Despite family misgivings I headed to Colombia and was pleasantly surprised by the ease of travel and teh friendliness of the people, not to mention how beautiful the country was. Roads wind through the mountains covered in jungle vegetation that plummett into gorges deep below. The incredible winding roads are not deterrent to the determined drivers of Colombia who overtake on corners as trucks bomb along in the other direction. The biggest threat to the sensible tourist in Colombia is the driving.
Our first stop was Bogota, where I managed to meet up with some fellow gringos I'd met many months ago in Argentina. 7 of us crammed into one of the tiny taxis and went to an underground drum and bass night. We danced until dawn and then, pitifully failing to come up with the cash for the after club party we walked back to the hostel as the sun rose.
The next stop on our fair,ly whistlestop tour was Salento for Easter. Unfortunately the day we left Bogota was the day every Colombian went away fro their Easter holidays, traffic jams in the jungle are no joke. Salento is a small town in the coffee producing region of Colombia. The town was bustling with the Easter holidaymakers but still felt friendly and safe. We visited 2 coffee farms to see how coffee is produced (and to get some free coffee) and of course for the views over the valley. I also ventured out on horseback for a fairly hair raising experience as my inexperienced self cantered up and down the steepest and muddiest of hills. As much as I enjoyed Salento it was time for a but of sun so off to the coast and the colonial town of Cartagena.
Admittedly our main reason for wanting to see Cartagena was that it was in Romancing the Stone. A slightly poor reason perhaps, but nonetheless a strong urge had been created. It lived up to expectation, not that Michael Douglas was wrestling crocodiles on forts but the town was beautiful. An old walled city filled with churches and horsedrawn carts. Oh and tourists of course. Once there the heat drove us to take a boat out to Playa Blanca, an isolated beach 2 hours from Cartagena, looking like a bounty ad, palm trees, azure waters and beach huts everywhere. Of course I was bored after 2 days so we headed North once more to Taganga, a diving centre once again on the Caribbean. The beach isn't the nicest in the world but the mix of people I met there and the laid back atmosphere of the town helped make it one of my trip highlights. There's something about rum, tequila and watching the sunrise over the beach that does it for me...
It was very hard to leave the beach and the people,but all too soon my time in Colombia was up, my birthday was drawing near and I had an inca trail to get to. So with a heavy heart i boarded my bus to Lima, to arrive 70 hours later. I then immediately boarded a bus to Cuzco racking up 90 hours of near solid journey time. My aroma by this point doesn't bear thinking about but I was excited to be embarking on the inca trail very soon after.
Monday, 21 April 2008
Sunday, 16 March 2008
A little bit of Peru
Our first stop in Peru was the colonial town of Arequipa. A beautiful little place with a very old, city like convent where nuns lived in isolation for hundreds of years before opening their doors to the public. Its very beautiful and apart from the religion, no men, and boredom aspects I think I could have happily lived there. Oh and I'd have had to forego the uncomfortable underwear too I think (and therefore saint status, ah well).
We stayed in Arequipa for a few days before heading to Puno, on Lake Titicaca, to visit the floating islands and their very jolly inhabitants. The islands are made by the islanders themselves using reeds from the lake. They weave these together until a huge platform has been constructed and whole families then construct their houses on top. If they decided they no longer like their neighbours they simply cut them away. An excellent feature if you ask me. The local Cholita women wore neon clothes and were some of the happiest I´d met. They waved and sang us off saying ´We´re all going to the beach´ Not strictly true but a nice sentiment nonetheless.
Our next journey took us to historic Cuzco, the nearest city to Macchu Picchu (forgive the invariably poor spelling) and home itself to many inca ruins. While I´m not hiking the inca trail until April, we decided instead to explore a little of the Sacred Valley. The remains of temples and terraces there are amazing, the engineering feats of the Incas impressive and baffling (carting 12 metre blocks of solid rocks from quarries in distant mountains). Photos as ever on facebook. The experiences in Cuzco were only slightly marred by absolute dickheads staying in our dorm. Not 1 but 2 couples having sex (and this in a 5 bed dorm) despite seeing that other people were clearly awake and annoyed. I also had a top and shorts stolen from my bed, which was bizaare to say the least. Needless to say we moved to a nice hotel with a private room as soon as we could. At the end of the stint in Cuzco, sadly one of the party left to fly back home and so the 3 now down to 2, we continued on a 70 hour bus journey to Bogota.
We stayed in Arequipa for a few days before heading to Puno, on Lake Titicaca, to visit the floating islands and their very jolly inhabitants. The islands are made by the islanders themselves using reeds from the lake. They weave these together until a huge platform has been constructed and whole families then construct their houses on top. If they decided they no longer like their neighbours they simply cut them away. An excellent feature if you ask me. The local Cholita women wore neon clothes and were some of the happiest I´d met. They waved and sang us off saying ´We´re all going to the beach´ Not strictly true but a nice sentiment nonetheless.
