Space travel.

Writing postcards to a stranger chosen from the phone book.

spacemanafrica — Thu, 29 Feb 2024 22:47:00 GMT

Back in the day, it was common, whilst travelling, to write postcards to your friends and family. It was a bit of a chore though, to be honest. Who could be bothered to take time out of their holiday and think of something to write on the back of a postcard? And who are you going to write to? Everyone wants one. Everyone loves the surprise of finding a postcard in the mailbox. So, who? Your parents? Siblings? Friends? Colleagues from work? What about a complete stranger?

In August of 2002, my mate Crazy Horse and I were in Dublin for the weekend and enjoying a pint in the pub. We’d bought some postcards but had no idea who to write to. We borrowed the Dublin white pages from behind the bar: we opened the book up to a random page, pointed blindly at the list of names, and came up with Brian Oliver.

We, actually, chose four random names: Brian Oliver, William Halpin, Andrew Pye and Thomas Foley. Of the four we chose, Brian Oliver was the only one we wrote more than a few words to. On the other cards, we just drew noughts and crosses games. So, we started writing to Brian as if we were his best friends and had known him for years. We never made anything up. We told the truth about our travels and proceeded to send a postcard from each place we travelled to. But, and here’s the best bit, we never revealed our last names or gave a return address and definitely didn’t mention he was chosen randomly. We had no way of knowing who we were writing to and this poor confused man was probably wondering why he couldn’t remember who these friends of his were.

Months later, Crazy Horse phoned the Oliver household pretending to be from the bank, selling insurance. Brian wasn’t home but Crazy spoke to Brian’s wife. From the call, we gathered he was in his 50s and we now knew he was married. Knowing that we weren’t writing to an old senile man, that was all the encouragement we needed and we told others to write to him as well, when travelling. From what I understood, Brian Oliver quickly racked up a collection of postcards from people he didn’t know, from Ireland, the United Kingdom, Spain, Germany, the Czech Republic, Hungary, the United States, Canada, Mexico, South Africa, Hong Kong and Australia. We first started that day in August 2002 and over three years later we were still doing it.

Whilst in Europe for a wedding in October of 2005, I knew I’d be going over to Dublin at some stage to visit a friend from Canberra. So, I was contemplating the idea of finally meeting up with Brian. I didn’t expect to be in that part of the world again anytime soon, so this was maybe my only chance to meet him. Meeting up would answer so many questions that we’d pondered over for years: What’s he like? What’s his family like, if any? What’s his life story? Does he read the cards? What does he think about it all? Does he keep them? Does he share them with his mates down the pub?

Then there was the downside to meeting up. If we were to meet, the joke would be over. No doubt I’d tell him about being chosen randomly to get the answers to our questions but what fun would it be writing another boring old postcard to someone you know?

For three years, I’d become so used to experiencing something and thinking, “I must tell Brian about this,” e.g. It was my first thought after a male train attendant made a move on me and grabbed my crotch whilst on a train to Chicago. It’s so easy to write to a stranger. You just write as if it’s your diary and then make a joke that hints at the fact you’ve never met, e.g. “I had my head shaved today. You wouldn’t recognise me,” or “I went out drinking with my mate, Kenny. I don’t think you’ve met Kenny.”

After much thought and with a lot of encouragement from friends, I decided to give Brian a call and see what would happen. I rang on the only night I was free to see him and his wife answered the phone. I asked for Brian and was told he was at work and asked if I wanted to leave a message. I asked her could she please let Brian know that his mate, Spaceman, called. After saying that, I was expecting the Spanish Inquisition. “Spaceman? You’re that fucker that keeps sending postcards and we don’t even know who the fuck you are!” But there was none of that. She took my number and then the call was over.

I later realised I couldn’t receive incoming calls on my mobile so I’d have to phone back. I spoke to Mrs Oliver again and found out that Brian would be home at 7pm. After a few more pints in the pub, I phoned at 7:30 and this time Brian answered. “This will be interesting,” I thought. Crazy Horse had rung a few times in the past as Abdul Al Halleel, pretending to sell insurance, to try and get some idea of what kind of person Brian was. But here I was ringing, revealing my true identity.

“Hi, is that Brian?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, hi. It’s Spaceman.”

Now, surely, I would get the third degree, but no. Brian asked, “How are you?” as if I was some long-time friend. I explained that I was in town for the night and asked if he wanted to catch up for a pint. We arranged to meet up and he gave me the bus number to Coolock – his part of town – and we arranged to meet at the bus stop where I was to get off. I’d know to get off because the stop was in front of a church.

I was a bit lazy and didn’t feel like catching a bus so I caught a cab and asked the driver to take me to Coolock. On the way, he asked me where in Coolock I wanted. “Oh, just in front of the church, please mate.”

“But there’s a church on every second corner in Dublin.”

Not to worry, we worked out which was the correct church and, because I caught a cab, I’d arrived early. I sat at the bus stop waiting for Brian. Unbeknownst to me, he had arrived and was standing behind me, thinking I was someone waiting for the bus. After a while, I noticed a guy standing behind the bus stop. Was this Brian? God, he’s older than I thought. Well, let’s find out.

I went over and asked, “Are you Brian?”

“Yes.”

“Hi, I’m Spaceman.”

I put my hand out to shake his. The moment of truth. Face to face with Brian Oliver. A man I knew only by address. The man who, for the last three years and three months, had been bombarded with postcards from all over the world, from people he didn’t know, and I had been a major player. Was Brian going to shake my hand or punch me in the face? We shook hands.

“Let’s get in out of the cold,” he said.

We walked together to the pub a few hundred metres down the road. We made small talk as we went, once again as if we were old friends catching up. Did Brian think that we were, indeed, friends but couldn’t remember from where and was too embarrassed to say? But only minutes earlier, I had to ask him if he was Brian Oliver. Surely, he realised we were meeting for the first time.

We arrived at the pub and Brian got the first round in. We sat at the bar, said cheers and took a sip from our beer. And then it came, the first acknowledgement from Brian of the last three years.

“So,” then a brief pause, “what’s the story with all the postcards?”

I couldn’t help but laugh. After that we both told each other our sides of the story. Brian was a nice guy and appreciated the humour behind the cards. Brian, I’m guessing, was in his fifties, about 5’7”, had short dark grey hair, wore glasses and had a grey moustache. He is a Dubliner born and bred. He is married with four grownup sons and works as a computer technician.

Brian explained that, when the first cards started coming, he threw them out thinking we had the wrong person. But when they kept coming, he suspected something was going on and started to keep them all. It was a big thing in the Oliver household when a new card arrived. It was Brian and his youngest son Dave who tried to get to the bottom of it all. They looked for any clues as to how they might track us down.

The closest they came was when our friend, Jane, in Virginia, US, left an address on a card of a riding school she went to. But after tracking down the school phone number, the Oliver lads thought it was a bit absurd to ring up asking for someone called Jane who knows a Spaceman and Crazy Horse. Brian didn’t believe we used our real names. Otherwise, if he’d put our names in a Google search he would have found us. We also once let slip that we drank in The Royal Bar, in Belfast, but he never called the pub.

After a few rounds, Brian’s son Dave came and joined us. He was a good guy as well and introduced me to Fat Frogs (Blue Wicked, Orange Cruiser and Bacardi Breezer; all mixed together to create a green lemonade tasting drink that goes down so smoothly). Another son, Keith, also dropped in on his way to the theatre and brought with him a pile of postcards. Brian and I counted 120 postcards in just this one pile. Brian said he had more at home and then there were the ones he’d thrown out. I sat there looking through them. I could have sat there for hours reading them but it would have been a bit anti-social. I just glanced through them and saw postcards from people who I had no idea who they were. Crazy Horse and I never made copies of the cards we sent, so it was a good trip down memory lane reading some of them again. We spent the night chatting and getting very drunk. I was on such a high when we called it a night.

All in all, Brian took the whole experience in the good humour in which it was intended. None of the postcards were ever rude or vindictive in any way. So, the joke was over now but I had made a new friend. Well, actually, we’d been friends for years, but now we knew who each other was.

P.S. I've cooked up a catchy tune inspired by this wild adventure! Give it a spin right here and join the fun!

https://hypeddit.com/spacemanafricathemusical/iknowwhereyoulive

Horny German Truck Driver 🎵😂🚛

spacemanafrica — Sun, 17 Sep 2023 22:29:00 GMT

The Horny German Truck Driver

Have you ever been offered sex for money but weren’t sure if you had to pay or if the other person was going to pay? Have you ever felt you were unwittingly living out a scene from a German porno film? No and no? Funnily enough, my answers are yes and yes. Both scenarios happened to me in the one incident.

It was July 1997. I was 23 at the time and backpacking around Germany. I had spent the weekend with my German friend, Julia, and her family in the small village of Bad Breisig, 30km south of Bonn.

It was Monday and I needed to make my way down south to a small village called Kempten, roughly 500km away. I had some English friends there who I’d been staying with and using their flat as a base whilst I was travelling around. With my savings low and being a weekday, the cheapest way to make the trip was to hitchhike. Julia made me a sign in German saying I was an Australian looking for a ride. We hoped the Aussie link would make people stop. Armed with the sign, and a map from Julia’s father, they drove me to a rest stop on a nearby motorway where I could start to look for a ride. It’s illegal for vehicles to stop on the autobahn so to hitch a ride you have to find one at rest stops. There were a few ways to go about getting a ride. One was to approach people and to ask to travel with them, or another was to just stand near the exit of the rest stop and hold up a sign as people drove past, in the hope that they’d stop.

I’d made good progress in the morning and hadn’t had to wait very long for a ride each time I was looking. Different friendly people had driven me as far as they were going in my direction and, come lunchtime, I was at a large busy truck stop with petrol station, shops and restaurant. After about half an hour of trying the sign method with no luck, I decided to try the direct approach. With my very limited German, I walked through the car park, asking around.

I noticed a truck drive past and pull up. I saw the driver hop out and I decided to ask him. Instead, he came over to me and asked if I needed a lift. Hell, yeah. I noticed his fly was undone and just thought the idiot had forgotten to do it up when he last went to the toilet. If only that were true.

We were on our way down the autobahn and I quickly noticed a porn mag sitting on the dash. The truckie looked at me and said I could have a look if I wanted to. After a few minutes, he asked me if I liked the mag. I smiled and kept looking. Not long later, he asked if it was making my dick hard. WHAT? That’s a bit fuckin’ personal, I thought. He revealed that looking through the magazine makes his dick hard. He started to rub the bulge in his trousers and it suddenly dawned on me why his fly was undone.

This guy was about 5’72” (I’m talking about his height, not the length of anything J), quite slim, had short brown hair and a porno-star moustache. With him excited and his fly undone, I could see he was wearing bright pink underwear. What was that all about? He said something like, once he’s hard he likes to have sex or to wank. Do I need to know this, I thought? He kept saying the word ‘mush’, whilst miming the wanking motion. I concluded that mush must mean wank. He kept touching himself. I thought he was going to have a wank right there and then, in front of me, as we were motoring down the autobahn.

To add to my ‘this must be a dream’ mindset, he said, “50 Deutsch Mach”. I nervously asked what was 50DM? He said a few words, including the word ‘mush’. I innocently thought he was saying he pays 50DM to have a wank. I thought, what an idiot; everyone else does it for free. But then he kept mentioning it and I realised it wasn’t a statement but a question.

What you must realise is that all this was in German. I was struggling to get my head around the language, as well as the fact I was being propositioned by a male German truck driver. I hid behind the language barrier and pretended not to understand. Not that I had to pretend. The truth was, I didn’t understand. 50DM was to pass hands but that’s all I knew.
Who was to pay who? Who would have to do the mushing to whom? Would there be more than mushing? Oh, fuck! Get me off this truck.

I continued to play dumb, afraid of his reaction if I turned him down. Would he turn violent if I said no? Travelling down the highway at over 100km with nowhere to run and with no control over where the guy was driving me, what could I do? Admittedly, there wasn’t a lot he could have done to me whilst driving the truck but, at the same time, I was a passenger, just a long for the ride, totally at the mercy of my chauffeur.

Well, this could have gone on forever – he asking for some sort of sexual favour and me pretending not to understand. Maybe that’s what I should have aimed to do until we got to the next rest stop. In the end, I just said no; I wasn’t interested.

Expecting the worst, once again, the truckie’s behaviour came from left field and surprised me. The guy became all normal. He started asking me if I was studying in Germany or just travelling around. He asked about Australia and other countries I’d been. That didn’t stop me from asking to get off at the next stop though, even though the guy was going in my direction a lot farther.

I sat down at the stop for a second to collect my thoughts. I asked myself, “What just happened there?” Unfortunately, I couldn’t get the picture of the truck driver touching himself through his pink underwear out of my head.

I later managed to get a lift to the nearby town of Augsburg where I caught a train the rest of the way to Kempten. I arrived in Kempten in the evening and went straight to the pub to meet up with my English mates. I had everyone in stitches telling them about the horny truck driver.

And I wrote a song about it.

Horny German Truck Driver

Lyrics:

I found myself hitchhikin’ on the road in Germany
I had me a sign explaining my next destiny
Just when I thought a ride wasn’t meant to be
Along came a trucker who stopped to pick up me

He said, “How do you do? And can I do you too?
I’ll have my way with you.”
I said, “Not from this land, so I don’t understand
Why you don’t use your hand.”

‘Cause he’s a
Horny German truck driver
He wants from me a sex favour
It gets lonely on the road
He wants my help to shoot his load
‘Cause he’s a
Horny German truck driver
Horny German truck driver

He handed me a magazine which I was keen to read
The naked women in the book, they were a sight to see
The driver got excited; I could see his pink undies
The next thing I knew he was flirting there with me

He said, “How do you do? And can I do you too?
I’ll have my way with you.”
I said, “Not from this land, so I don’t understand
why you don’t use your hand.”

‘Cause he’s a
Horny German truck driver
He wants from me a sex favour
It gets lonely on the road
He wants my help to shoot his load
‘Cause he’s a
Horny German truck driver
Horny German truck driver

He set the price at 50
Who was to pay, him or me?
I said, “Oh no, I don’t agree.
Let me out here,” End of story.

Horny German truck driver
Horny German truck driver
He wants from me a sex favour
Horny German truck driver

Quokkas vs Seagulls on Rottnest Island

spacemanafrica — Thu, 1 Dec 2016 16:48:00 GMT

Rottnest Island is famous for its little, hopping, fury quokkas. But who knew it’s the seagulls there that one has to be careful of?

My girlfriend, Margarita, and I travelled to Rottnest Island one Friday recently. Rottnest Island is a small island, 19km², situated off the coast of Western Australia, 18 kilometres west of Fremantle. We caught the 9:30am ferry from Fremantle and enjoyed the comfortable half hour crossing to Rotto (as it’s called by locals).

We arrived at the main pier in Thomson Bay to a clear, sunny, still day. Rotto has many attractions such as sandy beaches with clear blue sea, and snorkelling opportunities at many of the bays. There is various wildlife around the island such as the New Zealand fur seals which can be seen splashing about in the ocean from the look-out at the western tip of the island, but the main attraction are the quokkas. Rottnest Island is one of the few places where these small, dark furry marsupials, about the size of a domestic cat, can be found. As Margarita is studying marsupials at university, the quokkas were our main motivation for going to the island.

There are a few ways to get around the island. A popular method is hiring a bicycle. We chose to buy a ticket for the hop-on/hop-off bus tour. Considering the temperature was in the 30’s, it was a much better option sitting on a bus then breaking your back riding around in the heat.

We stopped at a few picturesque places along the south coast but success for our hunt for quokkas came at the Wadjemup lighthouse. The little buggers are so cute and so friendly. They hop about like miniature kangaroos. The well sought after souvenir is a selfie with a quokka which isn’t too difficult as they can be quite inquisitive and come right up to you. We spent 15 minutes with half a dozen of them including a cute baby quokka which kept close to its mother’s side.

After many more interactions with the quokkas and visits to paradisiacal beaches we returned to Thomson Bay at 5pm in need of something to eat. Surprisingly, all the dining options were closed with the exception of Subway. That was no problem as we both like the food from subway. The only problem was there was no indoor seating available. Sitting outside on the beach, or at a park bench under a tree, is fine in theory but the seagulls on Rottnest are aggressive buggers. They’re known to grab food right out of your hand. Many of the shops have signs warning tourists of the attacking seagulls. Thankfully, we were aware of this as we searched for a quiet spot free of seagulls. Three locations later we finally finished our subs. At each spot, we started eating only to be interrupted when the seagulls discovered us. So we moved to somewhere new only to be discovered again. By the end I was able to finish and act as a bodyguard to Margarita whilst she finished her foot long. Meanwhile, the surrounding quokkas left us alone.

We had a great day on the island and caught the 7pm ferry back to Fremantle. There is a wide range of accommodation options on Rottnest, many with breathtaking views of the ocean. I would love to visit the island again and spend a few nights there, relaxing on the beach and swimming in the ocean. Having a place to stay would also provide a safe place from the savage seagulls.

*Check out my photo gallery for pics of Rottnest island and the quokkas.

Playa, Petra and Pyramids. I

spacemanafrica — Wed, 4 Nov 2015 21:50:00 GMT

August 2015:

I hopped off the bus in Eilat and the extreme heat was like a punch in the face it was so strong – around the 40°C mark. Buses and public indoor areas in Israel have the a/c on so high that you freeze to death. Then when you walk outside, the temperature difference from inside is so great that you really feel like you’ve walked into a sauna.

My girlfriend, Margarita, and I travelled the five hours to the beach town of Eilat by bus from Tel Aviv. Our plan was to stay here a few days using it as a base for day trips to Jordan and Egypt.

After freshening up in our hotel, we ventured outdoors to have a look around and to get something to eat. We found a suitable restaurant and because of the language barrier, (we don’t speak or understand any Hebrew at all) we ended up ordering two massive plates of meat. No problem. We were able to save what we didn’t eat for sandwiches the next day. As night fell, we had a restful evening watching the light and sound show at the water fountains in Gan Binyamin Central Park. The fountains rose and fell to the sound of music whilst different coloured lights shone in sync with the beats. To add to the desert atmosphere, the IMAX theatre standing right next to the fountains, is in the shape of a pyramid

The next day, we went to the beach for a swim in the Red Sea. There were a lot of beautiful people there, laying on deck chairs, or drinking and dancing to techno music. The water was pretty cold at first but we got used to it after a while. My favourite part was watching planes fly low over the city, coming in to land at the airport. The planes aren’t as big, or fly as low as they do at the famous St Maartin airport in the Caribbean but still it was exciting to watch.

In the evening, we walked along the beach promenade which is full of shops and markets and Fun Park rides open till midnight, or later in some cases, as well as many bars. For me Eilat was like a mini Playa Del Carmen, in Mexico, with the bars on the beach, the party vibe, and the large multi-storey hotels nearby.

We didn’t stay up too late as we had to get up early the next day. For me, it would be a dream come true. Seven years in the making. We were going to Petra, baby.

*Some photos included in photo gallery.

Playa, Petra and Pyramids. II

spacemanafrica — Wed, 4 Nov 2015 21:49:00 GMT

August 2015:

It was a weird silence as we walked through no-man’s land. We had passed through the border control of Israel and next was the border control for Jordan. Between the two, was a passage way of about 100 metres one had to walk along. It was a clear, still sunny day. After the hustle and bustle of tour groups at the Israeli border, the silence of just the three of us walking to the Jordan border was very peaceful.

My tour group today consisted of myself, my girlfriend, Margarita, Sofia an Israeli woman, our local tour guide and a driver. After a brief tour of the beachside town of Aqaba, we drove for two hours through the desolate Wadi Rum region – very impressive and very orange.

Then the moment we’d all been waiting for: Petra.

Of course, we wanted to rush off and see the famous Treasury building that Petra is known for. It’s well-known from movies such as Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade, The Mummy Returns and Transformers Revenge of the Fallen. But our guide had a tour to conduct. We walked slowly from the site entrance and listened to very interesting information and history about the archaeological city, also known as the Rose City due to the colour of the stone at the site.

The excitement began to build as we entered the narrow passage way, called as- siq, that was book-ended by tall rocks either side, up to 80 metres high. Tombs, carvings and water ducts lined the way as we edged closer to the Treasury. Also prevalent were locals peddling horse and camel rides, or kids selling post cards.

Then after a 20 minute walk through the siq, we turned a corner and the excitement hit its peak. Through a narrow opening between the rock faces a glimpse of the Treasury Building could be seen. We walked on till we passed the rocks and everything opened up and the full brilliance of the Treasury Building could be admired.

WOW! It was way taller than I’d expected.

We rushed around like excited children, taking plenty of photos in the blazing heat. The temperature was in the high 30’s or maybe low 40’s. Our guide told us Jordan had had an extreme summer with temperatures reaching 50° C on some occasions. Measuring 39 metres high and 25 metres wide, this amazing temple is carved out of the sandstone rock face, starting at the top and working down. We weren’t allowed to go inside. Apparently, there is only a tomb – no treasure.

Petra isn’t all about the Treasury. We moved on to explore the rest of the archaeological site. There are many more tombs, agricultural terraces, temples and theatres. Responsible for this brilliance in construction were the Nabataeans – ancient Arab tribes originally from the Arabian Peninsula, more than 2200 years ago, that came to settle in southern Jordan.

After some free time, we had to start heading back to the tour van to then go to lunch. Unfortunately, we were a bit short on money for a camel ride so we endured the 45 minute walk back in the unforgiving sunshine.

After a delicious buffet lunch and then a restful drive through Wadi Rum, we arrived back to the border as an orange glow of sunset filled the sky. Normally after such a long, tiring day a shower, a cold drink and a relaxing evening would be in order, but no rest for the adventurous. After arriving in Eilat again, we had two hours to eat and get ready for our next tour. If the awe-inspiring Petra wasn’t enough, we were now bound for Cairo and one of the Seven Ancient Wonders of the World − the Pyramids of Giza.

*Some photos included in photo gallery.

Playa, Petra and Pyramids. III

spacemanafrica — Wed, 4 Nov 2015 21:44:00 GMT

August 2015:

We were already anxious about travelling to Egypt before we even crossed the border from Eilat in Israel to Taba in Egypt. The Australian government website smarttraveller.com.au which, amongst other things, gives up to date travel advice regarding the safety of travelling to other countries, was advising people to reconsider their need to travel there. The civil unrest and ongoing Sinai Insurgency by militants in the Sinai Peninsula, the very region we would be travelling through, was well publicised in the media. But as I’ve experienced in Mexico, Colombia and Northern Ireland, as well, what is happening on the ground can be very different to what is portrayed on the news. So after reading travel forums online from people who had recently travelled to Egypt and claimed they had had no concerns regarding their safety, and speaking with the tour company, my girlfriend and I decided to book a ‘day tour’ (it ended up being 30 hours) to Cairo and the Pyramids.

