Galapagos Islands - Is Grey The New Black?

The Galapagos Islands were always high on my to-do list.  To be honest, Ecuador was only meant to be a stepping stone to the wild, mystical lumps of volcanic rock that time kindly forgot.  Spewed up in the Pacific Ocean over five hundred miles off the coast of Ecuador and galvanised in social consciousness by the insight of a certain Charles Darwin.  It is perhaps only the cost which dissuades many travellers from visiting.  As a "homeless" guy from London, I couldn't resist.

The flight from Quito stops off in Guayaquil to drop off some suits.  Their seats are claimed by the embarking flashpackers and we refuel.  Quite why the flight crew insist that I keep my seatbelt on during the refuelling remains a mystery.  When we arrive on Baltra Island a couple of hours later I find myself in a glorified bike shed.  The first thing I notice is a troop of nuns (what is the collective noun, anyone?) stepping off the plane.  A few seconds later a thought hits me.  What exactly is the purpose of nuns coming to Galapagos?  Is this some kind of religious test whereby they wrestle with their conscience whilst buried up to their wimples in evidence that creationism is bullshit?

I'm here for five days with ten complete strangers on a sail boat named Encantada.  Two of my shipmates step off the plane with me and we're met by our representative.  We take a ferry across the canal to Santa Cruz Island and a taxi down to the main town Puerto Ayora for lunch where we meet a newly-wed couple, Danny and Sarah.  They're from London and have been travelling the world for the best part of two years - that's a proper honeymoon!  Our boat is due to depart at 6pm.

We spend the afternoon at the Charles Darwin Research Station, the highlight of which has to be meeting the icon of these islands, Lonesome George.  At approximately 120 years old he's the last remaining giant tortoise of his species.  For shits and giggles, I imagine switching the scenario around - there's me, the last man on earth, in a cage staring blankly at my laptop with a facebook friend count of zero and a pack of giant tortoises pointing at me and taking photos.  Even the hardest heart is gonna be melted by George's story.

A brief aside for all you trivia junkies.  The story of the Galapagos tortoises underpins Darwin's research.  He realised that the islands each had different weather patterns - some are wet, whilst other dry.  This dictates the height of the trees and hence how high up the fruit will be.  The tortoises would adapt over time to their habitat and, on the wet islands, the shape of the front of their shell would change to allow them to reach up to the higher fruit.  Evolution 101.  Another one of those, same time next week.

Like other boats, the Encantada runs a mixture of five day and eight day cruises which overlap, so when the five of us newbies arrive at the boat we meet the remaining shipmates who have been at sea for a few days already.  We're shown to our minuscule cabins, have dinner, get shown our itinerary for the next day and set sail while we sleep.

We awake just offshore Floreana Island, take a dinghy to the beach and head up to Post Office Bay.  I pick up a letter addressed to someone in Bishops Stortford.  I must admit, my personal postal service is not really worth paying for as my staff do not arrive in the UK until May and they have a habit of misplacing items en-route.  From here we head to a nearby lava cave before returning to the beach and going snorkelling for the first time with sea-lions, turtles and tons of tropical fish.  After lunch, we do some more snorkelling around a volcanic outcrop known as The Devils Crown where a pack of twenty eagle rays glide effortlessly beneath us.  This is a definite highlight for me.  We board the boat again and disembark further down the coast at Punta Cormorant.  Alas, the lagoon flamingos were not present but we did get to see our first beach full of sea-lions and their newborn pups which were neat.

The seven hour overnight trip to Española Island is a bumpy affair but the puke pills are working their magic and I sleep well.  Our first point of call is Punta Suarez where Marine Iguanas, Blue Footed Boobies (Fnar, fnar!  Literally seconds of comedic value there), Albatrosses, Lava Lizards and a rather impressive blow-hole await.  Along the coast at Gardner Bay we check out more sea-lions and snorkelling.  Day three over.

