Yep here it is. I know you´ve spent the weekend trying not to take out your frustrations on your nearest and dearest at the way I left the last blog hanging. I know that the tantrum in the living room and subsequent argument was not really about which movie to go see. Fear not, here is the thrilling conclusion to the previous ramblings.
So we opt for the 3 hour walk to the beach on Ilha Grande. And as a snake thrashes away unseen through the greenery, bear in mind I´m wearing sandals, I am beginning to think this wasn´t the best idea I´ve had. I look around at the jungle canopy above us. The air is hot and thick, it feels like there´s an Iguassu (waterfall) pouring down my back. There are snakes and spiders and all kinds of other nasty things here and we still have 2 hours to go. You´ll be pleased to know we made it. Was it worth it? Was it fuck.
Okay first, the beach. It was stunning. About a mile of pure white sand bending to the right. In fact the sand was so fine that when you walked on it it let out a squeaking sound. I just thought it was Alison´s runs coming back but nope, it was the sand. There are no boats allowed to pick up and drop off here and no parasols or chairs. No sunbathing, no swimming no breathing. Just kidding about the last three.
Now because you can´t get boats from here you have to walk 20 minutes back to another beach to get the boat back to town. In that walk you are gently raped by monkeys and scratched by palm trees with a grudge against white folk with no tops on. So after our 15 minutes of enjoying the beach we wander back to catch the last boat back to town. And we sit at the back of the boat for what seems like an hour still tied to the pier. People are getting annoyed, nothing is happening. Eventually the captain decides (under threat of mutiny) to cast off. We just get underway when I hear someone whistling. I look back to see a guy waving. He wears silly Brazilian trucks with a girly pattern on them. He has perfected the surf-dude look down to a tee. He seems to be trying to attract attention. ´Don´t go! Wait...´ He barks in Portuguese. He´s obviously got there a fraction too late and don´t forget this is the last boat back to town. I look at him, then I turn to the captain who´s got Bob Marley blaring out of the stereo and is blissfully unaware of what is going on behind him. I look back at the man, this poor guy who´d missed the boat by the slightest of margins.
You know what I did. What any normal, sane, right-thinking person would do in that situation. Nothing. I actually sat there and just stared at him. He carried on shouting and whistling. I just couldn´t bring myself to do anything about it. My mind began justifying my actions by saying things like ´Well he should have got there earlier.´ But as we sailed away, knowing full well that chap had a 3 hour walk, in the dark, with the snakes and other nasties back to town, I heard a strange voice in my head. I can´t remember the details but the basic gist was ´You´re going to hell Daniel Grant´.
So the next day, for lack of a better idea we decide to go back to the same beach, Lopez Mendes. Why not. It wasn´t a bad beach by any stretch of the imagination and now that we´d learned the hard way, we decided to take the boat there...AND back. Good thinking Sherlock.
I almost gave it no attention whatsoever when I saw the large Brazilian Naval battle cruiser parked in our bay. I just thought ´Hey look, a warship.´ Then went back to the brainal equivalent of the television colour bars. But as our boat pulled away I heard what sounded suspiciously like a siren. Sure enough a smaller patrol boat was speeding its way towards us. Lights flashing, the whole show. People looked at each other, I glanced at the battle cruiser, wondering if she was preparing to blow us out of the water with those two big cannons sitting on her deck.
The patrol boat pulled up alongside our little innocent tourist boat and (I kid you not) a guy called Ronaldo boarded with his crack amphibious search team and announced something to us in Portuguese.Boy I sure was glad I didn´t speak the language cos he sounded pissed.
So I sat there in blissful ignorance until a small thought came across me. Had I remembered to hide my stash?
Ronaldo finished making his speech and then went to the ´bridge´ or as I prefer to call it, the little hut where the captain sat and steered the boat. The captain translated what Ronaldo has said in to English.
´They´re just making sure everything is in order on the boat, please wait 10 minutes.´ Like a bunch of Goofies we nodded in earnest agreement with the plan. 45 minutes later Ronaldo and his crack amphibious team were still serving the Captain his own six-pack for dinner and we were still bobbling around on the sea like a shark with no fins. Every so often, out of view of Ronaldo and his crack amphibious team, the captain would give a look to us that said he´d been given such a severe bollocking, I thought the boys were going to take him round the back and give him thirty lashes. So what did I do whilst all this seriousness was going on? What any decent, western tourist does in these situations...I got out my camera and filmed the whole thing for the benefit of you. See video.
After an hour Ronaldo was happy to let us carry on to the beach. The captain by this point had soiled himself, he´d obviously not filled in the right form or failed to make sure the boat had life vests or some other trivial failing. I found myself feeling sorry for the poor chap and as we motored passed the Oil Tanker Terminal on the way to the beach all I could think of was, I don´t think I want to be a ship captain after all.
So after all that excitement it was time to leave Ilha Grande. So we caught the ferry to the mainland and then a taxi to the bus terminal. After waiting an inexcusably long time the bus rolled in and we got on. Except this bus was like a citybus not like the coaches we´d been using thus far. And it was packed. So packed that we didn´t have a seat. So for 2 hours I had to stand to get to our next destination of Paraty. Was I amused? Was I fuck. However as it turned out I thought Alison had paid for the tickets. Only when we got off, stiff as a randy elephant, did we realise that neither of us had paid for our tickets. I´m sure you´re assuming I went straight up to the bus driver, money in hand to correct the mistake immediately. Well you´d be wrong. We scarpered to a waiting taxi who floored it to our guesthouse. Ha. Every so often the good guys triumph over the commies!
And thus, here we are. Paraty is a beautiful colonial town with cobbled streets and a lovely harbour. It has over a hundred beaches in its vicinity and is one of the most beautiful places in all of southern Brazil. Of course I don´t know this first hand because ever since we arrived it hasn´t stopped bloody raining. I mean it started raining four days ago and it literally hasn´t stopped since. At one stage I was walking back to the guesthouse, drenched, cold and rapidly losing my tan, I started conversing with God.
´´God´´ I said ´´You promised you wouldn´t flood mankind again after Noah, what gives?´´
God replied ´´You believed me on that? HA! Dickhead.´´
So yes, here we are stuck in a beautiful beach location with sod all to do except write these bloody blogs. Well we leave tomorrow for a 24 hour bus journey to Florianopolis. That´ll be a hoot!
When I have more, dear readers, you will too.
Until that time, live long and prosper.
Dan
Showing posts with label angr. Show all posts
Showing posts with label angr. Show all posts
Monday, March 17, 2008
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
BEAUTIFUL PEOPLE, FAT LADIES NOT SINGING AND COTTON TAX
I know what you´re thinking. Dan´s blogs are like buses, you wait couple of weeks for one then two come along in the same week! I know but so much has happened I figured I needed to get myself bang up to date so I shall carry on from whence I left off.
So we check out of the crap hostel in Buenos Aires cursing the day the owner was ever born and we jump in a cab and hop foot it to the airport where the airline, Aerolineas Argentineas (never heard of it either, I swear these guys just make up these companies) decides, in their infinite wisdom, to not sit us together. Like we pissed them off or something, so one of us had to sit in front of the one another other, like we´d misbehaved or something. They claimed it was something to do with having no available seats. I just thought it was because I was wearing shorts.
So the flight takes us to Iguassu Falls which are arguably the most beautiful falls in the world. I´ve only ever seen Niagara and they beat the hell out of them. The Argentian / Brazilian border goes right through the middle giving Argentina the lion share of the falls.
So we are picked up on the Argentinian side by a guy with shaved head and sun glasses and built like a stone toilet. And he speaks English, bonus! He´s going to take us to our hotel...in Brazil. So we speed to the border and before you can say ´Some guy called Hose asked me to carry the package for him´we were across the checkpoint. CLICK. The locks on the doors locked simultaneously. I looked and Alison, she just looked straight back at me, I thought she was thinking ´Do I have something on my face´but actually she was also concerned with the door locking situation. We both turned to the driver, he just smiled and said ´Welcome to Brazil.´
We went to both sides of the Falls. Brazilian and Argentinian. I preferred the Argentinian, Alison preferred the Brazilian (because you didn´t get wet, sissy) and we had a jolly good time cavorting around in the mist and seeing them from every angle possible. Lovely.
