Snowing in Buenos Aires!

Perhaps i left just in time ...or not, it probably looks pretty all in white. By the way, this got a mention in international news here.
Argentinian glaciers are melting, it's snowing by the seaside, nooo, there's nothing really wrong with the global climate.

I have been watching a bit more TV recently than i have in the last 2 years... but cop this for news:
An archaeological site was pronounce today in the news, near here in the Mornington peninsular. Two scuba divers came across 2 rusty old planes while they were out to sea, one with the pilot still in it. It was soon established that they were war planes which had gone missing in 1947 during practice and had never been found, until now.

I really need a job.

welcome, and how about some fish soup?

Smooth entry into one of the worlds most boring places... sorrrrrry but that's how i feel.
On my last night in Buenos Aires i had a home-cooked german meal, thanks Cata, excellent red regional wine and as many cigarettes as i could smoke between coughing fits. But i was packed, thanks to Saloni's no-nonsense packing strategy, and during the day i had the chance for some going-away chats with Luciana, Alejandro, Rosana and Fernanda where i was able to relax for the first time in a week and enjoy the company of my friends, although i was seriously deliriously exhausted. I impressed myself, my goodbyes weren't sombre but animated get togethers.
I wasn't thinking of who i wouldn't see again, or rather not for a while, nor of the places i wouldn't be going to anymore, nor the routine if any that i had. I couldn't think that far into the realm of possible scenarios and futures, it simply was too much. The numbness obliterated my tears and better still i was able to function as a person until i got on that plane. The exhaustion worked to my advantage cos my 45 hour door-to-door trip had me passed out for most of the ride, even the despicable Sydney to Melbourne bus ride, allowing me to arrive friday morning in melbourne full of beans and talk my brother's head off. My dad received me with open arms and a bowl of fish soup at 9am, obvious to him that that's what i would want.

My first impression of my peoplesss and my surroundings was, ... not as violent as i anticipated. Coming down the Hume highway i saw the open fields with some cows and within 15 minutes i saw the 20 odd sky rises that concentrate to make melbourne city centre. I was in australia and i was not in argentina but i couldn't feel it. I suppose my subconscious had gone into auto pilot, treating this as another one of my transportations, and so taking every minute as it came to me and like i had never seen or been there before (that's not to say i had no idea where i was, on the contrary, i knew excactly). I felt contradictions, the familiarity from a distance and all. My past and The Travel was neither here nor there. But hell! i felt good and as excited as diving headlong into a ginormous chocolate cake! YUM.

However, one little thing that made me cringe was the aussie whine, aoohhh, the drawl that sounds so Cath and Kim - an aussie comedy, for those who don't know, that takes the piss out of australians and then ends up being the national dialect aaarggh!! where yes becomes yiiiiiiis and nice becomes noyice, the horror... And language is an issue here for me. It took me 3 days to say a full sentence in greek with out mixing it with spanish, and with english for that matter, but it's not like i've said anything in spanish properly in days. I so hope i don't lose it, entonces todos que pueden escribirme en espaNol deben que hacerlo para que no me olbide todo que aprendi y me vuelvo una boluda sin todas las huevadas que uno aprede hablando con la gente, cachai?

Things are exactly how i left them, streets are wide and clean with lots of trees, there's that huge middle class, even if lower-middle (which is light years away from the explosive poorer majority of Latin america), people are politically apathetic, indigenous people are being told how to live their life, again, (like it really worked last time), and even though it appears that governments aren't as corrupt here as they are there, they're still greedy lying scumbags, although i hardly needed to remind anyone of that. On my fourth day here i realised i hadn't walked out on the street, out of the house, or further than a few metres from the car i was in. From house to car, from car to house. So i take a walk around my neighbourhood to see that not even old people greet you anymore, that's if anyone is alive on the streets of suburbia.

