El Ultimo Transmisión

......the return was easy, a short flight from Bariloche back to the vast blanket of light that is Buenos Aires. A city with an infectious spirit and charm all of its own. I landed with some nervousness knowing my iminent return to Dublin obscured my thinking. For four days I absorbed memories of the city, the Porteno lifestyle and juicy steaks. My mind twanged with insecurities and yearning and then the time came after an emotional farewell to board my flight back home, sitting among the French for 12 hours on the long way home. i'm back now and what better way to end this journey with some choice highlights from my trip, and an emotional farewell........
The Keitho's
best city ; Buenos Aires, amazing place with great people.
Thing of Beauty ; Semuc Champey, natural limestone bridge with two rivers running on top of each other. A little Eden.
Awestruck moment ; Tikal, jungle waking up, temples appearing and disappearing in the morning mist.
Best Steak ; Viejo Jacks, most of a cow on a plate, the best thing about Salta
Most fucked up thing ; Salar de Uyuni, landscape of the bizarre and surreal kind. Moonscape, marsscape, Dali scape.
Embarassing moment ; Of many, getting myself locked in a toilet in Huaraz, Peru. Not strange but I was in my boxers and the woman of the house had to break me out and then for the next hour explain what I did. Without letting me put my clothes on.
Sad time ; Poverty, everywhere. From the heat of Nicaragua to the plains of Argentina. Some bad vibes here. It wears you out and depresses you.
Gimp of the Trip ; American who asked if I understood satire and irony. An American? I ask you.
Drink ; Downing snake wine in Vilcabamba in great company. Drunk from the legs up anyone?
Big irritation ; Insect bites, from weeping sores to the traditional mozzy bite. I occasionally resembled a ebola victim.
Worst country ; Costa Mucha, gorgeous place but damned expensive.
People moment ; Being helped by a Costa Rican family to get to Monteverde. They offered me their floor to sleep on.
High point ; Everything was excellent. I don't want a repeat of the national debate when I returned from Oz and Asia and a certain national DJ said I hated it all. Spanner.
Low point; Getting onto that plane. But even that was mixed with excitement about going back to the flats and seeing the people I love.
Worst blog; This one.
Its been an emotional journey for me. From the great city of Mexico travelling south through Latin America seeing an unbelievable range of things, experiences I will never replicate. Along the way meeting amazing people who kept me company and travelled chicken buses, boats, rafts, planes, trains and mules. I will remember you all. And keep in contact with you. I'll need some cheap holidays. So this is farewell.
Goodbye to machistos, almuerzos and good steak. To strange club habits of the Americas, to raggaton and remakes of bad 80's music. To gauchos, muchachos and proud mis direction. To meeting people from all over the world. To seeing gratuitous nudity everywhere while women walk by breast feeding babies. to rabid dogs and fat cats and crazy financial schemes that ruin countries. A quirk, a nod to constant political upheaval. To no personal space on any bus and getting my face smacked by a portly womans sweating belly. goodbye, ciao, slan and after. I am at home now but will return.
But I must remember things now I am home. To look right and not left when crossing the road. To put the toilet paper in the bowl and not in a bin beside me. Not to gawk at women as if they are meat, (ah Latinos) to go to the bar and not wait for service, to say thank you and not gracias, to be cold and not hot.
So this is the final incoherant blog. It's been emotional.
I will be in HOGANS on Friday night. Come along and have a drink. It will be great to see you all. Heres my mobile number, 085 1490772, it is the same as before I went away.
For all that I met, you are welcome to come to Dublin and I'll show you my city.

Birds in Bariloche are STOOPID

....a lot can happen in 17 hours, a damn lot. I could fly back to Ireland, have a really long sleep and get up eat breakfast and lunch, do 5 marathons or get a semi cama bus from Mendoza to Bariloche and in the process change season from Spring to a cold winter. The latter is what I chose to do with the promise of a few days rest at Jani´s sisters place. In a Golf and Country club. 30 km from the nearest town. On the shore of the alpine Lago Guttierrez. This is how the other half live. No more guarding my belongings madly in a hostel, no more wearing flip flops to the shower, because you can´t be sure enough if the cleaner got rid of all the sexual fluid from the night before. It was worth the journey to see the view, this place is a winter wonderland .............
......birds and animals in general I have always found to be a notch below us in the intellectual scheme of things. Take for instance the birds around Bariloche. Beautiful though they are they are not too clever. A complete flock managed to crash into the large window that overlooked the violent lake, stunning five of our feathered friends in the process so they just lay lopsided on the ground. Now compare this to me, while trying to scare a couple of dogs away from the jacuzzi (yeah you know it) I cracked my finger off a counter. I suspect its broke and bears a stupid person bruise on it. The dogs didn`t budge......
.....4 days of staring out at the lake, flanked on either side by steep mountains covered in snow, watching rabbits bounce ably away from pedigree dogs on holiday from the city. A certain calmness grows inside you. One which provides complete relaxation and an isolation which is beautiful and primitive. Rain and snow fell for two days solid and the land and lake took on a different complexion, one still of serenity and having the same calming effect. I did not want to be anywhere else........
when will I stop?

MENDOZA!!!!!!!!!!!!

