10 Things I Hate, I Mean, I Love About My Life

1. It rained almost all my days amongst the thundering waterfalls of Iguazu. Did I care? No. On the Brasil side, I walked right up to the waterfall just as the storms began in earnest. But by then it was impossible to distinguish between the rain and the waterfall, not in sound nor fury nor vision. And when I finally stood by the Devil's Throat on the Argentina side, I started crying. It was so roaringly moving, so eye candy, acid trippy, stop motion film, changing faster than I could take in. Most joyous experience.

2. I caught the flu the day before I left Buenos Aires. This turned into 3 days of laryngitis in Iguazu, and 2 weeks more of a hoarse (not sexy so much as foghorn) voice and a cold that plagued me throughout Bolivia. But who doesn't like to pass ridiculous hilarious sexy notes about mundane and serious affairs? And why pass up an excuse to lean in close for a whisper by a waterfall? Clever flirty banker from London? Lithe cocky do good American? Multi media artist from Barcelona? Tech consultant from Nigeria? Film maker from Brasil? Hot nurse from Italy? So little time...

3. For 225 pesos ($75), I bought a ticket for a 30 hour long bus ride from Iguazu, Argentina to Villazon, Bolivia: my first ever long distance solo trip, over land, in South America. I had with me my big orange duffel, my small black roller, my laptop bag, and my camera bag (go ahead, everyone else laughs too). Everything I owned, everything I cared about. True I had burned a DVD with all my (new) photos and documents and mailed it to my parents in the states. True Argentina is one of the safest countries to travel about in South America. True my Spanish was just enough to get on with it. I was still afraid. It's only now that I know that that (completely uneventful) ride will count amongst one of the most luxurious easy trips I've ever taken.

4. Altitude above 4000 metres means Abeer will suffer from vise-like headaches, medium strength nausea, and biting cold wind, despite the constant chewing of coca leaves and the popping of altitude sickness pills. Altitude above 4000 metres means Abeer will see stunning mineral coloured lagoons, spiky mountain ranges, clouds of pink flamingos, and this last most alien surreal beautiful landscape: Bolivia's Salar de Uyuni, the largest salt flats in the world, a sea of hallucinogenic hexagonally marked whitewhitewhite, as far as my awestruck eye can see.

Add to that, my four hilarious jeep partners who made my Salar experience so much fun that I followed them through Bolivia all the way to La Paz. Giggly giant funny man, Shannon, from Australia. New age accountant from Ireland, Garrett. Dance machine thumbs upper, John, also Irish. And the fire fighter mountain climber from Tasmania, Dan. Beauty.

5. Number 1 worst bus ride in my life: from Uyuni to Potosi, Bolivia. Slated for 5 hours. Actual damage: 8 hours. At night. On the most ruinous roads in the world. Every threadbare unreclining seat filled, plus every inch of aisle taken up by hapless ticketless Bolivians, including the man who sat on my foot the whole time. No heating nor windows that closed properly. Music like cartoons on fast forward, on high volume of course. But all of that means that your clever fingered lover can give you enormous pleasure in the crashbang dark. Totally unnoticed by anyone else.

7. The upside of sharing a hostel dorm room in the mining town of Potosi with 8 boys? Most comically, it's not immediately obvious that it's the one girl who's snoring (sorry, but I snore when it's cold and/or if I have a cold, both of which were in effect all over Bolivia). And what stimulation, to be constantly surrounded by surfers, bikers, swimmers, hikers, climbers, travellers. Every last one had a lean body, distinct accent, shining blue or green or grey or gold eyes, and they made me laugh, all the time.

6. I have nothing bad to say about Sucre, the quaint cute hilly red roofed sometime capital of Bolivia. If you need a place to rest after 4 days in a jeep touring the salt flats, this is it. It's got a market with cheap yummy dishes and fresh juices, a lovely textile museum, cafes with stellar views of the city, a sunny central plaza, pretty churches, affordable and spacious matrimonial accommodations, and dance clubs open all night every night.

7. I thought after 2 weeks in Bolivia, I'd have acclimated a bit. But no. I couldn't walk a block in La Paz without getting huffypuffy. The airport is 4000 metres in the sky and the drive to town alone is worth it all. The mountains surrounding the city are dotted with houses, the way you'd expect to see tree cover. The coke dens are alive and tripping, and a midnight sniff at Club 36 is a novella begging to be written. The Witches Market sports llama foetuses and potions and spell books. The Indian restaurant is ho-hum. The tapestries are vibrantly coloured, the sheep hoof tambourines bizarre and clunky, the parades a whirl of (co)motion. But the best was my last night in La Paz, one of the most exceptionally fun sexy nights I've ever had. Does it always get better with time? I hope so.

8. I sadly left my hot funny boy contingent in La Paz and moved on to Isla del Sol, an island on Lake Titicaca (on the Bolivian side) with old Incan ruins and fabulous views of sunrises and sunsets. I saw both if you can believe that, and even got my 9 hours of sleep in between.

9. Second worst bus ride in my life: Puno to Cuzco, Peru. 10 soles ($3.25) will get you on a 7 hour long rickety creaky bus ride, marginally better upholstered than the aforementioned Bolivian bus. Five minutes outside of Puno, the engine stalled and the bus started sliding backwards. Our driver slammed on the emergency brakes and steered us sideways to the curb. An hour of petrol filling and other mysterious mechanical work got us heaving forward again.

Two hours into the drive, ten large hipped screaming Peruvian women swept past me to bang on the driver's door to let them out. He unwillingly opened the door and the bus immediately filled with smoke. Apparently our engine was on fire. I grabbed my laptop and joined the rest of the passengers standing in the scrubby Peruvian desert. The driver doused the fire with water from a petrol station across the road. I took this opportunity to pee behind a scrub. Then, amazingly, we all reboarded the bus.

From this point onwards, every time we stopped (which appeared to be every 10 minutes), a crowd of small thin men would crowd around our engine for an hour and discuss its state, while another crowd of small thin boys would heave sacks larger than themselves onto our already towering bus roof.

We arrived in Cuzco only one hour late, and with our bodies and belongings intact. Additionally, I arrived totally well rested (I am ever grateful for my ability to sleep in any conditions, no matter how dangerous or turbulent).

10. I've never gone trekking before. I've never done backcountry camping. I don't own hiking shoes or a day pack or a gortex raincoat or a sleeping bag or trekking pants or shorts. I've had knee surgeries on both knees and one's been stiff for weeks. I hate the cold. I don't do well in high altitude. So what's the first thing I do in Cuzco? Sign up for a 5 day, 4 night Salkantay to Machu Picchu trek: 2 days of hiking up and down Salkantay Mountain (4600 metres), 2 days of wandering through the Peruvian jungle, and the last day spent climbing up to and touring the newest named wonder of the world, the spectacular sky high Inca ruins of Machu Picchu.

Bright idea, no? It was brilliant. Despite the fact that it dropped below freezing the first night. Despite the fact that after 6 hours of hiking, I'm not only exhausted, but worse, bored. Despite the fact that the guide tried to molest me from day 1, even engineering me into his tent for two nights. Despite the fact that I wore the same pair of damp heavy jeans and dusty running shoes for the entire trek. Despite the fact that I descend mountains at a snail's pace, a half hour or more behind others. Despite the fact that I become slow and sluggish and sulky above 4000 metres. Despite the fact that I foolishly packed 3 pairs of underwear for 5 days.

Even then, I absolutely loved my first trek. Even the parts I hated I loved. And I made 10 new friends from Israel, Ireland, New Zealand, Canada, and France. I may not do it again, but I'll do other treks. And this time, I'll be sure to pack extra underwear.