and finally, Cusco to London

On my last day in Cusco, having said goodbye to Kerri the day before as she was off to Arequipa with Jake and Sonia, I felt ready. Ready, but at the same time really not ready at all and left everything to the last minute as I had no 'Directional Dennis' by my side to organize and supervise the departure although she had advised me on how to get to Lima and how early to be at the airport and bus terminal etc. but Bryn's supporting 'you ain't getting home' when I was trying to  work out which terminal my flight was from was motivation to prove him wrong.

So Bryn, Pete and I went out for a final lunch at the restaurant we had frequented every day  in Cusco, a place called 'Jack's' and had a leisurely walk back, catching a few final 'llama lols' and getting the same massage offers by the same women standing outside the same shops we'd had all week. I paid my hostel tab, which was 700 pesos, which probably worked out at 30% accommodation and 70% baby Guinesses (would you say one baby Guiness and two baby 'Guini'?) packed-up the bag for the penultimate time, happily leaving the lotita trainers which I bought in Salta, in the locker.

Saying goodbye to Kerri was really strange. It didn't feel right and didn't feel real. It was emotional but I experienced a delayed reaction and it didn't hit me until I was on my way to Lima. As the bus journey was 22 hours long and I was going alone, I decided to go with the best company, Cruz del Sur, and wasn't dissapointed. We had personal movie screens, power sockets, pillows, blankets, Wifi and a really comfortable seat. I say 'we', I was actually alone and  it was like a break-up! having spent all day everyday with someone for the last 4 months and then suddenly they were gone! I watched 'The perks of being a wallflower' (the film in which Hermione from Harry Potter has cut all her hair off and lost the wand) and it set me off crying like a baby but I had to hide it from the other passengers because I didn't want anyone to ask if I was ok, in Spanish, and have to be all like 'yeah, sob' and them put a hand on my shoulder and then spend the next 20 hours embarrassed. No, I preferred to hold the free blanket up to shield the side of my face while the other side cried out the window at the absolutely breathtaking epic-but-shit-scary scenery. We were driving along a very narrow road, cut out the side of the mountain with a sheer drop onto rocks and jungle below and so high up that the clouds were sweating on us.The Wifi miraculously worked so Kendrick and I were in contact.

They fed us coach food, which although was shit, was long awaited and gladly received as I was starving because I didn't eat anything before the journey (poor organization) and had only brought a mere TWO APPLES, thinking they would be enough for 22 hours, unprepared to be burning loads of energy squirting out tears. So when we stopped who knows where at a random service station, I bought some comforting homely chocolate milk and chocolate raisins :)

In Bolivia I bought a load of souvenirs for family and friends and so my bag was heavy as fuck again.When we finally docked in Lima at the coach station I was a tired, grumpy, hungry, dirty weakling and also very wary of robbers and false taxis, as I had heard stories about Lima and upon meeting my good friend Liam's Peruvian housemate a couple of years ago, had been told not to arrive in Lima without a native or else I would be severely ripped off. Shit the bed.

So I eyed up the taxi rank with contempt and suspicion and showed them my scrappy handwritten address whilst trying to fake a confident, 'don't-fuck-with-me' demeanor. The taxi man nodded and led me to an unmarked car. AN UNMARKED CAR. What could I say? 'excuse me, is this actually a taxi? or are you going to kidnap me?' not really. I got in and there was also no seatbelt and I had no idea how much money it would cost or how long it was going to take as I didn't do my research - Ken would have had all this copied out of the guidebook, so just hoped for the best and was kindly dropped off safely at my hostel, what seemed like an eternity later (probably 10 minutes). Upon arrival at the very nice hostel where I had booked myself a private double room because I deserved it because I was a precious princess that had been through hell (first world problems) I had to wait 2 hours until my room was ready. When you can do durations like 22 and 28 hour journeys, an extra 2 hours is nothing.

I had the BEST shower ever and collapsed on my amazing double bed, in my private room, alone. I had visions of making the most of the day and checking out the nearby beach, possibly even going surfing, followed by getting a massage and a haircut close by. Oh we can dream. In reality I couldn't be fucked to get off the bed until about 5pm when hunger had got the better of me. I went out and found a Sushi restaurant. 'Ermm una mesaaa para uno por favor' and enjoyed some amazing sushi and a Pisco sour, which got me extremely drunk for just one drink, causing me to develop 'the fear' and return immediately to the safety of my hotel room.

