Final post this side of the world. Am safely in Lima airport, with only about 8 whole hours to while away, so a final round up of last day in Mancora, and, that´s it. For this continent anyway. Think Africa is going to be less amenable internet wise so will have to revert to keeping a proper handwritten diary and write up whenever possible.
Last night in Mancora was pretty successful. Rich, Shane, John, Becky and Will came to join us in the bar at Loki (Conor having fallen prey to a raw burger) and we tucked into the requisite vodka and coke over various games. I triumphed at Scrabble (degree not entirely useless) and John lost fairly spectacularly at giant Jenga, paying up his forfeit of stripping off and jumping into the pool (not as lame as it sounds as is actually banned) admirably. Hung out til closing time, and then Clara and I went for a promenade along the beach and a Cosmopolitan each. They came with maraschino cherries which I´m fairly sure were not in the SATC original, but were pretty tasty. A civilised veil will be drawn over the rest of the evening, what goes on tour, etc, other than to say that I was pleased to see that my wing womaning abilities have not waned through lack of use of late.....
Last day in Mancora began with my only real meltdown of the holiday. My credit card stopped working, and as my replacement debit card is currently languishing in London, it was pretty urgent that HSBC pulled finger out of a** and a. stopped making up reasons as to why it wasn´t working and b. fixed it. Instead, half an hour later and on to my 3rd assistant from the ´Centre of Excellence`, I was for some reason embroiled in an arduous attempt to extend the limit on my card. Threw phone at floor and then burst into tears of rage once had found sympathetic audience (Conor, Eimear and Clara). Financial rescue came in the form of the lovely Conor and was able to book my coach etc, so once again, huge thanks to that young man. Bit of a legend, that one.
Stress over, I spent one last luxuriously hot afternoon by and in the pool at Loki with the team, soaking up the rays and the relaxed sensation of being surrounded by people doing nothing more than enjoy themselves with whatever idle pursuit struck their fancy. Think that´s why I love hostels so much - that sense of freedom in the air.
So, some of the most memorable parts of South America:
Lapa steps at 3am
Samba dancing in Rio
Iguazu Falls with the Laconic Frenchman
Alice getting a round of applause for her legs in BA (which we all basked in collectively)
Iguana Skin and the ubiquitous Long Island Ice Tea cocktails in Milhouse
Sitting on Fordey´s shoulders (on Lee´s shoulders) on the lagoon in the depths of the salt flats, wind driving into my face, uncontrollable grin on my face
Death of barbie
That´s what she said
Afternoons tucked into the jeep, Ylonah snoozing beside me on the back seat as Victor plays his Peruvian pan pipes at full volume
The discovery that post pan pipes there are some relatively decent 80´s tunes on that CD
The boys playing at soaking the small Bolivian boys with rocks by a stream in a small village in Bolivia, much to their excitement and hysteria (both small and big boys)
First night at Wild Rover in La Paz
Power cuts at the Blue House
Flip flop v Thong, Pudding v Dessert, Supper v Dinner (etc)
Cusco nights: Mama Afrikkkka, Jarrad´s stratospherically good form, and the sequence of photos that followed (legs over head)
Hangover juice in the market in Cusco
Christmas day: whole thing, especially bellinis by the pool, steak and jacket potatoes, sparklers, and Marco...POLO
Hasta luego, South America....
Wednesday, 29 December 2010
Monday, 27 December 2010
The lavatory is only for urinating, REPEAT, the lavatory is only for urinating.
Got to love old Cruz del Sur. Comfy, and they did a special Christmas supper which was touching and depressing in equal measure. Rather than the usual rice plus hunk of chicken plus potato we got a really rather tasty fragrant sweet rice with turkey in some kind of spicy sweet sauce. Bit like a sort of chow mein but pretty darn good, and the christmas tree shaped brownie was darned good. All presented in red and green festive plastic boxes. Luverly.
Despite said relative luxury I was pretty excited to get to Mancora at long last on Christmas Eve morning. Hopped on a tuk tuk in the direction of the house, hand drawn map in Lonely Planet to hand. As I{d later discover, tuk tuks don{t go up the hills to Vista del Mar (unless you{re Clara and then only seemingly in exchange for sexual favours) - but just as we get out the map to figure out where we{re going, Becky and Rich appear like a mirage around the corner, and recognise my bedraggled traveller self as matching the "small blonde girl" description given by Clara. Rich very kindly carries my bag up the hill, and I traipse up behind him in the heat. We round a corner, and I see a positive mirage before my eyes - perched up on the hill looking down over the bay are 3 bungalows, one of which will be our home for the next few days. The view is stunning, the hammocks are hung out around the place, adn there{s even a pool.
I settle in and meet the others, and then we head for the beach. As it{s exceedingly windy (sand everywhere) we abandon this plan and instead I have my first ceviche - deeeelicious fresh fish marinaded in onion, lime, and herbs. So good. Thus revived I move on to Kris Kindle shopping, and then wider Christmas Day supper shopping with Clara. Turns out that despite being a Catholic country, everything is open on Christmas Day, so our keenness is a little unnecessary. See, I said Peru was Daddy{s sort of country - BET you could buy a Christmas tree ON Christmas day here if you wanted..... I endeavour going out that evening, but beyond a quiet drink on the beachfront I{m exhausted so give up and head to bed.
CHRISTMAS DAY dawns bright and very beautiful indeed. The sun is blazing, Clara cooks up an egg and potato tortilllary and fruit salad storm, and then we head to the pool to drink bellinis and exchange presents. Becky gives me an awesome selection of DVDs which will definitely be heading to South Africa with me. Also exchange presents with Clarita and Eimear and have my stocking to open from H so feel most spoiled. Call home and find it extraordinary to imagine the cold, and then head back to splash around in the pool for most of the day. As the night falls we get our cook on. I assume my typical role of vegetable peeler and assist in the creation of some pretty awesome dips, not to mention a killer vodka lemonade and lime for Head Chef Clara. Conor is put in charge of the kilos of meat we{ve bought plus the jacket potatoes, and a pretty damn awesome Christmas supper is assembled. We even have enough to satisfy the boys. Job done. Christmas pudding (all the way from home) lighting goes slightly awry as the booze isn{t warm, but no one minds the extra vodka. We then light sparklers and quaff yet more drinks, before heading down the beach front to dance til the small hours/ climb across from bar to bar 1 floor up (if you{re a crazy boy that is) from the ground. Eventually make it back to the house where a game of Marco Polo ensues in the pool, and then bed.
An amazing and unforgettable Christmas with a fantastic bunch. So glad Clara and Eimear decided to invite me to join them, and a million kazillion brownie points to Conor for finding such a fantastic house.
Boxing Day passed in a blur of hungover pain, and we very sadly checked out this morning from the house. Am now ensconced in Loki No. 3 (free t shirt yessssss) for one final night. Clara and I tucked into a cocktail by the pool - mine the aptly named Afternoon Delight - before joining Conor, Eimear, Dave, Will and Becky for cocktails on the beach and yet more ceviche.
Shower time now, and then one, last, final night on the town in South America.
I could get used to this travelling thang....
Despite said relative luxury I was pretty excited to get to Mancora at long last on Christmas Eve morning. Hopped on a tuk tuk in the direction of the house, hand drawn map in Lonely Planet to hand. As I{d later discover, tuk tuks don{t go up the hills to Vista del Mar (unless you{re Clara and then only seemingly in exchange for sexual favours) - but just as we get out the map to figure out where we{re going, Becky and Rich appear like a mirage around the corner, and recognise my bedraggled traveller self as matching the "small blonde girl" description given by Clara. Rich very kindly carries my bag up the hill, and I traipse up behind him in the heat. We round a corner, and I see a positive mirage before my eyes - perched up on the hill looking down over the bay are 3 bungalows, one of which will be our home for the next few days. The view is stunning, the hammocks are hung out around the place, adn there{s even a pool.
I settle in and meet the others, and then we head for the beach. As it{s exceedingly windy (sand everywhere) we abandon this plan and instead I have my first ceviche - deeeelicious fresh fish marinaded in onion, lime, and herbs. So good. Thus revived I move on to Kris Kindle shopping, and then wider Christmas Day supper shopping with Clara. Turns out that despite being a Catholic country, everything is open on Christmas Day, so our keenness is a little unnecessary. See, I said Peru was Daddy{s sort of country - BET you could buy a Christmas tree ON Christmas day here if you wanted..... I endeavour going out that evening, but beyond a quiet drink on the beachfront I{m exhausted so give up and head to bed.
