Monday, 12 October 2009

Salta, yum...

Well i'm clearly writing this from jolly old england, but i'm adamant on recording what i went through because i've been home for a month now and it's already starting to feel like a dream. In conversation i'm terribly wary of turning into the i the ponce who starts all her sentences with 'well...when i was in argentina, haw haw haw" blurgh.

Anyhoo, i left u last at Salta, a smallish colonial town in the north of argy, that's impossible to dislike, probably because the weather's great it's super pretty and they have the best steak and ice cream (not together, obviously) i have ever had!



Came into salta on the bus from atacama, and was seated next to a girl from colorado, who i admit, i judged immediately, becuse she sounded just like one of those loud airhead blonde california girls that the tv loves to stereotype. Since the journey was 10 hours long, i decided to embrace the situation, and got to know her and it turns out i was pretty much wrtong about her in every way. The deciding factors were a. she got the incredibly sexy guy from boston on the bus to say 'paark the caar' for me in a southie accent (sooo hot) and we share the same favourite book... To be honest, if you love the Fountainhead, or the West Wing, ur immediately ok by me. Shallow in an intellectual sort of way really, how ridiculous.

So i spent the first night in Salta schlepping around with liz trying to find a hostel, finally settling for a geriatric residence, where we barely made a dent in the average age of 60+. We escaped immediately for some steak and wine with some girls we met at the bus station. Delish! They were all blonde and the local guys were going nuts for them. Some lads ina 4x4 actually raced round the block and caught up with us again just for a second round of oggling and cat calling, and we got invited to a random party in the burbs of argy... tempting, but...no.

The next day, liz pushed off to BA, and i went looking for another, more age-appropriate hostel, adamant not to succumb to lonely planet hostels and wanting to meet new ppl, i found a random one behind some ominous looking giant doors on a quiet street. I settled in, met lovely aussie couple called Jack and Anisha, who, like most of the couples i'd met travelling, were definitely feeling the strain of a 6 month intensive travel session together. As a couple travelling, you basically experience years worth of relationship stuff in mere months, because of the random situations you constantly find yourself in, robbed, or rained on, tired from a 40 hour bus journey, or constant food poisoning...you have to be a super-couple to not let some of that stuff get you down.

This hostel, is where i first met Jan. The likelihood of Jan reading this blog is pretty low, so i will say, that he was one of the more hyper and therefore irritating ppl on my travels. 19 and full of beans and far too much excitement for every situation, he had a habit of not listening and somehow wearing out your will to live, just by chattering away and being his usual sunny self. Poor jan, or poor us i should say, because Jan was oblivious, and did well with the local ladies, which was so perplexing, the boys got reeally pissed off...

After i had chatted a bit, i went to the kitchen, and guess who should be there, completely by chance, it was Chris, from Bariloche. We'd gone separate ways for 2 or 3 weeks, and yet somehow arrived at the same hostel on the same day. Pretty standard for backpacking coincidence, but it never failed to amaze me. So that was cool, cos i wasn't even sure i'd see him again. And it was nice to have a friendly face.


Chris just being Chris : )

That night was spent drinking a LOT of wine, and i managed to get myself drunk before everyone even went out, and conked out by midnight. Cue much ribbing from Chris. Managed to stay up long enough to chew off new friend Greg's ear on my views on education (sorry greg) i was a teensy bit out of order that night (i think they bring it out in me)


Afore-mentioned Canyony Mountainy Things

Surprisingly the next day, Chris Greg and 19 year old Sophie, (travelling by herself before uni, i couldn't have done it then i don't think) all rented a car and drove off around the mountains of northern Argy. brilliant daytrip, plus we stopped for some lunch and vino, scrambled up mountains and into canyons, and i got to drive breakneck speed round the mountains, occasionally forgetting i was supposed to be on the right side of the road. oops. Just as i handed the wheel back to Chris, who was the licenced driver, we got pulled over by the police, close shave, and sophie and i used our expert spanish to explain that It was the broken down car in front of us who forced us to break the law. Somehow, they bought it, yey, not before asking me where i was from as usual, and looking like they had solved some interesting mystery, when they heard India. Illumination. By then, Chris was more than used to hearing locals ask me this question, never satisfied when i told them i was english.


Greg Bringing Down the Tone as Usual

We spent a few days in Salta, just enjoying the vibe of the place, then Chris, Greg, Jan (yey) and I, all headed North, across the border at La Quiaca, to the maaaagical land of...Boliiiviaaa...


Border Shenanigans


Sunday, 9 August 2009

Chile!?!

Well i know i said i wasn't going to chile, But from Bariloche i headed to Mendoza, which i realised as i browsed my lonely planet, was just too ridiculously close to chile not to go, just a 10 hour bus ride. The drive through the andes to get to valparaiso is stunning, and that alone was worth heading over there.

I didn't go to santiago, because wiord on the street is, unless u stay with locals while ur there, it's not that great and i already felt pressed for time, so first to valparaiso on the coast, and then up to san pedro de atacama. Valparaiso is an odd town, nested right next to uber glossy vina del mar, another seaside town, it is the grubby sister. And notoriously dangerous. For some reason i stayed in the worst part of town, and felt quite unsafe for the first day. When i finally explored the town properly, and walked for at least an hour away from my hostel, i relaxed, a bit, and saw that it does have some character after all. There is an outdoor art exhibition of sorts, where local artists have grafittied and painted murals all over the houses that are nestled up the hill around the town, but again, still not safe. i met a girl who was very sneakily mugged and other stories of that nature keot reaching me, so i didn't takew so many pics, which is a shame. I keep thinking i should have taken more pics in rio too, but i guess my mental pics will have to do!



