ManzAxtor collaboration: Illustration by Axtorworld. Photo chaos caused by Lisa 'Manzanita' Goldapple

I’ll tell you one problem with travelling alone. It’s that you can only see things through your own P.O.V.

Not in a metaphorical sense, I mean quite literally with your eyes.

I wish I had one of those Thom Yorke helmets with a camera attached to it, then I could witness atrocities like this from another’s viewpoint (see Radiohead video below).

PHOTO TAKEN JUST AFTER an X-ray security official rushed over to return the carrier bag of carefully selected Duty Free Mendozan Malbec I’d accidentally left in the scanner. He warned me to be careful as one of the handles was broken.

I gave him a ‘muscle arm’ gesture and a wink.

What the fuck, do I look clumsy?

Yes

PHOTO TAKEN JUST BEFORE the passport control official at the desk under the arrow had a shitfit at me. Turns out you’re not supposed to take photos through security in an airport.

Or make it look likes there’s been a bloody massacre.

Who knew?

Cue mucho shouting.

Check out the other travellers completely ignoring the situation, backing away as the mess spread – and my sad little pink travel pillow R.I.P.

So I had to return home, boozeless – and then discovered that the 3 very expensive bottles of wine I’d smuggled in my backpack for months had also smashed. Had to dye all my clothes black and now look like a goth.

Still, not as bad as when I made an ill-advised joke about Semtex at the French border and got my mother and myself hauled away by security in Paris for a bum search. No photographic evidence that time.

Mum still won’t talk about it.

http://www.therealargentina.com/argentinian-wine-blog/ceviche-puertas-cerradas-barrio-chino-in-buenos-aires-argentina-food/

If you’ve come to Argentina under the illusion you’re in for a heat sensation of the oral variety, then you’re wrong – no warm reception here.

I have a spice vice, a chilli fetish. I like it hot. And we’re talking serious heat – no pussying around with a Korma curry. I scissor skinny bird’s-eye chillies raw into salad. I’ve been designing a twisting chilli tattoo for 7 years. At home in London, I had my own windowsill pepper plants and lovingly nurtured Alfonso the Tabasco, Guillermo the Habanero and the Scotch Bonnet, Hamish - until I came home drunk one night and ate them. I met my first boyfriend at a Vindaloo-eating competition. I carry emergency Tabasco bottles in my bag. Pals wouldn’t dare go anywhere without bringing me back exotic hot sauces (my favourite being the Ass Blaster from Louisiana).

And I wanted to call my first child Pepper – until I found out it’s the name of a cartoon pig. I am hoping by the time I do have one (child, not pig), the character is extinct, like Tinky Winky, the handbag-holding Teletubbie.

So, you get it, I like it hot. I get off on those teeny-weeny chilli peppers which send the brain a message to release endorphins – increasing your heart rate, circulation, sweating and euphoria – all similar to how your body reacts during sex (maybe why I eat so many – shame). Then what the hell am I doing living in the culinary equivalent of a ‘fluffer’ – who promises so much heat, but doesn’t finish off the job?

The Argentines cannot take the tongue-tingle. They might act like they’re OD-ing on something hot they’ve mainlined earlier, but they can’t handle the stuff. For a country known for being so fiery in temperament, this lack of food tolerance can be shocking news to travellers. We’re really not far from Brazil, Peru, Bolivia, and Mexico, yet Argentines even shy away from ‘pimienta negra’. Generally, the only national spice is in the Malbec (the ultimate irony being that the local Malbec and Torrontes go well with spicy food). But do not fear, chilli aficionados, I’ve done a recce of Buenos Aires for you. When it comes to the hot stuff, like Harold and Kumar, if I get the munchies I will go above and beyond in my quest.

You too can live out your spicy fantasy here, because ‘picante’ does exist – you just need to know how to sniff it out.

What do I look like, a MEXICAN?

