Kayaking Mishaps in Search of a Nice Loose Pub on the Lake of Seven Colours – Bacalar, Mexico to Caye Caulker, Belize

We woke up in our lovely eco-cabana in the park next to Lake Bacalar (Scott Bakula) and found a couple of bottles of Sol in our bags to drink for breakfast as we sat out on our little patio and admired our beautiful surroundings in the daylight. Having arrived late the previous night we hadn’t appreciated all the lovely flowers and trees in the park!

Rejuvenated by the first beer of the day, we wandered down to the lake to take advantage of the free kayaks and spent a hilarious couple of hours paddling about ineffectively on the lake, trying to find somewhere along the shore that looked like a bar where we could get some beers and brunch. Unfortunately we were in quite a remote location so our quest was futile and everywhere that looked like it might be a bar turned out to be someone’s house once we got close up. There was a hilarious incident when investigating one of said potential pubby looking chains we attempted to moor our kayaks and disembark, Susan first, who promptly slipped on the algae covered landing ramp and ended up soaked to her waist much to Jill’s amusement. This amusement was short-lived though, as cocky in her knowledge that the ramp was slippy and she was going to watch her footing and not go the same way, she managed to slip regardless, fall to her knees and then slide backwards down the ramp scraping all the skin off her knees and ending up neck deep in the lake.

We got back to the eco-park and wandered back to the terrace, soaking wet, to have a few post-boat adventure beers and touch the resident dog before ordering our taxi to Chetumal. Jill went to have a cigarette, only to find that despite her thinking she was clever and sealing them in a zip-loc bag in her dress pocket for the lake, all she had was a pouch of wet tobacco and mushed up paper and had to buy some more from the man on reception.

We got to the water taxi terminal and paid our (quite preposterous) “exit fee” to get out of Mexico (after lots of running around in search of an ATM in which to take out said funds), and ended up sitting having a few beers, chatting with a lovely Belizian couple at a little kiosk by the landing point that was playing some quality 80s pop classics. We had to line up our bags on the jetty, where the customs men with their sniffer dogs wandered up and down inspecting them. The dogs were quite interested in one of the bags, and us and the Belizian couple were whispering “ooooh someone’s got something they shouldn’t!” and watched intently as it was revealed that the bag in question actually belonged to the driver of the boat and the substance that had interested the dogs was actually his packed lunch.

We went straight for the vacant back seat of the boat, and realised our error as soon as we started moving as we were getting the brunt of bouncing off the waves and neither of us had the foresight to wear a sports bra. We had a quick stop to change boats at Ambergris Caye (the largest and most popular of the Belize islands) just as the sun was going down, and grabbed a quick beer and a sandwich at the kiosk on the jetty before resuming our voyage to Caye Caullker in a tiny little dark boat.

Our chosen hostel (Yuma’s House) was fully occupied, so we had a quick margarita at a bar on the beach (where we didn’t linger as it was full of pretentious America Spring Breakers) before heading off up the one road on the island to try and find somewhere else to stay. Every hostel we tried was also fully booked and we spent a good while trudging up and down the island. Every time we passed the one policeman on the island (who was hanging around his little police hut next to the beach, with his kids playing around next to him) he kept asking if we’d found anywhere yet and telling us that we could stay at his house if we were stuck! Several other locals we repeatedly passed made similar kind offers and we were completely taken aback at how lovely and generous they all were!

We randomly bumped into a slightly tipsy cockney bloke stumbling along, who on being informed of our plight made it his mission to find us somewhere to stay. He had been wandering about the street in a quandry, having allegedly lost $20 from his wallet and was terrified of going home and breaking this news to his weightlifting Belizian wife (although from the state of him, we deduced that he must have just spent it all in the pub). He came up with the goods though, and found us a lovely little ramshackle place off the main road, run by a lovely big dreadlocked rasta bloke and his cute Swedish girlfriend. We repaid the favour by offering to take him out for something to eat, which he declined but said he’d come and have a drink with us and recommended a good restaurant that did the best “conch” on the island. The restaurant/bar he took us to was amazing – they had SWINGS instead of seats to sit at the table on, massive dirt cheap margaritas and the food was gorgeous. Jill had the endorsed conch which was lovely (kind of rubbery texture like calamari and very tasty). We sat and chatted over several rounds of drinks, the cockney bloke (sorry we can’t remember his name!) had us in kinks regaling us with tales of his adventures in South America, the highlight being when him and his mate told someone in a bar in Columbia that they wanted to buy some coke. in response to which the barman made a phone call and shortly afterwards a blacked out limo came to pick them up and took them to a mansion in the mountains, where the resident drug baron was eager to sell them several kilos. The lads, having only originally meant that they wanted to buy a couple of grams for themselves, were absolutely shitting themselves and managed bluff their way through it by saying they wanted a few grams to try to make sure that it was good stuff before they committed to buying the lot. So they were dispatched in the limo with several grams of free cocaine and returned to the bar. And promptly took the lot and left the country the next day. “And that ladies, is why I can never go back to Columbia.”

