Honey, I've Shrunk The Heads: Mainland Ecuador

"Miserable f**kers."

That was Imran's characteristically blunt description of the Ecuadoreans. Why didn't he people-watch, read about the history and politics, and try to understand why the people behaved a certain way? "Because that's your job," he explained. Fair enough. And that's why I'm writing the blog and not him - you might have an essay to read but at least I'm nice.

Our first stop in Ecuador was the capital, Quito. From there we travelled down the centre of the country to Banos and, after a Galapagos detour, finished in Guayaquil on the west coast.
Do you want to hear about the good stuff or bad stuff first? Let's start with the bad so that we can finish on a positive note!

Quito sucks. Ok, that's a bit harsh but it's not somewhere we'll hurry back to. Although there are some really great things to see in the city, the overall culture epitomises the resentment and anger that builds up within a predominantly young male population living in one of the poorest countries on the continent desiring all the material things they see coming from America which their Latin neighbors with a better political structure are far closer to having. There's a mass exodus of young guys out of the country to find work in better environments, leaving behind the lads who all look identical in their desperately-wannabe-American styling.

In the airport, while we may have been pushed and shoved out of the way with huffs and tuts galore and received scowls in return for smiles, the young men who left in search of a better life are welcomed back with flowers, balloons, hugs, kisses and an intense tearful joy that can only come from people dejected and heartsick that their sons / grandsons / nephews whom they love so deeply have to leave them.

And this makes Quito absolutely no different to many other cities all around the world. So why the attitude that we see all the time was more noticeable to us here probably has something to do with our high expectations of the place. We'd read that this was a nation defined by the friendliest and nicest people in South America and it was simply a surprise to not be greeted with this; in reality, the people are collectively no more grumpy than Londoners. Bear in mind also that we'd just spent time in Mexico where the people are wonderful - Ecuadoreans could do acrobatic shows in sparkly speedos for us and they'd still be miserable by comparison! Quito just seems to lack an identity; it's run-down and without charm or character. It felt bleak and unsafe. And we stayed in the nicest area in the city.

So what DID we like about this city? Actually, a lot of things. They're crazy about karaoke here. There are karaoke bars everywhere but, of course, Imran and I aren't into that..! The artwork is amazing. Quito is known for its artists thanks mostly due to the sculpture and paintings culture introduced by the Spaniards and the famous Escuela Quitena they set up. We didn't bother going to any of the recommended art galleries - partly because art galleries bore the crap out of us - but mostly because you only need to look on the streets to find (in my opinion) the best art. Graffiti covers practically every inch of every wall and I felt as if this is where the real personality could be found. One one side of a road you'll find the usual signature scribbles combined with angry shouts about political traitors, democracy and using condoms, and on the other side you'll find the most beautiful images covering any subject matter: religion, politics, sex, food, emotions, random stuff... The stark contrast between the streets and the impressively green and imposing backdrop of the Andes is what makes Quito interesting.

Quito sits on the Equator so a monument and a museum dedicated to this invite tourists to straddle both sides of the line and stand simultaneously in the northern and southern hemispheres. (I would just like to point out that I'm terribly childish because I had a little giggle when I wrote 'straddle'!) It's definitely not as hot here as we expected because being right on the equator actually means you can get all four seasons of weather in one day. The museum is GREAT fun. We learned some very interesting things.. so here come your fun facts for today! (NOT for the faint hearted.)

Admit it (even you ladies): you've peed in places where you shouldn't have, right? The sea, a pool, your grandmother's kitchen sink? Well, if you went for a dip in the Amazon river and thought it was ok to relieve yourself, you'd be in for a mighty big shock. The Amazon is home to the Candiru or 'penis fish,' a tiny 'toothpick' sliver of a fish which is attracted to urine. One sniff of glorious ammonia and the Candiru races towards the scent and right up into a man's best friend. Once inside, it erects an 'umbrella' of backward-pointing spines so, if by some miracle you caught the little devil by its tail poking out, you'd tear yourself to pieces trying to pull it out. Then it starts feasting on the closest blood-gorged membrane. Nice, huh? Remember that story next time you pee in your brother's pond. (Amir, I SWEAR that's a joke; your pond is as pure as holy water!) We're going to the Amazon on the Brazil leg of our trip - not gonna pee for three days just to be sure...