FABRICA DEL TACO, Palermo (Gorriti 5062) – Mmmargaritas and three hot sauces labelled “for porteños only”, “spicy” and “for those who dare”. However, I’ll let you in on a secret… Actually, it has 4 or 5. The secret 2 you get if you mention you’re Mexican or Pakistani or say something in Spanish like “I’m not from here, I know spice, give me something fucking spicy, por favor”.

LUPITA, Las Cañitas (Báez 227) – The only place I can stand in the polo player and American expat mecca that is Las Cañitas. Great salty Margaritas, spicy burritos and enchilladas. Go for the pork or lamb for something a bit different. Beware, it’s not cheap, but it’s all about the hot sauces.

FRIDA KHALO, Núñez (Ciudad de la Paz 3093). Known for their spicy mole, mole, moles. The enchiladas can be too spicy for some. Yes you heard me right, too spicy here in Buenos Aires. Rumour has it, the food will put hairs on your mono-brow (bad gag, apologies).

Is that BARRIO CHINO in your pocket or are you just pleased to see me?

Buenos Aires’ teeny-tiny Chinatown is in Belgrano at the intersection of Arribeños and Juramento. It runs for a few blocks. But hey, it’s not all about size.

ASIA ORIENTAL SUPERMARKET (Mendoza 1677) – Shop for your spices, then grab a soup from the small eating area in the back – and add chillies to taste. Great hangover food, but not if you’re feeling queasy – the entrance stinks of fish. You might barf on the first hurdle before you’ve even had the curative food.

HONG KONG STYLE (Montañeses 2149) – Order one of each of the dim sum, a hot and sour soup and ask for the spicy sauce. Last lunch orders at 3:30pm.

Perfect chilli anti-dote: My new favourite discovery – melon ice-lollies (popsicles for the Americans). Buy from any of the counters selling chicken and battered prawn skewers. Seriously cooling and only AR$3.

Comida PERUANA

SOLO PESCADO, Almagro/Abasto (Anchorena 533). Order the mixed ceviche ‘lenguado’ (sole). This has the best texture – with squid, prawns and mussels thrown in. Smother with salsa verde. Weep. Warning: ask for reduced onions if you want to attract the use your mouth for anything other than eating in the next 48 hours. Ask for a magnet on your way out. It’s in the shape of a fish. Awesome.

CHAN CHAN, Centro (Hipólito Yrigoyen 1390) – more upmarket and hipster-tastic. Prepare to queue if late/ weekend, then get on the frozen Pisco Sours to make up for lost time outside.

ASIAN persuasion

COCINA SUNAE – The first pan-Asian ‘puerta cerrada’ (closed door restaurant) in Buenos Aires. Fiery curries and sexy spicy and sour soup. NYC/Hong Kong’s Christina brings sliced chilli to table on request. Check the website for the menu which changes every two weeks.

GREEN BAMBOO, Palermo (Costa Rica 5802) – Good Vietnamese-Thai. They ask you how hot you want it, from one to three. Ask for a six.

BANGALORE PUB & CURRY HOUSE, Palermo (Humboldt 1416) – The curry is good, (look, it’s not India), but it’s all about the house hot sauce. Plus, there’s happy hour and beer.

GIBRALTAR, San Telmo (Perú 895) – As much as it pains me to recommend an English-style pub, their Thai Green and Jungle Beef curries are damn hot – and you can get on the beer too.

TANDOOR, Barrio Norte (Laprida 1293) – A high-end option. You can have anything spiced to taste. Plus, a hot sauce that is so hot that it almost hurts.

SUDESTADA, Palermo Hollywood (Guatemala 5602) – Ask for your soup or stir fries extra hot. Go for lunch for good meal deals. If you get the heavily tattooed waiter, see if you can work out what he did time for. Excellent sleeves. I digress.