In the morning, I ventured into the nearby shopping area to seek cheap beauty treatments, in the hope of returning home a glowing, radiant, relaxed travelled beautiful singing mermaid, not the bitten, burnt, dishevelled, tired alternative. I managed to get myself a very interesting massage and some new eyebrows as a result of my still-lacking Spanish haha! I had a quick wander down to the beach which had some surfers in the water and some of the sand looked black from the distance I was at - but still spectacular. I instantly resolved to tell Kerri of this place for her impending visit to Lima. Maybe she could give surfing another go...

Freshly plucked and relaxed, the fat guy who had been hanging around reception turned out to be my transfer driver and we set off into the rush hour traffic to the airport. Stuck at lights, a street urchin emerged at the window of the car in front of us selling ice creams and water and then to our car, where my driver snapped up an ice lolly. He offered me a lick, to which I kindly refused, and we made it to the airport on time with the power of the ice-cold refreshment behind the wheel.

Lima has only one terminal so I was really chill about the whole departure gates thing and casually cruised over to the correct area. It was only after mooching in the shops for ages when I realised that it was the time the clerk had told me to be at my gate and I still hadn't even seen customs. Customs took AGES! Beads of sweat fell from my furrowed brow as the anticipation of missing the flight heightened. Hand luggage scan done, I went to passport control. She checked my passport and then instructed me to join the other queue at the other kiosk. Worried, I went over and she inspected my passport for ages. I've fucked it, I've only bloody gone and not got my entry stamp done properly I was thinking but after what seemed like forever in an instant, I was through, on the plane and En route to London.

Aboard the tiny plane in a window seat sat next to an Italian couple I was a Tarantula in an eggcup. All my limbs were too big and didn't fit in any comfortable way. TEST. Every time the plane rattled a bit, the woman from the Italian couple would flinch and make a scared whine and cuddle her boyfriend. PUSSSSSIO!

I stuck on 'GRAVITY', a movie about a spacecraft that fucks up and smashes to pieces in space where loads of people die and others get stranded in space. Highly insensitive of me but amusing to say the least. Just doing her a favour anyway, SHE NEEDS TO FACE HER FEAR!

12 hours later, we landed in Paris and it was cold and there were police and it was Euros and I was able to construct my tired face into the face of Chanel thanks to the delicious departure lounge and emerged smelling exquisite with bagfuls of duty free.

The one hour flight to London went super fast and I simply drank wine, like a chic Parisiene/Proper English bird/Travelling wastegirl, and wondered what England would be saying, who would be at the airport awaiting my return? I pictured old friends, holding signs, family, the boy I had been talking to everyday....

...and OH what a stark reality. Heathrow terminal 5 arrivals was a sea of dark-clothed, sour-faced impatient-looking people, face after face remained unrecognisable. There was nobody there for me. England took my fairy-tale adventure, screwed it up into a ball and threw it at my face whilst saying 'Get real kid'. It's funny how the return to London matched the initial departure to New York - unexpected, emotional and very unsettling....

...and to be unsettled is to be open to adventure :)

Brazil - you have my heart
California - you have my soul

Machu Picchu

I apologize (to who?) for the lateness of this last post. I am now at home and everything is crazy (it's crazy, guys)

So we decided once in Cusco to crack on with booking our Machu Picchu tour as we know it may sell out and we wouldn't want to be caught short of the ultimate landmark in the whole continent. The "jewel" of South America. And a jewel it was, a bloody diamond by the price of it! Yes, an 'arm and a leg' later we were booked on a tour next day and were to be picked up at 4am. Passports, water and snacks, but not too many as they may get taken off us on entry.

Then we were given a t-shirt, now this is tragic - it's not like we are mad souvenir t-shirt collectors but one claiming that we had actually been there and seen this amazing landmark, a receipt, if you like, was given to us along with our ticket. We saw it and thought 'great, yeah, ladies fit, good colour, black, yep, there's the picture of MP...' and then bang, right accross the front in red lettering,

"I WOZ THERE"

Kill me now. Straight in the bin. Fuck sake. Why go to the effort to spell it like that?!

So we got picked up at 4am, our eyes  bleeding from tiredness. Of course, Organized Dennis was ready by the door at 3.45am. 