In the evening we found a goldmine of a restaurant. Don´t ask me what it was called or where it is, because we spent about 2 hours trying to find the damn place. Bloody Lonely Planet and their devilishly incorrect mapping department. But once we got there it was great. You ordered your wine, then these guys would start coming around with metal kebabs. Upon each was a different sort of meat. ´Sirloin sir?´ to which the reply is´of course´. He would then cut off a generous portion and move to the next table. Then another guy would come along and say something like ´chicken hearts sir?´ to which I said ´Yes of course.´ It was only after he´d put it on my plate did I replay the conversation and...did he say chicken hearts? I stared at it, pondering on my next course of action. Another waiter interrupted my thoughts. ´Pork chop sir?´ Well it would be rude not to. And so it went on...and on...and on. Within ten minutes I had a pile of meat that I could accurately describe as a pyramid. Great. But really, chicken hearts?
When we got to Rio, things changed. Firstly I was very disappointed in Rio. I was really looking forward to it but it just feels like someone will grab your stuff at the first given opportunity. Also the Lonely Planet scares the crap out of you with the ´Dangers and Annoyances´ section so when you arrive you´re primed for gang-rape, murder, torture and carjackings. The Brazilians ar very conscious of their appearance, non so as people in Rio. The beach, Ipanema was like a fashion parade...of not a lot. I think there´s some sort of massive tax embargo on importing Lycra or cotton here. Because everyone has almost nothing on. Seriously, they must have to make the most out of the little material each shop is ´rationioned´ so they create these bikinis and ´trunks´ that really leave nothing to the imagination at all. I must say I felt completely at home with my bleach-white complexion and scraggly legs as I walked along the beach trying to find a spot where the guy´s next to me biceps wouldn´t push me in to the sea every time he sneezed. We found a spot and made camp. Not in the least self conscious as I examined my slightly wobbly belly and looked at the abundance of six packs stomping past me and thought ´ooo you´re just like everyone else, who wants that?´
I tell you another thing. There´s nothing I like more that coming to a yellow sandy beach and looking out over the surf to see...three oil supertankers sat on the horizon. Last one to the sea´s a sissy.
We wanted to know about the Brazilian psyche, so Alison had a chat to the girl on reception at our hostel. We wanted some travel advice and the Lonely Planet (don´t trust it, it lies and deceives) said some town north of Rio called Nova Frigburgo was nice. The girl stared at Alison and said ´ Why would you want to go there, doesn´t even have a beach.´ Like a place that doesn´t have a beach was the most ridiculous thing in the world. She also said ´Brazilians don´t like anything unless it is beautiful. Brazilian don´t go anywhere unless it is beautiful. Brazilians need to be surrounded by beautiful things and beautiful people.´ I guess that´s why there aren´t many Brazilians in Sherpherds Bush.
A word about Brazilian TV as well. Not to put too finer point on it, it´s shit. And it´s all in Portuguese!? So one evening we´re flicking through the channels and we come across a 24 hour news station so we think ´let´s watch this for a laugh.´ The picture showed a news helicopter pumping out live pictures of what appeared to be a police rescue. They were on the top floor of a block of flats. Onlookers were staring from the street. Police were trying to keep order. On closer inspection however we realised it was the fire brigade. They use the term Bombardiers for fireman, really helpful. We thought it might have been the bomb squad. No. What they were doing was helping a rather overweight lady from her flat to an ambulance. That´s it. Fat lady needs crane shocker. Send the copter, we´ve got a breaker!!! We sat in awe for over an hour, transfixed. We were hungry but we just couldn´t leave. Enthralling. Eventually they got the poor dear in to the ambulance and drove away , the back throwing out sparks. And we thought, it´s only a matter of time before this comes to the UK. Can´t wait.
You know they have a channel here where all they show, 24 hours a day is...wait for it...pictures of cows. Cows eating. Cows mooing. Cows shitting. Seriously the camera follows the cow around the field and they pump this out to cable! Someone somewhere must be getting off on this. Me, I just thought it was weird.
´What comes next after the cows?´ Alison asks, eager for us to leave this Internet cafe to go to dinner. A good question and the answer is coming next.
We move to an island 4 hours southwest of Rio called Ilha Grande. For those with non-degree level Portuguese, ala me, this roughly translates to Big Island. Boy they must have been up all night thinking of that one!
So we check in to our hostel where I am promptly nearly whacked in the face by a bat and not the baseball variety either. I yell ´Look where you´re going! What are you, blind?´
So Ilha Grande has one of Brazils most beautiful beaches but...and here´s the kicker...you have to walk 3 hours through the jungle to get to it. Or...(there are no cars on the island) you can take a boat which takes an hour. So what do you think we opted for, easiness or snakes and monkeys? Yep, jungle it was. And it was a grueling hour and a half up, then another hour and a half down. And the humidity...Jesus I´ve never sweated like I have here. It runs down my body like a waterfall. I intend to write a very strongly worded letter to Sure deodorant when I get back.
So we walk and walk, and just for good measure we walk some more and...you´ll have to wait till next time because I´m out of time.
What a cliffhanger. God I bet you can´t wait for the next installment. I can´t. Wow. Brilliant.
Until next time my friends,
Dan
So we check out of the crap hostel in Buenos Aires cursing the day the owner was ever born and we jump in a cab and hop foot it to the airport where the airline, Aerolineas Argentineas (never heard of it either, I swear these guys just make up these companies) decides, in their infinite wisdom, to not sit us together. Like we pissed them off or something, so one of us had to sit in front of the one another other, like we´d misbehaved or something. They claimed it was something to do with having no available seats. I just thought it was because I was wearing shorts.
So the flight takes us to Iguassu Falls which are arguably the most beautiful falls in the world. I´ve only ever seen Niagara and they beat the hell out of them. The Argentian / Brazilian border goes right through the middle giving Argentina the lion share of the falls.
So we are picked up on the Argentinian side by a guy with shaved head and sun glasses and built like a stone toilet. And he speaks English, bonus! He´s going to take us to our hotel...in Brazil. So we speed to the border and before you can say ´Some guy called Hose asked me to carry the package for him´we were across the checkpoint. CLICK. The locks on the doors locked simultaneously. I looked and Alison, she just looked straight back at me, I thought she was thinking ´Do I have something on my face´but actually she was also concerned with the door locking situation. We both turned to the driver, he just smiled and said ´Welcome to Brazil.´
We went to both sides of the Falls. Brazilian and Argentinian. I preferred the Argentinian, Alison preferred the Brazilian (because you didn´t get wet, sissy) and we had a jolly good time cavorting around in the mist and seeing them from every angle possible. Lovely.
In the evening we found a goldmine of a restaurant. Don´t ask me what it was called or where it is, because we spent about 2 hours trying to find the damn place. Bloody Lonely Planet and their devilishly incorrect mapping department. But once we got there it was great. You ordered your wine, then these guys would start coming around with metal kebabs. Upon each was a different sort of meat. ´Sirloin sir?´ to which the reply is´of course´. He would then cut off a generous portion and move to the next table. Then another guy would come along and say something like ´chicken hearts sir?´ to which I said ´Yes of course.´ It was only after he´d put it on my plate did I replay the conversation and...did he say chicken hearts? I stared at it, pondering on my next course of action. Another waiter interrupted my thoughts. ´Pork chop sir?´ Well it would be rude not to. And so it went on...and on...and on. Within ten minutes I had a pile of meat that I could accurately describe as a pyramid. Great. But really, chicken hearts?
When we got to Rio, things changed. Firstly I was very disappointed in Rio. I was really looking forward to it but it just feels like someone will grab your stuff at the first given opportunity. Also the Lonely Planet scares the crap out of you with the ´Dangers and Annoyances´ section so when you arrive you´re primed for gang-rape, murder, torture and carjackings. The Brazilians ar very conscious of their appearance, non so as people in Rio. The beach, Ipanema was like a fashion parade...of not a lot. I think there´s some sort of massive tax embargo on importing Lycra or cotton here. Because everyone has almost nothing on. Seriously, they must have to make the most out of the little material each shop is ´rationioned´ so they create these bikinis and ´trunks´ that really leave nothing to the imagination at all. I must say I felt completely at home with my bleach-white complexion and scraggly legs as I walked along the beach trying to find a spot where the guy´s next to me biceps wouldn´t push me in to the sea every time he sneezed. We found a spot and made camp. Not in the least self conscious as I examined my slightly wobbly belly and looked at the abundance of six packs stomping past me and thought ´ooo you´re just like everyone else, who wants that?´
I tell you another thing. There´s nothing I like more that coming to a yellow sandy beach and looking out over the surf to see...three oil supertankers sat on the horizon. Last one to the sea´s a sissy.
