London Calling

It’s hard writing this now, after being back for over 3 months. Mainly because I know how it all turns out, but partly because reflecting on it is surprisingly emotional. This story is now in my long-term memory. But it’s my duty to finish it, I owe it to myself.

I admit, my last entry was very boring. Probably the most boring blog post I’ve written. But when I got back, some people wanted to know why I came back and more to the point – why I came back so suddenly. As it's been a while - here's a re-cap: the truth is, it was time to come home. Time to get real and realise what I needed to do - take responsibility for my life, admit defeat and go back home. I wasn’t forced, it was a choice – my choice, a choice made because I didn’t want to swan off round the world on someone else’s cash. So I faced facts and made a decision. To put it mildly - decision making is something historically I’ve never been known for, but over the 10 months in South America I got used to trusting my gut instincts and making snap decisions.

Even the journey home can be an adventure in its self.

- I’m not just saying it, it’s true...

After booking my flight, I went straight to the souvenir market in Lima and went on a whirlwind tour picking up all the stuff I’d seen earlier that I’d half-planned to buy for the family.

Before I went to the airport, Fiorella and Mao (Mancora) took me for a farewell dinner. Neither of them liked to think of me leaving South America on an empty stomach and with bad feelings about Peru. I didn’t have bad feelings about Peru – but as you know enough was enough - so far 2010 had not been a good year.

I’d said goodbye to Victoria earlier that day, given her a big hug and waved as she took off in a taxi. Only a few hours later it was Fiorella’s turn to hug me goodbye and my turn to leave. The adventure was ending - badly. It ended in Lima – my least favourite place in South America. The only person that had the power to help me was my cousin, Bella. She offered me the opportunity to carry on and take the adventure to Mexico. Then, just like that, she took it away. Mainly because she suddenly had a boyfriend and in her usual selfish style couldn’t give a fuck about anyone else. But it turns out she's just one of many disappointing, fair-weather 'friends.'

Power Playlist

I got to the airport, checked in and did the usual airport stuff. Had a wander around duty free, bought myself some new headphones as I’d been using a pair bought in Buenos Aires airport on my way to Bolivia that ever since the day I got them, only 1 headphone worked.

I sat in the lounge and waited. I wrote and wrote and wrote. Pages and pages. I wanted to capture every moment, every feeling, whilst I was still there. I needed to record every memory before it became faded with time and travel. People were looking at me, wandering what the hell I was doing – what on earth was I frantically writing about, but I didn’t care. Then I sat back, composed myself and a playlist – a commemorative homecoming playlist.

I admit, I felt excited to be going home. I was up for it. I was ready. London didn’t seem like such a scary awful prospect compared to the soulless hustle and bustle of Lima that I’d been subjected to over the last two weeks. A place that I’d never liked but knew others that did. Things got messy in Mancora, but in Lima I was just numb and disappointed at my own failure to make Mancora fest happen and at having yet another disastrous relationship under my belt. I knew neither of those things were my fault - not this time – but I felt stupid for trying, I should’ve known better. Known better than to mix business with pleasure – South America should be pure pleasure, otherwise it just gets hard. I should’ve known better than to fall for a 19 year old Peruvian. But – we live and learn. What else can you do?

I wanted to listen to something that epitomised London at its best, it’s finest. I wanted to listen to The Clash, but it wasn’t ‘should I stay or should I go’ this time, this time it was ‘London Calling’. I felt a tingling throughout my entire body as I heard the instantaneously familiar high-pitched riff against the rumbling base guitar, and as the tinny drum intro kicked in it sent shivers down my spine. It was the first time in months I’d had a private musical moment all to myself and it was glorious. I suddenly felt a rare sense of patriotic pride: I’m from London. The ice age is coming. My heart pumped with excitement as Joe Strummer's anxt-filled vocals rang true in my ears. I was ready for the cold. I was ready to become the fatter, paler incarnation of myself once again.

Whether I like it or not, it’s in my blood. I was born there – in the West London hospital. I grew up there. I went to school there. I’ve worked there for years. I’ve lived there most of my life. And in my last year I was existing in the centre of it – W1 – old London.

I was two flights away but my heart felt like it was already back there. It was a good feeling and I wasn’t sad to be leaving Peru any more, the anxiety was over (“I just want it to stop”) and it was time – time to go home.