I donned my Lotitas, the trusty (but gay as fuck) hi top trainers I bought from Argentina, for one last cultural outing (sensible footwear was recommended) and we set off.

We sat in the front of a minivan and drove through the empty streets of Cusco, the driver pointing out nightclubs emptying the local wronguns heading to the Peruvian version of KFC, a woman on the corner selling chicken on a stick with a potato on the end and as we got out of town we started falling asleep. It was only when the music suddenly changed from soothing Peruvian folk music to Bangarang by Skrillex that we appreciated just how surreal the situation was panning out to be and at the same time how diverse the driver's music taste was, the dark 'orse. But there's nothing like a bit of commercial dub step at 4.30am on a Peruvian back street driving deep into the pitch-black, winding mountainous roads, with a van full of sleeping Asians to get you in the mood for a day out, is there?!

We arrived at the train station at 5.30am in time for the nicest train in the world with ceiling windows and the best bathrooms to chug us on our way. We were seated and, shortly after, the Peruvian David Walliams pranced down the carriage with coffee and treats for all. We slurped the coffee and tried to force-feed ourselves the massive bag of dried fruit and nuts we had bought from the market because we knew food was going to be expensive and we had that parent mentality of "we had better eat these because we've paid for them" in our heads. Sigh. I never want to actually be that person.

 

100 Brazil nuts later, the train docked and an army of Japanese grandparents got to their feet, grabbed their hiking sticks and diaembarked to do the inka trail. They must have had an octopus each for breakfast and had less wrinkles than Kerri and me combined. 

A character from mortal kombat collected us to get our Machu Picchu ticket and transferred us into safe hands with mr "don't worry be happy", our tour guide. Yes that was his genuine advice when we expressed our concerns over some of the slightly less courteous members of the public. 

We had to queue to get on a bus and there was a gaggle of Israelis (still don't know the collective term) and they were acting like naughty foreign kids (our activity leader mode had been activated as they were not waiting in a single file line as they had been instructed to do so). A vein popped in our necks and we told them to WAIT NICELY. 

Again we were actually in the clouds. It's like someone's just put a stick up, with a hook on the end (a bit like a shepards hook or one you use to open a loft) and has pulled the clouds down really low.  Fear of heights officially eradicated, thank you very much.

Noble city of 400 people. 'Nuff history.

So we took loads of photos and then looked at some llamas and laughed then a woman was standing behind me and going "oh wow" and Kerri was laughing so I asked (in a slightly mocking tone) "What are you wowing at?", and she replied "there's a Llama charging down the  road behind you" so I moved, fast.

The tour was done by 10.45am giving us 8 hours til our train. It was raining hard so we decided a quick dash to the bus back would be a good option because the forecast was torrential rain, the road up was worse than the death road in terms of sheer drops, and there were lots of landslides and lots of tourists who would be wanting to go the same way. On the bus I curled up next to a Japanese grandma and was tired enough to have a quick dream about a boy with a bible asking me what to do. 

We got to the little town, Aguas Calientes, and had time (did I mention 8 hours) to have Trout ceviche with free pisco sours and then went into a reggae shack which had a full size snooker table with not enough balls for the home-made triangle, no real floor but ironically had rugs and carpets hanging on the wall for sale. Then the owner went out for a spiff then came in and cronked up the volume of the tunes which included "don't worry be happy". Haha! Explains everything. 

We finally got our train back which seemed to take forever, and at this point we were super super ruined after being up since 3.30am! Yeah another poorly organized tour (cheap tho!) and on the bus ride back, It was my turn to have a Chinese woman asleep on my shoulder in the van. I wonder if she had a dream. 

Copacabana to Cusco

From Copacabana we boarded a coach along with two other people, a gift of the gab (blatantly gay) guy from Essex with his Korean wife who does musical theatre in Korea. A funny couple. So the four of us, on the otherwise empty bus, headed towards the Peruvian border. The border crossing was easy again and within a few minutes of entering Peru we noticed the scenery was such a lush green colour. There were many different greens. Pine, mint, avocado you name it - a B&Q paint strip collectors heaven! As well as a truck containing a load of dead sheep strapped to the top in a pile.

We stopped in Puno to change buses and where our new friends told us they were scared of travelling after being held up and robbed at knife point in Buenos Aires. We told them not to be scared.