Our next journey took us to historic Cuzco, the nearest city to Macchu Picchu (forgive the invariably poor spelling) and home itself to many inca ruins. While I´m not hiking the inca trail until April, we decided instead to explore a little of the Sacred Valley. The remains of temples and terraces there are amazing, the engineering feats of the Incas impressive and baffling (carting 12 metre blocks of solid rocks from quarries in distant mountains). Photos as ever on facebook. The experiences in Cuzco were only slightly marred by absolute dickheads staying in our dorm. Not 1 but 2 couples having sex (and this in a 5 bed dorm) despite seeing that other people were clearly awake and annoyed. I also had a top and shorts stolen from my bed, which was bizaare to say the least. Needless to say we moved to a nice hotel with a private room as soon as we could. At the end of the stint in Cuzco, sadly one of the party left to fly back home and so the 3 now down to 2, we continued on a 70 hour bus journey to Bogota.
Saturday, 15 March 2008
Adios Bolivia, Hola Peru (and a bit of Chile)
The final flourish of the Bolivian trip was a tour of the Salt Flats. We arrived in Uyuni 2 hours early after a heartstopping bus ride in the rainy season. Most buses end up delayed for hours in the rainy season, which gives you an indication of exactly hoow scary our journey was. But I digress... after much searching for a reputable tour company we booked our trip with an english guide for 3 days in a 4 by 4 jeep into the salt flats, dropping 3 of us off at the Chilean border.
Our first stop on the tour was the train cemetary just outside Uyuni. The delapidated steam trains are a small boy´s fantasy and in fact there were several small boys playing amongst them when we got there. A train track was built specifically to take them to there final resting place, it seemed a little harsh making the trains drive themselves to the grave, and then I remembered they were inanimate objects and I should stop being so silly. So, onward and upward to the flats.
The Bolivian salt flats are apparently the size of Northern ireland, being crap at geography this meant very little to me, although I knew it sounded BIG. Arriving at the salt flats is a surreal experience. A vast expanse of pure white and many, many jeeps and tourists. As its the wet season there were a few inches of water covering the whole area reflecting the salt and the (very few) features around the site. We spent around 20 minutes trying to devise and execute the traditional perspective shots - the featureless landscape allows you to take photos where it looks like yourholding your friends in the palm of your hand for example. Cue lots of running around and posing. The photos weren´t completely successful (I refer my honourable friends once more to facebook) but were quite fun at least. After a quick lunch outside the salt hotel, no prizes for guessing why its called that, we were on teh road once again.
There are several surreal places in this area, mostly caused by a prehistoric massive lake that receded leaving huge rock formations in its wake. We stopped at a few places of interest and clambered around on the forementioned huge rocks, before reaching our first hotel of the night in a small town with one shop and some stone doorways to nowhere at either end. There was literally nothing else there. Teh hotel only had limited electricity provided by a small generator, so we drank through our first litre of vodka and bedded down for the night.
Our second day was a day of lakes and flamingos. Each new stop brought us to yet another stunning mirror lake or coloured lagoon. Easily the most spectacular of which was the pink lagoon which had not only flamingoes but also llamas, together at last. Our stop that evening was at an isolated hotel where there was no light pollution and all of the Souther sky´s stars were visible at night. This hotel was far more sophisticated than the previous one if only because it had 2 shops that sold (admittedly extortionately priced) cans of beer. We used these to top up the second litre of vodka we needed to get through that night. Talking until gone midnight proved to be a mistake as we had to get up at 4.30am the next day. Bleary eyed we drove in the darkness to an area full of geysirs, after a few photos in the freezing cold we leapt back into the car and drove to the thermal springs nearby as teh sun rose across the mountains. Not everyone braved the initial cold to get into the springs, which is understandable (I did, before anyone asks), waht is less understandable is the degree of wussiness shown by some people, mostly men in their 20s accustomed to posing, while getting into the hot spring. Just to be clear, the temperature of the pool was like that of a lovely bath, not too hot and not too cold. After goading a few pathetic wretches we got out and drove off into the Dal desert, so called as the artist came here and was inspired by the landscape, the features are very reminiscent of some of his works. We continued through to the border between Bolivia and Chile and onto San Pedro de Atacama. A desert town (of course) where we spent a couple of nights resting before heading into Peru.
Our first stop on the tour was the train cemetary just outside Uyuni. The delapidated steam trains are a small boy´s fantasy and in fact there were several small boys playing amongst them when we got there. A train track was built specifically to take them to there final resting place, it seemed a little harsh making the trains drive themselves to the grave, and then I remembered they were inanimate objects and I should stop being so silly. So, onward and upward to the flats.
The Bolivian salt flats are apparently the size of Northern ireland, being crap at geography this meant very little to me, although I knew it sounded BIG. Arriving at the salt flats is a surreal experience. A vast expanse of pure white and many, many jeeps and tourists. As its the wet season there were a few inches of water covering the whole area reflecting the salt and the (very few) features around the site. We spent around 20 minutes trying to devise and execute the traditional perspective shots - the featureless landscape allows you to take photos where it looks like yourholding your friends in the palm of your hand for example. Cue lots of running around and posing. The photos weren´t completely successful (I refer my honourable friends once more to facebook) but were quite fun at least. After a quick lunch outside the salt hotel, no prizes for guessing why its called that, we were on teh road once again.