......God damn little thieving gypsy. And I was so close to returning home without losing nothing but my dignity on a few beaches in central America. But no, it had to happen. My bag was stolen, and so close to home. Nothing valuable was taken, of monetary value anyway. My Moleskine journal was nicked with all my musings and thoughts while travelling. And as some of you know, I like to write and loosing this was a bit of a blow. It´s not as bad as losing a passport or your camara but it sucked. There was only ne thing to do after that............
.......Some things in life don´t go together. Chalk and cheese, Pineapple on pizza, oil and water. I would of thought that Bikes and Wine didn´t either especially when you add a road full of workers digging holes. Yet surprisingly it does. I got on my metal horse accompanied by Ruth and headed off to the first winery. A guide with seductively broken English bored us until she served us two tasters. Mediocre. Up on the bikes again joined by more backpackers on wheels, dodging angry, psychotic dogs we headed to a Chocolate factory. Willy wasn´t home but the nice man served us up alcoholic liquers and chocolate. I believe it was nice, it left a goo in my throat. We waved goodbye to the man and headed for lunch. It was in a drug barons compound and served by a guy with a limp. All to suave background music. The bike brought us to another one, two maybe three wineries. And still I was not drunk. It was impossible, any alcohol that went in was sweated out by cycling. All in all a bit frustrating. Until I got back to the hostal, and drank beer. That worked...........
........snow. I saw it back up in the Andes beside a big mountain called Aconatagua or something. Apparently its the tallest in the Western hemisphere. I suppose it depends on where you are looking from. Being low season for skiing, there was no piste action. But there were ski lifts. Charging 20 pesos to go up just to walk back down. Thats 5yoyos. A bit steep(get it). It was eerie being in a ski resort in low season, all creaking signs and lonely staff. A bit like Shining in reverse.........
.....a natural bridge straddled the river. A stong orange hue dripped over its icy edge forming into stalactites(mites) as the river ran yellow. Minerals swallowed the rivers drinking potential and provide a cure for ailments of the skin. Hot springs gouged a hole through the earth which the Incans held sacred. The British turned it into a hot sring bath for the rich, erecting a 5 star hotel with a private chapel and underground tunnel to the baths. But Pachamama took her revenge, sending a landslide down one of her mountains, avoiding the church and destroying the hotel. It was never rebuilt.........

Leaving BsAs To Get Wet

........it was a quiet morning in Buenos Aires. I had drank too much red wine the night before and my stomach was doing mini flips. It was time to leave, to begin travelling again. Afterall it is the reason I came away in the first place. But this city, it´s under my skin nagging at me to return soon. To its cafes and bars and relaxed culture. And I will for one last weekend before I leave, to eat dinner at midnight and head to a bar to drink and dance till the next morning. BsAs is in my heart........
........Puerto Iguazu´s dusty skin welcomed me. The town sleepy in appearance and at low season completely empty and devoid of people. To say it lacks soul is to overestimate its attraction. But you don´t come here for the town. You come here for the most amazing waterfall(s). Iguazu Falls stream down over cliffs in white hair crashing at the bottom spraying vapour high into the sky. It has at least 30 waterfalls and a tacky little train that brings you to different interesting spots. But its hard being somewhere this beautiful because of people. They push and barge to get the best photos squeeze and complain about all the people. But this is what you get at a stunning natural occurance. People want to see and touch as much as possible. Its in our nature to push to what we want. I just wish we wouldn´t complain about it.........

...."hey man you like Argentinian girls?"
"I guess so."
....."with their fine bodies and oh yeah pushed up breasts, it makes me horny just thinking about them"
"Ok."
...."you take drugs and get with one of those women man and they are yours,....all night"
And it went on like this. Booze, women, drugs. This was my first conversation with Percy a Peruvian guide.

......woohoo on a boat, going into the falls. This is bleedin rapid. Get in there you mad bastard. Right in under the waterfall. Nice spray this, not too wet. AHHHH holy crap. Get me out I´m swallowing water. I know what goes into this water in some countries. Crap, rubbish, dead bodies. Ok out of it now. Calm, relax, tranquilo. Here we go again into the, Devils Throat. Good God its huge, my boxers are wet. Just spray, more spray, not so bad, Ahh, I´ve just had 5 buckets of water thrown at me. Get me out.........
My minds thought while getting drenched in Iguazu Falls.

...I went to Brazil my 11th country. I was there for 3 hours. I don´t know what its like but I have the stamp. Enough said.........

As I sit in this internet cafe I have realised my bag is missing. This means either of two things.
I left it in the hostel or it has been stolen. The latter will piss me off the most, as it had all of my musings and notes in it. This will relly piss me off, as I have nothing except those words I have wrote down to remind me of my travels, I have no camera. I would rather they stole my wallet. But this is all speculation at the moment. I sit uncomfortably waiting to find out. This will change my view of Mendoza. This is were I am now. Tomorrow I cycle and drink wine. It might be an angry drunk if my journal is gone or a relieved drunk because I left it in the hostel. Now I am angry.