Think pin-heads are a bad thing? Not to the Amazonian Wuaorani tribe who used to take the heads of their dead enemies, remove the skull so only skin remained, boil it to shrink it, wrap it around a small rock and wear it around their necks. Check out this real life shrunken head!

We did some really cool experiments like balancing an egg on a nail - something which apparently can only be done exactly on the equator - and taking away each other's strength when one foot is on the line (it really works!) Call us big kids but we left Quito with a big smile after that. Even after we stupidly went against advice to walk anywhere at night rather than take a taxi and went out one evening to a place only five minutes away from our hotel, and encountered some very dodgy blokes and very scary prostitutes (are you sensing a common theme here? I promise we don't intentionally seek out street walkers!)

Driving south from Quito along narrow, winding roads built precariously on mountain edges, we arrived in the small town of Banos overlooked by the Tungurahua volcano. We wanted to come here for the adventure sports for which it's famous - rafting, mountain biking etc - but with Imran being ill we simply relaxed instead. Our hotel was high above the town in the mountains and beautifully built in a way to use and show all five natural elements (including wood) at their best. It was a very uplifting place and it felt good to just soak up the energy and enjoy being in the hot pools of volcanic water. Every street had stalls selling fresh sugar cane juice with rows and rows of the giant canes leaning against the walls. We haven't eaten sugar cane since we were kids, when our parents used to buy some from the Indian shops during the in-season and we'd sit there for ages just sucking on the fat pieces of fruit. Talk about nostalgia.

Having made a detour from the mainland to visit the Galapagos Islands, we ended our travels around Ecuador with a night in Guayaquil. All I can say is: GUTTED we weren't here for longer. We loved this place so much. Finally, the famous Ecuadorean affability and charm we'd heard so much about! And boy, were they friendly. Passing people on the streets in our taxi, I smiled and received not only big smiles but waves in return. Reading the menu in one of the million juice bars around (yay!) we had total strangers helping us choose a drink and recommending theirs. We talked to one girl who was so jolly she actually jumped when she spoke - I'm not even exaggerating. The city is well-developed due to twenty years of 'urban regeneration' and there are many things to see, notably the 444-step climb in the Las Penas neighbourhood for views over the whole central area. I wish we had spent more time in Guayaquil (and preferably less in Quito) but hey, you live and learn and it just means we need to come back here in the future. Any of you chicas planning a hen do / extravagant birthday anytime soon??
It'll be a few weeks before I write again due to an action-packed fortnight we have planned. It's time to go to Peru and make a dream come true.


Adios amigos xx

"Love You Like An Albatross": The Galapagos Islands

The Albatross are a group of birds endemic to the Galapagos Islands. They mate for life so it stands to reason they're very careful in their selection of partner. A male and female will spend up to a year getting to know and trying to impress one other before finally deciding to make the all-important lifetime commitment. Sounds just like mine and Imran's story. He thought so too. "Love you like an Albatross," he said. Shucks.

But then our guide told us the male goes back to the island of choice to ensure the nesting area for future eggs is ok. He arrives a few days before the female and in that time, being the horny devil he is, pounces on any other birds (pun intended) who may have landed in the wrong spot and has his wicked way with them. The poor female Albatross, faithful and loyal to the male she's chosen, lays the 'bastard' egg but then abandons it. And in the meantime, the male Albatross welcomes back his original chosen mate with open wings. "Ok, I don't love you like an Albatross," Imran said. "Really... I swear."
There you go, folks: your fun fact for the day.

We've just finished our week sailing around the Galapagos: eighteen islands in the Pacific ocean, each with their own distinctive wildlife. And it's just incredible. White sandy beaches with black rocks and turquoise waters, lagoons, volcanic rocks, snorkelling twice a day with colourful fish and sting rays and sea lions and hammerhead sharks, treks to see iguanas, flamingoes, dolphins, giant tortoises and an enormous variety of birds. If you love nature, wildlife, spectacular scenery and both walking and swimming alongside all of these, this is the place for you. Each island is like a personal zoo but with the animals roaming free in their natural habitat.