On the 5th day i had the mandatory brawl with my dad over and done with, but that took my dopey glad to be back grin off my face. Apparently I'm not complaining enough about being unmarried and childless, but you know dads... can't exactly tell them to shut it. So now, 10 days in the country and i've just got used to the sound of autralians speaking (it's actually a big deal), spoken to some old friends, and have blended into the australian landscape like i'd never left. Got on the road with my car and passed roads and places i have known all my life and cringed with familiarity, cos it had that feeling of regression, of backwardness, of a feeling like the last 2 years never happened. And then i'd get flashbacks of walking down Pyuerredon and turning into Santa Fe, making myself at home at Allan's oasis of a home, passing one of the many fruit and veggie shops, of the buses screeching so loud while they pass you and leave you deaf and in a puff of smoke, watching people in the Subte like everything they do means something, observing with my sociological eye to what degree a person can stay disconnected from others in a crowded train carriage. Well the train carriage i got onto here was very much empty since public transport is a joke - imagine paying $10 for a daily ticket when back in Peru it would grant me 10 hours of long distance travel. ok, so i can't make those comparisons but PT is undoubtedly a million times better in America than here.

Nevertheless, It's nice to be home.

Update from the last port...

i've kind of skipped forward 2 months of my trip to make an announcement...

In 2 days i have a ticket back home.
I must say i'm a more than a little nervous but packing will be such fun. I've spent the last 4 weeks here in Buenos Aires, trying to do all the things i never had time for last year, but funny thing i still have run out of time. I've been trying to maximize my time, going out all but 3 nights, running all over town, purchasing when purchasing has lost all meaning, all the while carrying around a 5 weekold cold, smoker's cough and coldsores. My body is taking its toll and upstairs is a bit of a mess too. For the first time since i left, i've been astraltravelling to australia... you what? I mean i'm kind of there already, i suppose trying to make the transition smooth. Either way, i'm excited about coming back!! i have plans and projects except nothing long term...
I've been asked a million times when and if i'm coming back here. Of course i'd love to, but i honestly can't be asked thinking that far ahead, scheduling like i had done before my travel plans years in advance in my mad dash to get out of the country. Whenever if ever, is how i see it now. If anything, I'm looking forward to getting a 4x4 and seeing a bit of Victoria, people say my home state is lovely, i should know, right?

I already miss everyone here, and the goodbyes... oh geeez. I think i'll go down to San Telmo today, a part of town that closes the streets every sunday and overworked overstressed Porteños stroll slowly down the streets, passing by the antique stalls, arts and crafts, the bands on pavement, street performers of all sorts, and of course to see the tango dancers onthe street. I'll miss my MATE, i wonder if i can get yerba in melbourne, surely..

Later.

Cordoba

Cachi to Cafayate

Salta and to Cachi

I was going to spend a little more time around the region, visit the national park, las Yungas which is beautiful and part of the amazon but... i became eager to get to Salta since I could meet up with Marlene, Philippe, Jorge (AKA Che) and Fernando and Eva - sound popular? i was for a day...

This time round Salta wasn´t as hot as last December, geez it was unbearable then. It was kind of cool but sunny and nice, i even visited the museum with all he local history, though i understood very little. There, having a kitchen, i started to bring home lots of meat, in fact i ate steak everyday. I forgot, or in my poverty in buenos aires just didn´t get much of it, how bleeding delicious the beef is here. We, as australians, make mean barbecues and all that, and i have debated over who has the best bbq in the world, but i´m afraid i´ve now gotta give in, these guys have it! The bbq restaurants, Parillada, have these huge grills with wood! The lazy cows than live on flat planes offer the most tender and delicious chunks of meat you can imagine... i´m drooling.

I also got taken out to a Peña, which is kind of a place to eat and also to listen to folk music. There´re lots around, many with full-on shows, musicians on stage, dancers dressed up. But do you think i´d pay for something that constructed? Place i went to, La Casona, had very good and cheap food and wine, in an old huge homestead so that there were separate rooms with tables basically, and folks with their own guitars who come in, sit, eat, drink and start singing, and so does anyone who wants to basically. Singing and playing music simply for the pleasure of it, simply to be around appreciative ears. And they were good. I´m afraid i got blind drunk that night... cos my eyes got so small i had trouble seeing.

San Lorenzo was 5 km out of town, you could say an outer suburb, where we heard there was a river to walk along, again, and somewhere in the nature that we could pass the time. As my bus rolled in i realised the only people on my bus were the workers who attended the huge mansions that were apearing before my eyes. They were beautiful, big lawns and lots of horses n the street. The place was lush and posh. Well, off on our walk we went surrounded by amazing butterflies, slippery rocks by the low-lieing river and lots of horse dung. I knew i was in argentina, there were mate yerba dumpings every 30 odd metres along the river (where mate was drunk and then the used tea leaves where dumped).