CHRISTMAS DAY dawns bright and very beautiful indeed. The sun is blazing, Clara cooks up an egg and potato tortilllary and fruit salad storm, and then we head to the pool to drink bellinis and exchange presents. Becky gives me an awesome selection of DVDs which will definitely be heading to South Africa with me. Also exchange presents with Clarita and Eimear and have my stocking to open from H so feel most spoiled. Call home and find it extraordinary to imagine the cold, and then head back to splash around in the pool for most of the day. As the night falls we get our cook on. I assume my typical role of vegetable peeler and assist in the creation of some pretty awesome dips, not to mention a killer vodka lemonade and lime for Head Chef Clara. Conor is put in charge of the kilos of meat we{ve bought plus the jacket potatoes, and a pretty damn awesome Christmas supper is assembled. We even have enough to satisfy the boys. Job done. Christmas pudding (all the way from home) lighting goes slightly awry as the booze isn{t warm, but no one minds the extra vodka. We then light sparklers and quaff yet more drinks, before heading down the beach front to dance til the small hours/ climb across from bar to bar 1 floor up (if you{re a crazy boy that is) from the ground. Eventually make it back to the house where a game of Marco Polo ensues in the pool, and then bed.
An amazing and unforgettable Christmas with a fantastic bunch. So glad Clara and Eimear decided to invite me to join them, and a million kazillion brownie points to Conor for finding such a fantastic house.
Boxing Day passed in a blur of hungover pain, and we very sadly checked out this morning from the house. Am now ensconced in Loki No. 3 (free t shirt yessssss) for one final night. Clara and I tucked into a cocktail by the pool - mine the aptly named Afternoon Delight - before joining Conor, Eimear, Dave, Will and Becky for cocktails on the beach and yet more ceviche.
Shower time now, and then one, last, final night on the town in South America.
I could get used to this travelling thang....
"Ok, you can watch a DVD with me, but bring your blanket because I don{t want our legs touching or anything weird like that."...
...."But I LIKE it when our legs touch". - J to D. Married couple.
Last day in Cusco is spent firstly in the San Pedro market, home to the best freshly made juice out there. Find a winning mixture with orange, pineapple and mango. Yummmm. Worth battling the smell of meat and god knows what else that permeates the market and doesn{t go so well with a hangover just to get to the nectar. Wander back to the hostel for requisite snooze, before heading back out to The Crown to have my last fix of thai spring rolls. I eventually bid a very sad farewell indeed to the boys, and head to the bus station, mourning the empty husk that my life will be without their chat.
Get to Arequipa early the following day and immediately strike up conversation with an English girl on the bus, Claire, who is a CELEBRITY on BBC Oxford. I pretend not to be excited by this pretty successfully til later that day when she shows me her showreel. Anyway, we dump our stuff at a pretty shady hostel, take a paddling pool - sorry, shower - and head to Arequipa{s number 1 attraction, the convent. Yes, that{s right, I have now done a museum in South America. Involving nuns and Catholicism and everything! It{s actually stunning and the lunch is pretty good too. We then move back to the main square and sup wine beneath voluminous ponchos in a bar overlooking the cathedral. When finally beaten by the cold we move locations to a creperia and pass a somnolent few hours in the warmth.
Regrettably whistlestop tour to Arequipa over, and its back on a bus for me to Lima, and then on Mancora...............
Last day in Cusco is spent firstly in the San Pedro market, home to the best freshly made juice out there. Find a winning mixture with orange, pineapple and mango. Yummmm. Worth battling the smell of meat and god knows what else that permeates the market and doesn{t go so well with a hangover just to get to the nectar. Wander back to the hostel for requisite snooze, before heading back out to The Crown to have my last fix of thai spring rolls. I eventually bid a very sad farewell indeed to the boys, and head to the bus station, mourning the empty husk that my life will be without their chat.
Get to Arequipa early the following day and immediately strike up conversation with an English girl on the bus, Claire, who is a CELEBRITY on BBC Oxford. I pretend not to be excited by this pretty successfully til later that day when she shows me her showreel. Anyway, we dump our stuff at a pretty shady hostel, take a paddling pool - sorry, shower - and head to Arequipa{s number 1 attraction, the convent. Yes, that{s right, I have now done a museum in South America. Involving nuns and Catholicism and everything! It{s actually stunning and the lunch is pretty good too. We then move back to the main square and sup wine beneath voluminous ponchos in a bar overlooking the cathedral. When finally beaten by the cold we move locations to a creperia and pass a somnolent few hours in the warmth.
Regrettably whistlestop tour to Arequipa over, and its back on a bus for me to Lima, and then on Mancora...............
I beat five Australian boys up a lot of steps. And now I{m boasting about it.
...because I didn{t at the time, despite encouragement to rub in Marlon{s face that I whupped his ass (apparently he was heard to mutter "I can{t be beaten by a girl" the whole way up). Discovered my inner mountain goat for Machu Picchu, with the aid of Selena Gomez and "Naturally".
Anyway, I have been v.negligent with blog, from about MP time in fact so will have to catch up now. It{s my last proper night in South America (tomorrow will be spent in luxury, comparitively anyway, on the Cruz del Sur Bus Of Joy (TM) en route to Lima), so I figured I should update blog in the beautiful environs of Loki Mancora. So, as ever, working backwards....
MACHU PICCHU
My new role as team leader affirmed (such a cuckoo), I was once again put in charge of all tickets, setting of alarms etc. Apparently in Peru the women wear the (striped traveller) trousers... Having gathered large quantities of liquids with which to soothe hangovers, we hopped in mode of transport 1: a small tin can of a mini bus, perfectly suited to vertically challenged types such as yours truly with stumpy legs that fold away neatly, less perfect for anyone over the height of about 6 ft. Which was all five boys. Journey to the train was breakneck to say the least but absolutely stunning - snow capped mountains rising in the distance, great vistas spreading before us before seemingly dropping away to nothing. Spent most of the time craning my head out of the window to gawp. Interesting diversion just before our stop at Ollantambababayayayayay or whatever it{s called in the form of a rock slide on to the road. At home this would equal huge tailback, large quantities of stripy tape, flashing lights, and lots of officious policemen. As all the officious policemen in South America are in fact based in La Paz, there was no such fluster here. Instead all the minivans etc took turns to negotiate around said rock fall. It was only covering the entire road for God{s sake, what{s the big deal? Plenty of room on the verge.
We get to Ollaynatambaaayayay...etc... in time for pit stop supper. Yes boys, SUPPER with PUDDING whilst wearing FLIP FLOPS. Cough. On to the train, and a small but inedible empanada later and we{re in Aguas Calientes. Get collected by the hostel lady and troop through the town and over an impressively rickety Indiana Jones-esque bridge to our hostel. Smells strongly of damp. Unsurprising. The mountains rise all around us in the dark, and given the 4am start we{re all impressively excited about the following day{s activities. Jarrad makes an excellent impression on the hostel by calling out "Hola biiiiitches" to the room as a cleaner arrives, unaware of her presence. She{s later heard giggling to herself and muttering "Hola beetches" to herself as she walks down the stairs. This plus Dim{s run in with an admittedly huge moth bird thing and susbsequent flapping around room cements the Aussie boys{ girlie reputation in AC as in the rest of South America. Nice work.
4am start ends up being a little later than planned the next am. We head up the mountain determined to take on the 1,000 plus steps that cut straight across the wiggly route the bus takes up to the top of MP. I am relieved to see that the boys are as eager as I am to stop whenever possible to gulp down water and shveat copiously on rocks etc (obviously I glow rather than sweat, being a girl). Llama hat and gloves swiftly abandoned as things get pretty warm. I{m feeling pretty defeated about 1/3rd of the way up, and considering taking the road. I then decide to start ahead of the boys next time we stop....and never look back. Bit of open, um, road or rather steps plus my favourite gym tunes from that time back in May when I went all of four times or so to the gym prove my making, as does the realisation that my stumpy legs cope better with bouncing up the steps rather than slogging at them.
I reach the top just ahead of Dim (only because he stops to take pictures admittedly) and take in the view. World{s most expensive sandwiches later and we{re ready to hit MP. We then have a very nice but somewhat thorough guide. No one falls asleep behind their sunglasses. No one. MP IS beautiful - the scenery makes it, but not my fave in S.America. That prize is still claimed by Iguazu Falls and the Salt Flats. My sense of pride in making it up those steps makes the whole thing worth it, however.
