Abi and Jaz's Travelling Tales

Thursday, 27 August 2009

Tunes from travelling

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.

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!

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.

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!

Thursday, 28 May 2009

Colombia - South Bound

From Cartegena we headed south to Medellin, which sadly did not meet our high expectations. Perhaps we were spoilt with the architecture of Bogota or perhaps we landed ourselves in the wrong area of town, either way I found the city itself to be quite ugly. Several people along with the lonely planet had informed us that Medellin is brimming with beautiful people but after a few hours of roaming its streets we began to wonder whether the city had a trap door somewhere that led to another dimension with a secret password that only beautiful people are privy to know, as there was a definite lack of decorum up on ground level. In fact we seemed to manage to land ourselves in the middle of a crack den with prostitutes and drug addicts on every corner. Our fear for our safety was only enhanced when we met up with Henry, a local couch surfer, for a drink and he refused to walk through our neighbourhood on the way home. With this in mind we made a swift exit and headed to a tiny little town about an hour away by the name of Retiro. Set amongst rolling hills with a population of only 6000 people, Retiro was a contradiction in itself. Judging by its size and location you'd assume it would be sleepy and quiet, which is why I was stunned to find it was one of the most sociable places we came across. The town was set around a central square adorned with coffee shops and bars and I swear every member of the community was drinking in one of them. It really was the perfect combination of tradition and modernity. There was an endless supply of stylish furniture shops and clothing boutiques while on the same street you'd see a young boy riding his horses bare back and two elderly gents engrossed in a game of cards that they`d probably started 4 hours previously.

Next on the agenda was Cali, Colombia's third largest city, famed for its love of salsa. Needless to say I was keen to make this pit stop. Here we couch surfed with a guy called Felipe and I have to say this was my strangest experience of couch surfing yet, not necessarily bad but certainly entertaining. Felipe is the dictionary definition of a ditherer, and one of the most indecisive people I have ever met. Although his heart was in the right place I was quite bemused by how a person can appear so spaced out without the influence of any narcotics, perhaps there was something he wasn't telling us? Aside from Felipe we also had the pleasure of meeting his parents. We were first introduced to Bernie, Felipe's step dad, when he surfaced from his bedroom wearing nothing but a towel the size of a loin cloth around his waist. Conscious of not wanting to invade his personal space, Joel and I were rather hesitant to introduce ourselves but we needn't of worried as I believe he was more keen for us to stay than our host himself. Bernie was the sort of man who shakes your hand for that little bit too long. He was a christian man converted, he explained, several years ago when god saved him from a near death experience, one of many such tales Bernie cared to share with us.

Now don't get me wrong, I liked Bernie, I liked him a lot, primarily because of his flare for life, even if it did render him a bit of a nut. Rather curiously he took a real shinning to Joel and within half an hour of meeting him, whilst sat around the dining table, he exclaimed "don't eat much do you?... but I bet you've got all the meat in the right places" whilst slipping me a quick wink. One things for sure, conversation was never dull when Bernie was around. Throughout the same meal his conversation ranged from why he likes the Irish, who invented chess and a detailed run through of how god had saved him from death four times. He told us this while proudly lifting his shirt over his protruding belly demonstrating a thick scarlet scar that ran right down the centre of his chest. Our conversation was cut short when he sporadically leapt from his chair exclaiming "my babies, I forgot my babies" and then proceeded to feed a flock of eagerly expecting bids a banana from a small window. Throughout the weekend he managed to tickle Joel several times, told him he had a killer smile and then attempted to get him to sell frozen Colombian raspberries for him back in the UK. Joel didn't have the heart to tell him we already have quite a few our own but said he'd look into it. So besides Bernie, we also met Felipe's mother, who it was a little more difficult to communicate with as she didn't speak a word of English but who had a clear passion for herbal medicines, 300 of which were displayed in a glass cabinet as you walk in through the front door. This may explain Felipe's (who we later discovered was 28) rather wet character as his mother insisted on hand feeding him treatments each time he was allowed to leave the house, which was why we were surprised to find, on our first night out with Felipe, that he was in fact a social butterfly. He took us to a great little salsa club where he danced the night away and the following day invited us on a couch surfing outing with another dozen hosts to a stunning natural reserve. It just goes to show, never judge a book by its cover!

As we were nearing the end of our Colombian adventure we headed further south to Popayan, yet another stunning colonial town. You'd have thought I'd have tired of them by now but they're just so aesthetically pleasing! From Popayan we took a brief day trip to Silvia market, which is primarily for indigenous people to trade in farming tools but makes for some excellent people watching. We ate in the local market and Joel had the pleasure of sitting opposite a guy eating chicken foot soup who had one of the said limbs hanging from his mouth throughout the entire time we were eating; for some reason Joel didn't fancy pudding!

From Popayan we embarked on a hellish 6 hour bus ride to San Augustin during which simply staying in your seat was a challenge! I swear a horse and cart would have had more suspension than the rust bucket we were stuck in! Still we made it there in one piece and it was well worth the potential piles we may have accumulated along the way because the landscape was like something out of a Kenco advert. The next day we embarked on a six hour hike to one of the many archaeological sites San Augustin is home to. These are amongst Colombia's most important archaeological sites. Here you can find hundreds of free standing monumental statues carved in stone which were left next to tombs of tribal warriors and are estimated to be from around 3300 years BC. Joel and I were particularly keen to carry out at Indiana Jones style expedition to these ruins so we set out of horse back with a local Colombian guide who spoke not a word of English. Now my Spanish is somewhat basic but I am 99 per cent sure that when running us through the meanings behind these various creatures she proclaimed that a female figure was represented as being pregnant by donning 9 mushrooms on her head. She proceeded to demonstrate this by leading us down the field and plucking a magic mushroom out of the turf whilst giggling to herself. Me thinks their creativity may have been aided by a few natural resources!

Colombia - North Bound

Colombia has to be one of South America's best kept secrets. Still deemed dangerous by a lot of backpackers, its not yet on everyone's radar, although I have no doubt that will change in a very short space of time. When I first landed in Bogota, after waving goodbye to Abi in the airport of San Jose, I was a mix of emotions. Although thrilled to be testing out my independence I was also incredibly nervous. These nerves were soon eased when I discovered that Colombians are the friendliest people on the planet. I managed to land myself in what has to be the best hostel in the country, with the most hospitable staff I've ever come across. Not only did they humour my pigeon Spanish but they provided me with a glass of wine, endless cups of tea and even a hot water bottle to go to bed with! Throughout the three weeks I spent exploring the country I was bowled over by peoples enthusiasm to help me, their generosity and there constant upbeat temperament, not to mention how stunning most of them are... I want to be Colombian! This is a country I cannot recommend visiting enough.

I started this leg of the trip with two brief days on my lonesome which were spent happily meandering the old colonial streets of the capital, sipping coffee in various hideaways and generally soaking up the Latin American culture that I wish we had a little more of at home. Bogota is overflowing with museums and galleries, the most well known of which is The National Gold Museum which left me day dreaming of all the pretty things I'd have owned if I'd been an Mayan princess in the 15th century. After two brief days by myself, Joel, a friend from home, came out to join me for 3 weeks. Our first excursion together was to the Police Museum which boasts a scary array of weapons and has an entire floor dedicated to the 190 day search for Pablo Escobar. For those of you who don't know Mr. Escobar was the head of the Medellin Cartel in the 80s. Its no secret that Colombia is the largest producer of cocaine, controlling 80 to 90 per cent of the world market. During the peek of Escobar's reign he lived in pretty much total freedom and luxury, and get this, he even founded a political party, held congressional seats and established 2 newspapers! Most astonishing all is that when the government launched a campaign against the drug trade the Cartels responded with offering to invest their capital in paying off Colombia's 13 billion dollar foreign debt in return for immunity from persecution and extradition! How cheeky! The Museum was made all the more interesting by our very enthusiastic guide, a 19 year old boy half way through his compulsory year of military service. It seems he was most put out at being placed in a museum instead of somewhere a little more dangerous and spoke with a little too much zeal about his favorite gun and his favorite type of torture in the room entitled 'Punishment'. Even more disturbing still was that whilst looking at a photo of Pablo Escobar's corpse a troop of school kids traipsed passed. So while our eight year old's are examining plastic dinosaurs at the natural history museum their Colombian pen pals are learning about the underworld of narcotics.

The day after Joel arrived I threw him into the deep end of travelling by meeting up with Carolina, a Colombian girl that a mutual friend had introduced me to via email. We spent the night checking out Bogota's bar scene in a rather swanky district and I quizzed Carolina half to death about Colombian culture. Its no surprise that Colombia has had a rather treacherous past when it comes to civil wars and crime rates, however what is largely unknown is that these rates have been dropping rapidly in the last decade. Its worth noting that since Uribe took office in August 2002 homicides went down by 40 per cent, acts of terror by 66 per cent and extortive kidnappings by 79 per cent. Another interesting fact, although quite unrelated but I'll throw it in all the same, is that way back in 1717 under the revolutionary leader Simon Bolivar, Colombia, Panama, Ecuador and Venezuela made up a single country, Gran Colombia; there you go, you learn something new everyday!

From Bogota we headed north to a little town by the name of San Gil. Here we had our first taste of white water rafting, which provided me with my latest adrenalin fix. This was made all the more thrilling by the fact that a) all the instructions were given in Spanish and b) that our instructor fell in within the first 30 seconds of hitting our first set of rapids!

From San Gil we spent a brief night in Barichara, a beautiful little colonial town replete with white washed houses, cobbled streets and 18th century churches. The Lonely Planet describes this town as 'something out of a film set', which turned out wasn't so far from the truth. Upon our arrival we noticed a film crew setting up in the main square and come the evening the centre of the town was alive with people. It turned out we'd walked into an award ceremony for one of Colombians most famed soap operas. There was great hype amongst the crowd, as we later found out, the soaps main stair, Carla Giraldo, was making a guest appearance. Quite oblivious to what exactly was going on we still managed to get quite caught up in the fight to get a picture with Carla. Little did we know this would be the first of three claims to fame Colombia would provide us with as over the course of the next week we also saw two music videos being filmed!

Our next stop was Santa Marta which sits at the very north of the country on the Caribbean cost. This was actually the first town founded by the Spanish in 1525. Despite its age and location Santa Marta was a surprisingly stark and rather ugly city with little within its confines to see or do. Sometimes however just when you give up on finding any action, action finds you. After a rather hellish journey via night bus to get to the town Joel and I were in desperate need of a caffeine fix. We found what appeared to be a rather tranquil little coffee shop and took refuge from the suns rays under the shade of a tree. Within minutes of purchasing our beverages about 50 motorbikes all started to circle the building adjacent to us. My curiosity never waning, I decided to get a closer look at what was going down, only to be greeted by a dozen heavily armed riot police protecting the building. It wasn't until I saw one guy bend down, pick up a brick and hand it to his girlfriend on the back of his bike that I considered that perhaps I shouldn't be standing quite so close to the 'action'. Just as I skipped back to the table to report to Joel what I'd seen the whole patio emptied with people abandoning their coffees while covering their faces with their sleeves and making a swift exit out the back entrance. It was then that I realised the police had dispensed tear gas. Now this all sounds very dramatic but I can assure you it was more amusing than anything else! Rather disappointingly the whole fiasco died down rather abruptly, although later that day we saw several police with machine guns patrolling the streets. Unfortunately what the protest was actually in response to we never found out but it made a good bit of drama all the same.

Our main reason for travelling so far north was actually to visit Tyrona National Park. Tyrona's landscape is like something out of Lost, where luscious green jungle shrouded in mystery meets with perfect white sand beaches. The camp site in the park is only accessible by a forty minute hike through the jungle which makes the place feel even more remote. Within minutes of arriving at the parks entrance we'd seen two snakes having sexo, an iguana sunning himself, numerous colourful little lizards and a blue butterfly with a wingspan the size of both my hands put together! Whilst staying in the park we enjoyed the simple things in life, we swam in the sea, slept in hammocks and hiked up to Pueblito, an old Mayan town where we found ourselves bouncing from bolder to bolder on the steep incline up and sliding pretty much the whole way down.

Next stop was Cartagena, probably Colombia's most touristic and well known city. Here we spent a few days wandering around the old walled part of the town, eating fresh fruit off street stalls for breakfast and enjoying an afternoon beer whilst partaking in 'Spanish club', which involved us rather unsuccessfully trying to learn 5 new words a day; not a great combination with 40 degree heat and alcohol but our intentions were good! The incentive behind 'Spanish club' was in response to several blunders Abi and I had made throughout the previous four months, which were quite amusing when there were two of us, but were the sort of mistakes I'd really rather not be making on my own. The first biggy was that we managed to tell our host mother in Mexico that we were very horny instead of hot, although she never actually had the heart to correct us on that one and instead resorted to smiling at us in a rather concerned manor. I will remind you that she was a very strict Jehovah's Whiteness which made the situation especially inappropriate. The second was when I asked a Guatemalan if he drove a pig, and the third was when Abigail managed to ask a tour agent how much it was to ride a gentleman as opposed to a horse.