Often when I'm in a caffeine infused state, or stuck on a long distance bus journey with only my thoughts to entertain me, there are several reoccurring themes that occupy my head space and I usually find myself returning to the same old question, why do I love traveling so much?
When I was a child two large frames hung from my dining room wall, one contained a photo depicting my parents on a deserted beach, each with an ore in their hand, taken I imagine, moments before embarking on an afternoon of kayaking. The other had been snapped whilst travelling through
I suppose it was inevitable that at some point in my life I would be lured away from my home by a deep desire for discovery, thrill seeking and adventure. Daydreams of doing things that could be deemed dangerous still enchant me just as much as they did all those many years ago. I know in my heart that this love affair was never going to be sustainable as ultimately it would reek havoc with my relationships with loved ones and would make putting roots down quite impossible, but for a little while at least, I lived the dream.
It’s always been important to me to justify this life choice, which I believe is largely because I feel a certain amount of guilt towards acting so self indulgently. Still it doesn't take me long to think of a hundred different reasons to justify taking time out to see the world. However if there is one thing I am sure of in this life it’s that balance is the key to happiness. To breath we must inhale and exhale, this sets the basic rhythm to our lives. Equally to live we must both consume and exert energy and without self discipline it’s far too easy to off set this balance and consume too much. Though I worked hard in preparation for this trip I now feel satisfied that I've consumed quite enough for now and its definitely time for me to start exerting myself once more... both physically and mentally! I have learnt immeasurable amounts during my time away, but the fatigue I feel from living out of a bag is beginning to show as I find myself opting for home comforts more and more often. If you're not careful the life of a backpacker can become very similar to that of a fresher at university, particularly when travelling through a big city. I feel as though I have been inhaling for 11 months. I have tasted exhilaration, and I have smelt freedom, but now it is time for me to exhale once more.
In truth there have been times on this trip where I have been tired, dirty, disillusioned and dare I say it, even a little bored. But there have also been many occasions filled with the most luxurious madness in all the world, and just occasionally I get a feeling that is so sublime its worth a hundred days of boredom and more. This feeling comes at the strangest of times, naturally watching a sunset or swimming in the crystal blue sea leave you feeling quite ecstatic but I get that same feeling when sitting on a chicken bus or fighting my way through a busy market, its the most alive I've ever felt. It’s the purest form of excitement, the sort that makes your heart race and your finger tips tingle, the sort you see on the faces of children all the time, yet rarely in the eyes of an adult.
To be captivated, enchanted even, by a person or a place is truly one of the most wonderful emotions a person can feel and although as a traveller I've become burnt out with enthusiasm from time to time, when I reflect on my experiences it is the feeling of wonder that I remember most vividly. While I love to listen to stories I also love to tell them and although I often relive them with exaggerated exuberance, I believe the best life stories are told with a pinch of fiction. Perhaps the fruit I ate in Central America was the tastiest, richest fruit I've ever eaten, or perhaps it was in fact just the setting in which it was consumed, likewise perhaps that sunrise I saw from a top of a volcano really was the most beautiful sunrise I've ever seen, or perhaps it was enhanced by the work that I had to put in to getting there to see it. Either way what's important is that, in the end, the way we remember things becomes more relevant than the actual moment in which the memory is created, so to romanticize a little when reminiscing can only be a good thing as it makes life that little bit sweeter.
Like a lot of people, I am a sucker for things that are slightly forbidden to me, probably because of the mystery that shrouds them and also because there is great thrill to be found in striving for things in life that you perceive to be unobtainable. A song I once loved as a teenager captivated me with the line 'do one thing every day that scares you' and although this is a near impossible task, I still firmly believe that we all have the potential to be better people if we take ourselves out of our comfort zones more and shake things up a little. For me this has been in trying to learn a foreign language or decision making without the reassurance of anybody else, but challenging ourselves can be achieved in all stages of our lives, we just have to have the courage and the motivation to do it, and perhaps the insight to acknowledge what our fears actually are in the first place.
Taking myself out of my natural habitat if you will, has highlighted just how much my environment shapes who I am. National identity is definitely a theme that has come into debate time and time again throughout this trip. There are many stereotypical British traits that I hold close to my heart, queuing for example! But there are also many from alternatives cultures I'd quite like us to adopt. In my opinion people freely expressing themselves is something we don't see enough of in England. Unfortunately we seem to be so preoccupied with the desire not to embarrass ourselves that we've ended up losing the free spirit that seems to embody Latin American culture. One thing is for sure, the world we inhabit is spectacular in its diversity and bearing witness to such a huge range of cultures and lives has certainly given me a better understanding as to how I'd like to live mine.
Travelling is based on two optimums, life chances and life choices. For being given the opportunity to take this time I feel like the luckiest girl in the world, and for making the decision to actually use it is something I will never regret.
No matter where we are in the world, may curiosity always live in our minds, and may excitement always live in our hearts.
Tuesday 8 September 2009
The travelling bug
Brazil
I talked of loving Mexico, of having a love affair with Bolivia, of being charmed by the Argentinian cafe culture, but I can honestly say I really did leave the best til last when it comes to Brazil. What can I say, I think I'm addicted to this place. I've never seen the work hard, play hard ethic be taken so literally as they do in Brazil, these guys are insane! Even their bank notes are exotic, each one decorated with a different jungle creature, now I've got nothing against old Lizzy but I'd rather hand over a monkey at the check out any day! This has captured my heart and soul and I have come away seriously searching for some Brazilian blood in my ancestry because I feel like I can relate to this culture so well.
I touched down in Sao Paulo after a brief flight from BA with a killer hangover, sleep deprived and delicate! I made my way to my couch surfing host’s house only to find that Junior already had plans for us! He told me to have a quick shower, fix myself something to eat, knock back a couple of his home made caprinis and I'd be fine. Seriously doubting this I followed my orders and within an hour we were off out into town. As it turns out Junior couldn't have been more right and I ended up partying right through til 6 with him and his friends in, what has got be, the most splendid gay club I've ever been to. Titled Trash 80's in did exactly what it said on the tin... and more! Within minutes of entering the place a very hot, but never the less very gay young man told me I looked fabulous and proceeded to take me under his wing for the rest of the night. He took to grinding like a dog takes to dry humping and had more stretch in him than a hubba bubba, he was my guru on the dance floor. Occasionally he would turn to me in momentary ecstasy from the latest tune being played and declare 'cheers to queers darling', embrace me, then continue to get lost in the music once more. Like any good club Trash 80's hosted a podium come stage which, let’s be honest, in the UK are usually home to a couple of skinny 18 year old lasses with belts for skirts who, despite my recognition of their flexibility, don't really do it for me. However this joint wasn't catering to the needs of heterosexual men. To my delight I found the rules had been reversed and instead the spot light shone on a selection of tightly toned buns and abs owned by only the handsomest of men, oh and an obscenely obese lady in a flowery dress, I'm not sure how she fitted in to the act but she seemed to be having a whale of a time. Best of all, they had choreographed a dance routine that would knock the socks off steps, and maybe even give old JT a run for his money. If this is your average Friday night out in Brazil can you imagine what it must be like during carnival?!
The following day I paid a visit to a salon with my new found friend Patchy, who I'd met during my tour of the salt flats in Bolivia. This, again, very much lived up to my expectations and upon entering the place I was met with wafts of all sorts of lotions and potions used for just about every beauty treatment you can think of. The place was open plan with gloriously high ceilings and white leather furniture. The economic situation in Brazil holds true to its international media representation. It is very much a place of all or nothing, and unlike the UK if you've got it you flaunt it. Let me assure you Brazilians know how to live well, and given that I was spending my last 2 weeks of my trip in their hands, I wasn't going to turn down the opportunity to be pampered. So I sat back, ordered a coffee, flicked through a magazine and did a spot of people watching while my hair was cut for the first time in 18 months! During the afternoon Patchy took me to the down town area of Sao Paulo, which incidentally is the 4th biggest city in the world, just to put it into context. We visited a fantastic food market with all sorts of weird and wonderful fruits and just as many unhealthy options to tease the taste buds. I came to the conclusion that I would undoubtedly become rather porky if I stayed in this country too long, although don't be fooled, it ain't cheap, when I went to buy a mango they tried to charge me £8 for the thing, thinking I must have been given the gringo price Patchy asked the next stall on my behalf and they told her the same, now that's just loco! In the evening we hit the dance floor once more but this time to an assortment of more authentically Brazilian music, and once again it was light before we returned home. Where they get their stamina from I just don't know, but whatever they're taking I want some!
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My final day in Sao Paulo was a quieter affair. I went for lunch with my couch surfing host and his mother to a traditional buffet, whereby when you're done filling your plate they plonk it on some scales and you pay by the kilo, and therefore much like our pick and mix where it pays to be a lover of marshmallows, if you are a big salad fan like myself you're quids in! In the afternoon we took a walk in the park which I imagine very much resembles Central Park in NY, with people roller blading, drinking fountains every hundred meters and a perfectly kept lawn on which people retire to in search of the shade of a tree. We even came across a dance off with around 50 guys all taking it in turns to wow each other with their various break dancing moves, with the occasional group holler being heard when someone pulled off something particularly smooth. So there you have it, after 3 days in the country I was clearly hooked.
From Sao Paulo I made my way down to Foz Do Azul which hosts a set of waterfalls that are both wider than Victoria falls and taller than Niagara and have the greatest average annual flow of any waterfall in the world! The falls lie between the borders of Brazil, Argentina and Paraguay and can be accessed from all three countries. It’s incredibly difficult to do a place of such colossal scale and beauty justice through words or photos, but lets just say that if I were ever to truly believe in magic these falls would be my converter. I was surrounded by dozens of rainbows as I meandered around the national park. Slightly dumbfounded by what lay out before me, and filled with happy vibes from all the negative ions in the air, it really wouldn't have surprised me in the slightest if a unicorn had wondered passed or one of those half man half goat things, I believe they're called Centaurs or something like that. In fact I found this place so captivating I returned a second day to check out the Argentinian side of the falls, which leave you a tad bit deaf and a little on the damp side, actually completely saturated if you're like me and try to get as close to the edge as possible, but such conditions only added at the wow factor of the place.
Leaving Foz Do Azul I took my last ever 24 hour bus which I've come to perceive as being like when you're a kid and you get your badges in swimming for completing certain distances, its all about endurance, and the mars bar at the other end. The only slight problem with this analogy is that rewarding yourself with chocolate for effectively sitting on your butt for 24 hours straight doesn't have quite the same effect as managing to swim 20 lengths without the aid of your arm bands. Still I imagine I must burn off a fair few calories through using my brain for such an extended period of time, as I've discovered entertaining myself can be tougher than I thought, then again there’s nothing like imagining a hostage scene to keep the brain alert, then there’s always those times when I spend at least half the journey slightly paranoid that I'm not on the right bus. Worrying must definitely have a correlation with exercise because you definitely sweat while doing both! In fact I'm sure I could argue that sitting up for that amount of time must utilise my stomach muscles too, why these bus journeys are actually like an entire work out in themselves!
Anyway so then there was Rio. I have ranted and raved about so many different countries and cities throughout this blog but Rio was my Achilles heel. I love this city. Honestly if anyone knows a hunk with a Brazilian passport who'd like to sell their hand in marriage I'd pay good money. Rio is a city of superlatives. It is a city of wild partying and those with money embrace it with a passion so ferocious it is no wonder Baz Luhrmann chose it for the setting of his Romeo and Juliet. Within 30 minutes of arriving in Rio I'd headed straight down to Copacobana beach to take a stroll amongst the beautiful people, and beautiful they were! It did trouble me slightly to see 10 year olds in thong bikinis, but it seems what we may deem outrageous seems to be perfectly normal for most Rio residents. Actually in truth the very next day I went straight out and purchased myself a new one, afraid of being laughed at for wearing what now felt like a small tent on the beach. It should also be told that in addition to the vibrant culture that pervades its streets, Rio just so happens to occupy one of the most spectacular settings on the planet, not only because of its white sand beaches, but also because of the gorgeous mountains and verdant rain-forests that in nests itself in.