And a week later i split with Phillip and my new found frenchy mate, Delphine, to Cachi, a little town near the mountains. There day after day we tried to get up early to take nature walks and appreciate the fresh air and scenery. But instead we constantly slept in, ate lots of goats cheese, salami, crusty country bread and yummy wine from the region. Since we happen to be there on a Sunday, we got invited to the parilla (bbq) that the old couple who had the place were making like they make every Sunday... i tried to refuse but they wouldn´t have it. We had a ball that afternoon, until the sun went down, it got chilly and gusts of wind came and smacked us out of their backyard.

Three days later i leave with Delphine and our obsession with food continues.

Che, back in town. Humahuaca

Sadly but inevitably, I had to leave Bolivia. 30 days isn´t even enough for me to get a gut bug, let alone get to see this incredibly beautiful and diverse country.

24th April. Had to take 4 am bus to Villazon, the bordering town to Argentina and got there about six, sleep in the eyes and all. There, in the freezing morning, we started to walk to the boarder, crossed, and took our first Argentinian bus. ooh the comfort, the top deck view, the stretch of the legs and the vast open spaces, flat, dry with protruding mountains in the distance, and we had descended about 2000m. Marlene was ultra excited and infected me with the thrill of being back in Argentina, and i stopped lamenting leaving Bolivia.

We got to Humahuaca, a place i really wanted to get to last time i was this way but didn´t have time. Dry, sunny in the day and cold at night, it´s very country and gaocho (cowboy). We stayed there a while but in between we took a side trip out of town for a night. Went to a town called Iruya and the 3 hour ride, albeit in an old school bus, was phenomenal. We ride up, to 4000m again, to see this amazing view of coloured mountains below them a patchwork of fields and then a massive chasm like an ancient earthquake separated the world and left space for a huge wide river, which was running low this time of the year.
And them we descend, again. Down, down in the chasm, winding all the way down and along, to reach Iruya at 2730m. It sits on a cliff face, at risk every year of simply falling off from the river swelling up and erosion. But opposite sit an array of mountain ranges the colours of all the pastels, but as well as stronger colours, blues, greens, purples, yellows, red browns, pinks, oranges...

First thing, we decide to talk a long walk along the river to reach a nearby town, called SanIsidro. Starting at midday and knowing it was 2.5 hour walk each way, we thought we´d make it in time before dark. Not knowing however that it was 11km each way, with a slight incline, and even thought the river was low, we would still have to cross it several times (since we didn´t really know the best places to cross) we got wet only shine high luckily. Spectacular as it was, it was 3.5 hours later that we say another joining river and a church on a cliff face which didn´t really look that far. But it would be another half hour climb, exhausted and desperate for a ride back. Marlene said when we arrived to the village, let´s not look too desperate for a horse... But there was no one willing at that hour of the afternoon, there was no choice, we rested for 5 minutes and began back.

On our way back we bumped into a local, carrying an oven on his back together with his pregnant companion, who was going our way so we followed their lead. With them we made it in half the time with much less river crossings. But those two! both burdened by weights managed to always walk way ahead of us. Anyways, when we made it back and we felt on top of the world.

Geeez that drive to Iruya was fabulous and impressive. Back to Humahuaca and within a couple of days to SALTA.

ps. anyone know how i can put a caption under my photos?

I was never a cowgirl..

I don´t know if it´s hard to believe but it seems every place in Bolivia i get to is distinct from the last place i was. The drive from Uyuni to Tupiza was a treat. After being bullshitted about the type of bus etc, we start the long dusty road, grannies and kiddies in the aisles as usual always with more hoarded on their back than seems possible to carry. The road, blind bends, winding cliff faces and bumpy.