The tiny Lobos Island, off the coast of San Cristobel, is our first destination the following day for more sea-lions and birdlife then back on board before heading to Santa Fe Island with its cactus forest and the awesome Frigate birds there.  If you sense that I'm rattling through these at this point you'd be right.  By this time four of my shipmates have been laid low by some kind sickness or other and I'm getting a little anxious that the same fate should befall me.  Somewhere along the way today our paths crossed with my Baños mountain biking buddies James and Paddy who are on another boat and we arrange to hook up once back on land.

Our last, and very short, day is a ridiculously early start at North Seymour Island and we finally disembark near the airport.  I've claimed a couple of extra days to chill out here before returning to Ecuador so I take bus back to Puerto Ayora and locate the outrageously cheap and well hidden Los Amigos hostel.  After being a sea for a few days, I start getting the wobbles.  It's a weird feeling, which is accentuated by enclosed spaces.  Getting up in the night for a piss is a major achievement.

Before my Irish buddies turn up I meet my hostel neighbour, an Aussie girl named Amanda, and we head out for food at the superb street market.  The next day, whilst devouring some delicious quesadillas in The Rock, James and Paddy pass right by me.  By the time they've settled in at Los Amigos we've just enough time to check out the gorgeous Tortuga Bay.  It's a pretty long walk but with beaches like flour and crystal clear water scattering the midday sun it's a kind of paradise and well worth it.  The Marine Iguanas here seem even less bothered by our presence than is imaginable.  We chill out for a bit on the beach before heading back.

I need to get up for my flight in the morning but the demon drink has other plans.  We drunkenly play pool until 3am in a bar named Limón y Café on a table so bad it could double as a crazy golf course.  I get a couple of hours sleep before missing the last bus to the airport.  I reluctantly spunk 20USD on a taxi while my head spins in the back seat.  Upon arrival at the bike shed I manage to get my bag checked in, the relief of which precedes my best attempt yet to redecorate a toilet.

So, my Galapagos box is ticked.  In summary, I'm very glad I did it despite the cost but I will probably never return.  I remember chatting to the Aussie girl Amanda, casually flipping out some rhetoric along the lines of "... after all, you're never gonna come back to the Galapagos, are you?".  She disagreed.  Perhaps I learned something important here.  I'm guess I'm not that big on animals and I find the lush greens of Ecuador far more visually satisfying than volcanic grey rock, the odd cactus and the smell of fishy sea-lion excrement.

Next stop, Peru via Ecuador.

Choon of the day: The Cinematic Orchestra - Night of the Iguana

Lonesome George at the Charles Darwin Research Station

You and whose army?

None shall pass

Rainbow over Encantada

Post Office Bay sorting office

Baby sea-lions

Anyone seen my towel?

Marine Iguana

The blow hole on Española Island

Española Island

A cabin room with a view

It's a tough life for sea-lions

One too many?

Cactus forest on Lobos Island

Encantada at sunset

Blue footed boobie

Frigate

Encantada

Galapagos humour?

Tortuga Bay

Paddy at Tortuga Bay

Tortuga Bay

Tortuga Bay

Tortuga Bay

Ecuador - We No Speak Americano

My flight from Miami to Quito is delayed so I have to wait a little longer to set foot in South America for the first time.  Despite the hold up, a driver has waited to meet me and takes me to what will be my new home for the next couple of nights.  The Secret Garden hostel is located on a steep hill in the old part of town and looks fairly innocuous from the outside.  Given the time of my arrival, we're greeted by their nocturnal security guard who, it would appear, possesses some deep rooted military pretensions.  He certainly looks like he means business tonight.  He speaks no English and, despite having just listened to eight hours of Spanish audio CDs, I feel as poorly equipped in Spanish.

You can hear a pin drop in the hostel and Corporal Quito wants to keep it that way.  Much later, I discover that there's a self-contained apartment located slap bang in the centre of the hostel under the lounge room where a local family live and as a courtesy to them it's lights-out at 11pm every night.  The guard shepherds me to my bed in a primitive dormitory and I attempt to get some shut-eye.

We're almost 3,000 metres above sea level here.  Altitude has a number of effects on the traveller.  Overnight, I get an introduction in the shape of some seriously hallucinogenic dreams occurring somewhere near the border between awake and asleep.  There was some real freaky shit happening in the room that night which is probably best kept to myself.

