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Published: March 31st 2008
Hola amigos!
Again lo siento para the delay in getting back to you. It truly has been a hectic two weeks, which I now have a couple of hours trying to summarise. Well we arrived in Puno on the 16th march, and apart from the polluted green algae entranceway to the lake titicaca (At 3900m the world´s highest navigable lake), one decent high street with pubs and restaurants, and a huge papermache Puma overlooking the town, it was in a Welsh accent, a pretty shitty city! It didn´t help matters that I was coming to the jagged peak of my illness. Apart from the gravel in the throat and the amazing consumption of handy andies, the altitude wasn´t helping the sinuses and I was longing to come down. On top of this I was (see photo) miserable and wearing long johns, beanie, trousers fleece, etc but still was really cold and getting the shivers. However two days of Peruvian lemsips and hardcore over the counter yellow drugs later and I felt heaps better. i also didn´t smoke for ten days which was definitely a good thing. So after a mini slice of pizza for dinner - the decreased appetite my sister
spoke of only evident when I get sick! Otherwise I have probably put on weight! - I went straight back to the hotel and watched House on cable TV and Los Simpsons en Español until i fell into a vivid dreamy sleep, in which I was Thrice Knightley, the new and improved porn king on the streets of Peru, all very weird!
Monday 17th March - Paddy´s day was a strange one in all honesty. We had caught a boat from the bay of Puno on a calm sunny day, where the wind played a massive role in burnage (giving Laura second degree burn on leg which for 5 days meant she could not walk on it if she head been lying flat as all the blood had drained away). We sailed first 3 hours to Taquile Island where the ´museums´were all local handicrafts etc. Edith bought a hat and was fierce happy. I had never seen her so pleased with herself or smile so much - i think more in one day than the rest of the entire trip! Lunch was an awesome Lake trout with chips, salad and rice and a chicha morada, which is like Giant
Black/Purple sweetcorn juice. Very nice! Chicha is a type of alcohol brewed up from the corn coloured version and it tastes a little like when you burp an acidic vomit into your mouth - nice!I think it is also chewed by the women before spat out into a bowl to fermentate in the hot sun, so I stayed away really! Taquile Island from the top of the island was like Capri or the Amalfi coast, sort of Tuscan villa roofs and cypress trees leading onto the blue blue lake -beautiful- (the pollution long left behind in Puno Bay now) where the water is 18 degrees celsius.
This is where I got into a long awaited fight with jewish princess Stef, who was convinced that the water in the ´whole´Pacific ocean was 10 degrees. What a dickhead! Anyway I argued to the contrary but apparently she knew best in that Cape Town was on the Pacific and she had been there, so...man did I laugh out loud. She´s the kind of girl who if she overhears you talking about steak, she will perk up and say she´s had the best one ever, better than yours and then invites all her
imaginary and unwanted friends into the mix, ones who people on the street over here really remind her of, even though you don´t have a clue and couldn´t give two fucks anyroad. Jaysis it was tiring, so I found myself laughing in her face and explaining that it was indeed the Atlantic ocean and the Indian that met at Cape Town, which brought me so much glee, she stormed off Óh whatever!´like this was Big Brother and went and sat on her own, throwing her dolls overboard. Quality! An hour later, I was sitting between laura´s legs half asleep, her trouser leg rolled up 6 inches and when we arrived to Amantani Island to meet our host family, she looked like a localised burns victim!
Amantani Island was also beautiful and we stayed in a little house, that you had to crouch to get through the doorways. Our 28 year old (35 looking) host mum Celia, dressed to the nines in local attire, appeared to be a single mum, to 8 year old Christian and this was apparently a common thing here, the males go off to Puno to bring in money (as most things done here are co-op
and community based trading etc) and rarely come back! Her father, who spoke some Spanish was a nice gentle man, and his wife, who only spoke Quechuan had skin like leather becuase of the sun´s strength at such altitude.
A football match on the local 4000m rec ground then took place, the gringoes lost 3-1 to the locals, but I scored our solitary goal after a lucky but mazy dribble, which confined me to goal, panting like a bitch, for the next ten minutes, exhausted but very satisfied! Then we stopped for a hot chocolate as the sun went down and a quick game of frisbee made me inclined to give the disc away to the local kids, who were not only very cute, but also very talented and learnt to throw a side arm within about ten minutes!!
