zest&bare

Photos: La Paz 'n the rest...

daniryan — Wed, 13 Jan 2010 05:29:00 GMT

heading south...

daniryan — Wed, 13 Jan 2010 05:23:00 GMT

It seems a lifetime since I left South America and since the adventures that took me from La Paz, through Argentina, Chile and Brazil, to Toronto. But rather than stuff you full with it all at once, I’ll recount my final weeks in Bolivia first.

Following my visit to Lake Titicaca in November, I took myself to Coroico for the weekend. This is apparently where the richer La Paz folk come to relax and vacation. Whilst the setting is pretty, I had a bit of difficulty understanding the popularity of the place. Two and a bit hours from La Paz, taking some of the Death Road to get there, the journey was odd, travelling up over the Cordillera on the La Paz side where it was cold and barren, high up into the clouds then coming out on the Coroico side where the heat and humidity suddenly slapped me in the face amongst the tropical rainforest. Bolivia has apparently 60 of the worlds’ 120 eco-systems and to experience the changes so dramatically in such short distances is mind boggling. The town of Coroico itself was itchy and dirty and most shop owners, sitting in the usual economical darkness of their grocery stores, appeared asleep or perhaps dead, flies circling their heads. The first hostel I found made my skin crawl and the owner with her nose hair hanging almost to her lip put me off a little, especially as she was also the cook. I ended up in a relatively nice place with a pool and hammock that I didn’t move too far from over the next few days. Curious TV programming saw me catching up on Antiques Roadshow in German and on the top 20 Korean songs! My usual walk to the Cerro (hill) was less than a delight – evidently the Stations of the Cross are not terribly respected in these parts with the area seeming more valued for drinking, sex and children’s parties, in no particular order.

I returned ‘home’ for my last week in La Paz and spent most of it with my head in a bucket, a less-than-glamorous end to my four month stint in Peru and Bolivia. Being sick meant a bit of trauma to get my speech program completed before I left and in addition (and unsurprisingly) my volunteer coordinator left it until the last minute to meet with me for a handover. I pondered leaving without bothering but then considered the work I had put in to the 42 page document, which I had translated by my Spanish teacher. More importantly I thought it might contribute even a little to helping those deaf kids. So I buried my frustration and got it over with. Who knows if what I did in the end will be of any consequence to these children. I can only hope so.

I felt a weight lifted after the handover and finally on my last day the sun came out. Rainy season had started and you would think it’s not a yearly occurrence. The city is thrown into chaos and while no one respects the road rules usually – requiring a random whistle-blowing policeman to intervene daily despite perfectly functioning traffic lights, the rain caused another level of ridiculous, providing me with much amusement watching from the safety of my balcony.

Leaving La Paz, my overnight bus to Sucre was a 12 hour, direct affair. Half an hour into the journey I asked where the bathroom was. “It’s broken”… my brain hoped I misunderstood. Surely the toilet works? No, it didn’t. I held on for another two hours but as I had not prepared mentally or physically for this, I just had to go. So, apologies for what you are about to read… I peed into a bag. Sitting right there on my seat. Work out the details for yourself but it was a logistical nightmare and somewhere on some dark stretch of road a few hours from La Paz is a burst bag of my urine, tossed from the window of a bus.

Otherwise I made it to Sucre drama free. It felt amazing to be out of the chill and thin air of the Altiplano. Walking up to the mirador I noticed other tourists out of breath while I felt like I was walking on a flat road. It would be great if my lung capacity and metabolism stayed at the same levels as at altitude. Not likely. Sucre, the judicial capital of Bolivia, is Tuscan-like and pretty. The people are stylish and can follow road rules. And they make good chicken.

Next stop was Potosí, three hours away and at 4 000m the highest town in the world. This is the site of Cerro Rico (Rich Mountain), that was pillaged for centuries for silver to make coins and silver goods for the Old World. It continues to be raked for minerals with the miners lasting about 10 years before they die an awful respiratory failure death. So much for occupational health and safety. The very idea of doing a mine tour makes my chest tighten so I didn’t put myself through that. I did go to one of the first mints in the world which was fascinating. Hard to believe such a shit hole, ugly mining town was once more economically important than London in its day. Some child mummies, skin and hair in tact, were found in the walls of the town’s cathedral and are now, oddly, housed at the old Mint. They are still dressed in their rich, white people’s clothing reminding you that the locals weren’t the ones benefiting from these riches.

A seven hour, bumpy ride through the night to Uyuni was next. The robust man oozing onto my seat thankfully only travelled half the way. There were some tourists on the bus who I had met in Sucre and then ran into again in Salta and Iguazú (Argentina). Running into the same people in various towns happens a lot on the gringo trail.

Uyuni is an unfortunate looking town but as the gateway to the incredible Salar de Uyuni they cater to the tourists. My Salt Flat tour was meant to start at 10am. We left at 11.30am. My fun group of four others helped make the day. First stop was a train cemetery. Kill me. Next was the town where most of the salt workers live and where they refine the salt. Then there were some geyser-like bubbles caused by oxygen in the ground. My chemical vocabulary in Spanish is limited so I might be making this up. I do know though that under the salt is more than 50% of the world’s lithium, not yet extracted as the Bolivian’s refused to let foreign companies mine it and potentially exploit them. There was a man working nearby in the blinding glare of the white flats and the clear blue sky – using nothing but his hands to break and shovel the perpetually hard salt. It hasn’t rained properly there for years and if they buy machinery to help, it will price them out of the market. It’s a grim scene.

We drove across the flats for about 40 minutes, anxious whenever our driver veered slightly off the track. Most tourist drivers are riddled with alcohol. Luckily ours was just drunk on the boredom of driving across those flats every single day. Naturally when we stopped, everyone (including me) took those ridiculous perspective photos, possible due to the area being 10 000 square kms of flatness. Lunch was grilled llama – actually really tasty, like pork but not as dry nor fatty. Then came the best part of the day. Driving to Isla Incahuasi – an island full of cactuses, there were sun showers creating the most spectacular reflections on the flats. The photos are amazing but in reality it was so much more magical. The Isla was awesome too and who knew cactuses can live to 1200 years? Heading back we stopped at the old, illegal Salt Hotel. It would have been nice to fit in a three day tour of the whole area but I was more than satisfied with my one day.