Cats, Dogs and the Dead

......walking around Recoleta and Palermo is a relaxing thing. Beautiful people line the streets adorned with the most cutting edge hairstyles and ridiculously expensive clothes. But what is very apparent in these neighbourhood is how much they love dogs. Many camp dog walkers straddle the streets with up to 20 dogs each, being led in ridiculous directions. But there is something sinister about these animals. They have lost all prime instinct. None of them bark, there is not one nose stuck up an arse, there are no attempts at copulation. Instead these dogs obey without doubt, attired in their soft wollen jackets and designer leashes. Poor inbred purebreds........and compare them to cats here. People as far as I can tell hate cats. On an amble through the Botanical Gardens, the Zoo or the famed Recoleta Cemetary there are thousands of them, abandoned by their owners. The cats are large and well feed by somebody, or something and are a major problem. And they look evil, staring out at you with vacant eyes full of mischief. Little b$%"·&"ds.........
.......Recoleta Cemetary is a morbid place to spend an afternoon bathed in sunshine. But it is also a testament to the stupidity of the rich. Full of unnecessary foibles. Families paid a princely sum to entere their bodies here and wanted people to know. Temples were built as monuments and the bodies are places with coffins on full show through elaborate stain glass windows and cross cut holes. All under the watchful gaze of fat cats. Now what do they feed on again? What people needed these temples for is a mystery. But then again so is religion to me. Intersstingly enough two graves which are most prominent are for Guillermo Browne and Father Fahy the Confessor. You can´t bring the Irish anywhere without them dying..........
THE JERK.
He sat across from our table in Desnivel a brilliant steak house. His eyes glazed with wine and boisterous talk. He stood awkwardly and came toward our table and grabbed a packet of cigarettes and threw them at the waiter. The cigarettes where retrieved and placed in the centre of the table. On returning the jerk picked the packet again and threw them straight at my nose scraping it in the process. The guy was a jerk.
Ciao

This Accents Got Me Licked

.....I stared blankly at the girl behind the counter.Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion as she delicately asked, Como? I, in turn scrunched up my eyebrows, muttered something along the lines of ´de nada´ and ´gracias´and left the shop slightly humiliated. I was hungover after a quiet night out with Ciaran and Vicki which involved staring at teenagers perfecting their hairstyles so they would look their best on the dancefloor. Quiet here is returning home at 6am. And my body is constantly reminding me of the fast approach of my 30th birthday by walloping me with burning indigestion and severe hangovers. I slept early that night. It was all I could do......
.....going to a literary debate in Buenos Aires was maybe not the smartest thing to do with my level of Spanish. I gave it a go none the less and left more confused than when I went in. The stage was set with 3 stereotypical professor types, complete with intellectual beards and twead suit jackets. I leaned forward as the discussion began, concentrating on their voices. I picked out words and logically added what I thought would go with them. But the talk got rampant and slurred through high brow jokes and huffing of words. Added to this was the constant noise of someone behind me involved in a text message marathon.It was here I admitted defeat which was also when Jani did. We left and later........................I found myself in.................Buenos Aires equivolent .....to The Big Tree. Ahhhhhhhhhhhh. were I hooked up with the mosquito bitten Ciaran and Vicki. The place teemed with students from the Argentine country. I´m sure most of the girls were waiting on the ravages of puberty to provide some curves as the manicured faces of the boys figured out how to savage their young skin. Smoke mushroomed from tables, an 18th birthday party swung into overload next to us. We whimpered and left the kids to themselves. We need to find an older crowd soon. I´m getting embarassed and slightly intimidated by the kids..........
........I once again found myself staring blankly at a Porteño. She had asked me a question. I could not decipher her rapid speech and replied with the trusted, ´no se´which translated means I don´t know. But her voice went into over-ride and I could feel peoples eyes turn towards me on the cramped Subway train. I had to bite the bullet. Her accent had overwhelmed me. I sighed, ´no hablo español, lo siento.`But damn I do understand it, just not in this town..........
Time to watch another glorious defeat by a hyped up Irish team. Ciao.

The Finer Details Of Buenos Aires Life

.......Time is irrelevant in this town. A mobile phone is a definite necessity if you are to have a fully functioning social life. The reasons for this are simple. People here never are where they are supposed to be at a given time. I have been left standing at street corners for over an hour, waiting. People notice you and feel a sense of pity for you. ´Ahh look at the gringo, either lost or stood up.´ But the strange thing is, I{ve not had to meet many Argentines on the streets. Most have been lacsidasical backpáckers who have been infused with the culture here so much they have begun to take on its traits. And I like it. If I were to stay longer a mobile phone would be necessary.......
.......we go from hot to hot and wet to mild and muggy to cold to cold and wet to humid....its been a weird two weeks weather wise. And the heavy rains came when Ciaran and Vicki arrived from home bringing the Irish Summer disease with them. Or it is still winter here......................
......Plaza de Mayo is a great expanse in the Microcentre in Buenos Aires. Great ornate buildings are mixed up with run down edifices and waste ground surrounding a giant statue in the centre with compulsory horses. But this square houses something more. Las Madres de la Plaza de Mayo. Mothers of the Plaza who back in the 70{s came out in protest against the military Junta goverment at the disappearance of their sons and daughters. Being mothers they have massive input into society here and were allowed there protests. They continue today, to get information about their stolen generation. Also in this plaza lie the homeless. A strong reminder that although BsAs is a cultured seemingly affluent place poverty is everywhere. Over 50% of people live below the poverty line here. On the plaza they sleep on giant bags of rubbish scavenged from the streets. This is done everywhere, I know, but the organisation I{ve seen here overwhelmed me. As I walked down Defensa in the San Telmo barrio hundreds scavenged through the plastic bags. Nothing going to waste. Its not the worst I{ve seen, but it provides a stark contrast to the barrio my apartment is in, full of the middle classes and dog walkers......POVERTY IS EVERYWHERE, CAPITALISM DOES NOT WORK.
and so ends my rant

