As we have now passed the halfway point of our South American trip, I find myself missing certain things from home which is, perhaps, unsurprising. Therefore I intend to have a good old whinge about it. Consider yourself warned.

The biggest thing for me is cooking, particularly really good vegetarian dishes (famous baked mushroom gnocchi anyone?) and more than that, cooking for other people and hosting, something I love to do. I am also very much missing Alex’s cocktails, which are as lethal as they are delicious. I miss these two things so much that it probably comes as no surprise that I have a list all ready to go of the things I want to cook, that Alex wants to cook, and the drinks I want Alex to make. Negroni, naturally (shout out to the Negroni WhatsApp group consisting of me, my Dad, my aunt and, more recently, Alex… a great honour), a Gin Basil Smash, a good, very dirty Martini with big, fat, buttery olives, and finally a Gibson… basically a gin martini with silverskin pickled onions, only I have enough pickled onions in it for it to be considered an onion soup.

However I am not writing this simply to list the food and drink I miss… that list would be too long. Besides, there are many other things about the UK that I am feeling nostalgic for, and which I shall now list in absolutely no particular order:

Plumbing

Honestly this needs 2 subsections because it’s to wide and varied a topic.

Loos

Much of the plumbing in South America is weak, feeble. Many a sign says “no paper in the toilet please” meaning that you must throw your shitty paper in a bin. This is undeniably grim, and I look forward to the day that I can flush my bog roll with gay abandon and not perform a tricky and complicated folding system so as not to have to stare at my own shit as I attempt to avoid looking at anyone else’s shit that’s already in the bin as happy flies buzz merrily about (in public toilets at least). Sorry if that’s all TMI… but you better learn to get comfy with your other half real quick because you’re sharing a bin.

Hot water

God I miss the certainty of a hot, powerful shower. I say this as someone whose shower at home isn’t the most powerful… but it is at least hot (now I’ve had the boiler replaced) and strong enough to rinse conditioner. I don’t know if we have just been monumentally unlucky/cursed but out of the 18 places we have now spent the night only 7 have had immediate hot water without issue with a further 2 that had hot water for 5 minutes no more and 2 that we’ve had to ask “how do you get the hot water to work?” One was confused that it wasn’t working (see, we are cursed) and then realised she needed to put more money in the meter. Then another place where it’s a case of “touch the hot water pipe on the boiler in this dark cupboard and if it’s hot the hot water should be on”. The rest have all been lukewarm at best, ice cold at worst. It’s also a complete lottery as to which tap is the hot one or which direction the mixer should be. Or, lest we forget the danger showers of Cartagena and Copacabana, the tiny switch on top of the shower right next to exposed, daisy-chained wires.

Tea

Or more specifically, decent tea and proper milk to put in it, not that nasty uht crap. Gimme that Yorkshire tea, properly brewed, with the correct amount of proper milk.

Building standards

And indeed any sort of obvious vernacular beyond “half finished”. In some countries there are tax loops ie if the building isn’t finished you don’t pay tax. So they don’t finish the buildings. It’s just cheap, red air bricks and concrete, which often leaves dribble marks down the facade. Now of course we have seen some beautiful buildings too, but they’ve all been historical buildings with a generally colonial vibe. Anything built this century is, it seems, a self-build job with dodgy wiring, bright white central bare lightbulbs in each room and, crucially in the cold Andean regions, without heating.

Health and safety

This leads firmly on from the previous paragraph. Now I’m not usually health and safety’s biggest fan… I think in the UK it has gone a bit too far. But it’s preferable to what they have here. In short, there is no health and safety. We all remember the death by electrocution shower in Copacabana Bolivia… well that was just the icing on the cake. Or maybe the cherry. Uneven surfaces, ankle-breaking gaps, dodgy wiring, falling masonry, workers without hard hats or safety harnesses 10 storeys up. It’s the Wild West out here.

Gardeners’ World

I miss Monty and his dog Ned. I miss seeing amazing English gardens and farms. It was part of my lazy Saturday morning routine and I miss it dreadfully. Yes, I am clearly in my 70s at heart.

Decent roads

Things have improved since crossing into Chile, but by that I mean that there is usually a road surface and it even often has markings! A rare treat. A lot of the time the infrastructure leaves a lot to be desired in that sphere. Bumpy, cracked, no hard shoulder just a steep drop into the abyss, and that’s if there’s a surface at all! Sometimes it’s just a gravel dirt track and you have to imagine that your Uber driver is in fact a rally driver.