I tried to get a train to my next stop Tupiza, however tickets were sold out for the twice a week service. So it was another 6am bus trip for me. I got breakfast from a street vendor, sitting and chatting with three old local guys as I ate the fried donut things and drank black coffee scooped out of a huge drum. At 48 cents, it was one of my favourite experiences in South America. The bus on the other hand, was hell, seven hours on an unmade track with dust flying around so thick I could draw patterns on my jeans.

In sleepy Tupiza I went for a horse ride with a young equestrian champion through the Valle de los Machos, AKA valley of penises (yes, you read correctly) and up to another Incan ruin. Clearly, based on my attitude toward ruins, I didn’t bother to walk further into the bushes to actually see it. I undercalculated by about $20 how much I needed to get me through my last day in Bolivia and to my horror discovered there are no ATMs in Tupiza or anywhere in the vicinity. Thank God for travellers’ cheques, giving me enough money to get to the border and then to Salta, Argentina as there were no ATMs at the border either!

The train came through Tupiza at 4.10am. The elderly night watchman from the hostel insisted on walking me the three blocks to the station, followed with a good luck hug, giving me a really lovely end to my stay in Bolivia. Once in the border town of Villazón, I attempted to buy food and for the first time in months could not find a street vendor anywhere. So, starving, I gave up, changed what was left of my money for no-doubt an extortionist rate, and walked across the bridge to Argentina. Of course, after lining up at customs for an hour, I had forgotten to get my exit stamp from Bolivia and had to go back across the bridge for the stamp, and back again, lining up for another 30 minutes. I eventually sorted myself out and left Bolivia, content as I reflected on the experiences I had in such a financially poor but incredibly rich country. Coming out of reflective mode I remembered I was poor at this point too and starving. Surely there would be an ATM at the terminal in La Quiaca? Nope. So with my coins, I did get some exciting bread rolls. Thankfully I made some friends on the bus who helped me out until I finally made it to Salta, Argentina (and finally an ATM), with no more than $1 in my pocket.

It didn’t take long to feel the stark differences between Bolivia and Argentina, close only in geography. But more about Argentina and the rest in the next installment…

Until next time!

Gallery: La Paz & Isla del Sol

daniryan — Wed, 11 Nov 2009 04:20:00 GMT

Isla del Sol... a slice of paradise

daniryan — Wed, 11 Nov 2009 04:02:00 GMT

Happy Birthday to me! Okay, so it was last week but in my family these things often last more than a week anyway. It was Todos los Santos (All Saints and All Souls Day) so a long weekend and of course Halloween on the Saturday. I joined the fervour of the Bolivians and happily went costume hunting on Calle Linares, where the streets are literally lined with street vendors and costume stores. I found a perfectly sized hanging ghost decoration and after a few holes cut out, two pairs of white stockings (one for my legs, one for my arms), and some white face-paint, I was ready to go.

The party at Blue Note was full of dressed-up tourists and locals, and was made even better with another guy celebrating his birthday too. A few hours into my birthday morning, when absolutely everyone had left and I was still dancing away (alone), the staff asked me to please leave so they could go home too! I clearly didn’t want the night to end. But it did…. and then came the morning. Ouch! Possibly the worst birthday I have ever experienced. Not only because I was so ill (I am way too old for these shenanigans) but also I was missing David, my family and friends terribly. Special occasions really put into perspective what and who is important in my life. It didn’t help that the friend staying with me didn’t think my birthday was as important as I thought it was, which made me feel even sorrier for myself!

That particular friend, Yiftah, was one of the few people staying with me over the past few weeks. Also strewn over the couch, on a mattress in the hallway, or bunking with me at various times in my big-enough apartment were Chloe, Bridget, Ben and Benita. I had met all of these people in Cusco so it was like an awesome mini-reunion. Sadly, most of them have now gone either north or south on the Gringo trail, but it’s highly possible we’ll cross paths again. So bitter sweetly, I am home alone again. It was great having great people around but it meant I didn’t get too much done either. We spent most of the time eating sushi and steak, drinking wine, and even went to a couple of movies (where am I again?!). We spent one memorable afternoon watching the ‘Cholitas Wrestling’. Based on WWF with women dressed in traditional clothing as the main event (a ‘Cholita’ is a female who acts badly in public), the whole thing was a farce. It went for two or more painful hours and only involved two women (who didn’t even wrestle each other) and old men with not much skill whatsoever. The only saving grace was the beautiful sunset I saw when I escaped outside to the bathroom for twenty minutes. I’ll chalk that one up to a crappy tourist experience!

But, I did finish the pain-in-my-ass program I was writing as part of my volunteer project. The forty page document for Bolivian adolescent deaf kids to learn oral communication is currently half translated into Spanish and once that is done, I will hand it over and be done with it. For my frustrations regarding this whole saga and the volunteer coordinator (the hippie who really enjoyed the 60s), refer to my last entry...

As a reward for finishing my work, I took myself to Lake Titicaca. And wow!

I bought my ticket for an 8am Friday bus. At 8.05 the bus was delayed to 8.30 and then at 8.40, cancelled. They put me in a tiny mini-van and dumped me in El Alto. This is the ass-end of the world that is also, apparently, ‘Bolivia’s Economic Capital’. Almost all of the people are traditionally dressed (made stranger as it is so, so cold up there) and are poor. It smells like sausages and sewerage. This smell however was more pleasant than the guy next to me on the bus, who was cultivating the sour-milk, coca leaf combo that is becoming normal for me to encounter on buses. Unfortunately, the blob of Lucas’ papaw ointment smeared under my nose did nothing to repel the smell. After El Alto we drove through literal wasteland, totally barren, dotted with half-built (or half-fallen down?) houses. Then all of a sudden trees start popping out of the ground and I got a glimpse of Lake Titicaca to the left. It’s like driving into a completely different area on earth. We made it to the tiny, nothing-town of Taquina where the bus goes across the lake on a wooden barge (people go across on a little boat), with the whole thing taking about 45 minutes. But there were hundreds of people milling around and loads of army guys with machine guns. Not to mention the twenty or so SUVs with Brazilian stickers and police lights. Eventually a random lady told me the Brazilian president was visiting the other side of the river in his massive cruise ship and therefore no one could go anywhere. We were there for three hours.

Finally on the other side, we were back on the bus and headed up the hill to Copacabana. This is where I got my first proper view of the Lake and oh my god, it was breathtaking. We made it to Copa around 4pm and my planned itinerary was well out the window. I found a hostel after the first few I tried didn’t have vacancy. It was such a shithole that I hallucinated I was being eaten by bed bugs when I tried to sleep. And the pillow was possibly modelled from cement. Anyway after I checked in, I climbed Cerro Calvario. Loads of locals were climbing it too to make offerings at the 12 Stations of the Cross along the way. It was incredible up there and the sunset was amazing. I took about a thousand photos. I suffered vertigo a few times so instead of throwing myself over the edge (which is the sensation I get) I had to keep going back down a few meters and back up. I must have looked a little nutty.