We wanted to know about the Brazilian psyche, so Alison had a chat to the girl on reception at our hostel. We wanted some travel advice and the Lonely Planet (don´t trust it, it lies and deceives) said some town north of Rio called Nova Frigburgo was nice. The girl stared at Alison and said ´ Why would you want to go there, doesn´t even have a beach.´ Like a place that doesn´t have a beach was the most ridiculous thing in the world. She also said ´Brazilians don´t like anything unless it is beautiful. Brazilian don´t go anywhere unless it is beautiful. Brazilians need to be surrounded by beautiful things and beautiful people.´ I guess that´s why there aren´t many Brazilians in Sherpherds Bush.
A word about Brazilian TV as well. Not to put too finer point on it, it´s shit. And it´s all in Portuguese!? So one evening we´re flicking through the channels and we come across a 24 hour news station so we think ´let´s watch this for a laugh.´ The picture showed a news helicopter pumping out live pictures of what appeared to be a police rescue. They were on the top floor of a block of flats. Onlookers were staring from the street. Police were trying to keep order. On closer inspection however we realised it was the fire brigade. They use the term Bombardiers for fireman, really helpful. We thought it might have been the bomb squad. No. What they were doing was helping a rather overweight lady from her flat to an ambulance. That´s it. Fat lady needs crane shocker. Send the copter, we´ve got a breaker!!! We sat in awe for over an hour, transfixed. We were hungry but we just couldn´t leave. Enthralling. Eventually they got the poor dear in to the ambulance and drove away , the back throwing out sparks. And we thought, it´s only a matter of time before this comes to the UK. Can´t wait.
You know they have a channel here where all they show, 24 hours a day is...wait for it...pictures of cows. Cows eating. Cows mooing. Cows shitting. Seriously the camera follows the cow around the field and they pump this out to cable! Someone somewhere must be getting off on this. Me, I just thought it was weird.
´What comes next after the cows?´ Alison asks, eager for us to leave this Internet cafe to go to dinner. A good question and the answer is coming next.
We move to an island 4 hours southwest of Rio called Ilha Grande. For those with non-degree level Portuguese, ala me, this roughly translates to Big Island. Boy they must have been up all night thinking of that one!
So we check in to our hostel where I am promptly nearly whacked in the face by a bat and not the baseball variety either. I yell ´Look where you´re going! What are you, blind?´
So Ilha Grande has one of Brazils most beautiful beaches but...and here´s the kicker...you have to walk 3 hours through the jungle to get to it. Or...(there are no cars on the island) you can take a boat which takes an hour. So what do you think we opted for, easiness or snakes and monkeys? Yep, jungle it was. And it was a grueling hour and a half up, then another hour and a half down. And the humidity...Jesus I´ve never sweated like I have here. It runs down my body like a waterfall. I intend to write a very strongly worded letter to Sure deodorant when I get back.
So we walk and walk, and just for good measure we walk some more and...you´ll have to wait till next time because I´m out of time.
What a cliffhanger. God I bet you can´t wait for the next installment. I can´t. Wow. Brilliant.
Until next time my friends,
Dan
Sunday, March 9, 2008
SMASHED GLASSES, LOVE HANDLES AND DUBIOUS HAIRCUTS
So it´s been a little while since last I wrote. I quickly discovered that Brazil is expensive! Where were we before we were so rudely interrupted.
Ah yes La Paz. Well just before we left I had a little run in with a rather strange German guy, (we´ll call him Adolf for the sake of this story) who threatened to ´Smash your glasses in to your face!´ Not very nice I thought. I know what you´re thinking. You´re pondering what could have got this guy, who had obviously not heard of the English word deodorant, so worked up. The answer was strangely simple. I was using the computer a little too much. See, the hotel we were in had a free Internet connection, an invaluable tool in my burgeoning blogging career such as it is.
So Adolf decides I´m on the ´good´ computer and wants it for himself. So he starts off all nice but when I inform him I had only just sat down and ´I´m terribly sorry ol chap but I might be here for 15 minutes or so´, our villain decides to morph in to a German translation of Jekyll and Hyde. It was like I´d pressed all the right buttons, immediately hitting Def con 1. I´m like, hey what happened to Def con 4,3 and 2? Of course he wasn´t interested in having that sort of conversation which is when I suggested to him that he may be being an ´impatient prick.´
Sometimes my emotions get the better of me and I fear this was one of those occasions. And so, inevitably this is not what Adolf wants to hear and he promptly turns a light shade of purple and explodes at me. He got close to my face to really push home the point of how serious he was. I thought about offering him a Tic Tac but didn´t think this was the moment.
I chuckled at this silly foreigner and went back to the computer. As he jumped up and down, I started to fear he may just combust in front of me. When he realised I had no intention of moving he suddenly just gave up. Although as a parting shot he said ´If you ever call me a prick again I´ll...(here it comes) smash your glasses in to your face.´ What he didn´t realise is that my eyesight is so bad, I need really, really thick glasses, also I have titanium frame, almost indestructible. Who´s laughing now Jack? Or Adolf or whatever you´re stupid name is.
So after that little bit of fun we try and check out of the hotel to catch the plane to Buenos Aires. Except, of course, there´s always something. The hotel accused us of not paying our phone bill. We had, of course, but the fuckwit on the desk hadn´t put the piece of paper with the rest of our bills. So Reception Guy says he has to call his boss, bear in mind this is 5 in the morning on a Sunday. Oh this is going to be good. After a couple of minutes talking Spanish to one another, he hands the phone to me where the manager says he doesn´t remember us paying for the calls. I say ´Well I did.´To which he says ´You didn´t.´ This Bolivian version of Wimbledon goes back and forth for a time until I run out of patience. So I counter his version with the best thing a customer can say in these situations. I said ´Are you calling me a liar´ He started backtracking immediately. ´No sir, I just can´t remember...´ I said ´That´s not my fault, we paid yesterday blah, blah.´ You get the picture. Man I´m on fire today.
On the taxi ride to the airport we were both like ´La Paz sure likes its confrontations. Don´t think I´ll recommend it to my mum.´ And I didn´t. Not that Bolivia was high on her list of worldwide destinations.
So we get to the airport and fly to Buenos Aires via another Bolivian city called Santa Cruz. Of course they don´t have a connections corridor. Oh no. You have to come out to the check in area and go back through security again. Perfect! Except...this airport hasn´t seen fit to invest in X-Ray machines or metal detectors, no, far too simple. This airport has to search everyone and everything...by hand.
I´ve never been patted down so thoroughly in my life. At one point I even thought I was guilty. The guy went through our bags with such meticulous detail I thought, shit he´s going to find that suntan lotion I didn´t pack and think its liquid mercury or something. After about 15 minutes of ball-cupping and making me feel shitty about my love handles he let us through.
So we get to Buenos Aires on a Sunday. And as we drive in I know I´m going to love this city. It just has such a cool vibe. Feels like Spain or France or somewhere.
Anyway, we get to the hostel which, at first, looks great. Bit too colourful for my tastes, a real YOUTH hostel but not offensive. So the child on reception, who still has braces on her teeth, shows us to our room. We´re trying to save a bit of money and this place is a bargain. We find out why when she opens the door to our room. First, it´s not a double bed it´s two singles. Okay not what we asked for but I can live with it for a short while. The room had no windows however and the two beds were the most basic I´d ever seen. I thought, this is perfect for Mother Teresa but I need something a little softer than concrete to lie on. Seriously, it looked like a jail cell and when she closed the door I felt like banging a tin cup against the door or whistling. I made a mental note to buy some cigarettes as soon as possible for protection. When we looked at the shared bathroom I immediately wished I hadn´t. Hair in the plughole, water and something else (let´s not go in to details, we all know what we´re talking about) everywhere, no toilet paper, kind of slippy, lovely.
That wasn´t the best of it though. Nope. The best was to come at 0600AM when the we heard children playing outside, screaming, shouting at the top of their sweet little voices. The property was next to a fucking nursery or something and the nursery opened early. Of course the hostel had failed to mention this when we checked in. Mistake.
So with bloodshot eyes we ´spoke´ to the child on reception and asked to move. To be fair she was very helpful and said we could relocate to another room. Great! Still looked like prison (no windows) but at least it had a double bed with a matress.
