So having jumped on a bus back to Mendoza, a strange feeling is slowly starting to come to realisation. Our trip in South America is almost at an end. I'm not quite sure how to feel about this, afterall it seems only yesterday we were saying tearful goodbyes to our parents at the airport. Yet nearly five months later here we sit, staring out of a window on a bus heading North through the winelands of Argentina. In two days we'll be in New Zealand, strange how fast time flies.
Anyway, enough of this depressing crap. Here's a classic anecdote.
We decide that it might be cheaper to get our haircuts in Mendoza rather than waiting till we get to Sydney. So we wander along the various streets trying to find a reputable hairdresser. Eventually we come across this place, it's small and you have to be buzzed to be allowed in. Somehow the alarm bells did not ring. They didn't even ring when we saw the other clients in there and the various dodgy beehive incarnations that were being created. By now, of course we're well used to no one speaking English but one of the customers does and translates for the girl who greets us. The customer, by the way, is having her eyebrows tinted and it looked like a hammer horror movie. Something didn't feel quite right but what the hell you only live once. I immediately volunteered Alison to go first. 'How much?' I asked.
'Thirty pesos each.' The woman replied. I nodded.
Unsure, Alison went to have her hair washed. She kept glancing at me, a concerned expression on her face. I looked around telling myself this was going to be one great haircut for the both of us. I heard a yelp from Alison. The girl washing was being a little rough but I thought nothing of it. Alison was then bought over to the chair where we were introduced to this seventy year old guy, with long grey hair in a ponytail and a slight twitch in his eye. Strange, kinda assumed it would be one of the women doing it, where did this guy come from? Oh well, this is going to be great.
'They didn't condition it.' Alison whispered as she sat down on the chair. Bit strange again but my mind immediately started replaying moments from the latest Bourne film and I quickly forgot any concerns. I did notice, however, the guy take out his cut-throat razor. 'I'm sure he's a professional.' I hummed to myself. He then applied the razor...to Alisons hair. Actually started cutting it. Of course Alison, being the patient, understanding person she is put up with this for about a second before launching in to
'Uhh...no! Scissors!' The guy looked almost surprised.
'You want scissors?' He asked, no hint of irony in his voice.
'Yes please.' Alison said with a Chandler-esc incredulity. She looked at me in the mirror. You could almost see the idea forming in her head. 'I've made a terrible mistake.' She didn't move however and the guy carried on cutting. I noticed he seemed to be yanking clumps of her hair and snipping here and there with no discernible plan. 'I don't remember them doing it like that in our salon at home' I thought to myself. I noticed a line forming around the middle of her hair where he apparently wasn't bothering to make any effort in layering. It suddenly occured to me that the way the man was cutting her hair would be kinda like the way I would cut a girls hair...if I had no idea what I was doing!
Oh dear. This is going to be bad I thought. It occurred to me to raise the issue with Alison but I didn't want to get in to trouble so I kept quiet. She had only asked for a trim but as I glanced at the floor, there appeared to be great clumps of hair. Hmmm. Not good. And yet, still, I did nothing. The man started to blowdry it, Alison having to show him how to use the brush to give it a vaguely straight look. He finished, she looked at it. She knew. I knew. 'What's this?' She asked, pulling bits of her hair around and showing him. 'This bit is longer than this.' Then she noticed the line around her head, the lack of layering. Oh god.
'There's a massive line here. You've ruined my hair! I only wanted a trim!' He protested his innocence but I felt I should get involved. So I came out with the classic line 'Have you ever cut hair in your life before?'
The man seemed to take offence but I actually asked it with genuine curiosity. Alison was starting to get upset. I asked how much.
'Fifty pesos.' He replied. Say what?
'Hang on, you said thirty.'
'Blowdry, extra.' I blinked. Alison got there before me.
'So you ruin my hair, hack it to pieces and you want to charge us double the price!' She looked at me. I knew what she was expecting, be the man. Sort this dufus out. Take charge. And I did, in best way Dan can. I paid him and we left.
Alison was crying all the way back to the hotel, and pretty much the rest of the day. In fact, now I think about it most of the week. It was like she went in to some sort of weird mourning. I kept trying to reassure her. 'It's okay, it will grow back. Another hairdresser will fix this, no problem.' Nothing I said worked. In fact she came back at me with even more venom.
'It's ruined, the wedding will be ruined.' She replied.
'The wedding isn't til next year.' I attempted to say.
'Don't care, everythings ruined.' Man did she go on about it.
So we jump on another bus over the Andes leaving Argentina and most of Alison's hair behind. It's one of the most beautiful bus rides I've been on and certainly the curviest road I've ever seen. We arrived in Santiago and stayed in a nice hotel called the Orly in the rich district. I would elaborate but our last night in South America was quiet and unremarkable. We did feel sad to be leaving and as we sat on our bed watching Vote 2008 via Dominican Republic TV I thought 'I'm gonna miss this place.' Still, can't hold on to these things, I'm sure the next adventure is just around the corner.
The next day we fly to Auckland. It's another Lan flight and I hear grumbles from some of the passengers as they realise the plane doesn't have individual TV's. So we settle in, put the blanket over us and try to get some shut eye. I don't know how long I was sleeping before I was woken by the people next to me speaking rather loud Spanish. Being one not to make a fuss, I turned over and tried to carry on sleeping but damnit they had woken me up and were now speaking so loudly I thought they must have had some kind of hearing impairment. I waited about five minutes before saying 'Excuse me, would you mind keeping it down I'm trying to sleep. Sorry.' I like that little apology at the end. Gives it a kind of 'not my fault you're so bloody loud' feeling. They all turned to me, and, looking suitably miffed shut up. Nice. Of course now I was awake I couldn't get back to sleep but that's neither here nor there.