We bid him farewell and retired to our tumbledown hostel for a nice nice t nice sleep, as we wanted to be fresh the next day for our planned snorkelling adventure.

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

Where have all the Slovenians gone (long time passing)?

With a miserable start to our evening in Maribor, due to a malfunction of the loose egg location unit, or indeed location of any loose foods, as every restaurant/bar we approached immediately began packing up the tables, we eventually gave up trying to find the thronging hub of the 2012 City of Culture and stumbled into a dubious looking doorway claiming happy hour all night, where we demanded a litre of wine and directions to the happening night spots, which were met with derisive laughter and shaken heads along with apologies that it wasn’t as good as Ukraine, where she was from. Thus began the start of another new friendship, sealed over local firewater boozes which a young couple called Anna and Igor kindly thrust upon us, as she had an English exam next week and could justify an evening of drunken debauchery as studying. Returning to our hostel at some ungodly hour, we were met with crowds of punks and hippies, soiling out of a load of squat nightclubs which appeared to of sprung or of every random doorway behind the building! Fool of a Caxter Barman wandering around town looking for life when it was right here on or doorstep! Obviously wandering around the city centre looking for craic was an amateur move when the graffitied tenements on the outskirts of town were the place to be! And even more amazingly, Transvision Vamp was blasting out of one of them! Put the rest of this in your face

Koman the Barbarian Ferry and our Journey into Skyrim!

After some initial panic (running around Bajram Curri in the dark at 5am trying to find the chef in his car, then watching the ferry pull out of the dock as we drove up) we caught the Koman the Barbarian ferry through the Nice Nice t Nice Nice Northern Albanian Alps, crammed in with a variety of locals and their sacks of potatoes (Potato!) who had scaled down cliffs to the lakeside to clamber on board at random points throughout the journey. A furgon filled with old men playing a sitar and singing obviously bawdy Albanian songs (probably about Jill’s buubs) later, and having missed the bus to Thethi as it leaves at 7am, we met a pie fingered Albanian Brummie who arranged a car and house for us in Thethi. 4 nerve racking hours in a jeep with only right side suspension, packed in with 2 Albanians, 2 Spanish, 2 Germans, 1 American, 3 crates of beer and a sack of dubious meat (on Jill’s lap), took us to the beautiful remote mountain village of Thethi – only to find that those 3 crates of beer were not for us and our all inclusive house stay had no beer in the fridge! Only homemade plastic bottles full of crazy fire water that we politely tried to sip and were dismayed only to have it refilled by the little old woman as soon as we managed to get any down! And despite calls from our organiser demanding they give us beer, none arrived :o( therefore we went in search of a bar and ended up lost and stranded halfway up a mountain just as the sun set and had to resort to trespassing across peoples fields and houses, commando style, to find the main path – only to backtrack to let some cows pass on the narrow path (which Susan touched – animal no. 3, check). In search of a bar, a nice loose egg and to touch all of the animals (we are sure the stories of the cackling, large breasted, beer demanding, animal touchers will abound in Thethi for generations to come), we finally stumbled upon a hut/bar where we spent the last of our meagre funds on beer and had a rousing game of dominoes with the mountain men who insisted on giving us lots more beer Put the rest of this in your face

Promotional Photo Shoot Opportunity‏

Hi Dave!

We saw your work on rockthenorth.com and were also pointed in your direction by your good friend Traci Island. We are an experimental electro spastic quartet from Moldova and are looking for a local alternative interest photographer who can think outside the box to shoot some provokative promotional shots for our forthcoming, self titled debut album “Marijuana Fuelled Murders” which I’m sure you’ve already heard of as it is slowly becoming the buzz word on the unergroung scene (a new mix of underground and grunge – as I’m sure you are aware).
The cartistic concept of our croject is to bring to the pubics attention our glam and gritty fundamentalist proactive mission statement and core values – think Boney M meets Sir Winston Churchill (maybe we can get some poppies (and poppers) involved?). Do you think you’re up to the challenge? Please be aware that we do have in mind some very risque shots, do you have a problem shooting on full frontal male nudity? Do you have a lense big enough for one of our majestic yet diminutive male members? We will provide our own make up artists, warrobes and fluffers. Location wise we have heard of a place near East Bolden Metro station where there is an amazing tree deity which we would like to be photographed in the throws of pagan worship to. I do hope that this does not contravene your religious beliefs. If you would like us to commit sacreligious acts against your enemy religion then we would be happy to confer on that topic as a matter of thanks for your endeavours in our cartistic croject.
Anyway, the balls is in your sink!
Hope to hear from you coon,

Marijuana Fuelled Murders.