There are several surreal places in this area, mostly caused by a prehistoric massive lake that receded leaving huge rock formations in its wake. We stopped at a few places of interest and clambered around on the forementioned huge rocks, before reaching our first hotel of the night in a small town with one shop and some stone doorways to nowhere at either end. There was literally nothing else there. Teh hotel only had limited electricity provided by a small generator, so we drank through our first litre of vodka and bedded down for the night.
Our second day was a day of lakes and flamingos. Each new stop brought us to yet another stunning mirror lake or coloured lagoon. Easily the most spectacular of which was the pink lagoon which had not only flamingoes but also llamas, together at last. Our stop that evening was at an isolated hotel where there was no light pollution and all of the Souther sky´s stars were visible at night. This hotel was far more sophisticated than the previous one if only because it had 2 shops that sold (admittedly extortionately priced) cans of beer. We used these to top up the second litre of vodka we needed to get through that night. Talking until gone midnight proved to be a mistake as we had to get up at 4.30am the next day. Bleary eyed we drove in the darkness to an area full of geysirs, after a few photos in the freezing cold we leapt back into the car and drove to the thermal springs nearby as teh sun rose across the mountains. Not everyone braved the initial cold to get into the springs, which is understandable (I did, before anyone asks), waht is less understandable is the degree of wussiness shown by some people, mostly men in their 20s accustomed to posing, while getting into the hot spring. Just to be clear, the temperature of the pool was like that of a lovely bath, not too hot and not too cold. After goading a few pathetic wretches we got out and drove off into the Dal desert, so called as the artist came here and was inspired by the landscape, the features are very reminiscent of some of his works. We continued through to the border between Bolivia and Chile and onto San Pedro de Atacama. A desert town (of course) where we spent a couple of nights resting before heading into Peru.
Friday, 15 February 2008
Beautiful Bolivia, Dodgy stomachs
A very descriptive title I know but I have been a tad slack again with the entries so that about covers it.
After yet another overnight bus journey, I was welcomed to Bolivia with exhaustion heightened by altitude sickness. I could barely walk for 5 steps with my rucksack on my back and eventually got a taxi a few hundred yeard to the bus station. Our mission was to get to Tupiza, a small town close to where Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid used to hang out, and I believe got killed. Our bus was due to leave at 2pm. There was a vast gulf between the Bolivian and Argentinian buses. We fought to get our bags on first (and therefore have them stored under the bus rather than strapped precariously to the top). We made our way for 3 hours across dirt roads before arriving at Tupiza. By all accounts we were lucky as travellers who ventured forth a week later found many of the bridges washed away and were re/built as they waited at the side of the road.
Tupiza was a small friendly town and a good intorduction to Bolivia. We went horseriding into canyons one morning (our backsides couldn't have taken more than a morning's worth of riding) and felt ourselves to be in cowboy country among the huge red rocks and catci. We also happened upon a celebration for Dia de Compadres, which we stayed and watched for a little while before watching it on tv later at the hostel. Fame at last. However, we couldn-t stay in Tupiza forever and so we journeyed onto Sucre.
Sucre is the judicial capital of Bolivia (and as any local will proudly tell you, the only capital of Bolivia). Its a pretty colonial town, the enjoyment of which was marred only slightly by the pre/carnival water attacks carried out by everyone, young and old. Just so you understand the extent of this many people, including myself were hit with water bombs, water pistols or cans of foam at least 5 times a day. Particularly difficult to avoid were the 'drive bys'. We managed to get out of the city for a day long hike, at altitude to look at 2000 year old rock paintings and the generally magnificent landscape in the area, created by a huge meteor crash which distributed huge rocks over a massive area. Sucre was marred only by me becoming ill on the last night, with a high fever and a fairly constant need for the toilet (use your imagination). Not ideal when faced with an overnight journey on a bolivian bus without a toilet. 8 immodiums later and I was good to go, although I had a couple of hairy moments where I had to beg the driver to stop the bus to let me off. Fortunately accidents were avoided.
We got to Oruro in the early hours and rocked up to our magnificently awful hotel, with its sloping mattresses and fairly disgusting outside toilets. Perfect for me as I was unable to leave the bed or eat for a couple of days, but of course, needed the toilet every 20 minutes. Oruro is the place to be in Bolivia for carnival. All the best dancers, musicians etc come there to parade for 4 days and nights and 100s of 1000s of people descend to enjoy the atmosphere and take part in the obligatory water fights. When I did feel better it was a lot of fun and the parades were magnificent, but in all honesty carnival mostly reminds me of feeling ill in a crap hotel bed, so the less said about it the better.
