Atonement

Three years after everyone else in the world saw it I finally got round to watching Joe Wright's 'Atonement' this weekend. It was a drizzly Sunday afternoon so a depressing film was in order, and Wright duly obliged. I must admit I haven't read the Ian McEwan book so was more attracted by it's Hollywood heavyweights, Keira Knightley and James McAvoy. I've been a particular fan of McAvoy's ever since he appeared in Shameless and State of Play (on the telly), and I was even more delighted to find out that he is a whole three inches shorter than me.

I was quietly hoping the film would be a bit of a failure though, in which case I could steal Rosamond Pike from the irritatingly successful Wright. If you haven't seen her in 'An Education' you should probably should do.

To my disappointment I was quite enjoying the film though. It is beautifully shot, has a nice loud typewriter detailing the various locations and features an incredibly rude word. I particularly liked the four-and-a-half minute long scene where McAvoy and his chums wander along the Dunkirk beach. It was refreshing to see Dunkirk in a darker, less triumphalist light.

Nevertheless whilst I was appreciating the movie I didn't anticipate in the slightest how upsetting I would find the last third of it. I think that the best films stay with you beyond the 3 hours spent watching them, and in the case of 'Atonement' I couldn't help but mull it over all day. It was completely haunting. I think I need to watch it again, but in the meantime Joe can keep Rosamond. He deserves her.

Ask Hadley

On my way home today I was accosted outside Kings Cross station by a man who pushed a copy of today's G2 into my hands. I thanked him, a little surprised, and he smiled at me and continued in his work, possibly the only person I have ever seen enjoying his job as a 'newspaper-thrusterer'. I was quite glad he did though as my journey home took a lot longer than it should have, during which time I read the supplement from cover to cover.

Of course, like everyone else who claims to have an interest in writing or anger, I'm a fan of Charlie Brooker, although his piece on fast food didn't leave any great impression on me. Instead I found myself chuckling along to the style agony aunt Hadley and her tirade against 'faux vintage' clothes - 'always sloganed clothing that features a juxtaposition of primary colours and says something unbelievably irritating such as "Jerry's Crayfish Stall"'.

Oh Hadley, how I feel your pain! My dislike of popular brands doesn't come from wanting to be different from everyone else (like those pretentious indie boys who wear granny clothes) but more from the sense that I would have been conned into trying to be cool. I'm not cool but I'm not particularly uncool either. I don't feel particularly strongly about making a statement with my clothes. I shop at Gap and Next ok?

Last week I went to Thorpe Park with a friend. We invented the games 'Jack Kills' and 'Supercry', which basically involved hurting each other whenever we saw a relevant piece of brattish clothing. Particularly uncool and childish but fun nevertheless. Well done Hadley.

My last few days of Solitude

Unbelievably the time has almost come for me to go home. It's quite surreal when I think that I've been away since January!

I'm currently in Port Douglas (Australia), about an hour north of Cairns. Ella abandoned me the other day and so my last few days have been with no-one but Gabriel Garcia Marquez and a few friendly lizards to keep me company. Talking of Ella, she's much better at this regular blogging malarky when it comes to travels. If you want a detailed account of what we've been up to Down Under you should probably visit hers! Otherwise ask to borrow my delightfully illustrated journal when I'm back.

There's a chatty Scottish guy in my dorm at the moment. He's been traveling since October 2008 and is disgusted that I've "given up" and decided to return home. He spends everyday playing computer games, smoking joints and trying it on with much younger female backpackers. I don't think I like him. But anyway, each to his own. I can't imagine hating home so much that you'd never want to return. Luckily I love old London town.

See you soon!

Home?

After spending the last few months venturing through Central and South America I was excited to be visiting New Zealand, a country where I could practise my very best English.

I hadn't realised that language wasn't the only similarity this country has with my fair homeland however. Not only does the traveller circuit seem to be completely swamped with Brits, there are a huge number of ex-pats working here (the hostel I stayed in last night was owned by a bloke from Burnley), the Queen adorns their coins and they even drive on the left side of the road.

I could deal with these minor irritations however - the reason I had come to New Zealand was the stunning scenery. Of course, it turns out that New Zealand looks identical to England too. The fields remind me of Somerset and the coast (draped in drizzle) is reminiscent of those dreary summer holiday days spent in Cornwall. Even dolphins weren't enough to convince me that I hadn't actually come home.

I do love home, but I've travelled half way around the world to see something a bit different. Apparently things get a bit more interesting as I head further south...

A Little Blue in the Face...

The worst aspect of the rainforest is, without doubt, the insects. Despite smearing toxic ´DEET´ over my body several times a day those pesky mosquitos always find a way of getting to my supple skin.

So imagine my sheer delight when Gigo, a member of staff working at Taricaya Ecological Reserve, told me of a totally effective natural insect repellant. We were checking on our butterfly traps deep in the jungle when he spotted some fruits lying on the ground. I was told that such fruits could only be collected two or three times a year and that, when mixed with alcohol, they produced a smell so strong that not even the most determined mosquito could bear to get within a few yards of you. To demonstrate the effectiveness of said fruit Gigo then proceeded to show me his arms which were, surprisingly, completely free of the marks and blisters that have become a trademark of mine.