We collapse onto a bus back to AC, and then hit on the cunning plan of booking a hostel room for 4 hrs or so in which to snooze. Snooze plus food later, and it{s back to Cusco. Uneventful, bar the child screaming hysterically from inside the luggage compartment below the bus where he{s been stowed away with his mother that hinders progress back to Cusco somewhat.
We get back and celebrate Dim{s birthday again with the aid of a strawberry cheesecake Nick and Marlon have bought, and some stiff vodka and cokes. Sufficiently revived we then hit the wondrous drinking hole that is Mama Africa. I make friends with Luis the barman, and free shots ensue. Bonus.
Anyway, I have been v.negligent with blog, from about MP time in fact so will have to catch up now. It{s my last proper night in South America (tomorrow will be spent in luxury, comparitively anyway, on the Cruz del Sur Bus Of Joy (TM) en route to Lima), so I figured I should update blog in the beautiful environs of Loki Mancora. So, as ever, working backwards....
MACHU PICCHU
My new role as team leader affirmed (such a cuckoo), I was once again put in charge of all tickets, setting of alarms etc. Apparently in Peru the women wear the (striped traveller) trousers... Having gathered large quantities of liquids with which to soothe hangovers, we hopped in mode of transport 1: a small tin can of a mini bus, perfectly suited to vertically challenged types such as yours truly with stumpy legs that fold away neatly, less perfect for anyone over the height of about 6 ft. Which was all five boys. Journey to the train was breakneck to say the least but absolutely stunning - snow capped mountains rising in the distance, great vistas spreading before us before seemingly dropping away to nothing. Spent most of the time craning my head out of the window to gawp. Interesting diversion just before our stop at Ollantambababayayayayay or whatever it{s called in the form of a rock slide on to the road. At home this would equal huge tailback, large quantities of stripy tape, flashing lights, and lots of officious policemen. As all the officious policemen in South America are in fact based in La Paz, there was no such fluster here. Instead all the minivans etc took turns to negotiate around said rock fall. It was only covering the entire road for God{s sake, what{s the big deal? Plenty of room on the verge.
We get to Ollaynatambaaayayay...etc... in time for pit stop supper. Yes boys, SUPPER with PUDDING whilst wearing FLIP FLOPS. Cough. On to the train, and a small but inedible empanada later and we{re in Aguas Calientes. Get collected by the hostel lady and troop through the town and over an impressively rickety Indiana Jones-esque bridge to our hostel. Smells strongly of damp. Unsurprising. The mountains rise all around us in the dark, and given the 4am start we{re all impressively excited about the following day{s activities. Jarrad makes an excellent impression on the hostel by calling out "Hola biiiiitches" to the room as a cleaner arrives, unaware of her presence. She{s later heard giggling to herself and muttering "Hola beetches" to herself as she walks down the stairs. This plus Dim{s run in with an admittedly huge moth bird thing and susbsequent flapping around room cements the Aussie boys{ girlie reputation in AC as in the rest of South America. Nice work.
4am start ends up being a little later than planned the next am. We head up the mountain determined to take on the 1,000 plus steps that cut straight across the wiggly route the bus takes up to the top of MP. I am relieved to see that the boys are as eager as I am to stop whenever possible to gulp down water and shveat copiously on rocks etc (obviously I glow rather than sweat, being a girl). Llama hat and gloves swiftly abandoned as things get pretty warm. I{m feeling pretty defeated about 1/3rd of the way up, and considering taking the road. I then decide to start ahead of the boys next time we stop....and never look back. Bit of open, um, road or rather steps plus my favourite gym tunes from that time back in May when I went all of four times or so to the gym prove my making, as does the realisation that my stumpy legs cope better with bouncing up the steps rather than slogging at them.
I reach the top just ahead of Dim (only because he stops to take pictures admittedly) and take in the view. World{s most expensive sandwiches later and we{re ready to hit MP. We then have a very nice but somewhat thorough guide. No one falls asleep behind their sunglasses. No one. MP IS beautiful - the scenery makes it, but not my fave in S.America. That prize is still claimed by Iguazu Falls and the Salt Flats. My sense of pride in making it up those steps makes the whole thing worth it, however.
We collapse onto a bus back to AC, and then hit on the cunning plan of booking a hostel room for 4 hrs or so in which to snooze. Snooze plus food later, and it{s back to Cusco. Uneventful, bar the child screaming hysterically from inside the luggage compartment below the bus where he{s been stowed away with his mother that hinders progress back to Cusco somewhat.
We get back and celebrate Dim{s birthday again with the aid of a strawberry cheesecake Nick and Marlon have bought, and some stiff vodka and cokes. Sufficiently revived we then hit the wondrous drinking hole that is Mama Africa. I make friends with Luis the barman, and free shots ensue. Bonus.
Saturday, 18 December 2010
Fact of the day: Australia is the only nation that eats its own coat of arms.
Forgive me in advance. This blog post is likely to be pretty shady given that we had a huuuuge night here last night.
First thing´s first before I rewind to the end of La Paz - I adore Cusco. Easily my favourite city in South America by far. Unexpectedly beautiful in a European sort of way in the centre, fab food, chilled vibe. MUCH nicer than smelly old gloomy La Paz.
So, with one last big night out, marred by a terrible terrible steak in the Steak House DO NOT GO THERE IT´S RUBBISH, but improved somewhat by venturing out to the closest thing Bolivia has to a club (Mango´s? Mungo´s?) I hopped on the bus with the 5 strapping Aussie boys (whaaaaat....innocent face, wide eyes) - Dim, James, Nick (aka Mick Burquez, fastest gun in the West), Jarrad (aka Harald according to most bemused South Americans who can´t of course pronounce the J correctly) and Marlon to Copacabana. We arrive at the side of Lake Titicaca, and disembark the bus, to watch it float gently across in what looks like a large shoebox to the other side. Back on the bus, and up into the hills. Once again just when I think I´ve seen every bit of landscape Bolivia has to over, she pulls it out of the bag again. Lake T is a stunning Mediterranean shade of blue, the hills rising rocky and scrubby around her. The similarity to the coast on the South of France is heightened by the smell of the trees - no idea what they are but they smell the exact same.
We arrive in Copacabana to be collected by our hotel (niiice). The boys can barely fit into the little tin van that appears - once more the wee one wins, plenty of leg room. Take that, all ye giants. Hotel Utama is hilarious - novel choice of paint combinations, plastic corrugated roof, and once more the eiderdowns excel. Winning element is the hat used as a lampshade in the bedroom. On the upside they do offer free bananas. The boys fall on these, I don´t. This turns out to be an error...
We head down to the beach to catch the boat to Isla del Sol, birthplace of the Inca´s. Initially pleased with our choice of rooftop perch on board, we rapidly become cold, and the alpaca jumpers have to come out to play. Beautifully sunny tho, so I manage to burn my kneecaps. Turns out that the boat takes an hour and half to get to the island. Whilst the scenery around us is beautiful, we all rapidly become obsessed with the thought of food. This is not aided by exchanging tales of the best places to eat in Adelaide/London. I seriously have never heard anyone talk about food as much as these boys. I take note that kangaroo is delicious.
Get to Isla del Sol, and race to get food. Turns out that we only have an hour on the island, so by the time we´ve eaten chips with bits of sausage on them, and pizza that is rated in someone´s bottom three pizzas they´ve ever eaten (cue a run down of ALL pizza eaten on the trip by the boys, including toppings. Dear lord) we only have time to go and stand on the steps leading to the rest of the island before getting back on the boat. Saw lots of donkeys tho´. Didn´t go near them Mummy, don´t worry..... We all snooze downstairs in the boat on the way home, lulled by the waves and the, well, gentle pace of the boat. Hotel, more siestas, and then FOOD. We find an epic place that does tasty Mexican food. The boys order impressive quantities of food, polish most of it off and then package the rest up for breakfast. Brennan & Dr House leap to mind...
Following morning sees us head to Puno, and the border with Peru. Bye bye my beloved Bolivia, hellah Perah. We cross over without incident, and head up into the hills and Cusco.