From Oruro it was a short bus ride to La Paz, renowned as the highest capital city in the world. You can indeed feel the altitude as you drive up to the city in the form of headaches and shortness of breath. The pollution from the 1000s of minibuses that ply the streets doesn't help the oxygen levels too much either. But approaching the city from above is an amazing sight, the city centre is in the bottom of a steep valley, houses and buildings rise up the sides and in every direction, particularly beautiful at night. I decided to take a break from La Paz for a few days by taking a fligth to Rurrenabaque in the North of Bolivia to go on a pampas tour. I boarded my tiny plane (a 20 seater) and wondered which of the 2 pilots would 'distribute the oxygen masks' in the event of an emergency, as presumably they'd be busy flying the plane.
We landed 45 minutes later on a strip of grass that was the landing strip in the jungle. Me and a few girls from the plane decided to get a tour together for the next day, 3 days on a hut on the amazon. We set out the next morning, a group of 10 plus our guide, Oscar. After a few hours by jeep we arrived at the river and boarded our long canoe type boat for a further 3 hour journey, permutated by stops to look at monkeys and turtles and exotic birds. When we finally arrived at our hut in the river everyone was ready for a swim to cool off. It was only later that our guide pointed out the resident alligator, Fred who lived around the hut. Although we were assured that he wasn't active by day so swimming was fine...hmmm. Our 3 days were filled with activities such as swimming with pink river dolphins, a scary as well as wonderful experience as you couldn't see beneath the surface of the river; searching for anacondas in swamps, and drinking the evening away in river bars. finally there was the constant finding of new (and in my case massive) mosquito bites in exotic locations. Always fun. Despite this being the rainy season we were lucky to havedry weather the whole time except the last day when we were faced with torrential rain for our entire journey home (2 hours by boat) and while negotiating mud roads in our jeep. The luke warm shower in our hotel when we got back had never felt so good.
Getting back to La Paz was a shock to the system, as I suddenly climbed from 500 metres in the jungle to 4000 again. But after a few days we moved on to Copacabana (no not that one, the one in Bolivia near Lake Titicaca), where music and laughter...etc etc. We visited Isla del Sol, a small island on the lake with 1000s of years of history and many cute donkeys. We trekked for 3 hours, or rather some of us trekked, I dragged myself up hills very slowly due to the very high altitude. (Altitude has been something of a theme in Bolivia).
After a few days of lakeside r n r, it was time to head south via a 'thrilling', as in dangerous, overnight bus ride to Uyuni to meet up with old friends and head off to see the Salt Flats. But as I've been typing now for far too long, I think that can be the start of the next blog...
After yet another overnight bus journey, I was welcomed to Bolivia with exhaustion heightened by altitude sickness. I could barely walk for 5 steps with my rucksack on my back and eventually got a taxi a few hundred yeard to the bus station. Our mission was to get to Tupiza, a small town close to where Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid used to hang out, and I believe got killed. Our bus was due to leave at 2pm. There was a vast gulf between the Bolivian and Argentinian buses. We fought to get our bags on first (and therefore have them stored under the bus rather than strapped precariously to the top). We made our way for 3 hours across dirt roads before arriving at Tupiza. By all accounts we were lucky as travellers who ventured forth a week later found many of the bridges washed away and were re/built as they waited at the side of the road.
Tupiza was a small friendly town and a good intorduction to Bolivia. We went horseriding into canyons one morning (our backsides couldn't have taken more than a morning's worth of riding) and felt ourselves to be in cowboy country among the huge red rocks and catci. We also happened upon a celebration for Dia de Compadres, which we stayed and watched for a little while before watching it on tv later at the hostel. Fame at last. However, we couldn-t stay in Tupiza forever and so we journeyed onto Sucre.
Sucre is the judicial capital of Bolivia (and as any local will proudly tell you, the only capital of Bolivia). Its a pretty colonial town, the enjoyment of which was marred only slightly by the pre/carnival water attacks carried out by everyone, young and old. Just so you understand the extent of this many people, including myself were hit with water bombs, water pistols or cans of foam at least 5 times a day. Particularly difficult to avoid were the 'drive bys'. We managed to get out of the city for a day long hike, at altitude to look at 2000 year old rock paintings and the generally magnificent landscape in the area, created by a huge meteor crash which distributed huge rocks over a massive area. Sucre was marred only by me becoming ill on the last night, with a high fever and a fairly constant need for the toilet (use your imagination). Not ideal when faced with an overnight journey on a bolivian bus without a toilet. 8 immodiums later and I was good to go, although I had a couple of hairy moments where I had to beg the driver to stop the bus to let me off. Fortunately accidents were avoided.
We got to Oruro in the early hours and rocked up to our magnificently awful hotel, with its sloping mattresses and fairly disgusting outside toilets. Perfect for me as I was unable to leave the bed or eat for a couple of days, but of course, needed the toilet every 20 minutes. Oruro is the place to be in Bolivia for carnival. All the best dancers, musicians etc come there to parade for 4 days and nights and 100s of 1000s of people descend to enjoy the atmosphere and take part in the obligatory water fights. When I did feel better it was a lot of fun and the parades were magnificent, but in all honesty carnival mostly reminds me of feeling ill in a crap hotel bed, so the less said about it the better.
