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One of most talked about places to visit in South America is the Machu Pichu ruins in Peru, but of a city of the same scale with only a fraction of the visitors (and it is believed to have been founded about 800 A.D., some 650 years earlier than Machu Picchu) exists just a 3 day trek into the Siera Nevada jungle in northern Colombia. Rather inventively named Cuidad Perdida - the lost city as it was only discovered in 1972 when a gang of local treasure looters stumbled across the steps.
The hike itself involves some pretty hard climbs up mountainous valleys, but the views on the way and the thought of jumping into the river at the end of each day keep you going.

Luckily we had good weather unlike other groups who were up to their knees in mud and sliding back down the hills as fast as they were climbing them.
After about 5 hours of walking a day you arrive at the surprisingly developed refuge (where someone had actually carried a pool table 2 days into the jungle) to hang your hammock before trying to work out how to sleep in it without waking up with your feet around your ears in the morning.

After a few days though you eventually get the hang of it, or are just so tired you pass out anyway.

WARNING: PARENTS AND FUTURE EMPLOYERS MIGHT NOT WANT TO READ THE NEXT BIT
One of the optional extras you can do no the way to the lost city is to visit a ´cocaine factory´; obviously not the real thing as they are on a much larger scale, but blatant enough for them to have to of been paying off the right people in order to get away with it.
Walking deeper into the jungle past some none too subtle coca plantations

you arrive at the lab, which is little more than a few plastic containers of differing sizes.

What you see next is enough to put off even the most street hardened crack-head, as starting from a handful of coca leaves he adds Jamie Oliver style quantities of petrol, sulphuric acid, caustic soda and nail polish remover and with a bit of filtering and sedimentation in the middle ends up with something that pretty much resembles what Colombia is so famous for.

From a purely scientific perspective the process is beautifully refined, having gone from an everyday herb that the indigenous people used to chew to offset altitude sickness and fatigue 1000´s of years ago, to being crafted into the modern version of cocaine in a secret CIA laboratory (if you believe the conspiracy theories) by some obviously quite skilled people, then for it to be transformed out of the lab into the middle of the jungle using readily available household chemicals, so as demonstrated anyone can make cocaine.

OK YOU CAN START READING AGAIN NOW
The last day of the hike up to the lost city itself was the hardest, having to ford the river 7 times with a full pack as the mules weren´t joining us for this bit,

before climbing the 1000+ steps to the top of the mountain

where the city opens above you as if it had just been built yesterday despite being 2500 years old (well the foundations anyway, as the housing was just temporary structures made out of wood).

Getting up early in the morning after a rather cozy nights sleep with 35 people in the hut designed for 20, to walk around the site alone presented some stunning views we hadn´t seen the evening before,

and an opportunity to chat with the young soldiers stationed there for a month apiece

and have a play with their slightly scary guns. (or maybe it is just the person holiding the gun that is scarey)

The journey back down the valley was even more fun, as we stopped in to some secluded indigeonous settlements where the people pretty much stay for their whole lives, only making trips to ´civilisation´ to barter for goods

where the most beautiful but feral children I have ever seen live that still seem supprised at the sight of westerners.

as the rains had eventually come, so the rivers had risen considerably by this point meaning anyone trying to cross them on foot would be swept away, prompting some Indian Jones style river crossing

and some rather drenched but happy campers that were that point too tired to care.

As Twylad sailed into the mouth of Cartegena harbour with only 1ft of water to spare under her keel from the century's old under-sea wall built to repel those dastardly Brits, everyone on board was sad in their own ways as the adventure was newly over. After waiting on the boat for some dodgy visa dealings (which would come back to haunt me later on) we left Twylad for the last time to set foot on South American soil.

The city itself is one of the most developed in the whole of Colombia as it if one of the major resorts for Colombian tourism. And this was a major difference you would see for the rest of the country, the amount of locals travelling throughout the country is far more than ever seen in the whole of central America.
Cartegena itself has been quite a highly contested piece of real estate for many centuries, as can be seen from the 100+ forts that line the coast and give the fortified city its character.