So we went and explored Buenos Aires. Gotta say, one of my favourite places I´ve been yet. It´s got steaks to die for, some of the best wine, all for the price of a doughnut in England! Fab. We did a lot of walking in the two days we were there which was fun. Alison had the shits, which wasn´t.
It really feels like London and then you turn a street and you swear you´re in Paris. Then you get to a park and it feels like Sydney. It´s great. Had a little haircut which turned in to a committee. Let me explain. Because no one speaks English trying to tell them what I want involved about 4 people. So the guy would cut and then the others (hairdresser, receptionist, Alison, random bloke in the next chair and dog) would discuss it. Then he would cut some more. Of course whenever you turn these things over to a democracy it always ends up being a compromise with everyone going away not really happy and that´s what happened. Because when I say a little haircut, I mean it´s been two weeks now I need another bloody one! NOTE TO SELF: Next time I need a haircut try not to do it through a branch of the United Nations. I don´t know what the Spanish is for ´Get a haircut´ but I´m sure that´s what people are saying as I walk passed them. I look like a Fraggle.
Buenos Aires has the widest street in the world (16 lanes of shimmering concrete). All very impressive until, that is, you have to cross it. Oh sure they have zebra crossings but why would anyone pay any attention to those. It´s a bit like trying to cross the M25 during rush hour with nothing but your outstretched hand and the occasional ´Whoa! WHOA!´ Boy that was a fun, underpant-changing situation.
All in all though we liked it. So much so that we have booked ourselves an apartment for 2 weeks at the end of March. We need a holiday from our holiday. All this travelling is getting a bit tiring.
There´s more to tell but the guy who owns the Internet cafe is growling at me, maybe he´s just hungry but with an ugly tattoo like that I´m not taking any chances. I will write soon, because I know you all log on every day to check if Dan´s written another blog and try to cover the bitter disappointment when there isn´t one. Then things start getting smashed and you shout at your boss for no real reason. It turns you nasty and I understand that. So here´s part one of this particular blog. Not sure how many more parts are coming but what the hell, numbers were never really my strong part.
Adios
Dan
Ah yes La Paz. Well just before we left I had a little run in with a rather strange German guy, (we´ll call him Adolf for the sake of this story) who threatened to ´Smash your glasses in to your face!´ Not very nice I thought. I know what you´re thinking. You´re pondering what could have got this guy, who had obviously not heard of the English word deodorant, so worked up. The answer was strangely simple. I was using the computer a little too much. See, the hotel we were in had a free Internet connection, an invaluable tool in my burgeoning blogging career such as it is.
So Adolf decides I´m on the ´good´ computer and wants it for himself. So he starts off all nice but when I inform him I had only just sat down and ´I´m terribly sorry ol chap but I might be here for 15 minutes or so´, our villain decides to morph in to a German translation of Jekyll and Hyde. It was like I´d pressed all the right buttons, immediately hitting Def con 1. I´m like, hey what happened to Def con 4,3 and 2? Of course he wasn´t interested in having that sort of conversation which is when I suggested to him that he may be being an ´impatient prick.´
Sometimes my emotions get the better of me and I fear this was one of those occasions. And so, inevitably this is not what Adolf wants to hear and he promptly turns a light shade of purple and explodes at me. He got close to my face to really push home the point of how serious he was. I thought about offering him a Tic Tac but didn´t think this was the moment.
I chuckled at this silly foreigner and went back to the computer. As he jumped up and down, I started to fear he may just combust in front of me. When he realised I had no intention of moving he suddenly just gave up. Although as a parting shot he said ´If you ever call me a prick again I´ll...(here it comes) smash your glasses in to your face.´ What he didn´t realise is that my eyesight is so bad, I need really, really thick glasses, also I have titanium frame, almost indestructible. Who´s laughing now Jack? Or Adolf or whatever you´re stupid name is.
So after that little bit of fun we try and check out of the hotel to catch the plane to Buenos Aires. Except, of course, there´s always something. The hotel accused us of not paying our phone bill. We had, of course, but the fuckwit on the desk hadn´t put the piece of paper with the rest of our bills. So Reception Guy says he has to call his boss, bear in mind this is 5 in the morning on a Sunday. Oh this is going to be good. After a couple of minutes talking Spanish to one another, he hands the phone to me where the manager says he doesn´t remember us paying for the calls. I say ´Well I did.´To which he says ´You didn´t.´ This Bolivian version of Wimbledon goes back and forth for a time until I run out of patience. So I counter his version with the best thing a customer can say in these situations. I said ´Are you calling me a liar´ He started backtracking immediately. ´No sir, I just can´t remember...´ I said ´That´s not my fault, we paid yesterday blah, blah.´ You get the picture. Man I´m on fire today.
On the taxi ride to the airport we were both like ´La Paz sure likes its confrontations. Don´t think I´ll recommend it to my mum.´ And I didn´t. Not that Bolivia was high on her list of worldwide destinations.
So we get to the airport and fly to Buenos Aires via another Bolivian city called Santa Cruz. Of course they don´t have a connections corridor. Oh no. You have to come out to the check in area and go back through security again. Perfect! Except...this airport hasn´t seen fit to invest in X-Ray machines or metal detectors, no, far too simple. This airport has to search everyone and everything...by hand.
I´ve never been patted down so thoroughly in my life. At one point I even thought I was guilty. The guy went through our bags with such meticulous detail I thought, shit he´s going to find that suntan lotion I didn´t pack and think its liquid mercury or something. After about 15 minutes of ball-cupping and making me feel shitty about my love handles he let us through.
So we get to Buenos Aires on a Sunday. And as we drive in I know I´m going to love this city. It just has such a cool vibe. Feels like Spain or France or somewhere.
Anyway, we get to the hostel which, at first, looks great. Bit too colourful for my tastes, a real YOUTH hostel but not offensive. So the child on reception, who still has braces on her teeth, shows us to our room. We´re trying to save a bit of money and this place is a bargain. We find out why when she opens the door to our room. First, it´s not a double bed it´s two singles. Okay not what we asked for but I can live with it for a short while. The room had no windows however and the two beds were the most basic I´d ever seen. I thought, this is perfect for Mother Teresa but I need something a little softer than concrete to lie on. Seriously, it looked like a jail cell and when she closed the door I felt like banging a tin cup against the door or whistling. I made a mental note to buy some cigarettes as soon as possible for protection. When we looked at the shared bathroom I immediately wished I hadn´t. Hair in the plughole, water and something else (let´s not go in to details, we all know what we´re talking about) everywhere, no toilet paper, kind of slippy, lovely.
That wasn´t the best of it though. Nope. The best was to come at 0600AM when the we heard children playing outside, screaming, shouting at the top of their sweet little voices. The property was next to a fucking nursery or something and the nursery opened early. Of course the hostel had failed to mention this when we checked in. Mistake.
So with bloodshot eyes we ´spoke´ to the child on reception and asked to move. To be fair she was very helpful and said we could relocate to another room. Great! Still looked like prison (no windows) but at least it had a double bed with a matress.
So we went and explored Buenos Aires. Gotta say, one of my favourite places I´ve been yet. It´s got steaks to die for, some of the best wine, all for the price of a doughnut in England! Fab. We did a lot of walking in the two days we were there which was fun. Alison had the shits, which wasn´t.
It really feels like London and then you turn a street and you swear you´re in Paris. Then you get to a park and it feels like Sydney. It´s great. Had a little haircut which turned in to a committee. Let me explain. Because no one speaks English trying to tell them what I want involved about 4 people. So the guy would cut and then the others (hairdresser, receptionist, Alison, random bloke in the next chair and dog) would discuss it. Then he would cut some more. Of course whenever you turn these things over to a democracy it always ends up being a compromise with everyone going away not really happy and that´s what happened. Because when I say a little haircut, I mean it´s been two weeks now I need another bloody one! NOTE TO SELF: Next time I need a haircut try not to do it through a branch of the United Nations. I don´t know what the Spanish is for ´Get a haircut´ but I´m sure that´s what people are saying as I walk passed them. I look like a Fraggle.
Buenos Aires has the widest street in the world (16 lanes of shimmering concrete). All very impressive until, that is, you have to cross it. Oh sure they have zebra crossings but why would anyone pay any attention to those. It´s a bit like trying to cross the M25 during rush hour with nothing but your outstretched hand and the occasional ´Whoa! WHOA!´ Boy that was a fun, underpant-changing situation.
