how i spend my time...
So, I’ve been in sweden for about a month and a half. and so far it
has been a really good experience. I’ve been out partying in Stockholm
a little, I’ve driven on a road trip to Roskilde in Denmark (just
outside of copenhagen) to go to a music festival which was amazing,
I’m working as a gardener in the archipelago for an old couple and a
doctor.
So Here is a video of the apartment we’re living in, it’s a bit of a tip but you know, that’s how it is.
Here are some videos of my adventure (open page with IE if your browser doesn’t show this). Also, there are photos on Flickr.
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So i arrived home. Wow, what a crazy shock. I’m still overwhelmed. But I’m home with my family and settling back into the UK with help from my mate, Marmite [with the help of Jim and his package in the post]. So yeah, i’m home and the trip was relatively uneventful.
So I had to leave Buenos Aires and get to the airport. i got taxi to the airport, becuase i had money and didn’t want to spend 2 hours on a bus. so we fought our way through gridlock in rush hour and go to the airport. The taxi driver was lovely, he let me choose a CD to put on for us to listen to. we listened to Depeche Mode the whole way to the airport. I arrived, was checking in the bags and remembered the terrorism thing and decided to take the expensive wine out of my hand luggage and jammed it in the top of my bag. I checked in and paid my taxes and went through customs. I got patted down because my belt was too chunky, but no problems. Got on the plane and had some Belgian girl called Marie next to me for the next 12 hours. we chatted, played I-spy and that dot/box game for a few hours to kill the time and tried to sleep. The iberia stewardesses were horrid, as always, but we managed to beg enough water from them to survive. I had a 35 minute transfer at Madrid and hoped on my next plane. I chatted to a couple on the plane, he was British, she was Argentine, both were lovely. We got to Heathrow and i waited for my bags. after two hours a new flight’s bags arrived on the baggage carousel. I asked at the desk, the man was helpful but the bags still weren’t there, they were in Madrid. the changeover had been too short and they’d be arriving later. I signed the forms and went through the gate. Mum was looking a bit frantic, Dad was concerned and Nick had long hair. I ate a Marmite sandwich, with salt and vinegar crisps, dipped in Heinz tomato soup! it was lovely.
We went home, ate “normal” food and chatted and caught up. I waited until the next day to give them their gifts as they were in the bag currently in Madrid. Gifts were dispersed, Mate was drunk and chatting occurred. I started to relax. Being home is seriously odd and I’m only just getting to grips with it. I went to Winchester the other day and it was far too much to handle. There were gringos everywhere and i realise that i don’t need to start preparing what I’m going to say in Spanish.
It’s going to take a few more days to adjust, but I think the pints of bitter are helping.
I leave tomorrow, Friday 1st September 2006. My flight goes at 2140 from Buenos Aires International Airport. I get Home on Saturday. I think it’s funny that this will be one of the shorter journeys that i’ve made on my travels. But it fells nice to return home. If I’m honest, i’m having nightmares about it but I am more than ready to return. I’m getting tired of partying until stupid-o’clock in the morning.
I’ve learned a lot on my travels, in Ecuador while i was volunteering, on the road, and now again in Buenos Aires. I’ve learned so much, and changed so much, I can barely begin to list it. but some things are very clear, and I’m sure that the people close to me will notice some difference. I walk slower now, and i talk slower; I have really come to terms with the pace of life that i want to set myself. I’m thinner and maybe taller than i was six months ago, and my hair is still really short, far shorter than when i left. On a more meaningful level, I don’t think people will notice a change. But there is one. I feel like i know myself a lot better now than i did when i left. I know what i want more clearly and i have some more perspective on things. When I’m hungover I’ll be less self-pitying. I’ll think about the boys that i taught at school; how in a couple of years time they’ll all be fathers and men of the community, how in a few more they’ll be just like the other men there. Alcoholics, addicted to Chrago. I think I’ll feel a little less ill and a little more pathetic. When i want to buy some more things, just to throw away some other things i bought, I will be able to think about the woman on the corner of this street, sorting through everyone’s rubbish every night to find something that she needs and we’ve discarded.
I value people much more now. I realise that I’ve behaved appallingly in the past and now that I’m more aware, I’m ashamed. I Thought when i came away that I could do this one on my own. That I wouldn’t need other people, that i preferred my own company. What a sham. I’d been tricking myself, or at least i’d been trying. I’ve met some lovely people on this trip, so much so that i took more time in places i was just to hang out with them. I’ve met some dreadful people too. The Welsh guys in Montavideo, an Aussie in Huaraz, bunches and bunches of gringosin South America, flashing their cash and treating the locals abysmally. I’m embarrassed to be a gringo sometimes while I’m here. But now I’m much more aware of how to treat other people. I value people, and their feelings, much more than when I left.
I’ve had an amazing six months. I’ve been to Ecuador, Peru, Bolivia and Argentina (Uruguay too, but that doesn’t really count). I’ve met some fantastic people. I’ve done some epic things. I’ve contributed something to society. I’ve learned loads about myself and and loads about the world. I’l be home in 48 hours, on the sofa, chatting with my folks and this six month escapade will be over and sliding from my memory. I’ll forget most of the lessons that I’ve learned. But for now, I’ve got the real world out of my system, and i’m ready to approach it with a different perspective.
So, on Thursday morning I was finally not so hungover that i managed to get to Montevideo, Uruguay. It was a struggle. A 9 am ferry. I rarely see 9 am anymore, unless i’m still up from the night before. But I managed. I caught the ferry to Colonia, which was easy as i slept for the 3 hour trip. In Colonia I bought a bus ticket to Montevideo and kicked my heels for an hour; a cheap hamburger from a street vendor seemed a good way to do it. Then a 2 hour bus to the capital. I arrived, found the hostel and then went for a walk. I soon found out it was Independance Day for Uruguay and i hadn’t realised. I had left Buenos Aires to get some sleep and now i’m here for the nation’s biggest party. What a failure.