Tupiza is a smallish town which has a bit of a gringo trail running through it, more than anything probably because it´s close to the boarder with Argentina. But Marlene, the animal lover that she is, enticed me to go horse ridding. Having nothing better to do myself, i went. Our horses had been brought to a corner of a street where we gleefully waited for our guide who was late. Finally a young boy, 10, to explain that the guide had some horse problems and that he´d take us. I huffed and puff at the beginning and said under no circumstances would i go with a child, let alone on the arse end of my horse. I looked at Marlene who shrugged, having no problem with any of this, and next thing i conformed and found myself riding away. Later i had seen that a few other folks that were riding around there that day had also teenage guides, but i must say, ours was the youngest. But no hick-ups really, but i hobbled along, thinking of cowgirls but not quite feeling like one. Yes i was sore the next day...

Zooming to Uyuni and my super duper tour

The southwest of Bolivia cradles one of it´s show pieces, and tourist trap and all, and i wasn´t going to miss it. The biggest salt lakes and deposits in the world - well, that sits that far up high, like the nearly the whole rest of the country. I get to Uyuni, the town, book myself a seat on a 4x4 and wait for the convoy which was to come the following day and last 3 days while circling the Salar.

First day went racing through the salt lake itself, passing the salt factory, salt hotel and continuing the blinding drive to an island of cacti in the middle of it all, to lunch on llama steak. It was splendid, reminiscent of an endless desert yet looking like snow. I took note of a french woman, Marlene, on my boat and took a liking to her since we agreed to share on our first night a cheap, but not so bad red, one of only 2 bottles that we found in our village on our first night. (But more than that, the following morning i heard her mumbling to herself excepts from the monty python´s holy grail, accent and all, and i knew we´d get along.) We tossed the bottled down in the open air, albeit quite chilly, with 2 other youngsters from the north east of the states, looking at the beautiful clear night sky and the billions of stars it was blessing us with. You could say we were merry.

The following day, we passed by volcanoes, lakes of various colours and mountains (cerros de 7 colores) of pink and blue and green etc, similar in fact to the crazy coloured mountains in the north of Argentina. We were got to the 4, 450m altitude. The terrain desert like but not. We reach a lake that´s rusty red from the mineral deposits and in awe took millions of photos of the pink flamingoes going about their business there. By the end of the day however, Emily had been flamingoed out. We also spotted vacuña (they´re related to the llama), and long tailed rabbits which brought our driver to a halt, got out of the car and started chasing some of them, in vain of course cos they were too fast. We´ll need dinner, he said...

That night we resided in a place near the lake of the flamingoes, in army barracks looking place. Facilities were basic but the tucker was good. We got up at 5am the next day to see the sunrise first at the geysers, the hot sulfuric springs that lay 5000m high. It was freezing, in fact, only me and frenchy got out of the car to run around and take photos of ourselves and the brilliant sun on the red earth. An hour later, we arrived to a lake which had hot springs and i was one of the few that dipped my freezing arse into that hot bath of delight with 2 of the few aussies i´ve managed to meet and like, Brendon and Rob from Perth. A few more sights were left on the itinerary and then began the long trek back to town.

915 km was the drive around the Salar of Uyuni, not that long by australian standards but the colours of the earth, the mountains, the bleeding white salt, the red, brown, orange, grey and green earth, spotted with lakes similarly coloured - green, red, orange, even blue. It was wonderful and wonderous, despite all the dust i ate, the bumps on the uncealed roads, our flat tyres and lack of showers.
Back in town Marlene and i stuffed our faces with hamburgers off the street before having a hot shower and booking our tickets together to go to Tupiza, south of Bolivia, since we were both needing to get out of the country (visa etc). More on that later.

Potosí

Night trips to Cochabamba and Sucre and the disaster in finding a place to stay, not to mention the delectable bus rides, convinced me to take the day bus to Potosí, Bolivia´s mega mining town, historically exploited and left to bleed. I hadn´t even realised I had arrived in Potosí when i saw the huge pyramid of a mountain, very washed out in colour, that hovers over the reasonably small town, like Zeus.

The city centre cobble-stoned and very colonial-looking (hell, the Spaniards weren´t here by chance) so seemed quaint and pretty, though on the periphery it´s just like any poverty ridden Bolivian town. But at night it was chokas with people strolling through the one way streets. It was comical if not futile the way the few brave cars honked their way through. But why was i there? To visit the mines of course. To pay for what all the miners get paid to do but wish they didn´t have to.

All decked up in mining gear, even a bit better than the miners themselves, i head off to discover why everyone says it´s an amazing experience. Apart from a percentage of our fees going to the miners in the form of foodstuff, we start at the miners´market to stock up on gifts we´ll be giving to them as we encounter them on the inside, which includes explosives, cigarettes, drinks, and of course, coca leaves, which are chewed on all day long, giving energy to them and reducing hunger pains. We couldn´t take along they´re favourite alcohol cos it wasn´t Friday, that being pure alcohol at 96 % - and which i willingly tried at 10 in the morning.

In the mines, despite the altitude at near 5,000m, the air was thick, hot and full of dust. In fact the altitude still made me huff and puff. Our small group of 6 plus 2 guides (ex-miners now making a better buck) went trekking for one mining group to another. The miners work in small communal working groups, 6 to 12 people, who claim a specific piece of land, mine and benefit form it collectively and, with more luck than not, they sell the minerals they find to the big wigs, mionerals like zinc, tin, perhaps gold, silver, etc. A good month would give a miner about US$300, or more if they hit the jackpot. And yes Rob you´re right about the longevity of this career, as i found out on the job. One of the miners had been working there for 20 odd years, since he was 15, and looked oooold.

Sliding down shafts, squeezing through minuscule portals, climbing through tunnels, hitting my head constantly (lucky for my helmet) might sound like fun but it felt like sweating in my own death.
Hell! and i was only there for 3 hours, can you imagine....

I met Mr Magoo yesterday

After a nightmare bus ride where somehow i managed to doze off to sleep while the bodies tried to get comfortable in the isle and the cumbia (music blaring from the speaker, you guessed it, right over my head) i arrive early than expected in Sucre, 5 in the morning in fact. Yes, i had booked a bed but for the night to come and nor would the hostel let me wait in the lobby, "no you´ll have to come back at 10"... let´s just say that i made it to the dodgiest and dirtiest and priciest alternative that i had at that ungodly hour. And i was adamant on getting my rest because i came all this way, not to visit Sucre, but to get to Tarabuco´s Sunday market, an hour out of town.

So at the information desk at the bus terminal i ask for directions. There is where i met him, Mr Magoo and his young niece, telling me he owned the terminal and he knew from which corner to get my bus. The desk clerk nodded in agreement. He also said he could give me a lift to close where i needed to go. "you don´t have to worry about me, i won´t rob you" he says and he starts to walk off his way whether i was going or not. Ha! i´ve heard that one before. the desk clerk looks at me and motions, go with him! I assess the situation and my gut wasn´t churning so i hobbled after him.

Mr Magoo trots to his leather clad latest model mercedes where his 2 very teenage nephews take the back seat and we´re off.
Is it cold in Tarabuco? i ask
Nah, it´s the same as here, the boys inform me. Sucre is refreshing but very sunny. 2,500m high about.
Now why do you want to go to Tarabuco? Mr Magoo´s face complains, i really don´t know what all the fuss is about. It´s 4000 metres high you know...
Is it cold? i ask worried, cos if it is i have to go get a jacket.
Yeeees it´s cold and nasty. what do want to do there? buy weaves or rugs or woollens?
...If it´s cold i got to get off and get well dressed you know, i don´t want to...
He´s talking over me, i´m looking out the window seeing the blocks distancing me from where i have to return.
You want clothes huh? he asks, i´ve got a factory you can get stuff there.
...No, but if it´s cold and i´m going to get a cold...
The boys in the back are laughing cos they can´t but in either, but Mr Magoo finally assure me that it´s not that cold when he realises what i´m actually asking.
Oh, ok then. I relax, only cos i dreaded the walk back.
I don´t know why everyone wants to go to that market anyway, he mutters.
I don´t want to buy anything really, i add, but the thing about the market is that it´s interesting to visit, is all, and in our countries we don´t have country folk congregating to sell their wears and artisans.
I think he concedes. Pause.
So where are you from? he asks.
I´m from Australia.
Oh, Italy, i was there recently, 3 months ago. Have you been to Florencia?
No, no, AUSTRALIA.
Yes it´s really nice there. And Florencia?
No, i say resigned, no i´ve never been there. The nephews try to but in a few times to make the correction but Mr Magoo pays no mind. I´m forced to have a negative response to all his questions, cos afterall, i´m not from Italy. One nephew taps him on the shoulder and clarifies my origins.
Oh! he says surprised. Australia... i don´t know anything about that.
Mr Magoo ends up going around and around a round-about while nephews are politely trying to point the way, and all confused he says, How about i take you all the way there huh? that would be nice wouldn´t it?
My eyes shoot across the dashboard and say, yes thank you very much sir, after taking note that where he had told me was the bus stop wasn´t and was under instruction to take me to the real bus stop... I got out, smiled genuinely and thanked him.

The most horrifying part of all this was that when i mentioned this lil´episode to some travelling folks one night, they weren´t quite sure who Mr Magoo is or hadn´t even heard of him....
The horror....

Where did those 2 weeks go?

(The first 4 pics are in Coroico with Che; the next 4 are from Cochabamba, graffiti, view from hill top, cinnamon ice-cream, and the kick-arse bus; rest are in La Paz city, view from lookout, streetscape and my regular eating hall)

Who would have thought i´d spend 2 weeks in La Paz.
La Paz starts at the plateau and spills down the rugged valley where the temperature rises about 5 degrees or more - its´a cold place and a rude awakening from my summer interlude. It´s a pretty looking metropolis with mostly low rise housing though ornamented with a of badly maintained transport system - the minibuses which can squeeze shit loads in or the old 50´s US school buses which run slower than you walk. This place was hard to crack, every day i took a few steps outside my comfort zone, climbing another hill (as la paz is one hilly mess) puffing as i went in the thin layer of oxygen. But it bewitched me. The streets are spilling over with vendors selling everything imaginable, and i bought it allll. Saw the witches market where dehydrated llama fetuses hung, peach juice (cooked, but also endless fruit stalls), hairdressers soliciting for clients, popcorn, meat (of course never refrigerated on the street), deep-fried sausage, and soup, etc, i couldn´t go on. But even despite the vendors, the streets are full of movement and life, making it easy to just sit at the plaza and stare but hard most of the time to even walk through the crowds. Plazas everywhere homed and congregated people but come about 10 at night and all´s gone home, reminding me so should i.

But i did make 2 out of town trips, one towards the Yungas to the village of Corioco, warm with lots of mosquitoes. The roadtrip there is renowned for being "the most dangerous road in the world" but it´s not cos they fixed most of it. An incredible drive that took me through the snow before plumeting nearly 2000m in 3 hours, hence the heat. Still, very hilly and green, where a lot of coffee and coca is grown and spectacularly looking. There i met Che Geuevara (sorry Jorge) and i asked him if he wanted to take a day hike to a village, Tucaña, down the hill top where coroico was and up another. There lay villages with afrobolivian populations form the slave intake years but they appeared to live in harmony together. Thought it´d take 5 hours to and fro but i got tired so easily and we did several mate and ciggy brakes that it took that long one way. Well we still had to stumble down the mountain side, to the main road and ride on the back of a truck to get closer to home. That night we ate like horses and got tipsy on beer. I´ll be seeing Che on my way through Salta, Argentina, i hope if he´s not on a nutty anthropological expedition in the mountains.

I´ve been saying there´s one month left on my holidays for the last 3 months. Ha! A week ago i went to immigration to ask for an extension on my 30 visa only to be told that the aussie and Bolivian consulates had a misunderstanding and i would have to pay for my extension... So I´m not making a bee-line for the Argentinian boarder. There´s loads to see here, loads and even an extension wouldn´t do half of it justice. I´m missing out on the amazon completely and sticking to the east.

But i had to come through Cochabamba, where Manuel is from - housemate from BA. Now i understand why he´s homesick. A world away from La Paz, Cochabamba is sleepy middle-sized city with yummy temperate weather conducive to ice-cream, especially cinamon flavoured. It´s that kind of town you say i could raise kids here... well I´ve been wondering leisurely around trying not to eat and try food and stuff every 5 minutes, cos frankly it´s hard to fit it in. Although a shame that just about everything cooked is fried, deeeeply.

Heading tonight to Sucre to get tomorrow to town nearby with an awesome Sunday market - can´t resist. Then to Potosi to see the mines that to this day kill by poison workers within 10 years of starting there. Then to the long awaited Uyuni salt lakes and a dash to the boarder. Geez, it´s the first time i´ve had a week´s plan in advance...