Our first day in the Galapagos Islands. Well and truly in the southern hemisphere.

(Click on the photo for the set)

The day before we set off for the Galapagos Islands, we were taken to the equatorial monument “Ciudad-Mitad del Mundo”. Then when we were done there, having taken our requisite “look at me, I’ve got a foot in each hemisphere” photos, we were taken to the real equator. You see, a bunch of French scientists worked out where the equator fell and the Ecuadorian government spent a small fortune making an enormous monument and a complex of shops, restaurants and whatnot around the magic red line.

Then along came GPS.

It turned out that the French guys had been out by about 200m. Bit of a bugger that. However, ancient tribes had accurately determined the equatorial line many centuries before, building their temples exactly along it. So maybe looking at what they’d done wouldn’t have been a bad idea.

The Inti Nan Solar Museum based around the real equator isn’t as glitzy as Ciudad-Mitad del Mundo, but has its own attractions. Our guide showed us around a replica Indian hut, complete with guinea pig pen (they’re a local speciality). We were told about how the Indians lived and worked. There was a mirror hanging on the wall and Mr Guide explained, “When the Spanish came, the Indians gave them gold. In return, the Spanish gave the Indians mirrors … ah, wotcha gonna do? At least we could see ourselves in the morning.”

A dried goat’s foot was hanging from a timber and we were told that this would have been used to whip any misbehaving children. There were just 3 rules children had to follow: 1. Don’t lie; 2. Don’t steal; 3. Don’t be lazy. I considered taking a dried goat’s foot with me for any spawn of Satan on the flight home and adding a rule of my own: 4. Don’t be a little bastard while I’m trying to sleep.

Our tour of the Indiany parts of the open air museum ended with being shown a fairly gruesome tiny shrunken head. Behead your enemy, scoop out their brain and boil their head with herbs, fill it with rocks and - TA DA! - you’ve got yourself a trophy of war. Good stuff.

Clickety-click on the luscious llama for the Equator set

Flying with Iberia from Madrid to Quito, we had Spanish-speaking cabin crew. I soon had “gracias” and “paella” down, but had terrible trouble with the simple greeting “hola”. For the first day or so on the flights or in Quito, anyone hailing me with “¡hola!” would be greeted with “‘allo!”. The vowels just would not go in the right place.

On our second day in Quito, our guide Sofia took us on a tour of the city. She was very interesting and exceedingly knowledgeable, regaling us with all kinds of anecdotes and facts that I can’t remember any more. But! There is one thing I remember and absolutely love: see that there flag of Ecuador? The yellow strip symbolises the sun and the blue strip symbolises the sky. Can you guess what the red strip symbolises? … THE BLOOD OF THE REVOLUTION!

Oh, the Ecuadorians like their symbolism and their revolution. On the Liberty statue you’ll see a condor breaking the chains of oppression and a lion with an arrow in his side. The lion represents Spain and the arrow is Ecuador. Ha ha, got them damn Spaniards.

Another place we visited in Quito was the Compañia de Jesus church. There were lots of pretty little girls in their white communion dresses floating about outside, surrounded by various well-dressed, rich-looking relatives. Once the service was over, we went in to admire the enormous amount of gold decorating the interior of the building. Several tonnes of the stuff adorned, well, everything. Sofia told us some more facts, but I have no idea what they were. Something to do with calla lilies. They were everywhere and the girls in the white dresses had been holding lilies too. I don’t know, maybe it was the church of lilies and gold and Jesus.

Photography was not allowed in the church. After all, why would you want to allow photography when you can sell postcards in the gift shop instead? We duly did our bit to keep the coffers of the Catholic church ticking over and waited to pay for our cards while a group of German-speaking tourists finished their shopping. The ladies of this group were evidently highly security-conscious and kept their wallets close to them at all times. Standing in the gift shop we were treated to a grand show of unzipped shorts and too much underwear on display as they returned their wallets to the secure confines of their knickers.

I sure there must be a joke in here somewhere about getting one’s wallet snatched.