The next day I hired a bike and rode 17kms from Copacabana to Yampupata. Admittedly about 15 minutes and my first mountain into it, I regretted the whole affair however I persevered (although walked the bike over the rest of the mountains, the highest being 4340mtrs. Copa is at 3810mtrs, where it can be tricky to breathe sitting still, let alone doing anything strenuous) and rode through tiny little villages, saw the floating reed village of Titicachi, and even chatted to some of the locals. It was like I was catapulted back through time, with the locals using reed boats and donkeys and wearing raggy, traditional clothing – however always smiling toothless smiles and saying hello. Inland it felt and smelt like Victoria in the summer – hot, dry, and like eucalyptus. I was half expecting to look up and see a koala or two. I only encountered four tourists in the whole two and a half hours which was bliss and I only took one wrong turn. I was given a stick figure map and told “Always take the hard left”. Apparently if the hard left takes you down a ditch, this rule does not apply. Anyway, I made it to Yampupata, the end of the road, at 10.55am. I was meant to meet the bike guy (who was a bit of a dick) at 11am where he was to take the bike back to Copa. So I waited…and waited…and waited, until 12.15pm. I decided if he wanted his bike he should have been on time so I left the bike with some guy on the shore and off I went in my little boat. I do wonder what happened to that bike.

Crossing the Lake was lovely, chatting with the local fisherman who I hired to be my ‘driver’, with him pointing out landmarks, showing me how clean and clear the fresh water is (it is). Once at the south end of the island, Yumani, you have no choice but to climb the Escalera del Inca – why is everything Inca-related so impossibly steep you almost die of exhaustion? I found a hostel near the top of the stairs with the most amazing view, for $A3.20. I had lunch on top of the ridge, overlooking the so-blue Lake, looking over to Peru. I could have sat there forever. I almost did, writing and just taking it in, wondering why this place isn’t more popular (there weren’t as many tourists around as I had imagined). Many of the hostels and restaurants were deserted, including most of the places listed in the Lonely Planet (yes, embarrassingly, I own one).

In the afternoon I went in search of the Pilko Kaina ruins – not sure why as I am completely ruined-out, particularly of the Incan kind, after Peru. But off I went following the typically Bolivian lack of any signage whatsoever and found myself, sans ruins, at the tip of the south end of the island and then at some weird pagan cross. The views however were absolutely breathtaking. The water actually looks alive as it sparkles so amazingly. I found my way back along some other track and I think I found some ruins (read: non-descript rubble) but by then I was totally satisfied and in love with Isla Del Sol. The sunset that night cemented my affection.

On Saturday, after waking to donkeys and birds – a nice change from the car horns and chaos of La Paz - I walked from the south to the north end of the island, to the town of Cha’llapampa. The walk took about three hours along completely barren hilltops that I couldn’t believe were being farmed by the locals. And excuse the observation, but I also couldn’t believe how much their sheep shit, considering there is nothing for them to eat! Anyway, as a bad tourist, I bypassed the Chincana ruins, apparently where the first Incas began (recall my over-Incan-ruins attitude). I continued on to the village passing a beach which on closer inspection of the shoreline was thick with algae. It seemed popular with the donkeys and pigs. The town was eerily deserted except for some enterprising old man who came running (yes, he was running) up to me telling me his boat was the only one going back to Copa. I knew he was lying and there would be more but at this point I thought some catastrophe had wiped out the rest of the town’s population, so he was my best bet. All the boats (there were about six after all) were indirect and the likelihood of getting home sometime in the near future was getting slimmer.

Finally back at Copa there was a mad scramble for the last buses back to La Paz. Apparently a strike was due to start on Monday. I got the last seat on my bus. Back at Taquina (where I had spent three hours on Friday) we crossed the water and waited on the other side for the bus. Again there was a crowd of people. Apparently this time it was due to the strike, which was meant to start the next day. The locals weren’t letting our bus across, and were trying to push it back across the river. I stood there with my hot chips watching the action like a movie. We were eventually allowed to walk across some rotted planks, back onto the bus which was still sitting on the river on the very thin and rather frail wooden barge. Finally the bus backed through the crowd and started driving away. But the lady next to me, Nelly’s, son and nephew were missing from their seats. She was panicking when they emerged through the crowd. The whole crowd was running with them, hitting the bus and trying to push onto the bus with them. The two guys got on and the bus sped off so fast, we might have hit a few poor souls on the way.

I got chatting to Nelly on the bus – she was very patient with my crappy Spanish. We were talking about my sunburnt nose so she gave me some coca leaves to chew. My leg could have been hacked off and she probably still would have offered coca leaves. Apparently these leaves are miracle cures. But I have tried the tea and candies and already knew they make me feel nauseous, just like with all herbal teas. So there I was, politely stuffing leaves into each side of my mouth – and I chose leaves too big so they were poking into my cheeks and she’s chatting away completely oblivious, and I’m trying to answer her without gagging or vomiting. Thank god it was dark – if she saw my contorted face she would have offered more leaves to fix it.

I had such an incredible weekend, although it was nice to be ‘home’ when I finally got back to La Paz at 10.30pm Sunday.

I’m off to Coroico next weekend and I promise the next instalment won’t be so long! Thanks for reading.

Here’s to life!

PS Photos out and about in La Paz to come!

loving La Paz

daniryan — Mon, 19 Oct 2009 03:33:00 GMT

La Paz… wow! Coming around the corner from El Alto to get the first view above this huge city is breathtaking. Not a pretty city, although they are trying, but if ever the word ‘sprawling’ was appropriate, this is it. It’s beautiful though in the people, the buzz and energy. And it seems I really am a city girl, even enjoying all the concrete after the dustbowl of Cusco. It’s a strange space La Paz, as though someone found a crater in the earth and decided to build an entire city in it. It feels like there should be a river running through the middle (the back water drain they call the river doesn’t count) and it parches me thinking about how landlocked this place is. I did however glimpse the mighty Lake Titicaca on my way here however I don’t think I got her best angle.