Celia´s father found us for supper, identifying us in the dark from his family´s specially knitted beanies with flourescent llamas on them. Dinner was a simple but yummy affair, a veggie rice dish and soup and we had a good conversation in Spanish about peru and England, the cost of things, flights, the differences. Then we were dressed up
for a dance - Laura in two big dresses (presumably the first layer in case she needed to squat and then wipe her arse, as is the custom) and me in a massive heavy poncho and churro (beanie) and off we went to the dancehall, where a band was set up at the back and the beer was flowing like wine. It was sort of a massive conga-cum-barndance, gringo, local tiny 5 foot lady, gringo, local lady, hardly any men to be seen (only the pan pipe band and the footbalers from earlier). It cut a strange scene to be sure, but everyone was loving it, until it ended everyone heavy with sweat looking up at the stars outside to cool down. Apparently, also even though they don´t smell, the women here can go 2-3 weeks without washing, prompting Dave to comment that you wouldn´t be eating any pussy in this town!
Slept really well on straw matress until 3 am when the toilet called me. Luckily the outhouse was only one flight of stairs down and the stars were unbelievable in the black cloudless sky. A very strange Paddy´s day indeed!
Tuesday 18th - a bit of
a sour note this morning that didn´t mix well with the pancakes was that as we get ready to leave, having left our food (adult) and our schoolbooks and pencils (kids) gifts, was that Galwayman Niall from the dance had his camera stolen, but he had left it on a window sill (it ended up in a bin and he got it back eventually - someone must have panicked) and wanted to check all our bags (not that he was accusing us you understand!) in case we picked it up by mistake! Well Laura was very embarrassed by her fellow countryman and shrunk in her chair. 4 hours later on rougher seas (lake!) we were at Uros the floating reed islands. It was interesting but another handicraft tourist trap and a ride across to the next island on a big impressive reed made Viking boat. We had a sandwich for lunch and were
back in Puno by tea time. I still felt a bit ill, but was over the worst of it, but ate half a chicken and got an early night ready for a 7am start.
Wednesday 19th - We were notified about the ´chicken bus´to La Paz.
Well it didn´t turn out that bad really. Angela had just overdone it so we were expecting the worst and hopefully wouldn´t moan about the state of it. She obviously had learnt well, although it did take (again) alot longer than suggested. Luckily it was only about 3 hours on a no toilet bus after passing the Bolivian border control and an hour break in Copacabana, where you could see the Bolivian navy patrolling the lake (they used to have a coast but lost it in a war with Chile, so now the navy just patrols the lake) and if we had more time could have visited the Isla del Sol (water part of Inca belief) where Tinahuaco ruins pre-date Inca ruins - of more interest to archaeologists as Inca imperialist often stole the blueprints. Having looked at the massive distances in argentina (alot of 17 hour plus journeys) to get down to Patagonia and back, and the fact a week on a brasilian beach would be nice before we head home, we decided to spend only a week in Bolivia, as hopefully it will stay cheap longer than Argy and we can come back again and do it justice! Could be a foolish move at present looking at the finances but hey! As we arrived in El Alto (near the airport) the plateau above La Paz, (short for¨: Our Lady of ´the peace´) the fumes and pollution grabbing at your throat, you come around a bend and can see the city spread in the bowl/hole below you. Its pretty impressive and far more cosmipolitan than I was expecting. After John and Frankee pulled another tantrum regarding their room not being booked for another night (this they were entitled to do!) We had our final farewell supper tonight at an amazing burger and rib restaurant called Mongo´s, where we were given free Pisco and Tequila shots (not needed) and where I read out the limericks I wrote about everyone while on the Inca trail. Some were pretty funny and generally well received but others (Gay Rich and Stef the Jew) were probably a bit pissed off for no other reason than they can´t take a joke about themselves.
Thursday 20th - last night I booked myself (with Rich, Dave, Frankee and John) on the World´s Most Dangerous Road to Corioco by mountain bike. We left at about 9am and I was quite nervous with anticipation, the 13 deaths in 11 years bearing dopwn on me. Its lost alot more lives in cars, as the road is no more than about 4 metres wide (two way) in places and people still use it to save gas and time, even though a longer paved road is now complete. On every corner you see wrecks at the bottom or a cross with 100 names on it. I paid my $70 which got me the $5000 handmade canadian rocky mountain bike with hydraulic suspension and dual breaks, snacks and tea, a DVD and a T-Shirt.