For your reading pleasure we have included the lyrics to one of No 1 Molavian hits (please excuse the translation) :

Subpoena your sub-penis
It really is quite heinous
My caravan in Venus
Has a sink and a loo

Subpoena your sub-penis
I really couldn’t feel this
I just don’t want to ream this
Or cover it in poo

Subpoena your sub-penis
You really oughtta see this
A baboon in some Chinos
That looks just like you

Subpoena your sub-penis
I think you might be Amieesh
I want to build your barneesh
With bits of wood and glue.

We hope you’re impressed by our lyricular semantics and etamology.
Come and be part of our parts Dave – As we say in Moldova – Мы хоп у вас много хороших киска – или осел, если вы предпочитаете.


Susan and Jill show you how to Acquire a Choir for Hire – email sent to Amics de la Unio Catholic choir n Barcelona, aged 11 – 17

Hola Amics de la Unio!

We are an exciting new composing duo from the United Kingdom, Lamb and Pea! We are currently working on a dynamic avant garde musical entitled “Marijuana Fuelled Murders”, an enticing, evocative, memorable piece delving deep into the dangers of youthful drug addction and how with the power of the Lord you can bring yourself back from the briney brink of bestruction. We are looking for an all singing, all dancing effervescent yet gritty collective to join us in this bizarre yet compelling adventure of love, drugs, loss and woe and the triumph over the face of adversity and the salvaton of Pynamar.
Would you be interested in such a life changing opportunity?! Well then, we invite you to audtion to become a part of our groundbreakng project, for which of course all travel expenses, accomodation and remuneration plus a mutually agreed upon share of the profits will be provided then please email us at: marijuanafuelledmurders@live.co.uk
We look forward to your response,

Lamb and Pea.


