The Sun is for Everyone, the Beach is for Those Who Deserve it.

Reciting my favourite quote from City of God, obviously I got to Rio expecting to be hanging out with Rocket and Li'l Zé, playing beach volleyball and swigging non-stop caiparinhas. Anyway turns out someone didn't think I was too deserving of the beach, because it pissed it down with rain except for one or two glorious days, which I spent lazing on Ipanema Beach watching the hustle and bustle go by.

There is definitely a lot to do in Rio, but concerned by the rain, I squeezed all of the major sights into one day. A visit to the famous Cristo Redentor and Sugarloaf Mountain were as breathtaking as I expected, and I also took a trip to the Lapa Steps, or Escadaria Selarón, only to be greeted by the great man himself working on his never-ending masterpiece love letter to Brazil. We hung out for a while and I picked up some tiles signed by the Chilean artist, and paid homage to Snoop and Pharrell (check it out mofos).

Still searching for the City of God, I had emailed a guy from the Rocinha Favela who conducts tours through one of the city's most famous shanty towns. I have to admit I was nervous, not really knowing what to expect, but the area is actually well developed, with houses 4 or 5 stories high and a lovely neighbourhood camaraderie. Everyone knew everyone, and the residents were pleased to welcome visitors, telling us their stories and all about their lives. It was a fascinating experience and I'd definitely recommend taking a tour. Our guide Zezhino lives and works in the Favela, having founded a local DJ school with the money he makes from the tours.

And so it was time for home. After meeting up with friends from Bolivia on my last night, I was ready.

After my flight being diverted and a slightly tense air strike in Portugal, I was met at Heathrow by my best buddies, and a new generation of friends: Phoebe D, Harry B in utero and O'Malley to be. It was as if no time had passed at all. I made it home for my friends' wedding, and just in time for a crazy heatwave in London. I'm back at my old Stokie gaffe, with a new job and generally just being able to enjoy life, with the added novelty of pickled onion monster munch and not having to put toilet paper in a bin.

I guess all that remains is a few massive thank yous. To my family and friends, who were always on the other end of a Skype call when I was feeling happy or sad and for welcoming me back since I got home and making me feel like only 5 minutes had passed instead of a year. To friends old and new I've met along the way, for making me laugh, cry, drink, dance and for sharing this adventure with me and putting up with my neuroses. And to the World - for being closer to my doorstep than I could ever have imagined before.

Thanks for keeping up with my blogging.

Until next time,

Paul Vinnie McK xoxo

The Final Stretch: Lima to London.

Okay, so I realise I'm just a little late to the party, but better late than never and no one likes an unfinished blog. So here it is, the final chapters of my ridiculous and wonderful 30-year-old's gap year extravaganza.

With a sweet little unexpected tax rebate I'd got while I was in Chile, I'd booked myself on a flight from Lima to Foz do Iguaçu, a town near where the borders of Argentina, Brazil and Paraguay all converge at the site of the famous Iguaçu Falls. By now a hardened traveller, I didn't even think twice about Yellow Fever (ask me any country on my itinerary and I can still tell you the most prevalent local disease) and arrived late at a cute little hostel in the centre of town. What I didn't realise was that it was low season in Brazil and bloody FREEZING.

The Iguaçu National Park straddles both Brazil and Argentina, with its centrepiece being of course the famous waterfalls. After months of Thai tuk-tuks, Vietnamese coffin buses and kamikaze Bolivian coach drivers, I decided to take the easy option and hop on the daily tour organised by the hostel to visit the Argentinian side of the falls, at Puerto Iguaçu. Making the tour guide stop at the border to demand my final passport stamp, we arrived at the tropical park on a gloriously sunny day and the first sight of the falls didn't disappoint.

The park itself is fun enough to visit even without the water. Surrounded by packs of coatis or 'Brazilian raccoons' (watch out, they nip), armadillos and tropical lizards and birds, it was all very National Geographic, despite the hoards of tourists in overpriced ponchos, weird monorail and specially built walkways. The day was a lot of fun, and I took the boat ride to go right up close to the falls themselves. And by close I mean actually swallowing about 4 gallons of Iguaçu water on the way. The final view and deafening roar of Garganta do Diabo, or Devil's Throat, was something I won't forget in a hurry.

After seeing the Argentinian side, I decided to skip the Brazilian view, I was a bit waterfalled out by the end of it and instead spent the following day thinking about my next move and how I could get to Rio in as few journeys as possible but involving as many beaches as I could and obviously achieving my main goal of coming home with a tan.