All Porteños Are Vampires

..........ths city is an insomniac. Constantly going, rarely relenting in its pace whether it be in afternoon heat or the pits of the night. Its inhabitants glide through life, past work and into parilladas and bars for after hours drinks which moreover than not stretch long into the night, and then they rest sparingly, until they rise early and do it all again. This lifestyle could kill me in this month if I had to work, but thankfully I can go to bed while others are going to work and rise when they return, this is when my day begins now. Around four in the afternoon. Which brings me to the conclusion all porteños are vampires...
Bad idea #12098476 , Archery in a bar. I´ve seen it next to pool tables were incidently I whooped the arse off a southsider. (Doesen´t sound right does it?)
.........I hate shopping at home. I despise it here. You wander innocently into a shop and some stylishly dressed sort with complicated hair saunters over and tries to sell you all sorts of crap. When you refuse an atitude kicks in. It is because of this I smell of mothballs and look like a faded photo from the 70s without seeming cool.
........a stoopid Quebecquer turned off my water. Damn him. I went the whole day without showering and it got hot. 28degrees, muggy 80% and I stank. He is gone home now. So all is good........
.........Sahara is the type of club I would normally run a marathon to avoid, but while being a lone traveller you tend to go with the crowd, no matter how bad a place may seem. In fairness to Sahara it did look more welcoming than the previous bar we had been in in San Telmo. It smelled of the finest beef infused urine and it was karaoke night. Sahara was the opposite, clean and full of blonde local women. (They do like to dye it blond here, even though it leaves hideous roots(I know, fruity) for these brunettes). There was a performance of a kind going on and all seemed well. We sat digesting our steaks and wine innocently when a man with a microphone approached and asked were we hailed from. Ireland, Oz, Columbia and Quebec came the reply. The next thing I remember I´m on the dancefloor with eyes staring at us. This is were I blank out.............We left soon after,...........,.,.,.,.it was 5am.........-ñ,-.,,m----------......vampires time to head home.
Adios, ciao y slan.
I´m off to eat more cow and drink some of that fine wine. And sleep a touch.

mmmmmmmm Beef

....after an epic journey through Gaucho country by train, car and expensive bus I arrived in the not too unpleasant town of Salta. And as a benefit country No. 10 Argentina. This place is the most European of the lot and a welcome respite from dodgy buses and rotten roads. And then there is the steak.........
Old Jack ; Es por dos personas
Rich , Don´t mess with me old Jack. I want the whole cow.
This is how my first night in Argentina went, in bullet point form :

• Went to Viejo Jacks to get some famous Argentine Steak
• On reading the menu realised the wine was ridiculously cheap
• Steak was also cheap, and weighed roughly half of me
• Wine was so good, drank roughly 15 bottles between 8
• Left old Jack to the carcass of roughly two cows.
• Went in search of Saltas nightlife.
• Found bar, drank cocktails
• Found taxi, who found nightclub
• Club was empty at 3am
• At 4am club filled up. More cocktails.
• Walking in the darkness I tripped down a step ruining my cool strut and sprained my ankle.
• Escorted to hostel to get strap on leg.
• At 6am the rest return and regale me with a tale of drunken brawling, initiated by the two young lads from Brisbane. No surprise there. (Seriously, anyone familiar with Fortitude Valley in Brisbane on a Saturday night can testify to this.

..........5 am sucks. It just does. Getting up at this time is hard and stupid. But I had an important flight to catch to Buenos Aires. 5 hours later I sat across from my landlady. A beautifully classy mature lady, who has an Irish mother. "Verde Erin." She explained to me in Castellano the different facilities and went on her way. (Castellano, Argentine Spanish is the hardest to understand I have encountered. Slangtastic.)

.......I took a stroll up to old Palermo. The barrios atmosphere dripped from the buildings. People lazing away in cafes and sipping mate. The early spring sunshine resting lazily on skin and parkland. The old buildings cracked from weather, appearing from some historical romance. The striking stride of the locals as they literally strut about their days. This place is relaxation for me. Away from the hustle of the centre. In Recoleta, where you don´t have to do anything, anytime soon........

.......Then I met Ultan. Please Ultan leave a comment on where I went that night. I woke up tasting of beer and hearing ringing in my ears. Lo siento Jani. Mi amigo es stupido.

Today I eat more steak.

