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!
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