Odyssey number 2?

Photos: Ecuador and Colombia

kate2501 — Sun, 15 Aug 2010 06:04:00 GMT

Coffee, old school dackings and the elusive Pablo Escobar...

kate2501 — Thu, 29 Jul 2010 16:00:00 GMT

We hopped on board bus number 45,000 from Bogota to head to a little town called Maripita which is just three hours shy of Manizallis in the heart of the coffee region. The landscape is absolutely stunning. Southern Colombia is lush and green, the hills a patchwork of crops and coffee plantations. Some of the plantations and crops are on impossibly sheer slopes and it seems every effort is made to utilise all available space. The hills were steep and the roads slick with mist as we climbed and descended through clouds and fog. It was beautiful. I will post some of the photos I took out if the bus window which will give some kind of scope to the above description.

We had decided to stop in Maripita at the suggestion of the Aussie owner of our Bogota hostel (cranky croc) who told us it was on of his favorite places to go when he felt like a quick escape from tourists and Bogota weather. We arrived in Maripita at night, and we soon realised that we weren't in Kansas anymore; we most had definitely wandered off the gringo trail. Not only were we the only tourists in town but I got the feeling we may have been the only gringos the town had seen for a while. Our bus driver very sternly warned us not to wander around town as it is very dangerous; however the idea of steak and a cold beer was too tempting so off we set. Three pasty gringos wandering down the main street in search of food at 10pm was an unusual sight it seems. Whilst it should probably feel a little sketchy when every person who rides past checks you out and or points, it was actually fine and quite refreshing not to be sharing the streets with 150 other tourists. The breeze was warm, the beer was cold and the steak was delicious; all in all a nice relaxing night in what felt like real Colombia.

We caught a bus out the next morning to Manizallis. Before boarding the bus BP decided instead of buying a bottle of water for the 3 hour journey that it was much more economical to buy a 5 litre bag of water. Bag of water on a bus (or more to the point bag of water full stop??)? After copping some serious eye rolling Brendan disappeared off the bus only to return 5 minutes later very proudly displaying a newly filled 2lt bottle of water. When asked about the remaining water Brendan admitting to losing at least a litre to the gutter and then charitably dispersing the remainder to the locals. Hmm small win for BP? I will leave it open to independent interpretation.

I don't even think the locals would be able to describe Manizallis as aesthetically pleasing, but it had a good energy and a lively bar scene thanks to a pumping student population. On the walk home Caz and I stumbled across a massive cinema complex advertising the film eclipse. The prospect of seeing a movie not dubbed in Spanish I am embarrasses to say resulted in a good five minutes of happy dancing in the middle of the mall, and animated discussion about a hair wash and more importantly bringing out a clean t-shirt for the occasion. (For those not familiar with the Brendan inspired happy dancing it largely involves hopping from one foot to the other pointing fingers to the sky. Odd but surprisingly addictive).

BP decided to forgo the movie and had some BP time while Caz and I headed off - clean tops on, bounce in our step, swinging our freshly washed and blow-dried hair. Life was good. Despite the near tear inducing discovery that choc tops do not exist in Colombia and that it is entirely acceptable to have 20 minute mobile conversations, and just chat in general in the theatre (despite Caz's daggers and animated SHHHHHHHH's) it was nice. It’s surprising after 3 months how the simplest of western amenities seem like indulgent luxuries. We headed to a bar for a couple of post movie drinks. Caz and BP headed home and I ended up sharing Sangria with some fellow travellers I met. Nice night.

The next morning we had organised to do a tour of a coffee plantation outside of town. We discovered we were on the same tour with some English guys (and girl) we had bumped into a few times along the way (Mim, Will, Ollie, Tom and Dixie). They are a younger group and bloody good value. It was pouring rain and we were all a little ratty and giggly. At one point during the tour one of the guys was dacked while examining a bag of coffee. Nearly wet my pants. Surprising how a good dacking never gets old.

Due to the rain the tour was fairly short but interesting. It's a fairly intensive process and we were shown the plantations, fairly rudimentary factory and the finished product. We were given some decent coffee for the first time in South America which was a treat. Colombia is the third largest exporter of coffee internationally, and whilst you'd think this would result in good coffee being as ubiquitous as bottled water, it seems they export all the good stuff and keep the rubbish for the tourists and locals.

We waited out the rain and then caught the jeep back into the city. We all jumped on a bus to Medellin the following day and again ran into an accident between two trucks on a blind corner that had us stuck for an hour or two. I would bloody love to see the road fatality statistics in South America, these drivers are insane. It gets to a point where you stop looking out the front window and try and sleep through ride. It’s preferable to be blissfully ignorant than to spend a 20 hour bus ride knuckles white on the arm rests.

When we arrived in Medellin we hopped into what turned out to be a mui dodgy cab. The driver refused to turn the meter on, tried to charge us double the price and then had no bloody idea where he was going. The hostel was full so we headed to where our English mates had gone. Mid way it became evident the driver was absolutely clueless and trying to take us for a ride. We ended up fighting in the streets of Medellin at 12.30am over his incompetence and the fare. Eventually as you unfortunately often do in SA, you suck up the financial loss and move on. We had a couple of quiet wind down drinks and then headed to bed.

I woke up at 4am to some very loud, very inebriated dorm mates who had been hanging out with 'charlie' for far too long and subsequently thought their fabulousness would excuse turning the light on, continuing to drink and talk foul rubbish for an hour in a 14 bed dorm. We’ve actually been really lucky to date in terms of dorm mates. Generally people are really good and there is an unwritten rule if you come in late you don’t turn the light on and rustle through your bag for half an hour and if you’ve got an early departure you pack the night before etc. Unfortunately the most obnoxious and crass of the lot was naturally Australian. Makes it so much easier to bitch and moan about the obnoxiousness of other travellers when they are not fellow country men.

I didn’t know much about Medellina other than it was home to the infamous Pablo Escobar, an obscenely wealthy drug baron who successfully ventured into politics by offering to pay off the 10 billion dollar national debt. He also shot down a plane with 200 people on board to assassinate one man. There was a tour you could do which took you around some of his old haunts, the place of his dramatic roof top death and finally to his house to meet his brother. I was quite keen and had brushed up on my Pablo trivia in anticipation. The next day it was unfortunately pouring rain and the furthest I ventured was to the exito supermarket to buy some supplies.

With little else to do we ventured to the hostel bar and drowned our sorrows. The bar was packed, the Colombian bar tender who was enamoured with my freckles (?) kept the drinks flowing and we settled in. We introduced the guys to Kelly pool (Caz cheated and I subsequently lost) and began to gear up for a night out in Medellin’s renowned Zona Rosa. We went to a couple of clubs, drank cocktails and naturally dominated the dance floor. The others headed home eventually but I stayed out with Will and Ollie and we found a local Colombian bar with good salsa and cheap drinks. After a couple of hours of befriending the locals we finally declined their offer to party on at their house and decided the sunrise may have been a sign to head home. We started walking (what should have been 5 mins home) and 20 minutes we realised we were totally lost so decided to hail a cab. Once all in the cab we realised none of us actually remembered the address of the hostel. In a moment of brilliance I remembered it was 2 blocks from the local Exito supermarket and we could certainly navigate from there. 20 minutes later I began to make noise about the fact be should have been there by now. Will enquired and the taxi driver proudly pointed to a massive exito supermarket – on the complete opposite side of the city from where we needed to be. After some choice words from the now exhausted passengers he U-turned and headed back across town and finally pulled up at the right exito. We walked the 300m home, lids heavy, pockets decidedly lighter. A cracking night out and definitely worth the sore head the following day.

The rain was again teeming down and out Pablo tour was cancelled that afternoon so day 2 in Medellin was another exciting visit to the Exito.

The rain was unrelenting so on day 3 the Aussie contingent of our newly formed band decided to allow the elusive Pablo to remain elusive and head out to Cartagena the following day. It was high time for the long awaited Caribbean and hopefully some bloody sunshine.

So after three days, 3 bars and 3 visits to the exito supermarket I bid farewell to Medellin and hopped on bus number 45001. On the trip out of the city I had some momentary guilt over not doing ANYTHING remotely culturally or mentally stimulating in Medellin, but you know what? I had a bloody good time and will remember it fondly and that sits ok with me.

To be continued...

Photos: Peru

kate2501 — Wed, 28 Jul 2010 00:51:00 GMT

Buses, Baños and bodgy bloody calculators

kate2501 — Mon, 26 Jul 2010 01:54:00 GMT

We left Mancora on a beautiful sunny afternoon (boo) and hopped a stifling sweaty bus to the Ecuadorean border; destination: Baños. The bus we subsequently nicknamed 'the disco bus' (neon strip lighting and groovy 80's psychadelic designs) we were assured was going to be 15 hours and direct. 2 changes later we found ourselves being dropped at an abandoned service station at 4am in a small town that was somewhere between wherethehellami and Imabouttogetrobbed to wait for a local bus to Baños. The small group of local men standing across the road (reason unknown) watched with amusement I'm sure as we waited nervously for a local bus while trying to apper cool calm and collected...¨ah no I didn´t just hastily stuff my wallet and passport in my underwear I´ve just got an itch ok?¨ Luckily a bus arrived after 20 minutes and we hopped aboard wallets and passports intact.

Baños is a lovely small town nestled in the foothills of the Tungurahua volcano, which has been fairly active since 1999. There was an eruption in 2006 that killed seven people and destroyed several small villages and in May 2010 the town was evacuated again after a small eruption. Small eruption it appears refers to the fact no one was killed but the eruptive column coming form the mouth of the volcano was still apparently 10km high. We thought it best not to share this information with Mum and Dad prior to our visit (sorry Mum; love you) as while it's not currently safe to go to the foot of the volcano or climb it the Volcano has been quiet since May. The town was near to deserted of tourists so we took advantage of our subsequent barganing power and decided to hire some cheap dune buggy's for a few hours. Cruising around town and into the foothills in a bright yellow dune buggy is a bloody cool way to spend a day. Whilst they handled like a rusty old tractor we managed to successfully negotiate the traffic. On the return trip driving my buggy solo, foot flat to the floor going through a long tunnel with no lights and vehicles coming towards you (and spraying water all over you) is an interesting experience!

The next day we decided to head up to a Mirador to get a good look at the town and hopefully glimpse the Volcano. Caz and BP decided to share a fairly small quad bike; I opted for a motorbike. The hills were very steep and the quad bike was only about 100cc´s so I left them to limp to the top while I had a fantastic ride up the hill. We had a beautiful birds eye view of the town and surrounding hills, but unfortunately it was too cloudy to see the volcano. We headed back down to town, with myself again in front I stopped at one point on the main road to wait for them to catch up. The sight I saw coming up the road nearly caused me to fall off my bike I was laughing so hard. Caz and Brenadan on a bright yellow minature quad bike, knees up around their chins fanging along the road with a GIANT truck right behind them trying to pass and a line of cars stretching behind. Anyone who has seen the movie dumber and dumber when they are riding up the mountain with lines of trucks and cars behind them will get the drift. If I wasn´t struggling to keep my bike upright I may have managed to take a photo dang nab it.

After two days in Baños we headed to Quito, the capital of Ecuador. We were not panning to stay long in Quito as it is fast becoming one of South America´s most dangerous cities. Robbery is rife and many a traveller has had a near miss or been done in Quito. We stayed at a nice hostel calle the Secret garden which had a fantastic roof top terrace which overlooked the city. At night the terrqace would become a restaurant and bar and we had many a glass of red sitting around the open fire watching the city lights and illuminated cathedrals. It was interesting that the smell of the open fire had me homesick for the first time in a long time. At the start of the trip I quite often missed home; friends, family and creature comforts (a good bed, a good shower, speaking English and vegetables!). As the trip has progressed I have begun to miss home less and less as I’ve become accustomed to my new reality. I realised how far I had come from those first few weeks when I was in Mancora and feeling like absolute death and at no point did the thought ´I wish I was home´ cross my mind.

We headed into the city centre on our first day and checked some of the local cathedrals and museums. We went into the Campania de Jesus which is a famous church in South America, largely due to the fact that the walls of the enormous church are guilded in seven tonnes of gold. The Church was absolutley breath taking. Every surface was gilded or intricately carved, the walls were covered in ten foot high oil paintings. It was an incredible experience. I am not a religious person but to sit in that Cathedral and hear softly playing classical music, smell the ancient wood and to be surrounded by those extraordinary walls, domes and celings it is hard not to feel the presence of something not of this world. It was quite a moving experience.