Naturally I took time to pay homage to such beauty and set out with my new found friend, Cristina to explore the sights. We did this the most stylish way possible in a sparkling white VW Camper with a couple of local tour guides. I am not even going to try to be modest and say that driving in the sun with the windows down, aviators on, listening to Toots and the Maytales blasting out from the speaker in front of me, I felt like the epitome of cool! Our first stop was Pao de Acucar (Sugar loaf mountain) which provides some spectacular views over the city and a chance to buy an ice cream when you get to the top, which is only really accessible via cable car unless you rock climb! Next we took a brief lunch stop in Lapa and visited The Lapa Steps which are basically Rio's answer to Gaudi only on a slightly smaller scale! This tiled stairway has graced the pages of everything from National Geographic to Playboy and even appears in a snoop dog video, or so I'm told. The artist, Selaron fell in love with Brazil back in 1983 and a few years later, began working on the steps as a tribute to his adopted country. The slightly eccentric artist calls the stairway his "great madness" and claims he will never stop working on it until the day he dies. We even got to meet the coolio himself, who according to our tour guide is barking mad, but its kinda hard to tell when you don't speak Portuguese! From Lapa we paid a quick visit to Jesus, who it turns out is incredibly popular, I need to ask him what he thinks his secret is, turning water into wine or just being a jolly nice chap, I know which one I'd put my money on. Seeing the sun set from this iconic land mark was a pretty spectacular way to end the day and this is one time I can say I totally revelled in being a tourist.
As I said before, the night life in Rio is nothing short of insane and I got a taster of this on a night out on the streets of Lapa. On the weekends Lapa turns into absolute mayhem when locals and tourists flock to the streets to party as one. You can listen to any type of music you care to, dance just about anywhere and generally lose yourself to the night. Wanting to experience some authentic Brazilian music, we spent most of the night listening to a samba band on one of the street corners. I tried desperately hard to fit in, mainly through shaking my ass like a Polaroid picture, which seemed to do the trick as one local lady asked me if I'd been to samba school, a compliment I reminded myself of (and the others with me) several times throughout the night! Although this area still remains largely authentic, it has clearly been tapped into commercially as we saw a large group crowded around a couple of guys creating an awesome piece of graffiti only to find it had been designed by the Brazilian version of Vodafone, which although a little disappointing was an amazing marketing technique.
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The second half of my week in Rio I spent couch surfing with a lovely bloke called Gui. On my first night in his company he took me to a Japanese restaurant and introduced me to Sushi, where it dawned on me that I was an English girl, eating Japanese food in a Brazilian city, and I thought to myself, I know globalisation has done some terrible things to this world, but god damn this is fun! The following few days had a similar tone to them, I tried a variety of local cuisines including a super healthy berry based drink called Acai. I sun bathed while various vendors sold me an assortment of treats, beer, nuts, prawns, one guy even took a portable grill with him to the beach and if you gave him a wave he'd pop over to you and grill you a piece of halloumi cheese on a stick and then cover it in oregano and garlic sauce for you! As luxurious as all of this was, such services did highlight the extreme scale of rich and poor that exists within Brazil. This was only further added to when I asked Gui's maid to write something down for me in Portuguese and realised that she was illiterate. Indeed it’s easy to look at Brazil through rose tinted glasses but even the wealthiest individual can't ignore children sleeping rough with no shoes, or someone searching through bins in hope of finding something to eat.
Still while it is important to acknowledge these inequalities, I don't want to end this entry on a complete downer so I shall return once more to the bubble in which I found myself in most of the time that I was there. In my final couple of days I took a trip to the Botanical gardens where I met a very pleasant French man and the thought suddenly struck me, that I cannot possibly imagine life without meeting new people every day. Travelling opens up all sorts of different avenues, and I can't imagine following one direct path in life again. Spontaneity, while scary at times, has kept me so energised over the last year and I hate the idea of losing the exuberance I feel towards life right now. So I went out in style, I walked home alone the beach while the sun was setting, watched the silhouettes of well over a hundred balls in the air as people played at the shore line until the remainder of the light was finally stolen from them. I then spent the beginning of the evening watching a local football match (Flamengo v Fluminense) in the biggest stadium in the whole of South America with my new French friend and my Brazilian tour guide I'd met a couple of days previously. Admittedly I may have not understood a lot of what was going on but the drums and the chanting kept me on an adrenalin high all the same! This was followed by a night learning how to dance Forro in the oldest samba club in the world. Sticking with the theme of endless energy I waved goodbye to my beloved Rio the following day, met up with Patchy in Sao Paulo, had one final night of madness and officially accepted that my epic adventure had come to an end when less than 24 hours later I found myself staring out of the window of a plane and wondering where my hot towel had got to, and just like that it was over.
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I touched down in Sao Paulo after a brief flight from BA with a killer hangover, sleep deprived and delicate! I made my way to my couch surfing host’s house only to find that Junior already had plans for us! He told me to have a quick shower, fix myself something to eat, knock back a couple of his home made caprinis and I'd be fine. Seriously doubting this I followed my orders and within an hour we were off out into town. As it turns out Junior couldn't have been more right and I ended up partying right through til 6 with him and his friends in, what has got be, the most splendid gay club I've ever been to. Titled Trash 80's in did exactly what it said on the tin... and more! Within minutes of entering the place a very hot, but never the less very gay young man told me I looked fabulous and proceeded to take me under his wing for the rest of the night. He took to grinding like a dog takes to dry humping and had more stretch in him than a hubba bubba, he was my guru on the dance floor. Occasionally he would turn to me in momentary ecstasy from the latest tune being played and declare 'cheers to queers darling', embrace me, then continue to get lost in the music once more. Like any good club Trash 80's hosted a podium come stage which, let’s be honest, in the UK are usually home to a couple of skinny 18 year old lasses with belts for skirts who, despite my recognition of their flexibility, don't really do it for me. However this joint wasn't catering to the needs of heterosexual men. To my delight I found the rules had been reversed and instead the spot light shone on a selection of tightly toned buns and abs owned by only the handsomest of men, oh and an obscenely obese lady in a flowery dress, I'm not sure how she fitted in to the act but she seemed to be having a whale of a time. Best of all, they had choreographed a dance routine that would knock the socks off steps, and maybe even give old JT a run for his money. If this is your average Friday night out in Brazil can you imagine what it must be like during carnival?!
The following day I paid a visit to a salon with my new found friend Patchy, who I'd met during my tour of the salt flats in Bolivia. This, again, very much lived up to my expectations and upon entering the place I was met with wafts of all sorts of lotions and potions used for just about every beauty treatment you can think of. The place was open plan with gloriously high ceilings and white leather furniture. The economic situation in Brazil holds true to its international media representation. It is very much a place of all or nothing, and unlike the UK if you've got it you flaunt it. Let me assure you Brazilians know how to live well, and given that I was spending my last 2 weeks of my trip in their hands, I wasn't going to turn down the opportunity to be pampered. So I sat back, ordered a coffee, flicked through a magazine and did a spot of people watching while my hair was cut for the first time in 18 months! During the afternoon Patchy took me to the down town area of Sao Paulo, which incidentally is the 4th biggest city in the world, just to put it into context. We visited a fantastic food market with all sorts of weird and wonderful fruits and just as many unhealthy options to tease the taste buds. I came to the conclusion that I would undoubtedly become rather porky if I stayed in this country too long, although don't be fooled, it ain't cheap, when I went to buy a mango they tried to charge me £8 for the thing, thinking I must have been given the gringo price Patchy asked the next stall on my behalf and they told her the same, now that's just loco! In the evening we hit the dance floor once more but this time to an assortment of more authentically Brazilian music, and once again it was light before we returned home. Where they get their stamina from I just don't know, but whatever they're taking I want some!
alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5379072477794527442" />
My final day in Sao Paulo was a quieter affair. I went for lunch with my couch surfing host and his mother to a traditional buffet, whereby when you're done filling your plate they plonk it on some scales and you pay by the kilo, and therefore much like our pick and mix where it pays to be a lover of marshmallows, if you are a big salad fan like myself you're quids in! In the afternoon we took a walk in the park which I imagine very much resembles Central Park in NY, with people roller blading, drinking fountains every hundred meters and a perfectly kept lawn on which people retire to in search of the shade of a tree. We even came across a dance off with around 50 guys all taking it in turns to wow each other with their various break dancing moves, with the occasional group holler being heard when someone pulled off something particularly smooth. So there you have it, after 3 days in the country I was clearly hooked.
From Sao Paulo I made my way down to Foz Do Azul which hosts a set of waterfalls that are both wider than Victoria falls and taller than Niagara and have the greatest average annual flow of any waterfall in the world! The falls lie between the borders of Brazil, Argentina and Paraguay and can be accessed from all three countries. It’s incredibly difficult to do a place of such colossal scale and beauty justice through words or photos, but lets just say that if I were ever to truly believe in magic these falls would be my converter. I was surrounded by dozens of rainbows as I meandered around the national park. Slightly dumbfounded by what lay out before me, and filled with happy vibes from all the negative ions in the air, it really wouldn't have surprised me in the slightest if a unicorn had wondered passed or one of those half man half goat things, I believe they're called Centaurs or something like that. In fact I found this place so captivating I returned a second day to check out the Argentinian side of the falls, which leave you a tad bit deaf and a little on the damp side, actually completely saturated if you're like me and try to get as close to the edge as possible, but such conditions only added at the wow factor of the place.
Leaving Foz Do Azul I took my last ever 24 hour bus which I've come to perceive as being like when you're a kid and you get your badges in swimming for completing certain distances, its all about endurance, and the mars bar at the other end. The only slight problem with this analogy is that rewarding yourself with chocolate for effectively sitting on your butt for 24 hours straight doesn't have quite the same effect as managing to swim 20 lengths without the aid of your arm bands. Still I imagine I must burn off a fair few calories through using my brain for such an extended period of time, as I've discovered entertaining myself can be tougher than I thought, then again there’s nothing like imagining a hostage scene to keep the brain alert, then there’s always those times when I spend at least half the journey slightly paranoid that I'm not on the right bus. Worrying must definitely have a correlation with exercise because you definitely sweat while doing both! In fact I'm sure I could argue that sitting up for that amount of time must utilise my stomach muscles too, why these bus journeys are actually like an entire work out in themselves!
Anyway so then there was Rio. I have ranted and raved about so many different countries and cities throughout this blog but Rio was my Achilles heel. I love this city. Honestly if anyone knows a hunk with a Brazilian passport who'd like to sell their hand in marriage I'd pay good money. Rio is a city of superlatives. It is a city of wild partying and those with money embrace it with a passion so ferocious it is no wonder Baz Luhrmann chose it for the setting of his Romeo and Juliet. Within 30 minutes of arriving in Rio I'd headed straight down to Copacobana beach to take a stroll amongst the beautiful people, and beautiful they were! It did trouble me slightly to see 10 year olds in thong bikinis, but it seems what we may deem outrageous seems to be perfectly normal for most Rio residents. Actually in truth the very next day I went straight out and purchased myself a new one, afraid of being laughed at for wearing what now felt like a small tent on the beach. It should also be told that in addition to the vibrant culture that pervades its streets, Rio just so happens to occupy one of the most spectacular settings on the planet, not only because of its white sand beaches, but also because of the gorgeous mountains and verdant rain-forests that in nests itself in.
Naturally I took time to pay homage to such beauty and set out with my new found friend, Cristina to explore the sights. We did this the most stylish way possible in a sparkling white VW Camper with a couple of local tour guides. I am not even going to try to be modest and say that driving in the sun with the windows down, aviators on, listening to Toots and the Maytales blasting out from the speaker in front of me, I felt like the epitome of cool! Our first stop was Pao de Acucar (Sugar loaf mountain) which provides some spectacular views over the city and a chance to buy an ice cream when you get to the top, which is only really accessible via cable car unless you rock climb! Next we took a brief lunch stop in Lapa and visited The Lapa Steps which are basically Rio's answer to Gaudi only on a slightly smaller scale! This tiled stairway has graced the pages of everything from National Geographic to Playboy and even appears in a snoop dog video, or so I'm told. The artist, Selaron fell in love with Brazil back in 1983 and a few years later, began working on the steps as a tribute to his adopted country. The slightly eccentric artist calls the stairway his "great madness" and claims he will never stop working on it until the day he dies. We even got to meet the coolio himself, who according to our tour guide is barking mad, but its kinda hard to tell when you don't speak Portuguese! From Lapa we paid a quick visit to Jesus, who it turns out is incredibly popular, I need to ask him what he thinks his secret is, turning water into wine or just being a jolly nice chap, I know which one I'd put my money on. Seeing the sun set from this iconic land mark was a pretty spectacular way to end the day and this is one time I can say I totally revelled in being a tourist.