So i met a couple of girls from the US who have ben volunteering in Paraguay for three months and we went to get some dinner. We got a prime location in front of a huge stage for live music; we only got it because we were eating early, about 10pm. By 11 it was starting to get busy and our food was looking like it might actually arrive. The beer was flowing and the redwine was breathing on the table. The Uraguayans celebrate their independance with “nostalgia night”, i don’t fully understand this but i don’t like to question other cultures too hard sometimes. But I was curios about what, exactly, was nostalic music for Uraguay. I was imagining drums, charangos, and a whole host of more indeginous style music. But no. First was eighties rock (sung in english, with a rich spanish accent) followed by Bob Marley songs (with the same accent). I called it a day and went back to the hostel; i’m in Uraguay to sleep, not to party. I went to bed early, about 2 am I think.
At 7 am people start entering the dorm again. I guess they decided to party. I am accustomed to dorms after this long, lights coming on and a bit of noise doesn’t bother me. but, Welsh men, bursting in, swearing and crashing around does. I was tired and decided that their was only one way to deal with a drunk welshman. These two young men came in, loudly, and suddenly one of them realised “f**k man, there’s some c**t in my c**ting bed”. I remember the next bit vividly too. His friend decied that the only solution was the ‘flash override’: you get close and shout “flash override” at the person and suddenly they are supposd to know what you’re thinking and do it. It didn’t work. So the welsh man started again “the f**king c**t, he’s in my c**ting bed. I mad that bed. it took me c**ting ages, i’m f**ked off man, that c**t. Flash Override… the c**ting f**k, my Flash Override diddn’t f**king work. I made that c**ting bed. the c**t.” Then he stopped a second. His friend now jumps in with somehting about hearing the word “mohammed” and decided that he needs to get angry about religion, saying if his friend were a Jew he’d have “a toe to stand on” but as he’s not he’s got “f**king nothing”. I found this vaguely amusing, not the racial issues this young man has, but the fast he thinks that someone sleeping in your bed (to which you arrived at 7 am) is a racial matter. But this is all irrelivant. after another 5 minutes of hearing the word c**t, a word i’m not too fond of, i spoke up: “Shut Up. I appreciate that the bed you made has someone in it. It’s annoying and a s**t situation BUT there are other beds and some of us were sleeping before you came in, so please, could you be quiet and get some sleep”. He wasn’t best impressed. but i wasn’t going to really start pissing off a couple of drunk welshmen. it didn’t seem worth it. But anyway, the welsh guy gets into bed, and shuts up for a second. His friend comes back in hollering about Allah and his friend (the one i spoke to) wispers loudly “shh… i’m not allowed to talk” in a lovely welsh, drunken, sarcastic slurr. I chuckle to myself and imagine getting out of bed and pulling him off the top bunk. It’s a nice thought to fall back to sleep to.
The next day was quiet. Montevideo was hungover. Everyone who was up (there weren’t many) was sipping Mate and wandering aimlessly. I wandered to the ferry port and bought passage home. I was still annoyed about last night and wasn’t going to enjoy my day so i figured i’d go home to BA. I walked to the bus staion and waited for the bus to Colonia, i would have gone shopping but everything was closed. he only people about were the homeless and streetkids. It was quite a harrowing sight after the nations biggest party.
On the ferry hom ei met some girls who i’d met in BA in our hostel. By coincidence they were coming home to BA too. So I caught the ferry with some company and shared a taxi. Then a few bottles of wine, a film, some chinese food and some sorbet. A nice end to a short trip to Uruguay. Lovely country, but too many drunk Welsh people in dormitories.
So, My bus:sleep ratio has improved with perfect correlation to the worsening beer:sleep ratio. Apparently the people of Buenos Aires and I have very different sleep patterns. I’m starting to adjust to getting dinner at about 10pm; going to a bar at midnight and getting back to the hostel at approximately dawn.
I’ve been here a few days now and have done some nice things. I’ve had good nights out. Some amazing dinners. Real coffee and cake and seen a couple of the sights. Today I went to the cemetary. Evita’s grave is there. Its really nice. Loads of enormous crypts and statues. Very tranquillo when you get away from the tourists taking photos of Evitia’s grave. Yesterday I had coffee with the girls i met on the Death-Road. It was Mira and Rebecca’s last day, but Madi is staying in Buenos Aires until the 5th of September. It’s nice to know people here; i’m having dinner with a German girl and her sister tonight and then going out to a Tango show. I’m very excited. I’m staying in the tango centre of Buenos Aires so i think i better go see one. I’m also under the impression that i’m going to love it anyway as it will satisfy my love of all things a bit Art Deco. I’m going to the antiques market on sunday and I think I’ll head over to Uraguay on Monday. Go over to Montavideo and relax a little. but we’ll see.
I hurt. I’m getting a couple of hours sleep per night and have had a couple of nasty hangovers. Mostly because i’m not consuming water. Beer at night, coffee in the day. My will to live is fading and now I also have a cold. But I can’t admit that here in Buenos Aires because I have an horrible feeling that their cure for a cold may well be dinner at 10pm, a bar at midnight (for a variety of colourful medicinal drinks) and home by dawn. Nice and early to bed…
I’m in Buenos Aires. It’s reminiscent of being in London. I sit, eat, drink coffee, browse bookshops for books which i struggle to read, and I can’t really understand what people say to me. London all over again. I even had a donut for breakfast with my coffee (real coffee, so i’m certainly no longer in South America). But i didn’t just arrive here, at the ultimate destination of my 6 months travels. I did a lot of travelling and even some sight seeing on the way. Most recently, I saw Iguazu Falls and a lot of Argentina through bus windows.