Quito was a very sketchy town and we met and heard stories of many a traveller being held up and sometimes hurt. We didn’t venture too far at night as a result, but also because the bar at the hostel was cruisy and we didn’t feel the need. On the morning we were leaving I headed down to the ATM at 9am to withdraw some cash. The ATM was a 10 minute walk and I intentionally waited until 9am in the hope shops would be open and people on the streets. Unfortunately this was not the case and I had a fairly nervy walk back with hundreds of US dollars in my bra meeting shady character after shady character on every corner. I luckily spotted two gringos ahead of me and caught up with them and walked behind them back to the hostel (anyone who knows Hamish and Andy will understand when I say I’m sure they thought I was ghosting them lol).

I was considering staying in Ecuador longer or heading back to Mancora to work for a little while. I looked into volunteering opportunites in Ecuador but the only farm work available was ´woofing´ which is an organisation that organises volanteering on organic farms. After meeting quite a few dreadlocked unfrotunately rather twatty hippies on this trip I decided perhaps woofing was not for me. I finally decided against Mancora as as much I would have loved to be based there for two weeks working (and becoming a surfing pro), I didn’t really want to go backwards. I decided to press on into Colombia and see what I might find there.

We got was was touted as a 5 hour bus to a little town called Tulcan, on the border of Colombia. Some English boys we had met in Quito, Sam and Michael were also on the bus. Ecuadorean buses are really dodgy. People getting on and off, standing and sitting in aisles, they are more like public collectivos than long haul buses. Vendors get on and try and sell you a variety of foods and souvenirs, cross words and suitcases and at times after being in an uncomfortable seat for a few hours it becomes bloody annoying. At one point on the trip a man came on who apperared to be working for the company. He grabbed my day pack and said I’ll out this up here ok? (indicating to the rack above my head). I firmly told him no and kept it firmly between my feet as I always do. Five minutes later Caz yelled at me from the back of the bus to watch my stuff as Brendan had just had his jacket stolen and a friend of the ´helper´had just been underneath Caz´s seat trying to get into her bag. Naturally before they really realised what was really happening the guys were off the bus and gone. The bus driver naturally couldn’t care less and when asked why he let people on the bus who didn’t have tickets a simple shrug of the shoulders was the only response.

About an hour from Tulcan there was a large, fatal accident (about the 4^th majopr truck accident we’ve seen on the trip so far) and we were delayed for quite a while. We arrived at the border to find a room full of people waiting and were thrilled to learn that their systems were down so no one was getting exit stamps. When asked the question why not manually stamp the passports we were advised because there is no stamp. What !%#&?/* idiot does not have a passport stamp at a border crossing? We were assured someone had gone to get a stamp. Four hours later the crowd had grown considerably (100+ people) and people were getting cranky. We knew that the Colombian border closed at 10pm and it was 9pm and we had no exit stamp. They finally came out and told us to come back tomorrow. Fabulous.

We headed into town with Michael and Sam, found a cheap hotel and had dinner and a couple of beers, which was a suprisingly good end to a shitty day. The next morning we arrived at the immigration office at 6.30am to find a queue of about 200 people. Apparently in Ecuador finding a passport stamp involves mind boggling complexities that rival a NASA space shuttle launch. We worked out that the border had been closed for about 15 hours by that point in which time I could have bloody run to the Peruvian border and borrowed theirs.

The crowd of South Americans in the long line outside (some of whom had stayed overight we assume) were starting to become decidedly displeased. We were lucky enough to have made it inside but outside we were starting to hear chanting and yelling and everytime the outside door was opended to let someone out there was a lot of pushing and shoving. The poor security guys on the door were not having an easy time of it. 5 hours later some bright spark finally got their computers working and I got my exit stamp (took 30 seconds) and headed to the colombian border at Ipiales (which I passed through in about 15 minutes). I exchanged US dollars for Colombian Pesos at the border and was totally scammed. The guy I was changing with gave me a good rate so I went ahead. I took the calculator from him and did the sums myself. I handed over the cash and did the exchange. 5 minutes later when my foggy, tired brain cleared and I mentally did the calculations again I realised I had been duped. The bastard had a bloody rigged calculator (which I’ve since learned is quite common) and I had lost about $35 US dollars in the exchange. I will not fill you in on the range of expletatives that were released from my mouth and the mad dash to try and find the bastard. I tracked down who I though I had changed with and he naturally claimed he had never seen me before. Insert expletative here. Exclamation mark.

So in total what was supposed to be a 5 hour trip to the border and then a 20 hour bus to Bogota ended up taking us 44 hours and costing us a lot more than anticiapted (jacket, dollars, sanity). The upside is we met some great people who we hope to catch up with in London and had another memorable experience.

We arrived in Bogota 30 minutes before the start of the world cup final and made a mad dash to a local pub to watch a disappointing game. The weather wasn't great and I think after the tough ride to Bogota energy levels were low and we consequently layed pretty low. We headed out one day to the Botero Art gallery where we saw work by Picasso, Damas, Chagall, Renoir, Monet and of course many many Botero (who Caz despised). Bogota felt a little sketchy and we didn’t venture far at night. The hostel was a nice place with a decent bar area and we met some good people. We headed out to the Gold museum the following day and saw ancient incan relics and learnt about the traditional methods of forging the metals which was really interesting. We ended up only staying two nights before heading out to the coffee region that afternoon.

Phew 3 pages! There are about a zillion cranky backpackers waiting for the computers so I better leave it here and fill you in on the coffee region later. Adios amigos!

Beach, sun and my tuk tuk ambulance

kate2501 — Tue, 13 Jul 2010 08:53:00 GMT

To follow on from beloved Cusco, we bused from Cusco to Lima (19 hrs) where we stayed in a lovely new hostel run by a couple of young French guys. Whilst they were lovely and very helpful, when I say a lovely hostel I largely mean good beds. Real pillows, and an actual doona...heaven! The beds at hostels are generally sub par and the pillows are bloody awful. I used to be quite a fussy sleeper (always needed two pillows of the right size, and could never sleep on buses etc) but South America has certainly cured me of that. I can now fall asleep anywhere, in anything and with anything (bed bugs, mosquitoes, smelly fellow bus passengers who snore and encroach on your space). I decided to stay in Lima longer and have some solo time while Caz and Brendan and Teresa headed to Mancora on the sunny coast of Peru.

I enjoyed my time in Lima but was pleased to leave as the weather is quite depressing (cloudy, raining) and the city its self did not sit that well with me (not that any of the capitals really do). The other issue I found was the locals are exceptionally difficult to understand and I felt like my grasp of spanish took an immediate nose dive. Not only do they speak very quickly but there is no announciation of words. They simply come tumbling out of their mouths at warp speed and then hit the floor. I thought my speaking and listening had been gradually improving but after seven attempts to unsuccessfully order a sandwhich I conceeded I may as well have been speaking ducth (and potentially may well have been) and once again started a game which is a cross between sharades and sign language. Needless to say (and as pictures will attest to) I didn't starve so I suppose that's a win.

I hopped a bus to Mancora and arrived to find beautiful sunshine and a fairly spectacular hostel (photos to follow) which is more like a resort than a hostel. I had a great first day by the pool and on the beach and dressed up for our first dinner out in town. When we arrived at the restaurant I started sweating and feeling quite unwell. I left the guys and headed back to the hostel to have a lie down for a while. The next three hours were potentially the most uncomfortable of my life! The stomach cramps were severe and unrelenting and I managed to expel through a variety of unfortunate methods, just about every molecule of liquid in my body.

I knew it was perhaps more than just a stomach bug when I woke up on the bathroom floor after an undetermined amount of time with a considerable lump on my forehead and a black and blue shoulder. I must have fainted and taken out the wall on my way down I think. Caz came back to the hostel after dinner and I told her I thought I was quite unwell and might need to think about seeing if there is any sort of medic or Doctor in town as dehydration was starting to become a problem.

Surprisingly there was a Doctor in Mancora and after being told it would cost 30 soles (would have paid $1000 at that point) it was organised for him to come and check me out. Luckily he spoke English and seemed to know what he was doing and after some Doctorly poking and prodding and showing him my tongue he told me I was very dehydrated and would need to go to hospital to be on a drip and IV antibiotics. Fabulous.

My ´ambulance ride´ to the hospital involved me barefoot in shorts and t-shirt with the doctor on the back of a tuk tuk. Even doubled over in pain I still managed to have a giggle at the ridiculousness of it all. The clinic was luckily fairly clean and they sorted me out with an IV and a variety of drugs (which are bloody marvelous things) and had me feeling enormously better relatively quickly. The Doctor advised I had E.Coli most likely and would need to be on antibiotics for a week. I had to laugh when just after they had pumped me full of drugs they asked if I was allergic to anything. Caz and our friend Teresa who is a nurse had followed in another tuk tuk and through out the treatment were busily checking the needles were clean etc and writing down the drugs used. Caz refused to leave as I was in la la land after being pumped full of pain meds so she stayed on a mattress on the floor for the night which was a very kind sisterly thing to do. They kept me in for 24 hours and Teresa and Caz took shifts visiting which was incredibly lovely of them both considering the beach and beautiful sunshine were beckoning. I finally convinced the hospital I was okay to leave and headed back to the hostel where I spent a slow next couple of days recuperating. I am proud to say three days later I had a cocktail in hand and painted the town red (well perhaps a light shade of pink anyway).

On my last day I had my long awaited surf lesson on the beach below our hostel. I had an inkling that I was going to be a bit of a whiz and was already dreaming about my career change and months spent travelling the world on the pro tour. I soon learned that surfing is bloody hard work and not as easy as it looks - dang nab it. Whilst there were definitely some moments of rather wobbly standing on the board I'm not sure I'll be winning any world championships any time soon. Although I'm sure after another lesson or two the talent I'm sure is lurking just beneath the surface will emerge and a dazzling surfing spectacular will ensue.

We caught a bus to the Ecuadorean border and I felt quite sad to be leaving Peru and didn’t feel like I’d spent the time I wanted to there. I was disappointed to have missed Arequipa (Colca Canyon) and had serious thoughts about heading back south once I had crossed the border. I decided to press on into Ecuador which is where I will leave it for now. Hope you’re all well and happy!

A trail to Machu Picchu

kate2501 — Wed, 7 Jul 2010 09:48:00 GMT

So where was I? Ah yes, on the way to Cusco. Ah Cusco; beloved Cusco. I’m officially a little in love with Cusco. We arrived after another fairly shite bus ride late at night to find the hotel we'd booked and paid for no longer had room. After a small argument relating to whether we were in fact going to be refunded we hightailed it the Point hostel which some girlfriends from home had insisted we stay in (so I was quite pleased) as they'd worked there for two months. We had a fantastic time at the point and it was nice to see the place I'd heard so many stories about and to meet Ben the owner who had been helping me out via email for a while.

The next day we organized to meet our cousin Susie who had driven a ridiculous distance from Ecuador to ensure she was in town in time to meet us. We met Suze for dinner and then headed to Paddy's, the local Irish bar in town. It was so fantastic to see her after all these years and we had a great night reminiscing and hearing about her amazing travels (9 years on the road and still going! Insanity! Or is it???). I had been quoted as saying I was going sans alcohol in Cusco prior to the trek but I'm sure it comes as no great surprise to many of you that this didn't quite eventuate. The beers and conversation were flowing and the night ended up being quite large. Money and time exceptionally well spent I must say, and was very sad to say goodbye to Suse the following day.

The next day we hunted around and booked our 5 day Salkantay trek to Machu Picchu for about half the price they advertise if you book in advance. For anyone planning to come, don't be suckered in. A lovely young Aussie guy Matt who was on Uni holidays and on our trek paid $600 US dollars from Australia and we got it for $230 US. When he asked what we paid I didn’t have the heart to tell him; I muttered ´oh a little bit cheaper´ and changed the subject. Poor bugger!

The night before our trek we met our guide Yuri who again was pocket sized and busting with enthusiasm. We organised to have an emergency horse with us in case anyone got altitude sickness (hike to 4800m) which quite a few people do. I was feeling a little nervous actually due to a knee injury I've had for a while which gave me a little grief when I climbed Villaricca and has popped its head up at random times since. Falling apart at the seams it seems!

We departed at 4.30am the following morning (groan) and drove for three hours to a small town called Mollepata where we began our trek. We walked to Sayllapata on the first day. The scenery was spectacular especially the views of Mt Salkantay. Unfortunately in the latter part of the afternoon I had a problem with my hip flexor and was in a world of hurt and quite worried about my abiltiy to continue. That night it was bloody cold (about minus 5 to 10 degrees) and unfortunately Dave and I were sharing a Peruvian sized tent. Both our feet stuck out the end of the tent which didn't help the cold factor at all! I woke up quite stiff the next day and knew the first half was going to be the toughest part of the trek. There was the option to take a horse to the summit (4600m) which I decided to take as I was unsure if I was going to be up to it.

