Baños, Quito and Leeds

After a long journey, I arrived in Baños late in the evening and checked into Hostal Transilvania. There was apparently only one bed free, and I was tired. The hostel seemed pleasant and friendly, so I agreed to stay the night. I was then taken to the dorm room. It stank. I decided at that moment that possibly it was someones smelly shoes which were causing the stench, and so I said nothing to my host. For the very first time on my travels, however, I should have pulled out and hunted for somewhere else. I climbed into bed that night, but I couldn't fall asleep. My bed was right next to the toilet, and the aroma of urine continuously seeped through, even when the door was closed. I was aware of being awake as much as 90 minutes later - and aware of a tough night ahead.

Suddenly I awoke. It was daylight. I checked the time. 7:30. Luckily I had fallen asleep and stayed asleep. It wasn't long until I checked out of the worst hostel of my entire journey. Besides, I had plans for Baños. Back in the Cordillera Blanca I had met British couple Mark and Laura. They informed me of how they spent a while volunteering in Baños at a place called Fundación Arte del Mundo. Fundación Arte del Mundo is an after-school drop-in centre for kids, promoting a love of reading and the arts. After all my trekking, sight-seeing and general tourism, I was eager to finish off my journey with something completely different. Furthermore, staying in the same place for a week rather than keeping on the go sounded really appealing. I had had a Skype conversation with the leader, Karl, back in Vilcabamba, and so I was ready to go.

Most days at the centre involved a free morning followed by a meeting at 2pm. Here we would plan out the rest of the day and then complete some tasks that needed doing. This may involve cleaning or tidying up, but sometimes it may involve something more interesting. One day we had a series of rocks which both children and volunteers had been painting to decorate the courtyard, but with one rock spare I was asked if I wanted to paint it. I had been useless at art back in school, and I feared I would make a mess of it, but this was not the time to back out of stuff. And so I agreed.

The theme for the rock paintings was 'insects and bugs', and so after a little thought I decided that I would draw a worm. Vague memories of drawing worms based on The Mr Men worms from my childhood came back to me. And so I picked up my brush, mixed some paints, and painted. I was unsure if it was going so well, but as I began to proceed, I became exceedingly proud of my worm. Once it was finished, I was delighted. Numerous people complemented me on my worm over the next few days, and from then on, one part-time volunteer only knew me as Worm Man. I'm positive she didn't know my real name.

At 3:30pm each day the kids would arrive for an hour of reading. I was nervous about this on my first day. While I could read the Spanish words phonetically, I wouldn't understand most of it or be sure that the kids' pronunciation, or even my own pronunciation was correct. I walked into the library on my first day and hung around, unsure what to do. This did not last long. A kid soon approached me with a book. The formula every day was the same; The kid reads a page, then I read a page. Then the kid reads a page, then I read a page. And so on. And so for one hour every weekday I indulged in the adventures of Clifford The Big Red Dog, The Giant Sandwich, and everyones' favourite frog, Froggy. The more I read with the kids, the more confident I became and the more I enjoyed it. And the more I enjoyed it, the more I felt able to interact with the kids. While I always felt handcuffed by the language barrier, especially if a kid needed a small telling off, the connections between us grew stronger each day. I have never worked with children before, but by the end I knew that the only thing stopping me from totally running with it was the language barrier - and even with the barrier intact I managed to find occasional ways to hurdle over it.

Once reading time was over it was activity time. This would be something different each day. We made paper plate clocks, paper jigsaws and Chinese lanterns. One day the kids were hula hooping, and sometimes we proved that child labour really works by getting the kids to dig up weeds in the garden, or paint the outside wall. And they loved it all. One evening we also held a film night in which I spent much of the time selling popcorn and drinks outside. It was a great success.

My time in Baños was a real highlight of my trip. It was very different to everything else I had done over the previous three months, and I really felt like I got to know the place better than I usually would. Rachel at the foundation was spending a whole month there. I joked with her that she was 'Staying still travelling'; a phrase we reused over and over again. It was about quality, not quantity

I had plenty of free time in Baños for other activities too. While I took it fairly easy most days, including using the foundation's cinema for my own personal viewings, I also took a walk into the local countryside and a sightseeing bus trip. On the final day I joined the majority of the volunteers to do some ziplining. Just like my previous ziplining adventure it was great fun, including one upside-down zipline! My time in Baños was so good I extended my original 7 day stay to 10 days at the expense of a prolonged trip in my final destination, Quito, and I never regretted my decision for a second.

Baños also was the location for a significant event in my travels. I have had many temporary best friends during my journey, but two familiar faces re-emerged to say hello over and over again. Sometimes I would arrange to meet them. Sometimes I would emerge from bed in the morning and randomly discover them in my hostel. But Willem and Alies have truly been fantastic on/off companions for the whole trip; from Salar De Uyuni, to Sucre, to La Paz, to the Amazon, to Cusco, to Hauraz, to Baños we have both said hello and goodbye. The goodbyes eventually lacked any emotion, for I knew I would see them again. But this time, in South America at least, I knew it would be the last time.