I get up early with what feels like a hangover, but for the first time in a while I can't blame it on the booze.  I make my way up to the rooftop where all the action happens around here.  It's a reception, bar, eatery and electrician's worst nightmare all in one.  It also harbours a stunning vista over old-town Quito framed by the Basilica and the Quito Virgin statue at opposite ends.  I'm informed by the travellers gathered here for breakfast that my headache is the altitude messing with me again and I should probably take it easy for a day.  Sounds like a good idea.  I've been screaming around the USA on the piss for the last three weeks so with the Quito cityscape soothing my eyes I decide to vegetate for the day.

Time passes and I shoot the shit with an American guy named Christian who's interested in heading to Cotopaxi the next day.  Our hostel here in Quito is twinned with another one there.  I'm up for anything so another terrace inhabitant named Delia makes three and we book a 30USD taxi for the following morning.

At 10am we sling our gear in the back of a 4x4 pickup and make tracks for our next venue.  It's two and a half hours of bone-jarring rocky roads but it's worth it.  The Secret Garden Cotapaxi is set in acres of land facing out across the plains to the monumental, snow-capped Cotopaxi volcano.  It's usually busy and today is no exception.  All the bunks and private rooms are full and we even have a handful of guests in tents outside.

You could quite easily throw yourself in a hammock and read a book all day with one of the adorable dogs curled up in your lap but Cotopaxi is all about activities.  Our first is a waterfall trek.  It sounds pretty easy but it's sketchy as hell, leaping from partially submerged rocks to hanging vines and saturated vertical mud banks.  The round-trip is 90 mins and the dogs follow us every step of the way, as they do each day.  Given that the awesome meals served up at Cotopaxi were likely to have been running around the garden the week previous I guess you could refer to these as butcher’s dogs.  After a quick dip in the Jacuzzi back at base, we converge for the evening meal and get acquainted in front of an open fire and a carpet of exhausted canines.

Against my deepest instincts, I find myself preparing to go horse-riding for six hours in the morning.  I spy a horse who looks about as enthralled to me as my Dad on school report day.  I'm thinking, please, not that one ... "Alan, meet Coco.  He's your ride for the day".  Oh, shit!  I get 100 yards down the path and fall completely off the pace of the others who are happily trotting along.  Despite kicking the shit out of poor old Coco (as instructed, I hasten to add), the lazy glue-dodger refuses to move.  At the same time any chance I have of fathering children is being systematically eliminated by a saddle they must have bought at the local S&M boutique.  Enough's enough.  Horse-riding is not for me.  I bail out and retire to a hammock to recover.  After dinner, and a couple of beers, I introduce my fellow Cotopaxians to the wonderful world of Mafia which despite a few hiccups and missed cues seems to go down pretty well.

Friday is my last day here so I decide to tackle the volcanic beast head on.  There are a couple of options available: all the way to the top at 5,800 metres or just up to the foot of the glacier at 5,000 metres.  The former requires ice picks, crampons, nerves of steel and a spare 190USD.  I choose the latter for 35USD.  I'm on a budget, you know?  It's still a bitch.  The 4x4 pick-up takes us into Cotopaxi national park and up to the main starting point.  We head slowly and steadily upwards on the steep slope of volcanic dust which gives way under every laboured step.  There are no short cuts and no easy routes to "The Refuge".  It's a manned shack built in the early seventies where hardier climbers take an evening rest before tackling the summit in time for sunrise.  We adjourn here for a cuppa before trudging up the last 200 metres to the glacier for some awesome views.  Thankfully the trek back down is much easier.  The thick dust cushions our descent to the point where we're literally skating down like astronauts on the moon - you know, it's that big white round thing in the night sky that we still have no substantial evidence to suggest we ever went to.

