You are probably going to get robbed.

´You´re probably going to get robbed´, the bus driver tells me as I fumble about with my three bags attempting to find my misplaced ticket, purse open, passport on show.
Anyway, much to the surprise of the bus driver, I find my ticket and don´t get robbed. I find my seat at the front of the Argentine double decker bus. The buses here are fairly luxurious, reclining seats and all. As I collapse into my seat, the Argentine man besides me begins talking to me.
´The front of the bus is the most dangerous´ he declares.
´The buses are prone to crashes as they drive too fast´. ´Tonight, it is windy making it even more dangerous´. Now I would hardly call myself a nervous traveller but is there any point in telling me these things!?

Nevertheless I get settled into my rather comfortable seat when I see a young couple approach with a very young baby. The other bus companions politely exclaim how sweet the baby is. But let us not lie to ourselves. Really everyone´s heart has sank as we realise that a 25 hour jouney with a young baby within a metre of us is hardly an ideal combination.

And..yes..I was right, within approximately 14 minutes the screaming begins and the whole bus begins to discreetly look for their ipods to block out the noise.

And I am still at Buenos Aires bus station, 2000km and 25 hours left to go.

The Bolivan Death Bus

Awaiting our overnight bus to the south of Bolivia, we became increasingly alarmed as the rest of the bus awaitees seemed to had come equipped for north pole temperatures. Huge rugs, big hats and heavy jumpers alike. As the bus approached, a fellow traveller's comment of 'It looks like something from the first world war', wasn't particularly far from the truth. Also, we had just heard that there had been a bus crash further up north in Bolivia, where 22 people had died, so survival was our main aim for the night.

The windows on the rather dated bus didn't close properly and we soon realised why the savvy bolivians came equipped for sub zero temperatures. My Bolivian socks, which didn't cover my toes so I could wear them with flip flops, seemed like the biggest disaster. Not entirely sure what i thought the point of socks which didn't cover my feet properly would be. Alas, as we got underway, the only comparison I can draw is that it felt like we were in a mobile washing machine with the rather excessive noisy rattling to match. You see, there was no road, it was a mud track. The route is normally only completed by the 'death train', but earlier in the day we had been informed the bridge had collapsed on the railtrack so there were no trains.

As i was being jumbled about with the cold nighttime wind, I remembered I had poddy (my ipod) to help me through the survival test. Now, poddy has always been there for me - when i was an au pair in France, he was my refuge. When i was sharing a room with a crazy girl in Asia, he was there for me. And when i go to the gym, he keeps me going. However, this time, newly charged poddy let me down. He simply refused to switch on. I really did do my upmost best to resucitate poddy, but there was no hope.

I could have cried. It was just me in the cold being thrown about in a bus version of a washing machine and the faint sound of my friend's electro music beating for 11 hours. Plus, I couldn't drink any water, as the smell of the toilet would be enough for me to upheave the day's food.

Not being able to see through the night's sky might have been a godsend, as at times the bus was at a rather concerning angle but even me who sleeps through ANYTHING, including an altitude change of 5000metres (which is unusual i am told), sat there counting the seconds. Not to mention clinging onto my bag after just witnessing someone get robbed.

When we arrived after a long, extremely cold, rollercoaster of an eleven hour ride, the chaotic immigration from Bolivia to Argentina took 3 hours. One man must check everyone's bag manually for drugs, whereas the illegal immigrants smuggle in by walking in the river nearby. Somewhat easier and quicker it seems.

Fancy a fun day out?? Go Rafting!!

Upon arrival at the rafting cabin, we came across some decidedly irritating australians who judging by their posing seemed to believe they belonged in laguna beach. As a result, my friend and I decided to join the spanish group, as to avoid them. This included a one hour safety talk in spanish about how to face and deal with the white water rapids. Understanding was worringly limited. Dangerously, some could day. Especially after i had just signed a contract 'incase of death', as in Argentina there is no insurance for such things.

Unfortunately, the plan completely and utterly backfired on me. Not only did i not have much of an idea about the rafting but alse we ended up in a boat with the laguna beach wannabies.

The event reminded me of a 'fun family day out this summer in France':

'WHERE THE BLOODY HELL ARE WE!?', mother barked. 'PASS THE RUDDY MAP TO YOUR SISTER!!' (I would just like to add that she is 12 years old). The day trip had already taken a rather severe nose dive. Lost in Italy on some dangerously bendy coastal road when we should have indeed been in France. A road apparently only made for one car, an oncoming italian sports car caused rather stressed mother to head for the cliff wall. Anyway, after a 3 and a half hour journey, we arrived at Breil Sur Roya and the river where we would embark on the 'raft de kayak'.

Stupidly, I had said earlier that i was good at kayaking which turned out to be embarassingly far from the truth. Nevertheless, everyone else was in a double kayak and i was in the single:

I was in this thing alone; the rapids, the kayak and me.