The first horse they brought me was probably the greenest broken horse I've ever seen and actually tried to strike me when I walked anywhere near him. I told the wrangler that the horse was somewhat loco and perhaps he needed to find another. He said in typical South American fashion 'No, no problem, see?' and then proceeded to try and get on the horse. The horse nearly fell over it backed up so quickly and tried multiple times to strike him. he begrudgingly admitted perhaps another horse would be best. I smiled and nodded. The next horse he brought me was the size of a child’s pony. Bloody hell. I said 'mas grande por favor!?' Again I was told no problem and there were no other horses that were larger. My horse turned out to be a gutsy little bugger and we led the charge up the slope. There was a man who was at least 110 kilos on a horse no bigger than mine and the horse was battling to say the least. I politely tried to instruct him to lean forward up the steep sections to help the horse out which he impolitely ignored. Subsequently the horse stopped and refused to go any further. The guide came up tp me and instructed me to swap with the man. I felt dreadfully sorry for my little trooper but agreed to swap. Luckily for my new pint sized steed it wasn't far to go and with a little help he did fine. The views on the ascent were breath taking. We travelled along the flanks of the Salkantay mountain and had stunning views of the glacier and Vilacamba range. We lunched that day on the banks of a mountain stream and all had a snooze in the sun before hiking down hill to our camp at Chaullay. Chaullay was warmer than Mollepata but was swarming in mosquitoes. Dave and I decided feet out of the tent perhaps not an option that evening and tried a diagonal pattern (on a slope) which didn't make for the best nights sleep I’ve ever had lol.

The third day we trekked mainly downhill into an area where the Andes gradually meets the Amazon jungle. We passed waterfalls and saw a myriad of flora and fauna. There was a man in our group who had ignored the advice to acclimatize to the altitude for few days before teking and subsequently was quite sick. Whilst he was a lovely guy it was very frustrating as he was going at about a third of our pace and the guide was forced to spend the entire trek at the back with him which effectively left us guideless for four days. What made it even more frustrating was his mis-management of his illness: not eating, not taking the rehydration salts offered, and not eating sugar during the day. He progressively got worse and worse and slower and slower. There were sections where Yuri had asked us to wait for them where we were left sitting for an hour waiting for them to catch up which unfortunately made us all stiffen up and get cold.

The third evening we camped at Santa Teresa, a tiny town at 1900m. When we arrived and saw a fridge with cold beer we all got excited. A little too excited as it turned out. The evening became epic. We drank and salsa danced with the locals and other tour groups and had an absolute whale of a time well into the wee hours of the morning. We collectively decided to catch the bus for the first half of the next leg as we were having too much fun for a 5 am rising time.

The next morning there were many a sore head and we were all relieved to not be climbing the STEEP hill to Patallacta. We bused to a the hydro electric plant where we then hiked to Aguas Caliente, a lovely small town at the base of Machu Picchu aptly named for its resident hot springs. The walk was lovely and the excitement grew as we saw glimpses of the back ruins of machu Picchu. We hit the hot springs and then went out for dinner.

We got up at 3.30am the following morning and started the trek to Machu Picchu. We had been advised that there are only 400 tickets released each day to climb Waynapicchu which is a mountain that over looks the city of Machu Picchu. We knew the first bus would arrive there at 5am to queue for tickets so the race was on! The walk is quite grueling, with more than 100 flights of stone steps (at altitude). I was determined not to miss out and absolutely flogged myself going up. I arrived to find there were only about 40 people in front of me and whilst I was pleased at the news, the body was saying 'why the hell did you just do that to me?' We were all staggered but all managed to get tickets which was great.

We entered Machu Picchu at about 7am, just before the sun rise. When you walk around the corner and catch your first look at the city it is literally breath taking. I had been waiting to see Machu Picchu for so many years that it was quite moving actually. It is absolutely beautiful and surreal how such an advanced city could exist in the unforgiving terrain and remain hidden for centuries. I won't do it justice if I try to describe the city, I will post some pictures and let them speak for themselves.

We watched the sun rise over MP and then began exploring the city with a guide who was frankly terrible. While sold as an English speaking guide his language skills weren't great and his accent was grating. His pronunciation of the word archaeological got the entire group giggling and his lack of any real tour skills quickly had us all meandering off on our own. I loved exploring the city and puzzling at different areas and their possible functions. Little is known about the city and there are many contrasting theories.

At 10am we climbed Waynapicchu which is steep and challenging. The views from the top gave an impressive birds eye view of the city and were most definitely worth the hike. I ate an astronomically priced sandwich on top that I carried and chilled out and enjoyed the sunshine and views. Going down some of the narrow and dangerously steep steps was at times a little nerve wracking. Penalty for failure here would be very high. There was a girl in front of me who in one particular section had a mini panic attack and was frozen and had to be coaxed down by other travellers.

We spent the afternoon wandering around the city and taking a million photographs which unfortunately don't do the city justice. We bused back down to Aguas Caliente in lieu of climbing down the 100 plus flights. Unfortunately the only ATM in town was not working and after our unexpected boozeathon in Santa Teresa money was a little tight and so dinner was not luxurious. After 5 days of trekking and a 3 am start we were all exhausted and crashed early.

The following morning we caught a train then bus through the sacred valley back to Cusco. We were all tired but elated and for me personally I knew that Machu Picchu would take some topping.

The night when we got home was a rip snorter to say the least. We drank at the point and then headed to Paddy´s bar to commence the kick on. I met a German fellow who I went to a club with and had a fantastic night dancing. I was pleased to find the following morning that my body it seemed had at last begun to adjust to hangovers at altitude. I actually felt relatively human! How sad that it had taken two months of awful hangovers at altitude to achieve this status and I was now headed to sea level. Figures.

It was Inti Raymi festival (second largest festival in South America) in Cusco and the city was packed full of Peruvian and foreign tourists alike. Inti Raymi is a yearly traditional festival to farewell winter and welcome the sun. For days there were locals in traditional colourful dress dancing and singing in the streets before a final traditional ceremony that lasts most of the day and culminates in ruins outside of town. We felt it was our duty as temporary Cusco citizens to celebrate Inti Raymi in style and also to sadly farewell our fourth amigo Dave who had to cut his trip short. We spent the evening holding up the bar at the point hostel before heading out. I spent the evening chatting to (and dancing on the bar with) a beautiful and very interesting French fellow who later took me out Regge dancing. Had Tristan not been slightly younger he would be in real trouble of me chasing him across the globe in a quest to have beautiful French babies who throw incredibly exotic tantrums :D.

I was sad to leave Cusco the following day, having met some fantastic people and generally had an amazing time. As mentioned in the previous post, I feel real sadness leaving some of these places as deep down I know the likelihood of me returning is slim. As much as I'd like to think I would revisit South America, it's a big wide world out there and far too much to see.

Once again not a pint sized post so will sign off with ‘to be continued´... hasta luego amigos xxxx

Jungle Jane and Lake Titicaca

kate2501 — Sun, 4 Jul 2010 01:37:00 GMT

Hola! To follow on from the last post, we arrived back into Rurrenabaque after the pampas tour and had a brief stay before departing on a 2 day Jungle tour the following morning. Sadly Teresa and Dave had to head back to La Paz but Irene continued on with us so the 4 amigos had swelled to five. We headed up river in a small boat for three hours to Madidi national park. The tiny motor ensured a leisurely but lovely pace and we had a fantastic morning passing local camps on the banks and taking in the spectacular scenery. We arrived at our camp and as soon as we stepped foot on land we were absolutely attacked by sand flies. I have developed a love/hate relationship with sand flies; I BLOODY HATE them and they absolutely love me. These tiny little sneaky sons of b&$#@?s subtly devour you before you've cottoned on to what's happening.

We rather hastily made way to our accommodations to lather up in bushmans and don long pants. We met some guys who were finishing their tour and about to catch our boat back down river. One of the poor guys was wearing shorts (not having brought any pants ??) and his legs were a painful looking mess of angry red boil type bites which he advised were the results of mosquitoes and red ants. I made a mental note to self: avoid red ants nests lest I end up looking like I´ve contracted some type of flesh eating disease which may significantly hamper my chances of bagging my rich-attractive-hacienda owning-husband.

Our accommodations were very basic (huts with mosquito netted beds, a toilet hut and kitchen hut) but the setting was beautiful and peaceful with just the five of us and our cook and guide. The jungle surrounded the huts with small paths snaking into the dense bush to the river and into the green unknown. We were introduced to our guide the pocket sized Juan who with great enthusiasm told us we could spend as much time in the jungle as we liked ‘we can walk for hours and then tonight for hours too! This guy was rip roaring and ready to go. We geared up and I pulled out my much loved jungle shirt. Caz has given me absolute hell for bringing with me a white long sleeved dry wicking Colombia shirt (draws moisture away from the body - how awesome!) which I think is uber cool and Caz has advised me is not and should have been left at home along with my dykie hiking boots (which were). I naturally have had a hard time swallowing this from a woman who has lugged around not one but two maxi dresses. When we went out for dinner last night Caz donned her floor length black maxi dress and when she went to drop off the key one of the bar staff asked ‘off to the opera are we?´ He he he he I’ll give you dykie hiking boots!

Anyway we took off into the jungle after Juan who was expertly wielding his machete to clear a path for us. Juan was donned in black pants, gumboots and a long sleeved shirt. I puzzled about the gumboots for quite some time and nervously looked down at my trekking shoe covered feet and wondered what I was in for. The jungle was dense; towering vine covered trees luckily blocked out much of the sun but it was still humid and bloody hot! Within minutes we were all sweating and wet backed except ...wait for it...me!!!!! Woo hoo! My shirt was bloody fantastic and I took great pleasure in making reference to it¨s fantasticness on many occasions….¨hmm hot isn´t it I must be soaked; oh no hang on my seriously technical and highly attractive shirt is wicking it´s little heart out and keeping me dry…. Win!!

Juan had amazing enthusiasm and great knowledge and excitedly pointed out various trees, and identified the sounds of the wildlife (which was very adept at hiding). At one point he stopped dead in the middle of the path and started sniffing the air. It was surreal. The look of concentration on his face was quickly followed by boyish excitement and he quietly urged us to follow as quickly and quietly as we could. In the distance we could hear this odd sound; it is almost indescribable; I sit here now weeks later hearing it perfectly but still unsure how to describe it. A low growling/rumbling crossed with a sound similar to golf balls being rolled around and crushed in some type of shredder. Maybe cross that with the squarks and squeals of the alien predator from the Arnie movie and we're actually still nowhere in the ballpark. Juan explained what we were hearing was a herd of wild pigs (about 50) in the jungle a couple of hundred meters away. We hurried our pace and we left the path and started heading into dense jungle. I was directly behind Juan and trying to keep up with him was near to impossible. Despite wielding the machete as he went he was nimble and quick as a fox. He literally flew over the branches, logs, and expertly maneuvered his way through tangles of vines whilst all the time being quiet. We needless to say were not quite so graceful and despite our best efforts I’m sure sounded like a herd of drunken elephants stumbling over corrugated iron. I was beginning to feel a nervous excitement and started sniffing the air to see if I could detect any of what Juan was following. It was mild at first, a fairly unpleasant urine orientated odor; Sniff, sniff, sniff...bang! I suddenly caught a good whiff and it was nearly eye watering it was so acrid and intense. We were still moving throught the jungle quickly and the noise was becoming a thunderous roar. I began to think what the hell sort of pigs are these? Flesh eating razor backs? I secretly began to wish I had my own machete and started looking around for scalable trees should the need arise. After what was probably 20 minutes of crawling and fighting through dense jungle Juan stopped us and hid us behind trees. They must have cottoned on to us and we heard piercing squeals and a wild scrambling and mass fleeing. I saw a few lightening black flashes from a distance and that was it. Pooh. Let down. Juan indicated that his heart was beating rapidly; excitement? Nervousness? Fear? (Shit I hoped not). He didn’t seem too perturbed at the departure of the pigs and showed us what the odd sound was…the pigs chomp these hard acorn like nuts which causes an awful ruckus.

We followed Juan for a while longer and was introduced to a tree I dubbed the garlic tree, the aroma of which was pungent and absolutely garlic. He macheted off some bark which can be rubbed on bites (which I gladly did). He showed us another tree which he slashed a cut into to release what he informed us was highly toxic sap. I thought to myself If I get lost in the jungle I'm screwed; these trees look identical to me. I’ll be rubbing toxic sap on mossie bites and avoiding garlic. He demonstrated he truly was the jungle boy by climbing vines and proudly posing for photos. He really loved what he was doing and once again we all felt blessed to have another guide who was passionate about his job and genuinely loved sharing his love for the jungle with us.

We soon picked up the scent of the pigs again and were off. This time after a few more minutes we took up positions on a track and a herd thundered by. It was amazing: the sound, the smell, the speed! There were some pretty bloody big black pigs and quite a few piglets. Probably 30 or 40 in total cut he path in front of us. After the roar had subsided and the last pig had leapt and squealed past Juan told us he was very proud of us, especially us girls as other girls who have come on the trek have apparently gotten frightened by the noise and fled in the opposite direction (understandable). Woo hoo! Super chicks!