Tap water

You can’t drink it here. It’s not safe anywhere on the continent apparently. I’m sure there are some deeply problematic socio-political applications here; poorer nations forced into buying bottled water that they then can’t recycle because, once again, the infrastructure isn’t in place. As we discovered from Alex’s trip to the doctor, even salad isn’t safe if it’s been washed in tap water.

Driving standards

This has improved in Chile, but on the whole it’s all been Wacky Races with different applications of the horn depending on which country you’re in. Indicating is for wimps, as is looking in your mirrors, apparently. Oh and most taxis don’t have functioning seatbelts in the back. Or at least, 70% of them don’t.

Bread

It’s just shit here. End of. There are these round breakfast roll things that are so hard they could be used as a discus in the Olympics and a recent Chilean supermarket trip where we bought what looked like the equivalent of a white farm loaf with some “just like abuelas” branding and it tasted of chlorine. Give me a wanky £5 sourdough loaf please.

Cheese

They have cheese here, and even some local varieties that are quite nice, but it’s just not the same, man. I want basic cheddar. I want Stilton. I want a gooey Camembert.

Clean city air

We complain about the pollution in London. My friends it is nothing, NOTHING, compared to here. Old cars and buses belching black fumes freely, often in a jerry-rigged side-facing exhaust pipe that directs said fumes onto the pavement. I dream of London’s air quality. To me right now it would feel as fresh as the bottled Mount Fuji air they sell to tourists.

Lower risk of food poisoning

I recently got got. No idea what got me. What with the water and general food hygiene here it’s a total lottery.

Recycling

In some towns there are places to put plastic bottles, but they seem as rare as hen’s teeth. The amount of rubbish on the side of the road and just lying about in general is depressing, and not limited to cities either. Again, another infrastructure issue that no doubt has a root cause in post-colonial social/political/economic problems.

Crisps

We’ve tried a variety of unusual local crisp flavours and they’ve all been bitter disappointments. Dip is not a thing here either. I need me a good tzatziki and some Walker’s Thai Sweet Chilli crisps please.

Animal welfare

The number of stray dogs in every country we’ve been to is genuinely distressing. Some seem to be semi-feral: someone at some point put a fleece coat on it, or maybe it has an owner but is allowed to roam free, but for the most part there are mixed packs of dogs picking through the bins in every town and city. Many of them look like fancy breeds, which means they were once pets and then when they owner couldn’t look after them anymore they were just put out on the street. It’s desperately sad.

Lush greenery

Now this one is very specific to my current situation: we have been up in the Andes for almost a month. That means very arid. I am crispy, crispy I tell you! And whilst this landscape is spectacular (I imagine it’s what Mars looks like), I do dream of the rolling green hills of my homeland. I would like to add that, since leaving the desert, we have now returned to a more temperate climate and there were loads of lovely plants and greenery in Valparaiso. Still, rolling English hills please.

Meal deals

There is nothing more British than the humble meal deal and I miss it more than I thought I would. I don’t even eat them that often but the knowledge that if needs be I can get a tuna mayo sandwich, some sweet chilli crisps and a coconut water for £3.50 is a comfort. I miss that comfort.

Cotton bedding

They’re a fan of polyester here. I shit you not, when rolling over in the middle of the night you can actually see the static crackle across the surface. The static is worse at altitude, as my hair can attest to. Regardless, I miss a fresh, crisp cotton bedsheet, duvet and pillowcase.

Rain

There. I said it. I am dry, scaly, crispy and done with the desert and its lack of moisture. I may, in time, come to regret this little outburst.

Finally, she’s done

Now I appreciate that this mostly sounds like whinging… and that’s because it is. I am being a whinge bag. Alex would like it to be known that he doesn’t share all of my whinges. This has also been a trip of a lifetime and I have seen some truly incredible things! Most recently the Salt Flats and Atacama desert (but more on that later) as well as some staggering wildlife. But I’m English (mostly) and it’s in our nature to complain. And whilst this may be seen to be miserable and precious, let it be known that I have gone 10 days without a hot shower in a place that drops below 0° at night, and have been limiting myself to a hair wash every 5 days it seems. So I’m not that precious. Really. Really.