From Oruro it was a short bus ride to La Paz, renowned as the highest capital city in the world. You can indeed feel the altitude as you drive up to the city in the form of headaches and shortness of breath. The pollution from the 1000s of minibuses that ply the streets doesn't help the oxygen levels too much either. But approaching the city from above is an amazing sight, the city centre is in the bottom of a steep valley, houses and buildings rise up the sides and in every direction, particularly beautiful at night. I decided to take a break from La Paz for a few days by taking a fligth to Rurrenabaque in the North of Bolivia to go on a pampas tour. I boarded my tiny plane (a 20 seater) and wondered which of the 2 pilots would 'distribute the oxygen masks' in the event of an emergency, as presumably they'd be busy flying the plane.
We landed 45 minutes later on a strip of grass that was the landing strip in the jungle. Me and a few girls from the plane decided to get a tour together for the next day, 3 days on a hut on the amazon. We set out the next morning, a group of 10 plus our guide, Oscar. After a few hours by jeep we arrived at the river and boarded our long canoe type boat for a further 3 hour journey, permutated by stops to look at monkeys and turtles and exotic birds. When we finally arrived at our hut in the river everyone was ready for a swim to cool off. It was only later that our guide pointed out the resident alligator, Fred who lived around the hut. Although we were assured that he wasn't active by day so swimming was fine...hmmm. Our 3 days were filled with activities such as swimming with pink river dolphins, a scary as well as wonderful experience as you couldn't see beneath the surface of the river; searching for anacondas in swamps, and drinking the evening away in river bars. finally there was the constant finding of new (and in my case massive) mosquito bites in exotic locations. Always fun. Despite this being the rainy season we were lucky to havedry weather the whole time except the last day when we were faced with torrential rain for our entire journey home (2 hours by boat) and while negotiating mud roads in our jeep. The luke warm shower in our hotel when we got back had never felt so good.
Getting back to La Paz was a shock to the system, as I suddenly climbed from 500 metres in the jungle to 4000 again. But after a few days we moved on to Copacabana (no not that one, the one in Bolivia near Lake Titicaca), where music and laughter...etc etc. We visited Isla del Sol, a small island on the lake with 1000s of years of history and many cute donkeys. We trekked for 3 hours, or rather some of us trekked, I dragged myself up hills very slowly due to the very high altitude. (Altitude has been something of a theme in Bolivia).
After a few days of lakeside r n r, it was time to head south via a 'thrilling', as in dangerous, overnight bus ride to Uyuni to meet up with old friends and head off to see the Salt Flats. But as I've been typing now for far too long, I think that can be the start of the next blog...
Wednesday, 6 February 2008
Final days in Argentina
It has been brought to my attention that I've been somewhat rubbish with the entries lately...as usual I offer no apologies for being too busy to write but will attempt to make up for it now.
After the drunken festivities of New Year in Bariloche I turned to the serious matter of spanish lessons and a homestay, in a somewhat misguided attempt to improve my spanish. As soon as I entered my surrogate family home I realised that homestays weren't really for me. As lovely as my family were, I am not someone who copes well with small talk, particularly in a foreign language. I started my lessons on Monday at 9am and found myself in a class with possibly 2 of the most annoying people I've ever met... the keenest girl in the world who attempted to answer everyone's questions and a boy who enjoyed making random and disgusting slurping noises every 5 minutes. Despite all this the lessons helped and I learnt a lot and was ready to head on to Mendoza (and out of my homestay) a short week later.
Mendoza as you may have heard is the Argentinian wine capital; no visit is complete without a tour of a few of the wineries, some sampling and possibly some purchasing. We headed out on typically scalding hot day with Wanka tours... and yes, those of you who know how incredibly childish I am will realise how big a part the name of the company had to do with my picking them. Our first stop was at a family run winery, where we looked round the factory tasted some red wine and I bought a couple of bottles. Our second stop was at a large factory where we looked round, tasted some red and I bought a bottle. The final stop was at a liqueor factory where we looked round, tasted some chocolate liqueor and I bought a bottle of gin. I can highly recommend all the alcohol we bought as 3 of us polished it all off that evening. After a few days in Mendoza relaxing in the hot sun next to the hostel pool we left for Salta, my final stop in Argentina.
A huge storm raged for 3 hours during our overnight bus journey to Salta. Huge bolts of lightning struck the road metres from our bus...once I'd resigned myself to possible death, it really was spectacular. The stormy weather continued once we reached Salta and it dawned on me that we were entering the rainy season. Salta is a pretty town close to amazing mountains. It was once famous for the 'Train to the Clouds', which wends its way up through the mountains at high altitude. The train is hasn't been running for a while due to track maintenance, but we took a ridiculously large truck tour (with removable roof) along the same route. Huge cacti line the many coloured mountains (ranging from reds, yellows, purples, greens) until you climb so high even these hardy plants can no longer survive. Llamas roam around the plains but very little else. We stopped in a few isolated towns, one so small it consisted of one large family (7 brothers) and their livestock, including a large number of incredibly cute rabbits, which I chose to believe were pets not dinner. The tour guide got us drinking red wine and champagne on the journey back (I was praised for my professional drinking out of a large bottle) and insisted on getting the gringos dancing to regatton, the fairly awful music which always has the same beat. After impressing with my dancing skills, we returned to Salta for a well deserved rest after our 5am start.