When in Rome (well, Buenos Aires) douse yourself in CHIMICHURRI

If all the above feels a bit ‘wrong’ and you’re a more into ‘immersing with the culture, yah’, eating like the locals, then whack a load of ‘salsa criolla’ and ‘chimichurri’ (chopped parsley, garlic, oil, vinegar and peppers) on your choripan, bondiola or whopping great lump of cow. They vary in strength, tang and sweetness (never bother with supermarket ones). My favourite is served at Palermo’s Matarife Restaurant (Fitz Roy 2110) and not only because they give me tupperware-loads to take away and I add olive oil to it at home to eek it out between trips. Classy.

Variety is the spice of life, but I prefer CHILLIES

If you want to cook a fiery feast at home, then ingredient sourcing is easier than you think. Native to the altiplano is the hot ‘rocoto’, or ‘locoto’ pepper.

For chillies, cumbia music and chaos, check out BARRIO DE LINIERS’ Bolivian Mercado – Basically ‘Bolitown’. Beware, though, as it tends to be extremely busy, so keep your wits about you.

Peruvano and Bolivian STREET VENDORS – These ladies sit on corners and have the hottest skinny chillies at the best prices. I go to the Peruvian lady near Abasto shopping mall for aji picantes chicos, huge ginger roots and salsa verde in little plastic baggies.

SUPERMARKETS – Jumbos and Discos sporadically stock jalapenos and imported hot sauces – they are quite pricey, though. Instead of Tabasco, experiment with local makes – some are woefully weak, but Louisiana Gold can be a good substitute and 1/10 of the price (though I’m not sure it has ever set foot in Louisiana).

JUEVES A LA MESA – I never thought I’d say it, but it’s good to eat plants. Buena Onda’s Meghan opens her San Telmo apartment every Thursday (the clue is in the name), serving hearty salads, homemade bread, spicy main dishes and desserts including homemade chocolate. Plus she sends you off with recipes and food sources. AR$75. BYO. Spice level can be kicked up by Ya-Ya Bean’s ‘La Boca Roja’ hot sauce which is also for sale at the dinner. We wept, and not just from the spice. Rumour has it she’s working on her own chilli chocolate. http://juevesalamesa.wordpress.com/

FINAL DISCLAIMER: Be careful what u touch (or put in your mouth) after fingering and eating chillies (consider yourself warned).

Desperately seeking non-weirdo flatties in NW1-3 or East-ish…

(Tuesday 17/04/07)

After a month of searching I am still looking for a place to live. There are some bloody weird people out there. So far I have checked out the abodes of 2 paranoid stoners and their 4ft iguana who kept asking if I work with the police (them, not the iguana), then I somehow ended up in Julian Clary’s house – fitted throughout with leopard-print carpets. Also there was the Camden crack den last night – they hadn’t even bothered to clear up the remnants and wanted £160pw for the privilege (probably to buy new front teeth – they had none).

And my favourite… the forlorn looking Hungarian and the uptight Virgin Mobile employee who told me that we would be getting a kitten and I would be expected to take it to work and look after it there on a rota with them. When I asked why the previous tenant moved out they said it was cos she pretended to be in a coma. You what – eh? Help!

Update on my Camden flathunt (not rhyming slang)…

(Wednesday 18/04/07)

Last night’s viewing – a room in Chalk Farm overlooking a sauna (AKA brothel) fire stairwell. The flattie (who was drunk) (at 4pm) was particularly bizarre – it almost looked like nobody had ever lived in his pad except from one giveaway item… an excruciatingly strategically-placed sketchpad of naked laydeees to prompt an obvious “oh you draw?” - which then enabled him to launch into a loooooooooong explanation of his life-drawing classes and photography extracurricular-ness-ness. There was absolutely no sign of charcoal or artist materials other than the open pad.

I now have 10 days and counting left…

And the winner for seriously the worst flatmate potential goes to…

(Thursday 19/04/07)

This e-mail for a potential flatmate is no joke. *Name has been changed to protect the identity. Please excuse my insensitivity for posting… (9 days and counting…).

Hello, I got your mail with regards to the interest in my flat.