Cusco is STUNNING. Loki Cusco is also easily the nicest hostel I´ve stayed in. The building itself is really rather beautiful in parts, all high ceilings and exposed beams etc. It´s perched on the side of a comically steep road, which leads down to the markets. First night in Cusco is fairly comprehensively destroyed by karaoke in the bar, the highlight of which is a small cute boy trying his best to sing along to ´I´ve got a feeling´. The next day we head out to explore Cusco, having booked our tickets to Machu Picchu. We find an awesome pub called the Crown serving Thai food, with the best spring rolls I´ve had. Ever. Fact.
Whilst I´m waiting for said spring rolls and Pad Thai to turn up, I nip to the loo. As I´m pulling up my trousers I feel something tickle my leg. I bat at it, thinking it´s my trousers. Then I feel it again, higher up. This time it distinctly moves. I squeak and pull down my trousers AND A MOUSE JUMPS OUT OF THEM. I immediately get hysterical giggles whilst the poor thing desperately runs around by the door, unable to get out. I don´t want to go past it to get out in case it makes a dash for the ol´ travelling trousers again, so end up in comic style standing on the loo seat, until it makes it safely back behind the loo.
Other than the mouse, the food and service was pretty damn good.
After lunch we head to San Pedro market, a huge undercover market stuffed full with meat, fish, fruit, flowers, as well as the requisite llama festooned tourist items. We have the most delicious fresh smoothies, and then wander around buying presents galore. There´s a huge basket stall in the middle - I think of Maman. Back to the hostel, requisite siesta´ing, and then to the bar. Pretty much everyone is planning a huge night, and you can feel the anticipation in the air. I think of Holdsmoore and co. partying the night away at home and miss everyone hugely. It´s Dim´s birthday so we start ordering him the requisite shots. Result: 6ft plus of man dancing on a table whilst yelling ´this is so embarrassing, I´m so embarrassed´. Photo footage of the night is frankly epic. We head out to a safari themed club at oneish and dance the night away. I request Waka Waka in honour of L11 much to the boys´disgust and do my classic wee one dance (hands akimbo, staring at the ceiling smiling to myself).
Today: hungover. Leaving for MP in 20mins. Verrrry excited. & then back here Sunday evening, before racing to Arequipa/Huacachina.
Nearly home time! Love you all.
First thing´s first before I rewind to the end of La Paz - I adore Cusco. Easily my favourite city in South America by far. Unexpectedly beautiful in a European sort of way in the centre, fab food, chilled vibe. MUCH nicer than smelly old gloomy La Paz.
So, with one last big night out, marred by a terrible terrible steak in the Steak House DO NOT GO THERE IT´S RUBBISH, but improved somewhat by venturing out to the closest thing Bolivia has to a club (Mango´s? Mungo´s?) I hopped on the bus with the 5 strapping Aussie boys (whaaaaat....innocent face, wide eyes) - Dim, James, Nick (aka Mick Burquez, fastest gun in the West), Jarrad (aka Harald according to most bemused South Americans who can´t of course pronounce the J correctly) and Marlon to Copacabana. We arrive at the side of Lake Titicaca, and disembark the bus, to watch it float gently across in what looks like a large shoebox to the other side. Back on the bus, and up into the hills. Once again just when I think I´ve seen every bit of landscape Bolivia has to over, she pulls it out of the bag again. Lake T is a stunning Mediterranean shade of blue, the hills rising rocky and scrubby around her. The similarity to the coast on the South of France is heightened by the smell of the trees - no idea what they are but they smell the exact same.
We arrive in Copacabana to be collected by our hotel (niiice). The boys can barely fit into the little tin van that appears - once more the wee one wins, plenty of leg room. Take that, all ye giants. Hotel Utama is hilarious - novel choice of paint combinations, plastic corrugated roof, and once more the eiderdowns excel. Winning element is the hat used as a lampshade in the bedroom. On the upside they do offer free bananas. The boys fall on these, I don´t. This turns out to be an error...
We head down to the beach to catch the boat to Isla del Sol, birthplace of the Inca´s. Initially pleased with our choice of rooftop perch on board, we rapidly become cold, and the alpaca jumpers have to come out to play. Beautifully sunny tho, so I manage to burn my kneecaps. Turns out that the boat takes an hour and half to get to the island. Whilst the scenery around us is beautiful, we all rapidly become obsessed with the thought of food. This is not aided by exchanging tales of the best places to eat in Adelaide/London. I seriously have never heard anyone talk about food as much as these boys. I take note that kangaroo is delicious.
Get to Isla del Sol, and race to get food. Turns out that we only have an hour on the island, so by the time we´ve eaten chips with bits of sausage on them, and pizza that is rated in someone´s bottom three pizzas they´ve ever eaten (cue a run down of ALL pizza eaten on the trip by the boys, including toppings. Dear lord) we only have time to go and stand on the steps leading to the rest of the island before getting back on the boat. Saw lots of donkeys tho´. Didn´t go near them Mummy, don´t worry..... We all snooze downstairs in the boat on the way home, lulled by the waves and the, well, gentle pace of the boat. Hotel, more siestas, and then FOOD. We find an epic place that does tasty Mexican food. The boys order impressive quantities of food, polish most of it off and then package the rest up for breakfast. Brennan & Dr House leap to mind...
Following morning sees us head to Puno, and the border with Peru. Bye bye my beloved Bolivia, hellah Perah. We cross over without incident, and head up into the hills and Cusco.
Cusco is STUNNING. Loki Cusco is also easily the nicest hostel I´ve stayed in. The building itself is really rather beautiful in parts, all high ceilings and exposed beams etc. It´s perched on the side of a comically steep road, which leads down to the markets. First night in Cusco is fairly comprehensively destroyed by karaoke in the bar, the highlight of which is a small cute boy trying his best to sing along to ´I´ve got a feeling´. The next day we head out to explore Cusco, having booked our tickets to Machu Picchu. We find an awesome pub called the Crown serving Thai food, with the best spring rolls I´ve had. Ever. Fact.
Whilst I´m waiting for said spring rolls and Pad Thai to turn up, I nip to the loo. As I´m pulling up my trousers I feel something tickle my leg. I bat at it, thinking it´s my trousers. Then I feel it again, higher up. This time it distinctly moves. I squeak and pull down my trousers AND A MOUSE JUMPS OUT OF THEM. I immediately get hysterical giggles whilst the poor thing desperately runs around by the door, unable to get out. I don´t want to go past it to get out in case it makes a dash for the ol´ travelling trousers again, so end up in comic style standing on the loo seat, until it makes it safely back behind the loo.
Other than the mouse, the food and service was pretty damn good.
After lunch we head to San Pedro market, a huge undercover market stuffed full with meat, fish, fruit, flowers, as well as the requisite llama festooned tourist items. We have the most delicious fresh smoothies, and then wander around buying presents galore. There´s a huge basket stall in the middle - I think of Maman. Back to the hostel, requisite siesta´ing, and then to the bar. Pretty much everyone is planning a huge night, and you can feel the anticipation in the air. I think of Holdsmoore and co. partying the night away at home and miss everyone hugely. It´s Dim´s birthday so we start ordering him the requisite shots. Result: 6ft plus of man dancing on a table whilst yelling ´this is so embarrassing, I´m so embarrassed´. Photo footage of the night is frankly epic. We head out to a safari themed club at oneish and dance the night away. I request Waka Waka in honour of L11 much to the boys´disgust and do my classic wee one dance (hands akimbo, staring at the ceiling smiling to myself).
Today: hungover. Leaving for MP in 20mins. Verrrry excited. & then back here Sunday evening, before racing to Arequipa/Huacachina.
Nearly home time! Love you all.
Monday, 13 December 2010
Christmas is coming....
Wild Rover has put up decorations at long last- there´s a plastic tree with spangly lights in the foyer. Am disproportionately excited about this, and also missing all the festive fun at home.
Have had a very chilled out couple of days in La Paz mostly featuring sleep. Totally getting how people end up getting stuck here for weeks on end - sadly my schedule doesn´t permit this. Am tagging along with some Aussie boys to Lake Titicaca on Weds eve, then up to Cusco and Macchu Pichu, before a bit of sand dune fun (the boys have turned up their nose at this concept. Seemingly sand dunes are pretty common down under).