The tour was to consist of driving overnight to Cairo, accompanied by a driver and guide. Once there, we would visit museums, see the pyramids of Giza and eat a buffet lunch at a popular restaurant before making the drive back to the Israeli border.

Our contact in Taba helped us through the proceedings of immigration. It all happened very quickly and was a tad confusing as our contact ordered us around.

“Give me your passports! Wait in line here! Go and get this paper stamped! Do you want to change money? Yes? Ok give me your money! Ok. Let’s go! Wait here! Ok. This is your van. This is your driver. Ok. Get in! Have a good time. Good bye.”

It all happened so quickly that when we sat in the van and we started to drive away, we suddenly had time to think about the situation. Here we were, just the two of us (there was no one else on the tour other than my girlfriend and me), inside Egypt, late at night, in a van with a guy who we just met, who didn’t speak English and we don’t speak Arabic and we’re just passengers – very vulnerable, easy targets.

To add to that, every now and then someone random off the street jumped in to the front seat of the van and the driver would give them a lift five minutes up the road. I was thinking anyone could have jumped in and kidnapped us. There were a few military road blocks as well. There’s nothing like being alone late at night in the middle of nowhere faced with serious looking men with large machine guns to put you on edge. Thankfully, we passed through no problem. A lot of the time the road was unpaved so the driver drove really slow to protect his van but it just made me more suspicious. After an hour, we were finally able to feel at ease.

We passed through a small town. Up ahead I could see someone standing by the side of the road. The van slowed down, eventually stopping next to the man. He opened the back sliding door of the van where we were sitting.

“Hello. How are you both? My name is Navid. I’m your guide to Cairo and the pyramids.”

Our guide was able to explain to us what was going on, and the itinerary of the tour, and he spoke in very good English, as well. Now we felt much more relaxed. A bit further down the road we stopped at a petrol station where there were a few bus coaches full of Russian tourists. Our guide explained that we would be travelling with them overnight with a police escort until we got to Cairo. Well, that was good to know. Back in the van, we were able to lie down, stretch out and sleep easy as we travelled through Sinai towards the Egypt capital.

At 6am, we stopped at a bus stop for a break about an hour outside of Cairo. Bleary eyed we set off again and the tour started. We quickly realised what a knowledgeable and cool guy Navid was. He pointed out interesting things as we passed by, such as the Suez Canal, and told us interesting information like Egypt is going to build a new capital city.

We arrived in Cairo to a clear, warm, sunny morning. The city was a hive of activity with a lot of people and a lot of traffic. Cairo was surprisingly quite clean and green – there were a lot of trees. We killed some time by the side of the Nile River as we waited for the Egyptian Museum to open at 9am.

The Egyptian Museum is amazing. The large marble columns and stairwells inside made me feel like I was on the set of a movie. The museum houses tens of thousands of ancient Egyptian antiquities many of which are important pieces of Egyptian history. I’m not much of a museum person. I get bored very quickly. This is where my impression of our guide, Navid, went from nice guy to really cool guy. In the museum, he didn’t mess around. He took us for a tour through the museum at warped speed, spending no more than 30 seconds at an exhibit, usually a lot less. Navid really knew his stuff, too. He was a qualified tour guide having studied for years and learnt various languages, as well as being a certified archaeologist; he did many years research at the pyramids.

He had some strong opinions about Egyptian history, too. He believes King Tutankhamen was killed by his wife so her lover could become king; that Tut was a teenager and never a soldier. They had the best medical experts in that age and he would never have died from an infection to the leg. He was only famous because of the gold mask found in his tomb.

He told us of discovered tombs being opened and the people who entered dying. This prompted many people to say the tombs were cursed and there was black magic. He says, “Bullshit,” or the Arabic equivalent. He says the oils and fragrances left as offerings in the tombs, and the oils used to wrap the mummys, deteriorated over time and became toxic. Inhaling the fumes of these toxins is what would have killed the people entering the tomb.

As a side note: in Israel, possibly Jordan as well, I don’t know, but definitely Cairo, there are cats everywhere just roaming the streets. It was funny in the Egyptian Museum when we entered a room full of statues and there was a cat sitting on the top of one as if it owned it, and everyone else just ignoring it as if the situation was perfectly normal.

After the museum, our tour took us to a papyrus paper museum. We saw how the paper was made and how artists drew the hieroglyphics. One museum staff member tried to sell me and my girlfriend, a couple in love, a hieroglyphic drawing of King Tut and his wife with many Egyptian symbols signifying love.

“But, Tutankhamen’s wife ended up killing him,” I pointed out for my own amusement.

“That’s ridiculous. Where did you hear that?” he demanded.

“At the Egyptian Museum,” I replied, not wanting to cause an argument between him and Navid who was standing on the other side of the room.

Anyway, enough of this museum shit. It was time for the main attraction. Our van driver took us to the city Giza, just 20km south of Cairo. It was only a few years ago that I learnt that the Egyptian pyramids were close to the city. I’d always imagined them to be in the middle of the desert. But as we drove through the dirty streets of Giza we could see the pyramids in the distance rising above the city skyline.

It was a hot sunny, dry day as one would expect. The pyramids didn’t disappoint. Egypt has two dozen or so pyramids but at this site, the most famous pyramid site, there were about six or seven - two mega large ones, one medium and three smaller ones. I’d always thought the sides of the pyramids were smooth. That was once the case. Casing stones formed a smooth outer surface some of which still remains at the top of The Great Pyramid Of Giza. But the pyramids are huge rocks the height of an average man, one on top of the other creating somewhat of a stair-like structure to the peak of the pyramid. And they were tall. 146.5 metres high.

Entering the pyramids wasn’t available to the public. But when your tour guide used to work at the site, anything is possible. Navid was able to gain us entry in to one of the tombs of the medium sized pyramid. It was down a tight narrow passage and into a small, cool room with a bath tub size hole where the mummy once lay. After some panoramic photos of the pyramids, we were off to our complimentary buffet lunch. Delicious.

After lunch we dropped by to have a look at the Sphinx just a stone’s throw from the pyramids. This mythical creature of a lion’s body and human head was also a magic moment to see with my own eyes. We stopped by a fragrance museum in the afternoon and succumbed to the sales pitch and bought some frankincense.

It was now time to settle in for the ten hour journey back to the Israeli border. Our progress was slow as we hit what I thought was afternoon peak hour traffic. But after about 45 minutes of crawling along the highway at a snail’s pace in gridlock, we came up to an accident on the road. As we moved past the obstruction blocking traffic, I got a good look at what was responsible for the traffic jam … a truck had spilt its load of potatoes all over the road and there was a mad rush from nearby residents to grab what potatoes they could, to take home for free. Once we passed the truck, traffic opened up and our van driver was able to put the foot down and off we went. The sight was very funny.

Not so funny was what we saw a bit further down the highway. I was just staring out the window when a car travelling in the opposite direction caught my eye. It looked like it was in the middle of doing a donut as it did a sharp bend to the left and smoke came off the screeching tyres. But instead of continuing in a circle it ran straight in to the middle concrete barrier that divided the two ways of traffic, just as we were passing, which gave our driver a bit of a fright. Debris went flying everywhere and I looked back quickly to see the car roll and stop upright on its side. Our tour guide told us accidents happen all the time on Egypt’s roads.

We slept as much as we could on the way back to Eilat. Once again we had a police escort through the Sinai Peninsula. We dropped off our guide, Navid, an hour before we reached the border. He had been excellent and we tipped him handsomely. We eventually presented ourselves at immigration at 4am. We were tired and in a daze. Just as we were looking forward to going to our hotel in Eilat to have a shower and sleep in a bed, immigration kept us for nearly two hours. Because we entered from Egypt, they grilled us about how we knew each other, who we knew in Israel, what we did in Egypt. Eventually, they let us enter.

Originally, we told our hotel we’d be arriving at 10pm. It was 6am when we showed up at reception. Check-out was only four hours away. Although, the hotel kindly let us have a late check-out at 12pm. It wasn’t the best hotel room in the world but not having showered or slept in a proper bed for 48 hours, it was good enough for us.

*Some photos included in photo gallery.

A flying visit to India.

spacemanafrica — Tue, 29 Sep 2015 15:37:00 GMT

On my recent trip to Europe from Australia. I flew with Air India which included an overnight stop-over in New Delhi. The flight over was only half full so my girlfriend and I had an extra seat to stretch out in. The noteworthy thing about the flight, that I'd never seen before in all my years flying, was that the windows on the plane didn't have any shades. Instead, each window had a button that controlled the tint of the window. During the flight, the cabin crew over rided the controls and all windows were set to full tint so that people could sleep. However, the tint was a dark, deep blue. Looking out the window was like being at an aquarium.

The airline organised a hotel at the airport for the passengers in transit but we had decided to spend the night at a hotel in the city as we'd never been to India before. A driver picked us up at the airport and drove us to the hotel. It was just starting to get dark by this stage and we were stuck in peak hour traffic. There didn't appear to be any rules. Cars, trucks, mopeds, tuk tuk's just went in whatever direction they wanted. The lane markings on the road were ignored. It reminded me very much of Bangkok or some parts of Peru. There were quite a few similarities with Latin America - stalls on the side of the road, concrete buildings.

It was very hot and muggy, but we were happy to escape the winter weather in Australia. We stayed at a nice clean hotel in the nieghbourhood of Paharganj. We found what looked like a clean restaurant close to the hotel for dinner. The last thing we wanted was to catch Dehli belly. We had a flight to Italy the next day. One difference between Latin America and India is the customer service. In India the waiters were keen to attend to the customers quickly. In Latin America service is when the waiter feels like it.

We woke automatically at 5:30am in the morning because of the time difference with Australia. This would have been 10am in Canberra. After breakfast, we went for a walk looking for souvenirs and ended up in a tuk tuk going to a market. But just like Thailand, the driver just took us to where he wanted - expensive tourist stores. So in the end, we just told him to take us back to our hotel and we walked around the neighbourhood there, taking in the hustle and bustle of people going about their business. In turn, we received a lot of looks from the locals. A few struck up a conversation. They were quite friendly. Whilst exploring, we found a mobile cart with some cheap souvenirs that we bought for our friends.

I thought airport security in the States was tight. The security at New Delhi shits all over anywhere else. We had to show our travel itinerary and passports just to enter the airport. Then there was check-in, followed by immigration to get to the departure gates. We had to be searched by a metal detector, twice. The women had their search carried out inside a small curtained off booth for privacy. Our boarding passes were stamped and we were given a tag to put on our carry-on luggage, which was then also stamped.

To enter the departure gate we went through more security that checked our passports and boarding passes. Because of my name on my passport, the security guard was reluctant to let me through. I don’t know. Maybe he thought it was a fake name and fake passport. But the passport is seven years old and is almost full of stamps. How could I have got away with it for so long, if it were fake? Eventually, he stamped my boarding pass and let me through.

Passengers for our flight were called to board. As is customary, our boarding passes were checked. Three guys in front of us were turned back because they were missing one of the security stamps. We walked down the corridor to the plane and along the way there was security checking if we had tags on our carry-on luggage, and that they were stamped. We got to a small foyer, metres from the plane, where security searched through our bags. Then just one step from boarding the plane a security guy stopped us again. Were we ever going to get on this plane? He checked our boarding pass and gave it another stamp. And then we boarded the plane. The cabin crew greeted us, “Namaste,” and we went to our seats 15B and C. We joked about how we expected security to be waiting for us in our seats. But we had passed through all the security and we then had a relaxing flight to Milan.

The birth of Spaceman Africa.

spacemanafrica — Sat, 31 Jan 2015 18:23:00 GMT

To find out the unique story of Spaceman Africa, buy his memoir Who's that Weirdo Dancing in the Corner?, available now at all major online bookstores in paperback and ebook.

Read the blurb here:

Have you ever seen the T-shirt slogan that says, "I used up all my sick days so I called in dead"?

Spaceman Africa found himself on an adventure with some mates in Donegal, Ireland, when, really, he should have been at his warehouse job in London. Realising that it's not possible for a dead person to call their workplace, Spaceman had a friend phone on his behalf. It worked. Spaceman has never been back to his warehouse job.

In February 1997, 22 year-old Australian, Spaceman, left his home town of Canberra for an indefinite working holiday in the United Kingdom. For a man who growing up had no desire to travel overseas except to New Zealand, the impact of coming into contact with foreign lands, diverse cultures and weird and wonderful people had him hooked. Travel became his passion and he took every opportunity available to hit the road, including calling in dead.

Who is that Weirdo Dancing in the Corner? is part memoir and part travelogue. Learn how the travel bug takes hold of Spaceman as he goes on a journey of exciting thrills, funny misfortune and, somewhere along the way, has a legal name change. But is this footloose and fancy-free lifestyle of backpacking, drinking and partying sustainable? Will it all catch up with him and bite him on the bum at the most inconvenient time, like on a flight from Guatemala City to Los Angeles, for example?

A little bit about where I'm from - Canberra, Australia.

spacemanafrica — Sat, 31 Jan 2015 18:14:00 GMT

2013 marked the 100th anniversary of Canberra as Australia’s capital city. After a lot of debate and searching for potential locations, Canberra became the site for the nation’s capital in 1908 by way of a ballot in Parliament.

Consisting then of only farming lands, in 1911 an international competition was held for a design of the city. The competition attracted 137 national and international entries. In May of 1912 the couple Walter and Marion Griffin of Chicago, United States, were announced as the competition winners. The official ‘Laying of the Foundation Stones and Naming Ceremony’ took place on Capital Hill, 12th March 1913. This day is now celebrated as Canberra Day. The name Canberra comes from the indigenous peoples whom have lived in the area for over 20,000 years meaning ‘meeting place.’

Canberra is the urban centre of the Australian Capital Territory (ACT). 53 per cent of the total area of the territory is preserved as parks and reserves giving Canberra the nick-name, ‘The Bush Capital.’

Amongst the Australian population and international visitors, Canberra is considered boring and soulless. Two reasons for this are thought to be a lack of nightlife and the separation of the districts creating a lack of a sense of community. As well as politics, Canberra is also known as the home of porn, pot and pyrotechnics: brothels are legal in designated industrial neighbourhoods, and supermarkets dealing solely in pornographic material exist in these neighbourhoods too; marijuana is decriminalized; and until a few years ago fireworks were legal to buy in the ACT.

Today, in 2022, Canberra is a thriving modern city of around 467,000 people. The city has many distinct autonomous districts connected by motorway through forest, making everything within a 30 minute drive away. Each district has its own attractions, shopping centres, bars and restaurants, and recreation facilities. Many of Canberra’s older suburbs are named after Australian ex-prime ministers.

There are few capital cities in the world where bush and parkland is so integral to the city plan. Because of this, kangaroos are a common sight in many parts of the city.

Whilst Canberra has all the benefits of being national park – only a 45 minute drive from the city centre and one can be surrounded by nature reserves – it is also only a three hour drive north to the bright lights of Sydney, two hours east to the coast and its beaches, and in winter only two hours south to the ski fields.

Canberra is home to many national monuments, galleries and museums: Parliament House; the Museum of Australian Democracy at Old Parliament House; the National Library; the National Science & Technology Centre; the Australian History Museum; the Australian War Memorial; the Australian National Botanic Gardens; the Australian National Gallery, the Australian Institute of Sport, and many more.

Another characteristic of Canberra is its countless number of roundabouts at road intersections, thus many people call the capital ‘the circular city.’ The joke goes that this is why there are licensed brothels as there are no corners for the women to stand on.

(I've uploaded some photos to my photo gallery here.)

The other way to get to Playa Blanca, Colombia.

spacemanafrica — Fri, 27 Jun 2014 13:33:00 GMT

“15,000 pesos? Forget that. I’m going to walk.”

“It’s 20km away.”

“OK. Maybe not.”

I read on the internet that it’s possible to travel by land independently from Cartagena to the paradisiacal beach of Playa Blanca on Colombia’s Caribbean coast as opposed to taking an organized tour by boat. In a bid to save some money, I chose to take the adventure route and go solo.

After finding the correct bus amongst the organized chaos on Avenida Playa Pedregosa, I was now on my way to the small town of Pasacaballos. As the trip continued, the bus filled with more people and their goods. I was cramped in my window seat as a large woman took the seat next to me. Thankfully, the bus had windows that could open to allow a breeze through the stuffy and hot bus which was not unlike a mini version of a Guatemalan chicken bus.

I didn’t exactly know where I had to get off the bus. One option was to ask the driver to let me know when I needed to get off but I find they usually forget. I spoke to the woman sitting next to me and explained to her my plans in the hope that she would be able to advise me when to get off. But I had no luck with her.Close to an hour in to the adventure the bus slowed down to stop and I heard men calling out Playa Blanca. I figured this must be my stop and where I’d find transport to take me the rest of the way to the beach.

Once off the bus, I was immediately mobbed by different guys telling me to go with them and they’d take me to the beach. One young lad was speaking at the speed of light. I couldn’t understand anything he said. His mate saw my confusion and asked if I speak Spanish. I said, yes, I speak Spanish, just that I couldn’t understand his friend.

I asked the price. 15000 pesos ($8). I thought that was a lot. I’d just paid 1800 (95c) on the bus. I thought out loud about walking the rest of the way to save some money. I was quickly told Playa Blanca was 20 kms away.

I walked across the road to buy a bottle of water and to give myself some space and time to think. I remembered at that point that the information I read on the internet did quote this part of the journey as costing 15000 pesos. So now I realized I wasn’t being ripped off. With my stand-offish demeanour the young lad dropped the price to 12000 ($6.30). Deal. Vamos!.

The mode of transport for this part of the journey was motorbike. I sat on the back of my new best friend’s bike using his spare helmet as I hung on to the metal bar at the back of the bike. We maneuvered slowly over undulating dirt roads for ten minutes until we came to a bitumen road and a 300 odd metre long bridge, with quite a pronounced arch, maybe reaching 100 metres high in the middle.

Now on the other side and with an open road we got some speed up bringing a smile to my face. We rode for another 20 minutes and I realized that, it was true, I wouldn’t have been able to walk this far.

We turned off the main road and past some make shift car-parks full of cars and minivans. We got to the beach and the first impression was – Wow, there were a lot of people.

I asked my driver, Wilfran, about somewhere to eat. I was grateful that he took me to one of the restaurants on the beach run by friends of his who looked after me. Nice one. I thanked Wilfran and despite the trouble I had understanding him, we arranged to meet in a few hours’ time for the return trip. The woman in charge at the restaurant, Rudy, went out of her way to set up a little table and chair for me next to her kitchen. She was in the middle of cooking for a tour group seated at the tables on the sand and protected from the sun under a cabaña. Fresh fish, salad, chips and rice were on the menu – very tasty.

Next thing to do was to jump into the sea. It was a very hot day, in the low 30’s, and even though the beach was crowded there was still room for one more. Playa Blanca is popular for having relatively clear, clean blue water. On days as hot as this, the beach is full, well past midnight. Thankfully I was able to leave my things with Rudy. I always worry a bit about leaving my things on the beach when I’m alone. It was great to leave them safely and not have to worry about them. The water was at a perfect cooling temperature. Not so cold that you pulled faces upon entering but cool enough to be refreshing.

I went for a walk down to the other end of the beach and saw the hostels and cabins for people that chose to stay at the beach overnight. They looked very comfortable despite the rustic theme. I sat down on the sand to rest for a while. As well as the visitors to the beach, like me, there were a lot of vendors selling anything from refreshments to oysters to jetski rides. A woman came up to me and without me agreeing to anything, she started to give me a massage. I didn’t want to pay for a massage but I was curious to know how much one cost. She told me not to worry it was just a demonstration. I knew what her game was. Obviously she was going to want some money. I should have ended it there but I just sat there and let her continue. After rubbing oil on my shoulders and giving them a rub down she told me to lay back. I chose not to comply. Then I really would have to pay. I just sat in the same posture I had been all along before she had shown up.

She kept rubbing and after another few minutes I thought it was probably best to stop it at that point. I got up and hopped in the water to wash the oil off. The middle-aged Colombian then wanted money. Oh, what a surprise. I told her I didn’t ask for the massage and she’d said it was a demonstration only. She argued the demonstration was just for the first few minutes and that I owed her 20,000 pesos. I wasn’t going to pay her and decided to play with her. I told her that I charge 50,000 pesos to receive massages. And so based on that she owed me 30,000. She was like, “What? Me pay you? Are you crazy?”

Fortunately, I didn’t have my wallet on me, just a few coins. I showed the woman that that was all I had. She dropped the price to 10,000. I told her I didn’t have 10,000. She then wanted 5,000. I told her my financial situation hadn’t changed in the last few seconds and she gave up and walked away. Woohoo. I was glad I didn’t fall for that scam. I spent the rest of my time relaxing in the water.

The time came for Wilfran to pick me up. He found me drying myself off at Rudy’s. He met me with a big smile and handed me the bike helmet. I thanked Rudy and her crew and then it was back on the bike for the trip to Pasacaballos again.

This time there was a lot more traffic as everyone else had the same idea to leave the beach at this time. I’d seen many times the craziness of Colombia traffic from the safety of the side of the road, or on a bus. But as Wilifran weaved and dodged through traffic on the highway, I was now in the thick of it. Wilfran even rode with his mobile phone in his hand checking for messages periodically. “Geez, I hope we survive this. I don’t have travel insurance.”

We made it safely to the other side of the bridge and turned off on to the dirt track. We approached the town of Pasacaballos , turned a corner and then STOP! About 30 metres up the road was a mob of people in what looked like a tense stand-off. A friend of Wilfran saw us and came over explaining what was going on. I asked Wilfran what was happening. The combination of his hard to understand dialect, the fact that we were wearing helmets and the noise of the bike motor meant I had no chance of understanding him. We rode around the crowd of people and into town. Wilfran’s kindness continued as he waited with me to make sure I caught the correct bus back to Cartagena. By doing the trip independently, I'd missed out on a boat trip over the clear waters but instead I'd had a fun adventure experiencing a behind the scenes look of the area and saving a bit of money, too.

The bus took me to the end of the line which was a market place just outside Cartagaena’s town centre. I took the opportunity to buy a cheap Colombian football jumper. It’s so exciting being in Colombia at the moment during the football world cup. On the days Colombia play, the majority of people are decked out in the national football shirts. Cars, shops and houses are decorated in the national colours red, blue and yellow.

I’m not into football but I love the exciting buzz that comes from watching the matches. Especially when Colombia wins, which at the time of writing they have won all three of their first round matches. It’s funny watching the game on a big screen in a public place. Sometimes the big screen 20 metres away will be out of sync by a few seconds to the one I’m watching. Suddenly the crowd watching the other screen start to get excited and then cheer and shout because of a Colombia goal. A few seconds later , we see the goal as well and everybody is happy.