As I said before, the night life in Rio is nothing short of insane and I got a taster of this on a night out on the streets of Lapa. On the weekends Lapa turns into absolute mayhem when locals and tourists flock to the streets to party as one. You can listen to any type of music you care to, dance just about anywhere and generally lose yourself to the night. Wanting to experience some authentic Brazilian music, we spent most of the night listening to a samba band on one of the street corners. I tried desperately hard to fit in, mainly through shaking my ass like a Polaroid picture, which seemed to do the trick as one local lady asked me if I'd been to samba school, a compliment I reminded myself of (and the others with me) several times throughout the night! Although this area still remains largely authentic, it has clearly been tapped into commercially as we saw a large group crowded around a couple of guys creating an awesome piece of graffiti only to find it had been designed by the Brazilian version of Vodafone, which although a little disappointing was an amazing marketing technique.
alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5379061078519802466" />
The second half of my week in Rio I spent couch surfing with a lovely bloke called Gui. On my first night in his company he took me to a Japanese restaurant and introduced me to Sushi, where it dawned on me that I was an English girl, eating Japanese food in a Brazilian city, and I thought to myself, I know globalisation has done some terrible things to this world, but god damn this is fun! The following few days had a similar tone to them, I tried a variety of local cuisines including a super healthy berry based drink called Acai. I sun bathed while various vendors sold me an assortment of treats, beer, nuts, prawns, one guy even took a portable grill with him to the beach and if you gave him a wave he'd pop over to you and grill you a piece of halloumi cheese on a stick and then cover it in oregano and garlic sauce for you! As luxurious as all of this was, such services did highlight the extreme scale of rich and poor that exists within Brazil. This was only further added to when I asked Gui's maid to write something down for me in Portuguese and realised that she was illiterate. Indeed it’s easy to look at Brazil through rose tinted glasses but even the wealthiest individual can't ignore children sleeping rough with no shoes, or someone searching through bins in hope of finding something to eat.
Still while it is important to acknowledge these inequalities, I don't want to end this entry on a complete downer so I shall return once more to the bubble in which I found myself in most of the time that I was there. In my final couple of days I took a trip to the Botanical gardens where I met a very pleasant French man and the thought suddenly struck me, that I cannot possibly imagine life without meeting new people every day. Travelling opens up all sorts of different avenues, and I can't imagine following one direct path in life again. Spontaneity, while scary at times, has kept me so energised over the last year and I hate the idea of losing the exuberance I feel towards life right now. So I went out in style, I walked home alone the beach while the sun was setting, watched the silhouettes of well over a hundred balls in the air as people played at the shore line until the remainder of the light was finally stolen from them. I then spent the beginning of the evening watching a local football match (Flamengo v Fluminense) in the biggest stadium in the whole of South America with my new French friend and my Brazilian tour guide I'd met a couple of days previously. Admittedly I may have not understood a lot of what was going on but the drums and the chanting kept me on an adrenalin high all the same! This was followed by a night learning how to dance Forro in the oldest samba club in the world. Sticking with the theme of endless energy I waved goodbye to my beloved Rio the following day, met up with Patchy in Sao Paulo, had one final night of madness and officially accepted that my epic adventure had come to an end when less than 24 hours later I found myself staring out of the window of a plane and wondering where my hot towel had got to, and just like that it was over.
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Argentina
Look up cafe culture in the dictionary and you are sure to find a map of Argentina. This country rocked, and although I had a very short amount of time there, it was time spent in a passion fuelled frenzy and I loved every minute of it. The only way I can fathom that all Argentineans are not obsessed is because they party so hard. There are an absurd amount of sweet treats available and it is deemed perfectly acceptable to take time out and enjoy them! You can walk into pretty much any coffee shop and find it over flowing with people day or night, giving city streets a constant buzz of energy. This may be to do with the giving nature of the Argentineans, as similarly to tapas in Spain, pretty much every coffee I ordered came with a free brownie or cookie, a service I am definitely intending on campaigning for at home when I get back!
So despite me advocating that Argentina should be nominated for Miss South America 2009 I only actually made two stops in this fair land, the first being Salta. Salta boasts art museums, peddle boats, and all things pleasant! My time in the town was balanced perfectly between getting my culture fix, obeying my dancing needs and satisfying my desire for an adrenaline rush by bungee jumping for the first time. Admittedly it wasn't all rosy as while curing that itch to get back on the dance floor I foolishly got a bit too care free and, in my slightly inebriated state, left my wallet in the communal area of my hostel which not surprisingly had mysteriously vanished the next day. Stupid is as stupid does. Thankfully it didn't have any cards in it but it did have about £120 worth of cash and my rather expensive bus ticket in it... ooops!
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From Salta I took a 24 hour bus journey down to Buenos Aires which believe it or not was actually quite agreeable due to the fact that the roads and buses are in such amazing conditions, in fact if you take the first class option they even provide you with a hot meal and champagne upon arrival! Unfortunately my funds do not permit such luxuries, but I did have the delightful experience of watching a variety of Jacky Chan movies dubbed in Spanish for the duration of the trip. Whilst in BA I tried my luck with couchsurfing once more, figuring no-one could be worse than the Frenchies. Thankfully Augustin was a fantastic host, mainly because he was such a funny, charismatic guy. He did however, manage to break his foot the day I arrived and therefore was unable to show me the bright lights of the city, but given my recent loss I was more than happy to do my own bit of exploring during the day and chill out with him and his friends during the evenings. It seems that out of all the South American nations, Argentinean men live up to the Latino stereotype the most when it comes to expressing themselves and it has to be said that as a British lady, the only form of public flattery I'm familiar with tends to come from a rather sweaty overweight builder as I wonder past his work site. I was therefore, understandably, quite baffled by the fact that several rather attractive young men referred to me as Linda whilst roaming the streets of down town BA. Initially I thought I must have a name tag stuck to me somewhere that had adhered itself to me from some corporate training day, but after thoroughly checking my clothing for sticky white labels, it dawned on me that Linda actually means pretty in Spanish. Now I'd love to claim I'm not a sucker for such nonsense, but that would clearly be a lie, as let’s be honest ladies we all love a bit of flattery every now and again, particularly when you've been carrying a giant back pack on your back for the last 10 months, and are limited to 3 clothing options, which more often than not have food stains down them and smell a wee bit funky.
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I have to say I think BA was the most developed place I'd been to since Honk Kong, not only because of its size and European architecture, but also because of its style and grace. Its residents, for the large part, are not solely focused on finding money for their next meal, and therefore this absence of poverty, in comparison to say Bolivia, brings with it a hunger to consume. Aesthetics are clearly important throughout the city, people are stylishly dressed, parks are immaculate and pedigree pups are well groomed. You could say this has been taken to excess when you notice most of the hand bag dogs really are carried in hand bags and those precious pups paws that dare touch the ground are usually protected by little booties! But this showy element of the city is no different from LA or even areas of London for that matter, and naturally it still has all the familiar grimier traits of a super city, even its tube smells like ours, and is host to just as many crazies and drunks. There’s no doubt in my mind that I have to return to this city some day, just perhaps with a little more money in the bank and in the summer time when the penalty for purchasing a dulce de leche ice cream isn't blue lips and an hour of the shivers! Yes one day I will be back.
So despite me advocating that Argentina should be nominated for Miss South America 2009 I only actually made two stops in this fair land, the first being Salta. Salta boasts art museums, peddle boats, and all things pleasant! My time in the town was balanced perfectly between getting my culture fix, obeying my dancing needs and satisfying my desire for an adrenaline rush by bungee jumping for the first time. Admittedly it wasn't all rosy as while curing that itch to get back on the dance floor I foolishly got a bit too care free and, in my slightly inebriated state, left my wallet in the communal area of my hostel which not surprisingly had mysteriously vanished the next day. Stupid is as stupid does. Thankfully it didn't have any cards in it but it did have about £120 worth of cash and my rather expensive bus ticket in it... ooops!
alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5379055024561646834" />
alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5379055014003003874" />
From Salta I took a 24 hour bus journey down to Buenos Aires which believe it or not was actually quite agreeable due to the fact that the roads and buses are in such amazing conditions, in fact if you take the first class option they even provide you with a hot meal and champagne upon arrival! Unfortunately my funds do not permit such luxuries, but I did have the delightful experience of watching a variety of Jacky Chan movies dubbed in Spanish for the duration of the trip. Whilst in BA I tried my luck with couchsurfing once more, figuring no-one could be worse than the Frenchies. Thankfully Augustin was a fantastic host, mainly because he was such a funny, charismatic guy. He did however, manage to break his foot the day I arrived and therefore was unable to show me the bright lights of the city, but given my recent loss I was more than happy to do my own bit of exploring during the day and chill out with him and his friends during the evenings. It seems that out of all the South American nations, Argentinean men live up to the Latino stereotype the most when it comes to expressing themselves and it has to be said that as a British lady, the only form of public flattery I'm familiar with tends to come from a rather sweaty overweight builder as I wonder past his work site. I was therefore, understandably, quite baffled by the fact that several rather attractive young men referred to me as Linda whilst roaming the streets of down town BA. Initially I thought I must have a name tag stuck to me somewhere that had adhered itself to me from some corporate training day, but after thoroughly checking my clothing for sticky white labels, it dawned on me that Linda actually means pretty in Spanish. Now I'd love to claim I'm not a sucker for such nonsense, but that would clearly be a lie, as let’s be honest ladies we all love a bit of flattery every now and again, particularly when you've been carrying a giant back pack on your back for the last 10 months, and are limited to 3 clothing options, which more often than not have food stains down them and smell a wee bit funky.
alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5379055006830247202" />
I have to say I think BA was the most developed place I'd been to since Honk Kong, not only because of its size and European architecture, but also because of its style and grace. Its residents, for the large part, are not solely focused on finding money for their next meal, and therefore this absence of poverty, in comparison to say Bolivia, brings with it a hunger to consume. Aesthetics are clearly important throughout the city, people are stylishly dressed, parks are immaculate and pedigree pups are well groomed. You could say this has been taken to excess when you notice most of the hand bag dogs really are carried in hand bags and those precious pups paws that dare touch the ground are usually protected by little booties! But this showy element of the city is no different from LA or even areas of London for that matter, and naturally it still has all the familiar grimier traits of a super city, even its tube smells like ours, and is host to just as many crazies and drunks. There’s no doubt in my mind that I have to return to this city some day, just perhaps with a little more money in the bank and in the summer time when the penalty for purchasing a dulce de leche ice cream isn't blue lips and an hour of the shivers! Yes one day I will be back.
Bye bye Bolivia, Hello Chile!
From
It has to be said that due to the altitude, and the fact that it's winter here right now the Salar de Uyuni can get well bellow freezing at night and therefore besides trying to fit as many layers on our bodies as was humanly possible, resulting in us all resembling Michelin men, we were also forced to partake in the consumption of an alcoholic beverage, purely for medicinal purposes you understand. The following couple of days we were whizzed around a variety of enchanting mountains and lakes including one that is the breeding ground for three species of South American flamingo, how you tell the difference I'm not entirely sure as to me they are all rather ridiculous looking balls of pink feathers, held up by match stick legs which simply defy the laws of gravity, but then I'm not exactly Mr Attenborough, so what would I know. After a brief bond with the pink things and lots of ooohhhs and aaaarrrhhhs,
Thursday 27 August 2009
Tunes from travelling
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FQ4zObtAOuI&feature=related
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nT5F1lOt1jI&feature=channel_page
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ehv36Bpr3vI
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rhOfC4FOaeE&feature=related
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o-1N33kp3-g&feature=related
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=99fhpvgjCDM
This one is dedicated to Abi K!...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F4-9lfP86K4
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EEyCm6OOkOY
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LYhrYHmUPn0
www.youtube.com/watch?v=f9GH-yvPHSY
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=__HQGvSqZ5I
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R378SwPH-b0
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uZSHt3SF8V8
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7vyO3fJUWQE
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A3lWbPEOJp0
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WGOohBytKTU
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U3YlOo6g1ik
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FLQgjEhH400
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nT5F1lOt1jI&feature=channel_page
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ehv36Bpr3vI
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rhOfC4FOaeE&feature=related
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o-1N33kp3-g&feature=related
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=99fhpvgjCDM
This one is dedicated to Abi K!...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F4-9lfP86K4
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EEyCm6OOkOY
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LYhrYHmUPn0
www.youtube.com/watch?v=f9GH-yvPHSY
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=__HQGvSqZ5I
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R378SwPH-b0
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uZSHt3SF8V8
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7vyO3fJUWQE
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A3lWbPEOJp0
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WGOohBytKTU
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U3YlOo6g1ik
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FLQgjEhH400
Thursday 23 July 2009
Bolivia part two... mean Frenchies and feeling like an oldie!