The next day I'd signed up for yet another trip out to Huamhuaca, a town much further north, during which I learnt my favourite historical fact: during the fight gor independence, General Belgrano dressed up thousands of cacti in sombreros and ponchos to fool the spanish into thinking his army was enormous. The ruse worked allowing him time to build up the necessarily huge army and defeat the spanish at a later date.
Salta was to be the last stop in Argentina for me. I booked and overnight bus to the border town with Bolivia and prepared myself for the change of culture that was to come.
After the drunken festivities of New Year in Bariloche I turned to the serious matter of spanish lessons and a homestay, in a somewhat misguided attempt to improve my spanish. As soon as I entered my surrogate family home I realised that homestays weren't really for me. As lovely as my family were, I am not someone who copes well with small talk, particularly in a foreign language. I started my lessons on Monday at 9am and found myself in a class with possibly 2 of the most annoying people I've ever met... the keenest girl in the world who attempted to answer everyone's questions and a boy who enjoyed making random and disgusting slurping noises every 5 minutes. Despite all this the lessons helped and I learnt a lot and was ready to head on to Mendoza (and out of my homestay) a short week later.
Mendoza as you may have heard is the Argentinian wine capital; no visit is complete without a tour of a few of the wineries, some sampling and possibly some purchasing. We headed out on typically scalding hot day with Wanka tours... and yes, those of you who know how incredibly childish I am will realise how big a part the name of the company had to do with my picking them. Our first stop was at a family run winery, where we looked round the factory tasted some red wine and I bought a couple of bottles. Our second stop was at a large factory where we looked round, tasted some red and I bought a bottle. The final stop was at a liqueor factory where we looked round, tasted some chocolate liqueor and I bought a bottle of gin. I can highly recommend all the alcohol we bought as 3 of us polished it all off that evening. After a few days in Mendoza relaxing in the hot sun next to the hostel pool we left for Salta, my final stop in Argentina.
A huge storm raged for 3 hours during our overnight bus journey to Salta. Huge bolts of lightning struck the road metres from our bus...once I'd resigned myself to possible death, it really was spectacular. The stormy weather continued once we reached Salta and it dawned on me that we were entering the rainy season. Salta is a pretty town close to amazing mountains. It was once famous for the 'Train to the Clouds', which wends its way up through the mountains at high altitude. The train is hasn't been running for a while due to track maintenance, but we took a ridiculously large truck tour (with removable roof) along the same route. Huge cacti line the many coloured mountains (ranging from reds, yellows, purples, greens) until you climb so high even these hardy plants can no longer survive. Llamas roam around the plains but very little else. We stopped in a few isolated towns, one so small it consisted of one large family (7 brothers) and their livestock, including a large number of incredibly cute rabbits, which I chose to believe were pets not dinner. The tour guide got us drinking red wine and champagne on the journey back (I was praised for my professional drinking out of a large bottle) and insisted on getting the gringos dancing to regatton, the fairly awful music which always has the same beat. After impressing with my dancing skills, we returned to Salta for a well deserved rest after our 5am start.
The next day I'd signed up for yet another trip out to Huamhuaca, a town much further north, during which I learnt my favourite historical fact: during the fight gor independence, General Belgrano dressed up thousands of cacti in sombreros and ponchos to fool the spanish into thinking his army was enormous. The ruse worked allowing him time to build up the necessarily huge army and defeat the spanish at a later date.
Salta was to be the last stop in Argentina for me. I booked and overnight bus to the border town with Bolivia and prepared myself for the change of culture that was to come.
Tuesday, 8 January 2008
A Patagonian Christmas and New Year
What do backpackers do for christmas? I'm sure many of you are wondering...well the simple answer is get very, very drunk.
Before Xmas I should go into my jaunt at camping in Patagonia. 2 of us were foolhardy enough to think we'd be good at camping in one of the windiest places on earth. We were wrong, we were complete wusses, but we did it. We travelled to the far south of Chile to the Torres del Paine national park and with our rented camping equipment tried to set up. Our first set back was the fact that the fly sheet and the tent didn't match, which meant the poles were too long. (some short welsh idiot didn't bother to check this, can you believe it?). The second drawback was the lack of mallet and the very rocky ground. Thr third drawback was the high winds and the fact that I don't like camping.
Anyway, we hiked to the Torres through wind, rain and a beautiful rainbow (photos on facebook as ever) and returned to camp in the evening to find our fly sheet had blown off. Fortunately the tent was dry. We then spent a few hours hiding out at a nearby refugio, which had a fire, bliss, before heading to bed at 11pm. I spent the night fully awake listening to the high winds blowing the fly sheet around and praying we didn't take off in the night. I woke up proud of my achivement but happy never to camp again...
Following this experience our plan was to get to Ushuaia, the Southernmost town in Argentina for Christmas. Unfortunately everyone else had the same idea so we gave up trying and resigned ourselves to a dull christmas in Punta Arenas, a small town in Chile...until...we managed to find the last places on a bus leaving in 2 hours, and so with some hasty packing, a alot of swearing and a taxi we made it out of there.