I wasn't exactly prepared for what happened next.  We had left bikes on the back of the 4x4 so we could cycle back down to the rendezvous point.  I hopped on mine and sped off alone, unwittingly over-shooting the rendezvous point by about half a mile.  Realising my mistake I trekked back to find nothing but the midday sun, an empty water bottle and a blinding altitude headache.  To cut a long story short, both parties spent the afternoon performing the Cotopaxi tango, criss-crossing each other’s paths until we finally find each other.  I'm pissed off, the driver's pissed off and his other passengers, who have been bouncing about on rocky roads for the last three hours, are definitely pissed off.  With the combination of a driver who speaks no English and passengers who speak no Spanish, something like this was bound to happen.  If I wanted adventure I certainly got it today.

Back at base, whilst I'm rehydrating, Delia's contemplating heading to a small town named Baños.  I want to see a little more of Ecuador so we secure a reservation at the bizarrely named Plantas y Blanco, say our goodbyes to Cotopaxi (for now) and call for a taxi to the nearest bus route.  If you're lucky enough to get a seat then the buses are cheap and pretty comfortable.  What I've yet to work out is why, when the passengers clearly want to relax does the driver turn the lights out but insists upon playing bad dance music at full volume.  It annoyed one of our fellow teenage passengers so much that he decided to accompany the cacophony of noise by sodcasting us all the way to our destination.  Wanker.  Clearly, personal space in Ecuador does not extend into the sonic spectrum.

We arrive at midnight, dump our bags and head out for a nightcap at The Leprechaun.  From the outside it looks like lots of locals salsa dancing like they're auditioning for something life-changing but the secluded courtyard at the back is more in keeping with my own latent talents.  There's a bar and a big video wall either side of a big open fire which the barmen periodically stoke by breathing fire into it.  We sink a couple in here then head for bed.

Baños is Spanish for toilet.  Well, not really.  It's Spanish for a place "to bathe in", it just doesn't translate very well which is a pity because it's really quite nice.  It's a very small town surrounded on all sides by steep green hills and an active volcano.  In the past ten years it's apparently erupted three times, once causing a mass evacuation during which it became a ghost town for some months.  I was supposed to obtain evacuation procedures from the hostel just in case.  I didn't.  Anyway, isn't pyroclastic flow something women get?  I understand it's very dangerous, whatever.

Delia wants to do a bike ride.  Over breakfast we bump into a couple of familiar faces - two brothers James and Paddy from Ireland who are travelling together.  We met them previously in both Quito and Cotopaxi and they too are thinking of hiring bikes today.  Lonely Planet claims it's 18km down to the waterfalls where, I quote, most cyclists dismount and get the bus back.  Or you could, if you really, really want to, continue on to the town of Puyo a mere 43km further on.  I don't want to kill myself so early in my travels so I agree to just see how I get on today.  The rental cost is pretty reasonable at 5USD per day but it's worth shopping around and paying a bit more for something decent.  Thankfully the journey is downhill almost all the way to the waterfalls.  The scenery is pretty spectacular all the way and en-route you can get your daily adrenalin rush by means of a zipline through a canyon for a tenner.  It's a tad bigger than the one in Fremont Street in Vegas so I'm happy to observe this time.  James kindly obliges to risk his life.  We stop off for lunch by the waterfalls before taking the bold decision to push on to Puyo.  Thankfully again, it's mosty downhill but there are some pretty brutal climbs in there too. After a total of five or six hours in the saddle we arrive in Puyo, sling the bikes into the luggage compartments under the bus and flake out while the driver hauls our arses back up to where we started.

Back in town we hand the bikes back and head to the local hot volcanic spring baths to relax.  The baths have been established in their current guise for almost 100 years.  It's full of locals and it's a bit of a tight squeeze but it works wonders in fixing our shattered lower limbs.  We check out a local Mexican restaurant before shooting some pool and hanging out in the Leprechaun once more.  It's a memorable day and a late night.

Meanwhile, Back in Quito, Paul at CarpeDM has been sniffing out some good deals on a Galapagos trip for me so it's about time I head back to show him the money.  Delia and I head back on the bus and arrive just in time for dinner.  Jules is in town.  He's a guy I'd met in London a couple of months earlier through a mutual friend, Paul.  They both happen to be travelling South America right now.  He's been taking his Spanish lessons a little more seriously than yours truly, living with a non-English speaking Spanish family in Quito for the past week.  Ecuador has a ban on selling alcohol on Sunday's which puts a slight dampener on tonight’s proceedings but we promise to hook up later in the week to support the Ecuadorian economy in true British fashion.