It was at the border of Peru and Bolivia at an unfortunate looking town, Desaguadero. After nine-ish hours on an overnight bus, which was surprisingly luxurious with almost fully-reclined seats, blankets and movies – not bad for $28, we stopped to go through Peruvian customs. This entailed standing in the pouring, freezing rain for over an hour, waiting for the office to open (the line gets huge hence not waiting on the bus – believe me, I wondered about this option too). After ‘checking out’ of Peru I literally walked across a bridge apparently in neither Peru nor Bolivia, with a murky looking Lake Titicaca to my left, and into Bolivia. Customs there were a much simpler affair and it was evident at that point, things work differently here. The bus, obviously, collected us on the Bolivian side.

Strangely, and luckily, on the bus I sat next to a British guy I knew from Cusco, who is a little bonkers and owns a pub in La Paz. As I couldn’t get hold of my contact, Diane, he thankfully offered for me to wait in his pub. Considering the crazy storm, I was more than appreciative of this. Eventually Diane found me and we went to check out places for me to stay. I saw five places. One landlord, let’s call her Mrs Highpants with a perm, showed me a room that smelt so badly of cats, dogs and old books, I almost gagged. I tried to smile through the ordeal, and for those of you familiar with my ridiculously over-developed sense of smell, you can imagine my devastation if this was my only choice! I would rather live in the literal single-bed-sized, can’t-fit-my-suitcase-in room I temporarily stayed in. Of the other few places, I did agonize for a bit over my final decision. It came down to one I really wanted and one that was nice but I only considered it because the lady was old and friendly, needed the money and quite literally begged me. Then I slapped myself and remembered me and want I want is more important (I hope everyone reading this feels the same about their own wishes?). So I am now living in an amazing apartment that is full of light, is huge and so central, in San Pedro. If there was any doubt about my choice, the two hour ordeal to get to the ‘other’ suburb where I stayed for a week, the other night in the rain and dark, (taxis won’t go there because it’s in the boondocks), settled it.

Another great point is that I can walk to my volunteer school and the school where I guess I’ll be learning Bolivian sign language – um, yes, you read correctly. I realize there will be a few practical issues with this endeavor, considering I don’t yet speak Spanish. Wish me luck. The volunteer school is at the top of a hill and bright yellow (the apartment is also yellow – as my favourite colour, these were good omens). There are about forty children who are deaf and some with additional impairments. They asked me to “teach them to speak”. This really is the role of a teacher of the deaf and honestly I have no idea what the ^^&*^ I’ve got myself into. In English and possibly even in Spanish with a signer to assist I’d be fine. However without any resources and clearly the language issues, this is possibly one of the biggest professional challenges I’ve ever faced. I am currently writing a program which I need to translate into Spanish, for these adolescent deaf children to learn sounds and the new language (sign language is a completely different language to oral language and has its own word order, etc.). Not sure anyone I’m dealing with here realizes the sheer scale of what they are asking these children (and me) to do. It’s stressing me out a little and I really need to keep in check why I’m here and what I want to get out of this. I’ll work it out, I’ll have to! And in the meantime any suggestions are welcome…

I recommenced Spanish lessons however I fired my Spanish teacher on Thursday. Any teacher who asks indignantly with her face screwed up if I really didn’t understand the tape recording (yes, a cassette tape recording – the quality was amazing?) or if I really don’t know how to conjugate that verb (um Miss, I haven’t learnt that tense yet!), and then gives me the wrong advice because she actually doesn’t speak English (I should have asked her indignantly if she really didn’t understand me), is not creating the right learning environment for me! So I told her so in a calm and honest way and frankly she reacted really nastily. She told me that in all her 15 years of teaching no one had ever told her that the environment was stressful nor that they didn’t appreciate nor find her sarcasm helpful when they didn’t know something. I said perhaps they felt that but didn’t want to say anything to her. Anyone who has worked in a client- or teaching-based job should know the rule of ten percent, where usually one in ten people won’t gel with your teaching or personality style and that’s just life. She really didn’t need to get huffy or start mumbling in Spanish (possibly abusing me). I was just being honest and looking out for my learning. So I am currently asking anyone who speaks Spanish and at least some English to practice conversation with me. So far I have three takers so we’ll see how I go.

I’ve had a mini-Maximo reunion happening here at my house with some of the Cusco crew - Chloe, Bridget, Benita and Ben - staying this week. Tom’s been hanging out with us too. I’m by far the nana of the group, in age and in the fact I am meant to be working, but it’s been great… we just need the rest of our little Peru group and somewhere like ‘Inca Team’ (where we all danced many hours away in Cusco) and it’ll be like we never left!

On Friday Bridget, Chloe and I went to the Valley of the Moon. This is technically called the ‘Badlands’ and looks out of place with its rock formations, canyons, pinnacles and cactus. It’s meant to look like the surface of the moon. It was interesting and a nice few hours out of the city. To get there we had to go through Zona Sur – the rich end of town. Good God, you could almost forget you were in a third world country. The houses were humungous with gated communities and clearly lots of money to go around!

But I do love it here in La Paz and in my gritty neighbourhood, San Pedro. The famous prison of San Pedro is two blocks away, taking up prime city land. This is the prison the true-story ‘Marching Powder’ is about – where prisoners have to buy their own cells and there are ‘neighbourhoods’ of differing prestige inside the prison. The prisoners’ wives and children live inside too and the prisoners can set up restaurants and shops. You used to be able to visit and ‘sample’ apparently the purest cocaine with the prisoners (made inside San Pedro) however it’s not so easy now. You can go with a tour group, which wouldn’t exactly be the same as the original experience (where you could also sleep inside the prison). And even if you did get in on your own, apparently the guy now running the ‘tours’ is a cold-blooded murderer (as opposed to a relatively ‘safe’ drug dealer!). I can see the intrigue but I’m pretty certain I’ll give it a miss!

Unfortunately I am yet to buy a new camera (to recap, some bastard stole mine in Cusco) so haven’t taken any photos. I will do so soon though!

I am taking myself to Lake Titicaca for my birthday weekend (hint, hint.. haha!) in a couple of weeks, for hopefully a prettier experience than at the border. So until then… here’s to life!