Shivering in A Dali Wonderland

....Uyuni, a stinking desert town full of dust and a cutting wind that makes your timbers shiver. There is no reason imaginable to visit this place unless you have relatives there. It is the surrounding area that people come for. Salar De Uyuni or the Salt Flats. A truly remarkable natural occurence at 3800metres. As the jeep pulled out from the dusty centre of Uyuni we headed firstly towards a Train graveyard. A showdown was had on top of rusting wrecks and dilapidated carrages, hopefully photos will follow. Then came the Salt Flats themselves. They are pretty strange. Hexagonal shapes etch out in the salt to the horizon. It is cold enough to feel like snow and look too. A caravan of jeeps paraded through the flasts to IncaHuasi.(Isla Del Pescaderos) This is an amazing sight. An island in the salt with huge cacti striking up menacingly. I climbed to the peak to be met with a stunning view. Salt everywhere but for this island..f+cking nuts..........
Driver .- Un momento.
ME- I dont think they have sorted out accomodation.
Driver- Vamos.
A dark forbodding came over me. A door to a shed swung open as an icy gale blew through a plastic sheet roof and holes in the windows. Seven concrete beds lay before us with u shaped mattresses.
Driver- Sin electricidad y duche.
Me- So we will be cold , dirty and smelly. But on the plus side we won{t be able to see each other.
..........What the fuck? They are mad looking. All thats missing is a dripping clock man. This place is fucked up. Its like Mars over there and the moon over there. Look at the mountain top. Its got 6 colours. Fucking nuts....my reaction to the Dali rocks.
........A little tip to all. When visiting geysers in a lunar landscape never no matter how cold you get, go into the steam of the geysers without an oxygen mask. The sulphur and methane is overwhelming and a great way to get sick. This place was the coldest I have ever been.......
...Lagoona Verde marked the goodbyes between Rich, lisa, Sabine and me. But what a crazy place. The jeep struggled up a hill around what looked like a white lake. I thought it was impressive full of icy goodness and nothing much else. Upon reaching the crest of the hill a sight caught my eye . A green lake. Not slightly green, green. Nestled beneath a perfect cone mountain with ice cap. I thought this was nuts. After the guys went to Chile I headed back with the driver for what I thought was a tortuous trip back to Uyuni. Then we stopped at Lagoona Colorado. This lake was completely pink. Not kind of pink, pink. It was like watched a big pool of strawberry milkshake. Nuts. Flamingoes and all.....
There was more to this three day trip. But the best way to see how nuts it is, is to go there. Bizarre.
...A question, Why are flamingoes associated with hot climates? The ones I saw live at -25 degrees in the winter.

Dinosaurs, Divils and a Friendly Clown

.......Sucre is surrounded by brown Andean peaks forced over the millenia to contort by massive faultlines in the earths crust. And this is how over 5000 dinosuar tracks have been discovered there. They seem to walk up a cliff face to nowhere in particular. Some are as big as cars. My guide explained everything. Then we turned our attention to huge real size models of the dinosaurs. Everything from the specific era. Then he noted some flaws. One, we do not know what colour the dinosaurs were really. Two, Not sure what they ate and three, the huge models of the TREX are only there because he is the most famous dino of the lot. A bit pointless really.......
...Sucre has burst into civil disobedience since I left. The day I arrived in Potosi students had strapped themselves to public buildings and it deteriorated into rioting. This has spread to the congress in La Paz where open fist fights are taking place. It sure is interesting being in an unstable region.......
.....Moro, the Argentine clown approached me as I sat on a bench in Sucre. He seemed very Friendly and gave me some sweets.........
.....This morning I met with the devil. An interesting fellow who occupies a dark mine in the Cerro Rico mountain which towers over Potosi. I found him to be quite an interesting fellow. His believers who you must bribe with cigarettes, coco leaves, dynamite and 96% alcohol(all for the low price of 2 yo´s´[thats for a stick of dynamite people]) grunted at me as I passed in my blue jump suit and wellies. These miners believe in him because they think God cannot penetrate the mountain so they feel the need to appease the devil or TIO as they call him. It means uncle. So they offer him coco, smokes, alcohol and sit with him. I found it pleasant enough, the sulphur and altitude did not affect my breathing, the small crawl spaces not too demanding. Although his giant manhood hanging out of his frock did cause me some concern..............
Alright.

Further Tales of the Jungle

....when the chiefs daughter came home one day with the worlds worries on her shoulders the chief began to stress. He questioned his daughter on why she was so miserable. The response was not one he was happy with. His young daughter was pregnant. The chief understandably was a bit annoyed at this and demanded the fathers head. But his daughter insisted it was a debonnair dolphin that did it. She was sitting beside the river and a pink dolphin approached talking in Barry White tones and transforming from his pink shade into a dazzling white suit. He then seduced the poor wench and impregnated her....And so began the Pampas legend of the fertile dolphin upon whom all unwanted pregnancies are blamed............
........the bouncy twin engined pride of Amaszonias Air carried me towards La Paz. Away from the luscious green jungle and heat back to the pollution of the big city. I was joined on board by a particularly irritating American Family who moaned about every aspect of the trip. I tried blocking them out with different techniques but none worked. Then the miracle of turbulence happened. Flying over the Andes is like riding a rollercoaster. My stomach leapt high and sunk low. A slight quesiness swept over me. But an interesting sound came from behind me. I turned. Every one in the American family was throwing up into there sickbags. A bit of justice in a world gone mad........
......been in La Paz for 3 days. Nothing to do here except leave, tonight.
......To all caught in the Peru earthquake, hope you are all fine.

Idda Jungle, idda idda jungle

.......a small twin engine plane carried me through not over the Andes to Rurrenabeque. It was a bumpy ride in a small aircraft designed for not more than 20 people. The landing consisted of skirting the jungle canopy to land on a dirt runway. I was away from the oxygen deprived La Paz and into the lucious green heat of the jungle, fully equiped with proper air, stuff I could breathe without panting. And then the adventure began.......
,.........A short discussion with a random Australian informed me of an unexpected presence on the trip. A young lady in my tour group was in fact a celebrity from the land down under. A childrens writer and the host of Big Brother. Luckily I used my experience of celebrity handling and put into practice what I normally do. I completely ignored the fact. She turned out to be very pleasant. And after making all the groups acquaintance I clamboured aboard a canoe and set about mosquito infested waters. In short my experience of the Pampas was amazing. Wildlife everywhere. Capybarras, giant rodents, dolphins, alligators, monkeys which are surprisingly lighter than pigeons and the scary anaconda. I held one in disdain in the swamp and poked him with a stick. He wasnt so tough. The hostel resembled Marlon Brandos hideout in Apocalypse Now. A bar in the jungle hours from civilisation. Surrounded by alligators and monkeys. 40 people stayed there, sweating and dusty, yet there was only one shower. With LOW PRESSURE. Shocking but expected............Then the sun went down........and a snorer kept me awake.......for 2 nights...........in the jungle................until I got back to Rurre and did.........................this...
...Cocktails lots of them. They were pleasant and then I met interesting person#256 of the trip, Arthur. A lunatic from Belfast hell bent on chewing coco leaves from dusk till dawn. And he did. And he shared. And they were good for about 3 minutes then I was just drunk again. But able to drink all night, until the sun came up.
A Profile of Arthur .
Read the SAS survival guidebook.
Constantly chewed coco leaves and took valium because he couldn't sleep at night.
Tried acclimatising by wearing a fleece, thermal socks and heavy trousers in 30 degree heat. I noticed the locals did not need to.
Sweated profusely while drinking and rambled endlessly.
A nice guy.

BACK In LAPAZ.
Congrats Dan and Sonia.

The La Paz Belly

......most streets here are at a 45 degree angle or more, so either going up or down you face a bit of a struggle. It is not helped by markets decorating absolutely every footpath in the city. And the things they sell are unusual. Dried out llama foetus in the Witches market or toilet pots and fake designer label jeans(which I am now a proud owner of, because there was a big hole in my crotch). La Paz is cool for picking up all the tacky stuff you can imagine whilst dodging the local buses with drivers who don`t really care if you are blocking the way or not. But for all its madness La paz is poor. Real Poor. People scavenge through rubbish as if it were a feast, and seeing children huddled in doorways is always a killer....................................
......The La Paz Belly is something of an inconvenient truth that many people who come here must endure. It is not just the domain of people who eat in street kitchens and of travellers. Everyone here gets it. It obviously involves diarrhoea, but also vomitting and in my case a fainting episode in a local restaurant. This bug works its merry way through your system for on average 48 hours before dispersing into an interesting nothingness. This is why I failed to do the Worlds Most Dangerous Road cycle. And the fact that I could not stomach not getting a refund for this trip........
.....San Pedro Prison is too hard to get into and write about. I would need to bribe a prison officer, pretend to be visiting a dangerous prisoner and dress like the prisoners so as not to attract attention. Sorry John.
.....CocaCola buys all the Coca.

At The Copacabana, on the road to La Paz

Bolivia, Country No. 9
.....La Fiesta deVirgen de Copacabana fell on the weekend I arrived there. It proved to be a somewhat costly for accomodation but still silly cheap. The streets thronged with markets and people selling dried out llama foetus and gigantic bags of popcorn. I took a deep breath and began to climb Cerro Calvaria. The traditional climb over this festival, marked by giant concrete crosses. The stations. Stalls lined the lung busting climb selling fake money (for offerings) and toy cars (to be blessed). I reached the first cross panting. Locals dressed respectfully threw small pebbles on the cross as an offering, then quietly prayed for a moment before moving on to the next one. Along the way blind men and cripples begged for money to ease their pain. At the top fireworks went off as priests of joint Christian and Inca beliefs performed blessings. The ceremony involved a stuffed armadillo, incense, a toy of the object and a couple of bottles of beer to spray and drink in celebration. It was at this point my two cohorts, Lisa and Rich decided they needed a better vantage point for a photo so we climbed around the edge of the mountain. A smell struck deep in my sinus. It was excrement. Human. This side of the mountain was strictly baño for pilgrims. And I stood right in it.........
......Isla del Sol is a serene island and the birthplace of the first Incans. It is also home to a set of stairs that should not be attempted at this altitude with a backpack on. Lake Titicaca lies at 3800m above sea level. The steps on this island took me a further 100 m up. But it was worth the struggle of near collapse. The stars shone majestically during the night clearly marking the Milky-way. The quietness immense. Then the sun rose above snow capped peaks on the Andes,.Fire ringed clouds occasionally became fully consumed as the sun forces upwards. The light reflected off the lake as donkeys and birds woke up. As the disc climbed over the highest peak it became impossible to watch, the sun burning my eyes........
...After 2 boats, one bus and an immigration check I found myself on a vast Antiplano. It seemed we were going nowhere until the most amazing view came into sight. This flat expanse is at over 4000m. La Paz is in a valley that resembles a gigantic hole. A thriving city that you almost fall into. Stunning. And chaotic.
Off on the Death Road tomorrow. After