I last left you in Cochabamba which was a mixture of highs and lows for me and really emphasised how bittersweet travelling can be. My main reason for heading there was in search of volunteer work as I'd got chatting to a Bolivian guy called Marcelo on my flight up to the jungle and he'd given me his sister in laws email address as a contact there. So despite the incident with the pubic hairs and electrocution I entered the city with high hopes. Unfortunately after a week of searching Mariana didn't manage to find me anything. She did however prove to be excellent company for a few days and helped me get to know a side of Bolivia I'd have never have seen if I hadn't have met her. She introduced me to all her family who were just as warm and welcoming as she was and took me out to eat empanadas, humintas and masaco, all local foods involving cheese in some way or another which made me happy!
Mariana and her family lived in a beautiful house in the countryside just outside of town which her father had built soon after she was born. One afternoon I sat with Mariana in her perfectly groomed garden in the low afternoon sun, the sort of sun that blinds you if you sit the wrong way but warms you perfectly if you position yourself with your back to it. The focus of the afternoon was a baby chick which was living out its last few hours of its short life in Marianas palm after falling from its nest. While Mariana tried to revive the poor creature by feeding it drops of water, her younger brother of 9 and two friends gallivanted around the garden in search of worms, clearly thrilled by the concept of saving something from the perils of death, a valiant, but rather hopeless cause. It reminded me of a time when my brother and I were very young and we created a snail hospital, whereby we'd find snails with slightly damaged shells and proceed to peel them off entirely so that a new one could grow in its place in a genuine effort to save them! Amidst the commotion that surrounded the baby bird, Mariana's grandmother sat adjacent to us. The majority of her face was covered by a large sun hat protecting her delicate skin from the sun’s powerful rays. Occasionally she'd enquire who the child was in the red t-shirt, only to find it was her grand son! Next to her sat her nurse, busy preparing guavas for jam that would be made later that day, while inside the mother of the family was busy preparing coffee and freshly baked bread. As wonderful as it was to be invited into this hub of family life with such open arms I'm afraid I felt quite green with envy. It made me so acutely aware of the absence of my own family, and if I'm honest, it crossed my mind that perhaps I've had enough of watching other people live their lives and its about time I started living my own once more.
This feeling was only enhanced over the following few days when I met up with a couple of couch surfers and didn't strike it quite as lucky as I had done with Mariana. The first evening I met Rudy, another Bolivian, we had a really great time together. He took me to a little bar which was celebrating the indigenous New Year. We drank chicha and gave a bit to Pachamama (mother earth) which you will often see people doing throughout Peru and Bolivia, and we listened to the only all female live indigenous band in the country. I liked Rudy, he was easy company and at this stage I foresaw myself volunteering in the city for a few weeks with at least two Bolivian friends to keep me company, unfortunately it wasn't to be. The following evening I took a trip to Rudy's lakeside holiday house, which I naively assumed was for a quiet afternoon BBQ with a few of his friends, as it turns out it was a house party and I found myself completely out of my depth.
How often do we really take ourselves out of our comfort zones socially I wonder? I love meeting people, it was one of the reasons I came on this trip, but on this occasion I found it hard, really hard. It wasn't so much the language barrier that made getting to know Rudy's friends difficult, although I could hardly blame them for not having the patience to speak broken Spanish with me all night in their highly inebriated states. Nor could I blame them for not caring to take time to exercise their English, it was after all, a party not an inter-cambio session. However, regardless of these facts I believe the real barrier was cultural. I was the only non Bolivian at the party which I foolishly thought would make me exotic and therefore my company would be in demand, it was not. This group of friends were particularly insular and although they didn't all know each other, I had to work hard for them to care to know me. I have always held the belief that experiencing being a minority or being a peripheral person in a group setting, although uncomfortable, is a very important experience to go through, but good lessons are not always pleasant ones.
Ironically that evening I spent the night listening to a variety of British artists, including many a Beatles song, of which the other guests knew every word, eating Pringles and drinking various spirits mixed with 7 Up. Perhaps my portrayal of the isolation I felt is an exageration, as a couple of people did take the time out to talk to me, but when you start to feel insecure your emotions easily become magnified. Actually in truth one of the things I found hardest was that despite the fact that the majority of people were between 20 and 23 for some reason I felt incredibly old, and dare I say it, a little past it! I fear that my love for all-nighter university style partying may be a thing of the past, and waking up on a sheet less bed next to someone who's first words to you are 'I'm sorry I'm just too high right now' at 8am is far from appealing. I quickly found refuge in the bathroom, splashed my face with some cold water only to be met by my reflection staring back at me in the mirror, at which point it confronted me with the following 'I'm 25, give me pyjamas, freshly clean sheets, and a morning cup of tea, I'm done with being a teenage dirt bag!'. I'd have loved to have obeyed but thats kind of difficult when you are half way around the world!
So after coming to the realisation that I am no longer as down with the kids as I'd like to be, I met up with a French 35 year old couch surfer who I'd arranged to visit a rural farm with. Unfortunately Geronimo and his friend Chris were living, breathing national stereotypes, and by this I don't mean they were donning berets, onions and stripy t-shirts. I have a couple of French friends who are wonderful, so in no way am I suggesting this is true of all French people, but these particular two were rude, arrogant and incredibly opinionated, and quite frankly I didn't like them one bit. Unfortunately I ended up being stuck on a rural farm with them for several days with the idea that we would be doing a bit of work around the place including making fruit flavoured alcohol from guavas. Independencia itself had amazing potential and was a fascinating place to visit as after a 7 hour bus ride through the countryside with nothing but the occasional llama munching on some strawberry blonde grass we then had to walk for an hour to get to the farm itself. The neighbours could only speak Qetchua, and in other circumstances I probably would have loved the experience, but instead I spent most of my time muttering insults under my breath, not confrontational enough to say them aloud. Whilst we waited for the bus on the way home I watched a loose chicken roam the street in front of me, which I suppose had escaped from some body’s back yard. It appeared twitchy and unnerved by its new found freedom, as if now it had independence it wasn't quite sure what to do with it, as if it was no longer sure of its purpose, the parallel between us was alarming! I realised that one of the only reasons I was spending time with these two buffoons was because I was reluctant to be alone, which was ridiculous because I'd have had more fun with a bunch of finger puppets!
I realise that throughout the last few paragraphs I have been painting a picture which may portray me as home sick and lonely, which I can assure you, for the large part is not the case, I'm just learning as I go. There are so many positives that I'm experiencing, juxtapositional to all the challenging ones, its just that often the positives are so much more subtle. For example simply walking down the street can be a total pleasure, it is not unusual to come across a gym filled with men flexing their guns while listening to salsa, or an old fashioned barbers which looks like something out of Sweeny Todd. Street vendors are guaranteed to be at every corner with a strict unwritten rule of only selling things that will lead to an early death, and there is a never ending supply of chicken and popcorn in every city I've visited. The distinction between rich and poor can not go unnoticed in Bolivia, and although these people inhabit the same space they are worlds apart in the lives they lead. One thing that can be said for all though, from the smallest wrinkliest old lady you can imagine, to the fashion conscious teenage girls who are only ever seen in gaggles, they all make time to socialise. While Latin American culture is still clearly traditionally catholic in many of its ideologies, there is a certain attitude towards public behaviour that differs drastically from ours. For example, a day doesn't go by where I don't pass a couple passionately embracing on the street, and it is a regular occurrence to be sat next to a girl or guy singing away to themselves in an internet cafe as if they were auditioning to be the next Ricky Martin. Also if shop assistants have nothing to do, they do nothing. There is no pretence about size ordering clothes in an attempt to appear busy, and often you will enter a shop to find the assistant chatting to a friend or texting on their phone, which those of use who have worked in retail well know, is a cardinal sin in British stores.
Another aspect of Latin American culture I will never tire of is 'park life'. Now I know I've commented many a time on the central squares that virtually all colonial towns are set around, indeed they are the bread and butter to pretty much every place I've visited, but to fully appreciate their charm I need to dedicate a little more ink to them. I wrote this when it was 2pm on a Sunday afternoon...
It must be around 25 degrees and there isn't a cloud in the sky. To my right sits lady of around 80 years dozing peacefully by herself. To my left a woman is busy selling freshly squeezed orange and grapefruit juice from a small cart full to the brim with fruit. Next to her is another woman with a similar cart selling ice creams and a man busy shining shoes. In front of me is a fountain, around which children play, quite transfixed by their imaginary worlds. The square is filled with people of all different generations, enjoying each others company; paying homage to the simple things in life, and for that reason time seems to have slowed a little here. It has to be said that occasionally when I visit these places I'm not as fortunate and I find myself on a bench that smells of pigeon poo, or perhaps a homeless person comes and urinates against the tree next to me, but largely these parks are my little piece of heaven and something I will miss dearly.
So there you have it, despite all the hours stuck on buses, despite the occasional crazy or damn right unpleasant person I encounter, for the countless rooms I stayed in that at home would class as a healthy and safety officer’s wet dream, I wouldn't give this experience up for the world and the thought that soon it will all be over is something I can't bare to consider.
Mariana and her family lived in a beautiful house in the countryside just outside of town which her father had built soon after she was born. One afternoon I sat with Mariana in her perfectly groomed garden in the low afternoon sun, the sort of sun that blinds you if you sit the wrong way but warms you perfectly if you position yourself with your back to it. The focus of the afternoon was a baby chick which was living out its last few hours of its short life in Marianas palm after falling from its nest. While Mariana tried to revive the poor creature by feeding it drops of water, her younger brother of 9 and two friends gallivanted around the garden in search of worms, clearly thrilled by the concept of saving something from the perils of death, a valiant, but rather hopeless cause. It reminded me of a time when my brother and I were very young and we created a snail hospital, whereby we'd find snails with slightly damaged shells and proceed to peel them off entirely so that a new one could grow in its place in a genuine effort to save them! Amidst the commotion that surrounded the baby bird, Mariana's grandmother sat adjacent to us. The majority of her face was covered by a large sun hat protecting her delicate skin from the sun’s powerful rays. Occasionally she'd enquire who the child was in the red t-shirt, only to find it was her grand son! Next to her sat her nurse, busy preparing guavas for jam that would be made later that day, while inside the mother of the family was busy preparing coffee and freshly baked bread. As wonderful as it was to be invited into this hub of family life with such open arms I'm afraid I felt quite green with envy. It made me so acutely aware of the absence of my own family, and if I'm honest, it crossed my mind that perhaps I've had enough of watching other people live their lives and its about time I started living my own once more.
This feeling was only enhanced over the following few days when I met up with a couple of couch surfers and didn't strike it quite as lucky as I had done with Mariana. The first evening I met Rudy, another Bolivian, we had a really great time together. He took me to a little bar which was celebrating the indigenous New Year. We drank chicha and gave a bit to Pachamama (mother earth) which you will often see people doing throughout Peru and Bolivia, and we listened to the only all female live indigenous band in the country. I liked Rudy, he was easy company and at this stage I foresaw myself volunteering in the city for a few weeks with at least two Bolivian friends to keep me company, unfortunately it wasn't to be. The following evening I took a trip to Rudy's lakeside holiday house, which I naively assumed was for a quiet afternoon BBQ with a few of his friends, as it turns out it was a house party and I found myself completely out of my depth.
How often do we really take ourselves out of our comfort zones socially I wonder? I love meeting people, it was one of the reasons I came on this trip, but on this occasion I found it hard, really hard. It wasn't so much the language barrier that made getting to know Rudy's friends difficult, although I could hardly blame them for not having the patience to speak broken Spanish with me all night in their highly inebriated states. Nor could I blame them for not caring to take time to exercise their English, it was after all, a party not an inter-cambio session. However, regardless of these facts I believe the real barrier was cultural. I was the only non Bolivian at the party which I foolishly thought would make me exotic and therefore my company would be in demand, it was not. This group of friends were particularly insular and although they didn't all know each other, I had to work hard for them to care to know me. I have always held the belief that experiencing being a minority or being a peripheral person in a group setting, although uncomfortable, is a very important experience to go through, but good lessons are not always pleasant ones.