I left valparaiso pretty quickly and took a day bus up the coast of chile, which was so attractive and constantly changing. Rocky cliffs to sandy plains, to little shacks on the beaches.
San pedro de Atacama, or sp if u will, is a tiny town of about 12 blocks hewn from sand in the middle of the atacam desert in northern chile. A lot of people go from here up into Bolivai on a 4 day tour to see the salt flats. Knowing how ridunculously freezing at night (it hits -25degs) it would be at that time of year, i decided instaed to see all the marvels of the area surrounding the salt flats as seperate day trips. Good decison. I saw some fabulous things, underground caverns, sand dunes, boiling geysers bursting from the ground, hot springs at freezing o clock in the morning (never taken my clothes of so fast, or put them back on so quickly after either, brrrrrrrrrrrrr) salt lakes and lagoons, desert for miles and a lake so salty, that when u swim in it, u float, because of the hifgh salt concentration, zero gravityesque and quite surreal. Plus my nipples nearly fell off from the cold, jesus. Painful is not the word. But worth it : )



The geysers were so hot, we boiled our eggs and our milk in them for our brekkie!!!


sun rising over the steaming geysers

I was with a good group of people as well, met some lovely quebecois girls and had many mini adventures, including the best hot chocolate i've ever had, and a mild flirtation with a hunky man in the coffee shop who talked to me about dostoevsky, all very refined...just like me...ahem. Oh and did i mention itr was f***in freezing! I built my first fire from scratch (go me!) just so i wouldn't succumb to hypo.

There was a mini adventure in the hostel where an 18yr old english boy was so wasted, he wet himself. I've told this story to others and it seems to be quite common... boys, come on. And the poor europeans and argentinians in his dorm room were horrified, he was standing there, swaying, covered in pee...

And then i left, replete with all the beautiful things i had seen, back to argentina, to my last stop there, Salta, a town near the border of Bolivia, winding all the way back, through the andes...


More Photos:

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=137889&id=222304166&l=8da26936f9

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=137892&id=222304166&l=f4140c6d5d

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=137894&id=222304166&l=0730e573ce

Bbbbbbbbariloche, Bert and dulce de leche!

Bariloche is a swiss german style town in the 'lake district' of southern argentina. Nestled on the shore of one of 7 lakes, if this scenery doesn't blow u away, u are officially dead inside. The hostel we went to (logan and i went together) is in the only block of towers in this lovely town. Built in some phase of madness when for the briefest period, the building laws dictating building hieight were lifted (in the 60s of course), Bariloche's only concrete tower block stands right next to it's quaint little square. Someone has bought up 3 suites of the hostel on the side over looking the lake, and turned it into hostel 1004. It's the best hostel i've stayed in.


view from the hostel lounge


There's no TV for one thing, thank goodness, and there just a feeling of being home, which creates a wonderful atmosphere. Warm rugs and comfy sofas, huge kitchen and big sociable dining tables. And everyone who was there absorbs the vibe and enjoys the mellow style. We sat around drinking and talking, playing cards and listening to this huge argentinian red haired finnish looking rock giant delicately strumming the guitar with a local who always wore a cravat (jealous much, bruce?) We couldn't believe the giant was argentinian it was strange hearing him speak spanish when u expected him to always speak with at least a scottish accent. What a sweetheart.

And then i met chris. Oh christopher. English, soon to be army nutter who loves dulce de leche and hiking up hills with at least 20kg on his back and can eat more than anone i've ever met, he's literally my dustbin. I've had one io pretty much each city. Nils in BA, Toby in Bolivia, Will in Peru, but Chris is far and away the winner.( The most irritating thing, is all these guys are skinny as! Bastards! Clear male-oriented metabolic favouritism, cheers god. Grrrr.) Love him to bits, but absolutely mental. On a similar note, he never took a taxi in south america till he started hanging out with me.What? (I may have gone a bit nuts with the taxis though, cos they're soooo cheap, love it.)

We hired a car one day and 5 of us went driving all around the lakes. I'll be honest, by lake 5 i was pretty much done, but logan and chris took about a million photos, while miriam bert and i chilled out in the car. That's the other thing, chris has an abundant supply of energy...like a 6ft puppy...nutter. So while we lazed in the car, he was running all over the place. Gonna steal his photos on fb :) Miriam is a gorgeous dutch girl, with the cutest accent, the boys must go nuts for her. She tried to teach us this ridiculous dutch card game called tuper (spelling?) which was unecessarily complicated for a wine drinking session, but it trurns out i'm brilliant at it, even though i do not understand the rules at all. Brill. And then there's Bert. Such a character. He's a 40 something liberal catholic bostonian living in san fran, 1 of 11 siblings, pot-smoking, soon-to-be bar owner. He sold his house to pay for his travels, but instaed of selling all his furniture, TV etc, he just put it all out on the porch and put up a sign saying 'free stuff' ...what!?! Damn hippy city : ) PLus, he's taken so much pot, and more i imagine, he finds sitting still for too long quite hard, i think the car ride was quite tough on him, though he kept a constant flow of stories going the whole way. Funny guy.


Bert and Chris...nuff said



: )


I had a brilliant time here, had my first fondue ever (yum), and loved everyone i met. There was a party at the hostel for the mysterious owner who lives in the mountain, and we happened to have a proffesional chef staying at the hostel, travelling with his gf, double yum, and of course there was copious amounts of wine and cheese and limbo, naturally. I really didn't want to leave, but i[d already spent nearly 2 months in argentina at this point, it was getting ridiculous, so off i went, further north, to Mendoza, wine country...