The night life here is awesome - Wild Rover v.keen on handing out free shots etc. General gist is to prop up the bar til about 1.30 and then head out. Post bar locations have been somewhat hit and miss. Saturday night took us to the Blue House, where there were no less than 3 black outs before we eventually gave it up and went home, despite the efforts of the bar staff to keep us there by bribing us with jelly shots. Last night was pub quiz night - definitely a set up as we didn´t win despite being a frankly powerful team. Got incredibly overexcited when asked during the sporting round ´Which race takes place annually between Putney and Mortlake´- tis a pretty rare occurrence for me to contribute to sports trivia. Carefully wrote down answer with ´filthy tabs´in brackets next to Cambridge. Out after that to Musick (the boys swearing that we were just going to have 1 drink.....) which was diabolical and totally empty. Ended up going to Room 36 instead. Tis a club that has to move around all the time as they set it up in a house and eventually the neighbours get hacked off and complain. All very secretive. Ceiling roofed with egg cartons, and lots of Christmas fairy lights everywhere. Twas awesome.
Have had a very chilled out couple of days in La Paz mostly featuring sleep. Totally getting how people end up getting stuck here for weeks on end - sadly my schedule doesn´t permit this. Am tagging along with some Aussie boys to Lake Titicaca on Weds eve, then up to Cusco and Macchu Pichu, before a bit of sand dune fun (the boys have turned up their nose at this concept. Seemingly sand dunes are pretty common down under).
The night life here is awesome - Wild Rover v.keen on handing out free shots etc. General gist is to prop up the bar til about 1.30 and then head out. Post bar locations have been somewhat hit and miss. Saturday night took us to the Blue House, where there were no less than 3 black outs before we eventually gave it up and went home, despite the efforts of the bar staff to keep us there by bribing us with jelly shots. Last night was pub quiz night - definitely a set up as we didn´t win despite being a frankly powerful team. Got incredibly overexcited when asked during the sporting round ´Which race takes place annually between Putney and Mortlake´- tis a pretty rare occurrence for me to contribute to sports trivia. Carefully wrote down answer with ´filthy tabs´in brackets next to Cambridge. Out after that to Musick (the boys swearing that we were just going to have 1 drink.....) which was diabolical and totally empty. Ended up going to Room 36 instead. Tis a club that has to move around all the time as they set it up in a house and eventually the neighbours get hacked off and complain. All very secretive. Ceiling roofed with egg cartons, and lots of Christmas fairy lights everywhere. Twas awesome.
Saturday, 11 December 2010
Two trilbies, a marriage, and Barbie goes down. All taken with a pinch of salt...
Riiiight, I´ve now been on the computer for an hour updating. So someone had better read this.
Tour of the salt flats begins with all of us comprehensively hungover. We meet our tour guide, Victor, and the newest member of Team Llamaf*ckers, Brandon, both of whom turn out to be totally legendary.
Yet more snacks to hand (Pringles esp. popular), we pull out of Uyuni. Stop 1: the train graveyard. We take one look and decide en masse that this is phenomenally dull. We get Victor to drive on immediately. He clearly thinks we´re Philistines. However, Lee then spots a cow, and lets out a moo. Victor promptly gets the giggles, and thus we crack how to please Victor. Whenever he gets miffed with us for taking too long taking pics / being late for breakfast (sign of displeasure = pan pipe music at full volume) we get Lee to make an animal noise. Works like a charm.
First stop; a village at the edge of the flats. We munch on llama steaks, buy random items made of salt, and try to chase down a small piglet. Moving swiftly on; the salt flats. Just extraordinary. Huge hexagons of the stuff at our feet. We change into costume and take some frankly spectacular photos, making the most of the whole perspective thingy. We then drive across them til we hit the hills at the side (12000 km, I think Victor said they were in size - spread as far as the eye can see at one point but for hills shimmering as tho´they are floating islands on the very horizon) and our salt hotel. Hotel is a bit of a stretch. The electricity comes on at 7 and goes off at 10, and tho´there are apparently showers I don´t manage to find one. Loo flushes tho. Bonus. We all watch Hot Rod on Lee´s laptop tucked up beneath teh comically naff bedspreads (big hearts and ´with love forever and always´printed on them) before bed, accompanied by some terrible/hilarious jokes from the boys. Y and I have a separate ´room´ but it´s just partitioned off, which gives us access to said jokes.
My favourites:
´Who is the most popular man in the hospital?´
´The ultra sound man´
`When the ultra sound guy isn´t there, who´s the most popular?´
´The hip replacement man´
BOOM (10 points Curley)
Following morning we´re up at 6.30, supposedly. Late departure = 30 mins of pan pipes until we beg for some i-poddage. Some incredible sights today: 4 lagoons in total, all populated by flamingos, and some stunning rocks. It´s pretty hard to explain how mindblowing it is without the photos, but I think some of them, especially the beloved panoramic ones, do it justice. Everyone is on a high, wowwed by the scenery, and (personally speaking) overwhelmed by the beauty of it all. We get to our hotel (even more basic) at about 4, and head out into the driving wind, blithely ignoring the signs to not walk on the lagoon (it´s all crusty in parts). Bolivian wine to hand we run about taking some of the best pics yet, before heading back to a very raucous pasta supper. Dub step Silent Night anyone? Thought not. Ylonah and I give into vanity and wash our hair, with skull numbing consequences. Ow.
Final wake up call is 5am, plus pancakes and yoghurt. Hot springs take the edge off the hangover, and we take in geysers and the green lagoon, before turning the jeep around and heading back to Uyuni. By the time we´re back we´re dusty and exhausted. I still don´t really want to get out of the car tho´. The whole experience was just immense. The way the landscape changes so comprehensively is quite extraordinary. I love just how wild the place is, bumpy tracks carving at random through the desert, mountains rising and falling around us, huge lagoons appearing before our eyes.
Bolivia - te quiero.
Tour of the salt flats begins with all of us comprehensively hungover. We meet our tour guide, Victor, and the newest member of Team Llamaf*ckers, Brandon, both of whom turn out to be totally legendary.
Yet more snacks to hand (Pringles esp. popular), we pull out of Uyuni. Stop 1: the train graveyard. We take one look and decide en masse that this is phenomenally dull. We get Victor to drive on immediately. He clearly thinks we´re Philistines. However, Lee then spots a cow, and lets out a moo. Victor promptly gets the giggles, and thus we crack how to please Victor. Whenever he gets miffed with us for taking too long taking pics / being late for breakfast (sign of displeasure = pan pipe music at full volume) we get Lee to make an animal noise. Works like a charm.
First stop; a village at the edge of the flats. We munch on llama steaks, buy random items made of salt, and try to chase down a small piglet. Moving swiftly on; the salt flats. Just extraordinary. Huge hexagons of the stuff at our feet. We change into costume and take some frankly spectacular photos, making the most of the whole perspective thingy. We then drive across them til we hit the hills at the side (12000 km, I think Victor said they were in size - spread as far as the eye can see at one point but for hills shimmering as tho´they are floating islands on the very horizon) and our salt hotel. Hotel is a bit of a stretch. The electricity comes on at 7 and goes off at 10, and tho´there are apparently showers I don´t manage to find one. Loo flushes tho. Bonus. We all watch Hot Rod on Lee´s laptop tucked up beneath teh comically naff bedspreads (big hearts and ´with love forever and always´printed on them) before bed, accompanied by some terrible/hilarious jokes from the boys. Y and I have a separate ´room´ but it´s just partitioned off, which gives us access to said jokes.
My favourites:
´Who is the most popular man in the hospital?´
´The ultra sound man´
`When the ultra sound guy isn´t there, who´s the most popular?´
´The hip replacement man´
BOOM (10 points Curley)
Following morning we´re up at 6.30, supposedly. Late departure = 30 mins of pan pipes until we beg for some i-poddage. Some incredible sights today: 4 lagoons in total, all populated by flamingos, and some stunning rocks. It´s pretty hard to explain how mindblowing it is without the photos, but I think some of them, especially the beloved panoramic ones, do it justice. Everyone is on a high, wowwed by the scenery, and (personally speaking) overwhelmed by the beauty of it all. We get to our hotel (even more basic) at about 4, and head out into the driving wind, blithely ignoring the signs to not walk on the lagoon (it´s all crusty in parts). Bolivian wine to hand we run about taking some of the best pics yet, before heading back to a very raucous pasta supper. Dub step Silent Night anyone? Thought not. Ylonah and I give into vanity and wash our hair, with skull numbing consequences. Ow.