Ironically that evening I spent the night listening to a variety of British artists, including many a Beatles song, of which the other guests knew every word, eating Pringles and drinking various spirits mixed with 7 Up. Perhaps my portrayal of the isolation I felt is an exageration, as a couple of people did take the time out to talk to me, but when you start to feel insecure your emotions easily become magnified. Actually in truth one of the things I found hardest was that despite the fact that the majority of people were between 20 and 23 for some reason I felt incredibly old, and dare I say it, a little past it! I fear that my love for all-nighter university style partying may be a thing of the past, and waking up on a sheet less bed next to someone who's first words to you are 'I'm sorry I'm just too high right now' at 8am is far from appealing. I quickly found refuge in the bathroom, splashed my face with some cold water only to be met by my reflection staring back at me in the mirror, at which point it confronted me with the following 'I'm 25, give me pyjamas, freshly clean sheets, and a morning cup of tea, I'm done with being a teenage dirt bag!'. I'd have loved to have obeyed but thats kind of difficult when you are half way around the world!
So after coming to the realisation that I am no longer as down with the kids as I'd like to be, I met up with a French 35 year old couch surfer who I'd arranged to visit a rural farm with. Unfortunately Geronimo and his friend Chris were living, breathing national stereotypes, and by this I don't mean they were donning berets, onions and stripy t-shirts. I have a couple of French friends who are wonderful, so in no way am I suggesting this is true of all French people, but these particular two were rude, arrogant and incredibly opinionated, and quite frankly I didn't like them one bit. Unfortunately I ended up being stuck on a rural farm with them for several days with the idea that we would be doing a bit of work around the place including making fruit flavoured alcohol from guavas. Independencia itself had amazing potential and was a fascinating place to visit as after a 7 hour bus ride through the countryside with nothing but the occasional llama munching on some strawberry blonde grass we then had to walk for an hour to get to the farm itself. The neighbours could only speak Qetchua, and in other circumstances I probably would have loved the experience, but instead I spent most of my time muttering insults under my breath, not confrontational enough to say them aloud. Whilst we waited for the bus on the way home I watched a loose chicken roam the street in front of me, which I suppose had escaped from some body’s back yard. It appeared twitchy and unnerved by its new found freedom, as if now it had independence it wasn't quite sure what to do with it, as if it was no longer sure of its purpose, the parallel between us was alarming! I realised that one of the only reasons I was spending time with these two buffoons was because I was reluctant to be alone, which was ridiculous because I'd have had more fun with a bunch of finger puppets!
I realise that throughout the last few paragraphs I have been painting a picture which may portray me as home sick and lonely, which I can assure you, for the large part is not the case, I'm just learning as I go. There are so many positives that I'm experiencing, juxtapositional to all the challenging ones, its just that often the positives are so much more subtle. For example simply walking down the street can be a total pleasure, it is not unusual to come across a gym filled with men flexing their guns while listening to salsa, or an old fashioned barbers which looks like something out of Sweeny Todd. Street vendors are guaranteed to be at every corner with a strict unwritten rule of only selling things that will lead to an early death, and there is a never ending supply of chicken and popcorn in every city I've visited. The distinction between rich and poor can not go unnoticed in Bolivia, and although these people inhabit the same space they are worlds apart in the lives they lead. One thing that can be said for all though, from the smallest wrinkliest old lady you can imagine, to the fashion conscious teenage girls who are only ever seen in gaggles, they all make time to socialise. While Latin American culture is still clearly traditionally catholic in many of its ideologies, there is a certain attitude towards public behaviour that differs drastically from ours. For example, a day doesn't go by where I don't pass a couple passionately embracing on the street, and it is a regular occurrence to be sat next to a girl or guy singing away to themselves in an internet cafe as if they were auditioning to be the next Ricky Martin. Also if shop assistants have nothing to do, they do nothing. There is no pretence about size ordering clothes in an attempt to appear busy, and often you will enter a shop to find the assistant chatting to a friend or texting on their phone, which those of use who have worked in retail well know, is a cardinal sin in British stores.
Another aspect of Latin American culture I will never tire of is 'park life'. Now I know I've commented many a time on the central squares that virtually all colonial towns are set around, indeed they are the bread and butter to pretty much every place I've visited, but to fully appreciate their charm I need to dedicate a little more ink to them. I wrote this when it was 2pm on a Sunday afternoon...
It must be around 25 degrees and there isn't a cloud in the sky. To my right sits lady of around 80 years dozing peacefully by herself. To my left a woman is busy selling freshly squeezed orange and grapefruit juice from a small cart full to the brim with fruit. Next to her is another woman with a similar cart selling ice creams and a man busy shining shoes. In front of me is a fountain, around which children play, quite transfixed by their imaginary worlds. The square is filled with people of all different generations, enjoying each others company; paying homage to the simple things in life, and for that reason time seems to have slowed a little here. It has to be said that occasionally when I visit these places I'm not as fortunate and I find myself on a bench that smells of pigeon poo, or perhaps a homeless person comes and urinates against the tree next to me, but largely these parks are my little piece of heaven and something I will miss dearly.
So there you have it, despite all the hours stuck on buses, despite the occasional crazy or damn right unpleasant person I encounter, for the countless rooms I stayed in that at home would class as a healthy and safety officer’s wet dream, I wouldn't give this experience up for the world and the thought that soon it will all be over is something I can't bare to consider.
Bolivia... Jungle Jaz
It has to be said that Bolivia is right up there with Mexico and Colombia for me in fact I've fallen head over heals, although this is probably because I've dedicated more time to the place, but regardless, this is one love affair I won't be forgetting in a hurry. Bolivia is South America's poorest country, but it is undeniably rich in culture and has the highest percent of people with indigenous heritage which is apparent by the abundance of folk wearing traditional dress. It is also one of the most diverse countries I've ever been to and is host to just about every different type of landscape imaginable. After bidding farewell to Mumma G in Peru my first stop was La Paz. Coming into La Paz via bus you can't help but get a bolt of excitement run through you as your first glimpse of the city is from above. Looking down on what feels like the centre of the world, you see a gigantic valley with houses sprawling up the sides of the surrounding mountains, one edge unexpectedly hosting a Plato, giving the impression that the city has been carved out with a giant wooden spoon. La Paz is without doubt on 'The Gringo Trail' but although a lot of us backpackers (including me) end up subscribing to the concept that there are grades of authenticity when travelling (always adhered to with competitive undertones), a lot of places are on 'The Gringo Trail' for a reason.
So whilst in La Paz I took a trip to the Witches Market, which is actually filled with a variety of beautiful things to fill your home with as opposed to voodoo dolls and potions as one may expect. Having said that there is a section of the market dedicated to more hocus pocus based goods including an extensive array of Llama foetuses sold as good luck charms. As tempting as it was, after much consideration, I opted not to purchase one and stick to kissing my St Chris pendant occasionally that has hung from my neck since the very first day of this adventure, and although a little grimy by now, seems to be doing the trick. I'm going to be honest now and say that other than the Witches Market and the odd excursion to the central square I largely spent my time in La Paz fully living up to the backpacker stereotype of getting far too drunk with other gringos, and spending most mornings in a hung-over state in which I was capable of ordering food from the hostel bar and little else! Much like indulging in too much chocolate, while I know this lifestyle was bad for me, temporarily, it felt so good, and I really do believe that occasionally it is necessary to lose yourself in reckless fun!
Needless to say La Paz was the sort of city I needed to escape after a while before it sucked me in completely. With that in mind I headed north bound to a town called Ruenbeque which borders the Madidi National park which is right at the Amazon Basin and my main incentive for the visit. To get to the park itself we needed to take a three hour boat ride which is enough to make you feel like you are right in the heart of the jungle (even though in reality you're not even scratching the surface), and after three days there I'm surprised we didn't come away picking each others fleas, we were so well adapted! During the course of our time there a local guide took us on daily treks where we were fortunate enough to encounter a family of over 100 monkeys, an ant eater, several tarantulas, macore parrots, soldier ants, a jungle turtle, a baby alligator and most impressively a family of over 300 wild pigs, and let me tell you, Disney most certainly did their research when it comes to Pumba because these dudes stink! Actually they sound exactly like you'd expect them to, like wild beasts that want to rip your flesh off which is why when our guide signalled for us to follow them, I was a little surprised! In fact our guide was so overcome with excitement whilst chasing after the beasts that he managed to get us lost and it took us an hour to find our track again! My whole jungle experience was wonderfully authentically wild, including swinging from giant vines, along with drinking from them, falling asleep to the sound of tree frogs and making warrior face paints out of the sap of strange jungle leaves. However, anyone who has travelled will tell you that what often makes a trip is the people you meet along the way. Unfortunately I was stuck with a less than inspiring group, including one incredibly obnoxious American girl whom I would have happily of fed to the crocs!
As much as I loved playing the part of Jungle Jaz for a few days, I paid a high price for it on my return trip to La Paz when I embarked on a 22 hour bus from 80's classics hell. I may have found myself secretly tapping my knee to 'In the navy' the first time it was played, but by the tenth time the only thing that was moving was my right eye with the nervous twitch it had developed. Think back to when you were 8 and you owned a little battery powered key board, and the really cool ones had buttons at the top which played tunes which you'd then pretend to play along to and insist to your parents that you where in fact composing. Now imagine hearing those same tunes at full volume from 8 in the evening until 8am accompanied by little red and blue flashing lights in the isles, this was my bus. Still I got there in one piece and managed to restrain my urge to butcher the driver.
After a brief second and equally as messy stop in La Paz I headed south to a town called Cochabamba. When you backpack you learn to tolerate a lot. One of the down sides to this way of life is often the accommodation. I arrived at Cochabamba and checked in to Hostel Colonial at 5.45 in the morning. Three of my English pounds in such an establishment gets me a private room with a shared bathroom. That’s not so bad I hear you say, let me elaborate... a private room with paint flaking off the walls worse than the dandruff that has sought permanent residency on my granddads shoulders for as long as I've known him. A shared room with a table with only three legs. A shared bathroom with an electric shower which, despite the duck tape protecting you from the metal tap, still manages to give you a shock every time you turn it on. Yes it is a classy existence I live right now, but all this I can tolerate, even learn to ignore, it was only when I lifted back the cover of my bed in search of sanctuary for an hour or two before it got light, only to discover my sheets were not only dirty but decorated with little black public hairs, that I felt enough was enough and paid a visit to reception. In response to my request that they change my sheets they replied 'what now?' To which I shan't repeat my response.
The second main exhaustion I've faced while travelling, particularly in the Americas is the constant underlying feeling of fearing for my safety. I like to consider myself a fairly rational person when it comes to fear (except for of course in relation to wasps) but I have honestly met more people with horror stories of being robbed in these countries than without. Recently I have been travelling with a girl called Sarah who is the same age as me and is also travelling on her own. One night we got talking as to why she doesn't have any jewellery and she told me one of the worst stories of kidnapping I've heard first hand. When she was in Nicaragua she got chatting to a local guy on a bus on her way to a market and he told her he was heading the same way as her so they decided to share a taxi at the other end. He flagged down a taxi with two women in it which reassured her and therefore she got in. Two minutes down the road it transpired that the entire thing was a set up and they demanded her bank card. The problem was she didn't have her bank card with her, only cash. This was an extremely nasty group of robbers and when they discovered she didn't have what they wanted they got violent. They proceeded to strip her of everything she owned, to the extent of using her lip balm to lubricate her finger to remove her ring. They mocked her when she cried mimicking shooting her with their gun and even took pictures of her on her camera. After two hours of driving around in these conditions they took her to a deserted land fill sight, dragged her to the back of the car, opened the boot, loaded a bullet in their gun, and then for some unknown reason threw her to the floor and drove off. Amazingly Sarah decided to continue travelling, and she has got to be one of the bravest people I know. I know a lot of you will probably think to yourselves that she was just unlucky, or perhaps even silly for getting into the taxi but you have no idea how often this type of mugging occurs and how cunning people can be. The problem is that sometimes getting a taxi is unavoidable, and it’s something I certainly won't miss about this trip.
On a lighter note it has to be said that for every horror story you hear whilst travelling, there’s guaranteed to be a tale that is sure to send you into a full belly rumble! While in La Paz I met a guy whose story topped them all. He had been held up by knife point in Rio, by a man... wearing Speedos! Apparently he was nursing a rather severe hang over on the beach, when a man jogged past in nothing but a little pair of briefs, when all of a sudden he whipped a knife from his Nether regions, proceeded to demand all the guys money and phone, which he then stuffed back into the said zone, before continuing to jog on. This is a lesson I will certainly bare in mind when checking out the eye candy in Rio... large packages are not necessarily a good thing!