Of course it's winter in the Southern Hemisphere and we were expecting rain and nastiness but actually it was rather pleasant. We arrived at 0400 and went to our hotel right in the middle of Auckland and had a little nap. We wake up the next day and wander around the city and decide to go to Waiheke Island about 30 mins by boat from the mainland. Everyone keeps telling us it's paradise here and they were not wrong. It is absolutely stunning. Has a real community feel, nice beaches and best of all some of the most stunning views of vineyards I've ever come across. We went to this one vineyard called Mudbrick which had a 360 degree view of the island! Jealous yet? Thinking you might come out to Auckland afterall?
So when it was time to leave Auckland we got picked up by this Supershuttle van thing, where they take multiple passengers to the airport and it's less than a regular taxi. At 0625 we get a call saying the driver is going to be a little early so when we're ready just head outside. We finish packing and are outside around 0635. I say good morning to the driver. He's like 'You're going to make the other passengers late?' Huh?
'Sorry?' I replied.
'You were supposed to be out at 0625, now I'm going to be late with the drop off.' Injustice screamed out of my very being.
'We booked you for 0645! The guy on the phone said don't hurry. We're early as it is.' I tried to reason.
'0645? Well what time were you hoping to catch your flight?' He asks practically throwing my luggage in to the trailer. This guy is stirring the beast inside.
'I don't have time for this crap.' I actually said that.
'I just asked you how you thought you'd get to the airport for an 0800 flight by leaving here at 0645.' Now I'm angry.
'Our flight is at 0900! Doesn't take an hour to get to the airport on a Sunday morning and if the other people have to be at the airport for 8 then maybe you should have sent another van!' I yank open the door to the van and climb in. That shut him up. We got evils from all the other passengers.
'It's not our fault.' I pleaded. But they had already pronounced judgment. SOB's. By the time we got to the airport I think he realised the mistake was his and he started calling me sir. What a dick.
Nevermind, we got to the airport and caught the flight to Christchurch. The Supershuttle driver took us take us straight to Addington Jail. Or rather Jailhouse Hostel which used to be Addington Jail before it was converted. You actually get to sleep inside the cells. Really echoey and atmospheric. At night we sat in and watched the Shawshank Redemption. I wanted to start rattling the bars or get a tattoo but Alison didn't let me. We had our first roast for four and a half months and my first pint of Guinness in an Irish pub. Tell you what, it was great. How I've missed these little pleasures.
Then we go to the airport and catch our final flight. To Sydney. Where we will be for the next six months. As we go through New Zealand customs we get an official who looks like she's at the end of her shift. Brill.
So we approach. 'I notice you've only stayed here for four days, any reason for that?' She asks, peering over her glasses at me.
'Well, we've been travelling around South America and kinda ran out of money. We were going to spend two weeks here but we've been here before so we changed our flights.' This statement does not impress her.
'You ran out of money in South America? It's dirt cheap there.' She stares at me. What is this?
'Brazil isn't, Chile isn't...' I try to counter
'I've been there four times I know what things cost.' O..kay.
'So I see you're going to Sydney, how long are you staying there?' Bollocks.
'Uhh...six months?' I reply tentatively.
'So you're spending six months in Sydney and four days in New Zealand.' Her face looked like it was tightening up for a punch.
'Umm...yes.' I don't mean to offend you, dear woman, but can we get the passport stamped and allow me through. 'But we're planning to comeback in October, so we'll spend all the money we make in Sydney, here.' A sly grin on her face. That's more like it. STAMP, STAMP.
'Enjoy your trip to Sydney.' She says, deadpan. Thanks...I think.
A Tribute to My Merrill Ventilators
Dear Merrills, I just want to say thank you for not giving up on me, these last few months. You've been there, through thick and thin. Through hot and cold, dry and wet. You never gave me a blister even when I walked for 3 days straight. My feet were as untouched by the earth when I took them off as when I had put them on. In the heat you were cool. In the wet...well, no one's perfect. We trudged across glaciers and deserts. Hiked up mountains and down beaches. Along city streets and dusty roads. You were there for me every step of the way. No complaining, no fuss. Just there. With me. On my journey. My blister kit remained untouched as I stand in awe of your comfort. This is not an advertisement, nor is it an arse-kiss for Merrill. It is merely a thank you note from me to a very special pair of shoes.
We arrive in Sydney, the chap living at the place we're going to stay at picks us up from the airport. Mitch has the flu and has been off work all day but he still drove all the way to the airport anyway. Nice guy. We drive to the house our friends have let us stay at. It's beautiful. It's huge and has a view of the valley and in the distance, the sea. Immaculately designed and perfect for our needs, I couldn't have asked for more. They've even let us use their car. That Christmas present for them is going to have to be a sail boat or private jet or something. Mitch's girlfriend, Pipper has a lovely little dog called Audrey who I take for walks along the coast.
But this is where I leave you. I'm going to knuckle down, do some writing and enjoy life here for six months. I will post new blogs when there are stories to tell but they will not be as regular.
What's this Dan, you're leaving us? But...but...why? Did I do something? Was it something I said. No. Please! Come on, I need your blogs, what am I supposed to read when I'm bored at work and surfed every site I can think of?