All in all though we liked it. So much so that we have booked ourselves an apartment for 2 weeks at the end of March. We need a holiday from our holiday. All this travelling is getting a bit tiring.
There´s more to tell but the guy who owns the Internet cafe is growling at me, maybe he´s just hungry but with an ugly tattoo like that I´m not taking any chances. I will write soon, because I know you all log on every day to check if Dan´s written another blog and try to cover the bitter disappointment when there isn´t one. Then things start getting smashed and you shout at your boss for no real reason. It turns you nasty and I understand that. So here´s part one of this particular blog. Not sure how many more parts are coming but what the hell, numbers were never really my strong part.
Adios
Dan
Sunday, February 24, 2008
BIG BANGS, ILLEGAL TOUR GUIDES, RECKLESS CABBIES
Hello once more from La Paz, the world´s highest capital...like you care!
It´s been suggested by some that my blogs have been in the glass-half-empty category of writing. So with that in mind I will try to make my inane ramblings a little more positive. So here goes...
Half our group on our tour of Bolivia had diarrhoea, a few had to travel back to La Paz early to see an emergency doctor. The tour leader was about as useful as a chocolate tea pot and some of the places we stayed didn´t have running water. I could write an entire piece just on the quality of the toilets... I won´t though, you would think I was making it up.
So let´s start where I left off before. Travelling from beautiful Copacabana to La Paz (not quite so beautiful but interesting in its own way). We arrive at the hotel, very nice 3 star job, meet our two other companions an English girl called Charlotte who knows my dad and has met him, weird! And a Swiss girl who liked to order cheese cake at every given opportunity called Barbara.
So we take a flight the next day to Bolivia´s second city Sucre. Spanish colonial stuff etc. Met our hotpant-stringy-vest-wearing tour guide who is also called Barbara. Right away we´re thinking she´s not really putting out that air of ´´this girl knows what she´s doing´´ and she didn´t disappoint. We found out that she wasn´t technically able to work as a tour gude legally in Bolvia, nice one boys! I won´t bore you with how much this ´tour´cost but we debated over whether we really needed a tour here or not. As it turns out we didn´t. We spent 3 days in Sucre, our only source of information was the Lonely Planet. Did some horse riding to a nice waterfall where we all put ourselves in mortal danger by jumping off the top of it in to a slightly muddied pool. Our Spanish-speaking horse riding leader merely watched from the sides, chewing coca leaves, occasionally spitting them on to his horse.
So then we meet the rest of ´the group´all of whom are in the middle of a 45 day trip around South America. Mixed up of English, Danish, Australian and Northern Irish. All very nice but then our fuckwit of a tour leader gets involved and things rapidly descend in to...well fuckwitness.
We discover she has a penchant for going to the Spa, not telling anyone what the plan for the day is, whether the towns and citys we stay in are safe and a general feeling of ´fuck you guys it´s my holiday too.´ I had to pinch myself every so often and remind myself that she was not a petulant twelve year old, she was in fact our tour leader.
So we travel to Potasi (the worlds highest city) via these taxis. It takes 3 hours and here´s where I need to tell
THE STORY OF JUAN
Juan grew up in a small Bolivian village just on the outskirts of Sucre. He had strict parents who used to beat him with long sticks made of Llama dung. Juan harboured an ambition, he wanted more than anything to be a racing car driver. Everytime his head hit the pillow (also made of Llama dung) he dreamt of winning the Bolivian Grand Prix (well first he dreamt there was a Bolivian Grand Prix then he dreamt of winning it).
Juan tried as a kid to make it, borrowing his fathers donkey cart and attempting to do doughnuts in the back yard. But as Juan grew up he realised his dream could not come true. He spent years feeling down, his life meant nothing. Then one day as he was taking the donkey for spins when he saw a Toyota dealership. His mind raced, maybe just maybe he could do something about his dream. He bought himself a 90´s white Toyota Corolla. A thing of beauty, now he could finally realise his dream. With no qualifications or testing he immediately became a taxi driver ferrying unsuspecting tourists from Sucre to Potasi. Oh boy he loved seeing the incomprehensible terror on his passengers faces. That delicate smell that would emanate from the back seats as he overtook the fourteen wheeler on a blind corner with a thousand foot drop and no crash barriers.
Juan just loved the challenge of Bolivian roads. Everytime he set off he would say a little prayer thanking his God that the Bolivian government hadn´t discovered the heretical English words ´road resurfacing.´ He loved to chew coca leaves, spitting them out his window utterly unaware they would fly in to the face of the person sitting in the left back seat.
And his love, more than anything, was to get to Potasi before his other Taxi driver comrades. It was competitive and they made it difficult for him but Juan lwas a born risk-taker. He simply had to cross that finish line first, it didn´t matter how many Llama or Alpacas he would instantly turn in to dog food. Nor would he consider minor adjustments to his beloved vehicle like seat belts or workable brake pads. If God wanted him dead, he would have crashed already surely.
He could see the tourists sitting behind him trying to work out the Spanish for ´Slow the fuck down´ but he knew that even if they found the words in their Latin American Spanish Phrasebook the sheer terror would be too much for them to utter the words. Only mumbles and high pitched whimpers would be the only sound that would emanate from their stupid white mouths.
And so ends the Story of Juan. We must assume that he still drives with the same disregard for others and we salute his God for having the power to keep him alive in the face of such reckless abandon. Chao Juan!
So we arrive in Potasi looking for a toilet and a new bum. The Spanish discovered silver in Potasi and decided it would a spiffing idea to send hundreds of thousands of African slaves and local Bolivians down in to the mines to go get it for them. 8 million people died in these mines under some of the most atrocious conditions imaginable. So now they send tourists down there, each happy because they are allowed to buy a stick of, wait for it...DYNAMITE with them. Yes dynamite is a readily available commodity in Potasi. You can walk in to a store, buy a couple of sticks under the guise of ´I´m taking it to the miners as a present.´ HA, they are so gullible. So the tour leader (not Barbara, this one is competent) asks if we want to set a stick off (I remind you we are still talking about DYNAMITE...whilst down in the mine! I mean...do Llama attempt to kill themselves when they cross roads...fuck yeah! So we go in to the mines all singing ´´Hi Ho´´ our dynamite and matches at the ready and basically we are happy campers. See attached video for what actually happened when it when bang!
Once we´re finished blowing up parts of Potasi we get a bus to the worlds largest salt flat and the small town of Uyani which looks like some old fool was walking through the desert and thought ´´No water, utterly exposed to the elements, temperatures reaching -20. You know what, this is the perfect place for a town.´´
So we jump in some slightly dubious 4x4´s and drive up to the 12,000 square kilometer salt flat which is simply one of the most breathtaking sights I have ever seen. And because it was flooded, this being the rainy season, the blue sky was perfectly reflected in the water making you feel like you were on some other planet, strange.
Then we spend the next few days driving around the superlative-exhausting Reserva Nacional de Fauna Andina Eduardo Avaroa with some of the most stunning landscapes I´ve ever had the pleasure of seeing. Truly it was like a safari for landscapes, with every turn of a corner we´d see a new canyon or snow-capped mountain. Bear in mind we are over 4000m above sea level at all times. Deserts, laguna, flamingos more Llamas. Lovely. There was a particularly stunning volcano and turquoise lake called Laguna Verde which I couldn´t help myself I had to take some video of, have a look.
What wasn´t lovely however was the places we were staying in. The bed on the first night was like being strapped to a silver birch tree trunk, the toilet smelled of...words can´t even describe what it smelled of. There were flies, dogs and babies crying in no particular order. The food was simple but as we found out later totally unfit for human consumption. We´ve used up most of our emergency supply of Imodium. On the plus side though I think I´m losing weight.
Second place we stayed in was worse than the first, don´t get me wrong I´m all for character building exercises but really, do I have to pee next to a pile of rotting rubbish which should have been the shower. Seriously guys...come on now, maybe start with the mantra ´let´s not make the tourists (our biggest source of income) sick to the point of emergency evacuation. I tell you, that night was like an orchestra of flatulence. I understood why they had no smoking signs all over the place. And to top it all off no running water, good effort chaps.