Our bus from Puno slowly made it's way in the rain through run down areas with half-finished abandoned building constructions. Then the bus stopped, a man ran into a garage, returned with a tyre and began changing a wheel just as the rain turned into a thunderstorm. Kerri's face was a picture, she hates storms and was already sketched out from the general nature of the bus.

Then three women got on the bus with their bright fabric bundles, came upstairs, unwrapped the bundle at the top of the stairwell to reveal brown paper and inside that the bloody carcass of an animal. She produced a meat cleaver and began hacking it to bits with theatrical butchering movements. At this, nobody really batted an eyelid, expect me who was staring wide-eyed and open-mouthed at the spectacle in disbelief and amazement.

She threw the bits into bags and added a potato or two and sold them to passengers, giving them a bit of toilet roll for their sticky fingers.

If you didn't fancy that, you could buy a WHEEL of cheese.

When the brightly coloured butchers had got off, the slightly hills-have-eyes man who loads the luggage into the bus came round to check our tickets. He had a piece of toilet roll stuffed up one nostril. When the tickets had been checked he stood at the top of the stairs and sang a song which had about four different words and then came round collecting money for his performance. We gave him some soles because he had stopped singing.

Then we looked behind us and there was a man who had a bag of animal horns so Ken got it into her head that he was going to murder us with the horns.

We finally got to Cusco about 10.30pm and by this point Ken was feeling really I'll and just wanted a nice quiet hostel so we checked into the Wild Rover, notorious Irish party hostel.

Kerri went to bed and I went to the bar to get a glass of milk as we had had no dinner, saw the boys at the bar wearing about 6 different hats between the two of them because it was Monday night crazy hat party, of course, and had a baby Guinness or ten instead. 

 

Isla del sol

From La Paz we took an organized transfer from our hostel at 7.30am (because hijackings are notorious on that stretch of road if you do it at night) on a bus which seemed to be continuously beeping it's horn and driving on the wrong side of the road. We arrived at Lake Titicaca three hours later and our bus had to get into a big rowing boat and cross separately to us. It was still carnival going on and there were people dancing in the streets in mad orange, silver and blue costumes with full face masks. There were stray dogs and cows, donkeys and sheep grazing at the side of the high mountain road on the way to Copacabana and the scenery was endless green.

We got to Copacabana and tried to get some food. We walked out of the first cafe because they told Kerri she couldn't stay seated in there if she wasn't eating (the guy was English, typical).

We walked out of the second place because the waiter came to apologise for  the long wait due to it being carnival, everyone being drunk and no one being at work. (Bolivian carnaval has lasted way longer than scheduled!)

We took the boat, starving, to Isla del Sol for one and a half hours. Kerri was sat by the window so she boiled alive in the sun while I fell asleep next to another Viking type guy (only Viking by sound, not appearance like Hercules)

When we arrived we had to climb about 5 sets of Inca steps (which are huge) up to the nearest hostel, at altitude, with a 30kg backpack on. We were greeted by a cross-faced four year old girl, a fat toothless Bolivian hat balancer and a donkey who said there was room at the inn. Thank Jeff for that because the other hostels were about 18 sets of inca steps up, at least.

The BHB fed us trout from the lake while the four year old asked for some of our coca cola and told me the bumble bee in the window was dead. I gave her my sun glasses to wear and she helped herself to more coke until the BHB came in and told her off for being rude. Then we played catch with a balloon. It's easy to talk to Spanish-speaking kids because our level is pretty similar! Then she wanted to play catch with a mirror and introduced the game by running in with a mirror and throwing it on the floor which we took as our queue to leave.

The island was so quiet, we loved the contrast after the craziness of La Paz. We climbed right to the top (3800 meters altitude) and spoke to some donkeys, pigs, llamas and more beautiful dogs. So serene. It was hard to keep remembering it was a lake because of it's  vastness. It was so good to be near water again.

We went to bed at 8.30pm. Yes, La Paz was that harsh.

The next morning we woke up to an incredible view of the lake and a cold shower and decided to walk up to the top to get breakfast but the altitude killed us as we hadn't eaten since 4pm the day before and, dunno if i mentioned it but, La Paz was harsh!