Spending a week in a boat with fourteen other people - eating all meals together, trekking everywhere in a big group; basically spending 24/7 with them - meant we really hoped we'd find some people we got along with. We got very lucky and made some great friends on this trip, primarily an Aussie couple and a group of six Americans we nicknamed 'The Chicago Crew'. We had a lot of fun with these guys - they were hugely energetic and lively and had great stories to tell of their global adventures. That was one of the best things about this cruise for us - we met people we would otherwise never cross paths with and will hopefully make some lasting friendships.

On Floreana Island there's a small patch known as the 'post office' with a little wooden box in which people leave postcards for loved ones. The tradition is that when you go to the postbox, you not only leave your own card but take out some already in there and either post or hand deliver them to the addressees. I think the idea is to meet new people but it's a guessing game as to how long it'll take for your card to be delivered: weeks, months or even years. We took a few out with London addresses on them but I haven't decided yet whether to simply post them or actually take them personally when we're back in London. Lex and Suzanne, just so you know, we left you a letter in there with 'To Be Personally Collected Only' written on the front. There are no two people we know who would love this archipelago more than you guys. It's just the most perfect place for wildlife enthusiasts and we'll keep bugging you to go for as long as it takes! And when you do, there'll be a note waiting for you in the postbox dated Nov 2011.

So are you ready for another fun fact to finish? I don't want to bore you with any more written details of the cruise when it's much better to see Imran's fantastic photos instead. But I'll tell you about the blue-footed boobies. We were lucky enough to see a courtship and mating between two of these birds with, as you may have guessed, blue feet. The male will offer the female a twig (cheap date) and if she accepts, he'll jump on her (he didn't even have to buy her dinner) and do the deed for the grand old time of four seconds. Literally - we counted. He then walks around holding his head up very proudly before they finish with a dance: leaning to the side lifting one foot off the ground and then again on the other side. It's a genius dance and one that Imran & I are going to attempt to turn into a trend in the London clubs when we're back.

Hope you're all doing well! xx

Don't Think, Don't Breathe, Don't Stop: Eating Our Body Weight in Mexico

Those of you who know Imran probably think it's impossible for him to ever gain weight. It's highly likely you believe he'll live to a ripe old age having never known what it's like to be subject to the trials and tribulations of expanding waist lines and increasing clothes sizes as the rest of us normal folk. Despite his ample appetite, our very own Benjy Button has a metabolism that just seems to improve with age. Well, let me tell you, none of you thought to send him to Mexico. Spend a few months here and even 'Slimran' may eventually become Fatman.

I, on the other hand, am already showing signs that I may soon be unable to see my feet. Not being much of a breakfast person usually, I've been following the "when in Rome" rule and dining like a king every morning just like the locals. Specifically, Henry VIII! Of course, the saying goes that you should then lunch like a prince and supper like a pauper but in Mexico the food is simply too good to deny yourself royal status at every meal.

Three quarters of our meals have been street food as worries about dodgy stomachs sure as hell ain't gonna stop us from eating the tastiest food available! So far it's been pretty good going. Imran's had to get the Immodium out once or twice but me and my iron stomach have felt fantastic - despite eating a lot of raw food washed in local water - thanks to a potent daily cocktail of probiotics and Spirulina. And that includes in places where the hygiene has been so bad that it looks like the guy who made our food wiped his arse with his bare hands first.

Real Mexican food is very different to the Tex-Mex stuff we get back home. They put tortilla chips in and with everything, plus some more on the side. As well as a hefty portion of soft tortillas just for fun. They're included in some way or another in every dish at every meal. Vegetarianism is a sin; a dirty secret best kept well hidden. In Playa Del Carmen I made the mistake of asking for veggie food for the first and last time: "Can you do me a veg version of the chicken tacos?" I asked. "Of course! It would be the chef's pleasure," the waiter responded enthusiastically. These tacos were originally filled with chicken and rolled up and fried. I took a bite into mine expecting to taste vegetables or beans of some sort. It was totally empty. Just an empty taco. And thats about as much respect as a vegetarian will get in a touristy place like Playa. Good job I'm not a full-time one!