What a relief.

Proudest moments

Whilest waiting in the airport lounge, I had time to reflect and realise I had a lot of moments in the 10 months away that I can look back at with a sense of pride. When you’re away from home for any significant period of time, you can’t help but feel like you’ve progressed and achieved something.

Climbing Sugarloaf was and still is one of the best things I’ve ever done. Leaving Paraty and heading for Rio to try my luck and succeeding – at least for a while; getting to Bolivia on my own; not getting robbed, raped, lost or murdered - generally not dying. Picking the right people to talk to every time – when I say ‘right’ I mean the good people, honest people, interesting people – not the ‘cool’ people. But the really fucking cool people that I now know and love and will hopefully never forget or lose touch with.

Even singing karaoke for the first (and last) time in Cordoba, in front of a room full of people I’d just met, I can strangely look back at with pride –my ‘self’ in London would never have let me do that.

I’m also pretty proud of having the strength to walk away from the hottest piece of ass I’ve ever come in contact with, twice. But I was due for one more proud moment before touching down in Heathrow...

Sitting on the plane, waiting for take-off, I nodded off. A few hours later, I woke up on the runway. The runway at Lima airport. Nice. An announcement told us that they couldn’t take off that night because of poor weather conditions on the west coast of America. So we all got off the plane and were taken to the Sheraton hotel in Lima for a couple of hour’s sleep, before being shuttled back to the airport to do it all over again in the morning. Seemed pretty pointless to me, but the Winter Olympics were just about to start in Canada and I was flying with one of their official sponsors – Air Canada – so I cynically assumed they were avoiding any inopportune bad PR.

The Sheraton was nice enough, as corporate hotels go. Big, bland and over-priced. Luckily it was free. The breakfast was pretty good – I do like a buffet. We were rounded up and sent off in a bus back to the airport. I was sitting in-front of a particularly ignorant middle-aged Canadian man and a woman that I assumed was his wife. The lucky lady (and my good self) got a running commentary on everything that was going on out of the bus window: “look at that girl there, running, I wander what she’s doing. Look at these people, what are they doing. Oh it’s so busy; I wonder where all these people are going. ”- Erm – work maybe? It was like he’d never been in a city before. Lima is pretty generic as cityscapes go and it was 9 o’clock in the morning.

Take 2

We got to the airport and there was considerable Canadian confusion as people tried to go through check-in with yesterdays boarding pass. Eventually we were back on the plane and ready to do it all over again. This time we took off. A good start.

The journey itself was fine, I was exhausted but I only slept some of the way. When we arrived at Toronto we had to wait in line. Because of the previous delay, our next flight had to be changed. Which meant yet another hotel stay. As the Canadians were home, the remaining passengers in-transit were downgraded to a Holiday Inn, me included. I got to the front of the line and waited patiently. I was watching the people in front of me at the desk and it became apparent that this large collection of Peruvians couldn’t speak English and the Air Canada bloke couldn’t speak Spanish.

Aaahh - I think I can help out here.

I went over and asked the guy what the situation was. Then I explained what he’d told me to the Peruvians in Spanish. We needed to collect our hotel vouchers, plus some dinner vouchers, go and eat dinner in the airport on the 3rd floor, then get the shuttle bus to the Holiday Inn Express. This seemed fairly complicated, especially for 2 families, 2 young guys and another young guy on his own, when it’s their first time in an English speaking country without any grasp of the English language.

I knew the feeling well. When I was on the way from London to Brazil I was in a similar situation: I’d been told at Heathrow that I needed to change terminal when I got to Sao Paolo in order to make my connecting flight to Rio, which meant I had to collect my bags and check back in. It seemed odd, but at Heathrow - excited to be off on the trip of a lifetime, with no idea how it was going to turn out, where I’d end up and how long for – I didn’t question it. When I arrived at Sao Paolo airport and failed to find the baggage reclaim, I attempted to communicate with the airport staff.

As we know, I arrived in Brazil with ‘obrigada’ and left with ‘obrigada’. It was stressful. No one could understand me or help me. So eventually, I cried. Then a Brazilian woman, who was on her way home from learning English in London, came over and helped me.