(I must also mention that the skies and sunsets in patagonia and around are unbelieavable. There[s so much fklat land and i guess because we[re so far south, the skies...oh the skies. There's something special about the clouds too, u see feathery flurries draped across the sky and can be so transparent, yet catch the light in unexpected ways. Sunsets can seperate suddenly into blues and pinks and golds. Wow. )



I climbed a glacier!!!

I may have got a teensy bit behind on my blog, ahem... but here i go!

El calafate`s also in patagonia, and looks a lot like how i imagine old west settlements to be. little wood cabins thrown together on wild plains, windy is not the word. But of course, more snow capped mountains in the distance. To get there from ushuaia required cutting through chilean patagonia and back again, which meant about 6 immigration stops, but the scenery made up for it, plus i saw my first llamas, yey! We also had to cross the straight of magellan, which is the stretch of water that runs through patagonia, connecting the pacific and the atlantic and it`s beautiful and wiiiiiiindy, cartoon windy, blow u off the boat windy. We saw some funny looking baby orca-esque dolphins and turquoise grey waters, with pebbled shores.



The centre, if u can call it that, is gross. Too touristy, all fake wood fronting on the shops and a bohemith casino, blurgh. Plus i got pick pocketed, so double blurgh... I did meet some quality people though. And some tools. Brendan who always eats everyone else`s food and ihas a grant for a fellowship and his thesis is about computer hacking, so he`s basically paid to travel around the world going to hacker conferences and talking all sorts of brilliant people. He spoke to some German ex-SS soldiers who explained thatr cutting someone`s throat isn`t as easy as they make it look in the movies, u really have to get in there with the knife and power through all the muscle in there...nice. And then there was logan from arizona, who`s essentially a decent guy, but grew up with 4 brothers and i`m guessing a super mum, because he never pays attention when a woman talks to him. He listens sort of, but as though ur not saying anything of importance. If it`s a guy, he`s all ears, but i watched him talking to the girls in the hostel and he just doesn`t pay attention, infuriating and bizarre! Though he`s the first person i`ve met ever with a comparable movie mania to mine. It was brilliant, we talked about movies for hours, till someone at the dinner table said we should get married, since we`re so similar, except i said that if we did, they`d find us years later, hugely obese, under a pile of television guides and dvd boxes, because we`s slipped away from society in our movie frenzy, definitely not healthy!

Of course there was giant group of rowdy irish at the hostel, wasted 24*7 and one of them even peed on a sofa in the hostel while a girlw as sitting on it, none of them would fess up who it was, and they wouldn'[tlook everyone in the eye the next day, numpties...

And finally, Matt and Dan, who are sweethearts. They were on my bus to calafate. They`re english guys who were born and brought up in portugal, but u couldn`t tell at all. They`re good fun, and i`m sure dan is always getting them in trouble. When they were in Buenos Aires Dan managed to persuade matt it would be a good idea to `just see` what an argentinian brothel looks like. The moment they stepped in, they were surrounded by a gang of incredibly insistent hookers. Insistent that they hand over all their valuables ; ) With the 2 giant bouncers bound to be waiting in the foyer if they said no, they didn`t have much of a choice. Oh dear. They were going back to BA which was a shame, i wanted to take them with me : (


i know a trouble-maker when i see one!

We went on a night out in calafate, if u can call it that. It was in the community centre, and u had to go through a rather intimidating pool hall to get there. It turns out all the boys who work at the hostel are crazy good drummers, and they were all there, drumming their little hearts out, with dancing and crazy-string, good stuff. There was a boy there who was with this slightly older looking woman, who turned out to be his mum! She[d come out to join him for a couple of weeks, but she was a bit strange and did not like it one bit when he talked to any girls, and got all stroppy. Uncomfortable. The Guys who work at the hostel are brilliant, one of them took a bit of a shine to me, so free tequilla, yey!!!

The main reason people visit calafate, is to see the glaciar. It[s the poor man[s taste of antartica, except it[s breathtaking and it blows your mind imagining what anatarctica must be like. It speeaks volumes abvout the age we live in and the amount of media presence in our lives, that when i saw this fgbulous view, it reminded me of a screensaver. I couldn[t quite grasp how real it was.


U see what i mean right_ it[s unbelievable, and we got to walk across it., crampons and all.. And our guide looked just jason schwartzman. We didn[t walk for long, but enough to jump across crystal blue crevasses and drink the clearest purest tasting water i[ve ever had, straight from the pools that form in the cracks in the glacier.


oh yeah, i got mad ice picking skills yo



That blue is unlike anything else, and at the end of the trek, they take you to a little hidden dip in the glacier, where they have whisky waiting for you, with ice chipped straight off the glacier, with a pick, scotch on the rocks anyone? Unfortunately we were with a group of mexicans weho had come in the most ridiculous clothes for walking across a glacier. who wears pink fur boots to a glacier, seriously... so were walking at a much slower pace than we could have. Still, breathtaking.


Won[t be forgetting el calafte in a hurry...



More photos:

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=137877&id=222304166&l=7ac5ca24df

Sunday, 24 May 2009

The Maaaagical Land of Patagonia

I flew into Ushuai, the furthest south you can go in the world, unless u fancy a few thousand dollars to pop over to antarctica. Definitely the southernmost city in the world. Though i`m throwing the word `city´ around a bit loosely there. It´s a town by the sea, and it`s a fifty hour bus journey from BA to Ushuaia, and since it`s the same price as a 3 hour flight...no brainer.

Ushuaia is in Tierra del Fuego, which is in Patagonia, which spans the south of both Argentina and Chile... I won`t be going to the Chilean side, though more wonders await there, i plan to stay on this side. In fact i don`t plan to visit chile at all. Every traveller has talked about how expensive it is, so i guess i shall have to include it in my next trip to antartica...accepting donations now.