I’ve uploaded some photos of the old town of Cartagena. I didn’t have my camera with me at Playa Blanca but you can see some images here.

https://www.google.com.co/search?q=playa+blanca+colombia&espv=2&tbm=isch&tbo=u&source=univ&sa=X&ei=5e6sU-yQOdStsAThpoGIDA&ved=0CBwQsAQ&biw=1034&bih=566

It’s not every day you return to the scene of the crime.

spacemanafrica — Fri, 25 Apr 2014 21:00:00 GMT

It’s not every day you return to the scene of the crime. Actually, make that the scene of two crimes. After two years out of town, today I returned to my childhood neighbourhood shopping centre. As a teenager, I used to shoplift magazines from the newsagent (no, not porn. Football magazines) and I got caught one day, too. And not far away are the playing fields where I sprayed graffiti on the public toilet block. It was dark and I couldn’t see and I ended up with more paint on my face than the wall. But today, I went to see how the face of my beloved shops had changed.

Despite not being a major hub of the city, the shops of Curtin, a leafy suburb of Canberra, Australia, have more than just the typical general store that most suburban shops in Canberra have. The Curtin shops have the atmosphere of a small village with a central courtyard and quite a variety of shops. However, on my visit, there were a few shops at the top of my list that I was keen to see.

First stop was the milk bar - the confection centre of my youth. Like so many shops here, the milk bar has been a family business for at least two generations and I used to overdose on the small bags of mixed lollies they sold for 50 cents. Today the mixed bags are gone but the fresh and flavoursome pizzas are still on offer.

The bakery is just across the way. Run by a Vietnamese family, they make the best meat pies I’ve ever eaten – thick, soft pastry and palatable beef. The only downside is having to wait for the pie to cool down. I’m usually eager to eat it straight away but my mouth would get burnt if I ate it too soon. I like to eat it with tomato sauce in keeping with the Australian tradition and to help it cool down quicker.

My other favourite snack can be bought at the take-away shop. They sell small roasted potatoes that are very moreish. I remember once upon a time they sold for 50 cents; but I was happy to see they’re still available and I can get my fix.

It always amazes me how for such an insignificant part of town there is quite a diverse range of services on offer. I noticed that a few new businesses have opened up since I last visited: a Nepalese restaurant, an art school and a small café. Yet many of the old favourites are still here: the hairdresser, the book store, the florist, the supermarket, the betting shop and the Statesman Hotel pub - nicknamed ‘the international airport’ by its patrons due to the large electronic board on the wall with all the horse racing results much like the boards at an airport with all the flight details.

I sat in the shade in the courtyard biting on a roasted potato watching the other shoppers go by. The only crime here today is that the price for a roasted potato has gone up to $1. Not to worry; I went back to the take-away and bought two more.

‘I’m from the future.’

spacemanafrica — Tue, 4 Mar 2014 05:22:00 GMT

‘Oh sorry, I’ve got my back to you.’

‘No. It’s OK.’

Polite words, coming from the stranger sitting next to me in the bar - that’s the kind of friendliness the Irish are famous for. But she wasn’t even Irish. The bar was. It was 10pm on a Friday night in Na Cúnna, an Irish Pub in … Cochabamba, Bolivia. These days nobody can escape the irish bar - not even in the geographical heart of Bolivia.

Na Cúnna, an Irish term meaning The Wolfhounds, is one of three bars side by side on Ave Salamanca close to the central square, Plaza Colón. Cochabamba is one of Bolivia’s largest cities with over 1 million people. It’s not a common stop for tourists with its only real tourist attraction being a Christ statue that stands 34 meters high on San Pedro Hill overlooking the city.

Na Cúnna has two floors: downstairs, where one can order food and/or watch sport on TV; and upstairs, a place for drinking and watching live music. Despite the fact that there is Irish paraphernalia all through the bar such as Guinness ads and Dublin road signs, the staff and punters, with the odd exception, are local Bolivians.

Which brings us back to the woman on a stool sitting next to me at the bar. She had turned herself around to face the bar as so she didn’t have her back to me. Despite my surprise at her apology, I was happy she was polite. I was on my own in the bar and looking for someone to talk to rather than being that loner that sits at the bar on their own. I thought it was a good sign that she would be happy to have a conversation. But if she wasn’t Irish, where was she from?

‘Hi. Are you from South Africa?’

Judging by her brown skin and proficiency in Spanish she was Bolivian. But just to make life interesting and avoid the regular predictable questions one uses when first meeting someone, I tried for the most unlikely nationality in order to spike her curiosity.

‘No. I’m from here,’ she replied, somewhat puzzled. ‘Why do you say South Africa?’

‘I ask everyone that. One day I’m going to be right.’

She smiled and asked ‘Where are you from?’

‘I’m from the future.’

‘The future? Why the future?’

‘I’m Australian but Australia is 14 hours ahead of Bolivia. That’s why the future.’

She liked my joke.

‘What’s your name?’ I continued

‘Maya’

‘Maya?’ I questioned, and amused myself by putting her origins from the past.

Maya had turned her body more towards me now. It appeared she was willing to talk despite arriving with another guy who was standing at the bar behind her talking with other people. Maya was in her early 20’s, with a mischievous smile and curly hair that reached down past her shoulders.

‘And you, what’s your name?’

‘Spaceman,’ I told her.

‘Spaceman. OK.’ She didn’t seem too sure about it but chose not to question it.

We talked some more but she spoke very quietly and I found it hard to understand her sometimes. I just smiled and nodded hoping she wouldn’t ask me any questions. I did understand her, however, when she told me she liked dark beer, as she played with her bottle of Paseña Negro.

By now it was 11pm and the small bar was becoming full in anticipation of the live band due to start at … 10.30pm. That’s Bolivian punctuality for you.

Maya and I talked about travel. I jokingly suggested travelling to the moon which then turned serious. ‘You know Virgin are planning to conduct flights to outer space?’

‘What’s the name of the company?’ she asked to make sure she had heard correctly the first time.

‘Virgin.’

She’d never heard of Virgin but thought the name was apt.

By now Maya and I had turned our backs to the bar to face the stage. Neither one of us could get comfortable or work out the best way to position ourselves. Because of the cramped conditions we had to move a foot or knee out of the way whenever anyone walked past.

At 11:30 the band made their much anticipated appearance on stage. Normally a four-piece, rock outfit, this Cochabambino band called Oil, on this occasion had two special guests with them. Along with the regular vocalist, guitarist, bass player and drummer, they had a percussionist and a belly dancer.

The band opened with a haunting song featuring the Australian indigenous instrument, the didgeridoo. I leant over to Maya and said, ‘I feel at home.’

Maya jokingly replied, ‘South Africa, right?’

To surf ... is to paddle?

spacemanafrica — Thu, 31 Oct 2013 12:57:00 GMT

Many people I meet on my travels are surprised when I tell them I’m Australian and I don’t surf. I grew up in Canberra which is inland, a two and a half hour drive from the coast. Instead of surfing, being able to play an instrument is very common in Canberra. I can play the guitar, the bass, the piano … and the triangle. Until recently, my surfing experience consisted solely of two lessons, two years ago in Costa Rica. That and watching the movie Point Break a hundred times. I once heard the quote, ‘You can’t learn to surf by reading about it,’ meaning no amount of theory is going to be enough to make you good at surfing. First time you get on the board you are going to fall off. You need to physically practice surfing to become good at it.

And so when I stayed for five weeks in Mancora, a popular surfing spot on the north coast of Peru, in August of this year, my plan was to rectify my ‘un-Australianess’ by taking lessons and becoming competent at surfing.

Most of the action on the beach in Mancora happens on a small stretch of the beach about 200 metres at the south end of town. There are many activities available, such as: horse-riding, jet ski riding, kayaking, kite surfing, riding a pontoon whilst being pulled by a jet ski, standing on a surfboard with paddle and, of course, surfing. My plan was to surf three times a week: Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday, and to do yoga classes on Monday, Wednesday and Friday and to rest on Sunday. I would have a few surf lessons and then once I was confident I knew what I was doing, I’d hire a board and practise on my own.

The day of my first lesson, I woke early as I prefer the beach first thing in the morning. There are many surf schools on the beach in Mancora. I went to Surf Point as it was the only one that had some sign of life at 8:30 in the morning. There were quite a few people standing round the hut of the surf school – cool surfer chicks - and I was quite nervous. I asked the sexy blonde Argentinian behind the counter for a lesson. Five minutes and 50 soles later, I was squeezed in to a wetsuit and on the beach doing some stretches with my instructor, Alex.

50 soles ($20) included ten minutes of theory and practice on the beach and one hour in the water. Alex, a local lad in his early 30’s, took me through the three steps to standing on the board. I practiced using a long board resting on the sand. First step was to place the hands on the board beside my chest; second step was to bring, in my case, the right leg up on the board towards my body; and third step was to lift myself using my arms and then stand with my right leg and quickly bring my left foot out in front. Easy. Well, it was on a motionless board.

I was quite excited at this point and keen to get out on the water. Alex on the other hand had a serious demeanour about him and said very little. I thought that maybe this was just another day at the ‘office’ for him and so therefore nothing special. It was time for the real thing. I fastened the rope around my ankle, placed the board under my arm and strode out to the water.

The water felt quite funky as it rushed into all the gaps of the wetsuit. I was expecting the water to be cold but it was quite comfortable. It was high tide. Alex explained, ‘Surfing during high tide is better to avoid the rocks.’ At this end of the beach there are a lot of rocks and during low tide they’re fully out of the water. I looked out at the people already on the waves. There were toddlers having lessons and standing up successfully on the board. I hoped that I’d be able to do it, too.

Alex and I waited for the first appropriate wave to come along. ‘OK, this next wave is yours. Get ready.’

I paddled like crazy whilst Alex swam in thre water behind me, by holding on to the back of the board and kicking with his feet. Alex counted out the steps for me.

‘One.’ My hands were in position.

‘Two.’ I brought my leg up ready to stand.

‘Three.’ The wave was propelling me now and Alex let go of the board giving it a push to help me along. I lifted myself up, brought my left leg out in front and … I didn’t fall. I was upright and I was on a wave riding the board back towards the shore. I was well pleased with myself. I told you it would be easy hehehe.

The next few attempts weren’t so successful. When trying to stand up I would lose my balance for one reason or another – I was too far back on the board; my arms slipped whilst trying to lift myself; or I couldn’t get my left foot in position – and I’d tumble in to the water.

Surfers are very passionate about surfing and I saw this in Alex. He came alive when we were out on the water, amongst ‘his people’, smiling and talking to the other surfers in-between sets. I, on the other hand, was too focused to find the experience exhilarating. My success rate at standing up on the board was slowly getting worse because I was exhausted from all the paddling. If I managed to catch a wave and ride it to shore I would have to then paddle for about three minutes back out to where the waves started breaking. My arms weren’t used to it. At least when I fell off the board I didn’t have to paddle back so far. I kept thinking about how sore my shoulders were going to be. And I had a yoga class to go to the next day, as well. I wasn’t wrong. My shoulders were very stiff.

The second lesson was a few days later. Once again it was in the morning. It was another beautiful day in Mancora – the sun shining and the sea sparkling. This time my instructor’s name was Marco. He was from Mancora, in his early 20’s, a bit chubby and very jolly, as well. He told me he liked surfing first thing in the morning, ‘The morning has a better vibe.’

My wetsuit this time round had the same colour scheme as superman’s costume. I wondered if it would help but on my first attempt I fell and scratched my foot on the rocks. Marco told me to relax, not to be so stiff. I started to get the hang of it and managed to stand up on the board more often than not. As a result Marco taught me how to move my weight around so I could turn whilst riding the wave. Being able to turn made things a bit more interesting and I was enjoying myself. But once again, the killer was the paddling. I would have to paddle for three to four minutes back out to the waves just so I could experience 10 – 15 seconds of pleasure when riding the wave. Who said surfing was better than sex?

After 50 minutes I was so tired and rode the board all the way back in to shore, calling an end to the lesson early. Marco said if I kept practising I would get accustomed to it. That was my intention but, unfortunately, that turned out to be my last lesson. The waves disappeared. The sea was very calm after that and it stayed that way for the remaining four weeks I was in Mancora.

I did improve a lot at yoga, though. 🙂

The Galapagos Islands; sea-lions, snorkelling and sharks.

spacemanafrica — Sat, 26 Oct 2013 10:26:00 GMT

I was unsure as to whether or not I would go to the Galapagos Islands. But I met some fellow travellers who raved about it and really recommended it. They said the flight there is the most expensive thing; once you're there it's cheap. I'd heard flights were about $400 return. They said they paid $500. So I was keen to go after they really talked it up. I spoke to others about flights and the general impression was that Ecuadorians get flights for cheap whilst foreigners have to pay double, about $400. Someone told me, if you're lucky you could find a flight for $300. So anyway, I went about looking at flights online. I was quite excited to find a cheap flight but in fine print it said the price was only available for Ecuadorians. But anyway, I kept looking and on expedia.com I found a return flight for $158. I was pretty frkn excited. I booked it straight away.

Next day I told some other travellers and they just dismissed it saying, 'yeah, that's Ecuadorian prices.' It deflated my excitement somewhat and I was a bit concerned that I might have to pay extra. I phoned expedia and they had never come across a case of a price only being available for locals. But anyway, just to check, the guy rang the airline. But the phone connection cut out so I never got an answer. So I thought I could email the airline myself, but in the end I thought I'd just wait till the departure day came and see what happens at check-in. If they don't allow me to fly on that ticket then I’d cancel the trip.

So on the day, I arrived at the airport three hours before take-off. For flights to Galapagos you only need to be two hours but I had to check-out of my hotel so I arrived early. I went to the check-in counter and I gave my name and the staff spoke about me as if they were expecting me. One woman said, 'Come with me.' I followed her and she told me my flight had been cancelled and that they were putting me on another flight, with another airline, that was leaving right away. So I got rushed through check-in in front of everyone who was already lined up, and then pushed to the front of the departure tax queue and later straight to the departure gate. Woohoo. I was on my way to the Galapagos, baby.

I was on my way, but I hadn’t planned anything (hotels, tours, etc). Nor did I know very much about the islands. The main image I had in my head of the Galapagos was of sea-lions sleeping on park benches. So I arrived on San Cristobal Island and asked the taxi driver to take me to a hotel. After checking-in, I took a walk 100 metres down the street to the waterfront/pier and immediately I came across some sea-lions lying on the footpath. I don’t know why, but I didn’t expect to come across the stereotypical Galapagos Islands experience so soon after arriving. As I walked further along the main drag, I saw sea-lions everywhere, lying on benches, lying under trees and generally just in the way of pedestrians.

This was just the beginning of an overload of wildlife … and amazing sights. Over the next few days I went on some excursions around the island. I went on a snorkelling tour to some giant rocks offshore called León Dormido (sleeping lion), as the silhouette looks like an African lion lying down. After the initial shock of jumping in to the ice cold sea, I saw many fish, half a dozen large marine turtles, two big spotted eagle rays, and the icing on the cake … sharks. In total I saw four Galapagos sharks. I was pretty excited. I’d never seen sharks in the wild before. They looked exactly like the stereotypical image of a shark and were about two metres long. I was told they were harmless to humans, but even still I didn’t go up to them and introduce myself. I stayed about ten metres away. Closer to shore at a small inlet at Cerro Tijeretas whilst snorkelling there, I was joined by a young sea-lion checking me out and keen to play. It freaked me out when it first showed up. With a face mask on blinkering my view I didn’t see it coming.

Another excursion saw me taking in the sights of the island’s highlands: an inactive volcano crater that is now a small freshwater lake; the Galapaguera, a breeding centre for the iconic Galapagos tortoises; and a visit to Porto Chino, a beach on the north-east coast of the island. The amazing thing here, and just like the main beach, Playa Mann, located in town, is seeing families share the beach with families of sea-lions - both aware of the other’s presence but both going about their business without disturbing the other.

The Galapagos archipelago consists of 18 main islands, three smaller islands, and scores of uninhabited rocks sticking above the sea surface. On day five I took a ferry to another of the main islands, Santa Cruz, to stay there for a few days and experience the different natural wonders on offer there.I did a morning taxi tour to see some lava tunnels. These were natural tunnels under the ground a couple of kilometres long, created by lava flow from a previous volcano eruption that one could walk through. It was amazing how large and wide the tunnels were in some places – as big as a subway tunnel. We stopped to see Los Gemelos, twin volcano craters within a few hundred metres of each other, inactive these days and now overrun by thick vegetation. The tour finished off with a visit to the El Chato Tortoise Reserve where gigantic tortoises can be seen roaming free in the wild, in some parts of the reserve sharing the field with cows.

In the afternoon, I was in the sea again snorkelling around an islet a few minutes by boat from the main port. Once again, the water was freezing. Many people decided against going in the water. I was lucky to have a wet suit, but even still, after about 15 minutes I couldn’t put up with it any longer. The real heroes here were the Costa Rican woman that went snorkelling in just a bikini and a German guy in just speedos. The tour also included a visit to the beach where we saw lots of rocks. But on closer inspection we discovered that the rocks were covered with iguanas of all sizes huddled together keeping warm. You had to watch where you were walking or otherwise you could step on an iguana. Actually, that was the case throughout the whole islands. If it wasn’t sea-lions in the street or iguanas sunning themselves on the pier it was hand-sized crabs bathing on the rocks. The tour culminated in another swim, this time at Las Griettas, a small canyon 50 metres long filled with crystal clear water at a more bearable temperature.

That night I watched the town folk go crazy and celebrate Ecuador’s classification in to the football world cup next year. Convoys of people on motorbikes, and pick-up trucks full of people on the back, did laps around the town centre cheering, beeping horns and waiving the national flag.

The next day I went it alone and walked along the 2.5 kilometre trail to the beach of Tortuga Bay. The trail passed through thick vegetation with lots of birds, lizards and cacti. I even saw a wild cat. The beach itself was quite beautiful but too dangerous to swim due to strong currents. Unless of course you’re a marine iguana in which there were many swimming or lying on the sand. Further up the beach were mangroves where it was possible to see white tip sharks but I didn’t realize and walked back to town.

The next island on my list was Isabela, the largest island in all of the archipelago. To get there I took another ferry. I say ferry but really, like all the island hops, it was a motor boat that carried about 18 passengers. The average ferry crossing was two hours. These crossings were tough. Due to the boat’s small size and the rough seas, many people got sick. I’m normally fine on the sea but the violent movement through the water gave me a strong head ache. Usually I was fine if I could sit at the back where there was less movement and I could get some wind on my face to keep me cool. It never happened on any of the four crossings I took but I heard stories from other travellers of people throwing-up on board setting off a chain reaction causing others to throw-up as well. The trip was so boring too. The two hours always dragged on and on. The departures were early in the morning too, 6 or 7am, so being up so early was also a shock to the system. I met people who saw dolphins during their ferry trip but I never had such luck. After the crossing and back on land, I always felt a bit dizzy, like I was still on the boat swaying from side to side.

I arrived at Isabela during a rare sunny day which was perfect for walking along the paradisiacal beach and/or going for a swim. I went swimming at Concha de Perla, a natural pool close to the docks that one could reach by walking along a boardwalk through the mangroves and often past iguanas or sea-lions lying in the way. When I reached the pool there was just one person there, a young Argentinian woman. She pointed out to me that there were penguins sitting on the rocks about fifty metres out from the boardwalk. I jumped in and swam out to the rocks and sat about five metres away from them. There were four of them; they were small, only about 30 centimetres high. They almost didn’t look real, standing motionless in the sun, and then one of them shook its wings. Without my camera I took a mental snapshot of the penguins and swam back to the boardwalk. Not long later more people arrived at the pool and the penguins subsequently disappeared.

Another snorkelling tour, this time at a place called The Tunnels, so named because of the archways lava had made through the rocks that now sat in the sea. I can’t describe how incredible the scape looked: rocks littered with cacti and nesting birds, with canals of water around the rocks infested with green turtles and spotted eagle rays. It was like being at a water theme park.

After another 20 minutes snorkelling in circles and freezing my tits off I vowed that this would be my last snorkelling adventure even though there were more snorkelling excursions I hadn’t done yet. I got out of the boat shivering like someone being electrocuted. But a few minutes later I jumped back in the sea for one last time when there was the possibility of seeing sharks. And success. The tour guide and I swam past some rocks and into a clearing and spied a white tip shark slowing cruising past. Awesome. After that I was straight back to the boat to warm up again.

Driving back to Isabela’s port the captain spotted something in the water. He slowed the boat down to take a closer look. Suddenly, what looked like a shark fin surfaced out of the water and moved past the right side of the boat (or the starboard side, for those sailing aficionados amongst us). But as we got a closer look we saw that it was not one, but two manta rays. It was very exciting. These guys are rare – black on back with white underbellies. They looked huge, too, about two metres in width, which is actually small for manta rays as they can grow from five to seven metres wide. But even still they were big enough, as big as a blanket. They moved so slowly and gracefully, and after a few minutes circling beside the boat they submerged out of sight.

Day 3 on Isabela, I did a land tour: a five hour hike to the volcanoes of Sierra Negra and Volcan Chico. This was a different landscape altogether, like the moon, just rock and cacti that have adapted to live and survive from the air rather than having a deep root system that needs water. The caldera of the active Sierra Negra, it’s last eruption was in 2005, is the second largest in the world: two km’s deep, nine km’s long, and seven km’s wide. We sat and had lunch at Volcan Chico and due to the clear sunny day we could see some of the other islands such as Fernandina, Santiago and Los 4 Hermanos. Far in to the distance we could see the northern hemisphere. The equator passes through the far north end of Isabela Island.

Well, my plan was to stay on Isabela for five days as I found it to be the most raw and wild and laid back. But it was this remoteness that went against me in the end. After the volcano hike I found out there are no ATM’s on the island, unlike San Cristobal and Santa Cruz. I was almost out of money so this meant, basically, I had to return to Santa Cruz the next day, two days earlier than planned. But I was so grateful that I had just enough to cover my hotel bill and buy a ticket for the ferry with $11 left over. It would have sucked big time had I been in the situation where I was stuck on the island without any money.

Rather than wake at the crack of dawn wandering around in a daze to catch the 6am ferry, I decided to have a lie-in and take the afternoon ferry leaving at 3pm. I was on holidays after all. That left me with the morning free to check out a few more things before I left.

I wandered by the Iguana Crossing, a crossing on the west side of town between the beach and the lagoons where the Iguanas like to cross. Naturally they have right of way over the traffic. My mission though was to see some flamingos. Rumour was that they could be found at some of the lagoons. From the Iguana Crossing I took the boardwalk through a lagoon to another tortoise breeding centre. It was a privilege to see huge Galapagos tortoises again but there had been no flamingos along the way. I overheard a German couple ask a park ranger about the flamingos and he gave them directions to another lagoon nearby. I didn’t really pay attention thinking the lagoon would be easy to find but when I went in search of it I took a wrong turn and ended up on private property. The aggressive guard dog was a big clue that I’d gone the wrong way. I retraced my steps and received directions from a local and discovered the lagoon. Mission accomplished. There were about 20 of the little pink fuckers wading through the lagoon looking for food. I stayed for ages watching them prance about, and sometimes squabbling with each other over territory.