I decided on Florianopolis, gateway to the Ilha de Santa Catarina, a beautiful stretch of coast surrounded by mountains and fringed with golden sands, crashing waves and beautiful Brazilians. It was pretty much the dream, and I did nothing for a week except sit on the beach, drink caiparinhas, read my book in a hammock and watch the sunset. Being low season, Floripa was exceptionally quiet but that suited me just fine.

After the rest of South America, Brazil was crazy expensive, and I'd also forgotten about the language aspect. I'd muddled through with my pre-GCSE Spanish, and if I got drunk enough could just about manage a conversation. But it's okay, if you're trying to speak Portuguese, just hold your nose, gesticulate a lot and add an "o" onto the end of the Spanish word, and you're just about there (to my Portuguese speaking friends.. I am of course joking.. sort of).

Onwards to Paraty, a mere 28 hour coach ride away with a depressingly long stopover in São Paulo. If you're ever in the area, Backpacker's House does by far the best breakfast I've ever had and you feel like you're having a sleepover at your mate's house. Awesome. I pretty much repeated the same pattern of doing nothing, taking trips to the beach, drinking Brahma and reading my book. I found a great little backstreet restaurant, with only 2 things on the menu, outdoor plastic chairs, buzzing lights and old Brazilian men meeting to talk about football, I loved it.

After resting my weary bones for a few days, I decided that if I had to do more than one more mode of transport I might actually cry, so I decided to skip Ilha Grande (the weather wasn't actually that great) and head straight to Rio de Janeiro, for the last week of my travels.

Eat Me, Lima

I'd never intended this blog to be all about food. I realise it's a pretty constant theme, and I've scoffed my way through various local cuisines on this trip.. delicious Khmer Amok in Phnom Penh.. amazing street food in Kuala Lumpur.. llama burgers in Bolivia.. McDonalds in Australia.. But I seriously hadn't lived until I got to Lima.

Let's start with the ceviche. Hunks of cold cooked fish, served with huge bits of corn, marinated in a tangy lime and chilli something.. made my taste buds explode (Grace - the Space Raider pain doesn't even come close). Seafood jalea, baby octopus, squid, fusion fried rice, tacu tacu a la chorillana, causa de congrejo.. all washed down with the purple corn juice of Peru, chicha. With every mouthful I got one step closer to actually moving to Lima and eating myself to death.

There was no stopping us. We couldn't go back. We were like addicts jonesing for our next hit. The only way is up, so we booked into Astrid y Gaston for lunch, which unbeknownst to us had that very day been voted the 35th best restaurant in the world. The mixed ceviche, peking style guinea pig (we wrapped it up like crispy duck.. and it really DOES taste like chicken), swordfish, baby goat and a ridiculous 'punished apple' desert made me want to weep.

I blew my Brazil budget but I didn't care as I sipped on the complimentary champers and nibbled on the petit fours given to us to celebrate their new world ranking. Sure beats pasta pesto surprise.

After a stroll through a magic water fountain park and a quick visit to the beautiful Lorca Gallery, with a little excursion to see some pre-Colombian porn in their famous Erotic Gallery, I waved goodbye to my buddies (it's been totes emoshe you trippers xoxo) and Peru and hopped on the plane with my excess belly baggage headed for my final country.. BRAZIL!

White Lines and the Oasis

Nazca was great - mainly for the 35 minutes we flew over it. The town itself is deadsville in the desert, so we took a light aircraft over the famous 'Nazca lines' which made me feel violently ill but was nonetheless very impressive. I've never been in such a small, comedy plane and hopefully never will be again, but to see the glyphs from overhead was really cool. I watched the National Geographic documentary on loop in the "airport" waiting lounge, explaining their supposed origin. But whatevs, the aliens totally did them.

Hopping out of Nazca as quickly as we'd arrived, we took a random night in Huacachina, an oasis in the middle of the desert near to Ica, and on the way to Lima (it's the one on the back of the 50 soles note). I'd planned on going straight to Lima, but so glad I stopped here - it actually turned out to be one of my highlights. I honestly thought oasises (oases?) only existed in cartoons.

We arrived at 'Desert Nights' hostel, and immediately got into a sand buggy for a hilarious white knuckle rollercoaster ride through the desert. We then essentially threw ourselves down 200 foot high hills of sand on a plank of wood. I proclaimed at each drop (they were getting bigger and bigger) that 'I'd sit this one out' but found myself screaming down each one louder and louder. I'm still picking sand out of unmentionable crevices. SO. MUCH. FUN. We watched the most beautiful sunset and partied the night away in the dunes before heading on to our final destination, Lima - capital of Peru and capital of my big fat belly.