I was very excited. Gigo also assured me that the repellant would be effective for a whole week. This meant that not only would I be protected against the critters, but that it would save me a lot of money too (manufactured repellant doesn't come cheap).

That night, along with about fifteen of the other volunteers, we prepared the fruit. We sliced them in half and then mixed the seeds with alcohol to make a paste. Then we all covered ourselves, not wanting to leave any skin exposed. Gigo helpfully rubbed the repellant all over my face.

Of course in hindsight I realise that everything about Gigo´s story sounded too good to be true. A free, natural, 100% effective insect repellant? Of course it wasn´t. A couple of hours later we discovered the real function of the devilish fruit - it is used to make the paint that people in this region of Peru use to colour their houses. And so now, along with practically every other volunteer, my face and arms are completely blue, and will be for the whole next week...

This week I have been mostly...

... struggling with sickness.

This has not been fun in the slightest. Before coming to the jungle I had been warned that it would be a common occurence but there still wasn't much I could do to prevent it. Despite the numerous pills I popped and gallons of water I drank nothing would stop my fever, headache and stomach cramps. I got quite delusional at one point, and if there is one thing in the jungle that you don't need more of I can assure you it is sweat.

One misguided fool back in the UK just told me she thinks it all sounds "quite romantic/film-like". I would like to show her my toilet bowl.

Aside from this near-death experience the week had a few highlights. I added to my growing list of fishing triumphs with four fish caught of the back of a boat with only a stick, piece of string and worms I'd pulled out of the ground, performed admirably in a sack race, had egg splatted in my face from thirty yards in the infamous 'egg catching contest', and planted cedar saplings for an indigenous tribe. So it's not all bad.

Amazonian Adventures

I really need to learn to read the small print of things. It's all very well signing up for a once-in-a-lifetime trip to the Peruvian rainforest to save baby animals but to be honest I wouldn't have done it if I'd known one thing.

Deep in the Amazon rainforest, two hours by boat from the nearest town (Puerto Maldonado) and staying in a lodge where water comes from a nearby creek and they only turn the electricity generator on for a few hours each day - there is NO internet access. Can you believe it? As such I can only get online once a week to update everyone with my news.

If, however, I can get over my impending technological solitude (sorry that sounds quite pretentious) I think I might grow to love this place.

I'm going to be living at Taricaya Lodge for the next two months. It's situated on the banks of the Madre de Dios River in Eastern Peru, a few hours from both the Bolivian and Brazilian borders. Along with about fifteen other volunteers (and a sprinkling of staff) my time here will be spent looking after numerous species of animals (most of them were previously pets) in order to prepare them for release back into the wild.

I've only been here a couple of days but already I've been introduced to a couple of huge tapirs (we want them to get frisky), numerous parrots, a couple of toucans, an otter called Sid who thinks he is a dog, a released owl who doesn't get the idea, and some small wild cats. There is also a jaguar who is too fat and comfortable to ever be released, but I haven't had the pleasure of meeting her yet. As opposed to the tapirs she is feeling rather raunchy and so wakes me up every morning with her mating call. I'm going to keep my eyes out for some males in the area...

I also have a roomate called Matt. He is a tarantula who eats all the insects in my room in return for lodging and my constant sense of paranoia.

So maybe I'll just leave my fantasy football transfers this week.

Postcards from Far Away

I´ve been feeling badly recently regarding my lack of blogging on my travels. And by ´lack´ I of course mean I have yet to write anything. And I´ve been away since January! As someone who aspires to have a career in writing this is not great news.

It doesn´t help that every travelling Tom, Dick and Harry have also written blogs on a nearly daily basis, and have made a point of informing me of this regularly, suggesting that I ´check it out´. I don´t want to check it out. I barely know Mike from Scunthorpe, and I certainly don´t want to read his overly-flowery description of the hostel I´ve spent the last four weeks in. I´ve seen the iguanas too Mike.

But I fear my guilt-ridden bitterness is shining through...

The most annoying thing about all of this is I have probably written more in the last month or so than in the previous four combined. First and foremost there have been the numerous emails, text messages, BBM messages (some function on my Blackberry that I still don´t really understand...) and Facebook posts that I have used to communicate with loved ones back in Blighty.

I´ve also spent quite a fair bit of time writing in my travel journal - a black Moleskine notebook given to me for Christmas. I´ve become a bit obsessed with it actually, perhaps inspired by watching ´The Motorcycle Diaries´ just before I left. I don´t like to compare myself to Che Guevara, but if there´s any chance I one day become a famous author I have to make sure the diary of my travels reads well!

Still, this is the only old-fashioned way of charting my travels that I have so far used. The Internet has completely revolutionised the gap year. I thought I was escaping everything back home (trying to find myself etc.), but in some ways I feel like I´m just as plugged in to what is happening in London as I was when I was living there. And I haven´t even started on Skype. Not only can I speak to my family but I can see them too! Admittedly I had never used a webcam before so this had added wow-factor.

And so, in terms of practicality, it seems like the age of the postcard is over. Nevertheless, it is always nice to recieve a little token from someone´s adventures. I have my fingers crossed that the Costa Rican postal service sorts itself out soon...