Partying Puerto Monte... and climbing of course

So, we made it out of Cochomo with all limbs in tack but plenty of scratches to show for it. Oh, and a pile of very very dirty clothes. My hiking pants will never look the same again, forever carrying Cochomo dirt in the pores of fabric, which is kind of nice or memory''s sake. Who needs photos when you can just collect dirt in your clothing instead. Scratch and sniff style. Haha. They do say that your memory is triggered by scent more than visual cues. I experienced this later, when I was washing my clothes at our friends place in Puerto Monte. While watching the pool of clear water turn filthy dark grey, I got a big waft of smell that totally took me right back to Cochomo. A smell that is hard to put in to words, but includes earth, stale food, rock, wet wool, lamb fat, horse manure, cats, horses, sheep, grass, fuscias and camp fire. It is so funny how you never realise how dirty and smelly you are until you get back into a shop or bus or city where there are clean people to compare yourself to. This realisation happened for me as we were walking with out with our new friends Michael and Jose. We walked past a bunch of tourists who were getting back from a half day tour on horse back, and they were all so CLEAN. Wearing jeans that were not torn or stained and ironed shirts, WHITE ones even. There was this cloud, foreign and overpowering, of sun cream, deodorant, soap, shaving cream, perfume, laundry powder and insect repellent. Smells that I had not experienced for a long time. I became all too aware of how Jono and I were emitting very different types of smells to these, and how we both looked more like mud wrestlers than tourists. As we were waiting for the gaucho who was driving us, for a few pesos, in to town to finish his drink, I made a comment to Michael and Jose about how clean all those tourists looked and smelt. 'Yeah. There are two types of tourists, them and us' Michael said. 'Yes, differences like their driver is not drunk, for one', and they get to ist Inside a car wih seat belts,' said Jose. haha.

The drive back in to Cochomo was probably more scary than any of the climbing we did, akin to the Mexican taxi experiences, but probably more scary because we were just sitting in the back of a ute, which we shared with a tied up sheep. The first leg of the trip was not too bad as we were stuck behind a herd of horses. As soon as we turned from the dirt road on to the tarmac road, and left the horses behind, our driver put his foot down hard. Having witnessed him sharing pisco and vino with his friends at the trail head before we left, I was not filled with confidence in his driving ability, but somehow I knew we would be ok. At one point we had a very near miss with a fuel tanker coming the other way around a sharp bend... we have a movie of this which I would love to upload but it does not seem to want to work, anyhow we got to the bus stop alive, and hung around with the driver drinking beer by the road. We were so busy drinking beer and talking that we missed the first bus, and nearly the second (and last one for the day).

Michael invited us to come back and stay with him at his place in Puerto Monte, go to his 25th birthday party and climb at his local crag. He did not have to twist our arms! He lives with his grandma in a hospidaje that she runs, so there were plenty of rooms. His grandma was super kind to us, even though, at times I think a little frustrated at our lack of Spanish, something we are still trying to change. She kept cooking big lunches for us and would not let us lift a finger to help or clean up after ourselves. The party was so much fun. It was great to be part of a local party, so far removed from the typical backpacker tourist scene, where everyone just talks about how much they can or did drink, how many places they have ''done'' and how many more they still want to ''do'' (which means to go to, take quick pictures of themselves infront of, and tick off. But again, I think this is something I have already winged about and probably will again... apologies for boring repetition!) I could not really have any in-depth conversations with anyone, but I can't usually do this at parties or clubs in Australia anyway, as I am part deaf and can never hear anyone over loud music, so it was not really very different. Someone asked me what language I spoke and I told them (in Spanish) that I spoke English and bad Spanglish, which they thought was amusing. It was such a strange mix to watch a local rock band play Metallica covers, and then (try to) dance to salsa music later. Both Michael and his friend tried to teach me how to dance, and both failed. I can dance, just as long as it is solo! As soon as someone else in involved, and trying to tell me where to go and what to do, I turn into a ball of clumsiness. It made for lots of laughs though, as did Michael's uncle trying to teach us how to play the didge the next day.

We stayed a few more days with Michael, spending one day hungover where the most eventful activity was a walk in to town for an icecream, and the next day Michael took us out to his local climbing crag that he developed. You can just catch a public bus right to the place, about half an hour outside of town. Again, we felt very lucky to be climbing rock we would not have even know existed if it we had not met Michael. Then, it was time to say goodbye, before we wore out our welcome, hopefully we had not done this already. It was also time to move on... we like to not rush, but at the same time here is always this desire to see as much as possible. The two feelings coexist uneasily.

Oh, by the way, I have included a few extra Cochomo photos here aswell.

---

---

---