As I dunked, what was probably the only spoon available in the village, into my large bowl of porridge I readied my taste buds for a taste sensation. Having walked, now 4 days through the Peruvian wilderness I was starting to really enjoy some of the slants on regular cooking and having stopped in a quaint little village, I really expected something special of this meal.
Lifting the hot silky broth to my lips the spoon quivered and then steadied and as it hit my lips. Gruel!...Actually that term is not entirely accurate. Gruel would be the the high class brand name of the meal I was attempting to eat. I`m pretty sure my would have had a similar font on the outside packaging but would have had a name like, Gruei or Cruel. Or perhaps simply ¨Clag¨. I'm pretty sure the primary school glue children so loved to eat from the age of 5, probably had 1 major fact in common with my meal, namely 97% of the total volume of both was flour and water.
I added enough sugar to make mud taste like honey, unfortunately this made sweet glue, in fact,it reminded me of the sugar soap used to clean walls before you repaint them. With the whole town (8 people) watching, I smiled rolled my eyes into the back of my head and tried to think of a better time...a better place.In the remembering, I took myself back to a place where food was a thing of myth...and that meant my own fantasy land.
(insert stereotypical camera affect for "memory scene" here)
Slowly wending our ways through the pampas in Bolivia, John and I decided to tackle one of the big questions in life. ¨Which endangered animal would be the most delicious¨*. After some 10 minutes of talking, all the girls on the boat were thoroughly disgusted whilst John and I were watering at the mouths. The two pommy lasses I had spent a week or so with went from friends to enemies and John´s girlfriend, almost disowned him. It was this point that we decided that some sensitivity was required, so we changed the question to ¨which animal,that you have seen whilst in the Pampas, would be the best to eat¨**...More fury. Replaying the thought of delectable Bolivian morsels in my mind, with the aim of conning my stomach into eating glue soup, I suddenly and unexpectedly identified one of the key differences between men and women. The ¨which animal is best to eat game¨ is generally not one approved of by the fairer sex.
Thinking back on the incident I wondered how the girls would have felt about my meal the previous night. Having discussed at length which animal would be most delicious it was quite apt that only a week or two later I would get the opportunity to eat one of my childhood pets. As a happy young 10, or so, year old I owned at last two guinnea pigs...5 1/2 at one stage (if you include the time when the mother gave birth to a large brood and the father half ate one).
Wandering into the same "glue soup village" the night before I was offered the opportunity to snack on one of my child hood friends and I took the opportunity eagerly. With the little critter boiled peeled rubbed down with local spices and deep fried in a pan I was convinced the KFC (Kentucky Fried Cuy***) would be a delectable morsel.. and in some ways I was right. The herbs were the perfect combination making a veritable party in mouth... the down fall was the Guinea pig itself. Whilst most of us would consider the little guys rather chubby, you note, after one has been gutted in front of you, that most of there weight is organs and little meat is left after the removal of these....none the less the smell of the meat cooking was intoxicating.
Having been give the GP, I looked at it for some time trying to asses how one was to eat such a meal. With the same 8 eager faces watching me, one of the ladies soon realised that I was a little confused without a knife and fork and thus produced a carving knife and the one fork of the village. Happily deciding to get a taste of this new culinary sensation I ran my knife across the flesh and noted something very peculiar...nothing. The flesh was completely unscathed.If the Peruvian army was ever to go to war, I would recommend the cover there vehicles and men with guinnea pig meat. I attempted to cut the animal a half a dozen more times and still I was unable to even scratch the surface. Eventually, frustration and animal instinct overcame my manners and I grabbed the GP with my hands and bit it. The immediate taste was quite deletable although removing my teeth I noted that they too had done little damage. I altered tactics and peeled off the vulcanised hide of the little critter. After all this work I hoped the meat would taste new and different, perhaps as fantastic as the sea turtle I ate in Northern Queensland....Nope! After all this hard work the meat tasted like, you guessed it, chicken.
I did, eventually, work out a method to consume the little guy but as I took my last mouthful of meat the guide turned to me and said "you do know you have to eat everything¨. I looked at the large A5 sheet of guinea pig skin. I considered asking if i could take it home to make a guinea pig skin rug or perhaps use it to craft the rubber for a spear gun or slingshot, but I knew I wasn't getting out of this one. After every mouthful I consumed one of my potatoes to stall the rubber band consumption. After 15 or so minutes one of the locals noticed how quickly I was eating the potatoes and thus assumed i must be enjoying them. He wandered over and asked in Quechuan (not even Spanish) if I would like some more. Having no idea what he said I politely smiled and said, unwittingly, "yes". Before I could choke down another slice of a substance which would have been more at home in a Goodyear factory, 12 more potatoes appeared. The challenge was now dizzying. To cut a long story short I managed to con one of the locals to share my potatoes and the guinea pig....well, I eventually choked it down...but I shan't say that it was with pleasure nor without any concern. Having consumed such a substance I wondered what the... um ..long term effects on the ..er... digestive system would be.
I shuddered a little at the memory and snapped back to reality. The bowl was now half empty and whilst the thought of delectable nedangered spcies had helped me somewhat, the memory of the last nights meal was more powerful and reminded that I could not be beaten. I slurped down the last of the glue and as I placed by spoon in the bowl the guide turned and a said "Next we have cooked you corn, potatos and carrots, you want more yes?". With a gut full of glue the concept was revolting...of course not wanting to offend I said "yes".
He spun around instantly and brought a bowl to me. To my distress it suddenly became evident that we had crossed our wires. What he meant to say was "you have potatoes, corns and carrots coming would you lie some more glue?". ...I was beaten. Finally the stomach had to take control and manners had to be thrown aside "I'm NOT eating any more". I passed the meal on and entered a trance like state to prepare my body for the incoming mass of boiled vegetables.
