As I sit here, 35,000 ft above the Atlantic Ocean, presumably several hundred miles off the coast of Portugal, I feel compelled to document my travels thus far. Fair play, I’ve only been on the move for about 11 hours but enough has happened already for me to open up my new Microsoft Surface and road test the note taking capability of its wafer-thin keyboard. Take note Apple cultists – this would be nigh on impossible with the oversized phone (iPad) you’ve come to love and defend so vehemently, despite its numerous limitations. Unfortunately, I’m not able to upload this blog as a fly, for LAN Airlines has yet to embrace in-flight connectivity. However, according to this chap (fraud), things could be about to change – and soon. Then again, who on earth would listen to a man who ums and erms, throws in the odd “you know” and visibly melts under the glare of a studio light hotter than a vindaloo consumed on the surface of the sun. Not me. Nor you, probably. Well if you do, read on for tales of arrogant Germans.

Yes, whilst milling around in Madrid, waiting to board a plane destined for Peru, I encountered the krauts. Many a time I’ve sat by a European pool and feared the arrival of a hirsute female or europop-loving, speedo-clad mullet-wearer to make an appearance and signal the presence of the hun. I know it’s an unwritten rule for the English to meet the Germans abroad, but this time, I was unprepared. I was taken by surprise. There I was minding my own business, when I spied a queue. I wasn’t completely sure it was the queue for flight 2707 to Lima but being English, I joined it as that’s what we do. Feeling slightly superior at being at least a foot taller than every other prospective passenger, I inched my bag along every couple of seconds, safe in the knowledge that my place in line was assured. That was until Fritz and his egg-in-bun mate, Jurgen, showed up. Displaying a complete lack of consideration for anyone in the vicinity, the Deutsche duo barged past a petite Peruana to my left and cemented a position just in front of me. Amazingly, neither had read the sign that stipulated that those to the left were to be seated at the front of the plane, and those to the right were to head to the rear. The Germans had found themselves in the wrong line. I say amazingly as Germans are known for their ruthless efficiency and a mistake such as this is punishable by death back in Berlin. Even more amazing was the fact that I had somehow managed to find myself in the correct lane, despite an incredibly frustrating history of getting every 50:50 decision I’ve ever faced in my life wrong and also, being unaware that two lines were actually in operation. As the enormity of this unfamiliar situation sank in and rendered Fritz and Jurgen immobile, those who had been supplanted marched forth to liberate their places and the krauts were once again removed from land they had had illegally occupied. Beautiful.

Buoyed by this news and convinced the times were-a-changing, I confidently answered the Chilean check in attendant’s enquiry as to how I was – in Spanish. Predictably, he replied in perfect English and left me questioning my ability to converse with any non-English speakers upon arrival. Undeterred, I decided to order myself a “vino tinto” when airborne. Thankfully, a beautiful drop of Chilean red found its way into my hands as intended. Maybe the times are a-changing after all. Nope, the twat in front has predictably put his seat back (the first on the plane to do so) and reduced my personal space to something a battery hen would be dissatisfied with.

Time for a kip.

Day 1: After many days of uninterrupted sunshine prior to my arrival, I was greeted by grey skies on my first day in the Peruvian capital. Believing this to be great news for my pasty white skin, I decided to take a stroll to Parque Kennedy – a pretty little park dedicated to the late US president and inhabited by a number of stray, but tame cats. One decided to sit on my leg – my first pussy of the trip. After a spot of people watching where I saw a man who looked like Screetch from “Saved by the Bell” serenade his decidedly uninterested girlfriend, I returned to my hotel, passing a gay chap who took a fancy to me on the way. Catching a glimpse of myself in the room’s mirror, I realised I had underestimated the cloud cover and was now resembling a Swan Vesta match. Obviously, it was time to buy some sunscreen so I set off to find the nearest supermarket in search of some “keep white” cream. No sooner did I leave the hotel lobby than a bird emptied the green and white contents of its gut on to my arm and previously clean shorts. Now looking like a red, white and green idiot, a woman decided to film me as she walked past. An interesting first day.

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