So whilst in La Paz I took a trip to the Witches Market, which is actually filled with a variety of beautiful things to fill your home with as opposed to voodoo dolls and potions as one may expect. Having said that there is a section of the market dedicated to more hocus pocus based goods including an extensive array of Llama foetuses sold as good luck charms. As tempting as it was, after much consideration, I opted not to purchase one and stick to kissing my St Chris pendant occasionally that has hung from my neck since the very first day of this adventure, and although a little grimy by now, seems to be doing the trick. I'm going to be honest now and say that other than the Witches Market and the odd excursion to the central square I largely spent my time in La Paz fully living up to the backpacker stereotype of getting far too drunk with other gringos, and spending most mornings in a hung-over state in which I was capable of ordering food from the hostel bar and little else! Much like indulging in too much chocolate, while I know this lifestyle was bad for me, temporarily, it felt so good, and I really do believe that occasionally it is necessary to lose yourself in reckless fun!
Needless to say La Paz was the sort of city I needed to escape after a while before it sucked me in completely. With that in mind I headed north bound to a town called Ruenbeque which borders the Madidi National park which is right at the Amazon Basin and my main incentive for the visit. To get to the park itself we needed to take a three hour boat ride which is enough to make you feel like you are right in the heart of the jungle (even though in reality you're not even scratching the surface), and after three days there I'm surprised we didn't come away picking each others fleas, we were so well adapted! During the course of our time there a local guide took us on daily treks where we were fortunate enough to encounter a family of over 100 monkeys, an ant eater, several tarantulas, macore parrots, soldier ants, a jungle turtle, a baby alligator and most impressively a family of over 300 wild pigs, and let me tell you, Disney most certainly did their research when it comes to Pumba because these dudes stink! Actually they sound exactly like you'd expect them to, like wild beasts that want to rip your flesh off which is why when our guide signalled for us to follow them, I was a little surprised! In fact our guide was so overcome with excitement whilst chasing after the beasts that he managed to get us lost and it took us an hour to find our track again! My whole jungle experience was wonderfully authentically wild, including swinging from giant vines, along with drinking from them, falling asleep to the sound of tree frogs and making warrior face paints out of the sap of strange jungle leaves. However, anyone who has travelled will tell you that what often makes a trip is the people you meet along the way. Unfortunately I was stuck with a less than inspiring group, including one incredibly obnoxious American girl whom I would have happily of fed to the crocs!
As much as I loved playing the part of Jungle Jaz for a few days, I paid a high price for it on my return trip to La Paz when I embarked on a 22 hour bus from 80's classics hell. I may have found myself secretly tapping my knee to 'In the navy' the first time it was played, but by the tenth time the only thing that was moving was my right eye with the nervous twitch it had developed. Think back to when you were 8 and you owned a little battery powered key board, and the really cool ones had buttons at the top which played tunes which you'd then pretend to play along to and insist to your parents that you where in fact composing. Now imagine hearing those same tunes at full volume from 8 in the evening until 8am accompanied by little red and blue flashing lights in the isles, this was my bus. Still I got there in one piece and managed to restrain my urge to butcher the driver.
After a brief second and equally as messy stop in La Paz I headed south to a town called Cochabamba. When you backpack you learn to tolerate a lot. One of the down sides to this way of life is often the accommodation. I arrived at Cochabamba and checked in to Hostel Colonial at 5.45 in the morning. Three of my English pounds in such an establishment gets me a private room with a shared bathroom. That’s not so bad I hear you say, let me elaborate... a private room with paint flaking off the walls worse than the dandruff that has sought permanent residency on my granddads shoulders for as long as I've known him. A shared room with a table with only three legs. A shared bathroom with an electric shower which, despite the duck tape protecting you from the metal tap, still manages to give you a shock every time you turn it on. Yes it is a classy existence I live right now, but all this I can tolerate, even learn to ignore, it was only when I lifted back the cover of my bed in search of sanctuary for an hour or two before it got light, only to discover my sheets were not only dirty but decorated with little black public hairs, that I felt enough was enough and paid a visit to reception. In response to my request that they change my sheets they replied 'what now?' To which I shan't repeat my response.
The second main exhaustion I've faced while travelling, particularly in the Americas is the constant underlying feeling of fearing for my safety. I like to consider myself a fairly rational person when it comes to fear (except for of course in relation to wasps) but I have honestly met more people with horror stories of being robbed in these countries than without. Recently I have been travelling with a girl called Sarah who is the same age as me and is also travelling on her own. One night we got talking as to why she doesn't have any jewellery and she told me one of the worst stories of kidnapping I've heard first hand. When she was in Nicaragua she got chatting to a local guy on a bus on her way to a market and he told her he was heading the same way as her so they decided to share a taxi at the other end. He flagged down a taxi with two women in it which reassured her and therefore she got in. Two minutes down the road it transpired that the entire thing was a set up and they demanded her bank card. The problem was she didn't have her bank card with her, only cash. This was an extremely nasty group of robbers and when they discovered she didn't have what they wanted they got violent. They proceeded to strip her of everything she owned, to the extent of using her lip balm to lubricate her finger to remove her ring. They mocked her when she cried mimicking shooting her with their gun and even took pictures of her on her camera. After two hours of driving around in these conditions they took her to a deserted land fill sight, dragged her to the back of the car, opened the boot, loaded a bullet in their gun, and then for some unknown reason threw her to the floor and drove off. Amazingly Sarah decided to continue travelling, and she has got to be one of the bravest people I know. I know a lot of you will probably think to yourselves that she was just unlucky, or perhaps even silly for getting into the taxi but you have no idea how often this type of mugging occurs and how cunning people can be. The problem is that sometimes getting a taxi is unavoidable, and it’s something I certainly won't miss about this trip.
On a lighter note it has to be said that for every horror story you hear whilst travelling, there’s guaranteed to be a tale that is sure to send you into a full belly rumble! While in La Paz I met a guy whose story topped them all. He had been held up by knife point in Rio, by a man... wearing Speedos! Apparently he was nursing a rather severe hang over on the beach, when a man jogged past in nothing but a little pair of briefs, when all of a sudden he whipped a knife from his Nether regions, proceeded to demand all the guys money and phone, which he then stuffed back into the said zone, before continuing to jog on. This is a lesson I will certainly bare in mind when checking out the eye candy in Rio... large packages are not necessarily a good thing!
Saturday 4 July 2009
Peru
This entry is going to start with a rant I´m afraid. I hate border crossings, I hated them when I was with Abi and I hate them even more now that I´m on my own! The towns themselves on either side of a border in Latin America tend to be ugly ‘no-mans lands’. More often than not they are confusing, hectic and full of people eager to take advantage of you. Needless to say that after taking an all day bus to the south of Ecuador from Quito, spending a night in a grotty little town, then getting up at 5 the following day to get straight back on the road, I was already in a slightly fragile state of mind when I attempted to cross into Peru. This was made a lot worse when I realised I´d managed to get on the wrong bus and travel north bound for an hour, therefore requiring me to travel right back to my starting point. I eventually managed to get myself on the correct bus heading south-bound and found my way to the immigration office only to find that the place where I needed to get my exit stamp was 8 miles up the road in the direction I´d just come from. Eventually I managed to get my exit and entry stamp for both countries, but by this point I was a wee bit unstable, so when my taxi driver on the Peruvian side attempted to change his price from 1 dollar to 20 I cracked and simply burst into tears. As it turns out this is the most successful bit of bartering I´ve ever done, and with a look of sheer terror in his eyes he immediately dropped his price back down! The problem was that much like a lot of women who have been pushed just that little bit too far, once I´d started I couldn't stop and I remained in a sniffling state right up until I hauled my ass onto the bus for Lima, at which point an elderly Peruvian gent sitting next to me took pity on me and engaged me in idle chit chat about swine flu and other topical conversations, which he then followed up with asking if I needed feeding! Let me assure you, while travelling might be exhilarating and full of discovery most of the time, it can also be trying, testing and rarely glamorous! 29 hours later I arrived in Lima and by that time I’d managed to compose myself!
The following day my mum, Hils G joined me in Peru´s capital and we had a much needed catch up over wine and seafood. Whether it was the wine, the seafood, or the monster journey I’m not entirely sure but the following day I spent most of the afternoon/evening projectile vomiting while Hils G looked after me the way only mothers can. Besides being sick, Lima itself isn’t a terribly attractive city as it’s covered in a thick layer of smog for most of the year, so with that in mind we quickly exited the city and made our way to Cusco.
Cusco itself is tourist central with every second building hosting a tour agency or a restaurant, despite this fact it still has a certain charm and just a few blocks away from the central plaza there remains a much more authentically South American scene. Whilst adapting to the altitude we meandered around the local market, which would have made a great film set for Willy Wonka and the Sausage Factory, with rivers of blood, walls made up of sheep's skulls and waterfalls of entrails cascading from all directions! From the market we took a wrong turn somewhere and managed to find ourselves quite literately on Willy Ally where we were greeted by a river of piss and a small Peruvian penis, a most surreal experience to share with your mother, but a bonding one all the same!
After a few brief days in Cusco our real adventure began when we set off in search of the great Macchu Pichu. We decided to opt for a slightly different trek to The Inca Trail, as due to its fame this option is guaranteed to be filled with people (and therefore sometimes litter) and we wanted a little more isolation, which was exactly what we got! Besides another English couple, Bob and Sandra, our guide, Maralie, and our porters, the only other people we bumped into in the entire 4 days were sheep herders! I cannot rave about this experience enough, the landscape continued to astonish even on our fourth day of hiking, with snow capped mountains imposing from all sides and valleys that seemed to have no end, the company was just grand and the service we received was nothing short of total luxury! When we arrived to camp on our first night, our tents were already set up for us along with a dining tent equipped with a table, chairs and even a table cloth! Trekking usually involves blood, sweat and the odd tear for me, so I was simply blown away by this level of extravagance... a table cloth I tell you! For dinner we were provided with wine, and a three course meal which included flambéed fruit for pudding, all of which was served by a uniform wearing waiter!! The following morning we were awoken with a cup of tea in bed and a bowl of warm water to wash our faces in! This level of service continued each night and included rum and pop corn one evening and a traditional meal cooked in an oven in the ground, I don’t think I’ve eaten so well in the entire 8 months I’ve been travelling.
The trek we opted for started at a little town called Izcuchaca and ended four days later in Ollyantytambo, we reached an altitude of of 4,800 meters so despite being fed like kings each of us suffered with the height a little and when we finally reached our destination it was considered a great accomplishment by all members of the party. Along the trail we came across several children, whom would be sure to make the coldest of hearts melt with their little rosy cheeks and big brown eyes. Despite this being a pleasant encounter it did provoke an unspoken conflict within our group. Before we left our guide suggested we buy sweets to give to the kids along the way, according to her this is not permitted on The Inca Trail, as the kids have grown to expect this treat and spend their days waiting by the side of the trail for westerners to provide them with candy, but because our trail was relatively new it would be acceptable in this case. This didn’t really sit well with me as firstly, surely within time the same will happen on this alternative trail, and secondly these kids have no access to dental care, and you see more people with gold teeth in this country than you do real ones. In my opinion there are far more productive ways to relieve your guilt about being a wealthy gringo than to give a stranger’s child something that they do not actually need. I feel it can only be detrimental to a society to create a such an unmitigated relationship of giver and receiver, and already you see far too many children in South America begging because their mothers have tapped into the pull it has on our heart strings. On the other hand these children are incredibly cute and to see the look of glee on their faces when receiving a gift is something anybody would naturally want to be part of. But at what cost? The other issue I found a little difficult at times was the attitude of pity towards the local people our group seemed to have, and often remarks were made along the lines of “oh what a poor dear, what a horrible life she must lead”. To feel compassion when faced with these images is natural instinct but surely a better approach to seeing a women loaded down with goods to sell would be to respect her for being able to endure such a physically demanding life, to acknowledge these women's strength and honor them with some dignity?