Surprisingly, we have yet to receive a response…

Jill and Susan’s Idiotic Glastonbury Adventure #4

We woke up on the Saturday morning (well, probably closer to afternoon given the time we actually got to sleep) in our dewy, well concealed camping spot in Bradley Stoke and managed to pull ourselves around, treated ourselves to a luxury change of clothes and some breakfast pinge before packing up our gear and heading on out to the main road. We were in two minds whether to go back to the festival and give it another go, one mind being Susan’s who was determined to get in at all costs, and one mind being Jill’s, who having never been to Glastonbury didn’t know what she was missing, and having given her real name to the fuzz was concerned about any future run ins as we’d been threatened with proper arrest if it happened a second time (they only gave us a caution).  The walls were too high, security was too tight, and we were running low on supplies so after many persuasion attempts Susan grumpily gave in and agreed it would be wisest to head homewards.
We found ourselves with two options – head down the “main” road (a small dual carriage way with a hard shoulder to walk on) towards Bristol, or the smaller country road towards Bath. There was a disagreement about which one we should choose – Jill being in favour of the larger option (nowt new there – huh), thinking we’d stand a better chance of stopping a truck, and Susan declared that the smaller road looked like there were more cars going down it. To settle the dispute we decided to stand there for a couple of minutes and the road where the most traffic turned off would be the winner. The small road won, and we set off full of purpose, holding our new wrapping paper sign that said simply “NORTH”. The spurt of traffic going that way when we were making our call must have been a rare occurrence as after 20 minutes of walking, we hadn’t seen one car pass by. After 40 minutes, we realised that we could no longer see any BUILDINGS as far as the horizon, only fields and woods. We were slap bang in the middle of butt-fuck nowhere. Susan had a great brainwave to text her uncle, who lives in Clifton in Bristol and see if he fancied meeting up for a pint (not mentioning that he would have to get them in as we had not 1p) and then maybe he could take us to Bristol to continue our journey from there.
We decided to stop for a spot of brunch and to take stock and come up with a plan. Yes, in hindsight the main road would have been a better option, but we’d come so far down this road that we may as well push on and keep going. Worst case scenario, we’d walk to Bath (which was about 7 miles away) and hopefully manage to get a lift on of the main roads coming out of there. It was a scorching hot day and we had no liquid refreshment other than the remaining pinge, so were glad to happen upon a little village that had a garage with an outdoor tap that we used to fill up one of our empty pop bottles with water and try to persuade the elderly couple working there to take pity and give us a lift, to no avail. We plodded on for another couple of miles, with the few cars that did pass by ignoring our bedraggled presence at the roadside, holding our tattered “NORTH” sign. Still no response from the emergency uncle.
We had another sit down on the grass, a couple of cheeky swigs of pinge (that we could now knock back like pros – good job, seeing as we had run out of weak lemon drink to use as a mixer), chuckled at the hopelessness of the situation and tried to think what to do next. “No one seems to pay any attention to our “NORTH” sign!”
“Well, who doesn’t know where NORTH is?”
“But, you know on the signs on the motorway when you are in That The South? They don’t just say “NORTH” do they? They say “THE NORTH”.”
“Surely adding “THE” onto our sign won’t make a jot of difference?”
We thought it was worth a try, and got out the marker and amended our sign.
Ride#10 – Nice bloke (whose name we have forgotten) from Bath.
Within five minutes of walking along, holding up our new improved sign, a nice gentleman pulled up in his car and agreed to take us as far as Bath, where he lived. Successful deployment of “THE”! We thought this was absolute hoot and told our driver as much who was also amused. It was only 10 minutes or so on a very scenic road to Bath, where after driving us on a small tour of the town he dropped us at a busy looking junction that looked like a prime hitching location. It was indeed just that, as within a short time we had acquired our next ride – the best one yet!
Ride#11 – Dave and his World War II Jeep
We were so ecstatic when a bloke in an amazing old WWII jeep stopped and picked us up! He was in full army fatigues and was on his way home from a battle reenactment (where he had done all the pyrotechnics) and said he could take us as far as Swindon but it would take a while as he couldn’t take the jeep onto the motorway.The jeep, named Bob (you’ll see why in a moment), was truly a thing of beauty and had no roof (and very low sides), Dave told us all about its history and how it had been used in the TV series Band of Brothers, as we enjoyed a leisurely, scenic ride on tiny country roads through the beautiful hills of Wiltshire. We were so glad that we didn’t go on the motorway! It was a lovely part of the journey and Dave was a really friendly, interesting chap. As we approached Swindon, we recalled our previous experience in the privet, evoking some fatherly concern from Dave about our safety. He dropped us off and gave us a bottle of coke (bless him) and we thanked him for the fabulous ride.
He’d dropped us at another likely looking junction, so invigorated by our awesome open-top jeep experience, we skipped off down the hard shoulder of the dual carriage way, waving our trusty “The NORTH” sign with gusto every time a truck approached.
Ride#12 – Sexy Slovakian Peter and The Starship Enterprise
It wasn’t long before a massive truck indicated and pulled in along side us. We were overjoyed as it had been a while since our last lorry. We clambered into the cabin which was incredibly flashy, with screens and buttons and lights and shiny things everywhere – it was indeed like being on the bridge of the enterprise. If the enterprise was captained by an incredibly hot Slovakian bloke called Peter. He was going as far as Birmingham, so we picked a suitable junction en route for him to drop us at. Peter was great craic and enjoyed hearing about the antics of the past few days, making us rollies while steering with his knees and much to Susan’s excitement, let her drive the truck (well – steer it anyway, there were no gears or pedals involved although to this day she does insist that this qualifies her to drive an HGV). We got the pinge out and had a swig, and Peter asked what it was.
“It’s Romanian Palinka”
“Could I have some?”
We passed Peter the bottle and he took a healthy chug (while Susan steered) without so much as a grimace, and declared “good stuff!”. Meanwhile, Jill had been raking through her bag for something or other and had come across a partially smoked joint from Nathan the night before, that she must have stashed for Ron.
“Is it ok if I smoke this?”
“Is it a joint?”
“Yes – is that ok? Sorry!”
“No problem. Could I have some?”
Crazy Slovakian! We were having such good craic that we weren’t paying attention to our location on the Satnav and had completely overshot our proposed landing point and were fast approaching Birmingham!
“Is not a problem”, Peter reassured us, “I will drop you at the next services”, which he did, and after an emotional farewell we headed straight for the nearest nice patch of grass for some nibbles and drinks before planning our next move.
Stay tuned for the next episode, in which Naam proves to be our undoing!
It's the Starship Enterprise!
It’s the Starship Enterprise!
We agreed that we would of blown Peter for free, he even let Susan steer for a bit! We didn't of course although he does appear to be looking at Susan's boobs here haha
We agreed that we would of blown Peter for free, he even let Susan steer for a bit! We didn’t of course although he does appear to be looking at Susan’s boobs here haha

Wandering in search of a nice loose egg, your favourite idiot broads abroad embarking on an yet another enchanting voyage of self-discovery (not the kind that's in those arty french films with subtitles and hairy biffs). Join us in our journey!

%d bloggers like this: