Interlude

It’s been way too long since my last blog post. But time is a strange thing, flying by at a confusingly fast and intricate pace, impossible to grasp with our simple human brains. And if it wasn’t strange enough, travelling seems to warp time into an impossibly detailed movie being played in fast-forward. A perplexing array of experiences compressed into a tiny slice of life.

This blog post is a sort of interlude in which I try to make excuses for not writing more and take stock of what has been an incredible, enriching, challenging and surreal seven months. The last thing I wrote about was my experience on the pampas tour, which actually happened four months ago. It feels like it happened yesterday but it also feels like it was in a different lifetime. I’ve done and seen so much since, and yet I still remember it so vividly, that it’s hard to make sense of and probably isn’t worth trying.

I’m currently in a city called Pisco on the Southern coast of Peru. I’ve been here since early June volunteering for an absolutely extraordinary NGO called Pisco Sin Fronteras. I will most definitely write a blog dedicated to my time here so I won’t go into too much detail, but suffice it to say that PSF has been a once-in-a-lifetime experience which has strengthened my faith in gringos (and humanity in general) and allowed me to use power tools for the first time ever. It’s also given me some absolutely amazing new friends and experiences and made it very difficult to focus on such trivial and boring things as writing a blog. But I’ll leave all of that for a future post. If I ever get around to it.

A slightly bizarre turn of events in the past few months was my brief return to London. A few months into my travels came an unexpected offer from Kourtney to fly back to London and help out with another fantastic Guy Fox project. A lot of long-term travelers dream of going home during their travels, just for a week or two, just to catch up with everyone, just to take a break from the long bus rides, the 10-bed dorms, the slightly mundane conversations which always revolve around where you’ve been and where you’re going. So when the opportunity came to do just that I couldn’t possibly say no. I flew from Lima to London, back to the ‘real world’, and had an amazing, nostalgic, slightly weird, awesome couple of weeks. Plugging back into Guy Fox was brilliant and confirmed my suspicion that it’s an organization that will always be a part of my life in some shape or form. I also had a crazy couple of weeks with all my incredible friends. Meeting new people and making new friends while travelling is amazing, and one of the best things about travelling solo. I’ve certainly met some incredible people along the way including many amazing human beings in Pisco who already feel like old friends. But sometimes you just want to be with the people who know you well and who are a part of your life. People you can fart in front of and laugh. And that’s just what I got. (Not just the opportunity to fart and laugh, also the comfort of old friendships). It confirmed just what a special group of people my friends are and how lucky I am to have them. My timing couldn’t have been better. We went on a beautiful, relaxing camping trip to the New Forest. We also went to a slightly less beautiful and not-relaxing-at-all festival where I witnessed some of the most heavy-metal people on the planet. It was heavy in every sense of the word. I don’t think I’ve laughed or moshed that hard in way too long.

Going back to London also put my time in South America into perspective. After travelling for so long I was starting to forget where I was, how many incredible things I’d experienced, and how fortunate I am to be on this fantastically bizarre adventure. Taking a step back made me realise and appreciate where I am, where I’ve been, and where I’m going.

I can’t say how long it’ll be until the next blog post but I’m glad I’ve finally got it together to give all you amazing people a bit of an update. You are all most excellent and I’ll do my best to keep writing and sharing my journey.

All my love.

Check out the pics here: http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.10150272734851890.328374.514871889&l=cfbc324e52&type=1

Pampas Tour

Having made a timely escape from La Paz I headed to the jungle, one of the things I most wanted to see when I came to South America.

I got lucky and met a cool group of English travelers waiting for a cab to the airport. I decided to fly because it was the rainy season and the roads were dodgy. The usual nineteen hour bus ride was taking about forty eight. So we got into what looked like a child’s drawing of a plane and landed at the smallest airport I’ve ever seen, in Rurrenabaque, forty five minutes later, after a surprisingly smooth flight. The tropical warmth was a welcome relief after the altitude of La Paz. Rurrenabaque is a simple, dusty little town in a spectacular setting on the banks of the Rio Beni. It’s firmly on the ‘gringo trail’ so there’s no shortage of tourists/travelers, the majority of people coming to do a pampas or jungle tour. I opted for the pampas because you get to see more animals. Including sloths. I was sold.