Flying into Ushuaia was one of the more magical experiences of my life. I had spent the night before my flight drinking wine with matt and luca on the roof, not smart. Fell fast asleep on the plane, but woke up just in time to see huge drifts of snow covering the ground far below the plane. No wait, not snow, but unbelievably fluffy clouds, all level for miles and there in the distance, the snow capped peaks of the patagonian mountains making their presence felt. Breathtaking is too cliched, wonderous, too old fashioned. For me, it was simply like i had been holding my breath for the longest time, but i had no idea, and suddenly, i could breathe again. As the clouds bared it´s gaps, you could see the see beneath and the bay that surrounds ushuaia, like molten steel in the morning sunshine. It was unreal, and beautiful. The mountains were a crumbly brown, like the stollen you get at the german market at christmas time. Dusted in the same way with an icing sugar-fine layer of snow around the middle, building up to a big dollop of icing covering the top, like a christmas pudding. It`s autumnn here in patagonia, so all the trees are brilliant rusts and coppers, swathing the base of these mountains, giving way to the icing sugar some where round the middle... And tiny brightly coloured fishing boats and small houses dotting the bay, cheerfully painted, of wood and corrugated iron painted to match. Very swiss in the over-riding style. Even the poorest people, who mostly live on the edge of the town, even they have spent part of their tiny budget in building an acommodation that looks like a little swiss house. Wood panelling and flower boxes in their teeny tiny houses, Rather that than the indignity of a large shack. There´s pride in this that i admire, but seriously, they are the tiniest ´houses´ i have ever seen.}


BA was clearly more draining and claustrophobic than i realised. I had looked forward to Ushauai since i had begun to plan my trip, but i wasn`t expecting this feeling of waking up. The air is so crisp, it reminded my of england, but even fresher. The water here is purer than anything i`ve ever tasted, freezing ur fingers off after just a few seconds of runniong your fingers underneath it. It is of course, freezing, but i think i had secretky beeb longing for this change in weather,. There is something that only someome who has grown up somewjhere cold can appreciate, about coming in from the cold,, and the freshness of the air when it`s freezing. I tried articulating this to Livia, she may have thought i was completely insane...


My hostel is a cheery blue wood-panelled house, run by two lovely girls who are very patient when i attempt to say anything in spanish. It has heating, woo!!! And the view from my window is a little ridiculous. Snowcapped mountains in the morning are good for the soul, i`m sure of it! I imagine someone from parts of canada, or newfoundland, or even parts of scotland, would not as blown away as i was, but this is a first for me. And i`m like a child in my excitement. I have never been so eager to hike, or trek. And i hate being cold, but here, it`s different. You feel healthier just by breathing this air. And after the excesses of rio and BA, this is the perfect place for me.






my view

I have never hiked with such enthusiasm as i did in the Tierra Del Fuego national park, where i encountered my french friend who loves the word squelch ; ) The park is just as gorgeous as the surrounding scenery suggests. Sapphire lagoons, amber forests, wild horses and green fields. And the whole time was there, i was incredibly lucky with the waether. Freeeezing, but sunny, so everthing was just that much more sparkling and beautiful.








(Roomate from the hostel, delphine, increeedibly french and veeery excited about everything. Hairdresser, who haggled here way across india before coming to south america, trained at nicky clarke in london, has worked on cruise ships, lived in dubai, and had a boyfriend once who told her that her french accent wasn´t sexy...moron. what planet is he on?)

I also, to my great pride (pride never precedes anything bad...right?) walked from town to the top of a mountain to see the glaciar. The Glaciar Martial in Ushuaia is basically not really a glaciar at all, but another snow capped mountain, and I maaaay have lost my way as i followed the ridiculously precarious trail...maybe. I spent a good extra 2 hours clambering around the top of the mountain trying to find a safe way down...if i`d slipped, i`m pretty sure i`d have been a goner. The Mountain`s across town, up a winding round that is about 10 km long and then, you have to walk to the base of the mountain, and then up it. Holy crap. 2 months in rio and BA did NOT prepare me in anyway for it, but i was fine. Really. I got tired when i got lost after hour x, but getting there, not nearly as hard as i thought it would be. I ydid it. Booyah for me : ) It wasn´t exactly that i lost my way, but more that i climbed up the mountain path, only it wasn´t a path, and pretty soon i was clambering up crumbly gravel and snow, trying not to fall and realising that there was no way i could gf back down the way i had come up...so i had to trek across the top of the glaciar to make it back down. Kind of exhilirating really. All the snow covers hidden rivulets running down the mountain, so every step was a bit of a gamble really. Good stuff.


VIDEO COMING HERE SOON (internet is sooooo slow)

The town of Ushuaia itself is not much to talk about, quite touristy and full of patisseries and chocolate shops. (i had a chocolate mousse pie filled with dulce de leche...mmmmmmm.) But the scenery, my god. I could wax on forever, but i won´t- I will however say that i truly wish that all of you could see it. I feel so lucky to be here...


Photos:

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=137873&id=222304166&l=2293f13b2c

Friday, 8 May 2009

Mullet-tastic

Buenos Aires, city of good winds...no jokes please, too obvious : ) For me, BA (as the cool kids call it, ) is sort of a blur. I ate and failed to digest more beef than i`ve ever had in my lifetime, drank copious amounts of red wine that cost less than that crappy cheap screw top wine from tesco`s that u don`t even deign to put in ur bolognese sauce... it was pretttty amazing. i stayed in a hostel in san telmo (i just followed my benelux crew) and had a ball. The week all the dutch and belgians were there, was one of the best. We had such a nice time exploring the city, and frankly, in my not so humble opinion, BA is Madrid 6.0. There`s an atmosphere here that makes it seem more real, more lived, than Madrid, though there are many similarities in abundance of culture, architiecture, language and temperature etc.