With the meal done, the mule loaded, I ,as usual, wandered off on my team and sucked up the surroundings. Walking through some of the most spectacular scenery I have ever seen I soon found myself assessing the environment, the fold lines, the faults, the fluvial processes....oh my god, I was applying the knowledge gained from my Geology and Geography degrees. I tried to shake off the feeling of being a nerd but then realised that in my down time I was also reading the lord of the rings trilogy. So having spent all day looking at old ruins (which is to say archaeological sites...oh I have a studied archaeology as well)and doing geomorphological, fluvial and geological assessments of the region I spent my time out reading fantasy novels. When the idea hit me, I sighed... and adjusted my prescription glasses (NERD!). I started to wonder if Frodo Baggins had the same issues on his mighty journey to Mordor but doubted that his meeting with the elves ever forced him to eat fried rodent(Geek!). I suddenly found myself alone in the wilderness with my own nerdy thoughts festering in my over sized head.
It was then I came to this realisation. Whilst the Hill Billy Jim-esque beard, the wanting to eat all animals in site with BBQ sauce and my general lack of hygene made me very unwomanly, I could hardly put myself in the category of "man" given my all too dorky ways.
*The correct answer as we soon decided was the Panda. An here are the major reasons.
1) It is quite big and thus not too fiddly to eat.
2) Have you seen it`s enormous and thus undoubtedly all too succulent rump that it only uses for sitting. If that isn´t as tender as Argentinian Prime grain fed steak I don´t know what is.
3) They only eat bamboo shoots...and you can´t tell me you don´t enjoy that little crunch every time you eat Chinese food.
4)It would almost certainly be prepared by the Chinese thus providing a multitude of options. Panda in a black bean sauce, Mongolian Panda and my favorite Peking Panada.
** At the time I think I had a convincing argument for Capybara spare ribs being the best possible meal, but given later developments I`m not sure I can back this up.
***Spanish for Guinea pig.
Saturday, 17 May 2008
Friday, 2 May 2008
Too much to say with too little time to write...
Looking back at my last post it would seem that almost 1 month has shot by and now the problem of recounting everything becomes quite the issue….so I´ll try in reverse order.
Meeting a couple of the lads (Gareth and Rick) from Lima, in La Paz we boarded a bus and headed for the salt flats with all the supplies necessary, namely fireworks, booze (most importantly tequila) and children´s figurines. As we would later find things like a torch may have been a good option but just didn´t seem all that important when holding 2 packets of Saturn sky rockets, a cone head and a box of Tongan Festivals, touted to shoot 25 flaming balls (¨warning: light and get away¨ were the only instructions to be found on the pack) into the night. AWESOME!!!!
Having boarded the car for the 4 day expedition, we instantly found our driver and the cook to be somewhat morose, despite the offer of coca leaves and banana cake, which they of course took without even a hint of a smile.
The all too expansive salt flats were truly amazing if not only for the chance to do tequila slammers using a 1m high pyramid of salt. We thought the driver may have laughed…he didn´t!
The rest of the trip, despite the staff, was a load of fun. Hiking a vertical distance of 2km up to 5600m (my new record) was quite a highlight especially given my last batch of altitude sickness at 5300m. Having spoken to a few doctors on a subsequent trip it would seem that me having ataxia and being sick for 4 days meant I was in a pretty bad place on that trip… This was made only too clear when one of the docs stated. ¨Did you have clear cerebral fluid coming out your nose, that would have been the next sign….(sigh) isn´t naivety a blessing.
Before the Salt flats I took a 3 day river trip down the river Benni (the least impressively named river in the world by my estimations) with 2 English lasses (Jo and Jen), I met in La Paz. The most notable part of this trip, although it was fun, was the 42 sand fly bites I found on the right side of my right ankle after only half a day of travel. It would seem the rest of me was totally unappetising aside from the 16cm2 region. Jo on the other hand was less lucky sporting a solid 160 something bites.
From the River cruise we jumped on another boat. We grabbed the first cheap, not so cheap that it was our own personal ¨little Israel¨ (come to South American to understand this phenomenon, I even know a few Israelis who are scared of the hoard) vessel and cruised the Pampas for 3 solid days. From 3 minutes into the trip we had seen an alligator and a pink dolphin…which to be fair aren´t that pink.
Well the little tykes may not be pink but they are quite playful and have a bit of a thing for fingers and toes. Swimming initially I was shocked to find out how rough they were…that was until I realised that that was the dolphins teeth and yes that sudden rapid increase in pressure was a bite, ¨you little bugger!¨. They then bit my hand and head butted my feet…well when I say ¨head butted my feet¨ it is probably fairer to say that I kicked it in the head…. Not on purpose mind you, I was treading water in a murky lake and couldn´t see them, well that´s my story anyway. Of course it was not the kick that made me feel the worse, it was more the eye gouge that gave me the guilts…I think I may be going to hell for that accidental little manoeuvre. Anywho enough about the pampas…not because it wasn´t great, but I´m yet to get to a bit of a favourite…and some of you may guess what that is.
Midgets! That´s right midgets! Touted as a true cultural experience in La Paz I went to some South American , WWE style, wrestling, and there was a midget. From all accounts so popular are the midgets in this cultural extravaganza that they include1in each match. In the previous weeks match I was told that the midget was actually picked up and used as a weapon, we weren´t quite that lucky but the act was still hilarious. One wrestler came out dressed as a giant cat man and as his side kick the little fella came out dressed as a little mouse. I´m not sure my video will do it justice but I´ll attempt to upload one in the next few days.
So what next, well I did fail to mention the cooperative silver mi e we visited in Potosi and my all too fast run through of Sucre. Unfortunately due to the many accounts (an talk of more little people) Columbia is calling. So I shoot to La Paz tonight for some shopping (I still need to find me Ma´ some bling) and then on to Cuzco for a jaunt around Machu Pichu. Given my disco photos on the salt plains it´s possible I may have to dress up for that one as well….hmm if only I was more mature.
Meeting a couple of the lads (Gareth and Rick) from Lima, in La Paz we boarded a bus and headed for the salt flats with all the supplies necessary, namely fireworks, booze (most importantly tequila) and children´s figurines. As we would later find things like a torch may have been a good option but just didn´t seem all that important when holding 2 packets of Saturn sky rockets, a cone head and a box of Tongan Festivals, touted to shoot 25 flaming balls (¨warning: light and get away¨ were the only instructions to be found on the pack) into the night. AWESOME!!!!
Having boarded the car for the 4 day expedition, we instantly found our driver and the cook to be somewhat morose, despite the offer of coca leaves and banana cake, which they of course took without even a hint of a smile.
The all too expansive salt flats were truly amazing if not only for the chance to do tequila slammers using a 1m high pyramid of salt. We thought the driver may have laughed…he didn´t!
The rest of the trip, despite the staff, was a load of fun. Hiking a vertical distance of 2km up to 5600m (my new record) was quite a highlight especially given my last batch of altitude sickness at 5300m. Having spoken to a few doctors on a subsequent trip it would seem that me having ataxia and being sick for 4 days meant I was in a pretty bad place on that trip… This was made only too clear when one of the docs stated. ¨Did you have clear cerebral fluid coming out your nose, that would have been the next sign….(sigh) isn´t naivety a blessing.
Before the Salt flats I took a 3 day river trip down the river Benni (the least impressively named river in the world by my estimations) with 2 English lasses (Jo and Jen), I met in La Paz. The most notable part of this trip, although it was fun, was the 42 sand fly bites I found on the right side of my right ankle after only half a day of travel. It would seem the rest of me was totally unappetising aside from the 16cm2 region. Jo on the other hand was less lucky sporting a solid 160 something bites.
From the River cruise we jumped on another boat. We grabbed the first cheap, not so cheap that it was our own personal ¨little Israel¨ (come to South American to understand this phenomenon, I even know a few Israelis who are scared of the hoard) vessel and cruised the Pampas for 3 solid days. From 3 minutes into the trip we had seen an alligator and a pink dolphin…which to be fair aren´t that pink.
Well the little tykes may not be pink but they are quite playful and have a bit of a thing for fingers and toes. Swimming initially I was shocked to find out how rough they were…that was until I realised that that was the dolphins teeth and yes that sudden rapid increase in pressure was a bite, ¨you little bugger!¨. They then bit my hand and head butted my feet…well when I say ¨head butted my feet¨ it is probably fairer to say that I kicked it in the head…. Not on purpose mind you, I was treading water in a murky lake and couldn´t see them, well that´s my story anyway. Of course it was not the kick that made me feel the worse, it was more the eye gouge that gave me the guilts…I think I may be going to hell for that accidental little manoeuvre. Anywho enough about the pampas…not because it wasn´t great, but I´m yet to get to a bit of a favourite…and some of you may guess what that is.
Midgets! That´s right midgets! Touted as a true cultural experience in La Paz I went to some South American , WWE style, wrestling, and there was a midget. From all accounts so popular are the midgets in this cultural extravaganza that they include1in each match. In the previous weeks match I was told that the midget was actually picked up and used as a weapon, we weren´t quite that lucky but the act was still hilarious. One wrestler came out dressed as a giant cat man and as his side kick the little fella came out dressed as a little mouse. I´m not sure my video will do it justice but I´ll attempt to upload one in the next few days.
So what next, well I did fail to mention the cooperative silver mi e we visited in Potosi and my all too fast run through of Sucre. Unfortunately due to the many accounts (an talk of more little people) Columbia is calling. So I shoot to La Paz tonight for some shopping (I still need to find me Ma´ some bling) and then on to Cuzco for a jaunt around Machu Pichu. Given my disco photos on the salt plains it´s possible I may have to dress up for that one as well….hmm if only I was more mature.
Monday, 7 April 2008
After a 3 hour trip involving two buses and a taxi (at the princely sumo of S$15 or approximately US$5) I have finally left Peru and hit Copacabana and the southern end of Lake Titikaka (also spelled titicaca or titqaqa depending on how you feel on the day). Having experience the town for approximately 30minutes I have this much to say. CHEAP!
Me being me, after checking into the room and hurling the most pungent bag of washing at the lovely Bolivian Hostel owner, I went looking for food…..well, cheap food. As it turns out, due to the town´s vicinity to the lake, trout is cheap. How cheap? Well having stuffed my face full of chips rice salad and a large trout ala Diablo I was forced to part with Bs$25 or a little less than US$4. This may seem a little on the pricey side but this did include a beer which cost a little over US$1 itself so I decided I wasn`t being completely ripped off.
Me thinks this town may need a little investigation.
Prior to Copacabana, my last stop was Puno, which to be honest deserves little more than a footnote. In my opinion the most notable thing that happened in the town was that I bought a whole cheese for $2. Sure I visited the floating islands etc but they really weren´t too much chop, so I`ll move on.
Arequipa, the stop before last, on the other hand was a pretty cool city. With go karting and paintball just around the corner I dived into the action after 15 minutes of arrival and found myself well occupied for 2 weeks. I shan`t say things started well in Arequipa but I did have fun. At the end of the first day my paintball team mate had already shot me 3 times in the bum and by the end of the first week I had become paralysed by altitude sickness at a height of 5335m, vomited on a tent and thrown a bike 2 foot into the air during some downing hill mountain biking… damned if I don`t love the place. Whilst I am disappointed to leave it would seem that Bolivia opens the door to some slightly more reckless pursuits. To hell with public liability, Bolivia sets itself up to be a place of fun and stupidity and I truly look forward to watching some midget wrestling!
Me being me, after checking into the room and hurling the most pungent bag of washing at the lovely Bolivian Hostel owner, I went looking for food…..well, cheap food. As it turns out, due to the town´s vicinity to the lake, trout is cheap. How cheap? Well having stuffed my face full of chips rice salad and a large trout ala Diablo I was forced to part with Bs$25 or a little less than US$4. This may seem a little on the pricey side but this did include a beer which cost a little over US$1 itself so I decided I wasn`t being completely ripped off.