The pampas tour takes you by small boat along the Rio Yacuma which is a tributary of the Amazon. The scenery is dense and beautiful. For three days we wound our way through endless jungle. On the first night we went caymen-spotting (which are similar to crocodiles). On the second day we went swimming with dolphins. (Now let me say that I had high expectations when it came to swimming with the dolphins. I’ve only had good reviews from people. Amazing reviews actually. So when it came time, I was pretty excited. But instead of dragging me along playfully in the water or a bit of affectionate nudging (as I was lead to believe would happen) it got hold of my big toe and tried to drag me under the water. It actually drew blood. Also, it’s worth mentioning, this type of dolphin is slightly pink in colour. Surely a pink dolphin is by definition one of the world’s cutest animals? Well this one bloody wasn’t). On the third day we went piranha fishing. Our guide managed to catch a few along with an Aussie guy in our group (I think every Australian who goes on the tour catches at least one) and it was awesome to see them up close.

Along the way we saw amazing animals. Spider Monkeys, Howler Monkeys, Toucans, Caymens, Terrapins, Capybara, Vultures. And of courses, the mighty Three-toed Sloth, which was definitely my highlight. Although, somewhat predictably, it really didn’t do much once we’d spotted it.

The pampas tour is very popular and at times it felt a little bit like a zoo. We were never far from other boats and it felt a little bit oversubscribed. But the lodge we stayed in was incredible, sitting on stilts pretty much in the river. Our guide was also excellent and his knowledge of the animals and surrounding area was vast. So it was an easy, lazy but awesome way to see some incredible animals. Not the dolphins though. Bastards.

Check out the photos here: http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.10150200854711890.309531.514871889&l=3e86f5c1d5

La Paz

La Paz is a dangerous city.

But more for the liver and brain cells than anything else.

At roughly 3,700m it’s the highest capital city in the world and is impossibly situated on the side of a dramatic mountain range. Standing at the top of one of the many hills, it looks like the buildings have sprouted precariously out of the mountain. And lurking beautifully in the backdrop is the snow-capped peak of Illimani adding a mystical feeling to this topsy-turvy city.

La Paz is notorious for partying. I checked into the Wild Rover, an Irish hostel, on the recommendation of Ginger Mike. He’d warned me that I would encounter drunkenness and debauchery the likes of which I’d never seen. He was spot-on. Within half an hour I was at the bar with countless drunken gringos, some of who looked like they hadn’t slept (or stopped drinking) in years. Happy hour came and went and the night disappeared into oblivion. This first night set the tone for the rest of my time in La Paz. I found myself in a cycle of partying, sleeping into the afternoon, eating at the hostel bar, partying more. It was like living in the back room of a pub. I met some really awesome people and bonded with an infamous Yorkshire-man who was, without a doubt, the best quiz-master I’ve ever encountered. Liam also had a healthy (dis)respect for South Africans and a love for his home town of Leeds which bordered on the perverse.

I had some crazy, memorable nights. And some crazy nightst that I don’t remember at all. The Rover was an awesome party but sometimes it felt like it could have been anywhere in the world. More than once I thought I was in an O’Neils pub. Except with everyone wearing llama patterned clothing.

The few distractions to constant partying were amazing and peculiar. There were serious political protests happening on the streets and on the second day, walking back to the hostel from a rare outing, a tear gas canister rolled past my feet. I only realised what was happening when I saw people running away very fast. I ducked into a near-by shop but I still got a good snoot full of the gas. It was horrible. When I got back to the hostel it turned out a canister had been fired into the courtyard too. I reckon the Bolivian Police need a bit of target practice. The protesters were mainly disgruntled miners demanding a pay rise. Disgruntled miners with dynamite. Not letting something as trivial a city street full of people get in their way, sticks of dynamite were constantly going off. It sounded like a war zone.

One of the main attractions in La Paz is the Death Road. It’s a ridiculously dangerous road that drops roughly 3,000m over a distance of 65 kms. When it was open to traffic, an average of 200 – 300 people died every year in road accidents. So when a new and better road was built and the original closed, some genius figured it would be a good spot for mountain biking. How right that person was. Over three hours we flew down, dodging massive rocks, riding through waterfalls and generally avoiding riding off the edge into certain death. The scenery was absolutely breathtaking and it was an awesome day.