Thanks so much for the interest. I will tell you all that i feel you need to know about the the room and the flat now because i am presently in Southampton in a hospital where i am with my grandmother who has been critically sick for sometimes now. First,i will tell you a bit about myself. My name is Kerry Bollocks*, 26. I am a working university graduate and i am planning to go for my Masters Degree Program in International Finance. I would describe myself as outgoing, broad interests, very tidy, sociable and extroverted. I enjoy travelling, outdoors, poetry, singing, dancing,occassional pub-crawling, good food, drinking a good glass of wine or tea with friends and when i stay indoor, i enjoy playing games like chess and scrabble if i am not reading a magazine.

My mother is dead but i have a grandmother who is at the hospital right now and i am staying with her. She is about the only surving relative that i have except an aunt. My father seperated from my mother while i was only 3 years old and he has been living in Australia ever since then with the new wife he married and his children. However, don’t let me bore you with my story and tell you about the room.

The flat is a newly bought one which my mother bought before she died and left for me in her will as her only child. The room i am renting out is a beautiful, big standard room which is very neat. I don’t tolerate dirtiness, that is why you will see the room so neat and it has the following: *A big standard bed which can sleep two people. *A television connected to the cable. *A refridgerator in the kitchen.  *A drawer unit. *A big living room fully furnished with a television connected to the cable,a sound system,heater and airconditioner depending on what we want at any particular time. *Internet facilities available which i connect my laptop to but if you have a laptop, you can bring along so that you can get connected as well but in case you do not have, we can always share mine. *A fully furnished kitchen which you can use for your cookings *Garage which the building has on its own. *Tube station is about 5-7 mins walk from the flat. *Close to hospital and shopping mall.(walking distance) *The security in the neighbourhood is high. The payment is thus: Rent is £250 per month plus appoximately £150 for utilities+cable+internet service per person.

The reason why i am renting out this room is because i need to raise my grandmothers medical bill as she has since become my resposibility ever since my mother died and i have promised my mum on her sick bed at her pont of death that i was going to take care of her mother (my grandmother) as this was her dying wish and i am ready to fulfil her wish. However, she is about the only survivg relative that i have for now and i do not want to loose her to the cold hands of death. Moreso,i do not want some unserious people to start wasting my time on this rent and this is the reason why i am collecting the payment in advance so that i can see the finanacial commitment and also my granny will be undergoing a surgery soon and i will have to pay up the surgery deposit, i will need to add up this rent payment to the money i have being able to gather together. Let me know if you would love to come and view the flat and have a look at what you are renting and paying for but the problem is that a lot of people have wasted my time on this rent issue and i really want someone very serious to deal with this time around. I sincerely want someone very serious and sincerely willing to rent the room because a lot of people have wasted my time on this rent.However,let me know the date that you are intending to move in and move out. It was just unfortunate that my mother died just immediately she bought it and she did not even lived in it for a single day because the interior decorations was the work going on in the flat before she passed on.

I am pet friendly so you can bring along you pet with you although i don’t have any pet. I would have loved you to come and visit and see the flat yourself but i am in the hospital with my granny who really needs my attention now as the doctors said that she is not responding to treatment and that it is advisable to have me as her relative to be around her so that this can aid her response to treatment since this will affect her psychologically, this is the reason why i have taken my time to take the pics and send them to you so that you can see the room. I will be waiting to read from you but do not bother to reply me if you are not serious about renting the room. Thanks once again for the interest in my room while i wait to read from you.

ps: please remember my grandmother in your prayers, i do not want to see her die now.

My flat hunt continues tonight… may the force be with us all…

(Thursday 19/04/07)

Having just got off the phone with a 51 year old Maths teacher who is looking for a roomie (I have decided not to check him out), I am now off to Canonbury and then Chalk Farm to look at 2 more potential disastrous abodes.

If I do not come in tomorrrow, go to N1 2JX, bang on all the doors and pick up my body. (Hey at least a room wouldn’t be needed anymore, just a box). Feel free to use any organs for personal gain… as you would if I was conscious.