But elsewhere there's still plenty for them to eat. We could live off guacamole and beans and fresh salsa; the latter, however, not being as common as we expected and disappointingly substituted for a bowl of bottled chilli sauce more often than not.

But the street food! Oh my good God, the street food! Tacos: soft corn tortillas cooked in front of you, spread with a layer of earthy beans, commonly topped with chicken in a spicy sauce. Empanadas: a larger tortilla filled with your choice of protein and either a fiery red or refreshing green sauce, accentuated by just a couple of aniseed-flavoured leaves and simply grilled. These leaves varied from region to region - avocado leaves in some areas and 'hoja santa' leaves in places like Oaxaca - but the flavour imparted was the same.

Chilaquilles: beans and sometimes chicken cooked in a red or green sauce, then with tortilla chips added and baked, finished with a topping of fresh crumbly crema. Crema is fresh, homemade cheese and unbelievably easy to make. Milk is warmed and an acid such as lemon juice is mixed in, making the dairy curdle. Drained through a muslin cloth, the curds and whey are now separate and the former are left to firm up. It's similar in texture to ricotta but a more salty flavour (the Mexicans love to pile on the sodium!) We only ate chilaquilles once in Mexico City but we truly believed the dish we had was the best we could hope to have, so we didn't order it again just to ensure our memory was nothing but positive! It was creamy without being overbearingly rich, fragrant from the herbs in the sauce and full of different textures, from the tortillas within the sauce going part-soggy and liquid-drenched to the crispy ones on top.

Ceviches: raw fish 'cooked' in a zesty marinade of lime, orange, tomatoes, onions and chillies. Then there were the sopes (another version of tacos but with a much thicker tortilla); the cheese-stuffed but still light quesadillas and enchiladas; the papadzulles, the panuchos, the fresh fish grilled on an open flame caught just hours before in the coastal areas. In Oaxaca we relished the various types of mole - the Mexican equivalent of curry - with a sauce paste made from dozens of ingredients. The most famous one is the mole negro which contains chocolate. It was a taste explosion. Deep (fancier people would describe it as 'complex'), sweet and spicy, a myriad of flavours hitting your tongue in every direction.

What else? Tamales, meat stuffed into a cornmeal (masa harina) paste and grilled in a banana leaf; chilled rellenos (stuffed chillies), ancient Aztec tortilla soups, and my personal favourite, nopales, a tangy salad made from cactus.. the list is endless and you can see why we stuffed ourselves silly, gorged our guts, munched through meal mountains.

The Mexicans know what real chocolate is. Forget the milk-filled rubbish: the good stuff is in Latin America. Dark, crumbly blocks of raw cacao are used in the savoury mole, sold just as they are, or broken up into pieces in the bottom of a mug with hot milk poured over to create a the creamiest and most delicious hot chocolate in the world. Even a man might be convinced to describe it as better than sex. Cacao, just to hit you with a Fun Fact (pronounced 'cuh-cow'), is the proper name for the chocolate bean but the Europeans who came to this part of the world couldn't pronounce the word for this ancient Aztec beauty, and so 'cocoa' was born. And we've all been calling it that ever since.

Being the juice addicts that we are, we obviously hoped to find some freshly squeezed orange juice at the very least. We did in Merida. In Mexico City and Oaxaca City we got even luckier and found 'juguerias' where we drank green vegetable juices, pints of our all-time favourite carrot, apple and beetroot juice, and litres of smoothies made with the freshest and sweetest papayas, guavas, pineapples and oranges. The man who ran the juice stall in Oaxaca's market came to know us as the English couple who got strangely excited by juice and learned to look out for us several times a day!