Me thinks this town may need a little investigation.
Prior to Copacabana, my last stop was Puno, which to be honest deserves little more than a footnote. In my opinion the most notable thing that happened in the town was that I bought a whole cheese for $2. Sure I visited the floating islands etc but they really weren´t too much chop, so I`ll move on.
Arequipa, the stop before last, on the other hand was a pretty cool city. With go karting and paintball just around the corner I dived into the action after 15 minutes of arrival and found myself well occupied for 2 weeks. I shan`t say things started well in Arequipa but I did have fun. At the end of the first day my paintball team mate had already shot me 3 times in the bum and by the end of the first week I had become paralysed by altitude sickness at a height of 5335m, vomited on a tent and thrown a bike 2 foot into the air during some downing hill mountain biking… damned if I don`t love the place. Whilst I am disappointed to leave it would seem that Bolivia opens the door to some slightly more reckless pursuits. To hell with public liability, Bolivia sets itself up to be a place of fun and stupidity and I truly look forward to watching some midget wrestling!
Monday, 25 February 2008
A short one to try and get back into writing (sorry)
There’s nothing quite like running of the side of a 250m high mountain to make you think about your own life. Having landed in Peru approximately 1 week ago with Owen, a lad from Red Deer, Canada, who I met in B.A. it was only 1 day before we decided to taker the leap and sign up for a week long Paragliding course. The concept of the course was explained to us briefly by a man somewhat resembling a Peruvian Mr. Miyagi* from Karate kid. From the first day we would be flying solo off small dunes and we would slowly move up to bigger, longer flights, progressing to the level of student pilot, allowing us to fly anywhere in the world under radio instruction.
Despite having this explained to us, each day has started exactly the same. We drive to the site, Owen reminds me that he is scared of heights during the journey and upon arrival he looks over the cliff or down the mountain, turns his head and says ¨have I told you I hate you, Rob¨. I explain that he really should have realized what he was getting himself into and I get the same reply ¨I don’t care…..I really hate you¨.
Bobbing up and down in the air being tossed around by thermals causes me very little stress, in fact it is actually quite relaxing floating so high and watching the world pass by below you, the take offs on the other hand are a little more scary. Running off a cliff takes a little bit of blind faith and determination. The first thing you are told is, ¨if I say keep running¨, keep running, if you don’t, the glider will deflate and you will drop a fair a few meters before it re-inflates…you won’t get injured in these places but it will be a little scary. A little scary?
I personally would consider it terrifying, and thus as a result run like hell with only one eye open. …It seems like the only logical thing to do.
Outside of paragliding there is little else to say about Peru. Everything we have done and seen has been paragliding related and all the people we have met; bar those at the hostel are paragliders (who by the way are absolutely lovely people). To be honest I am amazed at how nice the Peruvians are. One of the guys wants to start and export company with me, wants to show me how the property market works in Peru and also assist in the purchasing of a Kombi van to drive around South America. This fact is causing me a certain amount of guilt. Part of me can’t believe how nice he is, the other half is dubious of his intentions….but to be fair all Peruvians I have met are super helpful. One Peruvian girl after a short chat, learnt that I wanted to eat Cuy (Guinea Pig). Taking this on bored she has so far written two monumental emails explaining about all the food in Peru, where I can get it and how much I should pay. I’m going to be a fat, fat lad!
Plans for Colombia are coming along nicely with the assistance of the paragliding lads. It seems we may have a place to stay and as I said help to purchase a vehicle from the wanted ads. I’m guessing we will leave Peru some time early next month so that we can hit donkey festival in late March. From all stories we can rent our own donkey and dress it up for the parade. I can hardly wait!
* Direct quote from our instructor - When there is no wind, there is no paragliding....only para-waiting.
Despite having this explained to us, each day has started exactly the same. We drive to the site, Owen reminds me that he is scared of heights during the journey and upon arrival he looks over the cliff or down the mountain, turns his head and says ¨have I told you I hate you, Rob¨. I explain that he really should have realized what he was getting himself into and I get the same reply ¨I don’t care…..I really hate you¨.
Bobbing up and down in the air being tossed around by thermals causes me very little stress, in fact it is actually quite relaxing floating so high and watching the world pass by below you, the take offs on the other hand are a little more scary. Running off a cliff takes a little bit of blind faith and determination. The first thing you are told is, ¨if I say keep running¨, keep running, if you don’t, the glider will deflate and you will drop a fair a few meters before it re-inflates…you won’t get injured in these places but it will be a little scary. A little scary?
I personally would consider it terrifying, and thus as a result run like hell with only one eye open. …It seems like the only logical thing to do.
Outside of paragliding there is little else to say about Peru. Everything we have done and seen has been paragliding related and all the people we have met; bar those at the hostel are paragliders (who by the way are absolutely lovely people). To be honest I am amazed at how nice the Peruvians are. One of the guys wants to start and export company with me, wants to show me how the property market works in Peru and also assist in the purchasing of a Kombi van to drive around South America. This fact is causing me a certain amount of guilt. Part of me can’t believe how nice he is, the other half is dubious of his intentions….but to be fair all Peruvians I have met are super helpful. One Peruvian girl after a short chat, learnt that I wanted to eat Cuy (Guinea Pig). Taking this on bored she has so far written two monumental emails explaining about all the food in Peru, where I can get it and how much I should pay. I’m going to be a fat, fat lad!
Plans for Colombia are coming along nicely with the assistance of the paragliding lads. It seems we may have a place to stay and as I said help to purchase a vehicle from the wanted ads. I’m guessing we will leave Peru some time early next month so that we can hit donkey festival in late March. From all stories we can rent our own donkey and dress it up for the parade. I can hardly wait!
* Direct quote from our instructor - When there is no wind, there is no paragliding....only para-waiting.
Monday, 31 December 2007
A bunch of stuff that should have been written ages ago.
