Plastic surgery, plastic shmurgery...

Perhaps expectations were just too high. Rookie mistake. Can't expect every Colombiana to look like Shakira I suppose....but where are the fake bosoms the size of footballs? Where are the huge collagen lips? Where are the blank expressions that only overuse of botox or my Spanish can induce? Nowhere is the answer. Nowhere to be seen. Screw you, Lonely Planet - screw you indeed...

We pitched up to Cali after a disgusting ten hour bus journey. There was a stomach churning six hour portion where the driver obviously thought it would be just magical to show three horror films back to back - the first involved multiple stabbings and stonings of Westerners by crazy little Burmese orphans, while the next was a double bill of inbred cannibals chopping up teenagers in increasingly inventive ways. Being on that bus is possibly the closest feeling I can imagine to torture. Too hot, cramped in like a battery chicken because the buses are designed for tiny South Americans, bombarded by gruesome, seriously disturbing images when I looked up and when I looked away the screams and various sounds of slaughter made it impossible to sleep. A truly disturbing time, was in no mood when we arrived in Cali - felt like punching the driver, or spewing in his face...

Despite that we both got an instant good vibe from Cali - it's a really relaxed and friendly city. To shake off our bus ride we found a little shop and sat on the kerb with a few cervezas and watched the happenings on the street corner with some of the locals. It's funny when you sit back and process where you are in the world - on the planet - shooting the breeze on a Colombian street corner with a cold beer. Couldn't be more relaxed. It's surreal to imagine these things, but not quite as surreal as our trip to San Cipriano the following day.

San Cipriano is a lost town in the rainforest not far from Colombia's Pacific coast. There are many trails for hiking and a really good swimming river, but these aren't the reasons we went there. The town is near enough inaccessible by road, so the locals have set up an ingenious system for transporting themselves, their produce, and the occassional scruffy little tourist along an old railroad track. A wooden cart on train wheels is attached to the front wheel of a motorbike while the back wheel sits on one of the rails. A local jumps onto the bike and in the blink of an eye we're click-clacking along the railtracks, rainforest on either side, over a questionable looking bridge and past tiny little shacks before stopping seemingly in the middle of nowhere, and then climbing down into the village below. This small part of Colombia was once a slave colony, so the entire population of San Cipriano are descendants of African slaves. This makes it unlike any other part of the country. To my eyes it was more like what I imagine parts of Rwanda or Sierra Leone to look like: in fact just south of the village is a gold mine which stretches for about three miles along the road. in my little head it could have been a site for mining conflict diamonds. The roadside is a constant hive of activity - big African women carry their sifting plates up to the next panning site, excited children scurry about trying to help. Jeeps full of mud-covered, jet-black men fill the road, darting around the buses defying every idea of overtaking logic. Up hills, blind corners, three abreast....it all goes.

Leaving Colombia on a high after a few more beers on our favourite street corner, we nightbussed south. South south south we go like a pair of sparrows - to the Ecuadorian border. It was from this bus that I saw possibly one of the best pieces of graffiti ever. A big statue of Jesus met us on the way into the uninspiring town of Pasto - some bright spark had sprayed "Hip-hoppers" on the Messiah's magical cloak. With the intricacies of Spanish-English translation, understandably our young friend had missed one of the P's from the word 'hoppers'. I'm still not sure what I like more; the idea that it was an innocent spelling error resulting in one of the best-placed graffitis in history, or a deliberate attempt by the church to bring Gentle Jesus to the forefront of the hip-hop world... "Yeah, this one goes out to hip-hopers all over the world. Brrrrap!"

The Ecuador/Colombia border is surprisingly relaxed - in fact me and Woody have avoided all overland customs checks since Costa Rica. Makes carrying that kilo of coke and Woody's uzi a lot less stressful anyway. So we made it to Quito by lunchtime. Lunchtime in Quito, on a Sunday, in the middle of a thunderstorm. We were the only people around. 'Ghost Town' by The Specials lingering in the air. Strangely, Quito is kind of like a Latin American version of Edinburgh, especially with the rain. Less Hearts fans. Doing better on the ol' electric transport front as well. Cobbled streets, some attractive old architecture and at almost two miles above sea level much colder than any other place we've been so far on this trip. While exploring the city some little ding-dang thought it would be brilliant to drop mustard on us from a balcony. Amazingly, the mustard managed to hit the rucksack, trousers, shoes, t-shirt and Woody's hoodie all in a onesy. I'd really like to believe that someone just had a misjudgement with a hotdog (hey, we've all been there) and it's a big unfortunate accident... The sheer mustard coverage does, however, point to an act of juvenile delinquence. We must've looked like a right pair of knobs standing in the doorway of what looked like the Ecuadorian Woolworths rubbing mustard off clothing various, before a bump of heads put the icing on the cake and defeat was admitted. Yes, quite possibly we are the two biggest losers in Ecuador.

Spirits did not stay low for long and we set out to scale the dizzying heights of the Basilica de Voto, whose towers sit at 260 feet. These towers are reached by traversing rickety bridges and climbing outside ladders up to the top. The risk assessment people obviously haven't made it as far as Quito yet. An afternoon's climbing reaped huge rewards in fun, and hilarious photographs.

The obligatory visit to the Mitad del Mundo, where the official Equator lies was a success. "Now I'm in the Northern Hemisphere.......Now I'm in the Southern Hemisphere.....Now I'm in the Northern Hemisphere" and so on. The subsequent climb into the mountains just north of Quito was quite literally breath taking. At such great altitude the air is thinner, and the sun is more powerful. At time of writing I suffer a burnt noggin. Look like flippin' Joe Pesci from Home Alone...

We've just returned from a rambling tour of small Andean villages south of Quito. An amazing experience which I'll try to write up when the chance presents. High levels of devastation due to flooding and landslides at Machu Picchu and the surrounding area in the south of Peru mean that the Inca landmark is now probably off the cards for us. Have no fear - we'll err on the side of safety, but the journey continues like an unstoppable rhino of delight....