We trekked in the jungle for about 3 hours before heading back for dinner. We had a lovely dinner and a bottle of red and then headed back out into the jungle for a night trek. We had head torches to light our way, although my five dollar head torch bought at the witches market in La Paz was unsurprisingly rubbish and I spent half the night trying valiantly not to fall on my face. At times we stopped in the jungle and all turned off our head torches. The sounds were wonderful. The jungle has a definite heart beat and a group of citizens who clearly don’t sleep. I loved those times standing there in the darkness, eyes wide open in the blackness, perfectly still, everyone silent. At one point Juan indidcated for us to stay still and he wandered off into the darkness. After a few minutes Caz voiced what I´m sure we were all thinking: ¨god I hope he´s coming back¨.

At another point when we had switched off the torches and were enjoying the quiet stillness, I heard someone making a racket behind me reminiscent of an epileptic playing hop scotch. We turned on our torches to watch Brendan and Dave start a mad thigh slapping routine (literally). It was quite funny until I felt the first bite. We were all covered in red ants. We had stopped smack bang in the middle of downtown red ants ville and they were pissed. I was soon hopping and cursing and slapping like a mad woman. Bloody hell the little bastards can sting! Juan was trying to help us who were desperately rolling up our pants which they had crawled inside to brush them off. They particularly loved the cuffs of our pants and finally I understood the bloody gumboots.

After about ten minutes of trying to pick the last of the biting mongrels from our pants we continued on. About 50 meters down the track I stopped. Caz wheeled around and the spotlight of her head torch caught me pants almost around my ankles. She began to ask what I was doing when she realized and started laughing…yep ants in my pants. We walked through the jungle for about two hours and despite the experience were all quite pleased to get back and soothe our war wounds.

I woke the next morning very early and decided to get up and go and have a wash by the river. It was misty and mysterious and I felt quite the Jungle Jane as I bathed in the fog shrouded river. I washed for a couple of minutes (as I’d seen Juan do the previous evening) and hurriedly changed clothes. I thought I’d escaped relatively unscathed but it wasn’t to be. I had about 100 sand fly bites all over me, 30 of which were on my bum. I was a mess. Red ant bites, mosquito bites, sand fly bites. I had more bites than freckles. Three or four weeks later I still have itchy remnants of bites.

After breakfast we again went out into the jungle and stopped at a tiny muddy river to do a spot of fishing. Juan was very keen to catch some fish (dinner perhaps?) and we spent quite some time unsuccessfully casting a solo handline. At one point Caz snagged the only hook and Juan tried to unsnag it and the line broke. We all thought oh well, fishing over. Nope. Juan stripped off to his underwear and in he went to search for his precious hook. Incredible. Watching Juan waist deep in brown water I felt like I stepped back in time and had come across a tribesman fishing. Despite the rescued hook there were no fish that day and we returned to camp for a final supper before catching the boat back downstream. Aside from a cocktail in hand, the afternoon could not have been more perfect and I felt every part of me relax as feet up, book in hand, we lazily cruised downstream.

The day we arrived back in Rurrenabaque was Irene’s birthday and we went out for dinner at a lovely restaurant and proceeded to celebrate her birthday in style at the aptly named mosquito bar. The following morning I was terribly sad to leave Rurrenabaque and very nearly changed my flight to stay longer. It had been far my favorite place so far and when the plane took off from the runway I felt a lump of sadness one feels for a place treasured which will not likely be visited again.

We touched down in La Paz and the altitude absolutely knocked my socks off. I was madly clutching the airsickness bag on the decent and felt like I gained about 30 kilos and taken a sleeping tablet. Brendan descended the stairs from the plane and proceeded to vomit on the tarmac. We were a healthy looking bunch. In the taxi on the way back into La Paz I vowed that I was finished with altitude and after the Salkantay trek to Machu Picchu I was getting back to sea level as soon as possible and following the sun.

We stayed in La Paz for one night and then headed to Copacabana on the banks of Lake Titicaca, which stradles Bolivia and Peru and is one of the highest navigatable lakes in the world. The lake is enormous, beautiful and surrounded by snow capped peaks. We caught a ferry to Isla Del Sol, a large island in the lake where we planned to spend one night. The Island was stunning! From the beach where we docked we could see a towering hill upon which we could see colourful dressed locals leading donkeys loaded with an assortment of goods (bags of rice, crates of beer) up steps carved into the hill. We loaded up our packs (Cazzy and Irene were lucky enough to snag a porter) and began the hellish climb. Dave proved that chivalry was not yet dead and kindly exchanged my 20 kilo plus fat man pack for his much lighter pack. I had Dave´s pack, my day pack on my front, my beach bag around my neck (containing bottles of wine, naturally) and I was by no means speedy or lithe. The island was 4000m and the altutude, weight and stairs had me blowing! Luckily our hostel was only about two thirds of the way to the top so the legs and lungs were spared somewhat. The views from the hostel deck were magnificent. Whilst the accommodation was very basic, when you’re paying about four dollars per night there are no complaints. We all agreed that anywhere in the western world the rack rate would be at least $1000 a night for views like that.

That afternoon we did a short hike to some fairly non descript ruins and met some small local children who were quite determined that we pay to see the ruins (although we’d already paid) and vehemently informed us to PAY or LEAVE! It made me quite sad to see how business savvy the kids are. At one point the following day I took a photo of a lovely little girl who was playing peek a boo with me and her sister hot footed it up the trail after me demanding payment for the picture of her sister.

The following day we did a hike to the North end of the island. What a spectacular day. Hills at 4000m can be hard going but the blazing sun and the 360 degree mangificent lake views never got tiring. We visited an Incan ruin which is reported to be the birth place of the first inca. We caught a boat back to the south of the island and returned to Copacabana to catch our bus to Puno (just inside the Peruvian border). I was sad to leave Bolivia and its marvelous diversity and cheapness(!) but was excited to hit Peru and specifically Cusco where we were hoping to catch our cousin Susie. We stayed in Puno over night (definitely long enough) and bused to Cusco the following day after a disappointing trip to the floating islands off Puno. Whilst it was fascinating to see the islands and learn about their formation, our tour was basically a tourist show and the pressure to buy souvenirs intense to the point of being uncomfortable.I was glad to leave and happy to board the bus to Cusco.

Post has again become epic so will once again say adios and leave Cusco for next time!

Photos: Rurrenabaque

kate2501 — Wed, 23 Jun 2010 00:56:00 GMT

Bolivia Part 2: Altitude and Rurrenabaque

kate2501 — Tue, 22 Jun 2010 05:05:00 GMT

Hola Chicos! To follow on from last post we headed on what was supposed to be a 7 hr bus from Uyuni to Potosi, the highest city in the world. About 25 minutes out of Uyuni on a steep hill the bus ground to a halt. I looked out the window and saw about 5 buses lined up as on the corner a diesel tanker had almost tipped over and diesel was spilling all over the road. There were people milling everywhere, including about 50 school kids. We wandered up the hill just in time to see a 50+ seater bus attempt to come down the hill off road to avoid the accident. The hill was bloody steep, there was a massive ditch filled with rocks at the bottom and about 30 kids on board. Needless to say the bus hit the ditch with a massive grinding, ripping sound and went no further. The next two hours were spent jacking the bus up, placing rocks underneath and towing it out. The bus had a fairly good lean going on with about 20 kids standing below it and another 30 on board. Absolutely insane. I wandered up the road with an old Bolivian man who befriended me to check out what was happening with the tanker. What a bloody schmozzle. The truck was propped up with jacks balancing on rocks on top of 44 gallon drums; another tanker had backed into it to attempt to stop it falling over further; about 5 men were trying to start a tiny pump and a man was sitting on top of the tanker trying to soak up the spilling diesel with rags which he then squeezed into a bucket. Only in South America.

I wandered back down in time to see the bus successfully pulled out (sans a few parts), there was an almighty cheer, all the kids piled on and off they went limping down the hill. At the top of the hill was a second bus from the same company waiting to attempt the same track. I thought after the disaster from the first attempt there was absolutely no way he was going to give it a crack but no, off he went, a bus full of kids and undoubtedly his heart in his throat. The exact same thing happened and it was back to digging. Again, only in South America.

We were delayed about 3 hours before finally getting back on the road. With such a 'short' bus ride we hadn't packed any food and there was no toilet. Crossing your legs for three hours over bumpy Bolivian dirt roads is not my favorite way to spend an afternoon but unfortunately is something I've become accustomed to lol. We ended up stopping at a tiny ramshackle village where I gratefully used the foulest toilet in South America (payment required naturally) and bravely tucked into a plate of dodgy looking local cuisine. I got back on the bus and Brendan and I agreed it was probably a 50/50 shot of food poisoning. Thankfully we arrived bellies intact and spent a lovely couple of days having some R and R in Potosi. The boys did a tour of the local mines which are famous for the amount of people who have died working there and the abhorrent conditions they work in. Many workers die within ten years of working due to inhaling silica dust. The tour was reportedly amazing and confronting and the boys were really pleased to have gone.

Potosi was a nice town but wasn't a place to stay for long. We bused to La Paz (Capital of Bolivia) from Potosi where we spent three days. La Paz is huge, dirty, and busy. It was definitely my least favorite city so far, which probably had something to do with the altitude and the punishing night life. Altitude knocks you around. You puff just tying up your shoes and the three story climb to our dorm felt like trekking to base camp. One of us would venture down for something and arrive back at the room unable to speak due to breathlessness. There is actually an inhouse oxygen bar to help people overomealtitude sickness.

Dave and I decided to venture out to check out La Paz's night life (which is epic) on our first night, which may not have been the greatest idea I´ve ever had. We met some locals who we partied with and stumbled home at some ungodly hour. I spent the entire next day in bed with the worst hangover of my life. ALTITUDE HANGOVERS ARE MEAN! The next day the guys biked down the world’s most dangerous road, so named for the level of fatalities (including at least 18 people doing the ride). I was still a little ill so I didn’t think it was a good idea which was inspired by stories of a girl’s death two months earlier after losing concentration and going off the cliff. I was disappointed to miss it but illness was self inflicted so no pity required. They all survived and had a fantastic time and you will no doubt see them sporting death road t-shirts to prove it.

We flew out the next day to Rurrenabaque in the Amazon basin where we were booked to do a 3 days pampas tour and 2 day jungle our. We climbed on a tiny plane and flew an hour to Rurrenabaque before bouncing down on a grass run way. When we exited the plane the heat, humidity and lack of altitude brought an immediate smile to my face. Bliss! We were greeted by motor bike taxi drivers wanting us to climb on the back of bikes with 20 kilo back pack on our backs and day packs on front. One sharp corner and the weight of my pack would have sent us both flying so we all opted for the bus instead.

I was grinning like an idiot the entire bus trip into town as we passed lush green paddocks, palm trees and people walking in shorts and t-shirts. For the first time in 2 months I really felt like I was on holiday. Whilst I have technically been on holiday for two months now, at times it is by no means a leisurely lifestyle. Altitude, cold weather, language difficulties and generally having absolutely no idea where I am or where anything is can be tiring. Combine that with constantly being on the move, mammoth treks, upset stomachs and dodgy sleep patterns - I often feel I need a holiday from my holiday.

We checked into our hostel, stripped off into shorts, singlet’s and thongs (woo hoo!!!) and went and had a beautiful fish dinner. I love Rurrenabaque. The town is small and has a fantastic atmosphere; small beach town feel sans beach! At night all the stores are open and locals sit on chairs in the streets watching the teenagers with their girlfriend’s on the backs of their motorbikes doing laps. We all felt a little revived I think after two months of puffer jackets and altitude and spirits were high.

We left for our pampas tour the following morning. We had met a lovely English couple Dave and Teresa and an Irish girl Irene in La paz and luckily they were on our tour. We all piled into a very bloody old land cruiser with troop carrier seats and drove 3 hours along the bumpiest roads I’ve come across so far to our starting point on the river. It’s become a running joke that we get the runts of the vehicle litter. We were constantly passed by modern land cruisers doing about twice our speed.

We loaded up our gear into the boat and headed for the three hr drive up river. After about ten minutes we started seeing Caimans and Alligators on the banks and all took about a million photos. After three hours of seeing hundreds of the buggers the camera’s had a rest for a while. We arrived at our ‘lodge’ which was a series of basic huts on the high banks of the river in the early evening. We had a fantastic meal, and sat down to play cards. There was an obnoxious, drunk, very loud guy on the next table who was also unfortunately, Australian. He was carrying on all night, chanting and just being a general twat. We had a disagreement over some cards of ours he borrowed and then proceeded to throw across the room in a game of 52 pick up. There is nothing worse when you’re travelling and the knob in the room is a fellow countryman. Anyway the next day he could barely lift his head at breakfast which made us all smile.