As the end of the year rapidly approaches I am starting to feel a little guilty about failing to update my blog a little more often....so here is an attempt at a wrap up.
Last day of BJJ
As I wandered into the academy, the knowledge that I was turning up to BJJ for the last time was starting to weigh heavily...that is until Allan (the instructor) announced that the days training would give way to a game which he called (which is to say made up on the spot) American/Brazillian jiu jitsu ball. Of course, no one in Brazil has any idea how American football works, so this slight deviation from standard rules, was a slight deviation from the ¨standard, completely incorrect rules¨.
....The end result?
A hilarious yet ruthless game involving throwing/wrestling the closest person to you (ball or no ball) mixed with some hilarious set plays and a little bit of ball throwing...genius! To be honest I don´t think I have laughed so hard in some time nor been so sore the next day.
In an attempt to maintain some level of fitness I decided to try and do some BJJ in Buenos Aires. Unfortunately due to a fall down some stairs in Brazil 4 weeks earlier (no I wasn´t drinking) I have after one session grown an enormous (about half the size of a billiard ball) cycsty thing on my hip. After AR$400 at the hospital seeing multiple specialists it seems I have to rest and it will go away....so after trying for two days to rest, it seems that my lump will be doing a world tour. Rest indeed? pffft!
Buenos Aires in an excellent city full of great architecture, parks and a bit of a crazy night life. It takes a little while to get into the 2am kick off for all night life but once you get into it, you find yourself somewhat stuck. The problem is this, you start at 2am you therefore finish at about 6am at the earliest and thus you are unable to check out before the assigned 11am checkout time, so you stay another day. The next day starts mid afternoon as a rule you have a few beers and BAM! you do the same thing you did the day before. Don´t get me wrong, it´s a fun life with great food and great wine at an all too impressive low low price....but it starts to tear your soul apart after a while. A quick look at the 65 year old frenchman, who I have been told has been traveling for 20 years was the final straw. At 65 (i`m guessing his age)he gets up every morning and starts slowly on a few beers ...at 11am. From here he moves onto wine and he doesn´t leave the desk until about 2am. It takes the guy 4 rests to get up a small flight of stairs (4-5 minute rests each time) and it is believed that most of his injuries have been caused by the seizures he has at night, which tend to make him fall out of bed.
...so it´s out and off to Bariloche (the gateway to Patagonia)for me to learn some spanish and as luck may have it do some more BJJ. This few weeks should be full of glacier walks, tango lessons (I apologise in advance to any girl I have to dance with), spanish classes and some good healthy living. As a mixed blessing, the only hostel I could get intro is the worlds most boring and thus should be very condusive to study (in the same way the brussel sprouts are condusive to good health) so, it´s clean livin´ for a few weeks...or so I think.....
Photos to come!
Last day of BJJ
As I wandered into the academy, the knowledge that I was turning up to BJJ for the last time was starting to weigh heavily...that is until Allan (the instructor) announced that the days training would give way to a game which he called (which is to say made up on the spot) American/Brazillian jiu jitsu ball. Of course, no one in Brazil has any idea how American football works, so this slight deviation from standard rules, was a slight deviation from the ¨standard, completely incorrect rules¨.
....The end result?
A hilarious yet ruthless game involving throwing/wrestling the closest person to you (ball or no ball) mixed with some hilarious set plays and a little bit of ball throwing...genius! To be honest I don´t think I have laughed so hard in some time nor been so sore the next day.
In an attempt to maintain some level of fitness I decided to try and do some BJJ in Buenos Aires. Unfortunately due to a fall down some stairs in Brazil 4 weeks earlier (no I wasn´t drinking) I have after one session grown an enormous (about half the size of a billiard ball) cycsty thing on my hip. After AR$400 at the hospital seeing multiple specialists it seems I have to rest and it will go away....so after trying for two days to rest, it seems that my lump will be doing a world tour. Rest indeed? pffft!
Buenos Aires in an excellent city full of great architecture, parks and a bit of a crazy night life. It takes a little while to get into the 2am kick off for all night life but once you get into it, you find yourself somewhat stuck. The problem is this, you start at 2am you therefore finish at about 6am at the earliest and thus you are unable to check out before the assigned 11am checkout time, so you stay another day. The next day starts mid afternoon as a rule you have a few beers and BAM! you do the same thing you did the day before. Don´t get me wrong, it´s a fun life with great food and great wine at an all too impressive low low price....but it starts to tear your soul apart after a while. A quick look at the 65 year old frenchman, who I have been told has been traveling for 20 years was the final straw. At 65 (i`m guessing his age)he gets up every morning and starts slowly on a few beers ...at 11am. From here he moves onto wine and he doesn´t leave the desk until about 2am. It takes the guy 4 rests to get up a small flight of stairs (4-5 minute rests each time) and it is believed that most of his injuries have been caused by the seizures he has at night, which tend to make him fall out of bed.
...so it´s out and off to Bariloche (the gateway to Patagonia)for me to learn some spanish and as luck may have it do some more BJJ. This few weeks should be full of glacier walks, tango lessons (I apologise in advance to any girl I have to dance with), spanish classes and some good healthy living. As a mixed blessing, the only hostel I could get intro is the worlds most boring and thus should be very condusive to study (in the same way the brussel sprouts are condusive to good health) so, it´s clean livin´ for a few weeks...or so I think.....
Photos to come!
Thursday, 29 November 2007
Nice music, it's a shame about the crack!
Whilst being described, by Lonely Planet, as the center of Afro-Brazilian culture one other fact is slightly more eye catching when reading about this city and that is the quote “if you are going to get robbed or pick pocketed in Brazil it will probably happen in Salvador”
Arriving at about 9pm I found myself wandering the streets of Pelourinho following lonely planets small map attempting to get my hostel. What LP failed to mention was that the most direct route takes you through a favela. Fortunately for me a helpful crack addict was happy to guide me to my Hostel and for nothing more than a few centavos (thank you Mr. Crack Addict).