Anyway enough of the moral dilemma. The following day we caught a bus up to Maccu Picchu at around 6am and proceeded to explore every nook and cranny of this Inca paradise. We climbed right up to Sun Gate to get the grand overview, hung out with a llama or two (employed to mow the grass) and even came across a squabbit, I say Squabbit because I’m not entirely sure what the creature was but I’m pretty sure his naughty squirrel mother may have been having relations with the rabbit milkman at the time of his conception! So now here's the lo down on Maccu Picchu itself, firstly it’s an absolute masterpiece of architecture, and far bigger and grander than I had ever imagined. The Incas started building it around AD 1430, which isn’t that old when you think the Tudors were around from about 1485! Only a hundred years later it was abandoned at the time of the Spanish conquest of the Inca Empire, however, unlike most Inca sights Maccu Picchu was never actually found by the Spanish and consequently not plundered and destroyed. Over the centuries, the surrounding jungle grew over much of the site, and few knew of its existence. However in 1911, Machu Picchu was brought to the attention of scholars by Hiram Bingham, an American historian who proceeded to do his own bit of pillaging, sending most of its contents back to the US. This is still an on going dispute as nearly 100 years later Peru still hasn’t got any of these artefacts back!
I have to be honest and say I didn’t have terribly high hopes for the actual site itself as it’s Peru´s number one tourist attraction, but I was blown away by its beauty. Just to give you an idea of the scale of its popularity, in 2008 The World Monuments Fund placed Machu Picchu on its Watch List of the 100 Most Endangered Sites in the world because of environmental degradation resulting from the impact of tourism.... oops! Although now there are strict limits to how many people are allowed to do the Inca Trail and how many people are allowed into the site per day, it seems only 30 years previously, revenue made from tourism was Peru´s primary concern as opposed to preserving the site. For example during the 1980s a large rock from Macchu Picchu's central plaza was moved out of its alignment to a different location in order to create a helicopter landing zone, helicopter landings were forbidden in the 1990s but still can you imagine us doing something like that to Stone Henge!
We finished our epic adventure with a cocktail in the local hot springs (not exactly backpacker behaviour but I took full advantage of my company’s more refined tastes!) Which we then followed up by sampling the local cuisine, Guinea pig! Now I know most of you will be questioning my dedication to vegetarianism right now, but I can assure you he was very small, and I only had a nibble on his arm... it was the cocktails I tell you, the cocktails! We also sampled coca leaf tea, and a drink made from distilled maize which is called chicha and in my opinion should only be drunk in desperate circumstances, second to the option of ones own urine!
The following day we moved swiftly on to Puno. We took this journey via a tour bus that Mum had booked from home, which we both agreed turned out to be a mistake. The tour bus took us to several sites of ´special interest´ along the way, none of which were particularly remarkable. This journey made me realise that as exhausting as public transport can be, it is also an essential way of really getting a feel for a country. I make no claims of understanding the cultures I’m exposed to fully, but if Peruvian culture was a book, then as a backpacker I’d have picked it up, felt its cover, and attempted to read its text even if I couldn’t quite decipher the language, as a tourist I felt as if I was allowed to peer at the book from behind a glass cabinet, press my palms against the cold glass, but ultimately get no closer. On reflection I suppose this is a silly analogy as in my opinion culture is fluid and ever changing, but the point I am trying to get across is how inaccessible Peru felt as your archetypal tourist.
While in Puno mum and I went on a tour of the various Islands, which surround Lake Titicaca, which left us with a similar taste in our mouths. Uros, aka The Floating Islands of Lake Titicaca have long been famed for their unique existence as a group of 42 or so artificial islands made of floating reeds, on which a population of people actually live. While these islands are fascinating, the detrimental effects of tourism are opaquely apparent. This industry is now clearly the island’s number one income with tour boats toing and froing each and every day, which is followed by the hard sell of products made on the islands, such as wall hangings and children’s toys. However despite my cynicism it has to be said that tourism is a much less labour intensive way to make a living than fishing, and so perhaps our curiosity isn’t solely detrimental. On the second Island we visited, Taquile we were met with a similar problem, when we were bombarded with children in traditional dress begging to have their picture taken with us for a small fee, something that would no doubt cause great alarm if it were to take place within our own country. Indeed there where many tourists posing with these children, as if they were some kind of exotic creature. If children learn that they can sell themselves at such a young age what happens to thier self worth when they get older and they are no longer considered cute, surely this can’t be a healthy way for a child to grow up. Still there lies the age old debate, does travelling and tourism do more harm than good? I’m not sure I’ll ever know the answer to that one.
God, looking back on this entry I realise its weighed down heavily with moral issues, and perhaps lacks a light hearted tail of buffoonery! Still I believe these issues need to be raised, because, as backpackers, we all have a certain amount of social responsibility to the countries we invade, on mass each year, that is too often over looked.
The following day my mum, Hils G joined me in Peru´s capital and we had a much needed catch up over wine and seafood. Whether it was the wine, the seafood, or the monster journey I’m not entirely sure but the following day I spent most of the afternoon/evening projectile vomiting while Hils G looked after me the way only mothers can. Besides being sick, Lima itself isn’t a terribly attractive city as it’s covered in a thick layer of smog for most of the year, so with that in mind we quickly exited the city and made our way to Cusco.
Cusco itself is tourist central with every second building hosting a tour agency or a restaurant, despite this fact it still has a certain charm and just a few blocks away from the central plaza there remains a much more authentically South American scene. Whilst adapting to the altitude we meandered around the local market, which would have made a great film set for Willy Wonka and the Sausage Factory, with rivers of blood, walls made up of sheep's skulls and waterfalls of entrails cascading from all directions! From the market we took a wrong turn somewhere and managed to find ourselves quite literately on Willy Ally where we were greeted by a river of piss and a small Peruvian penis, a most surreal experience to share with your mother, but a bonding one all the same!
After a few brief days in Cusco our real adventure began when we set off in search of the great Macchu Pichu. We decided to opt for a slightly different trek to The Inca Trail, as due to its fame this option is guaranteed to be filled with people (and therefore sometimes litter) and we wanted a little more isolation, which was exactly what we got! Besides another English couple, Bob and Sandra, our guide, Maralie, and our porters, the only other people we bumped into in the entire 4 days were sheep herders! I cannot rave about this experience enough, the landscape continued to astonish even on our fourth day of hiking, with snow capped mountains imposing from all sides and valleys that seemed to have no end, the company was just grand and the service we received was nothing short of total luxury! When we arrived to camp on our first night, our tents were already set up for us along with a dining tent equipped with a table, chairs and even a table cloth! Trekking usually involves blood, sweat and the odd tear for me, so I was simply blown away by this level of extravagance... a table cloth I tell you! For dinner we were provided with wine, and a three course meal which included flambéed fruit for pudding, all of which was served by a uniform wearing waiter!! The following morning we were awoken with a cup of tea in bed and a bowl of warm water to wash our faces in! This level of service continued each night and included rum and pop corn one evening and a traditional meal cooked in an oven in the ground, I don’t think I’ve eaten so well in the entire 8 months I’ve been travelling.
The trek we opted for started at a little town called Izcuchaca and ended four days later in Ollyantytambo, we reached an altitude of of 4,800 meters so despite being fed like kings each of us suffered with the height a little and when we finally reached our destination it was considered a great accomplishment by all members of the party. Along the trail we came across several children, whom would be sure to make the coldest of hearts melt with their little rosy cheeks and big brown eyes. Despite this being a pleasant encounter it did provoke an unspoken conflict within our group. Before we left our guide suggested we buy sweets to give to the kids along the way, according to her this is not permitted on The Inca Trail, as the kids have grown to expect this treat and spend their days waiting by the side of the trail for westerners to provide them with candy, but because our trail was relatively new it would be acceptable in this case. This didn’t really sit well with me as firstly, surely within time the same will happen on this alternative trail, and secondly these kids have no access to dental care, and you see more people with gold teeth in this country than you do real ones. In my opinion there are far more productive ways to relieve your guilt about being a wealthy gringo than to give a stranger’s child something that they do not actually need. I feel it can only be detrimental to a society to create a such an unmitigated relationship of giver and receiver, and already you see far too many children in South America begging because their mothers have tapped into the pull it has on our heart strings. On the other hand these children are incredibly cute and to see the look of glee on their faces when receiving a gift is something anybody would naturally want to be part of. But at what cost? The other issue I found a little difficult at times was the attitude of pity towards the local people our group seemed to have, and often remarks were made along the lines of “oh what a poor dear, what a horrible life she must lead”. To feel compassion when faced with these images is natural instinct but surely a better approach to seeing a women loaded down with goods to sell would be to respect her for being able to endure such a physically demanding life, to acknowledge these women's strength and honor them with some dignity?
Anyway enough of the moral dilemma. The following day we caught a bus up to Maccu Picchu at around 6am and proceeded to explore every nook and cranny of this Inca paradise. We climbed right up to Sun Gate to get the grand overview, hung out with a llama or two (employed to mow the grass) and even came across a squabbit, I say Squabbit because I’m not entirely sure what the creature was but I’m pretty sure his naughty squirrel mother may have been having relations with the rabbit milkman at the time of his conception! So now here's the lo down on Maccu Picchu itself, firstly it’s an absolute masterpiece of architecture, and far bigger and grander than I had ever imagined. The Incas started building it around AD 1430, which isn’t that old when you think the Tudors were around from about 1485! Only a hundred years later it was abandoned at the time of the Spanish conquest of the Inca Empire, however, unlike most Inca sights Maccu Picchu was never actually found by the Spanish and consequently not plundered and destroyed. Over the centuries, the surrounding jungle grew over much of the site, and few knew of its existence. However in 1911, Machu Picchu was brought to the attention of scholars by Hiram Bingham, an American historian who proceeded to do his own bit of pillaging, sending most of its contents back to the US. This is still an on going dispute as nearly 100 years later Peru still hasn’t got any of these artefacts back!
I have to be honest and say I didn’t have terribly high hopes for the actual site itself as it’s Peru´s number one tourist attraction, but I was blown away by its beauty. Just to give you an idea of the scale of its popularity, in 2008 The World Monuments Fund placed Machu Picchu on its Watch List of the 100 Most Endangered Sites in the world because of environmental degradation resulting from the impact of tourism.... oops! Although now there are strict limits to how many people are allowed to do the Inca Trail and how many people are allowed into the site per day, it seems only 30 years previously, revenue made from tourism was Peru´s primary concern as opposed to preserving the site. For example during the 1980s a large rock from Macchu Picchu's central plaza was moved out of its alignment to a different location in order to create a helicopter landing zone, helicopter landings were forbidden in the 1990s but still can you imagine us doing something like that to Stone Henge!
We finished our epic adventure with a cocktail in the local hot springs (not exactly backpacker behaviour but I took full advantage of my company’s more refined tastes!) Which we then followed up by sampling the local cuisine, Guinea pig! Now I know most of you will be questioning my dedication to vegetarianism right now, but I can assure you he was very small, and I only had a nibble on his arm... it was the cocktails I tell you, the cocktails! We also sampled coca leaf tea, and a drink made from distilled maize which is called chicha and in my opinion should only be drunk in desperate circumstances, second to the option of ones own urine!
The following day we moved swiftly on to Puno. We took this journey via a tour bus that Mum had booked from home, which we both agreed turned out to be a mistake. The tour bus took us to several sites of ´special interest´ along the way, none of which were particularly remarkable. This journey made me realise that as exhausting as public transport can be, it is also an essential way of really getting a feel for a country. I make no claims of understanding the cultures I’m exposed to fully, but if Peruvian culture was a book, then as a backpacker I’d have picked it up, felt its cover, and attempted to read its text even if I couldn’t quite decipher the language, as a tourist I felt as if I was allowed to peer at the book from behind a glass cabinet, press my palms against the cold glass, but ultimately get no closer. On reflection I suppose this is a silly analogy as in my opinion culture is fluid and ever changing, but the point I am trying to get across is how inaccessible Peru felt as your archetypal tourist.
While in Puno mum and I went on a tour of the various Islands, which surround Lake Titicaca, which left us with a similar taste in our mouths. Uros, aka The Floating Islands of Lake Titicaca have long been famed for their unique existence as a group of 42 or so artificial islands made of floating reeds, on which a population of people actually live. While these islands are fascinating, the detrimental effects of tourism are opaquely apparent. This industry is now clearly the island’s number one income with tour boats toing and froing each and every day, which is followed by the hard sell of products made on the islands, such as wall hangings and children’s toys. However despite my cynicism it has to be said that tourism is a much less labour intensive way to make a living than fishing, and so perhaps our curiosity isn’t solely detrimental. On the second Island we visited, Taquile we were met with a similar problem, when we were bombarded with children in traditional dress begging to have their picture taken with us for a small fee, something that would no doubt cause great alarm if it were to take place within our own country. Indeed there where many tourists posing with these children, as if they were some kind of exotic creature. If children learn that they can sell themselves at such a young age what happens to thier self worth when they get older and they are no longer considered cute, surely this can’t be a healthy way for a child to grow up. Still there lies the age old debate, does travelling and tourism do more harm than good? I’m not sure I’ll ever know the answer to that one.