The next mission was to visit the Wall of Tears.

From 1945-1959, a penal colony existed on the island hosting the worst prisoners in the Ecuadorian prison system. The prisoners were forced to build a wall, stone by stone, largely just to keep the prisoners occupied. The wall stands at 25 metres high and about 30 metres long in which locals claim to hear cries emanating from the site. The prisoners were cruelly treated and many lost their lives during the construction of the wall. A phrase on an information board at the site reads, ‘The tough cried, whilst the weak died.’

With only three hours up my sleeve before the ferry departure and the Wall five kilometres out of town I decided to hire a mountain bike to get to the wall. I can’t remember the last time I rode a bike, but as the saying goes you never forget. There were plenty of things to see along the way – beaches, lakes, look-outs – but I kept peddling as so as to get back in time for the ferry.After 40 minutes I stopped for a break. I was knackered. The last stretch of dirt road had been largely uphill. But for my rest stop I stopped at a look-out which required climbing about fifty steps up to the viewing deck. My legs were like jelly by the end of it. With no idea how much further I had to go, I contemplated giving up on going to the wall and returning to town in plenty of time for the ferry. I decided to continue for a bit longer. The track continued to ascend. Oh, how I was going to enjoy riding downhill on the way back. Wouldn’t you know it, it was only another two minutes and I arrived at the wall.

Upon boarding the ferry, I made sure to get a much sort after seat at the back. However, one of the crew members offered all on board the opportunity for three of us to sit on the top deck with the captain. I expected there to be a rush of hands go up to volunteer for the seats but no one was interested. I certainly was. I thought it would be less monotonous up there and less claustrophobic. With the wind on my face I was sure to feel fine. I think everyone else thought being higher up, the swaying from side to side would be more pronounced and thus more conducive to feeling ill. As more people boarded the boat I was joined by a young Canadian couple. They told me they had thrown-up on their last ferry crossing and wanted to sit upstairs for the fresh air.

The sea was angry that day my friends. It was a very dark and windy afternoon and the boat tilted from side to side. Being on the top deck did mean we moved around more but I was happy. The Canadian guy and I got talking which helped pass the time. Also during the trip the captain let us steer the boat for a while whilst he took photos of us with our cameras. Because of the strong currents it took us longer than usual to reach Santa Cruz, nearly three hours. I was so ready to get off that boat. It had just gone dark when we arrived in port. As the passengers filled in to the boat taxi to go to the docks one of them asked me how it was up top. I said it was quite a wild ride and explained how the captain had let us steer the boat. He and his girlfriend both looked at each other and one of them said, ‘Ah, is that what was going on?’ I’m not sure what they meant by that comment but I think they mistook our driving for the rough conditions.

It was good to be back on dry land and have access to a money machine again. As I walked around town, it was funny seeing the same familiar faces of tourists I’d seen on the other islands. I spent just the one night in Santa Cruz and the next day caught the afternoon ferry back to San Cristobal. That would be my last ferry crossing during my time in the Galapagos and I was glad to have it behind me.

The last three days before my flight back to Guayaquil were relaxing, lazy days. Having already seen the sights and done the tours I just hung around town walking amongst the sea-lions, taking in the sunsets and eating with the locals in various restaurants. The day came for my return flight and all went super smoothly. There were a few people on my flight who had been at the airport all day due to their morning flight being cancelled. But for me, all good; once again, there was no action taken regarding the price of my ticket. Result.

I arrived in Guayaquil after having thoroughly enjoyed my two week adventure. It was an experience that heightened the senses, an education of Mother Nature – its animals, plants, the earth. Like the two travellers I met, I’d recommend the Galapagos Islands to anyone. I wouldn’t exactly say it’s cheap but depends where you’re from and what you compare it to.

The good times in the Galapagos only served to strengthen my love affair with Ecuador and its people. And it would appear that in turn they have accepted me as one of their own, letting my fly at Ecuadorian prices.

Rafting in Baños.

spacemanafrica — Fri, 13 Sep 2013 12:05:00 GMT

'When saving someone from the water, make sure you save the paddle first. It’s worth $40.’

We all laughed at the instructor’s priorities during his safety presentation but he was actually serious. To effectively pull someone out of the river and into the raft, the paddle needed to be out of the way first.

The location was the bank of the Rio Pastaza, a 45 minute drive south of Baños, Ecuador. Baños de Agua Santa, as it’s officially known (Baths of Holy Water), is a small town in the Tungurahua Province, 176km south of Quito. Situated in the Andes Mountains at an altitude of 1800m.a.s.l, this town of 20,000 inhabitants is a popular spot for both backpackers and Ecuadorians for its natural beauty, thermal baths – heated by the nearby Tungurahua Volcano – and the numerous adventure sports on offer.

I had signed up for a half-day river rafting tour through the Wonderful Ecuador Travel Agency, one of many agencies scattered around town. After a restless night sleep due to nervous excitement, I met with my fellow adventurers for the day, outside the agency on the corner of Maldonado and Oriente Street. The 14 of us – from Europe, the States, Australia and India – hopped in to the Mercedes Sprinter van for a tight comfy fit and we were away.

Once at the river, we were kitted up with all the necessary equipment. Trying to look fashionable was abandoned as we put on tight fitting wetsuits and old tennis shoes. ‘You’ve all been given a life jacket, helmet and paddle,’ explained the instructor. ‘The most important of these … is the life jacket, helmet and paddle.’

Our instructor Dario, a young local lad from Baños, ran us through the safety procedures and paddling techniques we needed to know, and use, when out on the water. The importance of the safety didn’t have to be pointed out to me. When I arrived in Baños a few days earlier, I read in Mi Cuidad, the local newspaper, a man died whilst rafting only a few weeks earlier. Some of the rapids we were told would be Class IV (long, difficult rapids with constricted passages that often require complex maneuvering in turbulent water). I felt anxious but was keen to get into it. We broke in to two groups of seven, each group accompanied by a guide. As well as the two rafts, three other guides would accompany us in kayaks to pick up anyone that might fall in to the river.

As well as the expected paddling instructions of ‘forward’, ‘back’ and ‘stop’ there was ’high five’ where we all raised our paddles pointing to the sky and shouting our group name.

‘OK. Our group needs a nickname,’ Dario told us. Just then a butterfly fluttered past and a Frenchman in our group suggested ‘mariposa’, the Spanish word for butterfly. But Dario had misheard it.

‘HARRY POTTER!’ shouted Dario, as we raised our paddles in the air.

On further thought, Dario shook his head as if to say Harry Potter was not manly enough to affirm us.

He shouted again, ‘BOB MARLEY!’ This time naming the group himself.

With that sorted we set off from the bank and started our journey down the river. We cheered as we finally got underway, only to stop fifty metres later to run through the safety drills again in shallow water.

This time we were off for real as Dario shouted orders from the back of the raft and we did our best to work in unison. We were four people either side and the front two controlled the pace, counting ‘one, two’ out loud as the rest of us followed their rhythm. It was quite funny if we had to paddle for 15 seconds or longer without a break as their voices became noticeably weaker, expressing the exhaustion the rest of us felt. One of them, an English surfer dude from Cornwall, was keen to flip the raft just for a laugh. I was keen for it to happen too. I wanted to put all that training of saving the $40 paddles into practise.

The river wasn’t too rough at this stage as we got into the swing of things. The splash of the cold water from the waves was very welcome as the heat of the sun was intense.

We came to the first set of serious rapids and did our best to keep paddling as we bobbed up and down over the waves until we made it through to the other side upright and with everyone on board. With the adrenaline flowing, we celebrated our success with our paddles in the air.

‘BOB MARLEY!’

It was then that we turned around and noticed the raft of the other group was upside down and bodies and paddles were floating in the water, scattered all over the 30 metre wide river. We stopped to help pick-up any people or paddles that came our way until everyone had regrouped again and was back in the raft. With everyone uninjured and accounted for, we set off again.

It wasn’t long before we were approaching a set of severe rapids – Class IV. This was the moment I’d been waiting for, the adventure I’d signed up for. It would be a true test of our skill and team work.

‘OK guys,’ Dario broke my introspection. ‘This next bit is too dangerous. We’re going to get out and walk.’ Oh, how deflating. It wasn’t so much that the rapids were big, because we navigated rapids just as big later on, but that there were a lot of rocks that could have caused injury were someone to have fallen out. 100 metres down the river and back in to our yellow boat and we were paddling again. ‘One, two. One, two.’

All was going well until at one point we were heading sideways and slightly backwards. The river dropped about half a metre, tipping the raft 45 degrees. The people seated on the side of the raft sticking up were flipped out and they took a few of those sitting on the lower side out with them. I somehow managed to stay in due to my foot being wedged in the raft. Thankfully the raft didn’t capsize as I may have been trapped underneath it. The training kicked in and it was action all stations. The few that were still in the boat set about pulling the others back in. I got to fulfill my wish of saving a $40 paddle. Dario was well pleased with how efficiently we mobilized and regrouped again.

At the half way mark, we stopped at a small tributary for a break. We cooled off by resting in the calm water, whilst some of us took it in turns to jump off a wall in to the deep water two metres below.

Things weren’t so calm when we were back in the boat, however. We came across an area of the river where the current was fast and the water was very choppy and violent. We had a few attempts at ‘surfing’ on a reversal – where the current swings upward and revolves back on itself – in this instance, due to a large rock obstructing the current. We made a contingency plan before hand to swim for shore if the boat flipped but we managed to hold it together whilst spinning in the whirlpool-esque backflow before being spat out downstream again.

Before we knew it, we had reached our destination. The hour and a half had flown by. Everyone wished we could have kept going but Dario explained the river ahead was too dangerous. We got changed, packed up the equipment and piled back in to the van where we were driven to the nearby town of Rio Negro for our included lunch. Everyone was still on a high as we sat down and recounted our experiences on the water. Everyone was in agreement that it had been an exhilarating adventure. The only question that remained was what adventure would we do the next day.

Welcome Back (continued).

spacemanafrica — Mon, 13 May 2013 22:18:00 GMT

Well, it would appear I was a bit premature in thinking the drama of my road trip from Buenos Aires to Cochabamba was over and that the last leg from Sucre would be all smooth sailing. How I was wrong. Not to worry. I've been premature before and everything turned out alright (when I was born. Not what you were thinking).

So after a nice casual day in Sucre, come the evening, it was time to get my things and go to the bus terminal. In the morning, there had been no talk of possible blockades obstructing the highway, hence I thought my road trip would be hassle free from then on, but when I arrived in the evening rumours were abound that there would be no departures due to more road blocks.

After waiting around for an hour for my bus to depart, the decision was made that we would get going. We were only a few minutes out of town when we joined the back of the queue of trucks and buses stopped because of the road block. There was talk that the blockade would be lifted later in the night so we stayed put for the time being. I went for a walk up to the road block itself to have a look. I’ve had to delay my travel plans many times due to blockades but I’d never been on the front line before. It was pretty tame, 8:30pm by this stage, with maybe a couple of dozen guys standing around and one guy holding court giving a speech. There were lots of banners displaying the striking miner’s demands, a camp fire and mounds of sand and rock, up to a metre high, blocking the entire width of the road. Nope. No vehicles were going to get through there. I went back to the bus and went to sleep.

A few hours later, in the middle of the night, I woke to the sound of the bus starting up. We were off again but I was unsure if we were returning to the terminal in Sucre or if we were going to try an alternative route. I thought if we returned to Sucre we would have to get off the bus and I was still in a daze and wanted to keep sleeping so I was hoping the driver had come up with an idea to go around the blockade. That was until the bus came to a stop and I looked outside. We were on a dirt road about to start a steep descent down a narrow track with a nice big drop on one side. We had stopped because the bus we were following was attempting a tricky 180° turn around a switchback and our driver wanted to see if the bus ahead could do it.

Everyone knew the drill. This situation isn’t foreign to Bolivians. They all knew to get off the bus whilst the driver performed the tricky manoeuvre. This prompted an exodus of passengers off my bus as well. There are two reasons for getting off the bus. One is to help direct the driver and the other is if the bus falls of the edge of the road and down the cliff then … well, then you’re not dead, are you? When I was living in Bolivia last year there was an incident like this where a bus was passing by a wet and difficult stretch in the road. All the passengers got off and someone captured the bus on camera as it attempted to cross the pass and ultimately fell off the edge of the cliff, killing the driver. The video was posted on youtube and it was replaying in my mind as I quickly followed the queue of the other passengers to get off the bus.

See video here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0WkdiGiwvso

As I got towards the front of the bus the driver closed the door blocking me and a few other passengers from getting off. To me this meant he was about to move off and attempt the tricky and dangerous turn. Although I didn’t show it or voice it, I was panicking. I didn’t want to take no shortcut to heaven and go for a free ride off the side of a cliff. What the fuck? Why wasn’t the driver letting the rest of us get off? Was it that he didn’t want to die alone? How the fuck did I end up here, went through my mind. I was the only foreigner on either bus, and only two weeks earlier, I was in Australia where people were throwing parties in my honour. Now I was in the mountains of Bolivia, in the pitch black of night, with my life in the hands of a Bolivian bus driver. Bolivian bus drivers have a reputation for being wild and a few years ago went on strike when the Bolivian government introduced zero tolerance regarding bus drivers and drink driving. Naturally they striked by blocking major roadways.

The bus was still stationary at this point. I thought it was time to speak up and I said, ‘Let’s get off.’ A guy next to me gave some explanation as to why we weren’t, but I didn’t understand it. Seconds passed and even more seconds passed. Then other passengers started to say, ‘Let’s get off’. I liked what I was hearing. And then the door of the bus opened and we were given pardon, so to speak. .

The night was totally dark except for the headlights of the buses and torches of passengers. I looked down the edge of the drop down to where the leading bus now was. It had managed to get around the first switchback but was now stationary at the next one unable to go forward or back. I thought perhaps it was better that it was so dark. It may have been even scarier had we been able to see the full extent of the drop in the light of day. It was really cold and I was wondering how this whole saga was going to end. Then the bus driver walked past and said to me, ‘No, it’s too dangerous. We’re going back.’

Well, that was some news. I didn’t know if it was good news or not but I didn’t want to be stuck out in the cold all night whilst the bus tried some off-road driving. Now all that had to happen was somehow reverse the bus back up the hill. Long story short, with the help of people guiding him, the driver was able to back up about 150 metres along the narrow track before there was room to turn the bus around. During this time, I could see that there was still a guy on the bus asleep, oblivious to all that was going on. We went back to the terminal in Sucre and spent the night on the bus. Well, that was quite an adventure. I went to sleep wondering what tomorrow would bring.

About 5am, a few us of woke and were keen to get this show on the road again. We woke the driver but he wasn’t keen on going anywhere until he knew the road was clear. Some of us chipped in for a taxi and a woman volunteered to go and check the status of the roadblock. She returned to tell us it was still in full swing and didn’t look like lifting anytime soon. We then went to the bus company office in the terminal to demand some action. The poor young woman at the counter wasn’t even aware that the previous night’s departure to Cochabamba was still in Sucre. She was sure aware of it when about a dozen disgruntled guys dropped in on her. She handled it very well and in the end, the decision was made that we would carry out a transbordo – catch a bus to the roadblock, walk carrying all our things past the blockade and catch a bus waiting on the other side and continue the trip from there. It’s a ten hour trip to Cochabamba. I thought it would take ages before a bus would arrive to pick us up on the other side. But as luck would have it, there was already one there.

This time up on the front line it wasn’t as calm and peaceful as the night before. There were heated arguments going on between the strikers and truck drivers. As I climbed with all my bags, suitcase and guitar, over the sand mounds that were blocking the road, I could see a crowd encouraging the lead truck in the queue to drive over the sand and brake down the barrier. It appeared the truck drivers had had enough of the delay and were going to do something about it. I wanted to stay and watch some more but I didn’t want to miss out on getting the bus on the other side. I also thought beforehand that the strikers might try to prevent people from doing the transbordo thing, but in this instance, there was so much commotion and action going on that they were preoccupied.

We crossed over to the other side and just kept walking, downhill thankfully. I didn’t know exactly where we were going or for how long we’d have to walk. We walked for a good ten minutes before we got to the end of trucks queued up and then a few hundred metres in the distance we saw another bus from our company. That’s our ride out of here we thought but when we spoke to the driver, he knew nothing about any transbordo arrangement. We waited by the side of the road whilst something was sorted out. Meanwhile, other people with all their belongings were walking past but going in the other direction, doing the vehicle swap as well.

Forever on the lookout to make some extra cash, there were mobile food carts selling snacks and drinks. Others had wheel barrows offering porter services whilst motorbikes taxied those people that weren’t able to do the long walk. Finally, the young woman from the bus company arrived and sorted everything out. But it was still fuckin’ ages before we got going. We left maybe an hour and half after we first reached the bus. Then when we took off, the driver kept stopping for other people on the road who wanted a ride to Cochabamba. Our bus became full with a lot of people sitting in the aisle. As you can imagine, a lot of us were keen to put Sucre behind us and the stop/start was pissing some people off who were not afraid to voice it. ‘Let’s go, Let’s go.’ The driver told them to shut up or get off and that we’d just have to wait.

Finally, at about 9:15am we were away proper - over 13 hours after the scheduled departure time. All that was left was to sit back and get comfortable for the ten hour journey ahead. It was a pretty decent trip as far as bus trips go. This was just a regular coach, not one of the super comfortable ones I described travelling from Buenos Aires to Bolivia. But it meant the windows could open to give us some fresh air in the crowded and warm conditions. It was another clear, warm, sunny day and the scenery was fuckin’ amazing – large mountains as far as the eye could see. After all, we were in the Andes. The only other time I’d been through this way was at night so the sights were new to me. Even some of the Bolivians were looking out the window like tourists in awe of the mountains. There was a lot of vegetation as well which added to the spectacle unlike the bare mountains I was accustomed to between Puno and Cusco. I would love to go through that way during the rainy season when it would be really green.

We stopped for lunch which helped to break up the trip a bit but the last few hours really dragged on. It didn’t help that the driver had loud annoying cumbia music pumping through the stereo. I almost went deaf from listening to my mp3 player at full volume to block out the bus music.

With what I thought was still an hour remaining of the trip, I saw out the window in the distance Cochabamba’s large 33 metre high Christ statue that sits on a hill overlooking the city. Woohoo. We’d arrived. Well, almost. We got as far as the outskirts of town when the bus broke down - right outside the cemetery, of all places. I shit you not. I couldn’t fuckin’ stop laughing. The driver told us to all get off; this was as far as he was taking us. It worked out to be a blessing as it was a lot easier and chilled getting off, and collecting our luggage on the side of the road where we were, than the hustle and bustle of the bus terminal.

Finally the ride was over. I quickly caught a taxi to my hotel and washed myself up before meeting up with some friends.

Wow. Now there’s 24 hours you don’t experience every day.

Welcome Back.

spacemanafrica — Thu, 9 May 2013 23:42:00 GMT

So after an awesome two month holiday in Australia, I headed back to South America. My trip back was perfect; everything went well. I caught my bus in Canberra on time; got to Sydney airport no problem; checked-in with plenty of time and had a smooth and safe flight to Buenos Aires; I managed to negotiate my way in to the city and check-in to my hotel. All good.

But after that I had a bit of a shocker. An expensive one too. My first night I had an upmarket hotel but the next day I moved to a cheaper one in my old neighbourhood in Buenos Aires that I had booked online. But when I showed up, there was no sign of life - no hotel. Plus it was a holiday and getting around town trying to organize another place to stay with all my luggage and in the rain pissed my off. So I took off to Rosario, five hours north of BA, but after a night there I realized Buenos Aires would be the best place to celebrate my birthday (Friday 3rd). So $160 later in bus fares and hotel I went back to BA.

So for my birthday I travelled four hours back to Buenos Aires. But there was a bus strike so I took a minivan which cost double the normal price $60,normally $30, which I didn't know about until too late and it rained all the way, all day actually. On the highway we saw the end result of six serious accidents on the road within ten minutes of each other. Needless to say I fastened my seatbelt.

In the evening I had a great night out at one of my favorite rock bars in Buenos Aires, The Roxy, and saw a really good rock show from these guys; Madison.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3depndYxF9s

So after a glorious sunny weekend, come Monday I was all set to travel to Bolivia, except there was a bus strike – no long distance travel available. Normally I’d expect this sort of problem in Bolivia but now I faced the prospect of staying longer than expected. However, I’d been told by a bus company that travels to Bolivia, that it was still possible to catch a bus from the bus terminal on the outskirts of town but when I got there early Monday morning there was no sign of life and the strike looked to be in full swing there as well. So I checked in to a hotel across the street, ready to wait out the strike. Half hour after checking in I went for a walk and found a bus company situated outside of the terminal that had a bus going to the Bolivian border later that morning. Awesome. So I checked out of the hotel and was on a bus to Bolivia despite the bus strike.

As far as 25 hour bus trips go, this was a good ride. The buses in this part of the world are very comfortable with huge big seats like in first class on a plane that recline back more than 45 degrees and food served on board and included in the price and regular stops. I managed to sleep well which Is rare for me, and we made good time. I was the only non-Bolivian on board and at each of the check points along the motorway the officers were surprised to see me and were very curious to know where I was from and where I was going. They all also took an interest in my guitar which was still wrapped up in plastic and bubble wrap from my flight over. They wanted me to open it to see what was inside but I wrapped it so good that it couldn’t be opened with bare hands and I didn’t have a knife so each time they decided to do nothing about it.

Even though you’re sitting on your arse the whole time, a long bus journey is very tiring and when we reached the border I was very keen to get off the bus and take in some fresh air and stretch the legs. I had been at this very border crossing at Villazon between Argentina and Bolivia only three months earlier and it had been a nightmare. Three hour queues to get through immigration and in my case even longer because I didn’t have the correct paper work to enter Argentina. Plus I had to lug a backpack, large suitcase, guitar and my man-bag around; it wasn’t a travel moment that my friends back home would have been jealous about.

This time however I was pleasantly surprised to see that there was very little human traffic going through the border and I was processed and through immigration quite quickly. Once in Bolivia I learnt why there were very few people crossing the border. The miners were striking all across the country and had created road blocks. Welcome to Bolivia. The country of road blocks and fireworks. Whenever anyone goes on strike in Bolivia they create road blocks. I’ve lost count the number of times I’ve had to stay somewhere longer than planned due to road blocks. So hardly anyone was reaching the border because of strikes on both sides.

Another characteristic of Bolivia was in full swing, and that was the weather. Being winter in this part of the world means the dry season and the days are just gorgeous clear sunny days. It gets cold at night but I can handle that. I much prefer winter here than summer, as summer is the rainy season and it is just cold and wet most days. But today was beautiful.