Gallery: last days in Cusco

daniryan — Mon, 5 Oct 2009 11:54:00 GMT

final adventures in Cusco

daniryan — Fri, 2 Oct 2009 03:52:00 GMT

It´s only been three weeks since my last babble but since then... I have been involved with a new volunteer project, watched another Cienciano game, drank more home-made Pisco Sours, danced my ass off more than once to cheesy music, saw a sunrise, ate Guinea pig, ate a few burgers... then a few more, attempted to learn tenses in Spanish, saw a few too many Incan sites, experienced a ‘Maximo’ party, got paid in empanadas and cheesecake to teach English, watched the AFL Grand Final around a laptop with less-than-ideal streaming, had my camera stolen resulting in a police car ride and hour long interrogation process, went to a flower show, bought too many souvenirs to fit in my bag, had a nutter of a woman stay in my room for one strange night, and bussed my way here to La Paz, Bolivia…I can understand that might be enough to read! For the rest of you (who really love me!), read on…

My volunteer project was at Madre Teresa de Calcuta, a kindergarten especially for kids with nutritional issues. ‘My’ class was with two to four year olds. Some poor little ones had rotting teeth and could barely count to three. As the teacher was clearly an angry woman in the wrong career I took it upon myself to implement some actual structure and learning objectives. They actually enjoyed learning numbers, animals, fruits and vegetables and making pasta necklaces for fun and motor development. For a challenge I even tried to implement manners – in a country where spitting, public urinating and picking your nose, and a lack of please and thank you is the norm, this was possibly a ridiculous goal. Some kids were starting to get it however there is no way their teacher, if she’s ever in the class with them, will continue any of it.

Unfortunately the other aspect to deal with was being viewed as a cash cow. The director asked me to buy books and pay for an excursion for all the kids and staff. How do you say no? So I paid but it annoyed me as I have paid to be here (with my funds supposedly going to needy projects), I’m not working, and was bringing in resources as gifts on my own accord. The final straw came when on my last day she showed me a cupboard full of gifts sent by previous volunteers. When the kids are playing with one-eyed, no-armed, matted-hair dolls that frighteningly resemble Chucky and there are no resources including colouring-in or story books, why are these things in her cupboard? Despite that, I did enjoy the placement and wish there was time to do more.

Most days after my project I met with a local girl who was trying to get her tour guide license. Let’s be honest – this girl was annoying, continually questioning me how could I not know the history of the Incas or be more interested, or use a guide at sites, or want to see more Inca rocks and structures – but she paid me with amazing empanadas and cheesecake so I took the abuse. And the answer to her questions was that really how many of these sites can you see and truly be interested? Perhaps as I started with Machu Picchu, the only way was down after that. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoyed my weekend at the Sacred Valley, particularly the tranquility of Chinchero and the tranquility of being on my own. I also enjoyed the best meal I’ve had in months in Ollaytantambo, but I really didn’t get Pisac and couldn’t wait to leave. But leaving Pisac was a drama too, seriously battling it out with the locals using elbows and knees to get onto a bus, ending up standing all the way near a person who was excreting a smell like he needed immediate hospitalization.

I also spent my last weeks doing private Spanish lessons. I feel like I learnt so much my brain couldn’t process anymore and it’s shut down. Hopefully it starts to work again soon. It probably doesn’t help that there were a few late nights in my last week. I hadn’t been out too much in my two months so made sure to make up for it at my ‘leaving’ drinks on Thursday night and then at the Maximo end-of-month party on Saturday. Both nights ended with dancing and burgers…felt like home, except of course the music was a little 2001 and generally on a loop of maybe 20 songs! On Friday night we attempted to watch the AFL Grand Final live (local time 11.30pm). The signal was abysmal so at half time we made our way to a volunteer house that none of us live in and watched the remainder there. The ‘house mother’ i.e. a guard to make sure people like us don’t turn up at 1am and drink beer, was not impressed but luckily we were able to watch the second half with better streaming. The signal was still bad and I must say Rob, the instigator of this viewing-event and a Saints fan, handled the situation very well. If it was my team and I couldn’t quite see the game properly I’d have had kittens.

And just as I thought how great I was to avoid being robbed and / or run over in my two months in Cusco, drinks on Thursday ended with some bastard stealing my camera as I waited for a cab. I felt the guy do it too and quickly checked my bag, to find my cards, money and phone were safe. A minute later in the cab I realised my camera had gone – thankfully I only had about 20 not-so-exciting photos on there (actually most were of tropical flower arrangements – I only took them for my house mother whose camera had broken). For insurance I needed a police report so on Saturday I asked a policeman in the street where the Tourist Police was. He told me to get a cab but I stood there stubbornly until he called his mates who came around in a police car and took me there. I’m sorry to have made them actually do anything, but all I wanted was a report however no, they insisted on giving me a full interrogation that went something like this:

Police: “Why did you have your camera with you?”

Victim (Me): “Because I’m a tourist.”

Police: “What did he look like?”

Victim: “Brown hair, dark skin, brown eyes, about 5ft7in…pretty much how you lovely gentlemen look.”

After an hour or more of this, and after they asked me to pay a small fee to which I point blank told them wasn’t happening, I got my report. Shame it’s in Spanish and useless for me to use.

Another night involved eating the local dish of ‘cuy’ AKA Guinea pig. ‘Henry’ - I liked to call him - was actually pretty useless as a meal. He was boney, fatty and tricky to eat. Mind you, Benita impressed me as she happily tucked in like it was our national dish. If you’re wondering about the taste, he was so pickled with seasoning it was hard to tell but it had darkish meat like duck or the darker part of chicken. But it was an experience and I survived to tell the tale. I bought a Peruvian cookbook which has the recipe for anyone interested in getting one from the local pet store and cooking one up…

My final night in Cusco involved my house family making an awesome dinner and making Pisco Sour. We didn’t have dancing like the previous going away parties so I included in the photo gallery footage of a previous ‘fiesta’ featuring me, Alex (blonde girl), Eduardo (house dad) and Michael, by far the star of the show! Nothing better than people dancing their hearts out having no idea that I have set-up a camera! (** I have since worked out I need to publish the video on YouTube before I can attach it here...If I get around to it, I'll let you know..) I gave my ‘parents’ a book on Australia, some flowers and made some CDs for Eduardo. It was awesome to be able to write in the book and in their visitor book in Spanish (admittedly I had my teacher check it first). They gave me a wall hanging, card and some other little owl things. When I asked them if I could stay the extra night (more than a week before I was leaving) they told me not to tell Maximo (the volunteer company) and that their house is my house. So I was more than surprised when literally as my taxi was waiting Maria-Luisa asked for $20 for the extra night! I had no problem with paying it and think I should have paid, but it was a little awkward as I was running out the door and she hadn’t asked in the week or so leading up to that moment! Good thing I had some US dollars as it would have been really awkward if I didn’t have the money! So it was a weird good-bye but compared to my first Cusco journal entry, things definitely turned around and I had such an amazing time in Cusco. I believe my experience was all the richer for ending up in a homestay and for the people (nutters included) that came through my life by living with them, volunteering with them or just meeting them through the little Cusco community.