God, looking back on this entry I realise its weighed down heavily with moral issues, and perhaps lacks a light hearted tail of buffoonery! Still I believe these issues need to be raised, because, as backpackers, we all have a certain amount of social responsibility to the countries we invade, on mass each year, that is too often over looked.
Thursday 18 June 2009
Ecuador
Right lets kick start this entry with a few Ecuadorian facts. Firstly oil profits constitute nearly half the nations budget which is why it will come as no surprise when I tell you that deforestation is Ecuador's most severe environmental problem. Unfortunately government policies allow oil exploration and encourage the clearing of land with little regard for forests, rivers and wild life. In addition to this around 95% of the forests of the western Andean slopes and lowlands have become agricultural land, most of which being banana plantations.... boo hiss to bananas! This tricky issue of environment versus economy is not exactly uncommon in South America, and like in a lot of cases, when 70% of the population live below the poverty line, it is no surprise that the environment isn't first on the government’s agenda. In the late 1990's Ecuador faced an economic crisis. This resulted in them giving up their local currency in 2000 in exchange for the dollar, much to the dislike of many of the locals. Still, all that aside, Ecuador is without doubt a diverse and beautiful country complimented by a cosmopolitan capital, and although my time was brief there, I liked it, I liked it a lot.
So after 15 long hours I finally made it to Ecuador's capital, Quito. There is something about being alone in a large city which I find quite exhilarating, perhaps its the voyeur in me, or perhaps its because it gives me the chance to recreate myself a little, either way remaining anonymous, while being surrounded by the hustle and bustle of thousands of other peoples lives, has a strange hold over me. Like many Latin American capitals, the city is based around a new town and an old town, both with their own delights. By day I explored the numerous churches and colonial buildings the old town had to offer, including The Basillica Del Voto Nacional, with its stunning stained glass windows, resembling over sized kaleidoscopes, and La Compañia de Jesus which is a rather impressive church adorned with 7 tons of gold. Inside the church you can find a selection of 16th century religious art work depicting a variety of rather unpleasant scenes including adulterers being malled to death by wild dogs, and drunks being force fed alcohol until their stomachs exploded. It was enough to give me the serious heebie geebies! I also had the slightly surreal experience of having a guided tour around a gallery that backs on to a convent in which there is a glass panel linking the two and you can observe the nuns going about their daily business at your leisure! It seems that Sister Act is a less than accurate depiction of a nun’s life, with a lot less debauchery being had by all accounts, as they are only allowed to talk to each other for 1 hour a day and are not allowed out of the convent unless facing near death! Afterwards I was able to purchase organic shampoo from one of the nuns but only through a solid wooden turn table so as to not reveal her identity, imagine that, you are only allowed to talk for one hour a day and you get stuck selling hair products to a gringo that can barely speak a word of Spanish, she really drew the short straw that day.
By night I had a very different experience of drinking in the super swanky new town with a group of Irish guys and gals I'd been fortunate enough to meet along the way. This new found friendship was brief as they left Quito the following day and I was left to discover the highs and lows of spending time in my own company. In a way I found myself in a very strange position which helped me face a stark realisation, for one of the first times in my life I felt lonely. Now I am well aware that this is a feeling I´d have difficulty enduring for very long, but for a brief couple of days it was strangely liberating. Not only did it help me appreciate how fortunate I've been throughout my life, and just how much my friends and family mean to me, but it also helped me address the way I construct my life. The thing is that when I´m at home I keep myself so absurdly busy, and fill my life with so many people that sometimes I feel like I don't have time to breath. I think I do this as a security measure, so that I never feel alone, which I'm sure we all do to an extent, filling space and time to evade emptiness. Now I'm having to make decisions without talking them through with someone and by doing so I´m learning a little more about myself in the process because even silly decisions like what I'm going to have for dinner aren't altered by other peoples opinions.
Anyway this is all highly hypocritical as all the while I'm preaching experiencing solitude a few days later I headed for a WWOOFING community where I was certain to be greeted by like minded people, so perhaps I haven't got the whole independence thing figured out quite yet. Communa De Riannon is a small organic farm an hour or so north of Quito set to a back drop of a 360 degree panorama of jagged mountain ranges with snow capped peaks, it’s breath taking. Despite its location and the lure of company and a base for a short while, I was a little suspicious when arriving at the farm as amongst the blurb re directions, the types of farming practised etc the web site states the following:
´We hope to offer people a supportive environment in which to rediscover their dreams. Many people have suffered trauma and pain. We hope to offer a place of peace and healing. We offer a free yoga session every morning and at times try to get together for meditation in the late afternoon. We recently built a sweat lodge and plan for more ceremonies and full moon celebrations.'
Now to me this had 'hippyism' written all over it, of which I am yet to be converted to. This unease around said hippies is not without substance you understand, it stems from a deep dislike for people who proclaim to be 'at one with nature', or 'want peace not war' when in reality they spend 99% of their time in a drug induced state and contribute little to the society they live in, which is why I was thrilled to find one of the most motivated, dynamic and intelligent bunch of people at Communa De Riannon that I've ever met. Here lies a bizarre combination of people who, on first impressions, each fit the stereotype of an archetypal hippie in one way or another, and yet if you get to know them properly break that mould entirely. Within minutes of arriving I was introduced to a vegan animal rights activist who went by the name of Monkey, Alphonso, a poncho wearing, handlebar moustache donning Mexican, Luna a Scottish chick with dreadlocks adorned with beads and other such treasures she´s found throughout her travels, and James a self proclaimed witch. On my first trip to the toilet one of the other volunteers emptied her moon cup down the sink in which I was washing my hands, needless to say the first 24 hours of my stay on the farm required me to readjust a few of my mainstream city based ways!
The work itself was well organised, varied and incredibly innovative, from tee-pee making to creating veggie patches with adobe walls which largely involved squelching around in a giant mud pie made up of soil, water and donkey shit! Besides work the week was filled with taking the vegetarian dogs for walks (yep all the animals are veggie on the farm... not entirely sure how fair it is on them, but they seem happy enough, although they had just managed to kill and eat 5 chickens a few days before I arrived!), juggling, guitar playing, singing, tarot card reading and learning about dumpster diving (not sure I´ll ever bring myself to do that), amongst many other flower child style activities! I even took up a raki session (apparently I have no blockages which I´m guessing can only be a good thing no matter what the context!), an afternoon of meditation, a contemporary dance class, which involved me ´getting in touch with the floor´ and a vegan workshop where it was confirmed that my love for cheese will definitely secure me a place in hell if god turns out to be a goat! I know it may seem that I am making a mockery of these people, but I can assure you that my time in their company was one of the absolute highlights of this trip for me and I had to drag myself away from their warmth and Bohemian ways. With that in mind, I left it to the very last minute to bid farewell and left myself with two days to get the Lima to meet my mum, which if you care to glimpse at a map of South America is quite a distance!
So after 15 long hours I finally made it to Ecuador's capital, Quito. There is something about being alone in a large city which I find quite exhilarating, perhaps its the voyeur in me, or perhaps its because it gives me the chance to recreate myself a little, either way remaining anonymous, while being surrounded by the hustle and bustle of thousands of other peoples lives, has a strange hold over me. Like many Latin American capitals, the city is based around a new town and an old town, both with their own delights. By day I explored the numerous churches and colonial buildings the old town had to offer, including The Basillica Del Voto Nacional, with its stunning stained glass windows, resembling over sized kaleidoscopes, and La Compañia de Jesus which is a rather impressive church adorned with 7 tons of gold. Inside the church you can find a selection of 16th century religious art work depicting a variety of rather unpleasant scenes including adulterers being malled to death by wild dogs, and drunks being force fed alcohol until their stomachs exploded. It was enough to give me the serious heebie geebies! I also had the slightly surreal experience of having a guided tour around a gallery that backs on to a convent in which there is a glass panel linking the two and you can observe the nuns going about their daily business at your leisure! It seems that Sister Act is a less than accurate depiction of a nun’s life, with a lot less debauchery being had by all accounts, as they are only allowed to talk to each other for 1 hour a day and are not allowed out of the convent unless facing near death! Afterwards I was able to purchase organic shampoo from one of the nuns but only through a solid wooden turn table so as to not reveal her identity, imagine that, you are only allowed to talk for one hour a day and you get stuck selling hair products to a gringo that can barely speak a word of Spanish, she really drew the short straw that day.
By night I had a very different experience of drinking in the super swanky new town with a group of Irish guys and gals I'd been fortunate enough to meet along the way. This new found friendship was brief as they left Quito the following day and I was left to discover the highs and lows of spending time in my own company. In a way I found myself in a very strange position which helped me face a stark realisation, for one of the first times in my life I felt lonely. Now I am well aware that this is a feeling I´d have difficulty enduring for very long, but for a brief couple of days it was strangely liberating. Not only did it help me appreciate how fortunate I've been throughout my life, and just how much my friends and family mean to me, but it also helped me address the way I construct my life. The thing is that when I´m at home I keep myself so absurdly busy, and fill my life with so many people that sometimes I feel like I don't have time to breath. I think I do this as a security measure, so that I never feel alone, which I'm sure we all do to an extent, filling space and time to evade emptiness. Now I'm having to make decisions without talking them through with someone and by doing so I´m learning a little more about myself in the process because even silly decisions like what I'm going to have for dinner aren't altered by other peoples opinions.
Anyway this is all highly hypocritical as all the while I'm preaching experiencing solitude a few days later I headed for a WWOOFING community where I was certain to be greeted by like minded people, so perhaps I haven't got the whole independence thing figured out quite yet. Communa De Riannon is a small organic farm an hour or so north of Quito set to a back drop of a 360 degree panorama of jagged mountain ranges with snow capped peaks, it’s breath taking. Despite its location and the lure of company and a base for a short while, I was a little suspicious when arriving at the farm as amongst the blurb re directions, the types of farming practised etc the web site states the following:
´We hope to offer people a supportive environment in which to rediscover their dreams. Many people have suffered trauma and pain. We hope to offer a place of peace and healing. We offer a free yoga session every morning and at times try to get together for meditation in the late afternoon. We recently built a sweat lodge and plan for more ceremonies and full moon celebrations.'
Now to me this had 'hippyism' written all over it, of which I am yet to be converted to. This unease around said hippies is not without substance you understand, it stems from a deep dislike for people who proclaim to be 'at one with nature', or 'want peace not war' when in reality they spend 99% of their time in a drug induced state and contribute little to the society they live in, which is why I was thrilled to find one of the most motivated, dynamic and intelligent bunch of people at Communa De Riannon that I've ever met. Here lies a bizarre combination of people who, on first impressions, each fit the stereotype of an archetypal hippie in one way or another, and yet if you get to know them properly break that mould entirely. Within minutes of arriving I was introduced to a vegan animal rights activist who went by the name of Monkey, Alphonso, a poncho wearing, handlebar moustache donning Mexican, Luna a Scottish chick with dreadlocks adorned with beads and other such treasures she´s found throughout her travels, and James a self proclaimed witch. On my first trip to the toilet one of the other volunteers emptied her moon cup down the sink in which I was washing my hands, needless to say the first 24 hours of my stay on the farm required me to readjust a few of my mainstream city based ways!
The work itself was well organised, varied and incredibly innovative, from tee-pee making to creating veggie patches with adobe walls which largely involved squelching around in a giant mud pie made up of soil, water and donkey shit! Besides work the week was filled with taking the vegetarian dogs for walks (yep all the animals are veggie on the farm... not entirely sure how fair it is on them, but they seem happy enough, although they had just managed to kill and eat 5 chickens a few days before I arrived!), juggling, guitar playing, singing, tarot card reading and learning about dumpster diving (not sure I´ll ever bring myself to do that), amongst many other flower child style activities! I even took up a raki session (apparently I have no blockages which I´m guessing can only be a good thing no matter what the context!), an afternoon of meditation, a contemporary dance class, which involved me ´getting in touch with the floor´ and a vegan workshop where it was confirmed that my love for cheese will definitely secure me a place in hell if god turns out to be a goat! I know it may seem that I am making a mockery of these people, but I can assure you that my time in their company was one of the absolute highlights of this trip for me and I had to drag myself away from their warmth and Bohemian ways. With that in mind, I left it to the very last minute to bid farewell and left myself with two days to get the Lima to meet my mum, which if you care to glimpse at a map of South America is quite a distance!
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