Before arriving at my hostel (10 minutes walk) I was asked for money, a sandwich, a drink or anything else people could think of. It would seem that the addicts in the city have quickly learned that asking for cash gets them no where, so they will often ask for food, which they subsequently sell to fund there habit. The other option of course is slightly more criminal and given the title of this blog it is probably about time I visited this issue, especially as the only other theft so far was electronic and thus non confrontational and therefore boring.
Having been in Salvador a few days it was time to head west to Lencois for some trekking, swimming etc etc. Unfortunately earlier in the week, having been in Salvador about 15 minutes I rapidly developed a, shall we say, lower intestinal disturbance. Which to me seems quite strange given the fact that I'd only eaten a prawn based meal which I bought off the streets... who could have guessed?
Anyway due to poor bus timetabling it seemed that I was forced to spend 3 hours in Salvador's somewhat shady bus station. This of course would have not been a problem save for the aforementioned disturbance. Despite any amount of tactical riggling one fact was certain, I would have top brave the public toilet system of Salvador bus station with all my luggage.
Making my way into the bathroom was somewhat difficult, given my volume of luggage, this of course was to be nothing compared with entering a cubicle. Realising I was carrying all my worldly possessions I decided to take a remote cubicle stack my bags and use the facilities...it was at about this point that it all went a little sideways. The size of my bag made maneuvering very difficult so I was not looking behind me. When I finally did turn to enter the cubicle I noted 2 very important things. 1 – was a big black man walking behind me, the other was four sets of eyes peering out form other cubicles. It seems that I had fallen for the “Salvadorian toilet ambush” truly one of the oldest tricks in the book. Entering the cubicle I closed the door, locked it, dropped my bags and reviewed the situation. I had all my possessions, little room to move, a dodgey belly and five people looking my way. Bugger!
I considered using the facilities to remove one of these factors but considered that being set upon in such a position may leave me somewhat...um ...compromised.
I turned and looked back over the stall. Black man still there, 4 sets of eyes still scanning, no visible way out. IU reviewed my 1m x 2m “safe haven”. Toilet seat as a weapon? No they pad toilet seats in this country so it would be like weilding a pillow in a knife fight. Damn it, damn it, damn it! It was at this stage I noticed footprints on the toilet seat and realised that someone else had probably climbed their way out of the situation. O considered this fact. Nope, too much luggage and too clumsy to climb especially given the dicky intestinal tract I was sporting. Ooh this is bad, this is bad, this bad!
I looked back over the cubicle and this time the big black man was gone. I didn't know where, which made me a little jumpy but it did provide some hope. I looked to the other side of the corridor and noted and older man , maybe 55 standing stock still in his cubicle. It was clear to me he had also realised his predicament. He was also frozen in his stall. I made the international face of “what do we do know”and he responded rapidly with a friendly facial tick. Hmmm not so useful. I looked up the corridor again. Nothing. I looked back at the old man and again all I got was a squinting face. Bugger.
My situation was now clear, if I stayed any longer I was almost begging to be “robbed”, I had to make a move and hopefully he would follow...or so I thought.
Looking back at the old man a final time before wading into the fight everything snapped into focus. This time the man squinted again but slowed his squint purposefully. The reality was he was one of those guys who can't quite wink without closing the other eye as well and this to make sure I was 100% about his intentions he also licked his lips, made a kissy face and allowed his hands to travels in a southerly direction towards his fly. Crap!
I reviewed the situation again. I had entered a bus station toilet cubicle at approximately midnight and had been watched by a multitude of eyes hidden behind doors. A man had been walking up and down the corridor selecting his, shall we say evening companion, and there were footprints on the seat top provide the equivalent of a super box bird eye view of the action. If anyone was to get ¨Robbed¨ it would seem that they hoped it was them.
It was at this point that some fear slid away and disappointment set in. If I was to come face to face with a subset of the Brazilian gay community, why couldn't it be the subset that helped to improve your dress sense, re-modeled you apartment or taught you to dance. Why did it have to be the seedy, public toilets based underbelly...and then it hit me. For me, nothing could follow more closely the story of my travels. For those who read my last travel writings you will probably remember the regular references to “George Michael” and my apparent physical similarities. I guess the only way to turn the whole story up a notch was to be involved in a George Michael-esque situation and as I can quite remember all the word to “faith” it seems that the world had little other option but to play the only other card it had left “seedy toilet love”.
I grabbed my bags, choose not use the facilities and boarded the bus for a 6 hour trip to Lencois and decided that the riggling was a small price to pay.
So where is the story of robbery you may well ask? Well that is far less interesting. On a night out I was offered a random piece of jewelery for R$3. I agreed it was a fair price ands handed over R$10. As was often the case in Rio the street dealer had no alternative but head into the nearest shop for change. So the lovely young lady headed into the shop and I waited at the door...for 10 minutes.
“She's not coming back is she”
“Ah...no!”
She had opf course piled into the toilet 9 minutes and 30 seconds earlier and bailed out the window. I shrugged my shoulder and laughed. God I 'm stupid!
Having thoroughly learned my lesson (I did go to university after all), 6 days later I wandered into a shop to buy some water. the shop owner wandered over, stated the price and I again handed over R$10. He wandered to the back office to get some change. At this stage another man ran into the shop and darted into the “back office” read “toilet” to grab the offender who was again climbing out the window. The real shop owner then asked what I wanted and offered to sell me water for twice the price I had payed for the same, water in the same shop 4 days ealrier. I grabbed my money and walked out. Salvador is certainly the center of Afro Brazilian country and is beautiful in many ways, but If I was you I watch your purse strings, avoid public toilets and assess whether or not the man actually has a nervous twitch or if it is something more sinister
Arriving at about 9pm I found myself wandering the streets of Pelourinho following lonely planets small map attempting to get my hostel. What LP failed to mention was that the most direct route takes you through a favela. Fortunately for me a helpful crack addict was happy to guide me to my Hostel and for nothing more than a few centavos (thank you Mr. Crack Addict).