Who else's writing style can I ridicule as much as yours? What am I supposed to delete if I don't get any more of those silly group messages in my inbox...crap I really enjoyed deleting those! Damnit Dan, I'm invested and you chose now to just walk away. Well screw you. You don't get to walk away from me, I'm going to unsubscribe from you HA!
Thank you for being with us on our journey, I hope I've shared some of the more quirky, entertaining stories with you. If nothing else, at least it was a way to kill time when work gets dull. Chao!
Thursday, May 29, 2008
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
WINE, SPONSORSHIP AND MASSAGES
So after our little stay at the not-so Happy Hostel we thought we´d take a three hour bus ride to a place called Talca south of Santiago. By the way I haven´t really talked about Santiago mainly because it´s one of the most unremarkable places I´ve been. Don´t get me wrong, it´s not offensive. There is a nice castle on a hill, it has an efficient metro and it´s not dirty or anything but there´s just not much to tell you so I won´t. So for those of you that were tuning in order to know all the specifics on Santiago because you were about to book your plane tickets, I apologise.
Now then, Talca is in the heart of the Chilean winelands so no further explanation needed as to why that´s a good idea. The bus from Santiago dumps us in the middle of nowhere. The hotel we´re staying in has some rather strange instructions like ´When you get to the bus station, call us then take another bus to the depot (takes 15 minutes) and we´ll be there to pick you up. Sound like a pain in the arse? Well it was. Of course the local bus never came. We tried calling the hotel from the payphone. Number didn´t work. Tried calling from my mobile, nothing. Alison´s mobile didn´t even get signal in Chile so that´s out. Well this is just great, now what? It´s blazing hot outside, our bags are really heavy and the bus station in Talca wouldn´t look out of place in Bangkok. No one speaks English or they do a good job of hiding it. I sigh quietly, I do love these moments. ´´Right, we´re taking a cab.´´ I announce. Alison looks unsure but sod it. So we find a cabby and he agrees to take us there, for suitable compensation I might add.
The place is way outside town, down a dusty road. We arrive and unload our bags, stroke the dog and pay the cab driver. It´s quite beautiful. Lavender dances outside our room in the breeze. Outside there´s a pool that looks like the dogs have been playing in it too much. The view is great. Apart from the dog the place appears to be empty. Including reception. An eighteen year old girl races passed us. ´´Oh excuse me, could you...?´´ I start to say but she´s gone. I can hear crickets from somewhere and is that...tumbleweed over there...
Eventually the girl comes back. She´s German but speaks good English, hurrah. She shows us our room. Nice. We say we want to visit vineyards. She tells us prices and how we get there. Turns out it costs a small fortune to get out of this place and will involve taking a bus, then a taxi, then another bus before meeting up with the van that will convey us to the tour...´´Uhh, what?´´ I say. The German girl smiles sweetly. ´´But the vineyards are closed at the weekend.´´ She adds this minor detail just for good measure. Well this is excellent. We´re here for two nights, it´s already late Saturday afternoon and we leave on Monday morning. I look up to the sky and shake my head. So you know what we do. Nothing. We stay at this German encampment in the middle of vineyards and see...absolutely no wineries. Nice going Dan.
Just to rub salt in the wounds, turns out they don´t sell any food and if we want anything to eat we´ll have to walk for forty minutes to the supermarket to get it. Oh, and we can´t use the kitchen either. They do do dinner though. Silly price but I´m hungry. ´´It´s vegetarian.´´ The girl mutters sweetly. I´m breathing deeply now. Things are spiralling and I´m going down with them. So what we do is sit in the sun, read and have dinner. They do sell wine (again for suitable compensation) so we get ratted. I read an entire James Patterson book in a day. Don´t think I´ve ever done that before. Go me, I can read!
So after the weekend trip to the vineyards in which we saw none, we hop back on the bus back to Santiago and then jump on another bus to a place over the border in Argentina called Mendoza. Now this is the heart of the Argentinean winelands. Surely we should be able to salvage our wine tasting experience. Of course Argentina comes through in fine style. After a lovely ride through the Andes we arrive at our hostel where we are greeted by this cross-eyed geek who´s singularly one of the most stupid people I´ve ever met. I thought he was being obtuse but Alison assured me it´s just lack of grey matter. I was trying to do some laundry. We hadn´t done any for a couple of weeks and I thought it was probably about time. Could I get through to Einstein? Nope. He didn´t have some piece of paper we had to fill out. When will you have the piece of paper? Don´t know. Where is the main square? Down there (points at a wall) and so on.
We booked ourselves on a wine tour for the next day. And did we sample the delights of Argentinean wine? Answer - yes! And what a glorious thing it was. For 20 pesos each (about 3 pounds) we had 6, yes that´s six glasses of wine to sample. Brilliant. We had so much fun that we decided to do it all again the next day. This time we hired bikes and made up our own tour. We had lunch at one of the places that had been recommended to us by the bike hiring company. Bet they got a commission or something. It was a fancy place behind an electric gate. We cycled in and were asked to remain in the car park until we could be met by the chef. Ten minutes later he came out and explained the prices (which were ridiculous by the way). I really wasn´t sure but Alison said we were here now so may as well.
So the chef shows us the menu all the while saying how great the restaurant is. ´´Look, we even won this award.´´ I look at the dodgy mock glass idol. It had some crappy engraving. I look around the restaurant. Not another soul. I´m starting to wonder if we have, in fact, entered the Self Deluding Restaurant. ´´It´s excellent food.´´ The chef said again. Really, excellent food you say? You, the chef thinks it's excellent food, well stop talking about it and bring some out my good man. We stayed and ate his "excellent" food which was wholly unremarkable. I thought he would have had a great career in Santiago.