As the last of the group to embark on the trip, it made the fact i had apparently got into the wrong side of the boat more embarassing. Ten frenchies staring at me as i attemped to battle the first of the rapids sitting the wrong way. Now, of course everyone is entitled to their opinion but for me 3 hours of tackling river rapids in freezing cold water, getting stuck on rocks and wearing a wetsuit which Kate Moss would struggle to look good in, is not exactly ideal.

However, i battled on, towards the end i even managed to be one of the groups first.
'Hold on to the rope on top till i say go', the teached shouted at me so we could go down the rapids one at a time. So, i held and held, however the kayak had other ideas, infact i held the rope so much the rapids took the kayak from beneath me.

Now, just me and the rapids.

On the way back, i offered to drive, Victoria's level of confidence in me illustrated in her comment 'well, don't think i will be reading in thir journey'..and mother acting as if i was a blind driver 'move to the left','he's breaking..SLOW DOWN'..'get into 5th'.

Awkward Chat in Bolivia

In the tour of the Bolivian Salt flats, there are many jeeps all stopping at similiar places to admire the stunning scenery.

In another group, there was a Welsh couple which i had befriended in the previous hostel in Chile. They had recently become engaged. Although, I must admit, it sounds awfully unromantic: the woman pretty much ordered him to and even suggested ways in which he could propose. So, i asked them:
'What kind of wedding do you want?'
'How many people?'
'What kind of dress?'
'Where are you going for the honeymoon?'
And i am quite sure they thought i was mad. Although, clearly they were th odd ones, how can you not have been planning these things since your 12th birthday?!

So, in every stop we kept bumping into eachother and both parties felt the need for boring smalltalk.'So how's your tour going?' i asked. Even though i know perfectly well how their tour is going as i am doing exactly the same ruddy thing. The piece de resistance was when we were queing for the ATM together and he said 'so...need some money?'.


'>No, actually, I just like a bit of a queue you see'.

Christmas Time...

Once, Christmas was fun for our mothers. Now it is a militarised series of events for them:
-Buy the Christmas cards. Make the mince pies. Write the Christmas cards. Decorate the house. Buy the presents. Buy the food. Buy the stamps for the Christmas cards. Buy the tree. Send the Christmas cards....
They pretend they are having fun with the family but really they hate it. Year after year dad throws away the bag in the garage with the Christmas decorations, thus creating the first (usually of many) Christmas arguments.

Although in general i do enjoy getting into the festive spirit, which in Argentina, really hardly exists. Well, unless you count avoiding the fireworks planted in bins and street corners which make you feel as if you are living in a war zone. What part of being kicked out of my bedroom, being forced to speak to great aunt Mildred, who requires a hearing aid, is fun!? My family always try and go away for Christmas so mother doesn’t face a nervous breakdown hosting the masses. I just don’t get the point of small presents from people I hardly know. If I wanted that tacky necklace from Claire’s I would go and get it. You receive a present; your voice always is required to become higher. ‘OMG’ amazing, I have always wanted that’ to some jewellery which resembles something Vicky pollard would wear. You are then required to wear it, to be polite.
The worst is when people continue looking in the bag to see if there is anything else to this present. ‘No, no that’s really it love, credit crunch and all’.

The Social Event.

You know the feeling, you have spent days preparing yourself for the much sought after 21st party, in a rather snazzy London Hotel. You have even limited your consumption of edible calorific foods. Waxed, de-dreadlocked and you begin to ressemble less and less Hagrids sister. The only slight hiccup is the fact that your shoes fell apart on the way and you are trying to fix them with sellotape. Standard.

Anyway, I am now seated next to two ‘young chaps’, neither competing in the good looks competition. One is the guy I just tried to maintain a conversation with, but due to the lack of response I pretty much gave a monologue. The other my friend introduced me to by saying that my dad is running for parliament for the conservative party. He is, however, head of the labour society at University. This should be a bundle of laughs.

The Office Ex-Bitch

Today, the Office Secretary Bitch was nice to me. I almost don't like it when this happens. If she is nasty, i can bitch about her. Simple. If she starts being nice, I get confused about what the hell to think. Plus, it's always shamefully fun and bonding when there's a unanimous person for all to bitch about.

Anyway, I was attempting to print some comprehensions for my class, and as the printer didn't work i continuously pressed the print icon. This resulted in a complete embarassment disaster, as when the 'Office Ex-Bitch' fixed the printer (which is in full view of everyone) the printer seemingly had paper diarrhoea. Unable to stop it, i was forced to hide the wodges of paper as they came out. The looks i received suggest this wasn't done in the subtlest of ways.

I would also like to add that last night I did not sleep and I feel so awake today. The night before i slept for 14 hours and felt so tired still. I even lied when a housemate asked me if i had REALLY just woken up..........'no, no, just a quick nap' i retorted. Forget alcoholics anonymous, I am in need of sleepers anonymous.