We met in Baños in a restaurant on the main square to witness their ecstasy as the Netherlands continued their great success in the World Cup. Alies nearly exploded on every goal. And the following day they joined me to witness England continue their miserable world cup run; but it was not to be the saddest moment of the day. I had a bus to catch that evening, and on the corner of the main square in Baños I said my last South American goodbyes to my best friends.

That evening I took the bus to Quito. I only had one evening there, so I strolled around the busy nightlife area around my hostel. It all felt very modern and developed. I already felt like I had one foot back home. But before long I was waking up for my final morning, and my journey home began. My original plan was to spend $25 travelling to the airport by taxi, but my hostel informed me that using the public buses would only cost $2.20, and so it was a no brainer.

I paid my initial twenty cents and stepped onto the crowded bus. It was packed. I began to wonder about the safety decision I had made. The rear zips  on my backpack were behind me and exposed, but I quickly realised my fears were rather unfounded. Even if someone did decide to unzip the bottom pocket from behind my back, all they would find were socks. If they opted to open the top pocket, all they would find were used and smelly socks. I had nothing to worry about.

I was on my final bus journey. Bus journeys in South America had been precious to me. They were a time to stop. They were a time to think. A time to relax. Everything over the past few months had gone so smoothly, and for that I could be grateful. I guess my experience meant I was always prepared and organised, but also rather precautious. I met a few people on my travels who talked of problems such as robbery or loss; Sometimes the stories were first-hand, sometimes they were taken from the grapevine - But for me, I could be happy I had done well. And besides, who would want socks from a back pocket anyway?

After a while the crowded bus began to die down, and I moved forward a step into a pocket of space. I looked down. The front pocket of my day bag, the bag which had been directly under my nose throughout all of South America, was open. I stared at it for a few seconds, bewildered. I was sure I had closed it before I got on the bus. I began to check my trouser pockets, almost oblivious to the open invitation to thieves I was still dangling in front of me. Blatantly on view in my front pocket were a series of my possessions. A torch. Some sunglasses. A pen. An iPhone. But one thing more than anything else was noticeable - maybe not noticeable to anyone else on the still crowded bus, but noticeable to me. My wallet was gone.

Ten minutes or so later I had transferred to a different bus. I had a seat, and finally some time to work things out. I took off my backpack and inspected everything. My backpack was just how I had left it. No socks gone at least. Meanwhile, somewhere else in Quito, a dirty thief  was scouring through the contents of my old wallet. The thief found a couple of dollars, a few British coins, and a scrap of paper written by Rachel in Baños recommending music I should listen to upon my return home. I simultaneously opened the money belt I had hidden underneath my clothing; the money belt I had worn each and every journey of my travels, never feeling like it had been necessary by the end of the day. Not until now. Not until this very final journey. There I found my passport, my flight tickets, most of the money I had taken out of the ATM the night before, and my bank card. Even with my losses the trip had worked out significantly cheaper than a taxi! I hope the thief felt severely disappointed with his loot. And I hope he detests Rachel's taste in music.

Months travelled : 3 and a half
Countries visited : 4
Favourite Country : Bolivia
Favourite locations : Potosi Mines (Bolivia), Death Road (Bolivia), Sacred Valley (Peru), Fundación Arte del Mundo (Ecuador)

By the following day I was back in Leeds airport. My journey was over. I walked through the 'Nothing To Declare' arch. "Hi Sir, where have you just come from?", said a voice. "South America" I replied. "Come with me", the customs official replied.

"Did you carry any coca leaves during your stay?" the woman asked me. Coca leaves are legal in various South American countries, but cannot be legally taken out of the country. They can be used to make cocaine. I had been handed them numerous times by guides to cope with potential altitude sickness, but I didn't recall ever putting a bag of them in my backpack. "So I won't find anything in your backpack?" the woman asked me. "No", I replied.

I barely paid attention as the woman opened my backpack and examined its contents. I had nothing to hide. And I was tired. Before long she moved over to a machine a few feet away from me. I believe she must have taken a swab of my backpack. The machine bleeped. "There's a trace", said the woman. "Coca leaves?", I replied. The woman replied with a single word. "Amphetamines".

For a moment I stood there, jaw open, eyes half closed, not fully comprehending what was happening. Before I had time for it to digest, she digested it for me. A trace can easily occur through cross contamination. I racked my mind back through everybody I had met or shook hands with over my entire trip. Who would or would not be likely to be on drugs? But it didn't matter. In the end Leeds airport customs were struggling to get rid of me as I asked a barrage of questions about drugs and how cross-contamination could occur. But once I repacked, I left.

My journey was over. I had little time to relax over the following few days; I had Glastonbury festival to prepare for and enjoy. But eventually life returns to normal. Normal, but with changes. The energy that travelling feeds into you takes a while to fade, and it's an energy that should be prolonged for as long as possible. While travelling, you have the freedom to do what you want, and when you want, but this should not be just confined to life on the road. This should be confined to every day. Every day. No matter where you are. No matter what you are doing. No matter what strangers find in your bags.