Most amusing is reading about the history of the place in the informative naval museum, where we learn that Sir Francis Drake wasn´t the brave heroic adventurer we were taught in British history classes at school, but a pillaging pirate determined to destroy the peaceful Spanish way of life (that they had created after a fair amount of pillaging themselves). Oh the two sides to history...
Just outside the city is one of the greatest hangover cures known to man in the rather strange form of a mud volcano.

I´ve never really been one for spa breaks, but this was incredible. Try as you might you just couldn´t sink below shoulder level, not that you would want to with all the mud massages and scrubs available on the surface.

A few hours along the coast is the ´beach resort´ of Santa Marta, although it is hard to see the attraction with the biggest container port in Colombia at the end of the beach. However just a 15 minute hop over the hill is a completely different matter, the beautiful coved town of Taganga surrounded by mountains that make it look like something out of Captain Corelli´s Mandolin.

With one of the nicest hostels so far perched half way up the hill, perfect for chilling in a hammock on the patio watching the sunset

and enjoying one of the very fine sandwiches from down the road (I think I tried pretty much the whole menu, and they even deliver for only 200m away).
The town itself has been converted into a little Israeli Butlins, with most of the signs and menu´s written in Hebrew (not quite sure why they can´t learn Spanish like the rest of us); a despite some really nice diving nearby

the shops themselves are a little cowboy, churning out ´advanced´ divers without them even having opened the theory book.

Further along the coast you get to the Tayrona national park, made famous by the book Gringo Trail where
after treking through the jungle for a few hours (allbeit on a properly made path now, a change from the self machetted one in the book) you get to Arecifies beach where the book has its ending, not to ruin the story, but you really shouldn´t swim here...

Another hour walk along the beach and you get to Cabo San Juan, a beautiful little cove with one of the greatest penthouses in the world perched on top on a rocky outcrop.


where you wake up in your hamock looking over the bay.

which is the perfect to while away several days if you have brought enough insect repellent, cans of tuna, and a good camera to take adventage of the sunsets and local boudlers

The tail of Twylad really starts in the morning when we got a lift out on a motor launch around the yachts moored in the bay to try and find a captain willing to take us into Colombia. Trying our luck with the grandest looking boat in the harbour, a beautiful 43ft Beanetau,

we were surprised when the captain crawled out onto deck looking a little worse for wear (which we took for a good sign considering it was 11am) but agreed to take us the next morning no problems. Looking round the boat and having coffee with him on deck we were all so stoked as the boat really was beautifully decked out in white leather and actually had berths for all 7 of us, although when it came down to sleeping we would be fighting for space on deck under the stars instead. After stocking up on true sailing supplies of litres of rum we returned to the boat for a lovely evening acclimatising and getting to know Javier, the crazy Spaniard we had entrusted our lives to.

Setting off out of the harbour the next morning it was sad to think that that would be the last time I would set foot on mainland central America this trip, but with the big blue sea ahead of us it was time for the start of a new adventure. Stopping off at Isla Grande for a bit of snorkeling

and lunch lounging in the sun lulled us into a false sense of security for what was coming up next. As we left the sheltered coast line and rounded the first headland under full sail the wind picked up from a casual 15 knots to 30 to a full on tropical storm 60 knot in a matter of minutes with the seas running a 15ft swell underneath us. With everyone else down below smacked out on seasickness drugs it was up to myself and Captain to reef the boat down and try and ride out the storm which even with the main sail fully reefed we were keeling massively, everythings not just gin palace sailing in the Caribbean. Luckily the storm blew itself out after a while and with it the wind disappeared completely so we were retired into the little town of Mirimar rather than cruise on further down under power.

Setting sail out of port on a perfect Caribbean sailing day we all got the time to helm and learn more about the boat on the long cruise down to the San Blass islands.

As you approach the archipelago you can really see the range of the 400+ picture postcard islands that make up the San Blass.