I’d shown my e-ticket to the airport man and she explained that there were 2 airports in Sao Paolo and I needed to change airport. Long tings. This would have been a bus ride away and by that point, I may not have made the flight. So she negotiated me onto her flight to Rio from the airport we were standing in and arranged for my luggage to be transferred with me. I was so grateful that someone had helped me out. It served me right for a) buying the cheapest flight to Brazil and b) not reading the ticket properly at any point.

The Peruvians however were all heading to Tokyo and through no fault of their own, were stranded in Toronto with 5 children and A LOT of luggage. I felt compelled to help them. From the moment I got there, South America had shown me immense love and kindness; I’d experienced the kind of hospitality and selfless gestures you rarely get on home-turf.

So I took the now group of 10 up to the 3rd floor and helped them redeem their meal tickets. It turned out the Asian man with an English accent that worked behind the counter at one of the food restaurants in Toronto could speak Spanish, randomly – maybe he should have been behind the air Canada desk instead of Roy who’d thanked me profusely for helping out Air Canada. Erm, not quite mate – but yeah whatever.

We ate our cheap burgers and headed for the shuttle bus terminal to wait for our bus. The Holiday Inn bus arrived after a fairly long wait outside in Canada, in February, at -8 degrees – IN FLIPFLOPS. But it turns out it was not meant to be. We needed the Holiday Inn Express bus and we couldn’t possibly take the Holiday Inn bus. I tried to bargain with the bus driver, but she wasn’t buying it. It was my first taste of nonsense western capitalist system bullshit in a while; it’s definitely more frustrating than bizarre Bolivian bus nonsense that exists because of a LACK of system.

After a few false starts, me and the boys insisted that the women and children wait inside in the relatively warm, while we looked out for the Holiday Inn Express bus. We waited and waited and waited. Every time a bus came into view we thought ‘this is it’, and then it wasn’t. I ran back inside few times to speak to the help desk woman Carol, who was actually really helpful. Carol and I called the Holiday Inn Express a few times and every time they insisted that the shuttle bus would be around any time soon.

Two and a half hours later the Holiday Inn Express bus arrived at Toronto airport. Needless to say, my toes were freezing, but I hadn’t died of hypothermia. I win. We boarded the bus, shivering. I couldn’t wait to get to the Holiday Inn (Express) and get into a nice warm, comfy bed. En-route two of the boys gave me a scarf from Peru. It’s black and made from Alpaca wool. They’d bought a load to take to Japan and sell when they got there. One of the others gave me a carved wooden key ring. It was a sweet moment, I was touched.

We got to the hotel and I checked myself in. The manager was expecting us because I’d spoken to him on the phone whilst waiting for the bus at the airport. I explained the situation to him. He couldn’t speak Spanish either, so he asked me if I could help him check everyone in. I was knackered. My eyes had almost stopped working so I was wearing my glasses for the first time in nearly a year to give them some sort of chance of focussing, I was greasy, disgusting and in serious need of a hot shower.

We checked them in, got their wake-up calls sorted and determined who had their boarding passes for their flight to Tokyo the next morning and who did not. Once that was sorted it was time for bed, but first – the goodbyes. One of the mums asked me why I wasn’t coming to the airport with them in the morning – I explained that I was on an earlier flight to London and they’d be alright. Bless her. After a barrage of byes, thank yous, and good lucks, I finally got to my room, cleaned myself, got into bed and turned on the TV and watched the only thing on at 2am - ice hockey.

I fell asleep with a good feeling and one thought: I can speak Spanish. Sort of.

***

I’m going to let you into a secret. Well, it’s not much of a secret – it’s pretty obvious if you think about it. Since meeting Gwilly in Paraty I was on a mission. Pretty much all along I was looking for a Latino. I wanted to settle down with a nice South American man so I could live there forever and never have to leave. I wanted to fall in love and never have to come back to my life in London. Never have to go back to the rat race. Just be free forever. But it didn’t turn out like that.

Instead I learned a lot. Made a lot of good friends. Had some unforgettable experiences and had an amazing adventure.

So I’ll leave you with the words that I thought of as I flew away from the most incredible time of my life.

In the words of Jagger & Richards: You can’t always get what you want, but if you try sometimes, you’ll find you get what you need.

©