I’m now in Bolivia for my next challenge and I wanted to thank you for your encouragement, comments and wishes so far. I hope you keep enjoying my journal and join me on my next adventures…

Here’s to life!

Gallery: manu

daniryan — Mon, 14 Sep 2009 12:24:00 GMT

jungle fever

daniryan — Mon, 14 Sep 2009 12:04:00 GMT

After my Machu Picchu adventure I was looking forward to some down time in the jungle…So off I went at 5.30am on Monday August 31 to Manu. Not exactly deep Amazon, more like the Daintree in Northern Queensland, but tropical nonetheless.

The seven hour bus trip was, well, it as a seven hour bus trip with no bathroom and along narrow and high roads. My hangover didn’t help (no matter how little I seem to drink at this altitude, I feel like I’ve downed a bottle of vodka the next day). Stupid as I knew this would be the case. At one point we were face to face with another bus, playing chicken. I think our driver backed down in the end (not sure as I covered my eyes). Eventually the driver stopped no where in particular and pointed to a path that was meant to lead us to our destination. Thankfully I was with four other troopers, so off we went down the random trail, which thankfully did lead us to the edge of the river. Being the city slickers we are no one could work the cable crossing to get to the lodge. So an old guy in Speedos swam across the river to help us (turns out the old guy is 71 year old Mario, who used to own the land).

Monday afternoon was low key and Tuesday we went with this Mario along the few paths surrounding the lodge. The lodge is made for volunteers and the odd tourist, with ‘bedrooms’ separated by low bamboo walls. So aside from the walls and the much needed mosquito nets over the beds, it’s otherwise open. Mario’s tour included a spiel on healthy living and clean air – followed by him lighting up a smoke about five minutes later. I think the irony was lost on him.

Using a machete to dig a hole (easier said than done in my case), we planted a few seeds to help the primary forest grow back (the bamboo is apparently taking over, and this is bad. Sure the pandas of the world would disagree). Wednesday, I helped mix some soil and put it into little bags and then Thursday myself and another volunteer were giving the seemingly easy task of finding bamboo, cutting it to size and hammering some nails into it and then into a door to make a handle for the tourist huts. For this task I was alone at one point, running around the jungle in gum boots with a machete looking for bamboo. Yes, you can laugh.

The brief was to make three handles. By Friday afternoon we had managed one. The first one we did literally fell off the door. So that was the culmination of my volunteer work in the jungle. Bet they were glad I came.

I spent my afternoons either at the waterfall or by the river, reading. On Wednesday, a few of us went into town…to buy rum. Again, I failed my brief and bought too little. So, two of the guys went back the next day to buy more. More meant four bottles for eight of us. Needless to say Thursday night was messy, made more ridiculous by singing our hearts out by candlelight to The Fugees (gotta love an iPod and crappy speakers in the jungle). Rob, my door handle partner was especially drunk and let’s just put it this way, he had to change his sheets and hose down his bed and surrounds the next day. Ewww.

We got into a bit of trouble for having the rum which is actually pretty funny as the owner is quite happy to pack her kids up in the car and go see a shaman, but no alcohol allowed?!

Bridget, Chloe and I left on the Friday afternoon (they arrived the same day as me) and leaving was certainly not a simple affair. It started raining around 4pm and if anyone can visualise proper torrential, tropical rain, then that’s what we got. To get the bus back to Cusco we had to walk to the ‘first’ town, about 20 minutes away, after of course crossing the river and going up the same random path that got us to the river in the first place.

The rain just did not stop and eventually we had to bite the bullet and go. Thankfully we were allowed to borrow some gum boots and I packed some clothes to change into in a plastic bag and concluded that the rest of my stuff was going to get soaked, including what I was wearing. It was getting dark so we tried to find our torches… to no avail. So we borrowed one and used another defunct lamp that literally just flickered on and off. As the oldest of our little group I (begrudgingly!) let the other girls go across the river first, together. Then I had to pull the seat back, lock it, get on, unlock it and as I’m getting flung across to the middle of the now-ridiculously heaving river, I had to pull the rope up and get myself across. The seat is open so you just have to steady yourself with your feet, made harder when you have your bags across you, it’s dark and it’s pissing down rain. There was one millisecond when I felt sheer panic (after I stupidly looked down)…then I willed myself to look straight ahead and get my self across. In the sunshine and daylight, that cable crossing looks just dandy. I assure you though, at that moment it was so bloody scary!

Next challenge was getting up to the road. So by now it’s dark and we have two pissy torches. We made it.

Then the road…well, it was full of puddles and at one point there was a huge branch across the road. We wondered if the bus would even be able to get through after all of this! Obviously someone moved the branch as after some time a few cars passed us. One truck driver offered a ride but we couldn’t all fit. As the next car came by, we were standing right up on the edge of the narrow road and to alert him we were there I waved the torch. I inadvertently flagged him down and the next thing you know we’re hitching a ride in the back of his truck into town.

Finally we made it to the ‘bus stop’ (which was at the house of the cleaning lady from the lodge) and the bus arrived an hour later. The woman I sat next to had a baby – they smelt like alcohol, milk and wet dog. She got off the bus at one point and asked me to watch her kid. Naturally he started squealing as soon as she left. Needless to say, the bus back was painful. Police searched the bus four times and the Peruvian music was so loud and out of tune I wanted to rip my ears off. Anyway we made it back in one piece at 5.30am Saturday morning (it took 9 ½ hours).

Perhaps it wasn’t the downtime I was after, but ‘the jungle’ was certainly fun and an adventure…

I´m looking forward to staying put for the next few weeks anyway!

Gallery: Salkantay & Machu Picchu

daniryan — Sun, 6 Sep 2009 07:36:00 GMT

trekking tales

daniryan — Sun, 6 Sep 2009 07:16:00 GMT

After a seemingly epic five day trek from Mollepata via Salkantay Pass to Machu Picchu I'm back to tell the tale.

Friday night before the trek we decided against the original plan to eat cuy (guinea pig) for dinner. Erin, my house-mate and soon-to-be patient, nurse, human blanket and companion, was already unwell so it seemed wiser to avoid something so weird the day before toilets became scarce. Instead we got into immaculate trekking shape with brownies and ice-cream. I'm sure Sir Edmund Hillary prepared for Everest on such a diet.