Ushuaia is a town beautifully set on the magellan strait and surrounded by mountains. Massive cruise ships leave frequently for Antartica and although I would have liked to have gone budget wouldn't allow this time round. We did however spend Christmas at the Antartica hostel, which surely is the next best thing. On Christmas Eve around 40 of us tucked into an asado, or barbecue, and proceeded to get very drunk. A very young and funky Santa turned up at midnight with presents, or plastic party hats and capes for all. After much revelling and confetti chucking we headed out to a club, conveniently places opposite the hostel and partied until dawn.
Christmas day started in much the same way, champagne was flowing from 10am and after I'd finished mine I started on the beer. This led to a slightly ill me by early evening when I retired for a strategic nap. Emerging refreshed and ready for charades later that night. All in all it was a truly traditional Christmas.
Our next mission after Christmas was getting to Bariloche for New Years Eve. This involved catching a bus on at 6am on the 27th December and arriving at lunchtime on the 29th December. A mere 3 buses and 4 border crossings later... After this nightmarish journey we setlled into our hostel and set about organising New Years which in Bariloche meant getting a 'crew' together and heading out to a ski resort in the early hours for a party... The organisers had set up a bus to get there although me being me when drunk I had to ask the driver to stop so I could have a wee precariously on a steep bank in the dark. He very graciously waited for me. We partied for a while and then hitched a lift back to Bariloche with some kindly Argentinians. And with that it was 2008.
Before Xmas I should go into my jaunt at camping in Patagonia. 2 of us were foolhardy enough to think we'd be good at camping in one of the windiest places on earth. We were wrong, we were complete wusses, but we did it. We travelled to the far south of Chile to the Torres del Paine national park and with our rented camping equipment tried to set up. Our first set back was the fact that the fly sheet and the tent didn't match, which meant the poles were too long. (some short welsh idiot didn't bother to check this, can you believe it?). The second drawback was the lack of mallet and the very rocky ground. Thr third drawback was the high winds and the fact that I don't like camping.
Anyway, we hiked to the Torres through wind, rain and a beautiful rainbow (photos on facebook as ever) and returned to camp in the evening to find our fly sheet had blown off. Fortunately the tent was dry. We then spent a few hours hiding out at a nearby refugio, which had a fire, bliss, before heading to bed at 11pm. I spent the night fully awake listening to the high winds blowing the fly sheet around and praying we didn't take off in the night. I woke up proud of my achivement but happy never to camp again...
Following this experience our plan was to get to Ushuaia, the Southernmost town in Argentina for Christmas. Unfortunately everyone else had the same idea so we gave up trying and resigned ourselves to a dull christmas in Punta Arenas, a small town in Chile...until...we managed to find the last places on a bus leaving in 2 hours, and so with some hasty packing, a alot of swearing and a taxi we made it out of there.
Ushuaia is a town beautifully set on the magellan strait and surrounded by mountains. Massive cruise ships leave frequently for Antartica and although I would have liked to have gone budget wouldn't allow this time round. We did however spend Christmas at the Antartica hostel, which surely is the next best thing. On Christmas Eve around 40 of us tucked into an asado, or barbecue, and proceeded to get very drunk. A very young and funky Santa turned up at midnight with presents, or plastic party hats and capes for all. After much revelling and confetti chucking we headed out to a club, conveniently places opposite the hostel and partied until dawn.
Christmas day started in much the same way, champagne was flowing from 10am and after I'd finished mine I started on the beer. This led to a slightly ill me by early evening when I retired for a strategic nap. Emerging refreshed and ready for charades later that night. All in all it was a truly traditional Christmas.
Our next mission after Christmas was getting to Bariloche for New Years Eve. This involved catching a bus on at 6am on the 27th December and arriving at lunchtime on the 29th December. A mere 3 buses and 4 border crossings later... After this nightmarish journey we setlled into our hostel and set about organising New Years which in Bariloche meant getting a 'crew' together and heading out to a ski resort in the early hours for a party... The organisers had set up a bus to get there although me being me when drunk I had to ask the driver to stop so I could have a wee precariously on a steep bank in the dark. He very graciously waited for me. We partied for a while and then hitched a lift back to Bariloche with some kindly Argentinians. And with that it was 2008.
Wednesday, 2 January 2008
Hunting for Moai
And so to what may be one of my smuggest blogs...the account of my trip to Easter Island. For those of you who, like me, thought that Easter Island was a short boat trip from the mainland of Chile, let me explain how isolated it actually is. The flight there takes 5.5 hours, the nearest neighbour is, I believe Pitcairn, and all that can be seen from the coastline is the sea and the sky. My first night I made a few friends at the hostel/campsite (no of course I wasn't camping, I was in a dorm) and immediately set about their boxed red wine, those who have travelled through Chile may well be familiar with Gato Negro, the ruiner of many a morning for me. A few of us arranged to hire a jeep to take to the beach on the other side of the island the next day. So, feeling slightly bleary eyed, we set out to Anakena beach, a beautiful palm tree lined, white sand beach with a platform and several Moai statues watching over it. The beach, coupled with the turquoise seas made me actually relax, a very rare ocurrence, and feel like I was on an actual holiday within my backpacking trip.