Before arriving at my hostel (10 minutes walk) I was asked for money, a sandwich, a drink or anything else people could think of. It would seem that the addicts in the city have quickly learned that asking for cash gets them no where, so they will often ask for food, which they subsequently sell to fund there habit. The other option of course is slightly more criminal and given the title of this blog it is probably about time I visited this issue, especially as the only other theft so far was electronic and thus non confrontational and therefore boring.
Having been in Salvador a few days it was time to head west to Lencois for some trekking, swimming etc etc. Unfortunately earlier in the week, having been in Salvador about 15 minutes I rapidly developed a, shall we say, lower intestinal disturbance. Which to me seems quite strange given the fact that I'd only eaten a prawn based meal which I bought off the streets... who could have guessed?
Anyway due to poor bus timetabling it seemed that I was forced to spend 3 hours in Salvador's somewhat shady bus station. This of course would have not been a problem save for the aforementioned disturbance. Despite any amount of tactical riggling one fact was certain, I would have top brave the public toilet system of Salvador bus station with all my luggage.
Making my way into the bathroom was somewhat difficult, given my volume of luggage, this of course was to be nothing compared with entering a cubicle. Realising I was carrying all my worldly possessions I decided to take a remote cubicle stack my bags and use the facilities...it was at about this point that it all went a little sideways. The size of my bag made maneuvering very difficult so I was not looking behind me. When I finally did turn to enter the cubicle I noted 2 very important things. 1 – was a big black man walking behind me, the other was four sets of eyes peering out form other cubicles. It seems that I had fallen for the “Salvadorian toilet ambush” truly one of the oldest tricks in the book. Entering the cubicle I closed the door, locked it, dropped my bags and reviewed the situation. I had all my possessions, little room to move, a dodgey belly and five people looking my way. Bugger!
I considered using the facilities to remove one of these factors but considered that being set upon in such a position may leave me somewhat...um ...compromised.
I turned and looked back over the stall. Black man still there, 4 sets of eyes still scanning, no visible way out. IU reviewed my 1m x 2m “safe haven”. Toilet seat as a weapon? No they pad toilet seats in this country so it would be like weilding a pillow in a knife fight. Damn it, damn it, damn it! It was at this stage I noticed footprints on the toilet seat and realised that someone else had probably climbed their way out of the situation. O considered this fact. Nope, too much luggage and too clumsy to climb especially given the dicky intestinal tract I was sporting. Ooh this is bad, this is bad, this bad!
I looked back over the cubicle and this time the big black man was gone. I didn't know where, which made me a little jumpy but it did provide some hope. I looked to the other side of the corridor and noted and older man , maybe 55 standing stock still in his cubicle. It was clear to me he had also realised his predicament. He was also frozen in his stall. I made the international face of “what do we do know”and he responded rapidly with a friendly facial tick. Hmmm not so useful. I looked up the corridor again. Nothing. I looked back at the old man and again all I got was a squinting face. Bugger.
My situation was now clear, if I stayed any longer I was almost begging to be “robbed”, I had to make a move and hopefully he would follow...or so I thought.
Looking back at the old man a final time before wading into the fight everything snapped into focus. This time the man squinted again but slowed his squint purposefully. The reality was he was one of those guys who can't quite wink without closing the other eye as well and this to make sure I was 100% about his intentions he also licked his lips, made a kissy face and allowed his hands to travels in a southerly direction towards his fly. Crap!
I reviewed the situation again. I had entered a bus station toilet cubicle at approximately midnight and had been watched by a multitude of eyes hidden behind doors. A man had been walking up and down the corridor selecting his, shall we say evening companion, and there were footprints on the seat top provide the equivalent of a super box bird eye view of the action. If anyone was to get ¨Robbed¨ it would seem that they hoped it was them.
It was at this point that some fear slid away and disappointment set in. If I was to come face to face with a subset of the Brazilian gay community, why couldn't it be the subset that helped to improve your dress sense, re-modeled you apartment or taught you to dance. Why did it have to be the seedy, public toilets based underbelly...and then it hit me. For me, nothing could follow more closely the story of my travels. For those who read my last travel writings you will probably remember the regular references to “George Michael” and my apparent physical similarities. I guess the only way to turn the whole story up a notch was to be involved in a George Michael-esque situation and as I can quite remember all the word to “faith” it seems that the world had little other option but to play the only other card it had left “seedy toilet love”.
I grabbed my bags, choose not use the facilities and boarded the bus for a 6 hour trip to Lencois and decided that the riggling was a small price to pay.
So where is the story of robbery you may well ask? Well that is far less interesting. On a night out I was offered a random piece of jewelery for R$3. I agreed it was a fair price ands handed over R$10. As was often the case in Rio the street dealer had no alternative but head into the nearest shop for change. So the lovely young lady headed into the shop and I waited at the door...for 10 minutes.
“She's not coming back is she”
“Ah...no!”
She had opf course piled into the toilet 9 minutes and 30 seconds earlier and bailed out the window. I shrugged my shoulder and laughed. God I 'm stupid!
Having thoroughly learned my lesson (I did go to university after all), 6 days later I wandered into a shop to buy some water. the shop owner wandered over, stated the price and I again handed over R$10. He wandered to the back office to get some change. At this stage another man ran into the shop and darted into the “back office” read “toilet” to grab the offender who was again climbing out the window. The real shop owner then asked what I wanted and offered to sell me water for twice the price I had payed for the same, water in the same shop 4 days ealrier. I grabbed my money and walked out. Salvador is certainly the center of Afro Brazilian country and is beautiful in many ways, but If I was you I watch your purse strings, avoid public toilets and assess whether or not the man actually has a nervous twitch or if it is something more sinister
The dirty 30's
Whilst for most, this statement is a bit, shall we say, redundant, it is important to clarify this fact before I move on.
I am a very disorganised person.