So I left Puerto Iguazu by semi-cama bus. This means the bus seats were “semi-bed” seats; ie. they recline a little more than usual. My nightmare. My knees touch the back of the seats anyway so this just screams terror and agony, and another harrowing journey to me. Well it wasn’t. It was about 20 hours on a bus, where my seat reclined more than anyone elses. I was at the very back of the bus so I reclined almost fully. it was possible to me to get a full nights sleep and then some. of course it’s not a real nights sleep and so i’m still tired. but what do you expect. i did my calculations. In 4 days (96 hours) I have been in travel mode (waiting for a bus or on a bus) for 66 hours. This equals 30 hours of non-travel. This is 1 day 6 hours down time, in which i saw one of the worlds great natural wonders.
I’m tired. I’m weary of the whole travelling thing now. I think it’s only really hit me as i’ve made my way here. My final resting-place. I have been away from home since March 2nd. Without friends or family, and most importantly (i believe) without Marmite. An ex-pat (what i now feel like) without Marmite is like cricket without the white clothing, or rugby without the black-eyes. Lost. I feel lost. I can’t remember my last Marmite sandwich. I feel like a monster for admitting it. But that it a little treat waiting for me at Heathrow Airport, on September 2nd 2006.
I have nothing left on my list now, apart from a quick dash over to Uraguay (3 days is, apparently, good enough). Well, nothing feasable. Now I’m just going to repeat today for the next three weeks. Eat breakfast, drink coffee, relax and process my trip. I’ve got to go home and go to University soon. I’m going to have to conform to a strict (in comparison to what i have now) timetable and do things i might not actually want to. So i better go make the most of city life. I’m going to get a Pizza and a beer and, i guess, an early night. I need to improve my sleep:bus ratio.
Well. I Left Uyuni, went to Tupiza for a coule of days. Walked on Mars for a little more time and wandered the Wild West. Got some nice photos. Then i Headed from Tupiza to the border with Argentina. I set of at 1030 am, thursday.
The bus to Villazon was rapid, I arrived at 1230. On the bus i changed my mnd, i decided to go to Corrientes not Salta. It’s a bit closer to Iguazu Falls. I walked into the immigration office. Empty. 4 other people. 2 minutes and i’m through. Next step, Argentine immigration. An enormous queue. I kill time by chatting to a guy from Glasgow. I’m pleased with myself, I understand half of what he’s saying. An official grabs my arm, says “passport” and points at the building. I suddenly think i’m under arrest or something. He wisks me and the Glaswegian off to the window. and takes our passports. 3 minutes later he passes them out the window, nice and stamped. I just missed a 4 hour queue. easy days.
I go to the terminal in La Quimeca (argentine side) and buy a ticket. 9 hour wait. I drink beer, i eat a steak with an egg on top, my heart surrers. i catch up on 5 million emails and news stories i’ve not read. The bus leaves, and i sigh, another long bus, 18 hours i believe. I arrive in Jujuy (first stop) 4 am, freezing cold. Have to wait an hour. i’m cold. bored and i finish my book. I start chatting top some Belgian girls when they arrive. The bus is late. They’re going direct to Iguazu from Tucuman (next stop) i smile, say i didn’t realise that was an option. We arrive in Tucuman and i chat sme more. it seems that my bus to corrientes continues to Iguazu. I buy an additional ticket to extend me to Iguazu. Nice. Non-stop travel to the Falls. I buy the “Buenos Aires Herald”, it’ in English. I’m feeling deprived of literature. It’s badly written but it’s good enough.
We arrive in Iguazu at 9.30 am, saturday, 47 hours since i set off. I’m feeling remarkabley dirty. i check into the cheapest hostal (still $5) not accustomed to this. I was paying $2 for a single in Bolivia in some places… There i no water. I go to the girls’ “residencial” and tke a shower in their room. It’s nice. i almost feel clean. I’m looking a mess still but better.
We head off to the falls. A 30 minute bus ride from town. I pay my entrance and go fr a walk. I’m super excited. Worried, but excited. these are meant to be huge. but i’m worried because i heard that they are dry. It’s the wrong time of year. I was right to be worried. They just weren’t spectacular. They were cool. enormous and interesting but due to the lack of water they jut weren’t mind blowing. But, i think they were worth the effort. I walked in the park for a few hours and then went back to town to relax. I decided that it’s time to move again.
I have 1 hour before i go to Buenos Aires. My last big bus trip. 18 hours, easy. Then, my travels are over. Just hanging out in BA for a couple of weeks. eating steak and partying. nice.
Iguazu photos up soon on Flickr…
I have been on a journey across the universe on three short days. I’ve driven across the ice fields of Titan, walked on the red desert of Mars, watched lakes of liquid minerals on Mercury and seen mountians made from Jupiter’s atmosphere. All I had to do was get into a Jeep in Uyuni and there I was.
The bus to Uyuni wasn’t nearly as bad as i had been told. I got on the bus in La Paz at 7pm; wearing 3 t-shirts, cords, 2 jumpers, gloves, 2 woolly hats, 2 pairs of socks, a sleeping bag and my Ecuadorian blanket. I was warm, just about warm. Had I not had all these things I would have been less comfortable. I’ve heard of people getting frostbite in this bus. So i arrive in Uyuni at 6 am, go into a tour agency, have a free cup of tea and listen to his shpeil about his tour while sitting infront of a gas heater. When my fingers had some sensation again i left to find a decent agent. I found one, Cristal Tours, whch had 2 jeeps going out that morning. Cool. I happened to be the only native english speaker. My jeep had a Japanese guy, 2 French girls and a French guy, A bolivian, a girl from Barcelona and Myself. I spoke spansh for 3 days.