So with everyone feeling tickety boo and some of our gang speeding back to La Paz with critical stomach issues we hop in to the landcruiser and see some more rock formations. Then head back to Uyani and a night train. I won´t bore you with all the things that went wrong after that suffice to say it ended with one of our group in tears because our fuckwit tour leader was nasty to her. We had to all sit down and have it out with her. It was like Tour Group Therapy.
So we catch the night train back which was actually pretty decent and now we´re back in La Paz awaiting a flight to Buenos Aires which we should catch tomorrow. So Bolivia has been eventful and beautiful and stomach challenging. I sure won´t forget her in a hurry.
I just read this back, is it me or do these things get longer and longer. Must try the ancient art of subbing down my ramblings to something easy to read, with grammar people can actually decipher. Oh well, there´s always next time.
Chao!
Dan
It´s been suggested by some that my blogs have been in the glass-half-empty category of writing. So with that in mind I will try to make my inane ramblings a little more positive. So here goes...
Half our group on our tour of Bolivia had diarrhoea, a few had to travel back to La Paz early to see an emergency doctor. The tour leader was about as useful as a chocolate tea pot and some of the places we stayed didn´t have running water. I could write an entire piece just on the quality of the toilets... I won´t though, you would think I was making it up.
So let´s start where I left off before. Travelling from beautiful Copacabana to La Paz (not quite so beautiful but interesting in its own way). We arrive at the hotel, very nice 3 star job, meet our two other companions an English girl called Charlotte who knows my dad and has met him, weird! And a Swiss girl who liked to order cheese cake at every given opportunity called Barbara.
So we take a flight the next day to Bolivia´s second city Sucre. Spanish colonial stuff etc. Met our hotpant-stringy-vest-wearing tour guide who is also called Barbara. Right away we´re thinking she´s not really putting out that air of ´´this girl knows what she´s doing´´ and she didn´t disappoint. We found out that she wasn´t technically able to work as a tour gude legally in Bolvia, nice one boys! I won´t bore you with how much this ´tour´cost but we debated over whether we really needed a tour here or not. As it turns out we didn´t. We spent 3 days in Sucre, our only source of information was the Lonely Planet. Did some horse riding to a nice waterfall where we all put ourselves in mortal danger by jumping off the top of it in to a slightly muddied pool. Our Spanish-speaking horse riding leader merely watched from the sides, chewing coca leaves, occasionally spitting them on to his horse.
So then we meet the rest of ´the group´all of whom are in the middle of a 45 day trip around South America. Mixed up of English, Danish, Australian and Northern Irish. All very nice but then our fuckwit of a tour leader gets involved and things rapidly descend in to...well fuckwitness.
We discover she has a penchant for going to the Spa, not telling anyone what the plan for the day is, whether the towns and citys we stay in are safe and a general feeling of ´fuck you guys it´s my holiday too.´ I had to pinch myself every so often and remind myself that she was not a petulant twelve year old, she was in fact our tour leader.
So we travel to Potasi (the worlds highest city) via these taxis. It takes 3 hours and here´s where I need to tell
THE STORY OF JUAN
Juan grew up in a small Bolivian village just on the outskirts of Sucre. He had strict parents who used to beat him with long sticks made of Llama dung. Juan harboured an ambition, he wanted more than anything to be a racing car driver. Everytime his head hit the pillow (also made of Llama dung) he dreamt of winning the Bolivian Grand Prix (well first he dreamt there was a Bolivian Grand Prix then he dreamt of winning it).
Juan tried as a kid to make it, borrowing his fathers donkey cart and attempting to do doughnuts in the back yard. But as Juan grew up he realised his dream could not come true. He spent years feeling down, his life meant nothing. Then one day as he was taking the donkey for spins when he saw a Toyota dealership. His mind raced, maybe just maybe he could do something about his dream. He bought himself a 90´s white Toyota Corolla. A thing of beauty, now he could finally realise his dream. With no qualifications or testing he immediately became a taxi driver ferrying unsuspecting tourists from Sucre to Potasi. Oh boy he loved seeing the incomprehensible terror on his passengers faces. That delicate smell that would emanate from the back seats as he overtook the fourteen wheeler on a blind corner with a thousand foot drop and no crash barriers.
Juan just loved the challenge of Bolivian roads. Everytime he set off he would say a little prayer thanking his God that the Bolivian government hadn´t discovered the heretical English words ´road resurfacing.´ He loved to chew coca leaves, spitting them out his window utterly unaware they would fly in to the face of the person sitting in the left back seat.
And his love, more than anything, was to get to Potasi before his other Taxi driver comrades. It was competitive and they made it difficult for him but Juan lwas a born risk-taker. He simply had to cross that finish line first, it didn´t matter how many Llama or Alpacas he would instantly turn in to dog food. Nor would he consider minor adjustments to his beloved vehicle like seat belts or workable brake pads. If God wanted him dead, he would have crashed already surely.
He could see the tourists sitting behind him trying to work out the Spanish for ´Slow the fuck down´ but he knew that even if they found the words in their Latin American Spanish Phrasebook the sheer terror would be too much for them to utter the words. Only mumbles and high pitched whimpers would be the only sound that would emanate from their stupid white mouths.
And so ends the Story of Juan. We must assume that he still drives with the same disregard for others and we salute his God for having the power to keep him alive in the face of such reckless abandon. Chao Juan!
So we arrive in Potasi looking for a toilet and a new bum. The Spanish discovered silver in Potasi and decided it would a spiffing idea to send hundreds of thousands of African slaves and local Bolivians down in to the mines to go get it for them. 8 million people died in these mines under some of the most atrocious conditions imaginable. So now they send tourists down there, each happy because they are allowed to buy a stick of, wait for it...DYNAMITE with them. Yes dynamite is a readily available commodity in Potasi. You can walk in to a store, buy a couple of sticks under the guise of ´I´m taking it to the miners as a present.´ HA, they are so gullible. So the tour leader (not Barbara, this one is competent) asks if we want to set a stick off (I remind you we are still talking about DYNAMITE...whilst down in the mine! I mean...do Llama attempt to kill themselves when they cross roads...fuck yeah! So we go in to the mines all singing ´´Hi Ho´´ our dynamite and matches at the ready and basically we are happy campers. See attached video for what actually happened when it when bang!
Once we´re finished blowing up parts of Potasi we get a bus to the worlds largest salt flat and the small town of Uyani which looks like some old fool was walking through the desert and thought ´´No water, utterly exposed to the elements, temperatures reaching -20. You know what, this is the perfect place for a town.´´
So we jump in some slightly dubious 4x4´s and drive up to the 12,000 square kilometer salt flat which is simply one of the most breathtaking sights I have ever seen. And because it was flooded, this being the rainy season, the blue sky was perfectly reflected in the water making you feel like you were on some other planet, strange.
Then we spend the next few days driving around the superlative-exhausting Reserva Nacional de Fauna Andina Eduardo Avaroa with some of the most stunning landscapes I´ve ever had the pleasure of seeing. Truly it was like a safari for landscapes, with every turn of a corner we´d see a new canyon or snow-capped mountain. Bear in mind we are over 4000m above sea level at all times. Deserts, laguna, flamingos more Llamas. Lovely. There was a particularly stunning volcano and turquoise lake called Laguna Verde which I couldn´t help myself I had to take some video of, have a look.
What wasn´t lovely however was the places we were staying in. The bed on the first night was like being strapped to a silver birch tree trunk, the toilet smelled of...words can´t even describe what it smelled of. There were flies, dogs and babies crying in no particular order. The food was simple but as we found out later totally unfit for human consumption. We´ve used up most of our emergency supply of Imodium. On the plus side though I think I´m losing weight.
Second place we stayed in was worse than the first, don´t get me wrong I´m all for character building exercises but really, do I have to pee next to a pile of rotting rubbish which should have been the shower. Seriously guys...come on now, maybe start with the mantra ´let´s not make the tourists (our biggest source of income) sick to the point of emergency evacuation. I tell you, that night was like an orchestra of flatulence. I understood why they had no smoking signs all over the place. And to top it all off no running water, good effort chaps.
So with everyone feeling tickety boo and some of our gang speeding back to La Paz with critical stomach issues we hop in to the landcruiser and see some more rock formations. Then head back to Uyani and a night train. I won´t bore you with all the things that went wrong after that suffice to say it ended with one of our group in tears because our fuckwit tour leader was nasty to her. We had to all sit down and have it out with her. It was like Tour Group Therapy.