Although very difficult to rate, our top three meals were in Cafe Tacuba in Mexico City, a beach shack in Puerto Escondido and a breakfast in Oaxaca City. Cafe Tacuba simply because the setting was as Mexican as it gets and the food was delicious and simple. The breakfast in Oaxaca, although not as tasty a meal as a lot of the street food we ate, was memorable because we ate with a group of wonderful people we met earlier that morning, and sharing food with friends amidst laughter and chatter is one of life's greatest pleasures. And it was also our first introduction to Mexican hot chocolate! The beach shack was an entertaining meal. We were the only people in the place and the warning signs of dirty glasses and cutlery were there but we ignored them. The toilets were a "walk in and walk the hell back out immediately" kinda thing, obviously having not been flushed for about a month judging by the contents and the swarm of flies. The sink didn't work and instead there was a communal bucket of used water to wash our hands. And for some strange reason that we still don't comprehend, we stayed. Was it because we had already ordered and our British sensibilities didn't want to offend or be awkward by walking out? Whatever the reason, we just sat there annoyed and in a bad mood about what a disgusting place we'd come to, both of us seething at my poor choice of raw food, refusing to touch our drinks because the waiter had left muddy brown droplets from his dirty wet hands when he put the straws in.

And then the food arrived.

Tentatively we both took a bite from our grilled fish and ceviche. And nearly passed out... from happiness. The food was incredible. The most delicious ceviche I'd eaten and the nicest fish Imran had eaten so far. My dish was tart from limes but just as I was about to purse my lips from the sourness, a hit of sweetness came to surprise me before I finished with a kick in the mouth from some warming chilli. Imran's fish was charred on the outside and white and flaky on the inside. Spot on. We wolfed it all down, not giving a monkeys about the hygiene or the chances of getting ill or anything other than the fact that this was damn good grub! Even the dead ant in my dish didn't deter me - it's all flavour, right?

We learned something about ourselves that day: tasty food is of utmost importance on this trip and we don't care if the cleanliness is questionable in getting it to us - just as long as we don't see it! Ignorance really is bliss. We're the Lakhas and we're disgusting.

Remember that pact we had about saying yes to everything? Well, we failed. Whilst eating in the market an old lady tried to sell us a handful of fried insects sprinkled with chilli. The voice in my head was screaming "Try it! Try it!" but in the end, we couldn't say yes. Actually, Imran's exact words were: "F*ck that! You get that sh*t away from me, little lady!"

At the end of the two weeks, we couldn't take any more. Our bodies shut down. We held a forkful of food up to our mouths at our final Mexican dinner and couldn't bring ourselves to put it in. The non-stop shovelling had taken its toll and now our bodies were screaming "No more, please - I'm full! I'm short and small framed; obesity ain't a natural or sexy look on me." And fortunately we listened, contentedly sated from the amazing food we'd eaten in this brilliant country but thankful it was now ending and we could drag our heavy arses to a country with a less gluttonous food culture.

Mexico: Part 2

We got up on our final morning in Puerto Escondido with mosquito bites the size of bread rolls. Legs and arms so swollen it looked like we had extra limbs; skin so itchy and red it looked like we had a severe case of psoriasis. These bites were the work of no ordinary mozzies - we reckon these were mutant mosquitoes, ninja fighting their way past deet and citronella to reach their blood-thirsty goal and feast on our innocent bodies.

Thankful to be heading away from the coast, we made it to Oaxaca City, a place that is now firmly one of our favourite places in the world. Here you experience real Mexican culture at its finest with all the charm and character that is distinctly Oaxacan. Every building is small and painted a different colour. Old ladies with faces like those you see in National Geographic magazine walk around in traditional dress carrying baskets on their heads. If you like to just experience the daily life of a culture, Oaxaca is the place for you. We went everywhere: from colourful produce markets to bars in dodgy parts of town that smelled like hash.

One day we visited El Tule, a small town just outside of central Oaxaca, to see a famous 2000+ year old tree (I am a tree hugger, after all) and we decided to take a bus because hey, why take a cab when you can move around like a local? Walking down congested streets in suffocating heat to get to the bus station, I noticed there were an awful lot of girls dressed up like they were going clubbing (it was midday). But I didn't pass judgment of any kind; they may simply have been trying to impress the hairy and robust food vendor because they loved the way he tossed his tacos. Navigating the bumpy roads and being careful not to step on the suspiciously large number of empty condom packs around (still no judgement) we finally made it to the smoky station to the soundtrack of 'Loca People' blaring out from a speaker nearby.

Our outward journey was uneventful and the tree was lovely but it was our return journey that stood out that day. The driver had promised to shout out to us when we reached our stop but didn't bother and we soon realised we had no clue where we were. Jumping off the bus, I recommended street x but Imran insisted his instincts told him street y was a better option. That's cool; he has a better sense of direction than me.