We donned gumboots and headed out into the pampas with Roberto. The pampas is a massive open swamp of sorts with amazing insect and bird life. Roberto asked us to all spread out and look for Anaconda’s in the thigh deep water we were wading through. What?!!! At first I was just bloody praying I didn’t come anywhere close to an anaconda, but after a while I actually got into it and wanted to find one. After tramping through foul smelling swamp for an hour or so a guide form another group found one and we all headed over to have a look. Not nearly as large as I would have imagined (or the movies depict) but a beautiful snake. Only the guides were allowed to touch the snake as the repellent and sunscreens on our skin poison the snake if we make contact. Have to admit was not overly put out!

That afternoon we went up river to see if we could find pink dolphins and swim with them. We were seeing Caimans everywhere and I knew there were Piranhas in the river and I was thinking there is no way I am getting in that water. Anyone that knows me well knows I seem to have an irrational fear of being eaten by water dwelling creatures. Despite this when we arrived Caz, Dave and I jumped in with some other slightly mad tourists. Pretty nervy bloody swim and fairly brief but a lovely respite from the heat. After getting back in the boat we cruised up stream and saw a massive caiman about 30m from where we had been swimming. Hmmm.

On the way home we stopped at a local lodge and volleyball court on the banks of the river for a beer and to watch the sunset. Beautiful! That evening after dinner when we suggested going to a bar up river for a beer run, Roberto offered to take us instead to a local’s birthday party he wanted to go to. We piled in the boat and cruised about 15 minutes down river to a lodge where all the guides, drivers, cooks etc had gathered to celebrate one of the guide’s birthdays. What an amazing night! The guys formed a band and sang and played salsa music all night. They were fantastic and soon had us up salsa dancing. Dancing in rolled up cargo pants and thongs on a wooden hut floor does not inspire gracefulness but I had an absolute ball and danced all night. My partner for most of the evening was a young guy called Juan Carlo who could shake his ass like Shakira and in typical South American fashion was adept at whispering sweet nothings designed to entice romance. Juan Carlo was sadly unsuccessful but I imagine he has been successful with many a female tourist before me! I was very impressed by his ability to multi task as traditionally this is only a female trait.

Roberto had told us we would be heading back at 11pm initially. At 2.30am Caz and I decided that Roberto was thoroughly sauced and perhaps it was time to round up the guys and head home. We all piled like sacks of potatoes into the boat (miraculously no one went overboard in to the mouth of a waiting Caiman) and Roberto cast us off. As we cruised down river in the pitch black, Caz and I aimed our head torches at opposite banks to try to give Roberto some kind of bearing. Our torches I was sorry to see lit up thousands of red eyes. Caimans were out feeding and were EVERYWHERE. One tight corner and I decided we were going way too fast. I told Roberto to slow down and was met by a giggle and ‘it’s okay amigos!’ I told Roberto in no uncertain terms it was not okay and my mother would be most displeased if my sister and I were eaten by Caimans. I could see the headlines: “7 tourists and Bolivian guide missing in Amazon basin. Crashed boat discovered and several inebriated Caimans observed asleep belly up on banks near by. Search continues”.

He did slow down marginally but Caz and I who were the most sober of the group had a pretty nervy trip home. The next morning we went fishing for Piranha. We loaded our hooks with chunks of a non-descript meat (probably Llama) and within a split second of dropping the meat in you could see the whip of a Piranha tail as it attacked the hook. These things are vicious and surprisingly difficult to catch! They nibble delicately around the hook, often successfully absconding with their prize. A few of us caught one and I was thrilled to reel mine in (when I say reel, we had a piece of line attached to a chunk of wood) As the photo will no doubt show I was very pleased with myself and wanted to keep my little buddy as a little housewarming gift for Anna and James in London. I could just picture him in a bowl on the mantle performing all manner of party tricks for dinner guests. I decided customs may have may have been somewhat of a problem and reluctantly allowed Roberto to let him go.

In the afternoon we bid a sad farewell to the camp and headed back down river. It was a beautiful afternoon and the wildlife was out in force. About 20 minutes from our destination the boat suddenly stopped. While Roberto was trying to start the motor I was watching Caimans on the bank opposite head into the water and disappear. You start to feel a little vulnerable! Roberto worked for a while and then declared it was kaput and climbed out to start finding branches we could use as paddles. Bloody hell! We paddled down river with branches while the Caimans and Alligators looked on with interest. It was hot, hard but hilarious and a great end to the trip. We ended up being rescued by a boat coming up river and towed back. We climbed back into the jeep and had another 3 hr bumpy ride back to Rurrenabaque. We all agreed it was an amazing trip and the departures from the traditional schedule (random parties, broken down boats) made it all the more memorable. The next day we were to head on our jungle tour but the post is becoming another war and peace sized piece of prose so I will go now and fill you in later! Adios!

Photos: Bolivia - Salar de Uyuni

kate2501 — Wed, 16 Jun 2010 01:12:00 GMT

Bolivia part 1: the wild wild west

kate2501 — Fri, 4 Jun 2010 10:26:00 GMT

To say that Bolivia is quite different from Argentina is the understatement of the century. Argentina is colonial and quite modern in its larger cities. Bolivia is like stepping into a scene out of an old American Western. It's dry, desolate, unforgiving landscape quickly reminds you why it's the poorest country in South America. The poverty smacked me in the face as soon we crossed the border into Villazon, as did the difference in its indigenous people. The local people are smaller, darker and aside from children (who are exceptionally cute) very weathered. We have found it very difficult to determine the age of many adults, and have been quite off base. Many of the women appear as if straight off a postcard in their traditional wears; big smiles, bowler hats covering long plaits, pleated skirts and bowed legs. The younger women often carry a baby in a colourful 'swag' on their backs. It’s interesting that often you will see a younger married couple and the women are in full traditional dress but the men are wearing adidas.

The border crossing was interesting. Despite the appearance of military, we could have walked across with our gringo packs and I doubt been stopped. No searching of possessions, no real attention paid to passports; a cursory look and off you go. I doubt border patrols cause many headaches for the local drug couriers. I carry with me what the others have dubbed my 'spice bag'. In it contains carious spices and condiments for cooking as most hostels won't even supply pepper or salt. I've accumulated quite a collection of herbs and at each border crossing I cop a lot of flack about my secret contraband. When asked I've disclosed it but no one even looks at the disclosure forms or searches your goods. Your bags will be belted through a scanner but it all seems to be for appearances sake really. Anyway luckily my chimmichurri (Yum!) oregano etc have made it this far! Peru might be a different story...

We bused (dodgy) from Villazon to Tupiza, a small town where many Salar de Uyuni jeep tours leave from. Tupiza is a fairly non-descript town but in some fairly spectacular country. Tupiza is Butch Cassidy and the Sun Dace kid country, literally; they rode the mountains and robbed nearby banks. It is surrounded by red mountains and vast canyons. We heard the best way to explore was on horse back so Cazzy and I organised to do a 5 hr ride. Due to the fact so many of the horses / mules we have passed in Bolivia are raggy to say the least, I asked to see a photo of a tour to see the horses. I was given a photo with some tourists mounted on some well fed, western looking horses (grey's, chestnuts). We locked it in. The next day we arrived to find our request for helmets had produced two children's dressage helmets. The literally sat on top of your head they were so small. When I told the operator we needed adults helmets she pointedly told us that the problem was not the helmets but in our abnormally large heads. I wasn't thrilled with that explanation so I asked her to try the helmet on her 'normal sized head'. She sat the ridiculously small helmet atop her head and said "see! No problem!" We had a pretty good laugh and decided to press on sans helmets. We followed our 15 year old guide to the starting point and were greeted with four of the mangiest,RSPCA horses/ mules you've ever seen. The mighty steeds were decked out in pieces of leather stacked and tied together for a saddle, had material straps for 'leathers' and home made hoop stirrups. Bloody hell. When I politely suggested my horse had seen more days than dinners the guide said "No, no problem; ok?" We again decided to press on and were joined by a lovely Aussie couple Emily and Chris on their honeymoon. We headed out of town and after I made a few adjustments to everyone's foot long 'stirrup leathers' (The guides rode short like Jockey's) we were off. Whilst not the most comfortable ride; definitely one of the most memorable. The scenery is spectacular and when galloping through Red canyons with the ghosts of Butch and Sundance it's hard not to feel pretty bloody good.

We did a bit of research before booking our 4 day 4wd tour as there have been serious accidents with tourists killed due to shonky guides, speeding, drinking etc. We were advised don't go cheap and book a landcruiser (safer, more leg room and can go anywhere). We decided to run with la Torre and were shown the vehicle we would have which was a late 90's landcruiser with nice fat, rugged tires and seemingly in pretty good nick. We confirmed the arrangements and specifically the vehicle three times, were happy and parted with our hard earned silver.

We arrived the next morning all packed and excited. We watched landcruiser after landcruiser depart fully loaded and were assured ours was on its way. Ten minutes our 80's model Nissan Patrol comes to collect us. Not Happy Jan. We have discovered it is near to pointless to argue with Bolivian tour guides, you get what you're given despite what you've paid for and it's up to you to decide whether to try and get your money back and sit around waiting for another day or suck it up. After hearing the standard Bolivian "sorry, only this one - but no problem" phrase we decided to press on. I gave the operator a rip roaring serve and very unhappily climbed into the vehicle. I was bloody fuming and unfortunately wasn't shy about letting everyone (guides included) know about it. Getting out of town and realising we had no seatbelts and a bald back tyre didn't do much for the anger levels. I was foul. I told showed the guides the tyre and they said "okay my friend, good vehicle my friends". I said: "famous last words my friend". Yep, totally snide and bitchy but cranky pants were on. Gradually began to calm down after starting the ascent through the altiplano but not before shocking myself with the level of anger I experienced. Scary stuff.

Let me just say the Bolivian Altiplano is striking. Totally unforgiving land, not a single tree, no grass, just shrubs which the Llamas eat but incredible. We drove for a few hours listening to what I imagine was titled 'the best of Bolivia 1986' (which Raul our guide bopped to in the front seat) all the time climbing, climbing, climbing. We stopped for our first lunch and were presented with oodles of food which was the first meal of many on this trip in which I overate. It's funny when you are in another's hands, have no idea of location, no idea how to source food if you needed it your brain seems to go EAT; EAT NOW! QUICK! THERE MIGHT NOT BE ANY MORE COMING! Our guide Raul was a lovely little guy who loved a joke, Jay Z, and telling us each day we were going to be eating Flamingo for dinner. His knowledge and enthusiasm of the altiplano was fantastic and we soon enjoyed his company. Whilst in Australia the idea of sitting in a 4WD for 8 hrs a day is not something you'd relish; the scenery and Raul's stories made it more than just bearable; it made it an experience.

We knew the accommodation was going to be basic and basic it was! We were told it would get down to minus 5 to minus ten that night and our accommodation was a tin shed on a concrete slab. No electricity, no fires, no heating. Bloody hell it was cold! We ate a good dinner and climbed into more thermals, fleeces, beanies, gloves, sleeping therma liner, sleeping bags with blankets over the top as a finale. I was still cold, and shivered for at least an hour or two. Three hours later I woke up sweltering and stripped off. Little sleep at 4500m at those temps with a 5am start would test the most gracious of souls but surprisingly we were all in good spirits the next morning. A mug of coca leaves tea to try and stave off altitude sickness and we were off. We were quite lucky that none of us got sick as 50% of people fall ill while doing the tour apparently.

Day two was very different and we visited an abandoned city where thousands are buried after a leprosy epidemic. There are reportedly gold deposits in the town but the surrounding locals are so superstitious they won't dig it up. It was quite eerie seeing human bones and imagining a former civilization living amongst the now crumbling walls. We entered the national park and visited various lagoons (green, white, red etc) which were all spectacular and very different. We saw flamingos (but none caught and cooked by Raul) and saw Llamas, llamas, llamas. A family will let its Llamas run wild across a very large area where they mingle with other families Llamas. They identify them by tying coloured ribbons to their ears.

We drove through a small village just inside the national park where Raul showed us the soccer field (dirt patch with two netless goals) and told us that there is an area tournament each year. The winning team gets a Llama, the second place team gets two baby Llamas and the third placed team wins one baby Llama. It gives you an idea of how surreal and primitive Bolivian life can be in areas.

We drove through a desert named Salvator Dali desert due to the fact that it could be straight out of one of his paintings. We were all going fairly well in the 4wd and taking it in turns sitting in the very small back seats. The tail bone has yet to recover from four days of sitting but hopefully some trekking might iron out the kinks again.

