gertlush

On the deck of a boat, waiting for our departure to Isla del Sol, I look out to the morning horizon of Lake Titicaca to see that a plane has crashed noiselessly into the sea. A giant grey plume of smoke extends down from the clouds and into the point of impact, where all that can now be seen is a churning black hole of water, ringed by a ballooning quantity of foam. I hold my breath for the first appearance of tortured alimimium, and for the start of a very different day to that previously planned, when it becomes apparent that my eyes have deceived me: there is no plane, and there never was. What we are now witnessing is the birth of a cyclone. The plume of smoke, now revealed to be a tower ... read more

Three hours from La Paz, three hours from altitude sickness and a capital strewn breathtakingly out at the bottom of a canyon, we find ourselves in Coroico. Coroico, where Andes and Yungas collide and reluctantly, turbulantly, agree to tolerate the opposing world of the other. Coroico, where banana and coca plantations do battle with barren grassland, where a drop of a few hundred feet sees a shift in power from the viulture to the mosquito. 'Vulture', Adri informs me, translates literally into Spanish as 'massive chicken slap to the face'. It possesses a certain ring, no? In Coroico we awake every morning to a yawning valley punctuated by clouds seeking to scale its peaks. Willing them away, every morning we dawdle at the pace of lotus eaters into this sleepiest of mountain villages. All forms of ... read more

´Reko´ is a Mapuche word meaning ´clear water´, and it is the name of my home for the next month. I arrive after a jolting taxi ride along stone tracks to find a nine year old boy brandishing a saw blade - enter Apollo, a mini overlord with the intelligence and audacity to preside over all volunteers that enter his home. His father and uncle, Gerardo and Gabriel, ten years ago exchanged their Buenos Aires existences for a life of clothes manufacturing in India and bio-construction in Patagonia. The current project is the taller; sitting in the shadows of the Andes, where leaves on every mountainside are now turning from green to an almost blood red, this ark like structure will eventually be used for the manufacturing of solar instruments. The roof is midway through its ... read more

A twenty two hour bus ride from Buenos Aires and five hundred miles from the nearest person who knows me ('no tienes amigos?' asks a puzzled waitress), I push down on the pedals of my hired bicycle to begin my 110 km journey through the Andes, passing by seven enormous lakes in the process. I do not own a bike in England; I have spent the last month inhaling steak. The first twenty kilometres is an uninterrupted ascent into the mountains, and after two of those my internal vocabulary has been reduced to 'wow' and 'oh no' in equal measure, a curious development that remains in place for the next two days. In glorious sunshine it feels as though I have these autumn coloured mountain valleys entirely to myself, and yet its not long until the ... read more

Imagine a catwalk half a mile long, where thousands of people are packed into stands on either side; a catwalk showcasing not only beautiful women, but also forty foot goblins clutching goblets of wine and the four horsemen of the apocalypse in this season's hottest style. A last minute decision brings us to Gualeguaychu and Argentina's biggest carnival. Sitting in the stands beforehand, I experience that peculiar giddy excitement that turns alcohol from a requirement into an excess. From the distant cheers its apparent that the party has begun at the other end, and its too much for my heightened nerves: before I can stop myself I've unloaded an entire can of silly string into the back of the girl in front. Such lack of self control has lost me many friends I fear. Neither of ... read more

Our location at Los Ejercitos lies under the shadow of an abandoned hospital, the project aborted midway through construction. I am certain that the architect knew that it was doomed from the start, and so decided to entertain all of his structural fantasies with a free reign, as a child sits down determined to draw the biggest skyscraper in the world. It is sickeningly big; black cavernous holes, once intended to be ward windows, pepper the entire twenty stories like paralysed, unblinking eyes. It is without question the most terrifying building I have ever seen. Nowhere else does the abortion of hope stand so tall and disfigured, a mocking reminder to be endured every day. Underneath the children mark out a rudimentary football pitch, complete with posts composed of dogshit. With curious regularity, I have found ... read more

Five months away begins with homecomings. In Ezezia International Airport I watch entire families greeting relatives with a force of emotion that puts every other airport I have been in to shame. As I squat on my bag, wondering if the bus driver will greet me with a similar reaction, an old man and his daughter fall to the ground, their tears splashing the linoleum floor. No one bats an eyelid, as no-one should, but instead they wait patiently for their turn. My impulse to remark upon it is perhaps a small tragedy in itself. For the first few days I let myself be swept along on an adrenaline current. Eating only bananas for whatever reason, I creep around the outskirts of beauty; beautiful people, buildings, parks and most of all a beautiful language that admits ... read more