They are exclusively owned by the Kuna people so foreigners can´t wade in and overdevelop everything like they have done in most other places, and thus most islands have little more than a basic straw hut on them, and more than half of them don´t even have that.

The Robinson Crusoe in each of us takes over as we we pick a random island, anchor just off shore then dive over board in a race to be the first to concur the new island for England/ Ireland/ America/ Israel/ New Zealand.

The next week pretty much was spent the same with a dive into the warm waters then a lovely breakfast of fruits and amazing Panamanian coffee before moving the boat over to another island of our choosing, then having a bit of explore both above and below the water as the snorkeling and wildlife around the islands was very interesting, including one of the most incredible sights of a giant eagle ray jumping 2m out of the water in front of the boat and seeming to flap its giant wings in the air before disappearing below the surface again. In the afternoons if people could be motivated from lounging on deck, we would sometimes go visit some of the natives and barter produce with them for whatever they had to offer, although I´m not sure where they got their inspiration for their dress sense,

but we weren´t to complain as big chief´s island had little more than a couple of straw huts but most strangely a giant fridge stocked full of ice cold beer! The nights were spent chilling on deck with obvious quantities of quality pirate rum and Captain amusing us with some of his sailing yarns or teaching us the art of night navigation, before trying to find a flat place to sleep under the millions of stars.
After managing to persuade Captain to stay 2 more days in the islands (think he was having as much fun as we were so he was in no rush) we eventually had to start moving towards our destination, but not before getting our immigration papers sorted on one of the most insanely inhabited islands I had ever seen with houses literally hanging off the sides whilst neighboring islands had one solitary house sitting in the middle. This was also the place with surely the most remote hardrock cafe in the world,

and we walked around like kings as the tallest person was little more than 5ft so for once in my life I felt like a giant.

After waving goodbye to the beautiful islands we set off into the big blue sea for the 2 day open ocean trip across the bay towards Colombia, and within a couple of hours we could see nothing more than blue sea and blue sky.

With not much else to do our time was taken up with trying to catch Moby Dick, but even after trailing lines all the way from Panama we got nothing more than a bite which instantly snapped the line anyway, so we had to do without the BBQ´d fish that we had been promised; the only thing that we did manage to catch (or to be honest caught itself) was a flying fish that jumped into the cockpit which Captain had the honour of eating alive. As the second morning arose we had our first shout of land ahoy, and our first sight of South America; although the little fishing village which the guide book had promised had got slightly more developed in the last few years

Leaving the faithful Twylad and setting foot in Central America for the first time was a strange and rather wobbly experience after being on a boat for a week, but it was time to begin a new adventure.

• *it is not the choices we make but the chances we take that determine our destiny**

The border crossing into Panama is one of the easiest I have ever encountered, with a little stroll across the thai looking bridge,

and incredibly for central America there was no need to pay any fees/bribes, although the Americans were made to which made things even better! One of the most talked about places in panama to go to is the archipelago of Bocas del Toro although I think it has scummed to the lonely planet hype, as it was little more than a grotty over-developed island where there weren´t even any beaches left as every inch of coast line had been taken up by hotels and restaurants.

A dive tour for the day takes you dolphin chasing in the bay then on to some other islands where the super rare red frogs are caught and displayed by the local kids, but the dives themselves aren´t anything to write home about apart from being the cheapest place to dive I have ever encountered. Unfortunately that night the camera got robbed by a notorious gang of locals in one of the bars, so lost all the pictures of the place and nearly a lot more when I went on a drunken rampage trying to find the people that had taken it; only to realise that they really weren´t the sort of guys persuaded by rational argument and I probably wouldn´t win trying to fight an entire bar full of them.
In the morning the rains still hadn´t abated so we took it as a sign to get out of there and caught the next, rather bumpy, flight out to Panama city.

Again the views from the plane were worth all the money as the hundreds of boats queuing up to enter the canal were spread out like a rusty carpet below the flight path into the city.

Quite strange being in a city again after all this time on beaches, especially such a developed one. Sparkly lights everywhere, massive shopping centres and big banks lined the streets which supposedly the drug cartels created to funnel their money through. Although did manage to find the camera I had been searching the last 3 countries for everyone thinking about going travelling has to buy one of these, its amazing!