We spent the day exploring the island, walked past a BHB who had a herd of llamas, donkeys, pigs and sheep all running together in mutual agreement! The llama had run ahead but the rest were tightly packed together, their heads down, a collection of different heights, colors and noises no objection, like they do it everyday. It was too funny.

We went back to the mainland and tried to go out for dinner but walked out of two more restaurants for lack of service as everyone was still partying in the main square and not at work yet. We chose a place, sat on the sofas outside and ordered from the lanky waiter who looked like he belonged in England in the early hours after a rave.

While we were waiting a dog came and sat on the sofa next to me (hiya!) and our waiter tried selling coke to passers by. 

The food was whack and we ended up running inside with it because a massive dust storm was coming up the road towards us!

We went back to our hotel and actually listened to the carnival music, which sounded like a clown laughing and a load of organs being banged at both ends. 

Ear plugs in, we went to sleep. 

La Paz

Bryn says Israelis are like rats, in that you'll never be more than 5 meters from one. True dat in SA!

So La Paz was a bit of a blur. Our hostel had a bar and at that bar you would witness things that would make the old man from Father Ted cringe.

One particular man was wearing a Hello Kittie onesie and while I was innocently trying to charge my phone over breakfast one morning, asked me in a stench of booze, what part of Australia I was from. I laughed as someone had thought I was Israeli the night before. I would be Belgian the following night. This guy had been up all night and when asked if he had been to bed, replied that he didn't know. We saw him later that day, still pissed and stinking and AGAIN the next morning looking like DEATH but still drunk. That same morning we saw people ordering shots and ciders at 9.30am. That place made us feel like nuns. 

We walked, out of breath and hungover, to San Pedro prison and sat in the square looking at it and at the queue of women waiting to get in to see their men. We noticed the policemen and Ken pointed out their really old school guns hanging from their belts and decided those guns "are the ones that really hurt". Gold.

Then we went to the witches market. It took for ever to find because the map sucked and we were hungover and out of breath and our flip flops kept coming off. It had weird dried dead baby llamas hanging up and potions for every ailment including loads of Viagra to make you "like the bull". 

We tried to visit the coca museum but it was all Spanish text and for 30bs we are not that advanced so we came out again.

The Bolivian women wear bowler hats perched on top of their head but they are slightly too small so they have no purchase on the head by being wedged on as we would wear them, no, they are BALANCED. We spent many a minute staring at them trying to fathom the secret of how they stay on (Velcro?) but came to the conclusion that it's pure skill. We call them the Bolivian hat balancers (BHBs). They probably take their advanced BHB exam at the end of May. The guys get to wear baseball caps. The women are so softly spoken and gentle and mostly have no teeth.

Walking back from the witches market we saw a clean, white jaw bone on the floor in the street. Hopefully animal!

We went to the mad opening party of a new hostel which involved shoulder rides and dancing on the bar. 

Then we cycled death road. I did it on two hours sleep because all the red bull from the godforsaken blood bombs kept me up. The bikes had suuuper sensitive breaks (we paid for the best company, no fucking about) and we received many warnings about going over the handlebars. We bombed it down, prewarned about upcoming sections of road, called stuff like "collarbone alley" because it claims so many collarbones! 

We went to a monkey sanctuary at the bottom where 150 monkeys were roaming free and had a little zoology lesson which was lovely, but Kerri's legs got eaten alive by sand flies. 

On the way back up in the minivan, our guide told us that Klaus Barbie (Hans from inglorious bastards) moved to live on death road in hiding after murdering 6 thousand in WW2. He also told us about many of the fatalities and casualties - which was nice to be told about after rather than before and we then started noticing all the crosses and memorials by the side of the road. At it's peak the road claimed 300 lives a year, averaging one a day.

In conclusion, we concluded that La paz is a shit hole but a good shit hole.

Uyuni to La Paz

The last day of the salt flats tour was the best. Driving onto the flooded dessert at 4am with the stars reflecting in it was just crazy, guys.

After we made all our mad photos crawling in and out of Pringles cans we got dropped in uyuni. When the driver announced we were here we didn't believe it because it was not a town. It was a collection of mud shacks and litter. He dumped us on the street and we tipped the driver and cook then said bye to JP after asking Donald (she doesn't have it) to add us on Facebook. He never did. Probably wasn't allowed to. One of the boys shampoo then leaked all over his bag, consequentially leaving a delightful waft everywhere he went. Swings and roundabouts.  