Oh shit, 3 days & counting (she’s alive, but despairing of London)…

(Wednesday 25/04/07)

And so the flat-hunt continues - the Canonbury squares didn’t kill me, but the fact that their shirts were tucked into their pants did.

Next on the list was the lovely Malaysian guy with a great ex-council flat. Problem is he had an 8ft poster of ‘Bad Boys II’ on the living room wall and wanted £45pm from me just for bloody Manchester FC TV Channel.

Just this lunchtime looked at a place in Kentish Town. Overpriced and pretty shitty. Plus one of the flattie’s eyes were going in 2 different directions and that can be unnerving. Hey, I’m not being fussy.

It is now Thursday. Have a van booked for Monday night. Where the hell I will tell it do go to, I don’t know?

The Gonzo couch in Studio D is looking appealing.

Another warning bell with this ad…

‘Three bedroom ground floor flat, three Brazilians living in, all aged 28-34, two girls and one guy, some gay, some straight (sexual orientation normally linked to the amount of alcohol consumed). The walls are quite thin and so there might be a bit of noise coming from the living room’.

Love to you all in your homes,

A rapidly-losin-my-sense-of-humour-Lisa

PS. We ride together, we die together. Bad boys for life.

1 day & counting (she’s alive, but despairing of men)…

(Friday 27/04/07)

I think maybe I should live alone. I officially give up after getting this ‘semi’ interesting application…

Hi – I am looking for a place to share with a difference.

Basically I am an >airline pilot working from Heathrow though I live in France where I >spend most of my free time skiing in the winter and enjoying wine and >sun in the summer. and other things of course! Up until now I’ve been >using hotels quite a lot but now would like my own bolt hole so to speak. I would obviously be away a lot but quite happy to pay full rent for the flexibility I need. I don’t smoke but like a tipple! I am very sporty and not a couch potato! I too like a relaxing DVD!

The tricky bit is that I am a naturist and want to share with someone who is cool with that. I like the freedom of not wearing clothes when I can so if the idea of a naked guy walking around is likely to make you run screaming into the street we are not meant to be! Hope that doesn’t sound too wierd, I just love the freedom thats all. I have a good sense of humour, am very tidy and considerate so feel free to say hi if you think it might work. I can send a naturist photo for you to get an idea if you like, anyway hope you are not offended for that is not my intention.

Hope to hear from you.

Kind Regards

Simon

Can you go to an orgy and not notice?

Yes.

In my world the Secret Garden Party’s Bacchanalia Ball involved – some drinking, some dancing (loose term), some flailing and flitting, some gibbering gibberish, some fancy dress – oh what fun, ho.

But this is how it and everyone else went down.

In the hot tub – some touching, some feeling, some grinning. It got nasty – in a very good way.

On the musical chairs – rubbing up against naked strangers, rubbing up the right way, ass rubbings, rubbers.

In the boudoir – some frotting, some licking, some sucking, some fucking.

Maybe it was love, ho?

I officially couldn’t organise sex in an orgy.

They could.

I won’t tell you which one came home with me…

after I t-boned a cop car

which killed it.

I got shock

and whiplash,

have a throat infection,

glands like golf balls

and can’t swallow

(insert gag here).

Thought i was gonna have a baby and

have approx 60 bites from

bed-bugs-slash-midge-type-things.

Bizarrely all since you left.

Anything you wanna tell me?

like…

… do you have fleas?

This was an actual text I sent after a one-night stand with an Australian DJ who was over in New Zealand on tour (he shall remain nameless).

I read this as “I am a witty, interesting type who you should definitely want to have a 2nd night stand with and introduce to all your wicked musician pals when I get to OZ. Even though I don’t want you, you should want me”.

It is difficult to read tone in e-mails.

He read it as “I am a psycho bunny boiler” and replied with “I told my girlfriend my bruises were from a fight”.

Funnily enough he’d never mentioned her.