Final wake up call is 5am, plus pancakes and yoghurt. Hot springs take the edge off the hangover, and we take in geysers and the green lagoon, before turning the jeep around and heading back to Uyuni. By the time we´re back we´re dusty and exhausted. I still don´t really want to get out of the car tho´. The whole experience was just immense. The way the landscape changes so comprehensively is quite extraordinary. I love just how wild the place is, bumpy tracks carving at random through the desert, mountains rising and falling around us, huge lagoons appearing before our eyes.
Bolivia - te quiero.
...that´s what she said / I NEED TO GO TO MY QUIET PLACE / Abrgasaabibbobbibidoo?
Can´t believe it´s been nearly a week since I left La Paz first time round, in the company of Ylonah, Lee, Dave and Fordey. The boys were too hammered to remember meeting me first time round, but seemed happy enough with Ylonah´s invitation to join them. Headed to the bus stop ticketless (the others having booked theirs) in hope of finding a spot on one bus or other, the hostel having told us the bus the others were on was now booked out. Tramped around the bus stop, no luck. That is til we got back to the first bus where we managed to negotiate a first refusal on the bus. Or so we thought. Tramp outside, man in yellow jacket seemingly recognises me as the girl wanting the bus ticket. After the others troop on he waves me in, and proudly leads me to the back of the bus, before standing aside to let me see my throne. A small wooden stool with a blanket on it. I giggle nervously, but it turns out not to be a joke. Everyone takes pity on me (having first taken the piss, and lots of pics) and lends me their blankets. I hunker down on the floor with a diazepam. Ironically not the most uncomfortable of journeys. Was even warm as I was sleeping on some form of pipe. God I love being an optimist sometimes. Also strike 1 for midgetty me - I just about fitted, which is why I think I was offered the spot...
We arrived bleary eyed in Potosi at about 5am and headed to the Koala Hostel to book our tour of the mine at 8.30 am, and eat Pringles and watch TV snuggled under blankets up til then. Did not want to leave. First stop on the tour was to get changed. Looked more dwarflike than ever in voluminous overalls. All handed bandanas (much needed later), plus helmets and torches. Our guide Diego (¨like Maradona, you know him?¨) asks us what we want our team name to be. Lee promptly selects various unmentionable words (siblings, think the Judy Muirhead / fringe episode last summer...) - our guide giggles uproariously, obviously getting the drift, and names us ´Team Llamaf*ckers´. Next stop: miners market, where we sample and then buy various gifts for the miners, including coca leaves, cigs, squash and dynamite. Plus the alcohol, a nice 96% proof. We follow Diego´s lead, pouring a bit on the floor and asking Pacha Mama and Tio (the devil inside the mines that they worship) to protect us in the mines before quaffing the rest. Tastes like paint stripper.
Quick empanada from the market (potato, one of the best yet) and we head up to the mines. The land around is bleak - bright red rubble piled high into peaks around us. When we leave that night we see the mountain the mine is beneath picked out in lights along its perimeter. Into the mine we go, and it´s immediately pretty low overhead. Yours truly soon realises that midgetty nature is again a plus and that I don´t have to bend down much. Except that sometimes I do, so I manage to clonk my head a few times by staring at the floor. It quickly becomes dusty and at points we´re on our hands and knees. We scrabble our way down 60m below the earth via some fairly hairaising ladders, holes, piles of rock etc. We stop and chat to miners, and Diego explains in detail how the mine works. The miners are pretty upset at the moment post the Chile incident, and the hats we are wearing have a form of protest on them: a Chilean flag with 33 (deaths) next to it on one side, and a Bolivian one with 10,000 on the other. We get the impression that the Bolivian president trotting over to Chile to offer an effusive welcome to the survivor in the Chilean mines rankled somewhat. Diego tells us some pretty sobering stories about young boys coming into the mines on their school holidays - 3 died last holiday wandering unknowingly into an area filled with noxious gases. No presidential benediction for their souls, then. A cover up instead.
By the time we start to head out of the mine we´re all feeling pretty rough - I´ve lost my voice completely, we´ve all finished our water and we´re filthy from crawling on our hands a knees. Then comes a frankly terrifying climb - the steepest yet, and it´s sandy rather than rocky so there´s very little to hold on. I can´t see because my hat is tipping over my nose and I need to look at what´s directly in front of me. To my left and right are huge cavernous holes. If any of us had fallen that would have been it. I didn´t freak out purely because I knew if I did then I would freeze and panic totally, so I just forced my way up through the dust. Think maybe rock climbing could be for me tho - if I could see what I was doing would have been fun.
A quick look at the Tio shrine (creepy) and we´re practically running to get out of there into the fresh air. Definitely a once only experience- how those men do it is quite literally beyond me.
Out in the air we all regain our sense of humour. The boys have brought with them a Santa to blow up (cheapo nylon material). Diego unwraps two sticks of dynamite, squishes them together, and ties them to Santa. A fuse is lit, and we all take turns holding said Santa (!) before they run off to plant it down the hill along with two other sticks the other groups have brought. First explosion goes off and we think its Santa, until there´s an almighty BANG and a huge cloud of dust. That would be ours then....
A quick look in the refining factory, and we´re all swiped with liquid silver, before heading back to the town for lunch. We go for a set menu which is a bit hit and miss but worth the experience, and then collect vast quantities of snackerage before heading for the TV pre-bus to Uyuni.
Bus that evening is meant to take 6 hours, getting us to Uyuni at 1am. Only it breaks down, of course. Much hammering ensues (all way round bus? Hmmm) and then a bump start down the hill, but we break down again about 1/2 an hour later. Eventually rescued at about 4am, we roll into Uyuni that morning. Saved a night´s accommodation technically but we´re so knackered that we check into a hotel. YES - a room to MYSELF! For 50 bolivianos (5 quid). Happily spread my stuff everrrywhere and then conk out with book.
We find our tour guide of choice and then head at my insistence to Minuteman pizza. Delicious Bolivian wine (who knew?) and llama pizza = happy little one. Ylonah and I head back to put make up on for the raving night spot that is Extreme Fun Pub (yes that really is its name) only to discover it to be empty but for our boys who look at us suspiciously (we look different when clean) and some Bolivian men who tell us we are beautiful. Some soldiers come in later and make us roses out of napkins. Latin lovers, etc. Definitely know how to impress. We then make the mistake of playing a roulette shot drinking name. The night descends into chaos, all captured by yours truly, and will hopefully make its way to a Facebook profile near you soon. When I have faster internet that is.
We arrived bleary eyed in Potosi at about 5am and headed to the Koala Hostel to book our tour of the mine at 8.30 am, and eat Pringles and watch TV snuggled under blankets up til then. Did not want to leave. First stop on the tour was to get changed. Looked more dwarflike than ever in voluminous overalls. All handed bandanas (much needed later), plus helmets and torches. Our guide Diego (¨like Maradona, you know him?¨) asks us what we want our team name to be. Lee promptly selects various unmentionable words (siblings, think the Judy Muirhead / fringe episode last summer...) - our guide giggles uproariously, obviously getting the drift, and names us ´Team Llamaf*ckers´. Next stop: miners market, where we sample and then buy various gifts for the miners, including coca leaves, cigs, squash and dynamite. Plus the alcohol, a nice 96% proof. We follow Diego´s lead, pouring a bit on the floor and asking Pacha Mama and Tio (the devil inside the mines that they worship) to protect us in the mines before quaffing the rest. Tastes like paint stripper.
Quick empanada from the market (potato, one of the best yet) and we head up to the mines. The land around is bleak - bright red rubble piled high into peaks around us. When we leave that night we see the mountain the mine is beneath picked out in lights along its perimeter. Into the mine we go, and it´s immediately pretty low overhead. Yours truly soon realises that midgetty nature is again a plus and that I don´t have to bend down much. Except that sometimes I do, so I manage to clonk my head a few times by staring at the floor. It quickly becomes dusty and at points we´re on our hands and knees. We scrabble our way down 60m below the earth via some fairly hairaising ladders, holes, piles of rock etc. We stop and chat to miners, and Diego explains in detail how the mine works. The miners are pretty upset at the moment post the Chile incident, and the hats we are wearing have a form of protest on them: a Chilean flag with 33 (deaths) next to it on one side, and a Bolivian one with 10,000 on the other. We get the impression that the Bolivian president trotting over to Chile to offer an effusive welcome to the survivor in the Chilean mines rankled somewhat. Diego tells us some pretty sobering stories about young boys coming into the mines on their school holidays - 3 died last holiday wandering unknowingly into an area filled with noxious gases. No presidential benediction for their souls, then. A cover up instead.