The hostel is staffed by a group of locals, who at first seem incredibly sleepy and not so warm. then you realise that they`re sleepy because they enjoy going out with us and showing us the `cool`places to go till 7am and then start work at 8... so we forgive them : ) Jenny took us out on maybe my 3rd night, to a local open air venue called konex, with huge stairs inside that serve as the stage for the percussion band that blows everybodys minds every monday night. It`s not just that they are excellent, spontaneous and surprising, but the crowd they attract is almost as good. It`s a pretty hippy vibe, everyone sharing round joints (1 joint for 10 pesos, bargain!) and sharing tumblers of fernet and beer bigger than my face! amazing. After the samba of brazil, which is excellent for the first 20 minutes until you realise they plan to play the same song for the next 4 hours, this band (El Bomba de Tiempo) rule the school. You´re never bored and i was sober for at leaaast the first 30 minutes, and they sounded just as good before the fernet kicked in, if not better!



I only intended to stay in BA for 2 weeks, but i got sucked in, just like in rio and was there for nearly 5. I was sick with flu for about 10 days of it, but apart from that, i refer you back to the blur... i did do a lot! Remember Roberto who i met in Rio and travelled around with for a while, the travel agent who never travels ; ) he`s from BA state, and lives in a pleasant breezy suburb in the north called san isidro, about a 25 minute drive from the city. I stayed with him one weekend and went with him and his friends to his holiday house in Tigre. (He has a cat, a kitten really, who just did not get that i was allergic to her. I kept pushing her off me and my stuff and yelling at her poor thing, but i think she thought it was some fun new game, yey. I slept on a mattress and despite barricading myself with pillows, when i woke up, she was fast asleep on my face...aaaargh).

A lot of residents from San Isidro and Tigre have a holiday house on the Delta River in Tigre. Its a long winding river that surrounds an island, the water`s a caramel brown, as the whole river bed is made of a deliciously schelchy brown mud. ( huge aside: met a french guy a few weeks ago, when we were trekking through mud, and he looooved the word squelch. He said it fit perfectly and would say it with relish whenever we encountered a particularly squlechy part of our trail through the woods, and frankly, you haven`t lived till you`ve heard a frenchman say ´squelch´)

When i worked at Starbucks, we had a huge metal tub of chocolate mocha mix for the hot chocolate we made. We would pump out the appropraite number of pumps for each size of drink, until the pump started squirting air, because it couldn`t quite reach the bottom of the tub. I would always volunteer to clean it, because there is nothing quite as gratifying as delving into that chocolatey goo at the bottom of the tub. Ìf it`s been a busy shift, we`ve gone throiugh the tuib quickly and the dregs are still warm and thick, and cling to your fingers. I`d have to wash it eventually, but for those few moments, i got to forget about my back breaking day. Standing in the delta river, the soft mud pushing through your toes, was just like that...except i was in a bikini drinking cuba libres : )



Thos were unfortunately the beginning days of my gross flu, so i slept a lot that weekend, but we also made asado, which is basically a combo of amazing barbequed beef and chorizo sausage, and had hamburgers, and drank and smoked and swam. His house has a pier where we spent most of our time...perfect. His friends were great, and federico, a graphic designer, tells the best stories, He jumps around and does kung fu actions to acompany all his stories. he say`s `fraaaa` a lot, his equivalent of pow, smack, or dishum (for all my indian homies out there),he`ll even smack himself in the face if he has to, he`s committed ; )

Apart from delta, there was a lot of going out, since BA is famous for it`s night life. Personally i think it tries too hard to be european. It`s built a new harbour that frankly could be anywhere in the world, how boring. And there`s a lot of electronic, house, dance etc. But i went anyway, when in BA and all that jazz. One of the clubbs, the museum, is just full of travellers and drunk argey men who bear hug u from behind and carry u off...not appropraite. I was with aurora when it happened, who`s tiny and was attempting to pull me down. I think I finally swatted him off and ran away, sticking to our boys for the rest of the night. Real meat market, where if you actually convince them you`re not interested, they just move onto the next girl. One guy silently grabbed my face with both his hands, slurred ¨Slumdog Millionaire¨, and slunk off...what? That was pretty much my breaking point for hearing people ask me about slumdog just cos i`m indian... And as for the music there, it`s basically stuff from your now 25 album you thought you`d never hear again, oh dear. The saddest part is that the building is beautiful inside, incredibly grand, with wrought iron balconies, designed by Pierre Eiffel, and is now decked with glitter balls and drunk western european girls.

I walked plenty around the city too, saw all the art museums and parks, went to a million flea markets and fairs, and generally had a fab time. The cemetery in recoleta is quite a sight, especially at sunset. It``s full of decadent tombs and not creepy at all...except of course if, like me, u stick your head in through a door that clearly should be locked, realise it`s full of cobwebby sinsiter broken coffins and peg it before you pee yourself. All the tourists are obssessed with Evita`s tomb, but there were much more interesting and curious graves to be found hidden away down the little alleys in the grounds. Some overly opulent, and some neglected and decrepid, as their remaining descendants have faded away...

The cemetery itself is embedded in a city that had grown around it, not forgetting it, but the blocks of flats throw a sharp contrast to the grandeur to be found within the cemetery grounds...