Whilst the accommodation was much the same on night two, there was a small fire which definitely helped stave off the cold. Unfortunately during the night Brendan, Dave and I were duking it out for who went to the toile the most times after obviously eating something that left our stomachs decidedly unhappy. Quite hilarious actually hearing someone rustle rustle while struggling to get out of liners and sleeping bags in a hurry. We didn’t have the heart to tell Raul about the food the next day as the poor guy was working his tail off. As I write this almost three weeks later my stomach still hasn’t recovered.

We climbed to 5100 m on the third day to visit geysers which were quite eerie. There are active volcano’s scattered all along the region and the geysers are areas of bubbling mud and steam vents. Quite stinky with all the sulphur but definitely worth the 5100m. We visited an area called the valley of the rocks which was great but unfortunately we had met many jeeps comng the other direction (from Uyuni) and it was crowded. Not ideal when one is trying to find a quiet place to go to the toilet (in a hurry) and from behind every rock pops a tourist! I finally discovered an actually baño (loo) and had the most freezing long drop experience imaginable!

We drove to the Termas de Polques hot springs for lunch. The boys were apparently frightened of getting their skirts wet but Cazzy and I bared the cold and had a dip. Beautiful temperture, stunning vistas and after two days of dust and no bathing it was lovely to be clean. Another hot, huge lunch whipped up by Raul nad we were back in the Nissan.

Our last night we spent in the salt hotel. The entire building is made of salt blocks. The floor is salt; the bed bases are salt; the tables and chairs are made of salt. Dave licked the walls to make sure they weren’t having us on and sure enough: salt. The generator only ran from 7pm to 9pm so we all sat in darkness until 7pm and then went to bed at 9pm. Quite funny really.

The fourth day we spent on the Salar de Uyuni which is an ancient dried sea bed that covers an area 11,000 sq kilometers wide. We watched the sun rise and turn the grey flats turn a brilliant white. The contrast with the perfectly blue sky when the sun is up is incredible. We were again blessed with great weather which is lucky as Raul told us when the clouds come down and the surrounding guiding mountains are hidden from view jeeps have gotten lost for days. We went to fish island for breakfast which is a large rock formation covered in cactuses in the middle of the salar. We hiked to the top and got some amazing views and photos and then had another great brekkie. After brekkie our driver challenged us gringos to a game of soccer on the salt flats. About 6 Bolivian guides and driver s took on about ten of us gringos. Cazzy and I were the only girls out there trying to match it with French and English soccer fanatics. After they realized we were actually body checking and tackling and having a go they started passing us the ball (often a mistake lol). It was bloody tiring playing soccer at altitude and in the blaring sun but was absolutely a highlight. Caz I am proud to say scored the winning goal!

On the salt flats there is no depth perception so you can play around with trick photography which was great fun. I will post some of the shots soon. We spent a couple of hours on the flats and then headed to Uyuni where we were to end our tip. 5km out of Uyuni we got another flat and poor Raul and the driver (name forgotten!) had to change our third tyre. These guys work so hard. They get up at about 3am to prepare our food for the day, drive and guide and change tyres during the day, cook dinner, clean the vehicle and repair tyres at night. They don’t stop. They were very safe, knowledgeable and fun guides. Despite e the hiccup at the beginning of the trip I couldn’t have asked for more.

We had a fantastic dinner in Uyuni at a pizza restaurant (Minuteman) owned by an American guy. Sometimes it’s a relief to order something and know exactly what is coming out. I love trying different foods but sometimes you crave a little western normality (as does your stomach!) This has turned into a mammoth post so will end now and pick up again later! Hope you’re all well x

Photos: Patagonia, Bariloche, Mendoza

kate2501 — Tue, 1 Jun 2010 01:11:00 GMT

Wine and Bikes in Mendoza

kate2501 — Mon, 31 May 2010 10:30:00 GMT

I haven´t updated for a while as we´ve been fairly well on the move and internet in Bolivia can be painfully slow! To back track a little, we had a fantastic time in Mendoza, which is a cool city in the Argentinean wine district. We stayed in an apartment I found on wotif (if you can imagine) which was plush and a lovely break from hostels and especially bunk beds for a couple of days! Bunk beds and I don´t seem to mix. I don´t think there has been a bunk I have not belted my head on. Brendan and I seem to have developed some sort of affliction where we hit our heads on a daily basis (sometimes two, three - often on the same obstacles in succession - Tv´s, bus mirrors etc). No idea what´s going on. Caz thinks it´s absolutley hilarious and keeps a tally of who has hit their head the most times each day. I imagine I´m losing much needed brain cells each time and if this keeps up I may qualify for a disabilty pension upon my return to Aus.

I spent a day on my own wandering around the city and attempting do do some shopping. I always seem to get bitten in the ass by siesta over here (shops close from 1pm to 4.30pm nad open again until 8 or 9) and usually find myself finding locked doors everywhere. Despite being unsuccessful in the shopping department, I had a great day having a bit of ´Kate time´.

I was feeling the need for some serious R and R in Mendoza after doing too many mamoth bus rides in relatively short succession. They don´t seem to bother the other guys as much but I sleep appallingly and they consequently seem to knock me around. It´s funny that after a while a 12 hr bus ride seem relatively short after putting in 30 hr stretches. Sometimes you´ll do a 15 hr bus ride to a city, stay for a day or two and then do a 12 hr ride to the next city. We´ve all commented that there is no way we would even dream about doing that in Aus; but it´s only often the only mode of transport here so you just run with it.

Our first night in town the boys went out with a friend of Dave´s, - Megan from Aus. They had a cracking night and arrived home at 4am. We had organised to meet some friends we met in Bariloche at a particular street corner at 9.45am the next morning to do a bike ride through the wine region. Needless to say the boys were s l o w and we missed meeting Tom and Clair. Caz and I were a little pissy and consequently sent the very seedy boys off on their tandem bicycle (yes they chose it - hilarious) to enquire at all the bike rental places to see if we could find them. Luckily for them their status climbed when they returned with Tom and Clair in tow and another Australian couple and the 8 of us took off on our bikes feeling fresh (well most of us) and fabulous in the sunshine.

We did a tasting at the museum and then hit a liquer and chocolate house. We all were given a shot of liqueur and most of the group tried absinthe which was like rocket fuel reportedly. The boys were in struggle town by this point with hangovers starting to well and truly settle in. They decided hair of the dog was the only thing for it and they would take off at a sprint to each winery, desperate to stave off the wobbles.

The traffic in South America is insane; nobody uses indicators or seems to adhere to any sort of road rules (including traffic lights, lanes, speeds and road worthiness of vehicles). The road was intially quiet but as the day progressed so did the traffic. Sometimes while riding you would hear a truck coming behind you and see a truck coming towards you in the opposite (and very narrow) lane and you´d almost close your eyes as they passed, praying that you were not about to be skittled and become an unsightly mess on the asphalt (or dirt). At one stage were were passed by a Moroccan guy (who will feature later) who was wobbling all over the place and cheering passing traffic. Clearly he had started much earlier in the day or otherwise wine tasting must not be a favored Moroccan past time.

We had lunch at a nice winery about 10km up the road and we lashed out on an expensive lamb in red wine simmer (first western styled meal in a long time and) and a bottle of recommended Malbec. I have unfortunatley found the wine in Argentina quite disappointing; it often lacks any gusto and doesn´t compensate with any kind of smoothness. I should probably conceed that we have been buying cheaper bottles ($7 aus which is mid range over here). We headed to a lovely winery in the afternoon called Tempes Alba which was an ultra modern, very cool winery. One of the owners jokingly warned us about her flirtaceous brother, who true to Argentinean form was a total unabashed flirt (in a harmless charming kind of way). Our introduction involved consisted of him walking up to me on the balcony, grabbing my face in his hands and kissing me. He then graciously offered for me to stay with him for the evening in his ´beautiful lake house´. The men here can be incredible! Flirting and checking out women appears at times to be a national past time and totally socially acceptable. You regularly see men in the street openly stop when they pass an attractive woman, turn and check her out.

The music was great, the sun was beautiful and we sat on the terrace over looking the vineyard and knocked over quite a few bottles of rose and red between the 8 of us. When I got up from the table at one point in the afternoon I realised I was becoming a little pizzled and advised the guys that if I had any more vino I was not going to be riding anywhere. Considering the traffic and the fact we were loving it we called the rental place and organised to have the bikes collected. A smart move as it turned out. I was standing on the balcony watching the Moroccan guy in the drive way with his bike. He was struggling to get started and stay upright on the gravel drive and I very nearly called out for him not to ride (not that he would have understood me). He seemed to right himself however and took off out the drive way. 5 seconds later I heard the unmistakable sound of car brakes screeching and then a collision. I ran in and grabbed Dave (ED physio) and Clair (OT) and we took off to the road to find that he had, as suspected, ridden straight into an on coming car. He was on the nature strip where had been dragged by his friend, was a little bloody, in shock and sporting what looked suspiciously like a broken collar bone. Dave and Clair checked him out and we waited with hime for 45 mins (!) until the ambulance arrived. Considering the collision he was bloody lucky.

We bought some beer at the service station (awesome - you can buy beer anwhere here) and all caught a bus back into Mendoza and went to an all you can eat buffet. We all gorged on the western styled food which was very good and cost $10 Aus. A few of the guys were keen to kick on but the four of had hit a wall which was suprising but understandable considering the serious miles we´d been putting in during the preceeding weeks. It was sad to say goodbye to Clair and Tom who are a cracking pair who we´ve loved hanging out with. We´ve spurred each other on on some evenings of debauchery and definitely look forward to catching up with them in the UK.

We spent the next day wandering through the local park (which was 240 hectares) and bumped into Dave´s mate Megan adn her friend Lauren from America who we sat at a park cafe and had beers with. While sitting there I head a crash behind me and watched Dave leap up from the table and take off across the road. He had watched another cyclist come belting down a dirt path, take a jump badly and hit the deck - hard. The teenager appeared to be in a bit of trouble intially and didn´t appear to be moving. Dave called for Lauren who speaks excellent spanish and between them they worked out likely another shoulder or collar bone injury but the kid was again suprisingly ok. We have subsequently dubbed Dave ´Dr Dave´ and expect it´s only a matter of time before his ED skills are once again required.

We caught a bus to Salta which was 18 hrs and arrived to find a very dirty, dank, over all disappointing hostel. Stay way from city backpackers! I realised a couple of days later I had been bitten by bed bugs there - absolutley revolting! I now have scabs all over me; hugely attractive. Salta is a beautiful city, full of amazing colonial architecture, quite close to the border of Bolivia. The whole city seemed to be gearing up for independence day, and the atmosphere was electric. I was really disappointed we were leaving two days earlier as I think the party would have been bloody spectacular! We wandered around the city and extensive markets and tried our first bowl of Locro (Argentinean soup with lentils and meat) which was amazing. I had hit a serious wall by the time I reached Salta and wasn´t able to head out with the guys, which for those who know me well will agree is totally out of character!

We were catching a bus out at midnight and just beore leaving Caz and I headed out to get some money at an ATM attached to a local supermarket (cardf swipe to get into a glass cubical). Caz had come in with me and as I was halfway through withdrawing cash I noticed that a massive roller door had descended and was about two feet from the ground and from locking us in. I yelled at Caz to get out, but she didn´t make it so we were well and truly locked in. We managed to squeeze between the door and the supermarket wall and knocked on a window of the supermarket. Needless to say the security guard pissed himself at the sight of two wide eyed slightly nervous foreigners trapped between the supermarket and a roller door. Dickheads. How we didn´t notice a MASSIVE roller door descending I have no idea. Anyway, he got us out and we made the bus to the Bolivian border. Bolivia is a world apart from Argentina and Chile but that´s for another post.