The following day I finalise the Galapagos trip and travel into town with a really sweet Ecuadorian girl named Fernanda from the travel agency who, perhaps ironically, has never left Ecuador herself.  I got to thinking this must be pretty tough on the girl, I mean, seeing all these ungrateful Gringo types passing through her doors en-route through her childhood dreams like it's a trip to the cinema.  I spend the rest of the day hanging out on the terrace before taking a brief stroll around town and enduring my first one-on-one Spanish lesson - "¿Dos Cervesas por favor?", "¿Dónde están los baños, por favor?".  Later on, my cohorts and I head out to a part of town referred to affectionately as Gringolandia where I get to practice said phrases repeatedly in a bar named The Boot.  As if to reinforce the travellers small-world theory, I get chatting to Stella from our entourage who until a couple of months ago also lived in Shoreditch.

At breakfast I initially fail to notice a few of them are still wearing the same clothes, returning after-dark directly to the terrace.  Whilst they sleep off their excesses I decide to get cultural and gather a posse to tackle the Basilica.  It's an imposing structure and 3USD grants you the chance to challenge your fears by scaling the spire for some impressive views over the city.  You also get to check out the walkway in the roof above the domes, the image of which is fast becoming iconic of Quito.

I think the next few weeks may require some more warm clothing and some travel sickness tablets so I slink off alone on the hunt and return to base a few hours later after managing to locate and purchase a blister pack of puke pills and an alpaca hoodie I wouldn't usually be seen dead in.  Who says I can't speak Spanish?  Scorchio!

The final evening is spent with hostel guests and staff in a Beatles-themed bar named Strawberry Fields Forever.  It's a great little place but they need to revise their mojito recipe.  I switch to rum and coke and, predictably, stay a little longer than anticipated.

Next stop, Galapagos Islands

Choon of the day: Nuyorican Soul - I Am The Black Gold Of The Sun

The view from the terrace at The Secret Garden, Quito

Al gets intrepid - The waterfall trek at The Secret Garden, Cotopaxi

Cotopaxi volcano - the white bit at the top is probably best avoided

The stables at dawn - The Secret Garden, Cotopaxi

The Secret Garden, Cotopaxi

The Secret Garden, Cotopaxi

The trek up to the foot of the glacier, Cotopaxi

Cotopaxi - translates as "come and have a go if you think you're hard enough"

Almost there.  Obligatory "I was here" pic

Zip line through canyon near Baños

Waterfalls en-route from Baños to Puyo

Waterfalls en-route from Baños to Puyo

Green is my favourite colour - I could stay here forever

View from rooftop terrace, Plantas y Blanco hostel, Baños

Quito Basilica

Quito Basilica

Quito Basilica

Across the domes, inside the roof of Quito Basilica

Quito Basilica with the Virgin statue in the background

Inside The Secret Garden, Quito

Dinner on the terrace at The Secret Garden, Quito

New York and Miami - Concrete jungles, plastic beaches

The Boltbus from DC to NY has leather seats, WiFi and mains sockets.  Not bad for $19.  I know NY fairly well and I'm only really here for one day so it's gonna be a pretty relaxed visit.  Christina arrives just as I step off and we walk to her place.  She's just recently moved here from DC to start a new job and shares a 4th floor apartment near Gramercy Park that must have the smallest bathroom conceivable.  The building itself is typical lower east side style with the mandatory fire escape on the front.  The location is great with lots of restaurants and bars in easy reach.  There's no lift here but the walk up is good practice for me.

We head out (minus my camera, fail) to a Mexican restaurant nearby named Tortilla Flats and meet Christina's friend Patty.  Monday night is Bingo night here.  The numbers are laid out differently to back home and they play for lines, crosses or whatever pattern the guy with the microphone decides but it's essentially the same thing.  The food arrives mid game.  It's fantastic and more than enough of a distraction to subject Patty to the humiliation of an erroneous Bingo shout.  Here, the only winning move is not to play.  It's a school night and it's been a long one so we bail out and Patty dives in a yellow cab.  We take a stroll back and I take to my sofa for the night.