So we catch the night train back which was actually pretty decent and now we´re back in La Paz awaiting a flight to Buenos Aires which we should catch tomorrow. So Bolivia has been eventful and beautiful and stomach challenging. I sure won´t forget her in a hurry.
I just read this back, is it me or do these things get longer and longer. Must try the ancient art of subbing down my ramblings to something easy to read, with grammar people can actually decipher. Oh well, there´s always next time.
Chao!
Dan
POO-HOLES AND PHOTOCOPIERS
Well hi there,
So after the long and somewhat laborious Inca Trail thing, seriously there's a train, why would you walk it?
So we leave the tourist empty Cuzco and jump on a bus to Arequipa, Peru's second biggest city, next to, wait for it, two active volcanoes. Nice. It's all white stone and not an unpleasant place to be for a few days. Wondered around a monastery or two, ate some local food which was fine. Although because we're totally stuck if we get to a restaurant and actually decide this isn't the place for us. By that time we've already sat down they've already started to wait on us. I kid you not, we went to three, yes three different restaurants. All of whom we sat down in and were given menu's. All of whom we decided weren't right and had to stand up in front of everyone else eating there and leave. I do love those uncomfortable, awkward moments.
Then we booked a little two day trip to the Colca Canyon which is supposedly twice the size of the Grand Canyon and whilst it was impressive I kept thinking to myself ''What's the difference between a canyon and a valley cos this sure looks like a valley.''
Anyway spotted some condors from miles away drifting on the currents and whilst I had to contend with some very loud Canadians on the bus there and back, it was all I could do from turning around and saying ''Why can't you say it quietly, she's sitting right next to you for Christ sake!''
So we jump on another bus to Puno, on Lake Titicaca which, frankly is a bit of a poo hole. It basically has one street where you get harassed by every restaurant, Internet cafe and local wanting to sell you something. We have a good deal on a hostel, only $20 a night, bargain, although the smell of raw sewage makes my eyes water somewhat. Also there seems to be a disproportionate amount of photocopiers in this town. It's only small but seemingly every shop has a photocopier. I swear if I needed to photocopy something this would be the place, the competition was fierce.
So to get ourselves out of this Poohole, Puno, and we book a little trip to a couple of Lake Titicaca's islands. Once we're on the lake, I relax and slap on the suncream. Damn that sun is strong. We're at 4000m and in the shade you feel like you might lose one of your testicles and in the sun you burn within 3 minutes, can't win.
We arrive on Amantani, I won't bore you with the introductory crap suffice to say it looked very picturesque and met the family we were to stay with. Buenos Dias I said friendly. Nothing. The old woman with black headscarf just started walking up the impossibly steep hill towards her 'house'. Then I realise she only speaks Quecha. Not even Spanish. Ace.
It wasn't an unpleasant place, the room was basic but functional. The toilet however was something altogether different. An outdoor shed hiding what was basically a hole. And the smell. If there were words in English I would use them but I've wracked my brain and I just seem to locate them. Fun for all during the night when realised you needed to go. Oh sure the stars were amazing but trying to find the shed with no power, holding your nose and aiming accurately. Frankly it all got the better of me.
So after that fun little episode we visit another island, do a bit of sight seeing, meet a very nice Israeli girl with her tagalong friend from New York and we have a very nice dinner with them.
Next day we head over the border to Bolivia and a town still on Lake Titicaca called Copacabana. A nice little place and our hotel is stunning. A large domed shaped building with perfect views of the lake from our room. And the room is enormous. It has 4 beds. Two twins and a double up a ladder. So we've basically been bumming around, sitting in the sun, reading. I've been listening to my Spanish CD and keep getting weird looks from other guests as I recite ''No Habla Espanol.''
We move to La Paz, the capital, tomorrow where we start our 11 day tour of Bolivia. We are having a truly great time, and whilst there are moments of challenge, bus stations to name but a few, my impressions of South America seem to get better and better.
I hope you are all well and I shall write soon to bore you all stupid with more inane tales from the Southern continent. Frankly if you're read this far you're either really bored at work or are doing it out of politeness. I appreciate either reason.
Till next time.
Dan
So after the long and somewhat laborious Inca Trail thing, seriously there's a train, why would you walk it?
So we leave the tourist empty Cuzco and jump on a bus to Arequipa, Peru's second biggest city, next to, wait for it, two active volcanoes. Nice. It's all white stone and not an unpleasant place to be for a few days. Wondered around a monastery or two, ate some local food which was fine. Although because we're totally stuck if we get to a restaurant and actually decide this isn't the place for us. By that time we've already sat down they've already started to wait on us. I kid you not, we went to three, yes three different restaurants. All of whom we sat down in and were given menu's. All of whom we decided weren't right and had to stand up in front of everyone else eating there and leave. I do love those uncomfortable, awkward moments.
Then we booked a little two day trip to the Colca Canyon which is supposedly twice the size of the Grand Canyon and whilst it was impressive I kept thinking to myself ''What's the difference between a canyon and a valley cos this sure looks like a valley.''
Anyway spotted some condors from miles away drifting on the currents and whilst I had to contend with some very loud Canadians on the bus there and back, it was all I could do from turning around and saying ''Why can't you say it quietly, she's sitting right next to you for Christ sake!''
So we jump on another bus to Puno, on Lake Titicaca which, frankly is a bit of a poo hole. It basically has one street where you get harassed by every restaurant, Internet cafe and local wanting to sell you something. We have a good deal on a hostel, only $20 a night, bargain, although the smell of raw sewage makes my eyes water somewhat. Also there seems to be a disproportionate amount of photocopiers in this town. It's only small but seemingly every shop has a photocopier. I swear if I needed to photocopy something this would be the place, the competition was fierce.
So to get ourselves out of this Poohole, Puno, and we book a little trip to a couple of Lake Titicaca's islands. Once we're on the lake, I relax and slap on the suncream. Damn that sun is strong. We're at 4000m and in the shade you feel like you might lose one of your testicles and in the sun you burn within 3 minutes, can't win.
We arrive on Amantani, I won't bore you with the introductory crap suffice to say it looked very picturesque and met the family we were to stay with. Buenos Dias I said friendly. Nothing. The old woman with black headscarf just started walking up the impossibly steep hill towards her 'house'. Then I realise she only speaks Quecha. Not even Spanish. Ace.
It wasn't an unpleasant place, the room was basic but functional. The toilet however was something altogether different. An outdoor shed hiding what was basically a hole. And the smell. If there were words in English I would use them but I've wracked my brain and I just seem to locate them. Fun for all during the night when realised you needed to go. Oh sure the stars were amazing but trying to find the shed with no power, holding your nose and aiming accurately. Frankly it all got the better of me.
So after that fun little episode we visit another island, do a bit of sight seeing, meet a very nice Israeli girl with her tagalong friend from New York and we have a very nice dinner with them.
Next day we head over the border to Bolivia and a town still on Lake Titicaca called Copacabana. A nice little place and our hotel is stunning. A large domed shaped building with perfect views of the lake from our room. And the room is enormous. It has 4 beds. Two twins and a double up a ladder. So we've basically been bumming around, sitting in the sun, reading. I've been listening to my Spanish CD and keep getting weird looks from other guests as I recite ''No Habla Espanol.''
We move to La Paz, the capital, tomorrow where we start our 11 day tour of Bolivia. We are having a truly great time, and whilst there are moments of challenge, bus stations to name but a few, my impressions of South America seem to get better and better.
I hope you are all well and I shall write soon to bore you all stupid with more inane tales from the Southern continent. Frankly if you're read this far you're either really bored at work or are doing it out of politeness. I appreciate either reason.
Till next time.
Dan
Inca Trail
Guten tag,
After the relative calm of the Galapagos we jetted off to Lima which, if I´m completely honest is a bit of a shit hole. The traffic and general feeling of impending doom to the tourist kinda wears you down. There were a couple of nice churches and Alison started hearing voices in her ears inside one of the catacombs which I just took as being the dodgy llama she´d had for lunch. So from Lima we join up with a bunch of children who all want to walk the Inca trail with us. They´re all gap yearers or students and I feel about as old as God. But they´re pleasant enough so we all catch a flight to Cusco which is in the mountains. A nice main square, not much oxygen etc etc. The first hotel we stay in is nice. A cross between a youth hostel for the under 25´s and a 10 year old Travel Inn. Not bad and as we settled down to sleep we wondered why we hadn´t said anything to the 20 people downstairs getting pissed, their voices gently echoing up the stairs almost nestling between myself and Alison.