Day One started worryingly with our agency not being able to find us. Once found, we boarded a random bus in the 5.30am darkness marked 'Sacred Valley' (not where we were going) and our bags disappeared to the top of the bus – concerning when driving up a mountain. Regardless, off we went. The views as the sun came up were picture perfect - farmers, kids playing football, and oddly eucalyptus trees, jacarandas, pine trees, ferns and cactuses. The views were topped only by the awesome 80s mixed tape playing in the bus (yes, 'The Land Down Under' featured!). The first day was long and hot however I was happy, enjoying the views and the familiar smells of the Australian bush (who knew gums were so common in Peru? I have since been told the eucalyptus trees were imported from Australia, so there you go!). The view got better as we got to our first stop and spotted the snow capped Mt Umantay.

This view however was barely enough to get us through the loooong last two hours of the day where, feet dragging, we got waylaid and started walking up an actual stream to find our campsite. After some confusion and wet shoes, we were back on track and camped at the foot of Umantay and in view of Salkantay under the most amazing, starry sky. At minus four degrees (C) in a tent with my grossly un-warm supplies and my arse partially frozen to the three centimetre thick mattress, it was possibly one of the longest nights of my life.

Day Two started with the dread of hypothermia. After an hour of hiking (and escalating dread) the feel of my sock fabric as my toes finally melted to life, felt like a small miracle. The second hour, tackling the 'Seven Snakes' was in a nutshell, hell. Wearing a billion layers of clothes and barely being able to breathe or lift my feet I escaped into my little brain telling myself that if I don't get myself up the mountain, the other trekkers will just step over me. Not to mislead you though, as you possibly have a vision of me attached with cramp-ons to the side of a glacier, remember this was just a really steep incline.

I found a horseshoe somewhere along the way and picked it up - hoping for any helping hand. Hmmm… well, I’m sure you have your own thoughts on superstition! Anyway, I finally made it to the highest point - Abra Salkantay at 4600mtrs. It was spectacular and serene and well worth the effort. And that was the worst of it over... or so we thought!

Day Three started at a tropical 2900mtrs. The white cargos I was wearing were a stupid choice with almost the entire trail being a dirt track with the occasional stream thrown in for fun. Lunch was particularly delicious and we were all pretty content as we made it to our third camp from where we visited beautiful thermal baths made even better by the fact no one had showered for four days (your vision of dirt covered, smelly trekkers is spot on). Back at camp our satisfaction quickly shrunk away as one by one we all got violently ill. So much for the particularly delicious lunch. I was the first soldier down. Food poisoning whilst camping, without going into too much detail, causes quite some panic! Six out of our group of ten become sick and this continued into the fourth day where we were unable to walk the last 15kms of the trek (we had already done 65kms mind you!).

Day Four was a write off for our camp of zombies (you know, that 45 degree angle you shuffle along at when so so weak?) and Wilson (not the volleyball from Castaway, but the Peruvian smoking, drinking, partying mountain goat guide of ours) organised alternative transport to get us to the hostel at Aguas Calientes. We thanked God for the solid walls, bed, and of course the bathroom.

Day Five started much healthier for me (no one else unfortunately) and we were at Machu Picchu when the gates opened. Wilson told us we wouldn’t be able to climb Waynapicchu (the pointy mountain you see in all the ‘postcard’ pictures of Machu Picchu) as the allowed daily quota had been filled. So I was confused then excited when I actually became number 381 of the 400 person quota. Not sure what Wilson was on about.

At 6am Machu Picchu was almost completely wrapped in mystical-feeling low cloud. Then as the sun rose higher and the clouds lifted, and as our tour guide explained the mostly-guessed history and methods of the Incas, bits and pieces of the complex were revealed and it all became quite baffling. After our tour we climbed the vertical Waynupicchu for a birds-eye view of Machu Picchu. The small, ladder-like rock stairs terrified some climbers with more than one poor soul petrified stiff on the way down.

After the climb I was wandering around on my own and in my awe of the place and amid taking my gazillion photos I found a rock and fell gracefully, like a ton of bricks. Of course I sprained my foot. I continued though to hobble around for a bit and tried to suck it up until we got to the bus and train back to Cusco (in reality I wanted to cry). At least it was at the end of the tour… so maybe there is something in that horseshoe business after all?

Now ‘home’ in Cusco I look back on the adventure and remember a long and at times challenging five days but I am so fortunate to have visited Machu Picchu, one of the most intriguing places I’ve ever been, and to have enjoyed some of Peru’s beautiful scenery. And whilst I’m not entirely convinced about the crazy-man's idea that Salkantay is my angel mountain (see last story)… who knows? Maybe things could have been much worse…

Until the next adventure… Here’s to life.

Gallery: cocktails, carcasses & Cienciano

daniryan — Sun, 30 Aug 2009 08:59:00 GMT

'cultural' bits & pieces

Gallery: Last drinks - Out & about before I left

daniryan — Sun, 30 Aug 2009 08:43:00 GMT

Family & friends

loco in Cusco

daniryan — Sat, 22 Aug 2009 09:12:00 GMT

To top off my third weird and wonderful week in Cusco, Peru, I had a perfect ¨This is seriously surreal¨ experience.

I was feeling a little odd this morning, which I´m finding is becoming my normal state of being, amongst the gamut of other emotions I feel on a daily basis, but regardless I trotted off to the kindergarten where my ´tandem´ parter, Jony, is a Director. The tandem deal is that she learns English and I learn Spanish. Unfortunately there is a lot more English learning happening. I am becoming very good at it.

Anyway, Jony wasn´t there. However her husband was. Her ex-biologist, now kindy and karate teacher, husband. And this is where the weirdness begins. I had met him a few days ago however he had no recollection of me (making a big impression in Peru, I am). Anyway after he insisted that my name is Tanya (close enough, it happens in Australia too...) he proceeded to give me a full throttle awakening into the joys of Buddhism and how Buddha and Christ can change my life. He then informed me that Mt Salkantay is my ´Angel Mountain´ - handy hint as I happen to be trekking it tomorrow. And then he read my palm. And the overall verdict, you ask?

Apparently whilst I am intelligent now I am destined to become a lunatic. Yes, crazy.

Have I mentioned this was completely in Spanish? The word ´loco´was definitely understood though. Oh and there were little three year olds running around playing whilst I was being told my exciting future.