Bobblehead Backpackers in Machupichu

..Peru Rails prime rail line is serviced by a train that woiuld not look out of place on Thomas the Tank-engine. Decorated in an ancient blue the cars are extraordinarily dated. There is a certain charm to them and thankfully the seats are modern, it is a 4 hour ride from Cusco to the Pichu, involving 4 switchbacks( a rail term, for steep inclines ) a pissed of steward with fantastic moustache (enough said) and cruched leg room. The ride itself was slightly sadistic, whenever the the jolted, we did, whenever it wobbled so did we. Every little bump was felt through the arse of the seat. Bobblehead Backpackers all. But when you see the scenery of the Sacred Valley snail by you forget what little comfort there is. A valley of ruins and rivers. At the end of which stands Aguas Calientes(AKA MachuPicchu Pueblo ) a tourist mecca which thankfully cannot get any uglier because Pachumama (Mother Earth) won´t allow it. It´s sandwiched in by cliffs and rivers...........
4am is not my favourite time, unless I am still out which is acceptable. To rise to go and see a bunch of crumbling stones doesn´t make sense. To do it by choice well that is perhaps stupidity.
....I stumbled through the entrance. Huge terraces stepped up to my left in what is thought was an experimental farm. I wandered straight, unsure of what was what. My guide led me to an empty terrace. Even though it was already bright the sun had not hit the ruins. As it peaked over a mountain tangent rays hit them in different spots. People snapped. My guide dragged me through time, ruins and sleep for two hours. Winding streets, observatories and temples where explained. We wrestled past other bigger tour groups complete with US tang, struggling to get a decent spot anywhere. Thousands were there. After my guide left I hiked off to the Inkas Bridge. I walked for an hour in seclusion. Only the river accompanying me and the shadow of MachuPicchu (Old Mountain). The air cooled my nostrils and the trek is exposed to sudden drops to the valley 1000ft below. It was solitary and stunning. Afterwards I walked up to an old Inka Gate were the famous Inka trail ends. Skilfully passing tourits with walking sticks with the agility of an obese mountain goat. The view as I turned to see Machu Picchu is stunning. A mountain top city surrounded by high mountains covered in dense foliage. No wonder this place was lost, nature can so quickly overtake here.......
Hiram Bingham ¨discovered" Machu Picchu in 1910ish. (This is not about the dates) Upon his discovery he found a Peruvian persons name wrote inside one of the dwellings dated 10 years earlier. Like a decent man he erased his name and returned the following year with an expedition party. This man thought of the locals. He paid them one Sole for every body they dug up., In turn the locals destroyed much of the ruin. He maintained he never found gold or silver while excavating tombs etc. Yet some turned up in his native USA and are housed in Yale. (The Peruvian Govt have requested them back, they have yet to get a reply) This man should tell you one thing. NEVER TRUST AN ACADEMIC.

Notes From The Navel Of the World

....Cuzco´s early morning air banjaxed my breathing as a lack of oxygen drove me demented for a time. I resolved the best thing to do was take a walk and forget about my freaky breathing. And as I passed down the cobbled slender Calle Recoleta I heard distant gunfire. I followed the gunfire as any curious backpacker would and came to the grand Plaza De Armas.(Yes there is one in every town here) The plaza was full to the brim with marhing army bands and strangely enough marching teachers(not protesting, celebrating). The cause of the celebration is Peru´s national day. I gazed as the various groups (including Quechuas being flailed by mock Spanish conquistadores) and cantankerous horses marched in the most bizarre fashion. Almost as if John Cleese´s Ministry For Funny Walks was involved. Then I noticed much to my delight that the participants had been clothed by the same supply chain used by The Village People. It is quite a wonderful site........
....Pan pipes apparently can be cool. I was entertained by Cuzcos answer to the Pogues, with less drink of course. The kids loved it........
..Ollantaytambo is a mammoth tomb in the Sacred Valley which skirts around Cuzco. As I approached terraces rose up in front of me and the bus struggled up a steep incline. The bus wound its way through the ancient Quechua settlement resting directly in front of the Great tomb. I gazed upwards and struggled in the altitude to reach the top. Great grey stone adorned the top in a tribute to the stars, the sun and the moon. A craggy face watched from the opposing mountain. A revered God in these parts. More settlements were cut into the side of this mountain and seemed impossible to reach. Ollantaytambo was constructed in the shape of a llama. It is still obvious today. Cuzco was designed in the shape of a Puma and on Monday I will see the wonder that is Macchu Picchu, designed in the shape of a condor. If it is as impressive as Ollantaytambo I will be lucky........
Cuzco´s nuts at night, and cold, and mostly nuts.