After the long trip I was keen to relax a little, take in the fresh air and sunny weather, check some emails and get something to eat. But no time for that as there were minivans leaving then and there for Potosi, (a town a few hours north) via old dirt tracks bypassing the blockades on the motorway. Although I wasn’t quite ready for another road trip I didn’t want to get stuck in Villazon, for God knows how long, and felt I should take the opportunity to move on whilst it was there.

So there were eight of us in this minivan including the driver and I was lucky to have the front passenger seat. The van was all decked out in colourful trinkets and even pimped out with a DVD player. The driver put on some national Bolivian music accompanied with the music videos on the TV monitor. I chose to listen to me mp3 player as Bolivian music is like the Swedish band Aqua but with even more annoying and winy vocals.

So we drove along some rough and bumpy dirt roads that passed through the countryside. Twice we were stopped by ingenious farmers who had set up road blocks and charged us to get past. There was also a very hairy part where we drove along the side of a mountain with a very steep drop off the side and barely enough car space along the track. The drop was on my side of the van and being a van I was seated high up and able to look down the mountain edge far too easily for my liking. But after about two and a half hours we rejoined the motorway having bypassed the blockade. Nice one. Only another four hours to go. By the time we reached Potosi I was sooooo tired and my legs were hurting from being cooped up for so long and I wanted a bed. It was 11pm when we arrived and the rest of the passengers were keen to find transport to Cochabamba, which was where I was heading too, but I left them to it. The driver dropped me off and I went across the street to a hotel.

‘Single room for the night please.’

‘Sure, that’ll be $7’

Oh, yeah. It was good to be back and take advantage of that other great Bolivian characteristic – cheap prices. After effectively 32 hours on the road, I slept like a motherfucker.

The next day it was no surprise to find out there were blockades between Potosi and Cochabamba as well. However, if I got a bus to Sucre three hours up the road, there was a better possibility of getting transport to Cochabamba from there. But today I was in no rush. In the week since I’d arrived to South America I’d spent quite a bit of time on buses travelling so I was keen to have a rest day and travel the next day. I’d only spent a grand total of three hours in Potosi before, it was another beautiful sunny day so I was keen to stay and see more of the city. For those trivia buffs, in the 16th century Potosi was the largest and wealthiest city in the world. Bigger than Paris, London and Seville with a population of 160,000 due to the mining of silver. It's also one of the highest cities in the world at 4,090 metres (13,420 ft). To think that when I went skydiving over Sydney once, we jumped at 12,000 feet. Gives you some perspective.

I had a nice day walking around the city but come late afternoon it was all action station again as word on the street was that there were going to be blockades the next day between Potosi and Sucre. So at 7pm I was off again in another minivan. The trip went smoothly and we arrived around 10pm. The bus terminal was all closed up so I’d have to enquire about buses to Cochabamba tomorrow. I asked at the hotel across the street about a room for the night. I was in luck they had a vacancy but it was going to set me back $4. Geez, where do they get off charging so much? Ha ha, I was sure my budget could manage that. The next day I was at the terminal bright and early and, success, there were buses to Cochabamba. I bought a ticket for an overnight bus and chilled out in Sucre for the day. Actually, that's where I'm at now. I'm in the middle of enjoying that day. There's a great ice cream place here that I'm off to now. Fingers crossed for a smooth trip to Cochabamba tonight.

cheers

Space

One year on.

spacemanafrica — Thu, 14 Jun 2012 04:34:00 GMT

So it's now one year since I left Australia and once again my travel plans have been delayed due to bad weather. Just as my flight was delayed 12 months ago from LA to Costa Rica, I'm now confined to Santiago, Chile, as the road to Argentina through the Andes mountains is closed.

I've been in Chile for the last two weeks and have been pleasantly surprised. It's my first time here and I actually just came here to pass from Perú to Argentina but I've enjoyed many of the sights along the way. I went swimming in the sea in Iquique; went to an observatory in Vacuña (outside of La Serena) and saw the stars and moon which was very impressive. No one asked me my name whilst I was there. It would have been interesting to see the reaction; I stumbled upon a student protest in Valparaiso complete with riot police and an armoured police truck firing at the students with a water canon. I was somewhat a bit concerned to begin with when I noticed everyone was running past me in the opposite direction, but I had no problem. I'd never seen anything like it before. Not even the six months I lived in Belfast; I stayed with a heavy-metal bass player in Santiago that I met through couchsurfing; I saw people go crazy in the streets after Chile won in the football against Venezuela; went karaoke singing and did Wonderwall justice but crashed and burned with Calafornia Dreaming.

I rode the metro here in Santiago during peak hour which is an adventure. The carriages were crammed and at each station more people try to get on the train. Finally at my stop, I attempted to get off but a stampede of people, also getting off, pushed me in the opposite direction and further back into the carriage. With that finished, I then expected I'd be able to get off but I was immediately met by a stampede of people trying to get on, and once again, I was pushed back inside the train. The bell for the doors closing sounded but I wasn't giving up. I squeezed my way through and managed to get outside of the train but the squeezing wasn't over. The people waiting for the train on the platform were six or seven deep. And then finally I was spat out the other side and went upstairs for another go at it. Thankfully the other train was on a less busier line and less crowded. It was never that bad in London.

So, anyway, now I'm just hanging out waiting for the weather to clear which is believed to be in two days time and then I can cross the border in to Argentina and on to Buenos Aires. There's a lot of rain here which doesn't look like letting up, but fingers crossed.

18.06.2012

Well, I arrived in Buenos AIres today and plan to stay here for the next few months and immerse myself in the BA way of life. After two days stuck in Santiago, the road opened to Argentina and it was a beuatuful ride through the snow covered Andes to Mendoza. Mendoza is also bueatiful with tree-lined streets and laid back vibe.

So, here we go. Buenos Aires ... let's roll!

No penguins at Machu Picchu.

spacemanafrica — Sat, 26 May 2012 02:40:00 GMT

So, I left Bolivia last month after seven months there. I finshed my volunteer work in Cochabamba which was a shame. I would have stayed longer if possible but my visa finishing was a problem. The last two months there really took off for me and I was really enjoying myself.

I said my farewells to my friends and students at Manuela Gandarillas (the centre for the blind), goodbye to the staff at Projects Abroad. I had some farewell drinks at a rock bar with my Bolivian friends and had a special lunch with my host family.

After seven months, my family and I had been through a lot together. In February, not only did we have carnival but we had six birthdays and a death in the family. I taught them different Austraian slang including what an Australian kiss is referring to. There favorite though was 'cool bananas' and so I ordered some tshirts from the States that had a monkey on it with a banana and the words 'cool bananas' across the front but the shirts never showed up. That's Bolivia post for you - a real lottery.

I collected quite abit of stuff over the months and decided to leave my guitar behind with my family. Mainly because I couldn't carry it as well as my two bags, and partly as an excuse to go back to Cochabamba one day.

I also said goodbye to Gina, my dentist, of the last few months. I originally went to get a tooth reconstruction but because the price was so cheap I got everything sorted out. Gina and I became good friends and for once in my life I enjoyed going to the dentist, The main reason being that Gina had her laptop hooked up to a screen and so I was able to watch DVD's whilst she was working on my teeth. It was very difficult not to laugh during 'Meet the Fokkerrs' but mainly I watched music dvds, live concerts. It was just like being at the cinema except you couldn't eat popcorn. I think I went about 12 times in three months. That 's after going to the dentist only three times in the 17 years previous to being in Bolivia.

I spent a weekend in Santa Cruz and went to a cool eco farm and saw some cool birds and butterflies and saw two turtles having sex.

I went to La Paz which is a pretty cool city. I booked a bicycle tour for the Death Road, maybe you've heard of it. I didn't end up going because of a dodgy stomach from some nachos I¡d eaten. So that was $60 lost.

I managed to cross the border from Boliva to Peru without much trouble. I had overstayed my visa by ten days but the penalty is a fine of Bs20 for every day over so I paid a fine of Bs200 (about $28 at the time).

I was pretty happy with how the border crossing went. I did try to get out of the fine. The date stamped in my passport said 10 Jan but it wasn't clear so I tried to pass it off as 19 Jan and therefore I would have been within 90 days. The immigration officer wasn't really buying it but couldn't prove it . That is until he went searching through my passport and saw an exit sramp from Brasil quite clearly saying the 10th. So I had to stop the facade and accept the fine.

So once in Peru, I chilled out a bit, visiting friends in Puno and Cusco before going to Lima to meet up with my good friend Julia from Germany. Julia joined me for a month and we travelled around Peru together checking out all the well known tourist spots. We hit a bit of a hurdle the first day when Julia was robbed and lost her passport, wallet and i-phone.

However, things worked in our favour after that. It turned out the German embassy was just two blocks away from our hostel. Also, we had good luck at the Police station. We were told the application for a police report would take all day but we didn't have all day, we needed to get to the Embassy before it closed for the day at lunch time. One of the officer's overheard our story and for a small fee he did our application then and there. The form required four different people to sign it but this guy did all four sgnatures, each one different. So Julia was able to get a temporary passport and we then headed south. We checked the wildlife on the pretty Islas Ballestas, the famous lines at Nasca and the Colca Canyon outside of Arequipa.

I had a good day for my birthday on the 3rd May in a small town on the coast and we went on a boat tour to some of the nearby islands and saw some penguins, Woohoo. A shit load of birds and sealions. It was pretty awesome. The sea was quite choppy around the small islands and my guts felt a bit crook from it but I managaed to survive without throwing up.

The next morning was pretty cool. I went on a sand buggy tour in the desert. It was a bit like a roller coaster driving up the large dunes and then going down the steep decline on the other side. It was a bit scary sometimes but alot of fun. The suspense was when going up the sand dune and not knowing what was on the other side until you got there. Maybe it was a steep drop or maybe just a plateu so you always held your breath when you got to the top. I was sitting at the front as well which made it more exciting.

Also we did some sandboarding down the dunes. We lay on the boards and slid down the dunes for 50 metres or more. The first one had a bump at the bottom and I bumped my nose on the board pretty fcken hard and had a bleeding nose for a short while. But the boarding was good fun , too.

After two weeks travelling round, we arrived in Cusco in readiness for our five day Machu Picchu trek. Julia became ill and didn't end up doing it, instead joining the tour on the last night before our visit to the Inca City the next day. The trek was amazing and we treked around Salkantay Mountain, over 6000 metres high, and then down in to the jungle. We experienced freezing conditions, snow, rain, and the searing heat. I normally wouldn't have chosen to do a trek , it was Julia's idea, but I was really grateful for having done it. The scenary was amazing.

So we woke at 3:45am and went to Machu Picchu, my second time. This time round there was a lot of fog in the morning which made the site very eerie and mystic. It was amazing. The fog later lifted and we had a very fine day. I was lucky to have a ticket to climb Wayna Picchu, the mountain behind the ruins with a great view over the valley. Unlike my first visit, we had a late train back to Cusco so we were able to stay the whole day at the site. It was very relaxing in the afternoon just chilling out with the resident llamas as most of the tourists leave around lunch time. I was hoping to see some penguins again but no luck, just the llamas.

So Julia has returned home and I'm in Cusco for a few more days before travelling via Chile to Buenos Aires in Argentina where I plan to immerse myself in the culture there for three months. Can't wait to see what becomes of it.

So I've added some more photos from the last few months for you to check out too. I hope you've enjoyed this short update of what I've been up to lately. Not everyone enjoys reading about what I get upto, as my old neighbour from the London days let me know in no uncertain terms.

cheers

ciao for now.

Space

"With all the misery I am seeing affecting animals Europe wide...& all the hell that innocent people & animals have to endure daily worldwide...my only response to your moronic ("like what intelligent human being would care about your self-absorbed ravings"), crass e-mails is : GROW-UP YOU FUCKING IDIOT!!!!!!!!! Like who gives a damn about what an obviously feckless piece of shit like you is doing?????????"

Part 3: Carnaval wrap-up.

spacemanafrica — Sat, 24 Mar 2012 07:48:00 GMT

A good time to visit a place is during the national or town celebrations as you get an insight in to the culture of the place and experience something you wouldn’t normally get to experience. For example, witnessing fifty grown men, from the army no less, dressed as babies from the film Shrek, complete with green body paint and nappies, parading down the street is certainly not something I experience on a regular basis. This was just one of many in a long line of eye-opening sights carnaval had to offer in February.

Festivities kicked off on Thursday 9 with Compadres, a day of celebration for the men. Compadre is the term used to describe the relationship between the parents and godparents of a child but on this day it includes all male friends. The revelry consists of lots of eating, drinking, socialising and dancing.

My host family had a party at their house and up to twenty guys came round for the occasion. The party is an annual event and very popular. One compadre flew in from La Paz especially just to be there and celebrated till the wee hours of the morning before heading straight back to the airport and flying to La Paz for an important business meeting.

The female equivalent is comadres, which was celebrated a week later on the 16th. The women really let their hair down and celebrations get very messy which prompts some men to stay indoors and keep well away from the ‘animated’ women, whilst other men like to mingle and make the most of the women having a good time.

Saturday 18, the place to be was at the Carnaval de Oruro. The celebrations in Oruro are the most popular in all of Bolivia and showcase the cultural traditions of Bolivia’s Andean history thus earning the event the title of 'Masterpiece of Oral and Intangible Heritage of Humanity' by UNESCO in 2001. The carnaval is one big parade from 8am till well after midnight with the participants dancing through the streets of town with very elaborate costumes. The favourites of the parade are the Osos (bears), and the Diablos (devils) who sometimes shot fire out from the top of their masks.

My favourite group though was at the Corso de Infantales the next day in Cochabamba. The participants of this parade are children and by far the coolest thing I saw was a group of six or seven kids on the back of a truck dressed as KISS and miming along to songs of the band and playing toy instruments. It was a welcome change from the half a dozen groups that dressed as ‘The Smurfs’.

When I wasn’t watching the parade I was watching the action away from the street. A war was waging with water pistols, water balloons and cans of foam. Like a lot of ugly wars, the main combatants were child soldiers.

I was no stranger to mixing it in the trenches with the children. The Friday before, the school where I work held a water fight that included everyone from the youngest student, through to the part-time teachers, up to the principal. Everyone knew in advance, except for me, and knew to bring a spare pair of clothes. Thankfully I found some clothes I could use and with everyone ready, it was on. Thankfully the sun came out at that time, too. It was a cold day and the water was an invigorating temperature as well.

Everyone was armed with a jug or bucket of some sort and no mercy was given as we ran back and forth from the taps for refills. The students were somewhat at a disadvantage as they’re blind but they were able to hear where people were from the loud shrieks of shock when they were soaked. Myself included; I didn’t know my voice could reach that high. The principal is blind as well and so naturally he was an easy and obvious target. The staff ganged up on him to deliver him a soaking equal to that of the Iguacu Falls.

After a truce had been called, the fun continued with a mini-party in each classroom of the school with food, drinks, music, singing and dancing. This was part of the ch’alla.

The ch'alla is an Aymara tradition celebrated on the third day of carnaval (Tuesday) in which families and business owners burn a small packet of mixed goods for luck and prosperity. It is a sacrifice to thank Mother Earth for what she has provided throughout the year and to ensure the coming year will be prosperous. After the sacrificial burning, people begin to drink heavily and/or share a family meal. Alcohol is also poured on the ground as a sacrifice.

Tuesday of carnaval is called Fat Tuesday as people eat up big before the sacrifices of lent begin the next day on Ash Wednesday. Something new I learnt was that the French translation for Fat Tuesday is Mardi Gras.

As well as the ch’alla’s and hearty meals, the streets continued to be a war zone. Pickup trucks with mobs of youths in the back roamed the streets soaking anyone and everyone within striking distance. Foot soldiers armed with large water cannons fought a turf war and for some reason many men wore women’s clothing - a disguise perhaps? To add to the war zone vibe, the streets echoed with the sound of fire-crackers exploding every couple of minutes.

For the celebrations at my school, I took a student shopping to buy some things for the party. In Spanish, I know the term fuegos artificiales to mean fire-crackers. So I didn’t think anything of it when the student asked me if he could buy some cuetes. I quickly went in to damage control when I saw he had bought some fire-crackers. Explosives in the hands of a fifteen year old blind boy are not a good mix. So I supervised in the lighting of them when we were back at the school.

The 22nd was miercoles de cenisa (Ash Wednesday). It was a day like any other until I went to la cancha, Cochabamba’s market place. La cancha is a crazy place anyway – it is the largest market in Bolivia, covering a fifteen block area – but on this occasion it was out of control. Four of my five senses were on full alert as there was a hive of activity everywhere I looked. I’ve never experienced anything like it. I’d liken it to day three of a weekend music festival where everyone has taken all of their remaining drugs and are running riot. The market stalls and streets were closed and, instead, there were street parties, loud music blaring from PA systems, people dancing and drinking in the streets, the usual shenanigans with water, foam and fire-crackers, and the majority of shops had ch’alla fires. I saw a hairdressing salon fully smoked out whilst a woman was inside getting her hair cut. How they were able to see what they were doing I don’t know.

Saturday 25 was Cochabamba’s turn to shine with its version of carnaval, Corso de Corsos. The main feature is that of the military forces taking part in the parade. They make fun of themselves, or of topical issues at the time, by dressing up in funny costumes. On this occasion the majority dressed as animated characters from movies, such as Shrek and Puss in Boots.

If I were to compare Bolivia’s main attraction, Carnaval de Oruro, to other parades I’ve been to, I’d say it is up there as one of the most impressive. The elaborate costumes are on a par with those you’d see in the Sydney Gay and Lesbian Mardi Gras; the dancers are as gorgeous as you’d find anywhere; the atmosphere is as exciting as that of the St Patrick’s Day parade in Dublin; whilst the floats of Corso de Corsos – giant-sized moving animated movie characters – out does anything you’d see at the Notting Hill Carnaval or at the Love Parade. However, I’d much prefer the electro beats of the Notting Hill Carnaval or Love Parade to that of marching bands belting out Andean music.

Despite the music not being totally to my taste, I would love to learn one of the dances and take part next year. Last weekend I met a Cochabambina who revealed to me that she was an oso in Carnaval de Oruro. Immediately I fell in love with her and I asked if she still had the costume. She told me she did. For some guys a nurse’s outfit gets them excited, for me it’s … perhaps I’ve said too much. Anyway, she said even though they start practising in November, it’s possible to join one of the carnaval fraternities as late as January which is the earliest I’d be able to join due to visa restrictions. Wow, I can’t wait. With a year to recover from the excesses of carnaval, and time to digest the craziness I saw, come February I’ll be ready to do it all again. In the words of KISS, from their song, ‘Psycho Circus’:

I’ve been waiting here to be your guide
So come
Reveal the secrets that you keep inside
Step up!
No one leaves ’til the night is done.
The amplifier starts to hum
The carnival has just begun.

You’re in the psy
You’re in the psycho circus
Yeah, I say welcome to the show
Welcome to the show.

Bolivia's Got Talent.

spacemanafrica — Fri, 9 Mar 2012 08:43:00 GMT

As we jumped out of the micro-bus and surveyed our surroundings, one couldn't help but think that we'd landed in the future, sometime after Armageddon. The rocky, treeless landscape with tangerine coloured bricked houses as far as the eye could see, it looked like we could have been in a settlement derived from the people who had survived the end of the world.

However, that wasn't the case. My buddy, Cristof, visiting from Germany, and I were in Villa Valle Hermos, an hour outside of Cochabamba, to judge an English singing contest at the local school. We arrived and found a three-storied building full of students, from infants through to seniors - a hive of activity rushing around everywhere.

We were welcomed by the school staff and directed to our seats where we would overview the students performances. We were kindly given some cakes and drinks to snack on. Bribes perhaps? We think not. Just gratitude at us taking some time out and taking an interest. The students appeared shy at first but it wasn't long before we were swamped by students wanting to get to know us. Cristof, tall, dark and 21 years old, was a big hit with the senior girls, whilst I, a lot older than 21, had a crowd of children clamoring around me to have their photos taken.

Our role was to judge the numerous groups of students singing a song of their choice in English. To help with the judging, we were given a form each with the groups names and areas of performance that we might like to consider when judging the group, such as their pronunciation and how entertaining their performance was. A mark for punctuality was suggested but, being Bolivia, all groups lost that mark before the contest even began. We scrolled through the list of songs. Some we welcomed; others we weren't so keen on. Songs from such acts as Lady Gaga, Roxette. No Doubt, Back Street Boys, Robbie Williams, Madonna, Celine Dion and Justin Bieber.

Unfortunately, due to technical difficulties, the groups were forced to sing without microphones which made it difficult for them. It was not clear whether we were to take the Simon Cowell approach and be brutally honest or, rather, to be supportive and encouraging. Because I suspected that I might be asked to get up and sing at some point, I took the supportive and encouraging approach. Thankfully, being asked to get up and show them how it is done never eventuated.

Many of the groups performed well - we could hear what they were singing and they moved around on stage - whilst others were visibly nervous and stood motionless wishing for the ground to swallow them up. However, we could see a lot of work had gone into the day's event with elaborate costumes and a lot of practice.

Despite being labelled a singing contest, many groups ignored this and concentrated on entertaining us with a dance show. With a strong gang culture in the school's neighbourhood, the boys were into the break dancing style which they pulled off with great humour on some occasions. Whilst the girls chose a more graceful style, choosing to do the easier two-step form side to side.

All in all it was a great experience for both the students and the judges. Hopefully they learnt something from our feedback and I know we came away feeling better for having witnessed a side of Bolivian life that we wouldn't normally get the opportunity to experience. However, I couldn't forgive the group that was responsible for putting Back Street Boys in my head for the rest of the day.

Part 2: Worth the Pain.

spacemanafrica — Sat, 3 Mar 2012 06:58:00 GMT

There’s a famous quote that goes, ‘The coldest winter I ever spent was a summer in San Francisco.’ I think the same could be said about Bolivia, as well. On the bus trip to Carnaval in Oruro, we experienced snow yet officially it is summer here. When the bus stopped for a break, I trudged through the snow; the wind was biting and my feet were cold and damp. With Oruro’s reputation for being cold, I thought the unfavourable weather was an indicator of the day ahead. But at 10am, when the bus arrived in Oruro, we were greeted to a clear sky and t-shirt weather.

For Carnaval, I went with a tour group for the day to Oruro. The main attraction is a parade of dancers making their way along a designated route through the city. The parade had already started when we arrived at the grandstands along one of the main streets. As we made our way to our seats it was somewhat like entering a colosseum. The stands were full, the noise was loud and in the middle of it all were the dancers.

The stands were nothing but simple boards with numbers painted on them to indicate seats. My seat was a few rows back from the front, high above, with a good view of the proceedings below. It was a cosy fit. I had someone sitting in between my legs and had someone else’s knees sticking in to my back, as well as being squashed either side by two people I’d never met before. Seat 56 was to be my home for the next 12 hours. Welcome to Carnaval.

There were a lot of people in the stands all in good spirits. Apart from watching the parade, the main activity was spraying a shaving cream type foam on anyone and everyone. Vendors selling this foam, as well as those selling plastic ponchos for protection, made a roaring trade.