We went on to the salt and all i could think of was ice, the noise, texture, look, and everything was that of ice. It was cold but the sun was out so it wasn’t too cbad. We drove about and went for a walk on an island in teh flats, covered in Cacti. We drove further and saw some desert, red sand and rock. I really felt like i was on a journey through space.We stayed in a small village just off hte salar that night and felt the cold a little; but we knew that this was the warm night.
6 am, day 2, breakfast of bread and jam, nescafe, and excitment. Today we were off to see the lakes. I saw Flamingos, and Vicuña, and a whole host of different coloured lakes. Blue, green and red. We arrived at the camp for sunset. it was cold before the sun left the sky but as soon as it dropped behind a mountain i froze. we rushed inside for tea, then dinner. By 8pm we were cold to the bone, sowe bought some Caña (cane-sugar alcohol) and warmed ourselves from within. we went to bed early, we were getting up at 4.30
5.30, day 3, We are cold. I have no sensation in my feet. none what-so-ever. apart from pure, undilluted agony. But we saw some gysers and then went to find the hot springs. The water wasn’t hot enough to warm my soul, which by this point had no reason to live, it had see the solar-system and was very, very cold, but it returned feeling (normal feeling) back to my feet. After we got out we had breakfast on the edge of Laguna Blanca. One of the french girls got her hair wet. it now had icicles in it. we then drove until we were half an hour from the Chilean border crossing. Then we drove for another 7 hours back to Uyuni.
If i had to live life all over again i would make the time to see Uyuni. I think it was worth messing up my exams just for the chance to have spent 3 days in the desert.
The photos will be up soon. they tell the story 100 times better than my words can.
So I’ve had an exciting week; in fact, I would go so far as to say a particularly exciting week. I mountain-biked down the (officially) worlds most dangerous road, I met lots of people, I was involved in two bus crashes and I saw many wild animals. Plus, I met the most peculiar person in my life.
On Wednesday 26th July i arrived at Cafe Terreza at 7am. Only just. I had to bang and crash around for about 15 minutes until the hostel staff woke up to let me out, but I got to the cafe. I ate an American breakfast (the egg whites were runny) and waited until the Gravity crew showed up. We got on to buses and headed out to the “worlds most dangerous road”. We got out the bus at 4700 metres altitude and it was cold, super-cold. We got given bikes, drank a bit of 96% alcohol (quite potent) and then were given more instructions about the bikes and the ride. We had 22km of asphalt before the serious road began and we got used to the bikes and going seriouslyquick. We passed through 2 narco-traffiking checkpoints and then got to the road. It was epic. The scenery was stunning, although i didn’t see it on the ride down to Coroico, just on the way back up this morning. We hacked it down about 45km of dirt road, about half-a-foot wider than a bus and passed lots of traffic (i hadn’t expected this much). Apparently this is stillthe main road to Brazil, so there are enormous trucks, over-laden with fruit and people and then we’re flying down beside them. We traveled quicker than the vehicles. The biggest consequence to a mistake is a 400 metre drop before you hit anything but air resistance. People die regularly enough to be worried about it. Fortunately, Gravity have never had a death. Over the next week i met about 6 people who had been hospitalised as a result of this ride. I was the second biker (not including the guide) the reach Yolosa, the end of the ride, despite never having done this before i decided that it was better to do it properly than to pay almost $100 and not go fast and have fun and scare myself. It was one of the most fun experiences of my life, but only due to the fact i felt safe because the guides were so good and safety conscious.
I met 3 girls who were in my group (of 14 people) who wanted to go do Uyuni soonish, so i spent the evening with them drinking Margariñas (caipariña + margarita = v. strong) and making plans. We all stayed the night in Coroico in order to relax after the long day (9am-4pm on a bike, not alldownhill). We played pool and went out to get pizza then had a swim in the pool feeling rather rebellious swimming outside the hours allowed. There was some heat in the sauna left over from the day and we warmed up slightly in there. I wouldn’t have believed that it would be cold that close to the jungle, but i guess Coroico was only the start of that.
Thursday 27th, I wake up late, 8am, and dash into town for breakfast in a cheap cafe. My egg whites are runny again, I’ve given up complaining about it now; I’m just killing time until salmonella gets me. I struggle to get a bus ticket bt eventually argue it out of them in my finest Spanish; at a decent cost too! The bus to Rurrenebaque is at 1pm. i got to the hostel, pay, get my bags (and wet pair of boardies) and dash back down to the town to deposit my bag and buy food for the journey. I run into the girls again and confirm our plans about contacting each other when i’m out of the jungle. I’m really pleased, Three American 20 year olds; all speak Spanish and one has family in Buenos Aires and will be there when i am. What Luck (or as we say in Spanish Que Suerte!)! So, I go to the bus office, get my bag, eat all the food i bought for my journey and wait. Loads of us cram into a combi down to Yolosa where we need to wait a while until the big bus arrives. My journey starts at 1pm. We sit around until 3.45 when the bus arrives, i chat to a Kiwi and a Belgian who are travelling together. 6 of us gringosare travelling on the same bus to Rurrenebaque and the locals don’t want to give us out seats, even though we have tickets with the correct numbers and they don’t have any tickets with any numbers. But it all gets resolved by us sitting in other people’s seats and staying there. The bus moves on down a road no different than the one i cycled down. We travel until dark and as people get off and on we assume out correct seats; i’m stuck next to a campesiño who is desperate to know the usual things: “do we have cows in England? Are there donkeys too?”. I, however, am now accustomed to this and depending on my mood I’ll tell the truth or I’ll lie. This time i lied. “Yes, we have cows, but we only just started importing them from South America, and yes we have donkeys, but they are only for eating in England, they don’t carry things about. we have larger animals for that”. I know it’s cruel and unkind but i’m tired of these questions, i want them to ask me if we have poverty in England, if we have crime and misery; i spend hours explaining to them that even if our currency is stronger things still cost money and, in fact, sometimes cost more then in Bolivia (or Peru, or Ecuador). We continued the journey and drove into the night. At about midnight, while I was dozing, i wake up to the sound of gravel and had breaking, we slip off the road a little into the cliff face beside us. Fortunately not the precipice. I get out and take a photo. The driver is not happy about this, apparently photos of the crash may be bad for business. Turbus Totai haddropped a notch in my book, if i’m honest, but a photo was a must for my and i didn’t care. I chatted to the other gringosand we decided that another bus company back may be sensible. Eventually, with the help of a pickaxe we were back on the road. About 2 hours later we stopped in town for some minor repairs, unrelated to the crash; the exhaust pipe was falling off. We arrived in Rurrenebaque at 9 am on Friday, 20 hours later.