As for the rest of the city, it`s full of large open spaces, grandiose statues, all manner of styles of architecture, as well as narrow badly cobbled streets full of small markets and houses. The parks are beautiful and never empty, jugglers and artists, always some band playing, or a fair going on, and inevitably, full of lovey dovey adoring couples. South america for me so far has certainly not been a continent to be shy about romance. You know when a couple is a couple here, because inevitabley they`re either inhaling each other in a bus queue (rio) or caressing each other in that dreamy carefree way that couples do. You do not stay single here for long, and why would you. The whole city is weeping love.

(My brazilian friend Livia spent time in London and asked me honestly what is wrong in England, that people are so undemonstrative; ¨ how are u supposed to know if two people are together?¨ )

The plazas in BA tend to be more mellow during the day, but they come alive at night, full of street artists and buskers. There`s one guy puts on a song and then dances around throwing paint at a huge canvas swinging around huge squeegee bottles of colours, schmearing the canvas with his hands occasionally, and then suddenly, it`s a painting of the singer he`s dancing to. Incredible.

Couples dancing tango, the sound of that incredibly rounded italian-accented spanish spoken in argentina all around you, and light shining out of the shop windows open into the night. It`s such a warm atmosphere And I mosty felt safe in BA, though i`ve heard stories. At the most, i`ve had cars low down and windows rolled down. (and lets be honest, the little black and indian b-boys do that to me at home, so no sweat) But my god, the men in argentina are not shy. They lean in close and whisper waht i can quite safely assume, are not sweet nothings. And louder, nonchalantly, ¨aye querida, mamasita, bonita...¨ bluuuuurgh. Some of these men are clearly older than my father, and yet it`s part and parcel of the culture. What do they honestly think is gonna happen? Your older than my dad, mate. Seriously.

I really thought with my dark skin etc, i`d escape comment in european- loving argentina, but no. And there is a clear divide between the european descendants and the indigenous population. Like most societies, there`s a monetary link. I liked staying in san telmo because u tended to get an even mix of locals and gringos, which is the best u can hope for in a gringo central city like BA. I mean i realise now how ridiculous it was of me to see my trip as an adventure. There are travellers eeeevrywhere. I even bumped into someone who i used to get the school bus with about 6 years ago. He lives about 2 miles from my house at home, and i`ve never seen him. I had to come to BA to bump into David Siddall...the universe moves in mysterious ways. We were both in shock for a fair while, and didn`t even say hi at first, because it seemed too ridunculous to be true. Clearly not.

Staying in the hostel were a few `permanent` members comme moi, and then a rotating group of randoms, coming and going. Among them, werre murray and fraser. As we got to talking one day, it turns out they were walking behind me and my scandi group the very moment we got mugged in rio 2 months earlier. I was clearly too dazed to have even seen them, but they knew me from that night...what?!? Then there was Livia, lovely girl from Brazil who just couldn`t understand why everyone can`t dance the samba as easily as she did ; ) and Taylor from Tulsa Oklahoma, always sipping on the Mate (argentinian tea so full of stimulants, i didn`t know how argentinians drink it all day long, then again, they do stay out clubbing till 7am, so that probably does the trick.) My system can`t really take caffeine, but i chugged it back anyway, cos it`s the only way i can handle staying out so late. My routine was, nap from around 8 till 11, shower, coffee and off we go...to dinner! At home i`d be done by 2am, but in argy, they`re just wrapping up dinner and getting ready to head out...what! And the girls, they`re beautiful. Not in the Brazilian way, where they`re dark and enticingm slim and curvaceous and there`s a gym on every corner and workout bars on the beaches. Ot seems incredibly healthy. In BA however, they`re pencil thin, and aesthetically their faces are just right, and they`re well dressed, and i suspect they smoke more than they eat, and english guys go nuts for them. I`ve heard it`s the country with the world`s highest anorexia figures and i`m inclined to believe it.

And if you`re under the impression that the english are terrible binge drinkers that go on holiday to just drink and shag as many locals as possible, well... Not all of us by any means, but a lot. And lets not forget the irish, who have such immense staying power, i think there`s something in the water. Probably Guinness. No naming names, but let`s just say lifts were punched up, beds were wetted (?) and a girl and a couch was peed on. Saying that, one of the dutch guys was sick in Wim`s rucksack and we`re not sure, but we think he drunkenly ran it under the shower in panic. So Wim woke up to a wet dripping bag full of water vomit. And was incredibly calm about it all. He`s a brilliant guy, so good humoured, i love it...Someone was sick in his bag, man!

By the end of my stay there, our group had changed incredibly. There was now luca, who is one of the most remarkable 18 year olds i`ve met. I realise that sounds a totally granny thing to say, but really, he seems so grounded and together. He`s from Sao Paulo and is spending time in BA for a few months. Then he`s off to South Africa to volunteer there. And while his peers back home are drunkenly trying to sleep with everything that moves, he seems so mush wiser than his years, but still innocentt. I`m not even sure how he esxists frankly (not jaded at all, oh no, not me.) Then ther`s lovely matt friom huddersfield, eho has to say he`s from manchester, since nonoe knows wherew huddersfield is, and has to deal with the standard response, ¨oh, manchester united!¨ just. like. me. ha! At least he likes football... His yorkshire accent`s pretty thick, though he says he`s toned it down a lot since he arrived, but non- english people still don`t know hat he`s saying, even when it`s in english. Never mind when he tries to crack out his spanish...poor matt. He has no idea why they can`t understand him. Does alright with the ladies though! ; )

I was both relieved and bummed to leave BA. It definitely has something, I could easily live there, the locals are lovely, and don`t seem to mind at all as i butcher their language right in front of them. It`s not as pricey as Brazil and just a great city all round really. But was so excited about Ushuaia, i think leaving BA was only half as sad as it should have been. That`s one fantastic aspect of this travelling bit, even when i`m sad to leave somewhere, i know i have something unknowen to move onto, so even leaving great people behind is tempered with a bitter sweet flavour, instead of the heavy sadness of saying goodbye.