As with most cities there is an attractive colonial part

which is nice to stroll around and afforded contrasting views of the new city across the bay,

then onto the three linked islands which make up entrance to the canal zone as the ships steam in under the bridge of the Americas.

Walking up one of the hills on the islands gives great views of the city, and also one of the strangest entry methods into a bar ever seen...

a zip line through the jungle! unfortunately the bar wasn´t open at the time so didn´t get the full experience.

Of course one of the things you can only see in Panama is the canal itself and a visit to the Miraflores locks

to watch the giant boats make their slow way out to the sea having crossed 60 miles of impressively man made waterway is an incredible site, especially when the massive panamax boats come through with only inches to spare each side.


Even with the best of planning intentions the designers of 1900´s couldn´t of predicted the shere demand for transport in the 21st century so work is already underway to extend the capacity of the lock to allow for the post Panamax vessels which currently have to dock at the mouth of the canal and offload all their cargo for it to be shipped overland by freight train.

There is only so much city heat and pollution that one can take at any time, so a journey back to the hill country of Boquette near the Costa Rican border was a nice breath of fresh air, literally. This is a place famous for its magnificent Quetzals (the national bird) although after walking the Quetzal trail I didn´t spot a single one, but the views of the rolling hills and coffee plantations spreading out before you made up for it.

I was going to pay a visit to a nice looking golf course winding its way through one of the valleys but after being told I couldn´t enter wearing shorts or even walking I decided to give it a miss and went for a cycle ride in the hills instead which after 6 months of no exercise nearly killed me.

Left the hills early in the morning to get back to the big city with the intention of sorting out a boat over to Colombia in a few days time, but just as I was arriving at the hostel there was a group of people leaving for the coast to try and find a captain so I went straight back out without even setting my bag down and on to the fortified little port town of Portobello.

Home to the black christ, an eight foot wooden statue that was washed up in the harbour in the 1600´s and atributed with magical powers after attempts to send it back out to see resulted in a few unexplained deaths

and now the mystic powers are enough to convince the belivers to crawl on their knees (some all the 53 miles from Panama City) to worship before El Nazareno.

Looking out onto the harbour you see all the yachts mored in the safety of the bay

waiting to take us on the next stage of the adventure...

There are two ways out to the Corn Islands, one involves a day long bus ride to a dodgy port town to catch an antiquated overnight ferry which only leaves twice a week

, and the other means jumping on a 1 1/2hr flight straight to the island. Guess which one I chose? The flight itself was worth all the money on its own, as taking off from Managua you get the views of the massive lake below you and the two volcano islands sitting in the middle, a brief stop in the little jungle landing strip of Bluefields before taking off again into the bright blue Caribbean.

Half an hour later you get your first view of the islands lying on the reef line in the middle of a crystal clear sea

before griping your seat as you touch down on an impossibly small run way stretching pretty much the whole length of the island. Two islands make up the Corns innovatively named Little and Big corn, and if you want complete tropical paradise then Little Corn is the one to head for via a roller coaster launcha ride where you are welcomed by a lovely sheltered bay and very little else. The island is much like the Perenthians in Malaysia with the more ´developed´ side on the sheltered bay

and the cabina´s found on the more beautiful opposite side of the island

10 mins walk away through the jungle whilst trying to avoid the massive bright blue crabs which seem determined to get under your feet then bite your toes off when you get anywhere near them.

Being back on a super chilled Caribbean island you have to get used to the more chilled way of life where nothing really happens in a hurry, and I even had to go without breakfast one day before diving because a slice of toast and scrambled egg took more than 45 mins to appear.The living conditions can only be described as beautifully feral as you are living beside the turquoise sea in a palm-roofed hut, washing in a bucket and there only being electricity between the hours of 6-9pm every day. I loved it.
The island itself is home to only 500 people and there is nothing faster than a bicycle or even anything more than a small path to allow it.