By the time we start to head out of the mine we´re all feeling pretty rough - I´ve lost my voice completely, we´ve all finished our water and we´re filthy from crawling on our hands a knees. Then comes a frankly terrifying climb - the steepest yet, and it´s sandy rather than rocky so there´s very little to hold on. I can´t see because my hat is tipping over my nose and I need to look at what´s directly in front of me. To my left and right are huge cavernous holes. If any of us had fallen that would have been it. I didn´t freak out purely because I knew if I did then I would freeze and panic totally, so I just forced my way up through the dust. Think maybe rock climbing could be for me tho - if I could see what I was doing would have been fun.
A quick look at the Tio shrine (creepy) and we´re practically running to get out of there into the fresh air. Definitely a once only experience- how those men do it is quite literally beyond me.
Out in the air we all regain our sense of humour. The boys have brought with them a Santa to blow up (cheapo nylon material). Diego unwraps two sticks of dynamite, squishes them together, and ties them to Santa. A fuse is lit, and we all take turns holding said Santa (!) before they run off to plant it down the hill along with two other sticks the other groups have brought. First explosion goes off and we think its Santa, until there´s an almighty BANG and a huge cloud of dust. That would be ours then....
A quick look in the refining factory, and we´re all swiped with liquid silver, before heading back to the town for lunch. We go for a set menu which is a bit hit and miss but worth the experience, and then collect vast quantities of snackerage before heading for the TV pre-bus to Uyuni.
Bus that evening is meant to take 6 hours, getting us to Uyuni at 1am. Only it breaks down, of course. Much hammering ensues (all way round bus? Hmmm) and then a bump start down the hill, but we break down again about 1/2 an hour later. Eventually rescued at about 4am, we roll into Uyuni that morning. Saved a night´s accommodation technically but we´re so knackered that we check into a hotel. YES - a room to MYSELF! For 50 bolivianos (5 quid). Happily spread my stuff everrrywhere and then conk out with book.
We find our tour guide of choice and then head at my insistence to Minuteman pizza. Delicious Bolivian wine (who knew?) and llama pizza = happy little one. Ylonah and I head back to put make up on for the raving night spot that is Extreme Fun Pub (yes that really is its name) only to discover it to be empty but for our boys who look at us suspiciously (we look different when clean) and some Bolivian men who tell us we are beautiful. Some soldiers come in later and make us roses out of napkins. Latin lovers, etc. Definitely know how to impress. We then make the mistake of playing a roulette shot drinking name. The night descends into chaos, all captured by yours truly, and will hopefully make its way to a Facebook profile near you soon. When I have faster internet that is.
Sunday, 5 December 2010
Imprisoned...
Scratch my last comment, update courtesy of email to the parentals as follows -
I arrived in La Paz last night, absolutely exhausted post long trip up from BA, 30 hours to the border with Bolivia, then another 18 to get to La Paz. Also got altitude sickness at the border (think not eating much in 48 hrs didn´t help, poss dehydrated too) so nearly fainted in the queue for immigration. Luckily there was a group of Aussies who very sweetly gave me a cereal bar and some water whilst I crouched down to stop my head spinning. Made it up to the bus stop with a nice dog following me all the day - he even stopped and lay down outside the bank whilst I got money, then lay in front of my bags (which was good guarding so meant I could rummage around for plasters as also tripped on my knees - looked like doofus before, now have traveller gap yah trousers so look like different sort of doofus). The dog didn´t want to be fed or patted or anything, so I like to think he could sense my nervousness and was a sort of benign spirit to protect me til I felt better. I know, I know, sad. Was definitely my scariest moment so far, had not banked on feeling ill all on my lonesome. Pretty much passed out when I got here and slept loads, so feel miles better today.
Have had a good day here - went to witches market which was a bit of a let down - I had misinterpreted foetuses as being pickled babies in jars. Turns out they´re shrivelled baby llamas instead. Perfect present for the errant youf for Christmas. Have also bought llama festooned hat, gloves and socks for the salt flats as apparently freeeezing there, all for about 1.50 each. Starting to really get into this Gap Yah tragedy role now.
Also....went to San Pedro prison today - RIGHT INSIDE. You pay 400 bolivianos (40 quid) and then they take you in. You write down your passport no and name and then they write a number on your arm (in case you disappear and are never seen again). The prisoners take you round - our guide was a Dutchman, Sebastian, in there for 15 yrs for smuggling, and our guard was a Bolivian murderer, Victor, (v.old tho, was not convinced he´d be v.good at guarding if put to test). We even got to take a few pics but obviously can´t put them up or anything - otherwise they get shut down, also (probably for that reason) we were mostly only allowed to take nondescript pictures of the roof. Did get one of the Dead Man´s Alley where 10 people were killed in 1997. We were shown all round the different blocks, 7 of them, all with internal rules. You have to buy or rent a room, and lots of people have families in there. They have restaurants, a pool room, all sorts of entertainment stuff. It´s basically a mini economy in itself. At one point he took us up on the roof and a friend called across to him - said friend busted smuggling kilos and kilos of cocaine across border. There is a book about the prison called ´Marching Powder´ which am dying to read when I get back. Weirdly felt safe in there - people do stare at you but they´re not allowed to talk to the tourists, as obviously if something went wrong or people said it was dangerous the whole thing would be shut down, and they make quite a bit from it, in terms of fee to get in, plus tip, plus friendship bracelets etc sold on way round. One guy said to us ´hey baby how are you?´and our guide went ballistic, telling him to back off and that he can´t speak to us etc. The whole place is hugely overcrowded too, 1,700 prisoners plus family bringing it up to 2,500 and about 3,000 on wk ends with visitors..
Whole experience = extraordinary. Adrenaline plus general high altitude = I was buzzing by the time I got out!
Have realised that most of editing from email to parents involved removing exclamation marks I´d put in to make everything sound light hearted and tooootally safe. Ha.
I arrived in La Paz last night, absolutely exhausted post long trip up from BA, 30 hours to the border with Bolivia, then another 18 to get to La Paz. Also got altitude sickness at the border (think not eating much in 48 hrs didn´t help, poss dehydrated too) so nearly fainted in the queue for immigration. Luckily there was a group of Aussies who very sweetly gave me a cereal bar and some water whilst I crouched down to stop my head spinning. Made it up to the bus stop with a nice dog following me all the day - he even stopped and lay down outside the bank whilst I got money, then lay in front of my bags (which was good guarding so meant I could rummage around for plasters as also tripped on my knees - looked like doofus before, now have traveller gap yah trousers so look like different sort of doofus). The dog didn´t want to be fed or patted or anything, so I like to think he could sense my nervousness and was a sort of benign spirit to protect me til I felt better. I know, I know, sad. Was definitely my scariest moment so far, had not banked on feeling ill all on my lonesome. Pretty much passed out when I got here and slept loads, so feel miles better today.
Have had a good day here - went to witches market which was a bit of a let down - I had misinterpreted foetuses as being pickled babies in jars. Turns out they´re shrivelled baby llamas instead. Perfect present for the errant youf for Christmas. Have also bought llama festooned hat, gloves and socks for the salt flats as apparently freeeezing there, all for about 1.50 each. Starting to really get into this Gap Yah tragedy role now.
Also....went to San Pedro prison today - RIGHT INSIDE. You pay 400 bolivianos (40 quid) and then they take you in. You write down your passport no and name and then they write a number on your arm (in case you disappear and are never seen again). The prisoners take you round - our guide was a Dutchman, Sebastian, in there for 15 yrs for smuggling, and our guard was a Bolivian murderer, Victor, (v.old tho, was not convinced he´d be v.good at guarding if put to test). We even got to take a few pics but obviously can´t put them up or anything - otherwise they get shut down, also (probably for that reason) we were mostly only allowed to take nondescript pictures of the roof. Did get one of the Dead Man´s Alley where 10 people were killed in 1997. We were shown all round the different blocks, 7 of them, all with internal rules. You have to buy or rent a room, and lots of people have families in there. They have restaurants, a pool room, all sorts of entertainment stuff. It´s basically a mini economy in itself. At one point he took us up on the roof and a friend called across to him - said friend busted smuggling kilos and kilos of cocaine across border. There is a book about the prison called ´Marching Powder´ which am dying to read when I get back. Weirdly felt safe in there - people do stare at you but they´re not allowed to talk to the tourists, as obviously if something went wrong or people said it was dangerous the whole thing would be shut down, and they make quite a bit from it, in terms of fee to get in, plus tip, plus friendship bracelets etc sold on way round. One guy said to us ´hey baby how are you?´and our guide went ballistic, telling him to back off and that he can´t speak to us etc. The whole place is hugely overcrowded too, 1,700 prisoners plus family bringing it up to 2,500 and about 3,000 on wk ends with visitors..