The other somewhat ‘cultural’ outing I managed was the Cholitas Wrestling. Cholita is the word for traditional Bolivian women who have a distinct dress code of patterned skirts, strange little hats and plaited pigtails. Yes that’s right, some of them wrestle too. It was like watching WWE directed by someone on acid. Men wrestling men, cholitas wrestling men, cholitas wrestling cholitas. The final bout was between a women from a looney-bin (complete with straight jacket) and a massive cholita. It got pretty intense. The cholita managed a hard-fought victory by repeatedly hitting the crazy women with a wooden crate. The Undertaker wouldn’t have stood a chance.

After a week of non-stop indulgence I needed a break. One of the main things that I came to South America for is the Amazon so I booked myself onto a boat tour up to Rurrenabaque. The boat travels along the River Beni through an area which has the most biodiversity in the world. I was really looking forward to seeing something amazing and different.

Of course the boat was cancelled and I ended up staying three extra days waiting for them to reschedule. And of course I carried on partying. Eventually, I couldn’t handle anymore and booked a flight to Rurrenabaque. My liver cheered with joy and I finally bid farewell to the circus that is La Paz.

Check out the photos here: http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.10150195498651890.307780.514871889&l=2a4ec34f52

Cochabamba and El Poncho

Having learned a fair amount of Spanish in Sucre I still felt fairly unpractised. Probably because the majority of my time was spent drinking rum and talking bollocks in English. So, feeling like I should be more constructive with my time, I wanted to find somewhere to volunteer where I could practice my Spanish and possibly get involved in a proper project. Nothing too strenuous of course, just something more constructive than going to Mitos three times a week and gorging on dodgy street burgers. I did some research and found an interesting ecotourism organisation called El Poncho outside the city of Cochabamba. So I bid farewell to Laura, Byron and Ginger Mike and caught a night bus from Potosi to Cocha.

Cochabamba itself is a warm, friendly city but is not much of a tourist destination. There are some awesome buildings and a beautiful plaza but not much else worth mentioning. So after one night I was ready to get to El Poncho.

El Poncho is an ecotourism lodge based 20kms outside of the city in a beautiful, tranquil setting at the base of an epic mountain range. It was set up with the idea of using local and ancient building techniques and natural materials to present a real alternative to modern forms of tourism. The family who started the lodge are passionate about sustainability and the importance of ancient Bolivian heritage. The buildings onsite are absolutely amazing having been built according to a variety of traditional Bolivian methods. Each one is significant for a different reason and there’s an emphasis on where the buildings are placed in relation to certain constellations. It has an amazingly calm, relaxing energy and it was a great place to spend a week. It was slightly disappointing to find I was the only volunteer and/or guest because I was hoping to volunteer on a proper project. But it did allow me (and my liver) a week of relaxation. My volunteering time was spent mainly on gardening and maintenance. It was awesome to work outside in such a beautiful setting and I managed to practice a little bit of Spanish with the staff. There were countless dogs running around and they even had a few llamas. One of the llamas was seriously aggressive and every time I got near it spat a mouthful of grass at me. Luckily its aim was terrible but I’m convinced it had some sort of personal beef. It became routine to round the corner and have a hissing llama with a mouthful of grass looking like it wanted to kill me.

So it was an excellent week of reading, writing, taking photos and stand-offs with the llama. The staff were extremely friendly and I had plenty of time to myself. I also learned a lot from Daniel, the guy who runs El Poncho, and it was amazing to hear a little bit about the lodge and some of the ancient beliefs and customs. By the end I felt properly relaxed and slightly in party-withdrawal. Next stop: La Paz.

Check out the photos here: http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.10150180973061890.303139.514871889&l=e0f25bf26f

Potosi

After getting a bit stuck in Sucre I decided to head for Potosi to get back into the travelling vibe. I headed off with Mike the Ginger Tosser and an awesome couple, Laura and Byron, who were also teaching at Fox Institute. I wasn’t really sure what to expect but I was told that Pototsi was worth checking out for it’s historical importance. Plus it’s only three hours from Sucre, which was manageable with the sizable hangover I was packing.

At 4060 meters, Potosi is the highest city in the world. It’s a strange mix of colonial architecture, typical Bolivian urban culture and tragic history. Towering above the city and dominating the skyline is the pock-marked cone of the Cerro Rico, or ‘Rich Mountain’. It is the single richest source of silver in history. Unfortunately the bulk of its bounty went straight to colonial Spain and never benefited the people of Bolivia. It was such a rich source of minerals that theory has it that the Spanish could have built a bridge stretching from Bolivia to Spain entirely out of silver. And there still would have been silver left to carry across the bridge. From the time it was discovered until the end of colonial rule, roughly three centuries, an estimated nine million slaves died. Not cool.