We catch a bus to San Rafael it should take a couple of hours but a flat tyre means it takes most of the day. We arrive at our hotel. You know what it´s called ´´The Red Wine Club.´´ How cool is that? And was it nice? Ohhh yes. And was it the cheapest hotel we´ve stayed in the entire trip. Oh YES! And was it like a five star boutique, OHH YESS! Get this, we´d already booked to stay there two nights a few weeks ago for about 20 dollars a night! That´s 10 pounds! Then, they email me and say they are doing a promotion. Would we like to stay an extra night for free, receive a complimentary bottle of wine, go on a free vineyard tour and get a free massage? Does the Pope shit in the woods? Is a bear catholic?
So we go on our FREE wine tour which is all very interesting and one of the vineyards there is selling a 1985 bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon for, wait for it....ten pesos (one pound fifty!) Got to be a catch right? Must be corked or something? Well turns out some of the batch was corked and the vineyard couldn´t guarantee the quality so were just selling them off. You might open a bottle that smells like pig vomit or you might get lucky. We opened it and it was the strangest tasting wine but somehow very nice. It wasn´t corked but was unlike anything I´ve tasted. You get the idea.
So then it´s time for the FREE massage. ´I hope she knows what she´s doing.´ Alison mutters. The last masseuse felt like she had just read a book and then simply declared herself one. The time came, the doorbell rang. The receptionist found us and said ´´The masseuse is here.´´ We walked in from the garden to be greeted by...a bloke. My mind went crazy. A man. But....(I heard in my head ´´Would you like a free massage?´´ echoing over and over) how could this be? I´ve had men do massages before but the theme running through most of them is they hurt, quite a lot. I swallowed. He set his table up in our hotel room. Alison went first. He asked if she minded him being in the room while she got undressed. She said no. I said yes and he left the room. I sat there watching the TV, occasionally glancing over. She seemed okay...hmm. He finished. My turn.
´´How was it?´´ I asked. ´´I´m not saying anything. You go.´´ Uh oh. He started. Oil first, I could hear it squelching in his fingers. All fine. Then he goes for my shoulders. It was okay. All fine yes...OW! I don't know what he was doing but it bloody hurt. And he kept on and on doing it. Then the other shoulder. Wholly crap! More pain. I made a mental note to look up ´´Massage´´ in the dictionary and see if it said anything about them being pleasurable. JEEZ! He hit another spot. I nearly blurted out ´´ALRIGHT I´LL TELL YOU WHERE THE DEATH STAR PLANS ARE, JUST STOP!´´ But I refrained. On and on it went. Time seemed to slow. I was breathing the pain in deeply. But it still....OUCH!!! Damnit man, didn´t you go to massage school?! Just as I think it´s over he grabs my head with both hands and yanks it. This is it. Bye Ma! The man is trying to twist my neck off my shoulders. Tears are streaming down my face as something cracks. Finally he stopped. I sat up. Alison was smiling at me. ´´It´s okay?´´ He asks. I give him an unsure smile and nod. In my typical English way I say ´´Oh yes, very good, thank you so much.´´ He left. Alison looked at me. ´´Well?´´´She asked. ´´I thought he was going to kill me.´´ I said and rushed over quickly to hug her.
We wander back from a very mediocre meal that evening and settle in for a movie on the TV. Only problem is the the movie is Titanic. Ah well. What the hell. But, get this, when the commercials come on you know what company is sponsoring it? Guess? No? Royal Caribbean Cruises! Say what? Obviously someone in the marketing department was having a bad day or didn´t attend the relevant meeting to update his bosses on his plans for sponsorship that week. I suspect he´s working at Pizza Hut now.
Anyway the time has come, once more, to depart. Come on, it won´t be long before I return. Let´s not have any tears. Can we be brave? Good. By the way I don´t have the Death Star Plans so don´t email.
Chao
Dan
Now then, Talca is in the heart of the Chilean winelands so no further explanation needed as to why that´s a good idea. The bus from Santiago dumps us in the middle of nowhere. The hotel we´re staying in has some rather strange instructions like ´When you get to the bus station, call us then take another bus to the depot (takes 15 minutes) and we´ll be there to pick you up. Sound like a pain in the arse? Well it was. Of course the local bus never came. We tried calling the hotel from the payphone. Number didn´t work. Tried calling from my mobile, nothing. Alison´s mobile didn´t even get signal in Chile so that´s out. Well this is just great, now what? It´s blazing hot outside, our bags are really heavy and the bus station in Talca wouldn´t look out of place in Bangkok. No one speaks English or they do a good job of hiding it. I sigh quietly, I do love these moments. ´´Right, we´re taking a cab.´´ I announce. Alison looks unsure but sod it. So we find a cabby and he agrees to take us there, for suitable compensation I might add.
The place is way outside town, down a dusty road. We arrive and unload our bags, stroke the dog and pay the cab driver. It´s quite beautiful. Lavender dances outside our room in the breeze. Outside there´s a pool that looks like the dogs have been playing in it too much. The view is great. Apart from the dog the place appears to be empty. Including reception. An eighteen year old girl races passed us. ´´Oh excuse me, could you...?´´ I start to say but she´s gone. I can hear crickets from somewhere and is that...tumbleweed over there...