Hello to everyone visiting from 25peeps.com

My “peep” is currently on the front page there and evidently quite a few people are clicking on my delightful visage in order to come here. Take a look around … there are some rude things in the side bar, a variety of stories about wee in the archives and an enormous bunch of photos on Flickr. Enjoy!

You know, maybe my body clock wasn’t quite right. Going to sleep at 3am and waking at 12.30pm just doesn’t sound to me like someone who’s accepted which country they’re in. In any case, having fallen asleep on the floor after my dinner last night (but not like this) I think I might finally be back in line with British Summer Time today.

The first photos are up on Flickr, taking you from landing at Madrid to arrival in Quito and the first part of our first proper day there. I didn’t see much of Madrid apart from the airport and the disabled toilet there. So let me tell you a story about toilets.

Only in recent years have I started using the disabled toilets, recognising that, hey, they might just be advantageous for me. I’ve also been having fun judging the various facilities I use. The one in Madrid airport seemed to offer so much, and yet gave so little. The room was big and the lock worked securely, leaving me free to pee and poop in peace, without the fear that someone would waltz in and be faced with not only me on the throne, but me on the throne several feet away, which is somehow much sillier.

There were two metal handles folded up against the wall, one either side of the toilet. I pulled them, shook them, heaved and ho-ed on them, but they would not budge. They weren’t about to help me get onto the 9-foot-high toilet. Why is it that some disabled loos are so frigging high?

Anyway, finally ensconced and doing my thang, I saw that the sink looked rather clever. And I don’t mean that it was wearing glasses. It looked height adjustable: the pipes for the water beneath the sink were flexible, the whole thing was mounted on a big shaft and there was a handle at the side.

So, trousers up (I liked my red trousers, but the two buttons, one zip and waist ties were time-consuming - and confusing when tired) and time to flush. Instructions in English said not to touch the sensor-looking thing, it’s automatic. I waved my hand in front of it in case it was movement-sensitive. Ha, movement! Nothing happened. I gave it a poke. Nothing happened. I gave up, thinking maybe it operates when the door opens again.

Now for the flashy sink. Having just abseiled off the toilet, I was looking forward to something I could bring down to the perfect height. Ha! I tried the handle. It didn’t move. I pulled it, twisted it, pushed it, wangled it, cursed it and gave the whole sink a bit of a thump before finally giving up. Bastard sink, looking so full of promise. I have absolutely no idea what I was meant to do with that handle. Is there a magic handle release tool that comes free with every wheelchair?

I opened the door to the cubicle. The toilet didn’t flush. I went outside, shut the door, waited, went back in and the toilet still hadn’t flushed. I was really wishing it had. I waited a few more moments, did the whole weather house routine again, but still it hadn’t flushed. So I gave up and flew to Quito.

12 days later, I was back in Madrid on my way home. I decided to pay the (in)conveniences another visit, to see if I could master the things that had defeated me before. Handles first. Shake, rattle … nothing. Ooh, lift? Yes! Lift! Down came the handles and I somersaulted up onto the toilet like an Olympic gymnast on the parallel bars. An Olympic gymnast with her confusing trousers around her ankles.

The flush was the next thing to overcome, though granted, I didn’t overcome it, it rather overcame me, flushing while I was still seated. As well as being both somewhat surprising and unexpectedly refreshing, this was also quite fortunate, for had it not flushed, the chances are I wouldn’t have been allowed back into the country again. I’d had a lot of fruit.

So, 2 down, 1 to go. Bastard sink. It didn’t move an inch.

There’ll be stories about the unique wildlife of the Galapagos Islands too, I promise. Just not yet.

I am indeed back in the right country now, with water draining the correct way down my plughole once more. I’m pretty much back to normal time-wise and I’m just starting to sort through the hundreds of photos I took. The amount I saw was pretty overwhelming, so I’m pleased I kept a diary of sorts to help me keep it all straight in my head. I’ll start telling you all my stories once I’ve got a bit of energy back. Strangely, all these wondrous experiences of the last fortnight seem a bit old hat to me now. I was quite bored by the first set of photos I put onto my computer. I’m sure the slight fatigue is to blame!

Now back to catching up on blog-reading and listening to all the episodes of “The Archers” I missed…

Adios.