The dancers came past, one group after the other, in super elaborate costumes with marching bands periodically following behind providing the music. The women looked particularly beautiful and despite the city’s reputation for cold weather there was a lot of naked flesh on show. The women danced with great pride in their appearance in a manner that demanded attention.

The Carnaval tells the story of how the Spanish conquered the Andean population. Dancers wear costumes representing the different major players involved, such as the Spanish conquerors, catholic priests, slaves, Incas and more. But I didn’t know any of that and after three hours, the parade was a bit monotonous so I decided to go exploring.

In the neighbouring streets around the parade were stalls selling food, souvenirs and the normal malarkey you’d find at a market. I took this opportunity to get a haircut. At 15Bs, how could I not? It costs ten times that back on my planet. Surprisingly, I wasn’t alone. There were quite a few people in the barber shop and I had to wait awhile before it was my turn. Not that I missed much of the parade as it was being shown live on TV in the barber’s.

Back on the streets and it was warfare and the weapons of choice were water pistols and cans of foam. Teenage girls had it the worst as groups of boys singled them out and simply just pounded them, often spraying them in the face from less than a metre away. I managed to get away relatively dry until some teenage lads singled me out and sprayed me in the face. I took it in the good humour in which it was designed until later I realised they had stolen my camera. Now I wait anxiously to see if my embarrassing nude photos appear in the tabloids or on the internet. hahha nah, just kidding. On my way back to the stands I struck gold; I found a clean toilet inside of a café. The chemical toilets in the streets were nasty.

As it started to get dark, the parade came alive. The streets were lit up and so too were the costumes. The already colourful costumes now had shiny lights, mirrors and jewels to add to the spectacle. The most exciting groups were the Diablos (devils), who wore scary looking devil costumes in the belief that they would scare away evil spirits. The women looked stunning and had gone to a lot of trouble to look gorgeous only to wear an ugly devil’s mask.

Some of the Diablos were able to shoot fire out from the top of their masks much to the thrill of the crowd chanting, ‘fuego, fuego’ (fire). My favourite, though, were the bears - similar to Teletubbies, and lit up like Christmas trees. I should point out they were people dressed as bears not the real thing. I joined in on the chant, ‘awesome, awesome’, as they waddled through the streets. It was only a few days later that I realised the Spanish word for bear is oso, and that, perhaps, that was what the crowd were chanting.

In between groups of dancers, there were fireworks displays or people invaded the street with instruments for impromptu parties. Earlier in the day the police had been quite strict about keeping people off the street but in the evening there weren’t any police and the drunken crowd moved freely around the dancers, joining in or taking photos. In the stands, we were doing a dance of our own – standing to stretch our legs and to relieve our sore bums, then sitting again when we grew tired of standing.

At 11pm our group called it a night and boarded the bus back to Cochabamba having truly enjoyed Carnaval – Oruro style. And to make the experience truly Bolivian we were held up for four hours on the way back to Cochabamba by a road block. But as they say here, ´vale la pena’(worth the pain). Despite the snow, the monotony at times, the stolen camera and the sore butt it was definitely worth the pain.

Part 1: Let the games begin.

spacemanafrica — Sat, 3 Mar 2012 03:41:00 GMT

February 12 2012

It's Carnaval time and from what I’ve seen on TV, during carnaval I’m going to be surrounded by about 1000 of my closest friends; everyone will be having a great time dancing in the streets; I’ll have beautiful women hanging off me and I’ll have a great time amongst all the colour and excitement. However, I was watching a beer commercial so perhaps the reality will be somewhat different.

From a young age I was aware of the famous carnaval in Rio de Janeiro. As I grew older, I learnt that many other cities and towns in Brazil celebrate carnival. But it was only when I arrived in South America for the first time six months ago, that I discovered that carnaval is celebrated in many countries throughout the continent. Up until recently, I wasn’t even aware it was a catholic celebration. I thought it was a big party just for the sake of it. Call me ignorant but I bet you don’t know anything about my aunt’s cake drive every year at her local school fair.

The main themes I’ve been hearing, when the topic of carnaval comes up in conversation, is of traditional parades, dancers with elaborate costumes, folkloric music and water fights. I have visions of kids, and kids at heart, armed with water pistols and water filled balloons claiming the streets in a ‘take no prisoners’ warfare, much like the tomato fight of La Tomatina in Buñol, Spain, but with water.

I’ve been told there’s a difference in the carnaval parades between cities with cooler climates to those in warmer climes. The most notable difference being the amount of flesh the dancers will have exposed. A common theme, no matter what the location, seems to be a lot of eating and drinking and a laxed attitude towards mischief in public. It´s as if everyone is making the most of this freedom before the sacrifices of Lent arrive on Ash Wednesday.

For the best carnaval celebration in Bolivia, I’m told Oruro is the place to be. So there I shall go. I’m expecting to experience a lot of things but whatever the reality is, I know one thing for certain: there will be no half measures. The dancing, the eating, the drinking, the mischief … will be bigger, brighter, louder and more over the top than ever.

Por favor.

spacemanafrica — Sun, 22 Jan 2012 05:31:00 GMT

From Buenos Aires, I took a relaxing three hour ferry to Colonia in Uruguay. From there it was a four hour bus journey to the capital, Montevideo. The countryside on the way to Montevideo was flat, green and with lots of palm trees. That combined with the archetecture in Montevideo being old, I felt like I was in the carribean in the 70's.

I had a cool hotel in the city centre with a great breakfast. Not just bread and coffee but fruit, cake and cereal - much appreciated. I met up with Alberto and he showed me around his town. He joined me on a guided tour of the city even though he knew more than the guide. And I was fortunate to meet his family who were very warm and welcoming.

I took a day trip by myself to Punte del Este, a wealthy beach town two hours north of Montevideo. It was a fine sunny day and I enjoyed a swim in the Atlantic ocean. Punte del Este aslo has a port which was full of large yachts and two large cruise ships. I could only afford to buy lunch from the supermarket in this exclusive beach town.

December 23rd, I went further north along the coast to a small fishing village called Punte del Diablo. This quiet town attracts many backpackers, hippies and those seeking the bohemian lifestyle. The houses, shops and hotels are painted different colours and as I trudged the streets in the rain looking for a hotel I felt like I was in Ireland. I found a small quiet place overlooking the beach and settled into relaxsville.

Christmas Eve was a sunny day and I spent the day wandering the area and meditating by the sea. I've already written about my Christmas day in a previous entry (U R Gay), where I had to take a taxi to chase my bus so I could get back to Montevideo to catch a flight that afternoon. Well, I made it to the airport but because I didn't have a visa for Brasil, I had to move my flight back two days. My friend Alberto very kindly let me stay with him and his family.

Meanwhile, I went to the Brasilan embassy and usually it takes two working days but I was lucky to get a visa within one business day. Glad everything worked out and I didn't have to change my flight again and put my hosts out even more.

The funny thing here is so many people carry around a flask and mug to drink herbal tea. They're addicted to the shit. One thing I love about the people of Montevideo, though, is that instead of saying 'de nada' for 'you're welcome'. They say 'por favor' - 'please'. And so now I say it all the time.

'Thanks for your help'

'Oh, please'

So second time lucky I caught my flight from Montevideo to Brasil. Where exactly? I was on my way to the Iguazu Falls on the border of Brasil and Argentina. My time there had been cut by two days but I'd still have time to visit the natural wonder.

Argentina

spacemanafrica — Sun, 22 Jan 2012 00:36:00 GMT

So getting back to my trip in Argentina, I left the rain of Salta and caught the overnight bus to the sunshine of Córdoba - in a first-class suite, no less. Not that I've ever flown in first calss, but from what I've seen, this experience was just like first calss in a plane. Each seat had it's own tv screen to watch movies or listen to music, a guy came round and served food and drinks, and the seat could recline back to almost horizontal. It was a great change from the countless loung haul journey's I've had, cramped, unable to sleep and bored shitless. I was enjoying the experience so much that I was tempted to stay up through the night waching movies but then I reminded myself that it's not every bus trip that I have the opportunity to get a good night's sleep so, after watching Angels and Demons, I called it a night.

My first impressions of Córdoba, as the taxi drove me through the city centre to the hostel, was, Oh my God, I'm in New York. The six lane streets filled with yellow cabs and lined with high-rise buildings reminded me of when I was in Manhatten.

Córdoba has a large pedestrian zone in the centre with lots of shops and cafés which was cool for a day or two, and has some interesting buildings and large parks to relax in, but in general, I was pretty disappointed with Córdoba. I had really been looking forward to visiting the city but I found it rather boring. I think it's one of those places that is better to live there than to visit. I had planned five days for my visit but left after three. I will say this, though, about Córdoba. It's cerainly not lacking in attractive women. I went out to a club and around 90% of the women were hot, fit women wearing skimpy outfits. ¡Ay caramba!

With two extra days to play with I decided to go to Rosario in between Córdoba and Buenos Aires and break up the nine hour trip. It hadn't been my original plan to stop in Rosario but I'm glad I did. After the disappointment of Còrdoba, I really enjoyed Rosario. To me, Rosario had some character, an intriguing vibe about it that spiked my curiosity. It was a buzz of activity and cool little nighbourhoods and small pockets of intersting shops and cafès. Rosario has a river for some outdoor activities, some beautiful parks and tree lined streets.

My city comparison continued and the European styled architecture at times made me think I was in France or sometimes reminded me of Havana, Cuba. The high quality of attractive women continued, as well. I could certainly live in Rosario and may even do so after my time is up in Bolivia. Which is pretty cool considering I had no intention of visiting Rosario when I first planned my itinerary.

Next stop, Buenos Aires was awesome. Part NYC, DC, Paris and Sydney, I got a good overview of the city with a hop-on, hop-off bus tour. There was a lot of rain but it held off long enough to check out La Boca neighbourhood with all its coloured buildings and houses, and where tango artists perform. China Town and Recoleta neighbourhoods were fun and I got to take some cool shots in the cemetery in Recoleta.

For night life, I had a good time watching some live bands in San Telmo and I couldn't resist the lure of the bars and clubs of Palermo. I found this cool punk bar called Salon Pueyrredón where the DJ played a great collection of mod, brit pop, and new wave tunes. I had a good night there with some of the locals, three sisters, and partied til the early hours of the morning. Which is quite normal in BA as people don't go out till after 12 , 1 or even 2am. The next day was a right off. I slept alot of it and then just walked around like a zombie once I surfaced.

I think I'm getting too old for the hostel dorm room (I'm 37). I booked a bed in a dorm for my five night stay but after the first night, when the reception said I'd only booked one night and asked if I wanted to stay longer, I moved out and found a hotel around the corner with a room to myself. The hostel was nice enough but the whole being woken up when people come in to the room, or sleeping on a top bunk and waking up the person below when I get up to go to the dunny, or always having to lock my shit away just isn't my thing anymore. I really enjoyed having my own room in an old style European building where I could spread my shit out and get a good night's sleep.

The hotel was in a good location near the main drag, 9 de Julio, which during my stay was closed for some tango concerts and a karting race. Cool shit mick.

The Spanish here was different to what I was used to. It's heavily influenced by Italian and made for some awkward language barrier moments.

From Buenos Aires, I caught a ferry to Uruguay to spend some time with my friend, Alberto, who is a local resident of Montevideo. I was looking forward to seeing my friend and I'd heard a lot about the beaches of Uruguay and was hoping for some good weather after the rain in BA.

Vamos.

Go fly a kite.

spacemanafrica — Sun, 8 Jan 2012 23:12:00 GMT

Greetings from Sáo Paulo in Brazil. I've had quite an interesting few days.

Friday, two days ago, I was denied permission to board a flight to Bolivia as I didn't have an onward ticket. Immigration like to know you're going to leave their country at some point. They're funny like that. So yesterday I managed to jump through some hoops and succesfully bought a ticket to Peru in three months time, and this afternoon, fingers crossed, I should be able to fly to Bolivia.

It´s quite funny, really. I was delayed by two days to enter Brasil and now I´ve been delayed by two days to leave Brasil. It´s all swings and roundabouts.

So with some extra time to kill, I went south to the Formula 1 track they have here to see if I could get a glimpse of the circuit. There was nothing happening there so security let me inside the gates to take a few photos from the back straight, so I was pretty happy about that. Then they left me alone so I thought I'd go wandering. I managed to get right down next to the track and I was there for about ten minutes before a guard called me back. I had visions of walking up to the main grandstand and standing on the main straight. Anyway, I was grateful that I´d been able to see what I did.

Then I decided to do a lap of the circuit by walking around the outside of the fence perimeter of the track grounds. I thought I might be able to peek through some holes in the fence at differnet vantage points. Three quarters of the track is surrounded by middle class neighbourhoods but the last part, the part that would link me up to the train station to return to the city was a really dodgy neighbourhood. As I entered the area, I thought about turning around but that would mean a long walk back. I kept going but I didn´t know if it was even possible to get through this area to get where I was going, or for how long I would have to walk through it. The houses were run down and there were a lot of cars and bins burnt out. The people were predominantly black and I was a wee bit worried that I might attract attention with my large headphones and bulging pockets with my camera and mobile. I walked purposefully and confidently, and thankfully no one hassled me. The interesting thing was that a lot of young men in the neighbourhood were flying kites. I guess it´s something to do. Probably a signal system.

Fingers crossed, I get to Bolivia today.

Ciao for now.

* No I didn´t make it on to the flight. I was on stand-by and myself, and a few other passengers, didn´t get a seat. So fingers crossed now for Tuesday.

As I explained in an earlier post, my time in Iguazu Falls had been shortened due to unexpectedly having to organise a visa to enter Brasil. But I still had one full day which would be enough for me to see the falls from the Brasilian side. The falls lie right on the border between Brasil and Aregentina, and Paraguay isn't that far away either. I'd been lucky to be sitting on the right (correct) side of the plane when flying in to Foz as the plane flew over the falls upon our approach to landing and I was able ot get a good brids-eye view.

It was the 27th Dec when I went and so there were a lot of people. It was a very hot sunny day and the queues to get in were a mile long. It the searing heat, I queued for 1hr 20 mins to buy an entrance ticket. Then I queued 17 mins to enter the park, and then waited 15 mins for a bus to the falls and then it was a 15 min ride to the site of the falls. That's one of the problems of travelling solo is you don't have a partner to take it in turns to wait in line.

The falls were freakin' amazing. I went crazy and took 110 photos. From the Brasilian side you get a lot of opportunities to see an overview of the falls. There's scores of them and they're huge. The Argentinain side allows you to get up close and personal and even has boat rides that take you up to the falls where no one stays dry. The Brasil side ends with a boardwalk out over the river and close to the base of some of the large , loud falls. I stood for ages, just soaking up the atmosphere whilst listening to the haunting tune from the film-soundtrack of Requiem for a Dream on my mp3 player. I don't know them off hand but the stats about the falls are worth looking up eg the number of falls, the amount of water they dump per minute.

From Foz de Iguacu, I caught a bus to Rio de Jeniero that took 24 hours but got me there safely. Rio was going to be my location for New Year's Eve. I arrived the 29th and stayed until the 2nd. It rained continually whilst I was there but I was still able to enjoy many of the sights.

I stayed in a hostel in Copacabana. The neighbourhood has quite a lot of character but the hostel was, how can I put it? ... Shit. I stayed in a dorm room as prices for the New Year's celebrations were triple the nomal price. The hostel I stayed in used to be a fitness club and the common room had wall to wall mirrors. The dorm rooms had about 20 people in each and there was construction going on in the hostel at the time, So it wasn't my favorite place I've stayed but I was locked in as nowhere else available was cheaper and hotels had insisted on paying upfront so I'd already paid for the place.

First activity was to check out the beach. I went down to Copacabana Beach and saw the women, and the men, wearing skimpy swimwear. I went next door to Ipanema Beach and had a swim. For a night out, I went to one of the samba schools that takes part in carnival. There was a big party inside of a hall and people danced whilst up in the stands there were percuscionists going mental. It was quite an electrifying energy.

And of course, there was New Year.s Eve. The place to be was Copacabana beach where about 2 million people spent the night. On the beach, there were free concerts with large stages set up. David Guetta headlined on the main stage. The beach was rammed, especially around the main stage, and the queue for the toilets required some patience. People swam in the sea and others set up camps on the beach in good vantage points for the fireworks at midnight. There were bigscreens about the place with the countdown to midnight and the rain made an apperance again , as it had since I arrived three days earlier. It was good fun and something that I can now say I've experienced. It was unfortunate that I was by myself, but to keep myself entertained I made a 12 part documentary of the evening which I posted on youtube. Unfortunately, the audio quality is rather bad.

Whilst in Rio, I'd been very keen to see the Christ the Redeemer statue after seeing the one in Cochabamba daily for the previous three months. But because of the rain and cloud I didn't see it. That was until my last day in town when it was sunny. I woke early and managed the adventure of navigating public transport to the statue and got there before all the crowds. It was amazing to see the city in sunny weather and it was a fantastic view and the statue looked very similar to that in Cochabamba, about 330 odd metres high.

After Rio, I went to Sao Paulo and was able to naviagte the metro to my hotel. I arrived to discover my hotel, which I booked through the internet based on price, was in a great location (Republica): a net café next door, a cinema two blocks away, shopping, restaurants and bars and not too far from the city centre and the airport shuttle in the nearby square. My hotel room had a balcony and a great view of the streets below, nine floors up. This was better than the hotel I stayed in after I missed my flight back to Cochabamba. THe rooms were super cheap but were like prison cells. Each room was a long narrow room with just the bed and a toilet and everything was painted white. All the rooms were down the one corridor and the doors about two metres apart. However, I was also pleasantly surprised with Sao Paulo. It's quite a nice city.

However, I was glad to finally get my flight back to Bolivia on the third attempt.

U R Gay.

spacemanafrica — Tue, 27 Dec 2011 01:12:00 GMT

Seeing Uruguay approaching as I stood on the deck of the ferry from Buenos Aires, I laughed to myself as I remembered the Homer Simpson quote:

“Ha ha! Look at this country! U R Gay! Ha ha! (looking at Uruguay on the globe).”

I´ve been here in Uruguay now for eight days, three more than planned. I have a plan to get out of here but I don´t know if it´s going to come together.

Yesterday, Christmas day, I woke up to a beautufil sunny day as I looked out from my hotel balcony, in Punte del Diablo, at the beach and sea below. Punte Del Diablo is a very small village by the sea in the north of Uruguay. As peaceful and calm as it was, I had to hurry to get ready for my bus at 9:20am to Montevideo.

I arrived at the main intersection in town where the bus had dropped me off two days earlier. I met a young Swiss couple who were also waiting but they had information that the bus wouldn´t be coming into town but instead going to a bus stop 3k´s outside of town. Being Christmas Day the place was very quiet. 9:20 came and no bus. So we decided to try to get to this other bus stop in the hope that the bus would be late, which isn´t uncommon in this continent.

The local policeman organised us a taxi and then we were away. We got to the bus stop outside of town but there was no activity there. I for one needed to be on that bus as there wasn´t another bus until late in the afternoon and I had a flight to catch at that time to Brasil. So we asked the driver if he´d chase after the bus for us. He said he´d take us as far as the next town 34k´s away but no further.

Alright, let´s roll.

We sped along the highway but there was no sign of the bus and there was no one to be seen at the terminal in the next town. I thought we´d have to attempt to hitchhike back to Montevideo when one of the Swiss noticed a Christmas bus schedule on the terminal door, that said the bus had left at 10am, only five minutes earlier.

So the driver hit the highway again and we were in hot persuit of the bus. After a few minutes we could see a large vehicle in the distance. It was too far ahead to see if it was the bus but it looked promising. As we got closer I took out my binoculars and saw that it was indeed our bus. Woohoo.

The driver pulled in front of the bus and signalled for the bus to stop. Thankfully it did and we were able to take our seats on the bus. I noticed the time at this stage was 10:10 - 50 minutes after we were meant to hop on back in Punte Del Diablo.

After an exhilirating adventure we calmed down and settled in for the remaining three hour ride to Montevideo. Wow, what a thrilling Christmas Day adventure. I don´t know what I would have done had I not been able to get back to Montevideo to cath my flight.

So, my friend Alberto came to pick me up in Montevideo and take me to the airport. Montevideo´s airport is rather new and has been voted the ninth most enjoyable airport in the world with Hong Kong as number one.

I arrived at check-in all set to head to Brasil for my very first time and, fck me, who knew that I needed a visa? Access denied. Apparently Australians need a visa to enter Brasil. Man, I can´t remember the last time, as an Australian, I needed a visa to enter a country. (It was Cuba 2006 - Ed)

There was another flight going to Asuncion, in Paraguay, which was kind of close to where I wanted to go. I asked if I could change to that flight but to my surprise, Australians need a vise for Paraguay as well. Peru, Bolivia, Argentina, Chile, no. But Brasil and Paraguay , yes. Who would have thought? I went with Alberto back to his house somewhat deflated. My experience at the airport hadn´t turned out to be so enjoyable.

So my flight has been moved to tomorrow as I keep my fingers crossed that I´ll be granted a Brasilan visa by then. Having said that, Montevideo isn't the worst place in the world to be. WIth 22k´s of coast line it´s a great place to unwind.

Happy New Year.

I´ve uploaded photos of Salar de Uyuni.

Laugh

Space

Don't cry for me, Argentina.

spacemanafrica — Fri, 9 Dec 2011 01:43:00 GMT

Well, I've realised a long-time dream by coming to Argentina but it hasn't stopped raining the three days I've been here. Don't cry for me , Argentina. That should change though when I travel from Salta, where I am now, south to Cordoba, where it should be sunny and in the low 30´s.

So I'm on a five week break from work in Cochabamba and I need to leave the country in order to renew my visa, so I've hit the road.

First stop was the Bolivian town of Potosi, all be it, only for three hours. I was surprised to learn that Potosi, a big mining town, was the most populated city in the world back in the 1650´s - ahead of London and Paris even.

I then caught a 4wd type bus to Uyuni. There was some wierd arabian type tunes playing on the stereo and then in the middle of it all came on Down Under by Men At Work. I tell you, that song is everywhere. Then there was some funky 70´s disco hits. Geez louise.

I spent one night in Uyuni before going on a three day tour of the nearby dry salt lake and the surrounding areas. The salt flat here, Salar de Uyuni, is the world's largest salt flat at 10,582 square kilometers. It is located in southwest Boliva, near the crest of the Andes, and is elevated 3,656 meters (11,995 ft) above sea level.

We were lucky to have a fine sunny day which meant sunglasses were a must. The white salt was so bright. We got around in a 4wd and visited some of the salt hotels, the springs and a festival in the middle of nowhere. We had lunch on an island covered with cacti. We spent the night in a salt hotel and part of the wall fell apart and fell in to my bed during the night.