Eventually the girl comes back. She´s German but speaks good English, hurrah. She shows us our room. Nice. We say we want to visit vineyards. She tells us prices and how we get there. Turns out it costs a small fortune to get out of this place and will involve taking a bus, then a taxi, then another bus before meeting up with the van that will convey us to the tour...´´Uhh, what?´´ I say. The German girl smiles sweetly. ´´But the vineyards are closed at the weekend.´´ She adds this minor detail just for good measure. Well this is excellent. We´re here for two nights, it´s already late Saturday afternoon and we leave on Monday morning. I look up to the sky and shake my head. So you know what we do. Nothing. We stay at this German encampment in the middle of vineyards and see...absolutely no wineries. Nice going Dan.
Just to rub salt in the wounds, turns out they don´t sell any food and if we want anything to eat we´ll have to walk for forty minutes to the supermarket to get it. Oh, and we can´t use the kitchen either. They do do dinner though. Silly price but I´m hungry. ´´It´s vegetarian.´´ The girl mutters sweetly. I´m breathing deeply now. Things are spiralling and I´m going down with them. So what we do is sit in the sun, read and have dinner. They do sell wine (again for suitable compensation) so we get ratted. I read an entire James Patterson book in a day. Don´t think I´ve ever done that before. Go me, I can read!
So after the weekend trip to the vineyards in which we saw none, we hop back on the bus back to Santiago and then jump on another bus to a place over the border in Argentina called Mendoza. Now this is the heart of the Argentinean winelands. Surely we should be able to salvage our wine tasting experience. Of course Argentina comes through in fine style. After a lovely ride through the Andes we arrive at our hostel where we are greeted by this cross-eyed geek who´s singularly one of the most stupid people I´ve ever met. I thought he was being obtuse but Alison assured me it´s just lack of grey matter. I was trying to do some laundry. We hadn´t done any for a couple of weeks and I thought it was probably about time. Could I get through to Einstein? Nope. He didn´t have some piece of paper we had to fill out. When will you have the piece of paper? Don´t know. Where is the main square? Down there (points at a wall) and so on.
We booked ourselves on a wine tour for the next day. And did we sample the delights of Argentinean wine? Answer - yes! And what a glorious thing it was. For 20 pesos each (about 3 pounds) we had 6, yes that´s six glasses of wine to sample. Brilliant. We had so much fun that we decided to do it all again the next day. This time we hired bikes and made up our own tour. We had lunch at one of the places that had been recommended to us by the bike hiring company. Bet they got a commission or something. It was a fancy place behind an electric gate. We cycled in and were asked to remain in the car park until we could be met by the chef. Ten minutes later he came out and explained the prices (which were ridiculous by the way). I really wasn´t sure but Alison said we were here now so may as well.
So the chef shows us the menu all the while saying how great the restaurant is. ´´Look, we even won this award.´´ I look at the dodgy mock glass idol. It had some crappy engraving. I look around the restaurant. Not another soul. I´m starting to wonder if we have, in fact, entered the Self Deluding Restaurant. ´´It´s excellent food.´´ The chef said again. Really, excellent food you say? You, the chef thinks it's excellent food, well stop talking about it and bring some out my good man. We stayed and ate his "excellent" food which was wholly unremarkable. I thought he would have had a great career in Santiago.
We catch a bus to San Rafael it should take a couple of hours but a flat tyre means it takes most of the day. We arrive at our hotel. You know what it´s called ´´The Red Wine Club.´´ How cool is that? And was it nice? Ohhh yes. And was it the cheapest hotel we´ve stayed in the entire trip. Oh YES! And was it like a five star boutique, OHH YESS! Get this, we´d already booked to stay there two nights a few weeks ago for about 20 dollars a night! That´s 10 pounds! Then, they email me and say they are doing a promotion. Would we like to stay an extra night for free, receive a complimentary bottle of wine, go on a free vineyard tour and get a free massage? Does the Pope shit in the woods? Is a bear catholic?
So we go on our FREE wine tour which is all very interesting and one of the vineyards there is selling a 1985 bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon for, wait for it....ten pesos (one pound fifty!) Got to be a catch right? Must be corked or something? Well turns out some of the batch was corked and the vineyard couldn´t guarantee the quality so were just selling them off. You might open a bottle that smells like pig vomit or you might get lucky. We opened it and it was the strangest tasting wine but somehow very nice. It wasn´t corked but was unlike anything I´ve tasted. You get the idea.
So then it´s time for the FREE massage. ´I hope she knows what she´s doing.´ Alison mutters. The last masseuse felt like she had just read a book and then simply declared herself one. The time came, the doorbell rang. The receptionist found us and said ´´The masseuse is here.´´ We walked in from the garden to be greeted by...a bloke. My mind went crazy. A man. But....(I heard in my head ´´Would you like a free massage?´´ echoing over and over) how could this be? I´ve had men do massages before but the theme running through most of them is they hurt, quite a lot. I swallowed. He set his table up in our hotel room. Alison went first. He asked if she minded him being in the room while she got undressed. She said no. I said yes and he left the room. I sat there watching the TV, occasionally glancing over. She seemed okay...hmm. He finished. My turn.
