, you should leave well enough alone. Don't get me wrong, it was good fun, with great scenery, good company and all at a price you can afford, but it just wasn't the same. Plus I think I may have caught river blindness from a mouthful of the scum-drenched cocktail of disease we were rafting on. Should rivers be grey? I don't think so.

I'd heard about a Diwali (Indian new year) celebration going on in town that evening and as it's been a month since my last curry fix (just plain wrong) I thought this might be a good way to spend my final evening in Cuzco. A couple from the rafting also wanted to join in the festivities and come along - being of Indian descent they probably had more right to be there than me, but I reckon I've eaten enough curry to qualify, surely? Cut me, don't I bleed mango cutney? Anyway, I was under the impression this would be a traditional affair with bangra music, dancing and enough curry to cause an intestinal ceasure, but how wrong I was to be proved. When we arrived it soon became clear that my friends were, with the exception of the owner, the only Indian people there. Facing a round of Brahma-sponsered tables was a stage with a Peruvian rock band on, who spent the evening belting out such Hindi classics as The Sultans Of Swing by Dire Straits and La Bamba by Lou Diamond-Phillips in the film La Bamba. This, although very funny, wasn't at all what we were expecting, but the non-sequitur was not to end there. When some Indian music did finally make it out of the speakers, we were treated to a puzzling display of flapping by a Peruvian girl dressed in Baco-foil wings and not much else. Even odder, the grand finale seemed to be some kind of beauty contest, populated by 12 of about the most ordinary and bored looking girls I've ever seen.

As I said, although the evening didn't run exactly according to plan, a mighty giggle was had by all and with that curry in my belly I fell to sleep on my final Cuzco night with a smile in my heart, a burp on my lips and a ceasure in my intestines.

Thanks to Rosie for getting involved on the comments - in't she lovely? And anonymous - it seems the mystery continues. If I agree I'm just a big baby, like you say, how about a clue to your identity? Also, the more observent of you will have noticed on the more recent posted pictures, that I have a beard. This is because I'm an enormous travelling cliché and a twat. Any questions? Mills out.