Christina leaves me her key and heads to work.  I get my shit together about 11am.  The weather is unseasonably favourable, so much so that I manage to get to the Laundromat in shorts and sandals.  Commando-style wash-day efficiency is what we're talking about.  I grab lunch while I wait.  Gramercy Bagel appears to play host to half the NY police force for lunch today and they've gone large.  I figured out why they carry guns, coz these lard-arses couldn't catch a cold let alone any criminals.  It has to be said though, it's a pretty damn good bagel.  Laundry dealt with, the rest of my day is spent traipsing around Manhattan's electronics stores on a fruitless mission to equip my laptop with more than a measly 1GB RAM.  Keep calm and carry on.  It's the British way.

Christina's returns home at about 7:30pm.  I'm craving sushi so we head to The Loop nearby.  This is without doubt the best sushi I've ever had.  It's pretty reasonably priced and I can't recommend it highly enough.  From here we head out to find a pub.  We settle on Fitzgeralds (yes, it's Irish, again) where we hook up with two of Christina's mates Matt and, err, Matt and see out the evening.

The morning requires a little logistical engineering to get the apartment key back to Christina before I say my goodbyes and take the A train to JFK.  I hop off at the "JFK" stop and get fleeced for another fiver to get to Terminal 8 on the AirTrain.  I can see where I need to be and I could bloody walk it in 10 mins if they'd let me but that wouldn't generate any cash, would it now?  To add insult to injury, American Airlines decide to charge me $25 for the privilege of watching them dropkick my rucksack at bagdrop.  Grrrrrrrr.

The flight arrives in Miami earlier than planned and Michelle picks me up from the airport.  "Where's the hotel", she says.  "Collins Avenue", I respond, being a bit dim.  I'm oblivious to the fact this particular piece of tarmac is about 10 miles long and forms the backbone of South Beach.  We find the art-deco style Carlton hotel, not to be confused with the up-market Ritz Carlton only a stones throw away and I start to wonder how many people have been shamed by that mistake in the past.  We head out to Lincoln Road.  It's full of al-fresco diners and bars so we pick one at random and finish off the evening with a couple of beers at a bar just opposite which serves London Pride.  Over a couple of pints of said beverage we discuss Michelle's love of all things London and outright ambivalence towards her home town.  I suppose the grass is always greener because most would give their right arm for this lifestyle.

Next day I get up late and walk north along South Beach as far as seems reasonable.  The weather is almost as hot as as the girls here.  I think they must have to take some kind of attractiveness exam through one of those pretentious dating agencies before stepping onto the sand.  They presumably get extra points for silicone implants, or is that just my mind playing tricks?  Cutting back onto Collins Avenue I head south back down to Lincoln Road and take a walk around the shops before heading back for a lazy night in watching a film.  What's the boy on a budget without daylight and WiFi to do?

I've not been to Miami since I was nine years old during the height of the drug wars.  Upon touchdown all those years ago (at the disturbingly acronym'd MIA) we were practically ordered to flee the city via the nearest interstate and headed north through (the other) Hollywood to Fort Lauderdale.  Miami's a slightly different place now.  The legacy of the drugs are the grand buildings which now support its new main industry, tourism.  The older art-deco buildings, previously threatened with demolition and thankfully saved, are really impressive and add a quirky dimension to the town.


Again, transport in Miami is a problem so upon Michelle's recommendation I do my bit to support the towns new industry by taking a 90 minute Duck Tour around the Venetian islands.  My fellow ducksters and I are driven down Washington Avenue, and along 5th Street before taking to the water at a marina by the port.  We're get up close and personal to a number of the celebrity mansions out here and the Flagler Monument.  None of these island existed prior to about 1920 when sediment from the shallow lagoon was dredged out for land reclamation, a task which would never be considered in these ecologically sensitive times.  These are now without doubt the most exclusive and expensive pads in town.  The return route takes us past Ocean Drive and I hop out for a closer look when the heavens open and I take refuge in Starbucks.  The thirty minute downpour drives the plastic hotties from the beach in their droves like drowned rats.  Revenge is a dish, best served wet.