...to be honest it even goes a bit further than this. When I try to be organised things just never work out. It is, almost always, much better for me to float along and just let it all work out. Massive preparation for job applications, for example usually means I don't get the job, apathy on the other hand means I'll be offered the job, told I'm an impressive candidate and assured I will rapidly get a raise. Given this fact there is no massive surprise about how my 30th birthday would pan out.
Approximately 2 weeks before the day arrived I started considering my options and came up with a tight yet workable schedule.
Morning – Hang glide over Rio
Afternoon – Go to Maracana stadium and watch one of the biggest ever football games held in the stadium.
Evening – Go to Casa Rosa., listen to Samba and let the night drift away.
...Here's how it actually turned out.
12:01 – Find myself at home drinking Cuba Libres with an Australian friend whilst listening to some tunes.
02:00 – see 12:01 am
03:30 – wake up on my couch and realise that my spine is trying to approximate a question mark. Consider waking friend on other couch, but instead just turn off the light and go to bed.
09:00 – Get woken up by another friend with the statement “I'm not letting you sleep your 30th birthday away”. Have a shower and marvel at feeling 100% fit and healthy. Look out of the window and feel a rolling disappointment caused by bad weather. Scratch “go hang gliding over Rio” from my mental list.
13:00 – Learn that Futbol (that's how they spell it) tickets have not been organised and try and organise an alternative.
15:00 – Make my way to Maracana stadium to purchase tickets off scalpers with a solid R$40 limit set in my mind.
16:00 – Get offered tickets for R$40, decide it was all too easy and we could get them cheaper. Turn them down and keep searching.
18:00 – Game starts with us sitting on the outside with no tickets. The word “tightarse” is used liberally and a game of roll the beer bottle down the ramp commences and we bet on the cans final resting place (bottom of the ramp, side of the ramp, grabbed by one of the 8.3 million can collectors before reaching its destination).
18:32 – A huge crowd surges towards the stadium as someone on the inside forgets to close a gate. Motivate friends to make the dash, although fail to invoke enough enthusiasm. Slow trot to gate. Policeman breaks from crowd and runs past at high speed. Tactical shotgun is fired in the air and is pointed at us as well as the rest of the crowd. Go white and and find an increased need to go to the toilet.
18:45 Return to “can game” but part way through meet a gent who can get me the flares and fireworks that I always wanted. Follow man across bridge and soon find that he actually doesn't actually know where he can get them. Head back along bridge but note three suspicious individuals who have set themselves up to mug me. Turn around go back under the bridge and find friends.
19:30 – Catch a cab to Casa Rosa and listen to Samba. Receive some birthday cake from Adriana (my house mate) who has taken it from someone else's birthday party.
???? - Go home and sleep off a truly well organised day.
So all in all, I give this birthday a 7.8, with most points being lost due the fact that I didn't get to judge any bikini contests. After all, I got to hang out with friends, Got to do something I'd never done before (react to a shotgun), and generally got to enjoy the place in which I was living, you can't ask for much more than that...can you?
I am a very disorganised person.
...to be honest it even goes a bit further than this. When I try to be organised things just never work out. It is, almost always, much better for me to float along and just let it all work out. Massive preparation for job applications, for example usually means I don't get the job, apathy on the other hand means I'll be offered the job, told I'm an impressive candidate and assured I will rapidly get a raise. Given this fact there is no massive surprise about how my 30th birthday would pan out.
Approximately 2 weeks before the day arrived I started considering my options and came up with a tight yet workable schedule.
Morning – Hang glide over Rio
Afternoon – Go to Maracana stadium and watch one of the biggest ever football games held in the stadium.
Evening – Go to Casa Rosa., listen to Samba and let the night drift away.
...Here's how it actually turned out.
12:01 – Find myself at home drinking Cuba Libres with an Australian friend whilst listening to some tunes.
02:00 – see 12:01 am
03:30 – wake up on my couch and realise that my spine is trying to approximate a question mark. Consider waking friend on other couch, but instead just turn off the light and go to bed.
09:00 – Get woken up by another friend with the statement “I'm not letting you sleep your 30th birthday away”. Have a shower and marvel at feeling 100% fit and healthy. Look out of the window and feel a rolling disappointment caused by bad weather. Scratch “go hang gliding over Rio” from my mental list.
13:00 – Learn that Futbol (that's how they spell it) tickets have not been organised and try and organise an alternative.
15:00 – Make my way to Maracana stadium to purchase tickets off scalpers with a solid R$40 limit set in my mind.
16:00 – Get offered tickets for R$40, decide it was all too easy and we could get them cheaper. Turn them down and keep searching.
18:00 – Game starts with us sitting on the outside with no tickets. The word “tightarse” is used liberally and a game of roll the beer bottle down the ramp commences and we bet on the cans final resting place (bottom of the ramp, side of the ramp, grabbed by one of the 8.3 million can collectors before reaching its destination).
18:32 – A huge crowd surges towards the stadium as someone on the inside forgets to close a gate. Motivate friends to make the dash, although fail to invoke enough enthusiasm. Slow trot to gate. Policeman breaks from crowd and runs past at high speed. Tactical shotgun is fired in the air and is pointed at us as well as the rest of the crowd. Go white and and find an increased need to go to the toilet.
18:45 Return to “can game” but part way through meet a gent who can get me the flares and fireworks that I always wanted. Follow man across bridge and soon find that he actually doesn't actually know where he can get them. Head back along bridge but note three suspicious individuals who have set themselves up to mug me. Turn around go back under the bridge and find friends.
19:30 – Catch a cab to Casa Rosa and listen to Samba. Receive some birthday cake from Adriana (my house mate) who has taken it from someone else's birthday party.
???? - Go home and sleep off a truly well organised day.
So all in all, I give this birthday a 7.8, with most points being lost due the fact that I didn't get to judge any bikini contests. After all, I got to hang out with friends, Got to do something I'd never done before (react to a shotgun), and generally got to enjoy the place in which I was living, you can't ask for much more than that...can you?
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