This allows for a complete circumnavigation of the island in an afternoon checking out the other cabina´s dotted around the deserted bays

, and the views from the fire town on the hill in the middle of the island show just how perfect this little bit of paradise really is.

The diving on the islands takes the same pace of life as the rest of the island with only one dive a day recommended so you can chill in a hammock for the rest of the afternoon and reflect on the days activities. The dives are quite different from the Bay Islands with lots of intricate cave systems and swim throughs at a max depth of 18m so most dives can last for around 80 minutes!
And luckily was my first sighting of the beautiful eagle ray,

when we managed to swim along next to a school of 4 of them gracefully flying through the water for 5 minutes, simply stunning creatures. The night dives were of course just as amazing with some giant turtles and sleepy parrot fish snuggled up in their sleeping bags of mucus; I even managed to nearly swim straight into a sting ray as I was so busy checking out a bright red reef octopus eating its dinner!

The people on the island are so friendly with greetings of ´Alllriiiight´ and ´oooooooooooookay´ as you stroll past them chilling under the trees, and are willing to regale tales of the giant octopuses eating fishermen whole;

and more believably how when a cocaine shipment is washed up on the beach it gets sold to the local dealers on the main land and the proceeds get distributed throughout the whole island to buy new engines for the boats or to build a new pier. Drugs aren´t all bad.

The city of Granada, situated at the western end of one of the biggest lakes

in the world, is firmly on the tourist trail and the quality of the buildings represent this

, with everything being a lot more preserved than in Leon; and even the quality of the hostels being some of the nicest so far. The lake itself isn´t that nice a spectacle from this side as most of the cities rubbish ends up in it, even though you are safe from the bull sharks that live in the eastern area; although with a cruise round the islets formed from the local volcano erupting a few hundred years ago

you see another side of Nica where the rich families have their holiday homes on one of the hundreds of tiny islands and employ crazed attack monkeys

to guard things whilst they are out of town.
You could try swimming in the pool at Hostel Oasis but as most people come out with chlorine burns from the overzealous cleanliness, a nicer trip is 1/2 hour out of town to the beautiful little crater lake of Lago Apoya,

(a perfect venue for a wakeboard camp although the locals might not appreciate it) for some swimming and kayaking in the lake.
Further on from the lake is the market town of Masaya, where you can buy pretty much everything from stuffed alligators

to the colourful hammocks that Nicaragua is famous for

although finding the post office to try and send anything home takes a couple of days as even the locals don´t even really know where it is.

SJDS
The usual spiel of "there is no bus to .... today you have to get on ours instead" is getting a little tiresome, but something you have to live with in these areas. However arriving in the surf town on San Juan del Sur soon makes you forget all the hastles involved in getting here.
The town itself is nestled between two hills on a palm fringed half-moon beach, much as I would imagine Brazil to be, and generally brings in perfect offshore conditions 360 days a year although as always happens with these things the wind had switched to onshore and the usual chat of "you should of been here yesterday" is common around town. Due to the natural beauty of the place,

and the low land prices, the investment coming in to the town now that the country has gained a modicum of stability is evident all over with new developments springing up all over town; and sadly this place might become another Costa Rica with floods of American tourism and investment over the next few years, so its worth coming to now while you can.
Although one good thing about the money is the beautiful 5* resort in the hills overlooking the bay, where on Mondays and Wednesdays its worth a trip up to for the 2-for-1 cocktail nights to see the sunset from a different angle, and to lounge in their infinity pool if you can sneak past the guards... which turned out to be quite a regular thing when the whole crew eventually rocked into town.

There are a multitude of surf breaks around town,

both accessible via dirt track and others where a boat in is the only option, although they are better left to the pros. And when the wind turned back to the right direction and the swell came in the reason for SJDS´s fame soon became evident with some great surf just north of town at Playa Madiras where you can stay in one of the surf camps right on the beach.