Friday 27th, We arrive. we all check into the same hostal it seems easier and all bt one of us want to do the Pampa tour. Blair (kiwi), Fred (Belgian), Tobias (Holland), Barrant (Holland), Dom (UK) and I go for a beer and make some plans. At 1030am after a beer and an empanada we’re set. we split up and go to every tour agency in town. We have plans and price guidelines, food criteria and ecological awareness. In the end we go with Anaconda Tours, $15 per day, and fitting with our ideas. Cool, midday and we’re paid up and set. Time for lunch. We got a 6 Boliviano lunch (there are 8 Bs to the US dollar) and some more beer and got to know each other. My embarrassment grew but the bucket load. The guys from Holland were lovely, very quiet and polite and generally just nice. Blair was great and hilarious, witty and intelligent and Fred was just plain comical. Dom, however, was beginning to shame the English people in the eyes of the United Nations of Rurrenebaque (how i refer to our crew). I begin to get wound up. He shouts in every-ones ears, over talks a topic, digresses onto unfathomable tangents, speaks too quickly for anyone else, only talks to the Belgian in french, keeps using Arabic or Israeli words or just spoke gibberish. over the next few days we realise he’s probably got aspergers or something, he knows 7 languages and has zero social skills. but, he did provide some classic entertainment.
Saturday 28th – Monday 31st, Was the Pampa tour. Kind of jungle, kind of swamp. Not what we expected. On the drive into the pampa (3 hours by jeep) we had tropical rain. We made our way up river in a small boat in the rain and the clothes i packed for the jungle were wet and insufficient for the level of cold. my blue hands were a testament to this. we arrived at the camp in wet cloths, with we spare clothes and no idea about why we were being punished. After some tea and popcorn we were more cheerful and a little more dry. Over the next few days we cruised the river to look at the wild life (giant hamsters, alligators, black cayman, millions of birds and piranhas). On the second day we went for a walk in the pampa fields to look for an anaconda. There were no wellies above size 10 US so i did it in walking boots, there were wellies for a reason. I was up to my calves in mud and swamp water and now my shoes are ruined. i washed them back at camp bu ti think i’ll have to give them to a homeless person if they aren’t any drier by the time i get to Uyuni. I don’t needthem anymore, my other shoes are warm enough but still. We never even saw an anaconda. we went fishing for piranhas and all caught a few. The kiwi and i killed all the fish except one because no one else would. We got Dom to kill the fish he caught and then helped him gut it when we got back (i gutted everyone’s, with the guide’s help, because no one else would). He was very excited. Our guide’s name was Rami, Dom called him Romi and kept pointing out that Romi was an Arabic name. The tour was good, not mind blowing but because i was with the boys it was good fun, and Dom was just classic. He’s become our mascot for the pampa tour. We all went out to celebrate on Monday night but the nightlife in Rurrenebaque was pretty tame.
Tuesday 1st, We get up, eat emapanas and juice, pay for the room and dash to the bus. 10am. I’m sat next to a Bolivian who speaks some English and we chat for 2 hours in Spanish and then an hour in English so he can get some practice. I decide to have a doze and sleep with my arm on the arm-rest and head in my hand, propped up about 6 inches from the seat in front. i drift for about 20 minutes. I wake up as we go over a bump. It’s about 1.30. suddenly my face is buried in the back of the chair in front of me. I’m dizzy, people are screaming and a look up, there is blood on my arm and leg. i turn around to see if the boys behind me are alright. thet’re all cool. My face is hot, but there’s no blood. the girl next to me has blood all over her. starting from her nose and mouth. it’s splattered all over the white-vinyl seat cover in front of her. i pass her some toilet roll and wish i hadn’t, she shows me bloody teeth as she smiles at me to say thanks. Thankfully it’s just her nose. We clamber out the bus. she’s the only one hurt. There is a child crying and a pregnant woman pacing about a bit. I stand back and take some photos. we’re well off the road. no other cars about and in a ditch full of stagnant water. the bus isn’t going anywhere. we sit and wait until 5pm and then everyone gets taxis to the nearest town. it’s funny, we had to pay for the taxi, despite the situation, i never expected the bus company to pay though. We eat some food. the first since the empanadas at breakfast. We’re all famished so i go buy some bread and Blair picks up some Oreos to suppliment the meal. We sit around again. We wander about and buy fruit and orange-juice, sometimes more chocolate. The suspension is messed up and the part is being repaired in a mechanic’s garage. Barrant and I got to get some dinner at about 7.30 pm. We’re going to get a taxi back to the bus to sleep there for the night so the bags don’t get stolen, which is very likely. As we sit and wait for the food a bus screeches into town, it’s horn wailing, a very distinctive horn. our bus. All the doubts about hopping into a bus that had already crashed once today disappeared. We dive in the bus and return to our seats. The bus panels it down the dirt road going from side to side. We should arrive at the worlds most dangerous road just before dawn. We make good time and when i wake up at dawn we’re half way up the road from Yolosa, already on the death road. I look down at the precipice. 400 metres is a long way down when you can’t even see the road’s edge from the bus’s window seat. But we arrived in La Paz safe and sound. 9 am Wednesday morning, 23 hours later. Oh, the bus we took back was Turbus Totai again. I guess i never learn my lessons first time round.