But why oh why do Imran's instincts lead us down red light districts?! Street y was full-on brothel central with partially-hidden women on their knees in dark doorways, married men furtively looking around trying to quickly find anyone to satisfy their kinky fetishes that their wives would kick them out of the house for suggesting, chicks staring at the size of Imran's wallet and wondering how to give him a "come back later with plenty of cash when you've gotten rid of the Mrs" look. Putting aside the depressing issues related to prostitution, the saddest and most worrying thing I noticed was that the clothes the women wore were no different to the outfits teenage girls wear in London on a Saturday night.

Still, we made it back ok and, with every body part safely contained in its rightful home, we moved on to Merida.

First impressions of Merida weren't good. The place looked, quite frankly, like a shit hole. The airline had lost our luggage so obviously the only way to deal with the fact that we were in a dive and walking around in 35+ degree heat in our flying uniform of fleeces and hiking boots was to get drunk. Artificial temporary happiness: you just can't beat it. Luckily for our heads, it didn't come to this. Our luggage was located later that night and we ended up really loving Merida thanks to the Day of the Dead celebrations. Let me explain.

Every year in Mexico, for a week at the end of October and the start of November, celebrations are held for loved ones who have passed. The people hang up decorations everywhere - mostly of skeletons - and put out the favourite food and drink of the deceased family members. The belief is that the spirits of their loved ones join them on November 2nd and enjoy the festivities with them. There is no fear of death as they accept it's the only certainty in life; something which, if resisted, brings great sadness when actually the fact that they were able to know and love the passed person is worth celebrating. They eat sombre family meals in cemeteries (even on graves apparently), hold prayer ceremonies and then go out and enjoy themselves. It's a fantastic attitude and a really lovely tradition.

Anyway, in Merida - just as in every city we'd been to - festivities were taking place in the main central square with food stalls, artisan markets and traditional dance shows dotted around. In the evening there was a stage set up directly in front of the beautifully lit cathedral for a comedy play. We didn't understand any of the play but gathered it was about a family enjoying their celebrations at home with the spirits of two unseen loved ones floating around, faces painted as skeletons and dressed in regal outfits. Combined with the stunning setting, I don't think there are many times when the energy of other people feels so good as when you're standing in a crowd of 5000+ and every single person is laughing heartily at the top of his or her voice. It was definitely one of my most favourite moments in Mexico. And as for the idea that ghosts walk among us that week? We're not sure what we believe but when we looked back at our pictures from the evening of the play we spotted a couple in the bottom right of the photo below, headless, blurred and see-through while everyone else looks normal. Photographic coincidence or something spooky? You decide!

Chichen Itza and Tulum are home to ancient Mayan ruins which are counted as one of the new Wonders of the World. We've watched a lot of documentaries on the Mayans and think they're an incredible bunch of people with a really interesting history. We thought we would love seeing the ruins of their civilisation but I'll be honest - we got pretty bored. The ruins are certainly spectacular; in Tulum they're right on the beach which makes for a gorgeous setting. But the sites are jam-packed with tourists and the whole 'event' was just way too touristy for us. Once we'd admired the sites for half an hour we wanted to leave. The huge loud crowds mean you can't just sit peacefully and soak in the spiritual energy of the place. They're obviously worth seeing and we're really glad we did but we enjoyed talking to our Mayan taxi driver and learning about his culture just as much, and him taking us to a traditional Mayan cafe full of local people for lunch was the highlight of the tour.

For five years now, people have been stopped from climbing the Chichen Itza pyramid steps. Only two women have been allowed to do it and one of them is Jennifer Lopez - she filmed the "I'm Into You" video there. She was put up by the Mexican government in a $1.5k per night hotel according to our local source, but had to pay her own staff. So she hired local Mayan people and paid them just a handful of dollars a day. I don't know if the story is true but if it is, I find it sad that people with such outer beauty don't consider it necessary to cultivate inner beauty. Greed and lack of humility are very ugly traits, Ms "I'm still Jenny from the block" Lopez. Despite insisting that my behind was growing to J-Lo proportions the longer I stayed (and ate) in Mexico, I wasn't allowed to climb the pyramid. Never mind!