Chau for now amigos xx

The Mighty Villaricca!

kate2501 — Tue, 18 May 2010 22:28:00 GMT

Following on from the last post, we awoke on Sunday to a glorious day so thunderbirds were go for the Volcano climb. We were relatively unsure as to what to expect; although we knew we needed some fairly technical gear so it wasn´t going to be a walk in the park. We arrived at the base (1000m above sea level) at about 8.30am and began the ascent in thermals and treking shoes, carrying masses of food, ice picks, crampons, and full snow suits in packs on our backs. The first two hours of the climb was over rocky terrain climbing underneath a non operational charilift (I´m sorry to say). The views were magnificent; the weather perfect and the pace steady but constant. The secret I found was to get in a rhythm and follow my guides footsteps. Your climb becomes almost mechanical, your body naturally begins to almost automatically move your feet in time with his; which stops the brain telling you every third step ´my legs are tired and I want to stop climbing now!´ We had a couple of 10 minute breaks which was just enough time to wolf down some food to keep the energy levels up. The last hour before the snow line was hiking through ash and a crumbly dirt which I envisage is like hiking up sand dunes. We stopped briefly to swallow down a sandwhich and some much needed chocolate before ditching our trekking shoes and donning helmets, snow boots, gators, crampons and icepicks. The sun was beaming so we didn´t need the snow suits which was a relief. The last two hours of the trek was hiking through the snow up an impossibly steep slope. They instructed us on how to attempt to stop ourselves with the ice pick should we miss step and go tumbling down the mountain. It was so steep that the speed you would have gathered in a matter of seconds would have made it near to impossible to stop yourself. Again the pace was slow and steady and generally our group found the climb pretty tough going. By this point we were climbing at about 2500m, dehydrated in the belting sun and Cazzy who detests hill walking at the best of times was having a little trouble with dizzyness. I was beginning to worry as it was bloody dangerous and I was unsure how I would explain to Mum and Dad how I had managed to let my little sister fall off the side of a Volcano. Every step required careful foot placement, pick placement and balance. At one point I mentioned to Caz that due to the dizzyness perhaps she should think about stopping. Cazzy told me in no uncetain terms (and a few expletives) that there was no way she was not reaching the top after the hellish climb. True to her word Cazzy valiently kept going. I can´t begin to explain how amazing the views were. Unfortunately it was so difficult to balance and keep your footing that taking photos was near to impossible. I managed to take one on the slope but it was nearly my undoing do I didn´t try again! The last 30 minutes to the top was like climbing a wall it was so sheer. Once we got to the top though, what a feeling! One of the most rewarding, invigorating experiences I´ve had in a long time, if ever. We took off our crampons and dropped the picks and walked around the rocky lip of the volcano. When approaching you could actually see the heat waves and hear the roar of the lava; it sounds like a freight train! We walked further around the lip and finally saw the cauldron of bubbling lava. It was spectacular and quite surreal. At certain points the constant bubbling and rumble of the lava would crescendo in a wave of lava that with a mightly roar would send a spray of lava exploding upwards, lighting up the rocky crater around it. Absolutely incredible. The heat and the steam coming from the lava is intense. I took some photos and a video which do it absolutely no justice but again I will post when I find a computer with an accessible usb port. We commenced our hike at 1000m and the top of the volcano is 2800m so a fairly steep bloody climb! We were all completely elated at the top and quicky agreed that Villaricca was now firmly at the top of our list for South America thus far. I would be surprised and thrilled if anything else outside the inca trail manages to top the experience. Whilst the scenery is amazing independently, I think it is the effort of the hike and the knowledge that not everone can do it makes the experience.

At the top prior to beginning the descent we were instructed to put on all our snow gear (helmet, snow pants, snow jacked, enormous gloves and something dubbed ´the nappy´ which was a tough nappy like piece of canvas which wrapped around your bum). The crampons went in the bag and we began our intially slow descent. After a few minutes of climbing painfully slowly down the slope we got to the first slide run. Did I mention we were going to slide down the mountain? When I say slide down I mean sit your ass on the slope and with only your ice pick to attempt to slow you take off down the slope. We had a 30 second instruction on how to use the ice pick as a brake which basically equated to holding the top of the pick (with the pointy bits) like an oar and digging the handle into the snow close to your body. Needless to say my abilty to control my body hurtling down the snow was not good. Oscar our guide was the first to take off and I must say I began to become very very nervous. I know I´ve spoken a lot about the steepness of the slope but when you´re standing at the top looking down about to lose control with nothing to stop you but an ice pick, the adrenalin starts pumping. The first three runs I dug that bloody handle so hard into the snow I nearly popped something in my shoulder but somehow managed to keep some sort of control over my speed. The last run was ridiculously sheer. I said to Alvoro our other guide: there is no bloody way I am going to be able to control myself or stop. He said ´si Kate, go´. Uhhh not overly reassuring, especially after watching Brendan and Dave lose control on the way down. Never the less after seeing that they somehow managed to stop before sailing off the side of the mountain, off I went (heart pumping). For the first ten seconds I had an element of control, then it was all over. I was completely cannoning down the slope; ice pick flailing, speed gathering, absolutely out of control. Your feet send up such a spray of snow into your face that you are blind, so seeing where I was supposed to be stopping was impossible. I just kept repeating to myself: do as Dave said and keep your body straight if all goes to hell; don´t let yourself get upside down or sidewards. The only comfort was that there were about 6 people near the stopping point who would hopefully jump on top of me or serve as some sort of crash barrier should I fail to stop. Needless to say I managed to stop and did not sail off the volcano into the sunset. After the adrenalin rush of the slide I was thoroughly jelly legged and was for the first time of the day: exhausted. Who would have thought going down would have been harder? Sliding down we covered in 5 minutes what had taken us about 2.5hrs to climb.

When we hit rock we took all the snow gear off and began the climb down through slopes of fine rocks and ash. It was almost like skiing at some points. Unfortunately for me I must have twinged something in my knee on the last slide and it was giving me grief so the last hour was not overly enjoyable.

We arrived at the bottom at about 5pm thoroughly spent but elated. The elation I felt was fairly quickly quashed by the thought of the 20 hr bus ride departing later that evening to cross back into Argentina. Ouch. And did it hurt. The first half was okay but after a 2 hr layover in Santiago at 6.45am we got on a lower quality bus and the next 12 hrs were painful to say the least. Aside from the fact we were all sore and tired the bus was constantly delayed at mountain passes and we had a very long wait at immigration. Alls well that ends well though; we arrived in Mendoza (wine country) and checked into our fairly nice digs, had a quiet dinner and all collapsed.

Very much looking forward to mountain biking thorough wine country, a few bottles of red, maybe a massage and a few days off the hiking!

Bariloche and Pucon

kate2501 — Sat, 15 May 2010 11:47:00 GMT

Hola amigos, I am writing from Pucon in Chile, a beautiful town at the base of the active volcano Villarrica. We arrived here yesterday from Bariloche on an extremely bloody uncomfortable 12 hr no frills bus ride. It probably didn´t help matters that I was nursing a hangover after having gotten in at 3 for a 6:45am wake up. The ´best of the 80´s film clips´ DVD on repeat didn´t help matters either. 15 seconds of every 80´s film clip ever made all meshed togher gets old in a hurry. If you think I sound somewhat negative now you should have seen me then, lol. Cranky pants were on.

Bariloche was fantastic. We met a few great people who we did a 30km bike ride with around the lakes district; absolutley beautiful but some bloody big hills! Bum still sore, but a cracking day and great company. We naturally decided to kick on at a non touristy local Argentinean pub where the drinks are cheap cheap cheap and potent to say the least. 2 spirits in highball glasses half full with spirits, 1/4 full of ice and 1/4 mixer for about $3. Needless to say the evening progressed to be quite a doozie. Ruckus was probably the most fitting description.

The following day was relatively unproductive but a lazy day occasionally is nice. At times I feel like I´m moving (via bus) from one tourist mecca to the next. While I am seeing some incredible things, at times you want to just ´be´in a city or town for a day or two without plans to get a feel for it and its people.Unfortunatley lots to see so it´s infrequent that we get this opportunity.

We did a trip out to the local national park to see a black glacier and mountains and was potentially top 5 on the ´we were fleeced scale´ (or ´pantsed´ as Brendan likes to call it) which means being ripped off. It seems sometimes relatively reputable people give you a bum steer and tell you (for example) it´s prohibited to take a car into the national park and you need a guide to do a particular trek and you arrive on a tour to find bloody cars everywhere and people climbing solo in thongs. Anyway, whilst can be frustrating it´s to be expected I suppose. We have definately become a little wiser to the fleece and have started trying to do most things independently where ever possible; partly to save $$ and partly to not feel quite so much like obnoxious tourists.

We went out and had another great steak in Bariloche; the boys are going to sorely miss Argentinean steaks. Enormous, tender cuts of meat which are so tasty absolutley no sauce required (and in fact they don´t exist on menus). On the way home I suggested we pop into the bar for a night cap and one turned into many when we hooked up with some friends from El Chalten. This unfortunatley was the evening proceding the early bus ride.

We arrived in Chile not having been organised enough in our mad dash to the bus to change any money. We had a 2 hr lay over at a bus terminal in Orsorno Chile and I hopped off very much looking forward to finding a loo. The buses have toilets but no toilet paper and are filthy and to say the size of a midgets closet would be generous. I have had moments on long hauls where in desperation I have ventured to the loo to suddenly find myself trying to negotiate a sharp turn with pants around ankles and being conscious of the poorly capped sistern full of foulness below you. On one particular late night occasion in my comatose state I had forgotten to lock the loo door and a sharp turn sent me crashing into the door and subsequently stumbling out into the bus in a state of undress. Luckily people were asleep (I think) so no real harm done. Anyway to cut a long and not particularly pleasant story short I soon discovered you needed to pay to use the toilet in Chile and I did not have a red chilean peso. ATM won´t work; money changers not open; not happy Jan. I resisted the urge to sucker punch Brendan who when at the border I had suggested we change some money poo´ed the idea due to rates and advised the ATM the bus station would suffice. He escaped unharmed as he valiently went in search of banks and came up with the goods.

We hadn´t managed to book a hostel so we arrived at 9pm and then had to go searching for accommodation in the cold, masses of gear in tow. Cranky pants had progressd to a whole bloody outfit by this stage but luckily Dave seems to have a sixth scent for direction and finding random places and found us a fantastic hostel. The hostel is more like a private log cabin; no bunk beds, free towels, linen withut holes in it and actual doonas! Heaven!

Yesterday we headed to the hot springs at Los Pozones which were lovely. The landscape here is beautiful and at times reminds me of home. Rolling hills, lush grasses with fat angus cattle grazing. They also have a breed of cattle which are similar to herefords but with much more white on their hides; almost like a brown jersey in colouring but a stockier build than a jersey. Some of you more educated folk may be able to fill me in here. They have massive infestations of blackberries lining the roads and also rose hip which grows wild but aside from that the properties are relatively well kept. We had 4 hours of wallowing in 38 natural hot springs which was a tough day at the office. We were booked in to clib the Villarrica Volcano this morning but unfortunately the wind is roaring and it´s too dangerous. You need crampons and ice picks on a good day so I imagine its fairly slippery, icy and precarious. The winds here can be ferrocious and have nearly been blown over on several occasions hiking so was happy to miss it today! Since the earth quake in Chile the volcan has been more active and we have been watching the red glow coming from the top of the volcano at night and it looks incredible. Fingers crossed the weather is kind to us and we can do the hike tomorrow.

Well I better get off and do something constructive. Realistically this will probably mean make myself a coffee, and get into my new book - the girl who played with fire (Steig Larsson). I´m really enjoying having time to read again, I´ve missed it! It´s still blowing a gale and is freezing out today so might be a day for some loafing. Might go for a run soon to keep up the good fight against the love handles. All this hiking and biking definitely helping! Who knows, might not be able to see me sidewards when I come home??? (Although I dare say I will be HIGHLY visible lol).

I hope you´re all well and happy; will post some pictures when I get a computer that hasn´t had its USB ports removed xxx

Hola from El Calafate!

kate2501 — Sat, 8 May 2010 11:11:00 GMT

I am bloody annoyed after spending an hour composing a beautiful entry full of witty anecdotes and hilarious recounts of events. The bastard didn´t save and enthusiasm has seriously waned, so it´ll be meat and potatoes today I´m sorry.

Ushuaia was fantastic. We did a hike in Tierra del Fuego, an amazing national park. It was absolutely stunning; I have never seen scenery like it. Everywhere I looked I wanted to whip out the camera and take a pic. I ended up so far behind the others due to my happy snapping that I had to run to the entrance to catch up which was actually quite good for the ever expanding waist line. Keeping the weight off here is proving difficult! Everything is BIG and comes with a side of fat. Vegetables do not feature highly in the argentinean diet; they have been replaced by cheese. Cooking has proved to be my only salvation, but a trip to the local supermarket or market can at times be a frustrating or rewarding experience. The meat counter is unlike Austalia; here it features whole sides of meat from every part of the cow (or other unidentified creatures) and a man stands behind weilding a cery large, very old, very sharp knife. My Spanish is still rubbish so my meat shopping involves a great deal of looking, guessing, pointing and holding up two fingers to indicate the thickness; two inches or three? Results can be hit and miss but when you lock onto a tender 400g eye fillet for $4 you´ve done well. Alas my last experience was tough as old boot straps. Needless to say learning the cuts of meat and mor importantly hopw to ask for them so I´m understood is high on the agenda. Thus far I have steered away from chicken as it often looks far from fresh.

In terms of staples there are very few. Or very few that I recognise anyway. Rice, tomatoes, canned vegetables, seem to feature highly on the Argentinean agenda. It seems your standard meal here is Empanadas (meat filled pastry favored by Brendan who is often dubbed Empanada boy due to polishing off three a day) folowed by Steak or BBQ´d meat and potatoes. Most herbs, curry powders, etc bottled sauces do not really exist here (or are hiding). Vegetables are minimal and often of poor quality. Capsicum and onion are about as far as we get generally. So there have been lots of vegetarian pàsta sauces made and steak, potato and tomatoe and onion. Eating out is usually pretty good (and sometimes amazing!) but I´m trying to keep it to twice a week due to expense and love handles.