The most forgettable dinner party in the world?…

I always wanted to be a grown-up so I could hold dinner parties.

I had my first one at the grand old age of 31 this pancake day.

“It went well”, I thought… “but to be a complete success I heard a party should have party games”.

Goldapple’s Rohypnol Challenge

You need:

4 -10 good-looking dinner guests (that in itself can be harder than it sounds – dependent on size of dining table and which country you live in)

4-10 shot glasses (as per above)

4-5 bottles of black Sambuca

10 bottles of red (to take the ‘edge’ off)

200mg Rohypnol caplets AKA ‘forget-me-pills’ AKA ‘Mexican Valium’ AKA ‘lunch-money-drug’

1 x big black dildo (colour optional)

It couldn’t be simpler:

Guests do rounds of Sambuca/Rohypnol shots… simultaneously.

(Do try to stifle the passing out/ sleep for as long as you can to add to the hilarity/ jeopardy.)

Keep going until only one of you is left.

Then…

Who’s in?…

Except this moth only lives for 24 hours.

And it spends that day mating.

After which it dies. Hmmm…

Lisa Goldapple =  EQUALS = Puriri Moth

(Bricks not to scale)

(I hope)

Actually, the Puriri moth doesn’t even have a mouth, one-track-mind-ed little fucker that it is, so it doesn’t even eat – and that’s where the analogy fails. I’m a binge eater.

Plus I’m a lil older than 1 day… so basically it doesn’t work at all.

Is this a good time to make a gag about a Rolling Stone gathers no Moths?

and then I realised…

Oh yes,

I ate some sesame seeds

before.

(That explains it).

I rubbed my eye.

It burned.

and then I realised…

Oh yes,

I cut some chilies

before.

(That explains it).

I wrote a poem

when drunk

and then I realised…

Oh yes,

I’m not a poet.

lots…

in a South American way, not a British way.

I didn’t even check if he was an erudite, literary, cultured, stylish cunt (with a long tongue).

I just got off at my stop, Chalk Farm.

Not un-nice at all…

and i wasn’t even wearing cute shoes.

Rather close quarters indeed

… SLOW being an understatement. I have finally made it out of Brazil after 4 months here – and another 7 days on this boat. I know it wasn´t all a dream, because I cant remember the last time I slept.

Never thought I’d say this, but I never want to see another hammock again – my back has actually curved into a banana shape and I feel like I am constantly rocking ever-so-slightly (although that could be down to fact Brazil has given me a Caipirinha blood-transfusion). If there’s such a thing as hammock-sores I probably have them.

Emma attempts to ignore the pre-concussion child using my hamaca/bed for the next 7 nights as a swing. Cute for 5 minutes

This 7 day journey induced:

INSOMNIA – Over 100 Brasileros all sleeping on one deck. That means over 100 hammocks crammed into a space that was appox 12m x 6m – literally not big enough to swing a sloth.

I tried, but he was having none of it

Anyone who´s ever slept with me (not in the biblical sense) knows my love of warm, cosy, dark places. This was not one. Brazilian pop played on top deck at all hours and soaps constantly rotate on crackly tv 24/7 (actually I do have a soft spot for ‘Mujeres Apaxionadas’ – each character has a theme song when they appear on screen – the lead’s is Norah flipping Jones – they love it). To top of all off, they ring bells in your face over your hammock at 5am each morning for breakfast (loose term). Not sure who ‘they’ is as can never focus at that time, but if I ever see the soft focus bell-ringer again, they’ll be sorry!

NO PRIVACY – ´slept in´ one day til 7am ignoring the bells, the bells. Brazilian ´neighbour´ (he´s practically on top of me) shouts “Good afternoon Gringa” sarcastically which all the passengers find hysterical… AT 7AM – is he having a laugh?