Then we drove up (John Frankee and I managed to blag the 4wd Toyota ahead of the shitty Hiace van with ten people in it!) to Huayti Potosi mountain at 4650m, 90 minutes from La Paz, wrapped in fleeces against the cold and spent the day descending the road (only 5km out of 65km was up hill) to a staggering 1250m. Well I am stumped for words, it was the most fun, exhilarating day with amazing scenery (not that you can look to much at it because of concentration on the gravel and rocks) more appreciated on the 4 hour drive back. Best thing I have done since rafting the Zambesi 8 years ago and it was nice to throw myself in the pool at Hotel Esmerelda at the end before scoffing Chicken and rice and chatting to Rusty (our Oregon guide) about his 2 year motorbike trip (delayed 5 months but 16 months in to work in La Paz) from Alaska to Ushaia on the trip home as the full moon rose, turning the mountains cobalt blue. Rusty said it was the first day in 4 months that there was absoluetly no rain and lying by the pool in 30 degree weather, drying in 5 minutes watching the vultures circle above my head, i thanked my lucky stars. i had needed a day like that and it had delivered. After a steak dinner at Sol y Luna restaurant, I crashed witht he football on the telly in a new $20 hotel up the road, near the witches market where they sell LLama foetuses and dead baby alpacas (sticking out of boxes) to be ground up probably for a fertitlity shake! They also sell all other weird and wonderful remedies for period pains and all those other unmentionable things!
Friday 21st - Charlotte introduced us to her boyfriend Phil, a 19 year old Dutch-American medical toyboy, who she had worked with on placement in Cochabamba and so we hung out with them most of the day. i rang home and then we went back to Sol y Luna for lunch. Stef managed to whinge for a good reason and get us 50% off as we waited for an hour an a half as the dutch proprietor had not accounted for the Easter rush (most places were closed). Then later, after a couple of beers, Phil, Stef (who thankfully left at 11.45pm to get sleep for her bike trip), Charlotte and I went to Tucan bistro for a curry and by midnight the Easter drinking ban had been served and Lindsay - a Brit born Aussie owner and archaeologist - allowed
us to drink mojitoes and smoke the night away, chatting bollox at altitude and forcing us to admit to him (he wasn´t bothered) that we had been slipping rum into our lemonades under the table!
Sat 22nd - rolled in at 5am and had to check out by noon feeling rough, but then we had 8 hours to kill until we had to be at the station for our 12 hour overnight bus to Uyuni, where the salt flats begin. We hung out with Charlotte, Phil, and Adam, 18 year old Etonian Alex from Guildford, and German space cadet Melanie. We went to the black market but none of the football shirts I liked fitted, but finished off the present list for family. Adam was a Tar Heel (from North Carolina University) and so we chatted about that as he got high and ate Israeli hummus and kofte. I had 2 ´pints in tankard´s´of PG Tips and a fry up in Oliver´s Travels pub and finally managed to swap my book from A Short History of Tractors in Ukrainian to Nausea by jean paul Sartre for about $5! The time flew despite the hangover and the re-inflamed cold (cannot wait to head down still). The first three hours of the bus journey was a delight to oruro on paved roads, but the next 9 was painful, with no apparent road and being thrown around on 3 valium like a washing machine spin. We arrived in Uyuni this shithole town on the edge of the desert drowsy and grumpy, not in the mood for hawkers of tours and things.
Sunday 23rd -We trailed all over town (some said come back at 4pm for a hotel room!) until we found an average place to stay for $20. Then Laura got sick again and had the trots and we were miserable in this crappy desert town where it never rains. We couldn´t book a tour as everything shut on sunday and we could barely find anywhere to eat. The people were unfriendly and to top it off the food was shit and the town was over-populated with Israeli hippies juggling in the streets and acting like they nomrally do in a childish group mentality. I felt very homesick all of a sudden and was glad to just get through the night.
Monday 24th - checked out, booked ourselves on an all inclusive $100 Oasis tour of the salt flats to San Pedro de Atacama, Chile with 3 Brasilians and left this knackered one horse town. Nay, a 33 year old pregnant-looking doctor, his 36 year old wife Claudia and her 43 year old colleague Locien from Sao Paulo were very nice and just what we needed in terms of relaxing, not hurrying anywhere and spoke enough Spanish that we could get by with thte odd conversation. The only problem with the awesome 3 day tour was that the guide spoke Spanish only and it was a different type (no attempt to slow down, for example on the first night I asked in Spanish if we were staying at this place and he rattled off an answer I couldn´t understand when a yes or no would suffice. But the 23 year old Luis was a great driver and him and cook Feliza fixed a blown tyre in about 10 minutes as we stood around pissing in the desert so it wasn´t all bad). Would have been good to know more about what we were looking at though.