The ocean in Playa Del Carmen is lovely, famous for being seven shades of blue and we spent most of our time frolicking (oo er missus) in the surf.

Mexico is an incredible country; a land where everyone has a smile for everyone else, where nobody is on time for anything and every other car is an old-style VW Beetle circa 1992. The mannequins in shops are just as skinny as those at home except in Mexico they have big bums. I tell you, the clothes look a million times better! At least, they would do if Mexican women weren't so obsessed with pink clothes. Bloody disgusting pink everywhere. What are we? Frickin' five year olds?

The people are SHORT- it tells you a lot if I say Imran and I felt tall! The men were all about my height. The women would be invisible if it weren't for those sexy arses shouting for attention in hot pink Lycra.

Everyone in Mexico is snogging. All the time. Everywhere. All ages. And rather than feeling like we were moving along with a mobile porn movie set, it was actually a really lovely characteristic of the amazing people and their passion. Even the pigeons ignore the crumbs on the ground because they're busy kissing.

Thanks, Mexico; we couldn't have asked for a better start to our trip and the other countries will need to be something really special to top you... but we're ready to leave now and find out. Dragging our burnt toffee tans to the airport, we're ready For Ecuador. I'll let you know if we even make it there - our connecting flight is via Miami and we all know how popular Imran is at American immigration!

Adios amigos and chat to you again soon. Xx

Mexico: Part 1

Mexico: tacos, sombreros and arriba arribas? Not quite. Having completed our time in the first destination of our trip, I can tell you that our Mexico was more prostitutes, mutant ninja mosquitoes, ghosts and skeletons. And it's been one of the most fun fortnights we've ever spent together! But let's start at the beginning.

After a teary and sob-filled goodbye at Heathrow airport ( and that was just Imran)* we excitedly arrived in beautiful Mexico City. From there we travelled to Puerto Escondido, a quaint fishing port and jungle on the Oaxacan coast before moving on to Oaxaca City. Merida came next, the state capital of Yucatan, before we road-tripped to see the ancient Mayan ruins at Chichen Itza and Tulum. Playa Del Carmen was our final stop where we mentally said goodbye to Mexico and got ourselves ready for Ecuador.

Mexico City is great. It really smells. And I mean it smells damn good! Never mind on every corner, there are street food stalls every twenty steps. The aromas of freshly rolled and cooked tortillas, chicken rotating on makeshift skewers over a tin bin fire and trolleys of sweet perfumed oranges next to street juicers.. all these are constantly filling your nostrils. We were there at the weekend which meant the streets weren't chock-a-block with traffic and the rush of working people but filled with families leisurely wandering around the handicraft markets outside the Cathedral and Palace and the massive 'bookstore' that occupied the main square. The central area is really clean and filled with incredible architecture; as is apparently the case in all the countries on our trip, Mexico is home to some magnificent churches. We prayed in one. I don't know if the Catholic God will listen seeing as I always talk about my lack of belief in organised religions but I hope my own version of God accepted my pleas for world peace and cute babies.

Wanting authentic Mexican food, we got a recommendation for a local restaurant called Cafe Tacuba. It just looked the part (and if you read the post about our eating adventures, you'll find out if it tasted the part.) It looked like real Mexico: mosaic tiles, seriously high ceilings, stained glass windows and pictures of Saints; and it sounded like real Mexico: a group of dark haired mustachioed men walked through the restaurant amongst the tables buzzing with chatter, strumming on guitars of all different sizes, singing traditional songs. At one point, Imran joined in and started singing along to 'Guantanamera'. I looked at him in surprise, wondering where this cultured and refined man had come from. "How do you know this song?" I asked, suitably impressed. He stared at me with an incredulous look on his face, disgusted by my ignorance. "Everyone knows this, man!" he replied. "Wyclef covered it."

Remembering our pact of saying yes to everything, we dismissed all inhibitions and got up to sing and play pretend guitar with the band. Fantastic fun!