Post monsoon, I head down Ocean Drive and check out the mansion outside which Gianni Versace's met his end, along 5th street and north up Washington where I find a bar named Playwrights and stick it on my "to do" list for the evening.  Michelle arrives about 8pm, we get food on Ocean Drive, and head to the aforementioned bar.  Whilst we drink the bar dry the DJ plays The xx, restoring my faith in Miami's musical tastes.  I think we finish up in Felt Billiards & Bar Lounge over the road but I'm too far gone to remember straight.

The next day our cruising around takes us to Wet Willies for one of their lethal smoothies.  Mine's called Shock Treatment and Michelle opts for Call A Cab.  We really need a place like this in London, it would totally clean up.  We hang out at The Clevelander with some chav characters who I'm informed are colloquially referred to as wife beaters.  Learn something new every day.  It's Halloween and the night is young so we sober up and head to Hollywood about 30 mins away.  Michelle's staying at an apartment on the beach here so we grab a bite to eat here before gathering at Brenna's to allow the girls to fine tune their make up.  Brenna lives in one of Florida's vast gated communities and the place has a distinct air of Wysteria Lane about it.  Tonight we're heading to Seminole Hard Rock Hotel and Casino.  It's the only legitimate casino in the area, taking advantage of a legal loophole that stems from the land belonging to native Americans.  If Halloween is supposed to be scary it's nothing on finding a parking place round here tonight.  I think half of Florida has descended and it's like one enormous fancy dress party (an unused term over here).  It's less blood and guts, more crud and sluts.  Some of the get-ups here are inspired and it's all very impressive.  Tetris cubes, whoopie cushions, the second coming of Christ, over-sized drivers licences and more short shirts than you can shake a prick at (sorry, did I actually write that?).  Michelle's mates are here.  We sink a couple in the casino before heading out through the crowds to Automatic Slims where we settle in for the evening.  Oddly, on the night the freaks come out, our collective dress code gets us turned away from our final destination on a technicality.  It's probably for the best so we say our goodbyes and head back to Brenna's to sleep it off.

Late breakfast at The Beverly Hills Cafe, pick up my stuff from Michelle's, a quick scoot around Walmart and I spend my last night on the cheap at Airport Airways Inn and Suite in Miami Springs.  Less said the better, it's not nice.  I'm in deepest darkest stabsville and don't dare to leave the room all night.

Big thanks to Christina, Michelle and Brenna for their hospitality.  London owes you one.

Next stop Quito, Ecuador.

Choon of the day: The xx - Crystalised

It's not all fun, honestly

Christina's Manhattan apartment block

Broadway

Me and Christina in Fitzgeralds

South Beach, Miami

South Beach, Miami

South Beach, Miami

Van Dyke Cafe on Lincoln Road, Miami

It's a bus but it's also a boat.  I know, it's real confusing

Random shot of a bridge to one of the Venetian Islands in Miami.  I just liked it.

A couple of my new homes on the Venetian Islands

And some more

I said I'd come view this one again when they finish off the observatory

If you're in the area, be sure to drop by.  It'll be great to catch up. 

I demanded one for each day of the week.  Dunno why.  Not really into boats.

Loews Hotel on Collins Avenue, Miami

Gianni Versace's former mansion home on Ocean Drive, minus the blood stains.

One of the classic cars dotted along Ocean Drive, Miami.  Check out the freaky driver dude.

Slush-induced drunkenness in Wet Willies on Ocean Drive, Miami.

Seminole Hard Rock Hotel and Casino

Tetris dudes in Automatic Slims.  Probably looking for their next line.

Me and Michelle in Automatic Slims

This guys party trick was biting his nails, it was pretty gruesome

Got any ID, mate?

Halo dude.  When exactly did this behaviour stop being nerdy?

Beach at Hollywood, Florida