Photos of the death road can be found here. the password is “photos”. I’m sure i’m not allowed to do this, but take a look. My group’s photos start about midway through. Other photos on flickr also
So, I arrived in La Paz, Bolivia.The bus journey was a long one, and seemed even longer as it was a day time one! I left Puno, which in my opinion was truely horrid and settled in on the bus to the border. I sat next to a British guy who’d done some volunteer work with orphans with AIDS.
At the border we were told that it would take about thirty minutes to do. I laughed. I still vividly remember the Huaquillas-Agua Verdesborder crossing from Ecuador into Peru. Idon’t remember writting about it in detail but I think that that was to avoid worrying my parents. It was awful. You had to walk about one kilometre through town with all your bags (a clear invitation to get robbed) where you were accosted from all sides by Peruvians and Ecuadorians. The Bolivia crossing, however, was seamless, easy and fairly enjoyable.
We hopped off the bus, were forced to change some money (for reasons i didn’t understand at the time). I changed 11 soles ($3) and then join the queue. An hours wait and I got my exit-stamp. two-hundred metres up the hill was a stone archway. ten metres further was the Bolivian Immigration office and another forty-minute wait. Back on the bus with a Salteña and off we went.
Copacabana, a small sea-sidetown on the shoes of Lake Titicaca. We had to pay a 2 Boliviano entrance-fee to enter a town i didn’t even want to! Now i realise why the forced money-changing occurred. an hour’s wait and I was on another bus to La Paz. We got to a lake crossing where i had to pay another 1 Boliviano to catch a boat across the water. Hidden-costs galore. So after a short boat-ride, during which i thought i might die, we were on our way to La Paz.
I got here, founda hostal full of Israelis and thought that i would only end up in an arguement about their nation, so went in search of more. After a few minutes i gave up, got a taxi down to the San Pedro Prison (Marching Powder) and found a nice little hospedaje, with my own room. From here i explored the city for hours and had some dinner (fried chicken and chips, the mainstay of ALL Bolivians apparently).
Today I went in search of Culture. I booked myself onto the Mountain Biking on the world’s most dangerous road for an astounding $90 (4.5 day’s spending for me!) and the went in search of Museo Marina Nuñez del Prado . But it was closed, as all other museums have been for me so far in South America. The worst part was i hadn’t made a mistake. the opening-hours sign outsied said it should be open now. Also, I’ve started taking Doxycyline for Malaria (Rurrenabaque, my jungle trip).
This afternoon i’m going to get some lunch, sip coffee and go to the contempory art museum. Perhaps i’ll go to the cinema afterwards. I’ve got absolutely nothing to do for a couple of days until wednesday, when i fly down about 4 vertical kilometres on a mountainbike.
One week on from the onset of my illness I’m almost back to some semblance of health. On the fifth day of being confined to the dorm in my hostel in Arequipa i decided to step out and do something that i really didn’t want to do. I purchased antibiotics. People who know me are aware of my general distaste for medical intervention unless absolutely necessary. i have built up a decent immune system on my travels and now it’s totally ruined. I fear eating off the streets and now am actually considering getting pizza for dinner tonight.
I ended up arriving back on Sunday night and leaving the hostel on Saturday morning. Almost a week trapped in bed or just killing time on the Internet round the corner. At first i thought this was a nightmare, with only 7 weeks left i got ill, now i have less than 6 weeks left. However, i had a great time. Apart from the constant fear of soiling myself and the pain and inconvenience, it was alright. Why? Because it was part of travelling. Every traveller gets ill at some point and either can be lucky to have good company or be unlucky and be stuck feeling sorry for yourself. I was blessed. With my guardian angels of Shane, Ilse and Daniella.
On Sunday night I was laying in bed, totally washed out, no concept of the time or place. Just laying. Ilse and Daniella walked in and i thought “shit. other people. this means less sleep and noise and everything that i could barely begin to tolerate or possibly cope with. Hell.”. Ilse and Daniella were 2 Australian girls in their 20s on a year’s travel. They walked in and i rolled over. looking pale and deathly no doubt. I asked what the time was, and then proceeded to bury my head in the pillow as i hear the words “ten-past-seven”. Apart from the initial pleasure of hearing Australian accents all I could think of was sleep. We chatted, established I was ill, Ilse hadn’t been ill in South America yet, and Daniella was getting better. “cool” i thought, “they’ll to to bed soon, then i can sleep”. In the Morning Ilse woke up with conjunctivitis. and Shane arrived.
Shane was an American, and not the bad type. He was pleasant and got ill within a day of being in the dorm (which by this time was called the “hospital” and we refered to each other as patients). Ilse got more sick and spent a whole day throwing up. The room had developed a stench which brought to mind people in nursing homes, with a skin tone the colour of urine. The Girls went for a Colca Canyon bus tour and Shane and I relaxed and felt sick. I bought “2-minute noodles” and we began to recover (with the help of the drugs purging my body of all living material). Water was consumed my the 10-litres and whining was mandatory. The only relief was a good book, an iPod and a set of speakers. But we survived. I bought a box of Earl Grey tea. It was wonderful.
Saturday came and i got a bus to Puno. It’s a small town on the shores of Lake Titicaca, the world’s highest lake. It straddles the border between Bolivia and Peru. I bought my bus ticket to La Paz upon arrival. I leave tomorrow at 7am. I get to see the lake a bit and get to La Paz by early afternoon. I’m excited. Puno is grim and i’m still under-parr, i just want to get to a nice hostel in La Paz and regain my strength. I have big plans.