´´How was it?´´ I asked. ´´I´m not saying anything. You go.´´ Uh oh. He started. Oil first, I could hear it squelching in his fingers. All fine. Then he goes for my shoulders. It was okay. All fine yes...OW! I don't know what he was doing but it bloody hurt. And he kept on and on doing it. Then the other shoulder. Wholly crap! More pain. I made a mental note to look up ´´Massage´´ in the dictionary and see if it said anything about them being pleasurable. JEEZ! He hit another spot. I nearly blurted out ´´ALRIGHT I´LL TELL YOU WHERE THE DEATH STAR PLANS ARE, JUST STOP!´´ But I refrained. On and on it went. Time seemed to slow. I was breathing the pain in deeply. But it still....OUCH!!! Damnit man, didn´t you go to massage school?! Just as I think it´s over he grabs my head with both hands and yanks it. This is it. Bye Ma! The man is trying to twist my neck off my shoulders. Tears are streaming down my face as something cracks. Finally he stopped. I sat up. Alison was smiling at me. ´´It´s okay?´´ He asks. I give him an unsure smile and nod. In my typical English way I say ´´Oh yes, very good, thank you so much.´´ He left. Alison looked at me. ´´Well?´´´She asked. ´´I thought he was going to kill me.´´ I said and rushed over quickly to hug her.
We wander back from a very mediocre meal that evening and settle in for a movie on the TV. Only problem is the the movie is Titanic. Ah well. What the hell. But, get this, when the commercials come on you know what company is sponsoring it? Guess? No? Royal Caribbean Cruises! Say what? Obviously someone in the marketing department was having a bad day or didn´t attend the relevant meeting to update his bosses on his plans for sponsorship that week. I suspect he´s working at Pizza Hut now.
Anyway the time has come, once more, to depart. Come on, it won´t be long before I return. Let´s not have any tears. Can we be brave? Good. By the way I don´t have the Death Star Plans so don´t email.
Chao
Dan
Saturday, May 10, 2008
PORN STARS, WHALES AND A HAPPY HOUSE
First off I must apologise for the delay in getting this latest dispatch out to you. It´s been rather hectic these last weeks and I haven´t really had time to sit down and type it all up. "Damnit Dan, why do I bother to read your crap if you´re just going to pull this kind of stunt?" I hear you cry. Fear not however I have some nice, juicy anecdotes to impart to you so sit down and eat your greens.
Where did I leave you? Ah yes, sitting in Puerto Natales, watching the Paraguaian election (Boy that was ace television), waiting four days until our ship departed for Puerto Montt. The idea being we thought it would be kinda neat to board, what can only be described as a cargo ship, and sail half way up Chile. It takes four nights and you supposedly see fjords, whales and crap. Great, I hear you cry. Yes and I shall come to it shortly. The upshot of not doing our ´W´ trek was we had to stay in Puerto Natales for four days. Now, if you like freezing cold weather, hurricane force winds with absolutely nothing to do during the day, Natales is your town and I suggest you get on a plane and come down here immediately.
For us however, we were stuck in our hostel watching endless episodes of ´House´ on TV. One thing really gets me though. As I watch this programme, the adverts come on every five bloody minutes and you know what they´re promoting? House! Yep, they stick an advert of a programme I´m already bloody watching! Needless to say shouting ensued and people started banging on the walls telling me to shut up.
Anyway, the days pass slowly. Then, good news. We find out the ship (called the Navimag) has been delayed due to, yep you guessed it, bad weather conditions. Damnit. So we have to stay ANOTHER night and reorganise our plane tickets. Luckily Alison flirts with a nice chap called Herman who worked for the airline (Lan). He agreed to change our flights for free! Great, thanks Herman buy you a drink next time our paths cross!
So finally the day comes, we wander down to the docks and look upon our vessel with awe and wonder. Awe, because there´s a huge black mark where the name of the ship should be and wonder because we were starting to wonder how long it would take before the smell of the cattle in those trucks parked on the deck would take to reach us (as it turned out, not long at all).
We find our cabin and to be honest, it´s not bad at all. Four bunks but we´ve got the whole cabin to ourselves, get in there! We take a stroll around the ship. It´s designed as a cargo vessel, hence the cattle, but takes a certain amount of passengers as well, for an eye-wateringly large amount of money. I won´t bore you with how much but I could have had a second holiday with the money (or a honeymoon even).
We settle in and watch the rather beautiful fjords roll gently passed us. It´s cold but somehow that doesn´t seem to matter, everyone is in high spirits. Maybe because they all seem to have bought three cartons of wine each. Westerners are such alcoholics. (We bought bottles, none of that carton crap.)
We met a nice American couple who were on holiday and bored them stupid by telling endless newsroom anecdotes. They got their revenge by shagging all afternoon in the cabin next to us. Man, they went on ALL afternoon. It was like ´´Come on buddy, give her a rest, you´re gonna break her.´´ He, apparently, couldn´t hear me. God, it was like porn for the blind. I was starting to feel a little insecure when someone shouted ´´Whales off the port bow!´´
I left our porn-star neighbours to it and climbed the stairs outside to the main deck. I looked out. Our guide had mentioned we were cruising through a protected bay area of Chile which housed twenty Blue Whales. Neat! I stared at the rolling white horses, the blue sky and felt the raw wind whipping at my face. Nothing. What the hell. ´´Did someone say they saw a whale?" I asked. ´´Yes, over there.´´ Someone replied and pointed. I looked again. In the far, far distance I saw the unmistakable spray of whales. ´´Wow,´´ I said ´´That´s amazing.´´ Seriously, it could have been a guy with a hose for all I knew. Whales! Great. We did see some dolphins playing in front of the ship which was nice. And once very few hours we would see a few sea lions swimming calmly. Then, seeing the ship and crapping their pants they desperately tried to get away from us. That was funny.