Confidence was high when playing on the fish in the smaller break so when a lull in the swell came in it was time to paddle out to where the big boys were hanging out at the back. Big mistake. When the set rolled in again the realisation of just how big the waves were became evident, as even the 7ft tall americandutch was getting standing barrels, and after a failed take off it soon became a fight for survival as I struggled to breath air not water on my rapid return to the beach. Then just when things weren´t bad enough already I managed to find a rather unfriendly stingray under my foot (okay I guess it wasn´t his fault) who proceeded to leave quite a good hole in my leg and me in agony for 12 hours (yes it really does f*cking hurt, and no, pissing on it doesn´t work). Oh well, chicks dig scars and I am certainly a but luckier than that fool Irvin, although the boys did offer to go on a killing spree in the same way the Auzies have after losing their hero.

One of the best ways to see the local area is to hire one of the insane quad bikes they have around town, proper sporty numbers not like the work horse that they had on the Bay Islands, and an amazing way to explore the local coves and the hill over looking town if you can´t be bothered to climb.

Although being on the back of one when an crazy Icelandic is driving

is asking for trouble, but a great guy to have around when they run out of petrol.

MANAGUA
Leaving the pacific coast to jump over to the Caribbean means a stop in the capital Managua to get the connections out the next day, generally a thing to be avoided in central America (although I did manage to sit next to my first chicken in the last 4 months taking chicken buses!). The shere poverty in this city is evident as soon as you enter with people scraping the chicken scraps off your plate to take home to their family when you have finished eating, and giant plastic tent cities for the displaced people in most of the public parks; and as always the hostels are localed in the less salubrious areas of the city where we actually had our own private security guard to take us out to dinner/ drinks whenever we wanted to leave the hostel at night. Although popping out to the mall for a bit of retail therapy the distinction between the classes seems incredible, as it is stocked with Armani suits and giant plasma TV´s, something is going wrong here somehow...

The change going in to Nicaragua (the poorest country in Central America, and also in the world) was drastic, with children banging the windows of the the bus on the way out of the border station begging for anything they could get;

but despite that the decoration of the houses and the surrounding scenery make a pleasant change from the drab Honduran apathy and a necessary distraction from the dirt track we seem to be travelling down at 80kmh on our way to Leon.

Arriving in Leon, the first decent sized town for a few months, the old Spanish influence is really visible in the cobbled streets and beautiful colonial buildings.

This is the town where the revolution started many years ago, overthrownin the sandinista government, but despite the massive significance of the event the only recording of it is a small one room ´museum´ with a few faded newspaper cuttings. Walking round the town is a pleasant stroll away from the touristy towns of the last few months with the obligatory churches and even a beautiful cemetery

where the tombs themselves are works of 18th century classical art; and up to the hill for views over town past the ´recycling plant´ which still relies primarily on fire.
Just outside the city is the old capital of Nicaragua Leon Viejo, which according to design principles of the time was built alarmingly close to a rather volcano-looking hill and so to their surprise they had to abandon the city when their hill started smoking,

and the control of power then eventually went to Managua.

Due to the availability of volcanoes in the area, one enterprising Australian hostel owner decided to make a living out of sending tourist flying down on various contraptions, and thus a trip to Volcan Cerro Negro (the Black Volcano) is a must for any visit here. For those of you that spend far too much time on youtube, this is the same place where the world downhill mountain bike record was set just before the guys forks snap sending him face first into the mountainside.

Even just the walk up the hill is worth all the money, with the startling contrast between the black lava rock and and green trees emphasising the stunning scenery spreading out below you.

Arriving at the top of the hill, and according to Nicaraguan health and safety principles, you get to run down into the crater of an active volcano amidst all the beautifully coloured volcanic rock,

only to realise that at the bottom the reason the rocks are that colour is because of all the sulphur being released before the frantic scramble back up the scree slope before you suffocate!
Luckily the boards have been refined from the original designs of table tops, fridges and snowboards; but still it is little more than a plank of wood with a couple of blocks nailed on the top to give you the allusion of a seat.
Getting kitted up at the top in orange jump suits that made you look like a cross between the Beastie Boys and some escaped convicts

, you are given a safety talk which pretty much consists of ´try not to crash, it hurts´ whilst hypocritically offering rewards for the first blood of the day.