The other two days were touring the area checking out volcanoes, and coloured lagoons populated by flamencos. This was the remotest landscape I've ever seen. For two days we travelled around on what I would describe as another planet or the moon - very baron, rocky, desertless, open-spaces, quiet, lifeless. If the term 'getting away from it all' applied to some where it would be here.

I've had a sore tooth lately and because of the altitude it hurt like a mther fcker. It was like someone jabbed a needle in to the side of my face and just kept it there. I noticed it was temperature sensitive as well, so during the cold of night the pain was very intense and I had to take some pain killers to get to sleep.

After the tour I headed south over the border to Argentina. Forever I've wanted to come here, and thankfully I got through border control OK. As the bus drove through the contryside the mountains were amazing - tall and wonderful shapes. It reminded me of scenes from old Western movies.

My first port of call has been Salta, Argentina's eighth largest city, which from what I've seen is very large and green with lots of trees. The people here speak a very different Spanish to what I'm used to and Im told the language is even stranger in Buenos Aires. We'll see.

When I work out how my new camera works I'll add a few photos of the tour as they can describe better than I can the landscape of Uyuni.

Plus I'd like to dedicate this trip to my good friend, Norman - one of my biggest fans, and a guy who helped me a lot over the last three years - who recently passed away to cancer. You'll be missed, mate.

Ay Caramba, Cochabamba

spacemanafrica — Fri, 9 Dec 2011 01:12:00 GMT

Hello shakers and groovers,

Life here in Cochabamba, Bolivia, is pretty good.
I've had my ups and downs but the last few weeks I quite enjoyed. The weather kicks arse as it's always sunny which makes for a good vibe with all the palm trees in the city.

Work has been very interesting. Been working with blind kids who are a lot of fun. It's very interesting to see how they get by in life. A few of them are amazing musicians.

A few highlights :

I bought a new guitar
I was a judge in an English singing competition (I’ll never forgive the group that put Backstreet Boys in my head).
On the 4th October I celebrated my 3rd sobriety anniversary by getting absolutely blind. I played goalball with the kids at school. It’s a game for the blind. I played blindfolded. It was a lot of fun. You can check out goalball on youtube.
I appeared live on Bolivian television with the blind students playing two sticks of wood.

Something worth mentioning about the Good Morning Bolivia gig, and it's something I didn't realise until people who had seen me on telly pointed it out, but it didn't look like I was playing anything. I had toyed with the idea of going in to the studio wearing sunglasses. I mean, why not? My sunnies are prescription and I was with blind people, some of whom were wearing sunnies. But instead I wore my normnal glasses. I wish I'd gone with the sunnies though because as we lined up in the studio I was in the sedcond row and everyone else was playing the recorder or the guitar so it was obvious they were playing something. I was playing this zeppelin type pierce of wood that you scrape a stick over and it makes a cool scraping wood sound (funny that) . But no one could see me playing it as I was standing behind someone. and no one could see what i was doing from the chest down. So all the viewers thought I was just some sighted gringo hanging out in the background .

Ah well. Rock On.

I did some work in braille. Have you felt the strain when you have to write something really important without making a mistake - a document or something? Well if you make a mistake you can at the very least use white out. When you're writing in braille though if you make a mistake - you've fcked it. Once you've punched that whole through the paper you can't erase it. So I had a bit of fun playing around with that.

Some of the kids live at the school and a few weeks back I spent the night at the school with them as 'the sighted adult'. It was pretty coool . They were all well behaved and went to bed without me telling them. Thank fck. Im not the best at dishing out the discipline to kids.

I played at an open mic night for other volunteer workers like myself. My set list was:

Umbrella – Riahanna

Bad Romance – Lady Gaga

The Cat’s Mole – my own composition

Horny German Truck Driver – my own composition

Hurt Feelings – Flight of the Conchords

Business Time – Flight of the Conchords

Life can be a bit weird and wonderful over here. I don't carry ID around with me but managed to get in to a night club the other week with an old Irish Club membership card from 2009. I couldn't believe it. It doesn't even have a photo on it.

TV is a bit different here, An armed robbery was caught on CCTV including when one of the staff tried to be a hero and subsequently was shot in the head and killed. The lunch time news bulliten replayed the incident a hundred times. I don't think Auz would show a murder on the news.

Also been hanging out with people through couchsurfing which has proved a great resourse to meet some of the locals.

Someone gave me a bracelet as a gift with the word Bolivia on it. If I get drunk again and change my name I could end up being Lake Titicaca Bolivia.

My work with the blind children has come to an end and I'm currently travelling around some other countries for the next five weeks. Im going to go to Argentina, Uruaguay and Brasil including Rio de Janeiro for New Year. Then I'll be back in Cochabamba, for January to start work on a new project where Ill be working for a magazine as a journalist. Hopefully, I´ll go well at that.

Last day of school for the year. The band , including me on bass and vocals, performed the Wall by Pink Floyd, . Very fitting I thought despite the English lyrics being lost on 99.9% of the audience.

I got a tattoo a few months back in Costa Rica and there was an earth tremor whilst I was getting the tattoo. I had one this week, and again there was an earth tremor, just as I arrived at the studio.

Anyway, that's it for me, holidays await.

ciao for now

Spaceman 8 )

I've added a video of the students and teachers at the centre for the blind I worked at. I make a brief appearance at the 58 second mark.

Seven weeks in Peru

spacemanafrica — Thu, 15 Sep 2011 08:16:00 GMT

Today(Thursday 15th) is my last day in Peru before I head off to Bolivia tomorrow.

Peru highlights:

Arrive at Lima airport and was granted entry in to the country without any problems - woohoo. It would have been very anticlimatic had I been turned back. After more than ten years of wanting to go to South America I finally arrive to only be turned away, that would have put a bit of a downer of the trip. But as as it was I had no problems. I caught a taxi to my hostel and Men At Work's 'Land Down Under' came on the radio. That was nice of the radio station to make me feel at home.

I stayed in a hip and happening area called Miraflores which geographically is a lot like Shepherds Bush, London. It has a triangular park with loads of shops either side and at the one end there is a roundabout. I was realy excited about being in Peru, South America, and had fun exploring the very large city. The city was very exciting as it was Independence Day and many festivities were going on.

A cheap excursion was a night at Park Reserva where there's a waterlight show put on with food stands cooking typical local food. There were about 7 or 8 different fountains spread around the park and all lit up in different colours culminating in a show at the main fountain put to music. Think of the Bellagio in Las Vegas but in colour.

I also met some of the locals through couchsurfing and had a good night out on the town with them. Of course they thought my name was hilarious, until I produced my passport they thought my name was a nickname.

Went to an optician and bought a new pair of frames and put my old lenses in them so I had glasses again. The frames are pretty cool and only cost about $40 compared to $150 or more back in OZ. Happy days.

To get to Cusco I decided to take the cheaper option by taking the bus. I wasn't looking forward to the trip as I learnt it's a 22 hour journey. But to my surprise the buses were similar to that of first class on a plane. Large seats that recline to become a bed, plenty of leg room, cabin crew and movies. It was the easiest 22 hours I've ever done on a bus. The view through the mountains was spectacular as well. I don't ride a motorcycle but Im aware that travelling by bike you're able to experience and get a feel for your surroundings a lot more and as I was looking out the window I was thinking, one day I'd like to return and do the journey on a motorbike.

So I arrived in Cusco feeling a bit funny I must say. The locals say that it´s normal to feel a bit of altitude sickness for the first day or so. I had a headache for the first two days but I got stuck in to the coco tea and I was ok from then on. Cusco is 3400 metres above sea level.

I stayed with a family in Cusco for two weeks as I went to Spanish school. As the taxi took me to the address of my host family, he pulled up outside a house with a rainbow flag, not that there´s anything wrong with that, but I did wonder what I was in for . But the driver was premature and the address we wanted was a few doors down. I later saw the rainbow flags everywhere and learnt that it's Cusco's flag and not gay pride.

There were six lovely chicas from Barcelona staying at the same house as me and through them I met a chick from Barca whose first name is Africa. We joked that if we got married she'd be Africa Africa.

Cusco has some great nightlife and lots of bars have live music. I spent many a night at Siete Angelitos on alternative rock night.

Being a toursit hub for many people going to Machu Picchu there's alot of people on the street trying to flog something. I met a local lass called Marisol (Sea and sun)who was offering massages. We got chatting and she told me she was studying English. She gave me a book of hers full of poems she'd written and she asked if I'd translate a few into English for her. Sure, no worries. I was able to translate the majority of it but I asked my Spanish teacher for help with the parts I was having trouble with. The poems were love poems and very open and revealing. After we finshed my teacher was on the phone and mentioned to her friend about the poems. She read the poems to her friend who informed us that they were lyrics to songs by a Mexcan rock band called Alison. We checked it out on youtube and sure enough the poems were word for word. Very funny. I thought I'd met a super sensitive wordsmith, but no. Not to worry, Marisol and I formed a good friendship anyway.

I had a weekend away in Puno and Lake Titticaca and saw the artificial islands that have been made from weaving reeds. Spent the night with one of the local families on Isla Amantani and dressed up in the local costume for the evening's fiesta. Very fun. Very warm and sunny during the day. My nose got sunburnt like a mofo. Nights were freezing though.

Finally made it to Machu Picchu - Rock ON.

Machu Picchu was pretty damn good. It,s a four day hike up to the site of the old Inca city. Fck that for a joke. I took the train. I'm sure the Inka's would have done the same had there been a train back in the day.

I went rather early in the morning along with 1000 other poeple. It was a warm sunny, clear day which meant we could see the surrounding mountains which were amazing. The day before had been cloudy and the mountains were covered by cloud , so I was lucky.

Went on a tour and learnt about the signifibance of the different buildings. And then met a shaman and we had a spiritual ceremony by the inca bridge where he performed some cantations and with some insence burning. I had positive thoughts on some coco leaves and then we buried them in the mother earth.

Took a few photos too. Including some shots behind me. usually we see the citadel but never what's behind the camera. There's more terraces, if you,re interested.

Went to the jungle for a few days with a German lad I met at school. Which jungle? Why, the one and only Amazon jungle. Oooh, I'm so hero. My mate Cristof, a bit cash strapped, suggested that we travel by truck. He'd done it once before and knew where we could organise a ride. The catch was that we'd be riding on the roof of the trailer. I thought why not. It,d be an adventure. It would only be for seven hours I was told. It's a commen practise and the localas loaded boxes and bags up on the roof full of goods as well as loads of blankets and warm clothes. To travel to Peurto Maldonado we ,d be passing through some very high altitudes (it was the Andes after all) and we knew it was going to be very cold. But fck me, I wasn-t prepared for how freaking cold it did get. It wouldn-t have been so bad if the journey had been seven hours but we learnt that it,s a 12 hour journey but our truck driver drove so freakin slow it took us 18 hours.

We left about 3 in the afternoon and arrived 9 the next morning so that meant we endured the whole night out in the elements. It was no adventure. I,d brought along a blanket for Cristof and I to share but we were like a married couple. As he rolled over to try to get some sloeep he took the whole blanket with him and then I,d have none and I wrenched the blanket back off him.

It was cold, damn cold. But as we were on the roof and travelling at speed the wind chill factor made it even colder. We climbed to 4950 metres above sea level and the fog crept in and I did my best to keep spirits high by telling jokes. Cristof assured me when we got to the bottom of the mountains and closer to the jungle the weather would warm up. But it didn,t. It was freaking cold the whole way. I was wearing three pairs of pants and five tops and still I froze. The other people on board it seemed brought there whole linen cupburd to keep warm, you can-t beat experience. To add insulit to injury, there were two girls who were on the roof with us but didn,t like the cold so decided not to continue after we had a dinner break four hours in to the journey. When we arrived in Puerto Maldonad they were there waiting for us to collect their goods. That was heartbraking to think we could have arrived a lot earlier. Anyway, a part of me was glad to have experienced it and even more glad when it was over. That's something I won't do again. Not unprepared anyway. Next time I,ll have a sleeping bag and ground mat, fck it, Ill have a tent. That'll do the trick. Needless to say we caught the bus back.

From Cusco I went to the town of Arequipa and spent another two weeks at Spanish school. The town is next to a huge big dormant volcano - very impressive.

I stayed with a local woman and her four children. Upon arrival just the woman, Martha, was home and together we set up the spare room for my time there. Martha was very bubbly aned a lot of fun. Within 30 minutes of arriving we were having a lot of fun together. The writing desk that was on the rood wouldn,t fit through the back door so as a laugh we tied some sheets together and lowered the desk down the front of the house and in to the front door. Ha, welcome to Arequipa.

I quite enjoyed my two weeks at school here. I learnt quite a lot including what a video pub is. One of my teachers is in the process of building a video pub which is code for brothel. Brothel,s are illegal or require alot of beuracacy to get permission so instead people build what they call video pubs. It,s a pub where people come to drink with big video screens but really this space is used for pole dancing. Because the pub is a bit out of town there are some hotel styled rooms for the ¨female staff¨ to stay in rather than have to travel back in town. What the women do in the rooms in their business. And that.s how they get around the brothel problem.

An interesting thing I noticed in Arequipa was the rubbish collection. The rubbish truck played loud classical music to alert the residents that it was coming so they could quickly put out their rubbish if they'd forgotten. Certianly makes a change form the crash and bash sounds we get in Australia.

An interesting experience was when I went to a bull fight. It was very exciting as I'd never been to one before. Thankfully, this was a bit different to the brutal fights in Spain. These were cows and there was no killing or blood - just matadores showing their skills in dodging the charging cows. The matadores looked very macho dressed in their suits except for the pink blankets they often used to attract the bulls. THe matadores did a really great job and it was obvious that there.s some real skill involved. The funny part was when it was time for the cow to get back in it,s pen and the crew trying to get the cow to leave the pen. Usually it wouldn,t want to leave no matter how much it was prompted. In the end someone would have to throw a rope around its neck and the cow would be pulled back into the pens. After the show the party started as a live band started up and people were free to drink and dance in the ring well in to the night.

For the weekend I went away to visit Colca Canyon - a canon that stretches for 400km to the Pacific Ocean. It was very impressive and at one part of the canyon we were able to stop and view condors flying about which was pretty exciting. The tour involved some trekking and as Im not that keen on trekking (hence taking the train to Machu Picchu) I chose to do the more direct trek to our lodge where we'd be spending the night. The other option was a 7 hour hike, where as my hike was a three hour walk which meant arriving at the lodge earlier and having more time to relax in the pool. Only four of us chose the shorter hike and we set off with our guide in good spirits. Unfortunately, it didn, turn out to be the easier, softer way that I,d hoped. One of the women with us suffered from vertigo. Our path was a winding track 1200 metres down in to the canyon with steep drops off the edge of the track. This woman was adamant she couldn,t continue and in the end the guide and I had to stand either side of her holding her arms to help her down the track. Five and a half long hours later we arrived down the bottom by which time shadows from the surrounding mountains had covered the pool. It was a good day of exercise - exercise patience. I was covered in dust and my shoulders were very sore from carrying my backpack for so long. After a quick dip in the pool and a filling meal I slept well that night, I tell you.

News that the group had to trek back up that same track wwasn,t welcome news especially for vertigo woman. We set off at 5am and to my surprise I did very well. Up until this point I had quite conveninetly avoided doing any trekking thinking I would struggle as Im not the fittest man in the world. But I powered up the steep winding track passing others as I went. I had my mp3 playing some hard and fast rock tracks and that helped to inspire me up the mountain. I was the third person out of about 16 people to make it to the top in 2 and half hours. I was well proud of myself. Vertigo woman had troubles again and took four or more hours and subsequently missed the bus for the rest of the tour.

After a hearty breakfast in the town at the top of the canyon we went to some hot springs to relax our sore muscles. The sun was out and the pools were a warm 30 degrees. It was a very good way to relax after such a hike.

Wouldn-t you know it I lost my 2nd credit card whilst in Peru. I had to organise with my brother to wire me some money. The problem for me , and I,ve met some other people who have made the same mistake, is that the ATM's do things here in a different order to what Im used to. Im used to swiping my card and then putting it back in my wallet , or inserting my card and then receiving it back before the money is despensed. So Im used to the receiving of the money as being the last part of the process. Here in Peru the card is returned after the money is despensed and so withut thinking I took the money and walked off forgetting my card was still in the machine. When my new card arrives from Australia , I won't be making that mistake again.

Another interesting thing about Peru is that in the smaller towns eg Cusco, dogs walk the streets like humans. There are doga everywhere just roaming free and the funny thing is they look both ways before crossing the street - pure hilarity.

Peru has been very good for the budget, it,s so cheap here. Things like transport, accommadation and meals are just so much cheaper than Australia. A 120 dollar room in OZ costs about 25 here. It,s very easy to eat a very filling two course meal for less than 3 dollars. To catch a taxi in my home town of Canberra you need to take out a second mortgage to afford it. Here I never paid more than 3 dollars. And the food is so tasty and filling. My favorite was the soups. They were full with meat potatoes and vegies - so much food - that you needed a knife and fork to eat your soup.

Next stop is Bolivia which I,ve heard is even cheaper. About half the price of Peru. I can,t wait. I-m going to be spending six months there doing volunteer work. Im looking forward to the volunteer work and staying in the one town for a long time, becoming somewhat of a local rather than a tourist - looking forward with nervous excitement.

Goodbye Peru, hello Bolivia.

Laugh Spaceman

Surf's up.

spacemanafrica — Thu, 15 Sep 2011 08:13:00 GMT

An interesting bit of information: even in Costa Rica they don't show the dentist's face in toothbrush comercials.

So, my last week and a bit in Costa Rica was checking out the beautiful beaches I'd heard so much about.
First beach town was Tamarindo. What a shit hole. It's very commercial and a popular nightspot for tourists which was enough to put me off. The fact that it didn't stop raining the two days that I was there didn't help. I went and had a look at some of the less touristy neighbouring beaches which were very nice including Pirates Beach.

I was after a beach experience that was more Costa Rican. I found that at my next stop at Samara. There was actually no bus to Samara but I spoke with the the bus driver who was taking me to Montezuma. He said he'd be able to take me in the afternoon. So he dropped me off on the side of the road at a roadside diner and I was to stay there until he came back a few hours later. Perfect. Except when we got to Samara, I discovered he'd taken my backpack to Montezuma. It took him two freaking days to get the backpack back to me. The day I got my backpack back I was headed for Montezuma anyway. The adventures of travel, hey?

Samara was a cool small beach town, very laid back , far less touristy and a holiday spot where Costa Ricans go to holiday. However, the rain continued. The rain was intense , really freakin heavy for hours upon hours.

Anyway, it stopped raining long enough for some beach time and I took advantage of the cheap surf lessons available - my very first time surfing. I did alright too. I was able to stand up on the board after only a few attempts. It was a lot of fun. I can now see the attraction. I don't know how but somehow in jumping on the board, I bruised my ribs. I don't remember the exact incident but after I got out of the water, my ribs hurt like a mthrfcker. I've banged my ribs up pretty bad a few times over the years and they must just have a very low tolerance that any small nudge will burise them. It took a good four weeks before they stopped being so painful.

I went to a nearby beach called Playa Carillo - very beautiful. No commercialism at all, in fact nothing there at all in the way of shops, just the beach with palm trees. Also went to the reggae night at the local discotech and danced in the corner like a weirdo - as you do. Next stop was the small but hip and happening beachside town of Montezuma - bit of a hippy haven. I stayed for five days and a MIRACLE there was no rain for the whole time. It was magic.

I stayed in a hostel up on the hill, away from the town, surrounded by forest. I met some pretty cool kats there and when I lost my credit card they were very trusting and allowed me to pay with my mate's card a few days after I'd left. The interesting thing about this place was that unlike everywhere else in Central America where you're woken up at the crack of dawn by fckn roosters, here it was the dulcet tones of monkeys growling at 5am that woke us up.

Montezuma is well known for it's waterfalls which I walked through thick forest to go and see. They were pretty cool and worth the trek. I jumped off one in to a pool of water about five metres below. This pool was the prelude to the big one. The waterfall with the 50 metre drop. I slowly paddled around in the pool and suddenly felt myself being dragged towards the waterfall. Oh, shit yeah, Id forgotten that was there. Fortunately there were some rocks I was able to swim towards to stop me from going over. As I was walking back to town I slipped on a rock and landed on my cocksyx. It didn't fckn tickle, let me tell you.

Had a great day trip to a near by Island called Turtle Island which involved some snorkelling and getting heavily sunburnt. The island was your typical paradise-espue with white sand and crystal blue water. The aweomse part was coming back in the boat when we were greeted by a pod of dolphines. They put on a really cool show for us. Awesome. I thought maybe the dolphines did this for all the tourists but the staff at the hostel said that it happend only occasionally.

I had another surf lesson whilst in Montezuma which was fun but I had to grit my teeth when trying to stand on the board as my ribs were still quite sore.
As I said earlier, I lost my credit card which sucked. It meant I had to ask some of the other guests at the hostel for enough money to get back to Heredia where I had a spare card with my belongings that I'd left at my mate's place. Thankfully, a few people were very kind and I made it no worries.

The other shitty thing was my glasses were broken. I was playing football with some of the lads - without my glasses. But when the game finished, I put them back on but some of the lads were still kicking around the ball and the ball hit my in the face and broke my frames. Sheizer, that meant I was a bit lost at night. During the day, I had my prescription sunnies.

Whilst here I also had a few more Spanish classes and improved my spansih a bit. Did you know the word for smurfs in Spanish is Los Pitufos?
So I left Montezuma at 6am. So much happens in Costa Rica at 6am as it's usually very warm and the sun comes up about 5am. I travelled to Heredia and spent my last few days with my mate, Minor. He and his wife took me to Volcan Poas, a live active volcano. It was pretty interesting. My first time up close to an active volacno. Apprently we were very lucky. Usually the cloud is so thick you can't see much when you visit but we had a somewhat clear day. It wasn't that active to be honest - just smoking a bit. Thanks to Minor for his help and hospitailty during my time at his Inn. San Lorenzo Inn, Heredia.

So after six weeks in the friendly, green, warm, rainy, fun, Costa Rica, it was time to head for Peru. Upon arrival the whole country was going to throw a party in my honour. Either that, or it was their day of Indipendence - one of the two.
I just hoped immigration was going to let me into Peru as I only had a one way ticket.
cheers Costa Rica
see you next time.

Thank God you're here

spacemanafrica — Mon, 25 Jul 2011 01:47:00 GMT

I travelled from La Fortuna to nearby Monteverde, taking the scenic route which included a boat trip across the very serene Lake Arenal. I arrived to find Monteverde playing host to an annual mountainbike race and thus a lot of the hotels were full. But, I didn't want just any hotel, I wanted a room with a television so I could watch the Formula 1 at 6am the next morning. I was pointed in the direction to a hotel a little out of town.