ALCOHOLISM – Induced by no.3. Upped quotient each night – Day 1 = beer, 2 = wine, 3 = vodka & orange, 4 = whisky and guarana, 5 = caipirinhas and cheap jesus wine, 6 = beers and valium. Highlight for most passengers was a toss up between me falling out of hammock lots (well, I´d broken it on the first night in my eagerness to hop in, an enthusiastic hammock virgin – oh how that changed – I am now more like a hammock slag) or the demo of my Brazilian dance moves (a slow 2 step with a partner) on the top deck whilst moored at a Catholic village… to DJ Hype. Well, we were in the Junglist Massive after all – when in Rome & all that.

"Wh -wh-wh-wh-wh-When I raise my trig-ger fin-ger all yo' fuckers hit the deck, deck"

CLAUSTROPHOBIA – If you have a row/ embarrass yourself/ insult someone/ flash someone/ basically open your mouth without thinking (my specialities) then there´s nowhere to escape to.

BOREDOM – breeds arguments about who ashed under who´s hammock and attempts to storm off in a huff (not possible – we’re on a boat for Christ’s sake).

Emma looks all sweetness & light, but just wait til she ashes that fag under your hammock (pictured top left)

She's wondering if it's wrong to minesweep & smoke the butts

FOOD NEUROSIS – brought on by bad food – my own personal hell. Rice twice a day for a week. I ran out of personal supplies of chocolate, Skittles and crisps on day 1 because of no.3.

Day 3: No more rice... please

CABIN FEVER – when we stopped on Day 5 at a small village we all got so excited to walk more than 6 metres at a time that we rushed off the boat onto dry land and civilisation… and a bar. And decided we didn´t like civilisation and having to cope with other people – or the fact we were no longer rocking. Longed to be back in hammock with nothing to do and no reason to feel guilty about doing just that.

Weirdly this was the only place to get drinks... MTV Lanchonette. Really.

PARANOIA – have to sleep with passport, money, camera, music etc in bag in between legs in hammock. Not a time for a Princess-and-the-Pea type mentality. But on the upside I did have Bjork clasped between my thighs.

CHILDREN – they smell my fear and come too near. And cry. Problem is that they are so beautiful out here that you can be fooled into thinking they aren´t evil.

Like mantequilla wouldn’t melt...

Makes you realise how minging we are in the y(UK) doesn't it? I am procreating with a Brasilero quicksmart

COLD TURKEY – No Weed. The boat was heading to the border of Columbia and Peru. Hmm, weighed up risks, and my sensible side won… actually, that´s crap, we just didn´t know where to get any in the middle of the Amazon.

PMT/ period pains/ general hormonal shit – someone was definitely having a laugh. Come on 2 weeks early for entire duration of trip. Let me tell you the toilets weren’t pretty and neither was I.

DEPRESSION – No Coca Cola.

My name is Goldapple & I am a Consumer (but look at my tummy, yes look at it, isn’t it brown?)

However, joking aside, I absolutely loved it. It was the most surreal week of my life (especially when a crazy old biddy who looked 300 years old got on and tried to sell me 2 huge red endangered parrots for $10 – as word had somehow got around the Amazonian villages that a couple of rich Americans had got on (wouldn’t mind, but am bored of saying “No estamos Americanas”. I did toy with romantic notion of buying the giant birds and setting them free, but realised would probably fuck it up and expose them to dangerous flora or deadly fauna or summat).

"$10 or 2 fer $15"

When Emma and I literally jumped ship at 5am on day 6 to a faster boat it was the funniest send off that I´ll never forget. Very dramatic. Kids were crying, men were waving, and the chef (loose term) actually smiled. I thought my hand might fall off from waving, and actually felt sad to leave my neighbouring Bible basher. I was getting used to being looked at with disgust. When 2 missionaries had earlier joined the boat I was chatting to a Portugese journalist who writes for the equivalent of the Independent over there and is doing this trip for an article. I reflected on what they could say to convert me and he retorted that “No offense, but by looking at you, I don´t think they´d even try”. Does that make me temptation or sin? Anyway, I´m rambling, but its so good to be free.

"Adios Jungle Barbies"