In La Paz i’m going to eat, sit, relax, learn some panish, see the city, cycle down the worlds most dangerous road, and then go to the jungle in Rurrenbaque. Return to La paz, do Uyuni, got to Salta, Argentina and Fly to Buenos Aires.
Yeah, things are good.
So, i survived about four and a half months without getting sick. But now i am. Right now i’m sitting close to the door of this internet shop (not a cafe, it is 3 rooms full of computers, not even a bottle of coke on display), clenching my buttocks because there isn’t a toilet here either. I’ve been rather unwell for about 2 days now.
I left on Friday morning, 0530, for the Colca Canyon trek. three days two nights. It was great. On the first day the group appeared and met each other at the bus terminal where we caught buses for six hours until we got to the correct starting point. Our guide, Diego, took us for lunch where the gringos eat and we set off. Down hill all the way for 4 hours; decending one and a half vertical kilometres down the side of a steep valley, all seven of us progressing at different rates. I was first, thanks to my long stride and youthful gait, with a thirty-something American woman following at the back (bad knees apparently). We arrived at a home stay with an idiginous family about five-fifteen; it got dark about twenty minutes later. We ate dinner and were in bed by seven-thirty with twelve hours sleep ahead of us.
The next day was tough. we walked down the valley for a bit and ended in a swimming pool a couple of hours later. where we escaped the midday sun and set off at two-ish. We then had to ascend one and a half vertical kilometres. By the top my legs burned and my flesh was burning. I don’t handle the heat, twenty five degrees celcius is good for me, nothing higher; especially for walking up a mountainside for three and a half hours. It was hot, the sun on us the whole way and i got to the top feeling tired but rewarded. we went to a hostal, showered, put on dirt clothes and went out for some dinner and a walk (for some reason). My walking boots smell horrid now. I have smelly feet and wearing the same shoes for almost five months straight has just exacerbated this embarrasing problem; so i decided to wear flip-flops out (despite the freezing temperatures). We ate Alpaca meat and had a traditional desert which tasted of Christmas. just Christmas.
Anyway, i went to bed feeling tired and sick (my stomach in knots and churning). I had an upset somach at the pools but nothing serious so i figured i was just tired and my body wasn’t loving food after such hard excercise. In the morning i was feeling grim. On the bus away from Cruz del Condor (where you supposedly see condors, we saw 2 from a seriously huge distance) i vomited out the window. feeling mild relief for about twenty minutes I guessed that was it over. But then my bowels started churning.
Now, forty-eight hours on, my bowels are still churning. I’m incredibley thristy because my body is rejecting water as quickly as i can get it in me. The only food to have passed my lips in 36 hours (some chips) disappeared down the drain within minutes of being eaten and now i’m feeling particularly fatigued and worse for wear. But, if by tomorrow night i’m still not capable of eating or drinking i’ll buy some antibiotics, kill the bugs and my immune system and hope to be well enough to get to Bolivia in the next few days… I’m now regretting that Hamburger i ate when i was with Helen the day before the trek; i reckon it’s e coli and i’ve learned my lesson about eating in gringo places and not off the street vendors and cholera-carts.
I survived yet another night-bus. Yes, i am a sucker for punishment. i can’t explain it; perhaps i’m too cheap to pay for a hostal when i don’t strictly need to; perhaps i like to see how long i can go without food (best yet? -23 hours) or water (19 hours); or perhaps, possibly i just can’t stand being trapped in a mobile oven, in the heat of the day, watching a valuable day pass me by. Yes, i’ve started to question the wiseness of my actions. I have another short bus trip in 1 weeks time to a place called Puno, on the shores of Lake Titicaca then another ten hours around the lake to La Paz, Bolivia. And, much to my own surprise (but not without reason) i’ve decided that the next two buses will be taken during the day. The bus to Puno is barely six hours (too short for a night bus) and the Bus to La Paz with have stunning scenery. So until i get to Bolivia, there will be no more night buses (fingers crossed).
I arrived in Arequipa today, and I also came to the realisation that as much as i love this whole traveling thingy (and I do!), i also love the European cafe culture. I spent the day relishing is the harsh sun, the hotcoffee (which you can’t get at really high altitude, like Huaraz), and sipping a barely-palatable glass of vino tinto. I might as well have spent the day sitting in Barcelona, Madrid, or even Milan or Venice (only with more Spanish speakers and shoeshine boys). The colonial architecture is so deceptive i almost believed it was feasible to get a cheap Ryanair flight home, just for a Marmite sandwich. But I was brought sharply out of my wondrous delirium by a tap on the shoulder. “Helen” i say, “what a…. lovely(?)surprise”.
Yes, Helen, the one who non-stop wound me up for 3 months in Ecuador, the girl who got scratched and bitten by dogs in Otavalo and bitten by a sea-lion in the Galapagos Islands. Yes, the one and the same woman at whom I shouted when she declined the only other hostal in Quilatoa because “it’s bathroom isn’t very nice”. But I, being the gentleman that I am, allowed her to pass some time with me. I indulged in chocolate cake, beer and wine, while she droned on about how she’s meeting her boyfriend in Lima tomorrow. I, however, tolerated it and even ate dinner with her, regaling her with fantastic stories about things i haven’t yet done, heightening the danger; suggesting that i get her email in order to send her an invitation to my funeral (for when i die of that nasty recurrent Malaria, which she is positive that i’m going to get).