The hotel was a small family run lodge. The wife of the family showed me to the room. She opened the door revealing not a room but a small apartment. I liken opening the door to a new hotel room to what it must be like being on the TV show Thank God You're Here, and walking through the door with no idea what to expect. I held my breath as I waited for the woman to tell me the price - $ 40. "I'll take it." $40 is actually a wee bit expensive for a single room in this part of the world but as I said , it was an apartment with a tv and own bathroom. Compared to Australia it was super cheap.

And so at 6am the next morning I was able to watch the race in the comfort of my own apartment. Cool.

The other cool things about Monteverde were dining in a tree house restaurant, and flying through Monteverde's cloud forest. I went on another zip line canopy tour and this was by far the best, with longer runs and greater views over the canopy. But the unique feature about this tour was a 'superman' ride where the harness was attached to your back and you got to zip´over the canopy in a superman flying position - freakin awesome. Then was the tarzan rope - a 148 foot bungee swing. To do the tarzan rope was like walking the plank. You had to walk out 50 meters on to a platform suspended in mid-air and then the rope is attached to your waist. You jump off the platform, feet frist, then what seems like a very long four second drop before the rope takes the slack and you start swinging. Just when you think the scary adreneline rush part is over, the rope swing comes to it's peak and all of a sudden you fall and swing back the other way again, leaving your stomach behind in the process. Great fun.

That's me done for zip line canopy tours. I've done three now, and none could be better than Monteverde.

Prepare for ludicrous speed.

spacemanafrica — Mon, 25 Jul 2011 00:56:00 GMT

About two weeks ago, I travelled to La Fortuna situated at the foot of the active volcano, Arenal. I had a really good conversation with the woman sitting next to me on the bus. I feel my spanish is improving. I arrived in town and stayed in the hotel of a friend of a friend. No time to settle in as I made the most of the warm sunny weather and went on a hiking tour around the volcano. The volcano is famous for its erruption in 1968 when it blew its top, surprising the residents nearby who up until then weren't even aware the mountain was a volcano. There was no activity the day I went. In fact, it's been quiet since mid 2010.

At the top of our climb, the afternoon rain shower came and myself and a few others on the tour came unprepared and we got absolutely soaked. However, that just made us even more keen for the second part of the tour which was a few hours at the Baldi hot springs. Relaxing in a hot pool as evening fell was very welcome after spending the last half hour in wet clothes.

i thought maybe the hot springs were going to be natural being so close to the volcano but, no, the temperature of the pools were controlled. The place was like a luxourous water theme park. There were many pools each one hotter than the last. I had learnt my lesson from when I went to some thermal baths in Budapest and had to hire some swimwear and ended up having to wear bright speedo's. This time round I brought my own board shorts.

The pools had different features. A few had bars in which you could order a drink. Others had water falls and some had built in deck chairs. There was one pool that had three slides. One slide was a straight down open slide of about 20 metres - nothing too scary or fast. There were two other slides that were tubes, and they twisted and turned all over tha place. One was laballed fast and the other slow.

Immediately, I went for the fast one as I was keen to experince the rush. I paid little attention to the warning signs of possible speeds up to 45kms. The pool attenedent told me to stay sitting upright, not to lie down or otherwise I'll go way too fast. Well, fck me, within a few seconds I was already going so fast that I couldn't stay sitting. The speed pushed me on to my back and then I experienced what can only be described as a washing machine. It wasn't fun at all. I was tossed around from side to side, in the dark, at great speed as the slide twisted and dropped. As my body was taking a beating my arm flung back and it felt like it was going to come out of its socket and I hurt my shoulder pretty badly. Then with no warning, all of a sudden, I was under water as I gingerly swam to the surface to recover. Ow, that hurt. I went straight to line up for the slide again. Haha

I wanted to see, now that I knew what to expect, if I would enjoy it the second time. As I waited, I could hear the thuds and crashes of the people in the slide being thrown about. I went down again and I was right the first time. I was roo busy bracing myself for the next smack into the side of the slide to be able to enjoy it. I didn't go a third time. I did go on the slower slide which was a lot longer and also a tube. I thought this slide was pretty fast as well but it wasn't ludicrous speed and was quite enjoyable.

The next morning, I went and had a mesasge session for my sore shoulder. It was really soothing and long over due. I've been meaning to get a massage since the start of the year.

Did the earth move for you?

spacemanafrica — Tue, 19 Jul 2011 10:02:00 GMT

The other day I was hanging out with this guy who was doing some important colouring in {what colouring in isn't, right?} when I started to feel a vibration coming through the floor of the building. Then all of a sudden there was a big shudder and the whole building shook. I thought a truck must have drove into the building but my mate doing the colouring told me it was an earth tremor, about 4.5 on the richter scale. It was my first experience, outside of the earth quake simulator at Canberra's science centre, of an earth quake. Fortunately, the tremor didn't cause my friend to slip and colour outside of the lines.

I lost my sunglasses and something prompted me to look in the fridge, and there they were. I´m guessing I had both my bottle of water and my glasses in my hand and I meant to put the bottle in the fridge. Or, I just wanted to be doubly cool and wear cold sunnies.

Life´s a beach.

spacemanafrica — Sun, 10 Jul 2011 02:57:00 GMT

The first weekend of July, having finished my two weeks of Spanish study, I set off from San Isidro and headed south to the Osa Peninsula, home to the Corcovada National Park. After a hot and sweaty, and full and cramped, bus trip, I arrived in Palma Norte where I took a taxi eight kms or so to the small town of Sierpe, nestled in the forest and within the water threads of the Sierpe River.

Sierpe doesn´t have much to offer itself, but acts as a port for access to the Osa Peninsula, a lot of which isn´t accessable by road. Sierpe was home for the night as I relaxed and waited in readiness for a few days in the national park, the home to pumas, jaguars, cheaters, leopards and butterfles. I took a leisurely stroll around Sierpe and came across some small white-face monkeys ´hanging out´at the entrance to a hotel, there to greet any guests should they arrive.

Evening fell and the place came alive. Im not talking about partys or fiestas but the wildlife, as animals of all descriptions could be seen or heard in the surrounding tropical forest. Anything that moved in my periferal vision , I turned to expect to see an insect or lizard or some other creepy crawly. I had dinner on a tranquil balcony overlooking the river which was a nice setting, other than being murdered by mosquitoes. There presence wasn´t particularly bad, it´s just that I seem to suffer badly from mosquitoes. They love me for some reason. They love my blood without alcohol, as well, it would seem.

I had a very comfortable hotel room by the river and woke to find the hotel was undrneath a noisy flightpath - in more ways than one. The nearby airstrip had planes coming and going every 15 minutes or so, but the roof of my room was the hang out spot for dozens of birds who were very vocal.

After breakfast, I was on board a chartered boat to Drake Bay. The sun was out and it was very hot, and the captain set the mood by having a few beers and having the stereo turned up loud. The weather here can change very quickly and often does. The sun dissappeared and the clouds moved in and it started to pour rain. We got quite wet but it was a fun ride anyway especially when we left the river and started navigating the waves of the sea.

An hour later, we arrived at Drake Bay. I waited to be picked up by staff from my hotel. I only had to wait about five minutes before they arrived, in a boat, and we were off again a few miles up the coast.

The week beforehand, I´d searched the internet over many days for hotels and tours of Corcovado National Park but I couldn´t find anything that I liked. I told the staff at my spanish school and they did some searching for me. The manageress of the school used to work down on the Osa Peninsula and knew of a great place to stay run by a local family. It looked the goods and the price was right so all I had to do was give the go-ahead. Roger from my shcool organised everthing for me with the hotel and the hotel organsied everything else. Talk about landing on your feet, everything from the accommodation and transport in Sierpe to accommodation and wildlife tours in Corcovado were organised for me. I just had to enjoy the ride and admire the amazing scenery.

So, yeah, from Drake Bay I was picked up by two guys from my accommodation, Poorman´s Paradise, (check out their pics on their website), and we went in a small dingy a few beaches up the coast to Recon San Josecito beach. My first impressions of the National Park as we bounced off the waves in the rain, was that it looked exactley how I would imagine a deserted island to look. The kind that someone would get shipwrecked on. Being low season, there weren´t many tourists about and , in fact, I was only one of five guests at the hotel, which added to the feeling of really being on a deserted island. The jungle was dense, the fog was thick and the beach was quiet. Welcome to paradise.

After being shown to my tropical cabin and served a hearty lunch, the sun came out and I was able to take a walk along the empty beach and go for a swim in the sea. The beach looked so tropical. Awesome.

The next morning, I was picked up by boat and headed off with a group of like minded travellers 30 km along the coast to the Sirena Park Station. As we landed on shore once again it felt like we were light years from civiliasation and on a deserted island. The beach reminded me of the beach the English family were ship wrecked on at the beginning of the film Greystoke: The Legend of Tarzan, Lord of the Apes. Whilst there weren´t any apes on our hike through the park we did see lots of monkeys - howler, spider and the tiny squirrel monkeys - jumping around in the trees. Although we didn´t come across any of the big cats we did come across the rarely seen tapir - a pig looking thing with a long nose. What else did we see? Plenty of birds such as a macau, an eagle and a freaking turkey high up in the tress. Turkeys can fly in this part of the world. Saw some owls, a toucan and a woodpecker; plenty of spiders and ants, a sloth and a peckkery - another pig type thing. Pretty cool.

We stopped for a break at the Sirena Park Station where I went to the bathroom to splash some water on my face as it was a very hot day. As we set off again I noticed I had lost my camera. I searched my bag and my pockets two or three times. The tour group was already marching off and somewhere in the last 30 minutes I´d lost my camera. I had no idea where. I mean it could have been anywhere, somewhere on the jungle floor. I was resigned to the fact that I had lost it but as I left the station to catch up to the group a little voice in my head told me to check the bathrooms at the station. I couldn´t remember taking my camera to the bathroom but decided to listen to the little voice anyway. Ever since I ignored the little voice in my head last Melbourne Cup Day when it told me to park near the shops and I ignored that advice and parked far away only to have my car broken in to , I try to remember to listen to that inner voice now.

I told the tour guide I needed to go back and then went to the bathroom and at first I couldn´t see anything but then in the corner of my eye I saw a black case and, BINGO, there was my camera. Happy Days.

It was another restful afternoon back at Poormans Paradise on the beach and lying in the hammock outside my bungalow before enjoying a tasty meal for dinner. I was up early for breakfast the next morning as I had a boat to catch to get back to Sierpe. I showed up to breakfast and the hostess put a huge plate of pineapple down in front of me. She said she noticed I hadn´t touched the bananas the day before so instead she gave me pineapples. Ah, how nice. However, if I had to make a list of food I don´t like, and it´s a long list, bananas and pineapple would be in the top five.

It was another novel boat trip back to Sierpe and then a tiring two hour bus trip back to San Isidro as I had to stand on the bus. Standing provides a great view to be able to see down the mountain drop by the side of the highway. Scary stuff.

A night in San Isidro where I picked up my tank suitcase from my host family and then I was back along the mountain of Death to visit my friend Minor in Heredia again. The plan next is to go north and check out some volcanoes and beaches. Great, or as they say here, Pura Vida.

Wildlife

spacemanafrica — Fri, 1 Jul 2011 05:57:00 GMT

With the weekend off from classes, last weekend I went to the coast and hit the tourist trail. I went to a small place called Manual Antonio which has a few beaches and a small national park.

After arriving at 11am, I´d found a place to stay and booked myself a spot on an ATV tour (four wheeled motorbike). I thought it would be a different and fun way to explore the area and at the same time an opportunity to meet some other people. It was all of that except I was the only one on the tour so the only person I met was the tour guide. He was pretty cool, though, and because it was just the two of us he took me on paths he wouldn´t normally go through. We hooned around the countryside along picturesque tracks and through refreshing rivers. There had been plenty of rain the night before so there were a lot of puddles for us to do some fishtales. Good fun. The fastest I went was about 45kms but it felt alot faster than that. When driving through a school zone at 40kms in Canberra it feels like you´re travelling at a snails pace but this really felt a lot faster than that but the speedo on the bike only said 45kms.

I expected to get pretty wet so unfortunately I missed out on any photo opportunites as I left my camera back at the hotel. Shame too because we stopped at a cool secluded waterfall with a five metre drop which I went for a swim under. The water was pretty strong and I stood right under it to get a shoulder massage. It felt good at the time but a bit uncomfortable afterwards. I was able to clean off back at the hotel and experienced my first hot shower since the Raddison in LA. Hot water is a bit rare in this part of the world.

Back in town and there was a very small lively strip by the beach where I was approached nearly every five minutes to see if I wanted to buy any weed. Every other four mintues I was approached by poeple touting various tours available.On Sunday, I went with a guide into the national park in the search of some wildlife.The experienced guide knew what to look for and had a keen eye to find the animals. He had a telescope that allowed us to see close ups of the wildlife and take good snaps through the telescope. We found (or he did, rather) iguanas, bats, sloths, a toucan and her baby, spiders, butterflys,and a caiman. I didn't even know what a caiman was. It´s very similar to a crocodial but smaller. We also came across a guy who had found a boa in his house so he´d captured it and was goiing to release it into the park,not before I got a pic with the snakes tail on my neck.

Unfortunaetly the weather wasn´t the best. It was overcast but still hot and muggy. It was a very tiring weekend including the superslow and packed 3 hour bus trip back to San Isidro. I was actually looking forward to getting back to my host family and getting away from the hordes of tourists and touts at the beach.

Living with the family has been fun even if we cant have indepth conversations with each other. And even if they think my eating habits are weird. A lot of the food put on the table in front of me is new to me so I mix and match a bit, much to the horror of the family who can´t believe that I´m mixing the red margarine-esque type stuff with the cheese spread, for example. All the food tastes pretty good. The locals don´t find my name the easiest to pronounce, inclduing my teacher who calls me Spencer, but it´s pretty cool that my host family have mastered it and even pretty cute when 7yr old Maria Angela calls out my name to tell me dinner is ready. At the end of this week, I say Adios to the family as I´m going to be heading south to explore the Corcovado National Park, famously labeled by National Geographic as ‘the most biologically intense place on earth’,so I´m looking forward to that action

ciao for now

Laugh Space 8)

Are you hungry?

spacemanafrica — Wed, 22 Jun 2011 09:38:00 GMT

So, I survived the bus journey along the mountain of death. I mistakenly said in my last post that it is 3300 feet. It's actually 3300 metres - 11,000 feet. The bus set off in San José in very sunny weather. Over the next hour and a half, as the road went higher and higher in to the mountains, the sun dissappeared and the fog crept in and it was quite thick in some parts and it was very cold. When there were breaks in the fog, the view was magnificant. Green trees and mountains as far as the eye could see. Which as I said, wasn't always that far because of the fog.

The trip turned out to be rather fun and exciting. The driver wasn]t a maniac and whilst the road was very winding. it wasn]t narrow or ridiculously close to the edge. You could tell who hadn]t been on the trip before becasue they were the ones looking out the window at everything passing by. The locals, who had obvioulsy been there, done that, tried to get some sleep. I was allocated a seat in the back row and so it was a very bumpy ride sitting over the back wheels. How people were able to sleep, I don]t know.

(I've only now just found out which is the ' key. The keyboard here is different to what I'm used to.)

The funniest part for me was arriving at the top of the mountain to find a restaurant there called Everest.

So I'm now in a small town called San Isidro and living with a local family. They're pretty cool and have been very welcoming. The husband and wife, Heiner and Marianna and their two children Jorge, 15 and Marianegela, 7. The children are a lot of fun but it can be pretty frustrating when they talk to me and I have no idea what the fck they're saying. They must think I'm a complete idiot, sometimes. Heiner has two sons from a previous marriage and I met one of them last weekend. He's about 18 and he had a broken jaw and could hardly talk. He could speak a bit of English and explained that he'd had a fall. He told me he hasn't eaten for three weeks. I asked if he was hungry and almost with tears in his eyes, he said a simple, "Yes." He's going to be seeing the doctor later this week to get the wiring removed from his mouth. Poor lad.

I started at the Spanish school last Monday and everything is going well. The location is awesome. Up on top of a mountain overlooking the lush, tropical, vegetated valley below. I have classes in the garden of the school and I have a crazy Uruguayan woman teaching me and a young couple from North Carolina in my class. It's very peaceful in the garden with just the sound of the rain and the birds to be heard.

I've been spinning out the Americans by telling them how big red kangaroos are. I showed them a picture on the net of a red kangaroon standing just as tall as a 6 foot 7 tall basketball player. They were blown away.

My classes are in the afternoon from 1pm to 5pm which is usually when it's raining so that leaves me with free time in the morning during the beautiful weather. Today i went to a nearby mountain for another zip line canopy tour. It was pretty awesome, zipping through the forest in the sky along cables looking way down below at the trees. The best bit though was at the end. I totally wasn't expecting it. We had a 25 metre freefall. I thought I was going to be lowered down gently but it wasn't gentle at all. As the name suggests, it was free fall and as I fell my stomach rose. Good fun. Especially watching the other riders come down jusrt as surprised at the unexpected speed.

I've got some photos of all this shit but somehow in trying to upload some, I've lost the fuckers which has pissed me off a bit. I don't have the correct cable with me now, but will try and upload some photos at somepoint soon. Innit.

Cheers
Spaceman ☺️

Pura Vida

spacemanafrica — Sun, 19 Jun 2011 10:46:00 GMT

I´ve been in Costa Rica a few days now but a bit confused as to how many. Having flown in from Australia, I experienced the same day twice and with my sleeping habits now at odd hours, my sense of time is a bit skewed. However, I have had a relaxing start to my trip.

I´m currentlly in a pretty neighbourhood called San Lorenzo in Heredia, close to the capital San José. The manager of the hotel where I´m staying, Minor, has been somewhat of a tour guide for me, driving me about town and giving me information and the history of the surrounding towns. He woke me up at 5am for a short drive up the road to see the nearby volcanoes and to see the small ash clouds coming out of the top.

Today Minor took me to a cloud forest where I went on a tour through the forest which included travelling by zip line , flying-fox type things, through and above the jungle canopy. Awesome.

Minor has been very helpful and friendly and I´ll be returning to stay with him in a few weeks when I come back through this way. His hotel (the San Lorenzo Inn) is very clean and comfortable and for $30 for a single room with TV, own bathroom, and breakfast included, the price is definitely right.

Tomorrow I´m heading south to a place called San Isidro de El General where I´ll go to Spanish school for two weeks and live with a local family. I´m looking forward to that. To get to San Isdiro, I have to take the bus along the Pan-American Highway which goes through the mountains at an altitude of 3300 feet. The top of the mountain is called Cerro de la muerta. I don´t know what Cerro means but muerta means death. This could be a very pictureseque yet scary journey. I bet the road is right next to a steep drop. I hope the bus driver is not a crazy bastard. I want to get to San Isidro in one piece and without needing a change of underwear.

Laugh Space ☺️

I love U...

spacemanafrica — Sat, 18 Jun 2011 12:09:00 GMT

Well, despite not having alcohol to liven things up (I've quit drinking), my flights to Costa Rica weren´t without some moments of note. Thankfully, my flight departed from Sydney without any interference from the ash cloud of the Chile volcano. To get to my final destination, San José, Costa Rica, my travel route included a few stops. First stop was Honolulu. This was because for the first leg, I was flying with Hawaiian Airlines. I wanted to laugh at the cabin crew for all wearing Hawaiin shirts but then I had to remind myself that they were actually Hawaiian people - that´s what they wear.

Upon arrival in Honolulu, I was hoping to get lei´d but instead Immigration took me away for questioning. I had to sit in a waiting room whilst I listened to the immigration officals, behind the counter, take it in turns at looking at my passport and laughing at my name (Spaceman Africa).

They wanted to check what my plans were and whether I had the necessary documention to go with it. After my last visit to the States where I was deported, I needed to apply for permission to transit through the country. I had the correct visa and answered all their questions satisfactorily and they finally allowed me to continue my journey.

I got a wee bit lost trying to find check-in for the next leg which was with United Airlines to Los Angeles. I kept thinking of the line from the Seinfeld episode where Eliane says to Jerry, ¨I love U...nited Airlines.¨ Afer running that scene through my head many times, I arrived at the departure gate to find a dead set Newman look-alike - huge overwieght guy with short black hair and glasses. On the plane, the cabin crew had to give him a seat belt extension so he could buckle up, he was that big.

I arrived at LAX and I made my way to Terminal 2 for my last leg to San José. I got to the termianl and a flood of memories came rushing back. It was this very same terminal where I was escorted to my flight when I was deported. It was great back then, the officers took me to the front of each long queue thus avoiding the long and frustrating waiting time in each line. This time round I was somewhat lucky again as it was about midnight and so there were not many people about and so queues were quite short. Bonus.

My flight wasn´t due to leave until 3am but come time to board, the flight was delayed three hours due to heavy fog in LA. So I spent three hours lying on some seats just metres from where four years earlier I was sitting drinking a lemonade that the immigartion officers bought me before escorting me to my seat on the plane.

Three hours later the call came that the flight had been cancelled. The plane, coming from San José, had to be redirected to another airport because of the LA fog and apparently at the other airport the plane hit the passage way that joins the plane to the terminal and damaged the plane and so it was grounded after that.

I wasn´t too stressed or angry. By this stage I´d been travelling and /or in trnasit for 24 hours already. The airline kindly put us passengers up in a hotel - the Raddison, no less, very swish. It was quite a welcome rest, even if leaving the airport was possibly in breach of my visa requirements. Another flight was operating at 4 the next afternoon and so after a relaxing and comfortable night's sleep in the hotel, it was back to the airport again. This time I didn´t escape the long queues at passport control and the xray machine. Ah, well, I had plenty of time up my sleeve, anyway.

I arrived in San Jose, 15 hours later than planned. The plan was for the manager of the hotel I had booked to come and meet me at the airport. I had left a message on his answer phone about the change in flight details but he obviously didn´t get it because he wasn´t there to meet me. Being nearly 1am at this stage, I was alone in a new place and bombarded by touts at the airport for taxis and hotels. The situation was not something I was really in the mood for and was, actually, what I wanted to avoid by organising to be picked up.

I spent that first night behind bars. I went with an unofficial taxi to a nearby hotel in Alajuela. I was a wee bit worried that it might be dangerous hopping into a complete stranger´s car but It all worked out well. The hotel was no radisson, let me tell you. It was a small dive and had bars on all the windows and doors. I checked in to my room for the night and met one of the locals - a huge, like really, really big mosquito - the size of the mount of Venus on my hand.

I met with my contact, Minor, the next morning and I moved to his hotel in Heredia. He´s taken me under his wing for these first few days and then on Sunday, Im heading south to San Isidro de General to start two weeks of Spanish school. First impressions of Costa Rica are, wet (it´s rainy season), the people are friendly and the money is crazy. 1 Aussie dollar is about 531 Colones. I don´t know about you, but I´m a bit rusty when it comes to my 531 times table.

Laugh, Space ☺️

Photos: Spaceman

spacemanafrica — Sat, 11 Jun 2011 13:22:00 GMT

Canberra, Australia.