Puerto Escondido is a charming place south of the capital. You'll be lucky to find more than one person there that speaks English. It feels like you're stepping back in time here a few decades. You know how in the movies they show a black and white photo of some moment in the past and then turn it to color and bring it to life? That's how it constantly felt during our time here. Every scene I saw felt exactly that way as if we had just arrived to live in this past moment, Back To The Future III style. On our way to the jungle, I saw a man standing outside a run-down brick building, one foot resting up on the wall behind him, wearing bell bottoms and a cowboy hat. It looked exactly like a photo from the 70s. It was only when he smiled and the sun shone even brighter that I remembered this wasn't a picture. And I was brought right back to the present when I noticed a big blue 'e' painted on the wall to signify Internet availability. It was a really beautiful moment for someone as sappy as me!

It was great to be in a place where they didn't speak English. It often feels like we go to places expecting the locals to cater to our every need, especially when it comes to language, without making much of an effort to step out of our own comfort zones. How refreshing to be in a 'developing' place where they didn't worship the ground we walked on and treated tourists exactly as we do back home: generally acceptable but an annoyance if they get in the way. We became awesome at charades here! Hey, if we can manage to get a Mexican who doesn't even know the English for 'yes' to understand "Is this juice freshly squeezed?" and "What do you recommend I use for a mouth ulcer?" then I think we're entitled to say we're pretty good!

Going back to my mention of the jungle, Imran and I trekked through parts of it on horseback to get to some healing hot springs. What an amazing experience! Neither of us has been on a horse before - they are truly gorgeous animals. I'm a bit of a coward when it comes to steep rocky areas but our horses made us feel really safe with their strength and elegance. We went through rivers where even on a saddle we were knee deep in water; through tiny clearings where we could hear nothing but the buzzing of insects and the scurrying of lizards, and had to duck under branches and push cobweb-covered low-hanging tree vines out of our way. Other times we were making our way down narrow paths where it was a short, sharp drop onto the rocky rapids of the river running alongside of us. I could tell by the grin on Imran's face that he felt like Indiana Jones! And I was right. Later I asked him: "Were you scared when we went down the really steep bits?" His response? "Hell, no! I felt like I was in Temple of Doom!" and proceeded to recite Short Round quotes.

But the 'action man' journey was worth it when we finally came through the jungle clearing out to an incredible expanse of nature. Jaws dropping, we gazed in awe at the stunning scene in front of us. Imagine having just spent nearly two hours on horseback in dark, hot, sweaty conditions with all manner of insects flying in your face. And then forcing your way out through a mass of bushes to suddenly open up into a place where the sun blazes down on you, the sky is a deep Cornflower blue, all around you is lush tropical greenery against a backdrop of forest-green hills and mountains, with a calm river serenely flowing below and butterflies of a rainbow of colors and variety of shapes and sizes floating everywhere. I can't even describe it in a way that does the scene justice. It's just simply one of the most stunning things we've ever seen.

Tying up the horses, our walk to the hot springs wasn't quite as fantastic. We squelched our way up wet and muddy hills barefoot, slipping all the while on green smelly things we couldn't identify. I'm not a hot tub kinda gal anyway but the smell of rotting algae combined with the disgusting feet of the person on the trip with us meant I didn't go in the healing hot springs. Imran wasn't such an arse and enjoyed them for all their worth. Perhaps if I'd gone in I would've been healed of my snobby attitude. But I did appreciate the beauty of the springs. This was nature at its finest and most realistic: hot streams of steamy water arising from seemingly nowhere, the sweet perfume of flowers everywhere combined with the lovely aroma of horse poo and rotting green stuff. We loved it all!

It was the best way to enjoy Puerto Escondido. And our guide, who hilariously was named Ismail, was great although he couldn't understand why we laughed so much when he told us his name. "Ismail," I said. "Meet Ishmail." He looked quizzically at Imran having just been introduced to him correctly. Totally deadpan, Imran said: "The name's Ishmail... DJ Ishmail."

* Apparently for legal reasons (I can only imagine the threat of divorce for ruining his reputation) Imran would like me to admit that the part about him sobbing at the airport is a blatant lie. In reality, he was too excited to cry and skipped to security rubbing the butts of the guards out of sheer joy along the way.