The days roll passed and we finally get to Puerto Montt. We say our goodbyes to our ´´Debby Does Dallas´´ comrades and walk to our hostel. First impressions of Puerto Montt. Crap hole. What the hell is this place? Looked like someone was having a laugh when they designed it. Like ´´We´ve got all this natural beauty around us, mountains, streams, fjords...let´s build a damn-ugly port, fill it with oil tankers, build some truly hideous buildings and oh, just for good measure have our sewage run out of a pipe right in front of the main promenade. Good job, fellas.
We walk up a forty five degree hill, backpacks in toe because I foolishly thought the hostel was right next to the port. Wrong. Alison had wanted to get a cab but I had put her mind at ease but assuring her it was a five minute walk. Wrong again. Twenty five minutes later, we arrive panting and in a sweat and are greeted by this old lady with weird, screwed up hair. She speaks a little English and shows us in. The place was nice enough, she had two little poodles which never took their eyes off us and would occasionally bark. I suspect to make sure they still could. Scrawny little rat things.
We thought we´d done okay, the hostel wasn´t expensive but the woman started behaving strangely. Alison went downstairs to give her our passport details. Things were going well till she opened mine. "Daniel Grant?" "Daniel Grant?" I thought perhaps she had been reading my blogs. But no, she knew my name and she didn´t like it. I had tried to make a reservation a few weeks earlier but she kept replying in Spanish so...I had ignored her. She made her feelings known to Alison who just shrugged and said ´No entiendo.´ I sat on the bed listening and shivering. It was like being in a cabin in the woods where the monster is outside stalking you. I was just glad Alison was dealing with it. That woman was scary.
Whilst we were in the hole that is Puerto Montt and after counting our money, we came to the conclusion we had none. Well, not strictly true but we have used far more than we ever intended, so after much soul searching and a few beers we came to the conclusion that we would not spend any time in New Zealand. Instead we will fly to Auckland, use our plane ticket to Christchurch a few days later and move our Sydney ticket so we just arrive there as soon as possible. We have friends in Sydney who are being ridiculously generous by letting us stay in their house. I´ll have to get them a really cool Christmas present. Not sure what though. A plane ticket to Puerto Montt has been crossed off the list so that´s one down at least. Is it coming through that we weren´t impressed with ´the Montt?´
We catch our flight to Santiago the next day and take a cab to our hostel. The Happy House Hostel it´s called. Let me tell you, dear friends and readers, there wasn´t much happiness going on there. The Lonely Planet (authoritative, indispensable guide book that it is) describes this hostel as ´´...simply the greatest renovation this author has ever seen.´´ This chap obviously hasn´t seen the new Wembley stadium.
It was nice enough when you got there but we have learned, painfully in some cases, that looks can be deceptive. And they were in this place. Our room was next to the smoking room so every five minutes a waft of smoke would gently find it´s way in to my nostrils. The windows had about as much soundproofing as a Wendy house, so when those buses and dust carts came thundering by at 0600, I felt I was about to get run over by them. The hostel itself was, wait for it, above a bar. Oh yes...Happy, HAPPY days! And...they had live bands on every night. Smiles all round. The heating did not work (and let me tell you Santiago is cold at night). Thought I might warm up with a shower. But after waiting with my hand under the water for ten minutes, quickly realised the place had no hot water either. But the pièce de résistance was the dogs. I swear they´re still barking in my head now and it´s been a week! Happy times at the Happy House Hostel.
There´s more. Plenty in fact. But I fear I may have lost you somewhere after paragraph four. Your eyes are glazed and you seem a little sleepy. I shall let you go. But I will be back and with even more tales of our epic, soon to be finished trip around the Southern American continent. Till that day comes, take care of yourselves and each other.
Where did I leave you? Ah yes, sitting in Puerto Natales, watching the Paraguaian election (Boy that was ace television), waiting four days until our ship departed for Puerto Montt. The idea being we thought it would be kinda neat to board, what can only be described as a cargo ship, and sail half way up Chile. It takes four nights and you supposedly see fjords, whales and crap. Great, I hear you cry. Yes and I shall come to it shortly. The upshot of not doing our ´W´ trek was we had to stay in Puerto Natales for four days. Now, if you like freezing cold weather, hurricane force winds with absolutely nothing to do during the day, Natales is your town and I suggest you get on a plane and come down here immediately.
For us however, we were stuck in our hostel watching endless episodes of ´House´ on TV. One thing really gets me though. As I watch this programme, the adverts come on every five bloody minutes and you know what they´re promoting? House! Yep, they stick an advert of a programme I´m already bloody watching! Needless to say shouting ensued and people started banging on the walls telling me to shut up.
Anyway, the days pass slowly. Then, good news. We find out the ship (called the Navimag) has been delayed due to, yep you guessed it, bad weather conditions. Damnit. So we have to stay ANOTHER night and reorganise our plane tickets. Luckily Alison flirts with a nice chap called Herman who worked for the airline (Lan). He agreed to change our flights for free! Great, thanks Herman buy you a drink next time our paths cross!
So finally the day comes, we wander down to the docks and look upon our vessel with awe and wonder. Awe, because there´s a huge black mark where the name of the ship should be and wonder because we were starting to wonder how long it would take before the smell of the cattle in those trucks parked on the deck would take to reach us (as it turned out, not long at all).