Hopefully all this hiking will help in the quest to keep the pud at bay! I´ve been loving the hiking and considering Inca is only a month away, I think the the steeper the better!

We caught a flight from Ushuaia to El calafate whcih was a contrast to say the least. Barren landscape, odd little town. On the way in from the airport our trusty taxi driver / tour guide ´Santiago´ filled us in on the local history and economy. I questioned him after seeing fenced land holdings everywhere but no stock. He told me nothing will grow so the ranches have become tourist attractions. Apparently European settlers brough Marino sheep which ate the grass which never regenerated. We passed lakes with icebergs floating on our way into town which was unexpected and very cool. We took a trip out to the Marino glacier which was incredible. 60m high (120m below the surface of the water) and the cleanest blue ice imaginable. We took a boat out to the face of the glacier which was frickin´ freezing but well worth the frostbite. We then did a walk along the face via a series of man made walkways and steps. It was snowing fairly heavily and I have still been hanging onto this chest infection so I left the guys after a while to go and thaw out. When the snow slowed I went for a second crack and took a serious tumble down a flight of snow covered steps. It would have been hilarious had it not been me. My intial post fall elation at discovering the hand I had landed on was not holding my camera was quickly followed by f%&@ my hand hurts. Half an hour later the hand was fat, unmovable and throbbing and I spent a lonely half hour on the bus trying to be brave and not cry about my potentially trip ending broken hand. Needless to say hand is not broken, just swollen, missing flaps of skin and turned some interseting shades of purple and red.

We caught a bus from El Calafate to El Chalten the neighbouring town (just three and a half hours away). El Chalten is a sweet little town which consists largely of hostels, hotels and restaurants (95% of which proved to be closed due to low season). El Chalten is a mecca for seriuous climbers and hikers who come to tackle ´Mt Fitz Roy´ an enormous mountian range just outside of El Chalten. On the first (arrived at mid day) day Dave took off to do a 6 hr hike. The wind was almost knocking me over so I decided to do a different shorter hike solo and thoroughly enjoyed some much needed ´Kate time´. The group has been travelling really well together but I have realised I need to encorporate solo time regularly as I´m so accustomed to spending time alone at home. The walk was fantastic but windy! I could barely pull my camera out and take a photo without being knocked over. I was completely alone up there and kept stumbling across egales nests; it was magical. The next day we tackled an 8 hr hike to the base of Mt Fitz Roy. The intial ascent was tought going, but once across the top it was amazing. The scenery is so diverse and incredibly beautiful. Fate smiled on us and we were blessed with a sunny afternoon (rare) and the giant Mt Fitz Roy decided to poke his head out of the clouds and give us a smile..and what a smile!!! The mountain is magestic; a patchwork of granite cliff faces that tower into the sky. I will post photos later which will not do it justice. There was a final additional section, a face you could climb to get a closer look. It was reported to be icy and the wind was intense so Caz and I decided we´d start the 4 hr hike back to catch our bus in 5 hrs time. Dave decided to give it a crack and took off at a jog, Brendan decided to follow shortly there after. We arranged with brendan to meet the boys at a look out two hours down the mnountain. Two and a half hrs later Dave shows up; no Brendan. Dave hadn´t seen him and didn´t know he had started up after him. We assumed Brendan had turned back and missed the turn to the lookout and had gone down a different decent. Dave headed off to wait at another location and Caz and I waited at the FREEZING lookout for an hour. The wind was nearly blowing us off the top and we were decidedly cranky, lol. We eventually decided to head home and hope that we had been right and he´d gone the wrong way and made his own way down another trail. We ran down the mountain to try and warm up and also to get home ASAP to see BP. After about half an hr we came across a sign in the dirt that said ¨BP home¨. Caz´s relief that her darling Empanada boy was not dangling off a mountin somewhere was quickly followed by a string of obscentites I will not share. The thought of Brendan warm and cosy in the hostel, cerveca in hand while we waited on a freezing mountain inspired a collective idea that Brendan would be buying us all a big steak dinner. Brendan was a little sheepish upon our arrival and we´ve been surprisingly good at letting him off the hook. No, realistically an easy enough thing to do without a map (shhhhh), so we haven´t miked him too much.

We are back in El Calafate and about to catch a 30 hour (g r o a n) bus to Bariloche. Better go and get mentally geared up. My beautiful Auntie Lena suggested to me that perhaps I could try Uncy Matt´s trick of accepting drug laced fanta from a local on the bus and sleep my way to Bariloche. Would of course have to sacrifice the passport and wallet....hmmmm tough call.

Photos: Iguazu and Ushuaia

kate2501 — Mon, 3 May 2010 08:32:00 GMT

mixed bag - B.A, soccer, iguazu, ushuaia, beagle channel, terra del fuego - Patagonia

Iguazu,. Rancho relaxo and Ushuaia!

kate2501 — Mon, 3 May 2010 08:01:00 GMT

We've just arrived in Ushuaia after a few days in sunny Iguazu at a hostel we dubbed 'rancho relaxo'. Great ex casino-come hostel just outside Iguazú. Beautiful pool, cheap cocktails (two for $3 during happy hours), sunshine and lounge chairs..need I say more? Met some cool people and generally felt like we were on holiday or schoolies (one of the two). Went and saw the falls which were amazing (photos to come!). We spent the next two days chilling out by the pool and having a massive farewell to R.R which for me naturally culminated in talking absolute rubbish, dancing and a 5am finish. Needless to say the next day was not overly productive. We flew down to Ushuaia yesterday and today the kids hiked to the glacier which was apparently fantastic, unfortunately haven´t managed to shake this chest infection so not quite up to sub degree hikes at present. I stayed in town and checked out the local museum/prison and did a boat trip into beagle sound which is amazing but freezing cold! Ushuaia is where the boats for Antarctic trips leave from and is dubbed 'the end of the world' due to it being the southernmost city in the world. Has been a transition getting used to 0 degrees after balmy and humid 28 in Iguaçu. My new bestie 'puff daddy' (a.k.a puffer jacket) has copped a work out. Loving the feel of Ushuaia and Argentina in general. Feel very safe despite reports to the contrary and as of yet have not run into any dramas outside a bus driver screaming at me and I believe wanting to throw me off his bus for being a ´stupid foreigner´ who clearly does not understand good Spanish and is too stupid to understand the toll machine (which was broken...I think). Only other incident for me was the homicidal rage I went into after discovering my precious leg ham (rare delicacy in S.A) and other food stuffs had been stolen from the hostel kitchen. I went looking for the culprit who had he/she presented themselves would have been undoubtedly stabbed in the face with the butter knife I was wielding; but alas I was unsuccessful in my search. I am the only member of our group who is yet to lose items; although with the size of my pack I could use a few less 'essentials'. My pack looks like it is smuggling a fat man when fully packed and I'm sure taxi drivers get a kick out of watching me try and heave it onto my back (which involves a buck / jump / epileptic fit. I pity anyone who accidently ends up behind me). Bending down to pick things up almost completely out of the question. Dave is leading the charge with about 4 essentials now gone (shaver, towel etc etc etc). Cazzy is sans sunnies and Brendan just seems to lose Caz's things.

Tummy is beginning to rumble, so will end it hear and go and whip up dinner.

Chau amigos xxx

Buenos Aires to Iguazu

kate2501 — Thu, 29 Apr 2010 09:39:00 GMT

Well to follow on from last post La Carberra was AMAZING! The best meal I have ever had a restaurant. The steaks are absolutely enormous, tender and unbelievably tasty. 400g eye fillet was $13 Aus and came with about 10 different sides to try with each bite (sauces, pears, apples, cured onions and pickles, potatoes etc). Each one was an experience. Will load photos later to make you all salivate!

Our last week in B.A was a doozie. We went to a massive night club called Pascha outside of B.A where ministry of sound DJ's were headlining. It didn´t start until 2.30am and was intense. Three massive levels with different DJ´s, packed crowd, theatrical shows on stage was a sight to be seen! Needless to say barely got off the dance floor until sunrise - fantastic night out!

We went to a soccer match in La Boca on Sunday. One of the staff from the hostel had told us about the soccer and had told some tales of goings on, needless to say we were a little skeptical until we arrived. Argentinean soccer fans are INSANE! An Australian grand final has nothing on this atmosphere. We decided to go with the hostel group and pay a little more due to hearing stories of it being unsafe. We had security escort us to our section hours before the match so we could be sure to get a seat in a calmer section and more importantly under the roof. We were with a La Boca crowd and soon learned the opposition urinate over the above section, throw flares, bottles, cardboard and anything else they can get their hands on on to the section below them (our section). The whole crown sang the entire match and danced in the stands (no seating, all tiered standing). There were times when you get swept up in a sidewards crowd movement and just have to go with it. Poor Dave nearly went for six and would potentially have done himself and the crowd below some serious damage. There are bars positioned throughout the stands which we learned were crush barriers as supporters will rush to the front of the stand when a goal is scored. There are fences with barbed wire surrounding the ground to prevent supporters from rushing the field. After the match there were riot police on the field. The match was fantastic and La Boca won so the crowd was absolutely pumping. In the La Boca stand across the field where only the bravest dare enter they have a band, onsite DJ in the stands and at times the entire stadium shook as the thousands in the stand all started dancing (more like jumping or moshing) at once. It was a sight to be seen. When the match was over all La Boca supporters had to remain in the stadium for about 45 mins to allow the opposition to clear the stadium and get out of the surrounding area. There were riot police everywhere and on our way in we were searched on multiple occasions for weapons. Anyway, all went well, had an amazing time, got in an out safely and would absolutely go again! The Argentineans are packed full of passion, you see it in everything they do. Be it eating, greeting friends, dancing, spending time with family its all heart. They seem to have it really sorted out in terms of work life balance (Weekends most businesses shut down, and people take long leisurely meals with friends and family).

We caught a 17 hr bus ride from B.A to Iguazu falls on the border of Argentina and Brazil. The buses here are luxurious, full beds almost. We went to the falls today and they are spectacular. Impossible to adequately describe. The height and size and sheer volume of water cascading over is phenomenal. I will post photos when I get a comp with a USB port!

We have been trying to save some pesos and cook some meals (also trying to save a few notches on the belt buckle) and have been trying to slow down on hen r cervacas (beer). It is very easy to blow your budget if settle at the bar for too long.

A man has just walked in the bar area of the hostel behind me beating a drum and leading a buxom Brazilian dancer shaking her ass, wearing a piece of string as a costume, sparkles, headdress and all. Better go and have a look at what’s going on.

Adiós chicas!

Keeping up with Buenos Aires

kate2501 — Sat, 24 Apr 2010 09:27:00 GMT

It's been a fairly intense week. The city moves at a very fast pace and we've all been flagging trying to keep up! Afternoon naps have become standard practice (a habit we're all keen to break). Hoping it has more to do with jet lag, time adjustments and being unwell and not the fact I'm... well officially a nanna.

On Tues we went to Recoleta, the swanky end of town. The architecture in recoleta is simply stunning. Buildings that would awe and inspire in Australia are common place in Argentina. You almost stop looking after a while. We went to the recoleta cemetery where only the elite are lucky enough to be buried (at a massive cost - $100's k) and it was absolutely amazing. Enormous tombs line mini streets. We saw Eva Perone's grave which is well hidden and quite simple.

On Wednesday we went to a tango show in the city. It was a fantastic night. Gourmet three course meal, numerous bottles of red wine (embarrased to say how many) and beer, a tango show and transport all for about $50 aus. The tango is amazing, even the boys were wowed. Dave shook his thing with one of the dancers and I was serenaded by a silver haired fox. Very romantic. We ended up going out to a party in the city and staggered home at some ungodly hour just in time for a few hours sleep before a 9am Spanish lesson. Needless to say I am not yet fluent in Spanish.

We headed to La Boca on Thursday, the poor, dangerous area of Buenos Aires. Due to the level of crime and the amount of people coming home wallet and bag less we decided to go on a tour. Tour left a lot to be desired but the heart of La Boca is a sight to be seen. Coloured buildings line the streets and soccer mania is rife. We managed to escape in tact, despite feelings towards the end of having a bullseye on our backs.

We spent much of today doing Spanish lessons and organising the next leg of our trip to Iguazu falls. I will be sad to leave B.A, having developed a fondness for its architecture, vibe and love of all things indulgent... We've been joking if we stay any longer none of us will be able to fit in our pants. Everything is rich, large and has a serve of fat on the side! Off to our last indulgent dinner for a while - la Caberra steak restaurant in Palermo, supposed to be amazing and a must see. Hasta Luega amigos xxxx