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Saturday, 25 April 2009

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i want comments people!!!

Monday, 13 April 2009

Iguazu!

Foz do Iguaçu, where i arrived by bus from sao paulo, is right on the border of Brazil. It is the location of Iguazu falls, a spectacular set of waterfalls that are located right at the borders of Brazil, Argentina and Paraguay.


To see them from the Brazilian side is meant to be spectacular, but from quite a distance away. However, on the Argentinian side (which is called Puerto Iguazu), you not only get up close to all the waterfalls, but you can take a boat ride under the falls. Which i did. And it was awesome. Or as barney would say, ¨legend-... wait for it... and I hope you're not lactose intolerant because the second half of that word is DAIRY! ...¨ Yeah! I´m cool! Aaaanyway, you try desperately to keep your eyes open, so you can remember what it looks like to be under a waterfall, but the pressure of the water is just too insane to manage it.



about to enter the waterfall...amazing

So you just close your eyes against your will and enjoy a once in a lifetime sensation. The falls are set in the middle of a national park, so you can trek for about 8 hours and easily not see all of it. It´s beautiful, but me being me, again, like with the giant jesus statue, i was a bit underwhelmed. It was beautiful, absolutely, but i thought it would be bigger. Still, it was a great day. The header picture on my blog is of one of the main falls, it was gorgeous. Nearly impossible to get photos, you had to whip the camera out from under your hoody or whatever, snap and get it back undercover, before the camera and the lens got wet from all the waterfall spray, rendering the pictures blurry. So be impressed with the picture quality people!


more photos: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=132489&id=222304166&l=d258fa50c9

Since i changed my plan last minute, i just randomly picked a hostel that i´d heard mentioned by someone in rio. I met a swedish girl (another one- i can´t help it, they´re everywhere- scandinavians have such a high cost of living at home, south america´s peanuts for them), Hanna, on the bus across the border to argentina, so we went together. Keeping in mind that in rio, for a tenner a night, u get an 18 bed dorm, with a tiny window and broken airconditioning, that stinks of hostel sex, (yey), this place, was a palacial resort. Inventively called ´Hostel Inn´, it was fuuull of western europeans sunbathing by the, wait for it...POOL! So clean and with it´s own tourist information, inside and outside bars, dance floor cum lounge outside, ping pong tables and dorms as well as cottages, it was riduuunculous.



We played volleyball in the pool, and drank piña coladas on deck chairs. And here, i met lola. The craziest girl from brooklyn, insane really, but intensely likeable and she just doesn´t give a damn about what others think. I imagine she´s pissed off her fair share of the population in her time, but she´s good people and always a good time. Got a world map tattooed on her back. Plays with street kids when she´s wasted, then has a wash in the morning when she´s sober and realises what she did : ) Has a lover in Buenos Aires that she can´t get enough of, and tends bar back in New York. Inexhaustible and a delight and brutally honest. Brutally. I also met the only other indian i´ve encountered on my whole trip so far. Indians as a whole generally don´t do the whole backpacking thing. Even indians brought up abroad like me. I think our parents usually think it´s a GIANT waste of time (not mentioning any names, cough *mum&dad*, ahem.) So this indian i met, he´s from atlanta, and he´s 33. Thirty-three year old Samir, who has worked in investment and consulting and is 33, has told his parents that he has a job volunteering in a hospital in argentina so they won´t worry. He showed me an email his dad sent him;

¨Samir, it has been one whole week and we have not heard from you. Why haven´t you sent us the details of the hospital you are working at yet? We are very worried. Please call us ASAP, so we know you´re OK.


Love, Mum and Dad¨


THIRTY-THREE! Poor Samir...

(and i know you whities were imagining that email in the voice of Apu from the Simpsons, but i forgive you, as he is a beloved character, and frankly, what other reference do you have? )

I met some incredible people at Hostel Inn, (including Max, who got jumped by some guys in buenos aires, and cut his jaw open- it´s that kind of continent unfortunately), and a crazy bunch of belgian and dutch guys. It turned out that they were travelling to Buenos Aires on the same day as me, so we all went together. But first we got drunk on happy hour at the hostel. Obviously. Then we got free wine on the bus. Oh boy. The bus waiter man did not like us by the next morning.


Please note that for this bus journey i took a giant hoard of benelux fellas with me for protection : )
Though not sure they were in any shape to be of any help. Anyway...

On the way out...