Somewhat perversely, the main attraction for travelers to Potosi is the mine tours, which take you down into the heart of this tragic piggy bank. The majority of the silver has already been mined but it’s still a source of work for some 10,000 miners. It’s notorious for the shocking and dangerous working conditions. Before going in, they make you sign a waiver which expressly stipulates that there’s a fair chance of getting trapped and/or killed. I had my reservations but I figured it was something that needed to be seen. Nothing could have prepared me for the reality. The first part of the tour took us to the processing plants. Despite the heavily toxic chemicals used in processing the minerals, absolutely no environmental controls exist. This results in all the surrounding rivers being void of any life and dangerous to the surrounding communities. This rather depressing reality set the tone for the tour of the mine itself. Decked out in the most awkward miners gear and looking like ‘Village People’ rejects, Mike, Byron and I, along with a few other brave gringos, ventured into something akin to hell. As we got further in, the tunnels got smaller and more cramped. The temperature steadily increased. It got harder to breathe. At points we were on all fours squeezing through tiny spaces, which took us further into the labyrinth. Most of the tunnels were supported by bits of strategically placed wood. ‘Health and Safety’ is clearly not a term often used. It was fascinatingly unpleasant.

The craziest thing was while we were marveling at how extreme and unbearable it was, miners of all ages were getting on with their work. A lot of them start working as young as twelve. Due to exposure to dust, the average life expectancy of a miner is roughly fifty. An unforgiving and tragic way to make a living. It’s depressing to think about and it was a harsh experience but I’m glad I went because it really put so much into perspective. The next time I hear anyone complaining about work I’ll tell them to go sit in a dusty cupboard with the heater on for 12 hours and then see how tough they have it.

The rest of the time in Potosi was spent walking around and checking out some of the grand colonial buildings. And drinking copious amounts of singani in a karaoke bar.

All in all a rather bizarre, eye-opening experience.


Check out the photos here: http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.10150170473881890.300208.514871889&l=4c3a8b78eb

Sucre II and Tarabuco

My first few weeks in Sucre revolved mainly around learning Spanish, teaching English and drinking lots of beer. And rum.

So I decided after getting back from carnival in Oruro to try and be a little bit more focused on the other things Sucre had to offer aside from going to Café Florin, Joyride and Mitos with alcoholic regularity.

One of the highlights of my ‘cultural’ agenda was going to the Pujllay festival in a nearby town called Tarabuco. Pujllay is a celebration of Bolivian culture with its historical origins in the battles fought against the Spanish by the indigenous people. It’s also time to give thanks to Pachamama (Mother Earth) for the many resources she provides. It’s a very colourful, festive celebration which revolves around traditional dancing and music. The costumes were fascinating, the instruments were unusual and the people involved danced with determined euphoria. The president of Bolivia, Evo Morales, was there and even he joined in on the dancing. There was an offering to Pachamama which consisted of a huge variety of food attached to a massive wooden structure. It even had bottles of beer and ketchup. It was a unique and fascinating experience and my cultural reserves were topped up nicely.

During the last week I was in Sucre, Mike and I went to an eco-lodge just outside of the city for a night to get out into nature. Sucre is surrounded by beautiful scenery and we had a great evening around a campfire with some other travelers. The only detraction was the French alcoholic who owns the land (but doesn’t run the lodge) who insisted on talking at us incessantly in a mixture of terrible English and indecipherable Spanish. Eventually we all had to pretend to go to bed just so he’d bugger off. The next day we walked to the ‘Seven Waterfalls’ which are close to the lodge. It was an awesome, relaxing day in some extraordinarily beautiful surroundings.

The rest of my time in Sucre was awesome. I finished off my Spanish lessons and taught my final English lesson. My students threw an unexpected ‘leaving do’ for me during the last lesson. It was somewhat different from the leaving dos I’ve experienced in London. Instead of copious amounts of beer and a late night stop at the fried chicken place, we had soft-drinks and hamburgers. The usual drunken reminiscing was replaced by random conversations in a mixture of broken English and broken Spanish.

The students and my co-teacher Juan-Carlos were extremely grateful for the time I gave. It was really touching.