I feel like I should give you a little of the history of the Moai, those of you not in the mood for a history lesson (shame on you) look away now... The statues range from around the 9th or 10th centuries and the last ones were made in the 16th century. They commemorated important members of the particular tribe that made them, the statues were raised onto a platform and faced inland to look over the tribe and protect them. the body of the person commemorated would be cremated on the platform itself. All the Moai on platforms were men, there are a couple of female Moai but unsurprisingly they weren't allowed on the platforms (probably would have distracted the male Moai or something) but were placed just in front. Tribal wars broke out in the 15th/16th centuries and as the ultimate means of humilating and defeating each other all the sacred Moai were toppled until a peace was negotiated and the cult of the bird man was created. (Be patient I'm almost done). This rather wonderful idea involved members of each tribe racing over a cliff across dangerous seas to a small island to collect the first egg of the nesting birds there and swimming back with the egg intact. The winner of the competition would be in charge for a year. Such a brilliant idea, it ended the wars and I think is something political leaders of the day might want to consider adopting. So that's the history bit, hope it wasn't too dull.
The Moai are all over the island and any long walk is permutated by Moai spotting, until every random rock begins to look like a statue and many hours are wasted clambering with anticipation. One of my favourite sites on the island was the quarry. It was abandoned when the war broke out with hundreds of half finished Moai (including one of the biggest at 24 metres) left in situ, almost as if they were emerging from the hill itself. The whole site has an eerie quality and it most strongly represents the fascination a lot of visitors have with the island I think. Of course in between all this history there was plenty of time for eating out at fantsatic seafood restaurants overlooking the sea, and cocktail drinking with new friends. Many a happy evening was spent sitting on the beach, drinking beer and waiting for a hopefully fantastic sunset behind the Moai or looking out for turtles dodging the children and surfers.
We also found time to hunt out handicrafts at the local jail, where the 5 island prisoners (4 robbers and 1 murderer) spend all day carving wooden Moai and jewellery to sell to tourists to the pumping sounds of heavy metal. Although I was slightly intimidated by the access they had to chainsaws, I did by a bangle at a knockdown price, unsurprisingly the prisoners are in no position to argue prices... exploitation, you bet.
I hope what I've painted is a pretty idyllic image in your minds of this unusual and beautiful island in the middle of nowhere, because that's genuinely how I felt about it. A week didn't feel long enough and I'd love to go back one day (anyone want to join me?).
I feel like I should give you a little of the history of the Moai, those of you not in the mood for a history lesson (shame on you) look away now... The statues range from around the 9th or 10th centuries and the last ones were made in the 16th century. They commemorated important members of the particular tribe that made them, the statues were raised onto a platform and faced inland to look over the tribe and protect them. the body of the person commemorated would be cremated on the platform itself. All the Moai on platforms were men, there are a couple of female Moai but unsurprisingly they weren't allowed on the platforms (probably would have distracted the male Moai or something) but were placed just in front. Tribal wars broke out in the 15th/16th centuries and as the ultimate means of humilating and defeating each other all the sacred Moai were toppled until a peace was negotiated and the cult of the bird man was created. (Be patient I'm almost done). This rather wonderful idea involved members of each tribe racing over a cliff across dangerous seas to a small island to collect the first egg of the nesting birds there and swimming back with the egg intact. The winner of the competition would be in charge for a year. Such a brilliant idea, it ended the wars and I think is something political leaders of the day might want to consider adopting. So that's the history bit, hope it wasn't too dull.
The Moai are all over the island and any long walk is permutated by Moai spotting, until every random rock begins to look like a statue and many hours are wasted clambering with anticipation. One of my favourite sites on the island was the quarry. It was abandoned when the war broke out with hundreds of half finished Moai (including one of the biggest at 24 metres) left in situ, almost as if they were emerging from the hill itself. The whole site has an eerie quality and it most strongly represents the fascination a lot of visitors have with the island I think. Of course in between all this history there was plenty of time for eating out at fantsatic seafood restaurants overlooking the sea, and cocktail drinking with new friends. Many a happy evening was spent sitting on the beach, drinking beer and waiting for a hopefully fantastic sunset behind the Moai or looking out for turtles dodging the children and surfers.
We also found time to hunt out handicrafts at the local jail, where the 5 island prisoners (4 robbers and 1 murderer) spend all day carving wooden Moai and jewellery to sell to tourists to the pumping sounds of heavy metal. Although I was slightly intimidated by the access they had to chainsaws, I did by a bangle at a knockdown price, unsurprisingly the prisoners are in no position to argue prices... exploitation, you bet.
I hope what I've painted is a pretty idyllic image in your minds of this unusual and beautiful island in the middle of nowhere, because that's genuinely how I felt about it. A week didn't feel long enough and I'd love to go back one day (anyone want to join me?).
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