My bus from Sao Paulo to Foz do Iguazu, took 15 hours. It left at around 8 and was due to arrive around 11 the next morning. At about midnight, we stopped to get food etc, and when we reboarded, some of the bus company´s drivers got on, hitching a lift back to the depot. Everyone saw them get on, and all three were wearing the delightful pink shirt-marroon trousers combo of their uniform. One of them, a huge guy with dark hair, decided to sit in the empty seat next to me, of course. About 10 minutes later, the bus driver switched off all the lights, and everyone settled down to sleep. Except fatty, who started making small talk. At first, it was pretty general, very polite. My portuguese sucks and his english was awful, so it was pretty basic. Brazilian men are incredibly flirty and forward anyway, so i wasn´t bothered. However, it pretty soon devolved into a sweaty fat man telling me he loved me and trying to feel me up in the dark. Eventually, i decided screaming bloody murder was the best policy, i woke everyone up and kept screaming until the bastard finally pegged it to the bus driver´s cabin in the dark.
With every bastard though, there are nice people who don´t want to molest you; Liza and Jeff were the couple sitting across from me and were really nice. I know it sounds cheesy, but quite unselfconsciously and honestly, Liza asked if i wanted her to hold my hand. It sounds odd, and i politely declined, but it was touching. There were other murmers of such encouragement and query as to whether i was ok, and i spent most of the rest of the 11 hour journey, staring out of the window. Jeff spoke excellent portuguese and offered to help me complain to the police in the morning. I guess it was pretty dumb of me to wait till morning, but i was just so relieved that he had left me alone, and didn´t know what we could acomplish so late in the middle of some random highway in the south of Brazil. When we arrived at Foz do Iguazu, the slimebag had gone. He had disembarked the bus at some tiny town in the middle of the night and our bus driver (orizimbo) was being incredibly uncooperative. At first he pretended to know nothing of the incident, as though a heifer of a sleezebag hadn´t burst into his cabin at midnight, preceded by angry yelling from me. Then he realised we weren´t giving up, so he gave up the guys first name- enrique...fucking enrique... and then tried to explain it couldn´t have been him, cos he´s an evangelical...WHAT THE HELL! as though that means anything, read a paper sometime orizimbo! Anyhow, we finally got him to drive us to the bus depot, where i filed a complaint wiuth the manager and he told me that enrique´s gonna get his fat ass fired. booyah! And suddenly, miraculously, i felt all better.

After that, i headed back to town with Jeff, and then Liza, Jeff and I all crossed the border of Brazil into Argentina. It´s awesome, there´s a tiny rusty old bus stop with a little sign swinging in the wind, saying ´argentina´. We took a 10 minute bus to argentina man! Love. It.


I had planned to stay on the brazilian side of the border first, but after the bus incident, i just figured enough was enough, and it was time to leave Brazil, the wonderful country full of good food, kind, friendly people and amazing carnavale. Unfortunately, it was also the place where i; had flu throughout carnavale, got sunburnt and covered in tiny little sunblisters, had food poisoning, nearly got in a fight with locals at the sambodromo, fell asleep in a portaloo, got stung by a jellyfish, fell asleep on the metro, not to mention, my hostel was robbed at gunpoint, i was mugged at knifepoint and, of course, my favourite and newest addition to the list, i was molested. Yey.

These were the many things i did not want to tell my mother, but better out than in i say, and she was surprisingly calm. I guess since i am still alive and they all happened in the past, she wasn´t as incensed. Then again, when i get home she might just slap a gps around my ankle and never let me leave the house again...we´ll wait and see shall we?

..........................


p.s. stung by the jellyfish while i was at aimee´s, after the mugging, but before falling asleep in inappropriate places...ahem. We were mugged weeks ago, in one of rio´s nicest areas, ipanema. It´s fancy and therefore before carnavale, is full of rich, clueless gringos, making them/us, perfect targets. I think i´d mentioned how i usually was left alone in rio, blending into the crowd, but on this particular night, i was with zaza and about 10 other big blonde scandanavians... since we were just going round the corner to a local bar, for the first time in the whole time i was in rio, i took a bag out with me. what a numbnuts. As we were walking down the street, ambling really, from across the street, a gang of roughly 10 or 12 boys quickly strode towards us from their hiding place in the shadows of the park, and tried to grab anything they could. They punched and pushed and grabbed, and yet again, i screamed bloody murder, swearing like a troubador and girl-slapping as hard as i could. I´d like to say i threw a few punches, but mostly i just kicked them in the balls and shins. I think if they´d threatened me with their knives (yes boys and girls, they had knives) and asked for my bag, i hope i would have handed it over, but they just tried to take it... i was pissed goddammit and simply wouldn´t let go. At first i just had one on me, but then he called for reinforcements, since i refused to let go. I don´t think they would have used their knives... but who knows...ahem.

Our group had scattered as soon as the grubbers swarmed on us. People at the front and back had run off instinctively, though one danish guy ran back to help mattie who had three boys raping his pockets. I think i must have been grappling for about 3 or 4 minutes, i can´t really be sure, but i had no idea what was going on around me. The oddest thing was, it seemed to be happening really slowly. I wasn´t in a panic, just trying to hold on to my bag. Which, incidentally hardly had anything valuable inside. Go figure. After few minutes, i guess our friends who had run off decided to come back, and that scared off our muggers. I was punched to the floor and ended up with a giant bruise on my ass, yey, but guesswhat mo fos, i still had my bag, ooooh yeeeah. Suck on that muggers! The girls we were with got pretty badly robbed and were sobbing, understandably, but everyone kept looking at me warily, wondering why i too wasn´t doing the crying thing that obviously all girls must do in a crisis. Instead i told them i was quite hungry after the struggle and wanted a burger and some beer please... so that´s what we did.


the scandies and me, post mugging, wey!

And i swear to god, the next morning our hostel actually did get robbed at gunpoint. Zaza and i missed it by about 2 hours. We came down to the reception, to find everyone rewatching the cctv footage of our tiny hostel owner being bashed about and slammed into a wall, as she refused to fork over the cash. That same week, two other hostels in rio were robbed by guys with guns. It was on the news at home i believe, because some english people were killed...zaza and i had been planning to leave that morning anyway, so we promptly checked out, and headed to aimees... (i have to say, at least 30% of people we met had some kind of mugging story to tell. Especially in Lapa. I heard this guy jamie having ´that´conversation with his mum. He had clearly struggled about telling her, but his girlfriend had persuaded him he had to...

¨no mum, there wasn´t anything i could do about it... yes, they took everything i have...i´m fiiine, honestly... i need some money...can you call the insurance company for me...no, i don´t want to come home, thanks...yes, i´m perfectly safe...no you don´t need to fly over here with dad...¨

All too familiar...