The first day took in the Train cemetary, a shitty salt town called Colchani where a Vicuña spat at me as I treid to pet him. Then we went to Fish island, where there were 2500 year old cactuses in an area that used to be under water. Here the salt flat had started and spans 25m deep, with little piles of salt collected for export and goes for 2000 sq km. It is blindingly white and flat so that the horizon, surrounded by volcano and mountain peaks high on the Alti-plano seems forever away, unreachable. Amazing scenery all in a 4WD truck as the terrain is shocking. The photos we tried to change the perspective so we were standing on a water bottle didn´t quite work as I think I am a bit wobbly eyed (smae thing happened when i tried to cruch the Statue of Liberty between my fingers! ) Oh well! Then I fell asleep amazingly considering how bumpy it was and we arriveed in San Juan before night fall. here I paid $1 for a how shower and we ate soup and an amzing lasagna. i played Laura at Chess and we were reading in bed by 9pm, lights out by 11pm.
Tues 25th - today was all lakes, red, blue, white with flamengos, a rock that looked like a tree in the desert de Silioli and then stayed the second night in Laguna Colorado (In the NAtional Reserve de Eduardo Avaroa) in a shit 5 bed room with the Brasilians called Hostel San Marcelo, where the local women decided to play shite music and bang pots in the kitchen behind our room until 2am, when we had to wake up at 4am. Wankers!
Wed 26th - Went to the hot springs an hour drive away and the geysers, but it was about 2 degrees and no one wanted to venture into them in the dark. There was however a perfect reflection in the Lagna verde of the mountain above and It was 8am by the time we got to the Chilean border which was strange as we had to wait two hours for our connecting bus to San Pedro. This with little sleep annoyed me, so it was begrudgingly that i gave Luis a $10 tip and waved goodbye. We jumped on the bus, filled out the immigration forms and arrive din San Pedro by midday (an hour ahead). This is where the expense began. With only three buses a week out to Salta, they knew people would have to pay to stay and one guy tried to charge us $70 for a double with ensuite. We finally found one for going on $40 in a nice quiet hostal off the main drag thanks to an Italian named Francesco. There we met Bristolian couple Allegra and Steve, care workers for the NHS, and Canadian couple Erin and Colin, who were all very sane and nice after a fucked up few weeks. They also got ripped off by the hippy, so i wrote my letter. We cooked dinner in one night after getting totally ripped off by these fucking hippies (which made me write to footprint guides to alert them) in a juice bar where it said 241 juices, and it wasn´t. In fact it was $13 for 2 of them and when i refused to pay showing them the 241 they were gonna call the police. We paid but i was angry and ready to fight, but what use would it have made, except for one smelly fucking hippy with a broken nose! Hate Chile now and doubt we are going to go back! In 2 days we spent $300 and have very little to show for it. The bus tickets to Salta ($30 ish the other way) were $60 alone.
thurs 27th - This day we did fuck all and then headed 6km out of town to the desert on a www.spaceobs.com astronomy tour, where Frenchman Alain showed us all the constellations and explained everythig there was to know about the earth´s relationship to stars, constellations, milky way, glaxies and space. Amazing outside telescopes in the place that never rains, the outhouses built of dry mud. He said it rained for 15 seconds in 2007 and that was strange and the sky was perfect for viewing Mars, Alpha Centuri etc.
fri 28th - Caught the bus to Salta, an amazing journey dropping through the mountain towns dotted with Oases from 4500m to 1500m arriving at 9pm and found a room with bathroom for $23, that was the best we were going to get after searching a few other areas.
Saturday - got drunk in the hostel with the guys from San Pedro and also managed to get the cable car up the hill for a good view of this colonial pleasant overcast city and go to the Archaelogical museum where for $3 we saw the best preserved mummy yet, a 15 year old girl found on top og Illuillaca volcano on the Chilean border 480km west of Salta.
Sunday - Got in at 5am and slept til 1pm had lunch (6 empanadas each!) and coffee and then went to see Villa de San Antonio (a third division club) play a shocking game of football at a small stadium for $4 each. then we went shopping and cooked up a veggie pasta, having spent another $67 for a bed on a bus to Mendoza (wine country) tomorrow. Nothing is open now.
Monday 31st - We leave at 3.45pm and will be in Mendoza at 9am tomorrow. Just hope the road is paved this time! Until next time prob with mor3e (troublesome photos) take care x tom
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