Whole experience = extraordinary. Adrenaline plus general high altitude = I was buzzing by the time I got out!
Have realised that most of editing from email to parents involved removing exclamation marks I´d put in to make everything sound light hearted and tooootally safe. Ha.
Don´t cry for me Argentina (tho´ technically now in La Paz)
So before I forget it all, end of Buenos Aires. I´ll admit it, I did sort of fall in love with BA, despite the rough start. Reassuringly european in style, some beautiful buildings, and that certain vibrancy people try to describe about places that´s difficult to understand unless you´ve been there. I definitely intend to go back before I´m too old to enjoy Milhouse Avenue, and use it as my starting point en route to the penguins in the south.
After about 2 days in BA, we´d got our days down pat. Hit breakfast if possible by 10.30, amble out of the hostel by midday. Pick a district, roam around til our legs hurt, then head back for siesssta time. All walking accompanied by extensive discussion of home celebridee gossip. At last! Someone to discuss Wagner/Cher with! We also try to explain to the Aussie girls the wondrousness that is the iconic Cheryl Cole. The girls remain confused. We tell them to watch *that* documentary. Grab some supper around 9ish, hit the bar around 11. Repeat. Ad nauseam (quite literally, for some...!)
The night post trip to the Boca district was arguably the Wolf Pack´s finest. Purchase of 17 peso illicit contraband vodka fuelled a lengthy preparation session. Hairdryer AND hairstraighteners, music blaring, almost the best part of the night. We head down to the bar and tuck into the extended happy hour drinks. Iguana Skin a firm favourite by now (by the way if I´m repeating myself I´m sorry, can´t remember what I´ve written before), closely followed by the Long Island Ice Tea if one only feels like spending 10 pesos on an entire night´s alcohol consumption. The bar obligingly plays the Flo Rida / club can´t handle us song. I obligingly flail around grinning at the ceiling and thinking of everyone at home. Not moronic looking in the slightest. I swear. We then head to a nearby club and dance until about 4. The heels finally are worth the packing. HA!
The following day the entire hostel is subdued, everyone hungover en masse it appears. We go to the botanical gardens (distressingly banned from lying in the grass. Stone benches just don´t aid hangover recovery the same way lying horizontally does) which are as beyootiful as expected, and then on to the Evita museum. Highlight of the day at this point the sandwich shop we discover just round the corner, selling thin white bread sandwiches (crusts cut off Daddy) with ham and tomato layered between them. Mmmmm.
Museum is an education. I had no idea how much Evita did for Argentina, and finally get why she´s an icon. From what I remember of the movie, her extensive works for the poor aren´t really enlarged upon much. Or maybe I was concentrating too hard on Antonio Banderas. The museum itself is a blissfully cool quiet building, scented with rose petals (deliberately?). There are numerous relics from Evita´s life. Favourites include the childhood pics of her and siblings dressed as clowns and looking unimpressed by the whole thing, her stunning, stunning dresses (we all fall in love with a high necked long sleeved black jersey one that falls into an enormous circular train) and the footage of the children in the orphanages she helped set up. The closing video and accompanying voiceover from her sister is dignified but incredibly moving. She describes the mutilated state of Evita´s body when returned to her family, saying finally that she believes were Evita alive, she´d simply say "Forgive them, for they know not what they do".
On then, to Palermo to hunt round the boutiques. Some frankly hideous outfits (man made fibres are popular round here) in large quantities, by the end of which we´re all flagging. We head back by the Metro to the Avenida de Mayo. We get out in a rainstorm and run all the way home.
Supper that night is steak - sadly we are thwarted in our attempts to reach La Cabrera and steak-nirvana and settle instead for a steak house round the corner. The food once again is delicious, but the ambience somewhat heavy and subdued, the restaurant empty. We try not to notice the buzz around La Cabrera when we walk back past.
So, onto the last day in BA. Mostly spent chilling with girls, looking for Christmas presents for Clara/Eimear, and, um, eating empanadas. But of course. Waving a fond farewell to the girlies I then head up to my room to siesta, before meeting the Laconic Frenchman in the evening for drinks. Dancing at Milhouse Avenue ensues, a fitting end to my stay in BA.
So - La Paz. Well, other than the painful bus journey here I haven´t written much down yet. Will do that now in the diary and then relay. Tonight, on to Potosi and then Uyuni and the salt flats, hopefully a highlight of my trip.
After about 2 days in BA, we´d got our days down pat. Hit breakfast if possible by 10.30, amble out of the hostel by midday. Pick a district, roam around til our legs hurt, then head back for siesssta time. All walking accompanied by extensive discussion of home celebridee gossip. At last! Someone to discuss Wagner/Cher with! We also try to explain to the Aussie girls the wondrousness that is the iconic Cheryl Cole. The girls remain confused. We tell them to watch *that* documentary. Grab some supper around 9ish, hit the bar around 11. Repeat. Ad nauseam (quite literally, for some...!)
The night post trip to the Boca district was arguably the Wolf Pack´s finest. Purchase of 17 peso illicit contraband vodka fuelled a lengthy preparation session. Hairdryer AND hairstraighteners, music blaring, almost the best part of the night. We head down to the bar and tuck into the extended happy hour drinks. Iguana Skin a firm favourite by now (by the way if I´m repeating myself I´m sorry, can´t remember what I´ve written before), closely followed by the Long Island Ice Tea if one only feels like spending 10 pesos on an entire night´s alcohol consumption. The bar obligingly plays the Flo Rida / club can´t handle us song. I obligingly flail around grinning at the ceiling and thinking of everyone at home. Not moronic looking in the slightest. I swear. We then head to a nearby club and dance until about 4. The heels finally are worth the packing. HA!
The following day the entire hostel is subdued, everyone hungover en masse it appears. We go to the botanical gardens (distressingly banned from lying in the grass. Stone benches just don´t aid hangover recovery the same way lying horizontally does) which are as beyootiful as expected, and then on to the Evita museum. Highlight of the day at this point the sandwich shop we discover just round the corner, selling thin white bread sandwiches (crusts cut off Daddy) with ham and tomato layered between them. Mmmmm.
Museum is an education. I had no idea how much Evita did for Argentina, and finally get why she´s an icon. From what I remember of the movie, her extensive works for the poor aren´t really enlarged upon much. Or maybe I was concentrating too hard on Antonio Banderas. The museum itself is a blissfully cool quiet building, scented with rose petals (deliberately?). There are numerous relics from Evita´s life. Favourites include the childhood pics of her and siblings dressed as clowns and looking unimpressed by the whole thing, her stunning, stunning dresses (we all fall in love with a high necked long sleeved black jersey one that falls into an enormous circular train) and the footage of the children in the orphanages she helped set up. The closing video and accompanying voiceover from her sister is dignified but incredibly moving. She describes the mutilated state of Evita´s body when returned to her family, saying finally that she believes were Evita alive, she´d simply say "Forgive them, for they know not what they do".
On then, to Palermo to hunt round the boutiques. Some frankly hideous outfits (man made fibres are popular round here) in large quantities, by the end of which we´re all flagging. We head back by the Metro to the Avenida de Mayo. We get out in a rainstorm and run all the way home.
Supper that night is steak - sadly we are thwarted in our attempts to reach La Cabrera and steak-nirvana and settle instead for a steak house round the corner. The food once again is delicious, but the ambience somewhat heavy and subdued, the restaurant empty. We try not to notice the buzz around La Cabrera when we walk back past.
So, onto the last day in BA. Mostly spent chilling with girls, looking for Christmas presents for Clara/Eimear, and, um, eating empanadas. But of course. Waving a fond farewell to the girlies I then head up to my room to siesta, before meeting the Laconic Frenchman in the evening for drinks. Dancing at Milhouse Avenue ensues, a fitting end to my stay in BA.
So - La Paz. Well, other than the painful bus journey here I haven´t written much down yet. Will do that now in the diary and then relay. Tonight, on to Potosi and then Uyuni and the salt flats, hopefully a highlight of my trip.
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