So in order to relax (despite the wine, the Turkish food, and three small beers) i’ve decided to have a rant, at the expense of everyone else’s time (or those who’ll bother to read it at least) and listen to some Jazz online (here). Because since Sam lost my Ipod i’ve been without my beloved Miles, without my beloved Billy Holiday, without the Dave Milligan Trio. Relaxation is slightly more demanding (and you better believe it can be such a thing) when the comforts one takes for granted are snatched cruelly away from under them. For me music, particularly the lack-there-of, has been the greatest struggle on my travels since Otavalo. I have grown so unbelievable incapable of keeping my mind placated without the aid of music, due to being a member of the “Ipod generation” no doubt, that the simple act of relaxing has taken on new, more sinister, methods; Beer, wine, listening to someone else’s choice of jazz through badheadphones. But i’m managing…. Just.
Upon arriving here today i discovered, with a great deal of dismay, that i could stay in a hostal tonight but not tomorrow because everywhereis booked. I agreed, reserved rooms for Saturday-through-Tuesday and organised to go on a three day trek to Colca Canyon to see the condors. Fine by me. I never got a real trek in Huaraz as i ended up relaxing something extreme (i’m aware of the contradiction) at The Way Inn. So, Off i go, tomorrow at Five-forty-five tomorrow morning, to climb down a canyon which i will climb up the next day. The irony of hiking is barely escaping me; but is, just enough so to keep me doing it. I look forward to the results (ie. photos and memories) of the trip but more than anything, i’m looking forward to getting a lovely bed to go back to on Saturday night (after a steak and chips, which i will clearly deserve).
I caught the night bus from Huaraz to Lima on Saturday night, leaving at 2230. i figured that i’d be arriving at about 7 ish in time to find a bus terminal to book my ongoing ticket and depsit my bag, then, get some breakfast. I’d caught a bus half-an-hour earlier than Sarah (the girl i’d met in the Lodge, i say girl… she’s 28, but yeah) and we had arranged to meet at the terminal and kill the day together as she was going back to the Estados Unidos that evening. So, I arrive at 0445.
Sarah arrived at about 0515, so i didn’t get too lonely. We got ripped off to get to Miraflores, and a hostal where we could shower and leave our bags. Taxi drivers give outragous prices when they meet you from a night bus, so even when you haggle them down to half they still rip you wallet out through your soul.
We got to InkaHaus (a stange hostal) where we signed inand sat about until we figured that places would be open for breakfast; usually about 9am in Peru. So, after looking through the Lonely Planet we found a place called Mangos. We walked that direction and passed somewhere I was positive was called Mangos, but Sarah denied it and told me i better be ready to appologise when we got to the beach front and found Mangos there. So we aspproached the coastal edge and saw nothing. just a cliff and the ocean. After mush arguing, she asked a security guard (of which there were many about, oddly) and he pointed at the sheer drop infront of us. so we walk over to the other security people and they point us down stairwell you find outside of American shopping-malls. This wasn’t a conincidence as when we reached the bottom we were greeted but an american style mall sporting names such as starbucks, mcdonalds, toni romanos and other such trash. So we made our way past Dunkin’ Donunts and found Mangos. I appologised profusel and made my excuses, it was actually called Manolos but the “l” and “o” looked like a “g”.
Breakfast was lovely, i had a truely luxurious belgian waffle and coffee that didn’t taste of dish water, i even suspect it wasn’t dishwater… Then we went bowling. Seriously. We enter the realm of Cosmic Bowling. It was stupid expensive, i spent more than my usual day’s budget on 1 hours entertainment (including 2 beers each); but by god, it was damn fun! I wore the most comfortable shoes of my life (US size 14 bowling shoes, which made me look clown-like) and we drank beers, bowled and talked about The Big Lobowski. What a morning…
After this we returned to the hostal, to watch the World Cup. What a farce. For me it was just a testament to what a ridiculous game it can be at times. This is the only series of games which isn’t SOLEY about money and the players still fail to act professionally or maturely. Pathetic. But yes, we sat about and watched the game, head in hands and polishing off a few me bottles of beer between us. Now, after this little drama and a few beer we’re feeling painfully tired and realise we haven’t slept since the night before so we take a nap on the sofas. After being woken by an absolute riot outside we decide to go get some dinner, oblivious that it’s only about 5 pm. We get middleeastern food, which is a nice change from Fried chicken and rice. This was followed by Icecream for her and Sorbet for me (as my lactose intolerance has reached entirely new levels, i can barely stomach butter on toast at hte moment…), while we watched the old Limeños (people from lima) dance in a small sunken arena in the park. It wa so lovely to see i couldn’t sontain my smile, these 70+ year olds dancing like they did when they were 20; with the exception of a woman who’d had a stroke but was still trying.
Eventually it came time to leave the hostal and go out seperate ways. I put Sarah in a taxi and hopped into the next one, explaining in perfect spanish where i wanted t go. I get out of the taxi and enter the terminal to ask for my tickets and all that. Only to be told it’s the other Ormeño terminal. So i hop into a taxi again and pay again, and discus the Mundial again. But i eventaully get to teh right terminal, but a nice cheap night bus ticket and sit. at last we get ona bus and i try to sleep, but with no success. After a LONG journey to nazca with only the barest bones of sleep i hop off the bus and dash for the nearest hostal. I have arrived and 5:30 am, almost 48 hours since i got out of bed. I get a room (private) and sleep. i wake up eventually at 12:30, shocked and tired.
Fortutitously, my hostal actually organises flights over the Nazca Lines. so i agree to the price (there is a cartel on them anyway so there is no differnce where i go to do it) and kill an hour before we depart, but it’s advised you don’t eat due to the nature of the flight… Upon arrival at the airport I got to watch an hour documentary on the lines and then went up in a plane with a brazillian family. The tiny girl behind me threw-up and the plane smelt of vomiit and Inka-Kola for the rest of the trip. the lines are TINY (!!!), amazing and confusing but still tiny. It was totally worth the cash (albeit 3 days spending) and now i’m off to Arequipa tonight, but i’ve bought myself a nice bus ticket and it’s an 11 hour journey so i will sleep!
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