I also visited the Mercado Campesino which is a fairly standard Bolivian market filled with everything from food to kitchen utensils to car parts. The only reason it warrants a mention are the few small ‘witches’ stalls aligned randomly next to the standard book and confectionary stalls. Although Bolivia is largely a Catholic country there is still a strong influence of traditional mysticism. When building a new house, for example, it’s tradition to make an offering to Pachamama to ask for good luck. Sometimes this involves simple foodstuffs. Occasionally it means burying a llama foetus on the building site. These were available in gory abundance at the market. Alongside the llama foetuses there was an array of strange, twisted animal parts and carcasses. Toucan beaks and a dead owl to name just a few.

Having had a good dose of culture I decided to have one last party weekend before leaving Sucre. It was a lot of fun if not a bit predictable. We went to the usual three nightspots having consumed vast quantities of rum and danced to the same songs for the last time.

By the time I left Sucre it felt really familiar and comfortable. The people I met were amazing and the energy of the city is wonderful and vibrant. I would highly recommend a stop in Sucre to anyone planning to learn Spanish. And to anyone who wants a decent party and who doesn’t mind listening to the Black Eyed Peas many times every night.


Check out the photos here: http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.10150147365446890.283807.514871889&l=742eaba2a9

Carnaval en Oruro

Fear and Loathing in Oruro.

Mike, JJ, Juan-Carlos and I caught an overnight bus from Sucre to Oruro on the Thursday night before Carnaval and arrived early Friday morning. The weekend was like a drunken, psychedelic dream. We stayed in the house of one of Juan-Carlos’ friends and within a few hours of arriving we procured a case of beer and we were on our way to the ‘thermal baths’ just outside of Oruro. Our host Jorge, who soon became ‘Don Giorgio’, was straight out of ‘ScarFace’. He lived in the States for a few years which gave him a Tony Montana style accent and a habit of calling everyone ‘bro’. He was pretty special. We ran into some minor issues with the immigration police on the way because neither Mike nor I had our passports with us. At one stage I was convinced we were going to be chucked in the meat-wagon and spend the rest of carnival in a cell. Luckily we managed to straighten things out and it was just as well that Jorge hadn’t started on the beers at that point. It could have been a lot more interesting. I’m fairly sure he was keen for a car-chase. The ‘thermal baths’ turned out to be a warm swimming pool and, as the only gringos, we drew some interesting looks. I’m fairly certain Mike was the first ginger person the locals had ever seen in real life. Certainly the first ginger person without his shirt on.

We got back to Oruro that evening and dived straight into more beers. The streets were a sea of festive people in various stages of inebriation. There was music blaring on every corner and no one as without a smile. It was the most electric, celebratory street party I’ve been lucky enough to experience. We danced like gringos and made friends with countless locals. It was incredible. The only downside was my phone getting pick-pocketed. Clearly not everyone was as drunk as I was.

Saturday is the when the real action begins and by the time we got to the centre the streets were alive with people who seemingly had no other reason to live than carnival. The tradition in Bolivia during carnival is water. So much water. And shaving-foam type stuff. Everywhere we turned someone was armed with water balloons or a massive water-pistol or a can of the ubiquitous ‘espuma’. The first time I got nailed in the face by a dose of foam was slightly annoying. The second time was kind of funny. The third time it was reason to fight back. We armed ourselves with cans of our own and proceeded to get absolutely annihilated by everyone. Again, Mike’s gingerness attracted a lot of attention and he definitely caught the brunt of it.

The carnival itself was mesmorising. A constant, endless wave of dancers of every shape and size imaginable. Their costumes were beautifully ornate, bordering on the psychedelic. Every dance troop that came past was greeted with wild cheers and ‘espuma’. Interspersed between the dancers were brass bands adding a chaotic, rhythmic atmosphere. Many of the people in the procession were getting stuck into beers and I saw more than one side-drummer alternating between playing a note and having a sip. It was beautifully surreal and unique. And so much fun.

Saturday night was the pinnacle of the partying. Full of rum and coca leaves we hit the streets again. By that stage the intoxication had reached insane levels and there were an alarming number of people lying face down in the street. The dancing continued although in a somewhat more ragged fashion and the beers kept flowing. We eventually made it home completely shattered, ears ringing and not quite certain of what had just happened.

By Sunday the spirit was relatively keen but the flesh was severely damaged. We got an afternoon bus back to Sucre reminiscing about one of the most insanely fun, messy and surreal weekends ever.


Check out the photos here: http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.10150146462696890.283621.514871889&l=bd6e197ddf