So with bloodshot eyes we drove to some other Inca place, I wasn´t paying much attention at this point. All very impressive and old. Not sure why the Inca´s decided to live up the top of mountains. Obviously their town planning hadn´t gotten as far as worrying about skanky students doing a 4 day walk to get up to the damn place. Camping is not my thing. If I was in any doubt about that, the Inca Trail (God bless you) finalised it. It was cold, you could barely get in and out of the things, and Alison kept taking up my side which I really hate. So we walk. And walk. And walk some more. Up and up and up, then a little down, then up some more. Frankly it all got a bit tiresome and we started getting a bit ratty with other members of the group who all seemed to be from Norway or Sweden and seemed to be world-class hikers. And as they raced passed us for the 30th time leaving us in their dust I wondered if they´d be able to down a cup of tea nearly as fast as me. I doubt it! Ha. Obviously to our Scandinavian chums it was a race and they won, by a country mile and then some. (In fact they even had time for coffee and biscuits and a little snooze by the time we racked up)
So the guide comes up with the genius plan to try and to the 4 day hike in 3 days. Marvellous. And I thought this just couldn´t get any more fun. So we do it and through the cries of misery, 3 day old underwear and tears of abject hopelessness we finally make it to Machu Picchu which, to be fair is pretty spectacular. Could we have taken the train? Yes. And we should have. And so, on the way down (on the train) I have to resist the urge to scream from the window at those who are just setting off on their wet, ´life-enhancing´ journey. "For God sake, turn back!" I could not, however bring myself to carry it through. A nice touch on the train is the airline service you are treated to. A box of sandwiches, drinks...then, the train hostess (I assume that´s what she was called) treated us to a fashion show. Music started to blare out of speakers and she and her male colleague started cat- walking along the ´isle´ showcasing the best in Peruvian Alpaca (bit like Llama wool stuff). I was lost for words as the entire carriage started whooping and whistling at them. As the train pulled in to the station I started to wonder what other comedy life events the Sun God got in store for us.
Stay tuned for more rambling dispatches from the Southern American continent.
Dan
After the relative calm of the Galapagos we jetted off to Lima which, if I´m completely honest is a bit of a shit hole. The traffic and general feeling of impending doom to the tourist kinda wears you down. There were a couple of nice churches and Alison started hearing voices in her ears inside one of the catacombs which I just took as being the dodgy llama she´d had for lunch. So from Lima we join up with a bunch of children who all want to walk the Inca trail with us. They´re all gap yearers or students and I feel about as old as God. But they´re pleasant enough so we all catch a flight to Cusco which is in the mountains. A nice main square, not much oxygen etc etc. The first hotel we stay in is nice. A cross between a youth hostel for the under 25´s and a 10 year old Travel Inn. Not bad and as we settled down to sleep we wondered why we hadn´t said anything to the 20 people downstairs getting pissed, their voices gently echoing up the stairs almost nestling between myself and Alison.
So with bloodshot eyes we drove to some other Inca place, I wasn´t paying much attention at this point. All very impressive and old. Not sure why the Inca´s decided to live up the top of mountains. Obviously their town planning hadn´t gotten as far as worrying about skanky students doing a 4 day walk to get up to the damn place. Camping is not my thing. If I was in any doubt about that, the Inca Trail (God bless you) finalised it. It was cold, you could barely get in and out of the things, and Alison kept taking up my side which I really hate. So we walk. And walk. And walk some more. Up and up and up, then a little down, then up some more. Frankly it all got a bit tiresome and we started getting a bit ratty with other members of the group who all seemed to be from Norway or Sweden and seemed to be world-class hikers. And as they raced passed us for the 30th time leaving us in their dust I wondered if they´d be able to down a cup of tea nearly as fast as me. I doubt it! Ha. Obviously to our Scandinavian chums it was a race and they won, by a country mile and then some. (In fact they even had time for coffee and biscuits and a little snooze by the time we racked up)
So the guide comes up with the genius plan to try and to the 4 day hike in 3 days. Marvellous. And I thought this just couldn´t get any more fun. So we do it and through the cries of misery, 3 day old underwear and tears of abject hopelessness we finally make it to Machu Picchu which, to be fair is pretty spectacular. Could we have taken the train? Yes. And we should have. And so, on the way down (on the train) I have to resist the urge to scream from the window at those who are just setting off on their wet, ´life-enhancing´ journey. "For God sake, turn back!" I could not, however bring myself to carry it through. A nice touch on the train is the airline service you are treated to. A box of sandwiches, drinks...then, the train hostess (I assume that´s what she was called) treated us to a fashion show. Music started to blare out of speakers and she and her male colleague started cat- walking along the ´isle´ showcasing the best in Peruvian Alpaca (bit like Llama wool stuff). I was lost for words as the entire carriage started whooping and whistling at them. As the train pulled in to the station I started to wonder what other comedy life events the Sun God got in store for us.
Stay tuned for more rambling dispatches from the Southern American continent.
Dan
BACK FROM GALAPAGOS
Hello UK chums.
We have just returned from a staggering trip to the Galapagos Islands. What a place. Highlights, let´s see, swimming with Turtles, sea lions and sharks. Lowlights, slight seasickness on the boat in rougher seas, a little sun burned under my arms. After a somewhat tumultuous goodbye at the airport with familes wailing and tears streaming down my face like a big girl we board the plane to Quito via (get this) Amsterdam - Bonaire (wherever that is) - Guayquill - Quito. Mammouth 15 hour job. We were a little shagged when we finally reached Quito, Luckily our friendly man from the hotel was there with a big board and in shining letters ´Daniel Granto´.
Hotel was nice. After reading the guidebook security section on Quito and the different and varied ways of robbing, mugging, stabbing and killing tourists I think it´s fair to say we must have spent the first few days being terrified to our very essence and utterly paranoid of everything and everyone. A little trip on a local bus up to the Equator, which was all very jolly, looking at everyone on the bus and wondering how long it would be before someone asked us to hand over the cash and-or my sun cream. Luckily never happened (touch wood) Then Galapagos. Quite a small yacht-type boat. Keeps 12 people happy. Plan normally was sail to an island overnight. Then snorkel followed by walk or vice versa. Then sail again. That was life for the past 8 days and it was about as close to heaven as I´ve been in some time. Anyway, I promised myself I´d keep this short. We fly to Lima tomorrow and start the Inca trail the day after. Apparently it´s pissing it down consistantly. Hope I don´t lose my ´tan´, I spent many an hour working on that ´just got out of the Solarium´ look. I look a little like a beetroot but I´m hoping it will settle down to Adonis soon.
Hope all of you are well, I shall update when we´ve done the Inca Trail.
Chao!
We have just returned from a staggering trip to the Galapagos Islands. What a place. Highlights, let´s see, swimming with Turtles, sea lions and sharks. Lowlights, slight seasickness on the boat in rougher seas, a little sun burned under my arms. After a somewhat tumultuous goodbye at the airport with familes wailing and tears streaming down my face like a big girl we board the plane to Quito via (get this) Amsterdam - Bonaire (wherever that is) - Guayquill - Quito. Mammouth 15 hour job. We were a little shagged when we finally reached Quito, Luckily our friendly man from the hotel was there with a big board and in shining letters ´Daniel Granto´.
Hotel was nice. After reading the guidebook security section on Quito and the different and varied ways of robbing, mugging, stabbing and killing tourists I think it´s fair to say we must have spent the first few days being terrified to our very essence and utterly paranoid of everything and everyone. A little trip on a local bus up to the Equator, which was all very jolly, looking at everyone on the bus and wondering how long it would be before someone asked us to hand over the cash and-or my sun cream. Luckily never happened (touch wood) Then Galapagos. Quite a small yacht-type boat. Keeps 12 people happy. Plan normally was sail to an island overnight. Then snorkel followed by walk or vice versa. Then sail again. That was life for the past 8 days and it was about as close to heaven as I´ve been in some time. Anyway, I promised myself I´d keep this short. We fly to Lima tomorrow and start the Inca trail the day after. Apparently it´s pissing it down consistantly. Hope I don´t lose my ´tan´, I spent many an hour working on that ´just got out of the Solarium´ look. I look a little like a beetroot but I´m hoping it will settle down to Adonis soon.
Hope all of you are well, I shall update when we´ve done the Inca Trail.
Chao!
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