I guess I should be thankful as later as I was literally hanging out of the bus as it took off (yes, the stereotypical South American buses with a capacity for 15 people that have 30 faces pressed up against the windows fighting for air - one of those) I serenely thought to myself, ¨It´s cool. I´m not going to die...I haven´t had time to go crazy yet¨.

And now I am topping off the day by going to eat guinea pig tonight. Maybe the craziness has begun? It´s delicious I hear... I´ll get back to you on that one.

Aside from my personal shaman, there has also been other awesomely unexpected people trickle through my life since I last wrote. Considering most volunteers are run of the mill young-ish people either on a gap year or like me looking for an ´epiphany´ of sorts, where do I ´file´ people like Eileen the lady from New Zealand, born-circa 1938 travelling alone, volunteering and learning Spanish? Or Jake who at first startled me with his sort-of-nihilistic views on the world who at 21 is now actually quite intriguing to me?

I guess I don´t file them and that´s the whole point! I honestly hope I meet more of these people and have more of these ¨This is seriously surreal¨ experiences.

I am trekking to Machu Picchu tomorrow for five days (via ´my´ mountain, Salkantay) so I´ll ´see´ you when I get back!

Here´s to life...sane or crazy!

Gallery: some that missed the first installment

daniryan — Sun, 16 Aug 2009 07:42:00 GMT

Gallery: Cusco...first installment

daniryan — Wed, 12 Aug 2009 03:24:00 GMT

Cusco capers...thus far

daniryan — Wed, 12 Aug 2009 03:00:00 GMT

What a psychotic 10 days it has been. There has been laughter, tears, disappointment, shock, wonder, fascination, brain squeeze due to the altitude and ensuing numbness from the sulphur medication, hunger, overeating, thirst, sunburn (then peeling), near hypothermia in the house, frustration, cold showers, confusion, bus escapades, bank dramas, gardening, knitting, communication breakdowns, reflection, self-doubt, and I could go on...

BUT...Despite some of the disappointments, I wouldn’t change any of it for the world. As my family so lovingly and patiently point out when I’m mid-breakdown, if it was easy I wouldn’t learn nor grow from this and what would be the point?

So, for all it’s noise, stink, chaos, dust, contradictions and strangeness, I actually enjoy Cusco.

My volunteer placement however might as well be in a kids’ prison. The orphanage is in meticulous condition and very regimented. Most of the young teenagers at least are being taught skills to take into the world with them (they have a bakery in town and also sell knitted goods).

Knitted goods…I have a new found respect for these after being taught to knit last week and spending three hours hard at it for a measly four lines! Evidently textiles are not my forte.

Apparently neither is gardening – particularly using rudimentary tools. At least I get to go home. The poor darlings have no choice but to do this sort of thing. I asked to bring chalk in for games to play before they start their ‘chores’ (I think they call them ‘educational activities’), i.e. hopscotch for the younger girls, which was met with a stern ‘no’! Either way, I am certainly not needed there and am sure there is a more productive way to spend my time.

So, the next few weeks will see me continuing to take Spanish, doing a five day trek to Macchu Picchu, then I am off to the Amazon for a week to join the volunteer group up there. Once that is over I will go to another volunteer placement in Cusco where I'm hoping my chalk is welcome!

My host family and house-mates are great and considering one house was shut down in a covert operation over the weekend due to it being generally disgusting and volunteers not being fed, I am quite lucky! My classmates are a laugh too.

All in all nothing is as expected here and it is most definitely challenging…but I feel alive and can’t wait to see how the next weeks unfold!

Here's to life!

Gallery: Buenos Aires dos

daniryan — Wed, 5 Aug 2009 04:17:00 GMT

La Boca

Gallery: Buenos Aires

daniryan — Tue, 4 Aug 2009 05:02:00 GMT

out & about

adios Buenos Aires!

daniryan — Sun, 2 Aug 2009 05:49:00 GMT

What an interesting place Buenos Aires is, not in an entirely positive way but not negative either. I´m not too sure whether my experience is due to me being on my own, and female, or whether I was focussed on getting to Cusco, or because the people I came across weren´t entirely friendly or helpful. And I am one of those people that will talk to most people, especially in my situation. I even tried doing it in my pidgin Spanish (which, incidentally is an interesting mixture of Dora the Explorer and the smallest bit of Italian that I learnt 12 years ago...perhaps therein lies the problem! At least I was trying!).

But I did get to see quite a lot of the city and particularly enjoyed Avs. de Mayo, Santa Fe, and Alvear, with their gorgeous architecture and treating myself to a ´coffee´ at Alvear Palace Hotel. Not sure how much coffee was in my coffee but the alcohol was exactly what I needed to walk myself home in the cold after wandering around Cemetaria de Recoleta for ages. The cemetary is quite amazing (similar to Pere Lachaise in Paris, yet not so old and less green) and it turns out I am quite a necrophile (not in the creepy sexual sense, just the intrigue!). I literally spent hours looking at all the names and dates and was fascinated with each ´monument´. Each one seemed to be grander than the last and I took approximately a million photos. Not sure what I´ll ever do with them but I was clearly a bit obsessed! Sadly there were also the ones that were completely desecrated, as though the entire family line had died out at some point leaving noone to look after the grave. And creepily, there were some which were just kind of ópen´ like you could squeeze in to the tomb and take a peep in the coffin (if you were that way inclined...).

I treated myself to a few steaks and one in particular really stood up to Argentina´s steak reputation. I took about an hour to eat it. The poor waiters probably thought I was (am?) abnormal. I also tucked into some Malbec... hello, where has that red wine been all my life? I quite enjoyed it! I also did the horrifically touristy thing and went to a tango show / dinner. Again, if I was not alone, I would have avoided this like the plague but alas, I am alone so off I went. Thank god I ordered an entire bottle of my new found friend because after an epic dinner and show of 3 1/2 hours of seriously disinterested tango performers I wanted to run out of there and never look back. After I write this I will try to wipe it from my memory. The only worse ´tourist´thing that I´ve ever done is a classical concert in Prague where I actually fell asleep, like dribbling on my shoulder, asleep. That experience alone should teach me not to be sucked in to doing the tourist things you ´should´do!

Happily La Boca was great fun and I even bought some art directly from the artist. This was definitely my highlight!

So after a 5am wake up call on and a rush to the ATM (as the hotel informed me at 6am they don´t take Visa!) I was off to the airport for the next leg of my trip, Cusco, Peru!

So until then...xx

PS I will add photos of Buenos Aires soon (I promise I won´t put ALL the cemetary photos up!).