oh I do wish things would stop going right

I have nothing to blog about. Things are trotting along rather nicely; what is a self-decrecating chronicler of embarrassment and disaster to do? I have been trying to court catastrophe, but it's just not working for me. Examples of the efforts I have gone to in order to entertain you are as follows:

Adventure 1: Hiking
Risks: Fitness level, crazed fellow tourists who kill me or provoke me to kill them, lost in woods a la Kanangra 2002, fitness levels, fusion foot (in which my bones are growing together where they should not), death from smoke inhalation due to open fire in cabana left alight while sleeping, did I mention fitness levels?
Result: It was awesome. The hikes were challenging but totally manageable (about 12-14km per day). We stayed in cosy cabanas with open fireplaces in the Pueblos Mancomunados, a collective of Indigenous villages who have formed a successful community ecotourism organisation in the Sierra Norte. I was convinced that I was to die of smoke inhalation in said cabana which led to an amusing slapstick-esque routine in which I would get out of bed, open windows and leap back under the covers then Julie, quite cold at 3000m, would leap out, shut them and hop back in to her bed. All this repeated til we slept. And did not die. The scenery was varied and beautiful, we learned loads about local flora and medicinal herbs and stuff, we saw woodpeckers, we ate like vegetarian queens, the hot chocolate made Australian hot chocolate taste like dirt and wee and water, fusion foot only hurt on the very last day AND my fellow travellers were absolutely lovely. So lovely in fact that they too value fancy food and we celebrated our success with a visit to a super posh Mexican restaurant that was all fusiony and did a degustation with black bean cappuccino. BLACK BEAN CAPPUCCINO.

Adventure 2: Night Bus
Risks: Had been told horror tales of drugging and burglary, do not sleep well in transit and often tiredness can lead to lost belongings (Pierre Cardin watch, Norway, 2008) and falling over, generally have misfortune of sitting next to large, smelly, talkative people who carry stereos on bus and play them all night.
Result: Best night bus experience ever. I had a seat to myself, fellow passengers were silent, I took enough melatonin to knock out an albino horse and slept like a little baby, only waking up when people got off to check none of them made off with my precious belongings.

Adventure 3: Travelling solo
Risks: Going slightly mad, being kidnapped, falling over in a forest and no one hearing a sound!
Result: Look, it's not all roses, sometimes I get a bit lonesome (cue country music) but mostly it's pretty sweet. I decide what I do and when and early in the morning, I eat breakfast with appallingly bad table manners, when no one else is watching. I did have an unfortunate and terrifying run in with a middle aged, painfully tanned German woman in a g-string who creeped creepily toward my bed in the middle of the night at a hostel. It turned out she was seeking the source of a smell she believed to be my shoes. It was her towel on the end of her bed. Lesson learnt - no more hostels.

Adventure 4: Eating lots of Beans
Risks: Farting and diarhoea.
Result: When I fart, I pretend it was someone else.


So you see, I am at a loss. I have met other travellers who have been walking in the hills only to be surrounded by Zapatista rebels and held for half an hour with little information supplied (seriously!). But I have had no such adventurous madness myself. I plod through the days, learning lots, climbing hills, sitting quietly and finishing novels, eating yummies, writing postcards (none of which I've sent yet...), learning to use my camera well, investigating side streets and back alleys for street art and colourful corners, thinking thoughtful thoughts and hoping something out of the ordinary happens so I can write about it wittily and have you all think I am awesome. But it's no good.

There is only one solution: I shall run about town dropping banana peels in the hope that I'll slip on one, break something and be taken to a Mexican hospital in which I can't comunicate with the staff (my Spanish is still restricted to discussing food, bus tickets, costs for internet usage and shop opening hours). They will mis-interpret my injury and amputate a limb or somesuch and I will awake confused and shocked and staring into the eyes of a concerned nurse who realised the error but was ignored in the heat of surgery by the arrogant doctor (damn doctors, they never respect nurses!). Guilt-stricken the doctor will pay me off and I will use the bribe to fly myself and the attractive nurse (who has short hair and wears sensible shoes) to some exotic location where, slowly but surely, she will coach me in the use of my prosthesis and we will fall desperately in love while watching sunsets over the Carribean and sipping cocktails and doing physiotherapy and swimming with dolphins and stuff. I will sell my self-penned story to some trashmag, only to have a world renowned editor with a penchant for trashmags pick it up, decide I am totally witty and stuff, and commission me for a book. Book complete, and royalty cheque deposited me and my nurse shall travel the world, attempting to court disaster in order to inspire book number two.

Now if you'll excuse me, I must go buy some bananas.

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