We had 8 hours to kill before our bus and after checking what there was to do in the guide book, which revealed a sweet fuck all, we wondered round with the boys for a bit before settling in a Mexican restaurant to get pissed. Lovely sign in the bathroom warning against cholera if you dont wash your hands. Pictures included.

When we emerged 7 hours later half cut, carnival was still in full swing outside and we had to walk straight through a square where kids were armed with water bombs, water pistols and silly string spray cans. Trying our best to be inconspicuous, the 6 of us walked in our best gringo fashion straight through them. I took a water bomb to the side of the face and Ken got a couple to the legs. We then had to wait outside for the bus (cos we got kicked out the bus station) for 40 mins while a thousand fire crackers and fireworks went off, each bang making me have to face the wall. Finally we got on the night bus at 8pm.

The woman came round giving everyone chocolate bars while Ken and I banged on our Annie Mac playlists and after a couple of plays felt sleepy but NO you cannot sleep because the road is made of boulders and you must bump up and down all the way. We started getting bumped to sleep but NO the light is back on and more locals are squeezing themselves and all their bags and kids up the stairs. Ok maybe we can sleep now it's 1am. Nope, NOW it's time to check the tickets! Now let's stop at a shop where a woman whose face is covered in glitter sells some weird cheeses and sweets. I get a bottle of orange juice and get back on the bus. 

Oh the juice has leaked all over my bag.

It's freezing. My Brazilian sarong is wrapped super tightly around my legs which only have tights on. My legs are up on the bar hanging over the stairs and shoes are off for comfort but are then back on because my tight-clad legs keep sliding off the metal bar. Legs and face have to take turns on having the warmth of the sarong because it doesn't reach everywhere. 

2am three fat local old women get on and make themselves a nest in the isle with all their blankets. I eye their blankets enviously. Then two lay down and sleep, still in the isle while the younger one hugs the stairs. 

Trying to sleep listening to Stanton warriors breakbeat/house/dnb going over bumps on seats that recline so much that you end up sliding down into where you put your feet. You are bare thirsty because of the altitude and the afternoon drinking session but daren't drink your water because there is no toilet unless you dare to go at the side of the road when the bus pulls over unannounced. 

We went past a slum at 7am, called El Alto which looked like Afghanistan. Litter blowing around dirt streets but still brightly colored Bolivian women power-housing around with their huge bundles on their backs serving hot milk at the side of the road. 

We descended down into La Paz at 8.30 absolutely fucked from the salt flats tour and no sleep on the bus where the driver released our bags from the dust cave under the bus. 

We trusted a taxi to take us to Loki and got there along with a load of Israelis. 

Salt flats day 3

Upon waking up, Ken summed up the general consensus with a concise, "Fuck altitude." Haha

Driving into vast scenery and nothingness makes you think, reflect and nurture creative ideas. Memories from long ago arise. The jeep was mainly silent for large amounts of the days as everyone pondered.

I put on "Origin of Symmetry" by Muse on my iPod and it added another dimension to the already epic experience.

We saw huge rocks shaped by the wind, had lunch on some rocks made from lava in front of another semi active volcano and drove past a big quinoa plantation near the salt flats themselves. The driver explained that the quinoa is worth so much as an export that Bolivians cannot afford to consume their own produce. The red plants are worth more than the yellow and many buyers simply turn up and demand huge quantities of it.

The previous night there had been a rumour that we wouldn't be able to see the salt flats as the drivers wanted to get back to uyuni for carnaval and were claiming they didn't have enough petrol to get us there. Luckily it was just a rumour and at the end of the third day of driving we finally turned onto the Salar, the mysterious salt desert where illusions and mirages are not uncommon and drove accross it towards our accomodation. 

Due to it's vast emptiness, it would be very easy to become disorientated in the Salar and lose your sense of direction (as well as your mind) but our driver reassured us that he had 13 years experience driving this route and that he used the mountains to navigate.

Our accomodation was a hotel made of salt. Actual salt. One of the boys licked the wall to test it. I became aware of a cut on my foot when I walked around the hotel barefoot! 

We got told that one of the jeeps has rolled over three times, sending the tourtists in it to hospital with broken bones.

I sampled quinoa beer and we were served a big last supper before going to bed at 9pm as we were getting up at 4am to see the sunrise....