We find our cabin and to be honest, it´s not bad at all. Four bunks but we´ve got the whole cabin to ourselves, get in there! We take a stroll around the ship. It´s designed as a cargo vessel, hence the cattle, but takes a certain amount of passengers as well, for an eye-wateringly large amount of money. I won´t bore you with how much but I could have had a second holiday with the money (or a honeymoon even).
We settle in and watch the rather beautiful fjords roll gently passed us. It´s cold but somehow that doesn´t seem to matter, everyone is in high spirits. Maybe because they all seem to have bought three cartons of wine each. Westerners are such alcoholics. (We bought bottles, none of that carton crap.)
We met a nice American couple who were on holiday and bored them stupid by telling endless newsroom anecdotes. They got their revenge by shagging all afternoon in the cabin next to us. Man, they went on ALL afternoon. It was like ´´Come on buddy, give her a rest, you´re gonna break her.´´ He, apparently, couldn´t hear me. God, it was like porn for the blind. I was starting to feel a little insecure when someone shouted ´´Whales off the port bow!´´
I left our porn-star neighbours to it and climbed the stairs outside to the main deck. I looked out. Our guide had mentioned we were cruising through a protected bay area of Chile which housed twenty Blue Whales. Neat! I stared at the rolling white horses, the blue sky and felt the raw wind whipping at my face. Nothing. What the hell. ´´Did someone say they saw a whale?" I asked. ´´Yes, over there.´´ Someone replied and pointed. I looked again. In the far, far distance I saw the unmistakable spray of whales. ´´Wow,´´ I said ´´That´s amazing.´´ Seriously, it could have been a guy with a hose for all I knew. Whales! Great. We did see some dolphins playing in front of the ship which was nice. And once very few hours we would see a few sea lions swimming calmly. Then, seeing the ship and crapping their pants they desperately tried to get away from us. That was funny.
The days roll passed and we finally get to Puerto Montt. We say our goodbyes to our ´´Debby Does Dallas´´ comrades and walk to our hostel. First impressions of Puerto Montt. Crap hole. What the hell is this place? Looked like someone was having a laugh when they designed it. Like ´´We´ve got all this natural beauty around us, mountains, streams, fjords...let´s build a damn-ugly port, fill it with oil tankers, build some truly hideous buildings and oh, just for good measure have our sewage run out of a pipe right in front of the main promenade. Good job, fellas.
We walk up a forty five degree hill, backpacks in toe because I foolishly thought the hostel was right next to the port. Wrong. Alison had wanted to get a cab but I had put her mind at ease but assuring her it was a five minute walk. Wrong again. Twenty five minutes later, we arrive panting and in a sweat and are greeted by this old lady with weird, screwed up hair. She speaks a little English and shows us in. The place was nice enough, she had two little poodles which never took their eyes off us and would occasionally bark. I suspect to make sure they still could. Scrawny little rat things.
We thought we´d done okay, the hostel wasn´t expensive but the woman started behaving strangely. Alison went downstairs to give her our passport details. Things were going well till she opened mine. "Daniel Grant?" "Daniel Grant?" I thought perhaps she had been reading my blogs. But no, she knew my name and she didn´t like it. I had tried to make a reservation a few weeks earlier but she kept replying in Spanish so...I had ignored her. She made her feelings known to Alison who just shrugged and said ´No entiendo.´ I sat on the bed listening and shivering. It was like being in a cabin in the woods where the monster is outside stalking you. I was just glad Alison was dealing with it. That woman was scary.
Whilst we were in the hole that is Puerto Montt and after counting our money, we came to the conclusion we had none. Well, not strictly true but we have used far more than we ever intended, so after much soul searching and a few beers we came to the conclusion that we would not spend any time in New Zealand. Instead we will fly to Auckland, use our plane ticket to Christchurch a few days later and move our Sydney ticket so we just arrive there as soon as possible. We have friends in Sydney who are being ridiculously generous by letting us stay in their house. I´ll have to get them a really cool Christmas present. Not sure what though. A plane ticket to Puerto Montt has been crossed off the list so that´s one down at least. Is it coming through that we weren´t impressed with ´the Montt?´
We catch our flight to Santiago the next day and take a cab to our hostel. The Happy House Hostel it´s called. Let me tell you, dear friends and readers, there wasn´t much happiness going on there. The Lonely Planet (authoritative, indispensable guide book that it is) describes this hostel as ´´...simply the greatest renovation this author has ever seen.´´ This chap obviously hasn´t seen the new Wembley stadium.
It was nice enough when you got there but we have learned, painfully in some cases, that looks can be deceptive. And they were in this place. Our room was next to the smoking room so every five minutes a waft of smoke would gently find it´s way in to my nostrils. The windows had about as much soundproofing as a Wendy house, so when those buses and dust carts came thundering by at 0600, I felt I was about to get run over by them. The hostel itself was, wait for it, above a bar. Oh yes...Happy, HAPPY days! And...they had live bands on every night. Smiles all round. The heating did not work (and let me tell you Santiago is cold at night). Thought I might warm up with a shower. But after waiting with my hand under the water for ten minutes, quickly realised the place had no hot water either. But the pièce de résistance was the dogs. I swear they´re still barking in my head now and it´s been a week! Happy times at the Happy House Hostel.
There´s more. Plenty in fact. But I fear I may have lost you somewhere after paragraph four. Your eyes are glazed and you seem a little sleepy. I shall let you go. But I will be back and with even more tales of our epic, soon to be finished trip around the Southern American continent. Till that day comes, take care of yourselves and each other.
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