And even though you don´t get to stand up and ride like a snowboard any more (believe me you don´t want to) after a practice slide down the baby slope even the most confident looking people are a little dubious.

The run down is over in less than 30 seconds if you´re doing well, but due to the lack of control the boards have it is nigh on impossible to keep them going in a straight line and some pretty serious crashes occur

and I still have some lava embedded in my head as a souvenir. Everyone is hyped at the bottom and raring to go up again, but the boards are pretty much one use only due to the caustic nature of the rock, so we jump back in the ute for the trip back through the feral forest

where children run and scream at you like they have never seen a white person before.

The quality of local music and food has certainly increased massively so we treat ourselves to a 5 course dinner in the poshest restaurant in town for $10 (despite the scathing looks of the upper class locals with 6 scruffy travellers being amazed with real cloth napkins) before checking out some of the live salsa music the town has on offer every night of the week.

The main port of call for anyone that goes to Belize has to be the Bay Islands, a couple of hours off the mountainous coast line just out of La Ceiba.

Utila, billed as the ´cheapest place to dive in the world´ is the preferred destination for most travellers, which unfortunately also means for a kind of Thailand-esq scrum of diveshops trying to ply their trade to the fresh meat arriving off the ferry each morning. But once through the wall of flyers the charms of the little island are quite evident, and living on the water at Altons diveshop became my life for the next week.

The dive sites on the island are amazingly convenient to the main harbour with massive corral formations, wrecks (the Haliburton was a deliberately scuttled 100m long supply ship just off the lighthouse reef, however the powers that be failed to obtain a protection order on the vessel and thus according to maritime law as soon as it goes down it is fair game. So within 15 mins of it being sunk perfectly by the local dive shops, 2 massive salvage tugs were steaming towards here both intent of refloating her and flogging her off for scrap! luckily this was averted giving us some amazing diving round and through it) and sea-mounts within 10 mins of the dock, so managed to get quite a lot of diving in, but again without a decent underwater camera these things can´t really be shown to a wider audience, you´re just going to have to come out here to see for yourself...
One thing a camera can never quite capture is the whole surealness of diving at night, dropping in just as the sun is going down things take on a whole new life, seen by the light of the torch in the real colours they are without the filtering effect of the sea water above you. It really is an amazingly peaceful way to dive and the lobsters, octopuses and weird glowing squids that only come out at night, along with the millions of stars you get to see when you surface in the middle of black sea make you want to give up daytime diving all together.

The whole PADI way of trying to role people through the courses as quickly as possible was again evident out here, with Divemasters qualified at 18 yrs old with less dives than I have as a ´non-staff´diver. And more frighteningly supposed ´advanced´ divers perfoming emergency accents from 20m just because they couldn´t clear their mask out resulting in a slightly worrying trip to the hyperbolic chamber.

Altons was the king of the party schools with regular bbqs on the dock and ´booze cruises´ round the bay throughout the week with compulsory rum. These boat trips turn out to be a great place to perform the final examination of the Divemaster qualification, the infamous snorkle test as Randy proudly demonstrates below





and along with the initiation into the rugby team at uni is one of those things that you really only want to do once in life...

Of all the bars on the island honorable mention has to go to the Jade sea horse aka Treetanic . THE greatest place I have ever been to in my life. Basically one guys lifes work, creating a giant nevernever land style tree house, with exquisitely decorated little niches, even after going there for 3 nights in a row we were still finding new rope swings and grottos to explore and relax in.

Photos really don´t do this place justice in the slightest

Unfortunately with all the diving, swimming and jumping off docks I managed to get quite a nice ear infection; stopping my diving career before it even started. So what do you do on a tropical island when you can´t even go in the water? turn to rum of course...
That lasted 3 days until I realised trying to sit out the infection for another week would pretty much be the end of my liver, and that wasn´t insured for as much as I would of liked it to be, so the next morning I was up at 5am for the first boat out of town.