A Treatment of a Typical Night Out in Arequipa

...it starts out with a cheap cervesa in one of the countless restaurants and bars here. A beer costing no more than $2 and surprisingly malty in taste. Accompanied by a set menu meal consisting of crema(soup) and a main course for the princely sum of $3. And then its time to move, negotiating the street vendors selling anything from cigarettes to sunglasses and always disgruntled when you turn them down. A brisk walk will always bring you past a number of bars all with happy hours. Las Bruhas or Swedish Avenue have 3 of any cocktails for $3 resulting in a rosey glow. A bit of small talk degenerating into the foulest depths of the human psyche and back again. Until someone, and this is a certainty clambers on top of the nearest bar, aided with encouragement from the staff and does an uncertain jig until (a) he/she falls on their face or (b) he/she suffers a moment of clarity and realises the precariousness of their present position. Some slurred words will then agree the best course of action is a few more drinks in local club, Daddy O´s(con Karaoke, Dj´s and live music), the Forum(fully equiped with beds and water feature) or De Ja Vu(Lonely Planet hangout, ie too expensive). And this is where the night gets complicated.
Locals are invariably attracted to travellers. I don´t know why, we look like crap, smell of moth balls, (if we are lucky), and are generally too drunk to stand unaided. Men will be attacked by ferocious women who pound their ample arses into their crotches and swing the drunk lout across the room. Women will be accosted by men who speak two lines of English poetry and think it is enough to get them into bed. (Sadly it is sometimes.) It is necessary to stay in a group at this stage but it never works as we are all too drunk, being seperated by the locals into manageable groups or moreover than not alone. It is at this stage you make the choice. Dance badly to raggaton or try to slowly slip away from the clutches of a vulture.
If escape is possible you are generally the target for the night vendors who sell chocolate, fags, water, and other munchies. But nothing savoury. As you cross the Plaza De Armas it is necessary to avoid the chocolate selling Santa, who will chase you back to your hostel. Where finally you can watch the sun rise from your rooftop terrace, or just fall asleep.
...Time to burn your LONELY PLANETS, they are misinformed, with questionable itinereries and they strangely enough push the prices up. Any publication that gives its reporters three weeks to research a country has to be bad. Come on you know I´m right, how many times have you stood outside an abandoned building expecting to see a hostel? To prove this I intend to travel Ireland next year with the Lonely Planet to see how accurate it really is. Challenge, duel.
All are welcome.
Heading to Cuzco on Monday, protests permitting.

Civil Disobedience in Arequipa (And A Pigeon Tale)

.........for seven days now they have come and voiced their distrust of the Peruvian government. Clogging the arteries surrounding the Plaza De Armas, chanting solidarity songs, linking arms in the face of heavily armed riot police who stand with disinterest in the shelter of volcanic archways. Teachers, communists, children, city workers and civil servants. Passion bursts from their lungs as effigies burn and blacken the white buildings of this beautiful city. There have been reports of riots in the outer barrios as teenagers full of testosterone go too far and use the police for target practice. In the centre it is calm at night and safe. A bubble of touristy goodness. I am stuck here. Buses are not running and hotels are full with people yearning to leave. But this is being repeated all over Peru. It is possible a revolution is starting.,,,,,......
......sitting watching the protestors chant in a merry mood I was accosted by a family who sat beside me on a park bench. A picture of wholesome fun they began to feed the pigeons with a huge bag of grain bought from a jolly woman for 25 cent. Pigeons are not a shy creature and coupled with this they are extraordinarily stupid. The pigeons clambered on the family greedily pecking at the grain and emptying their excrement on them. I shifted uneasily on the bench and put my book into my bag when suddenly a ratty feathered fecker landed on my cabezza(head). I shudderred with disgust and the fiend fluttered of, as did I with one thing going through my brains, Pigeons are surprisingly heavy little things.......
Too much rum, too much rum, rum too much, only 2yos 30 for a bottle. DANGEROUS

A Legend,EarthQuakes! and Randy Nuns in the White City

........a rich nun came to Arequipa from Spain along with a carefully selected group of lower ranking nuns from wealthy families. They proceeded to build up the beautiful convent of Santa Catalina. A town within the city. White brick painted over with ocre, red, yellow and sky blue. As I walked through this convent I could almost taste the colours. Then the hedonistic lifestyle of the nuns was explained to me by a bearded old man. The nuns each had many servants and were not afraid to throw a party or two each week. In such decadent parties homosexuality was reported aswell as the taking of copius amounts of opiates. This continued unabashed for 400 years until a strict Dominican nun arrived and washed their collective mouth out with holy water. She then proceeded to close the order to the outside world for the next 100 years.....dirty nuns...etc
.........I sat alone in the TV room recovering from a particularly intense couple of days involving 3 nightclubs, one bottle of rum, a changing of a hostel, a lot of free Pisco (local shot with after effect of Tequila, ie. it gets you drunk) 3 games of giant jenga, a conversation with a legend(see below) and explosive indigestion. I was straining to keep my peepers open as the credits rolled on a non descript film. I reached forward to suck down some water from my glass when the chair jumped beneath me. I woke instantly and glared as all the glasses shimmied on the mantel piece and realised with some distress the earth was shaking. Cool I thought as I wobbled to bed and gazed out momentarily at the 3 volcanoes creeping up behind the city........
.........she sat at a table, eyes locked in an eternal struggle with sleep. I jumped into the hammock beside her. "Still drinking are ya?" She slurred something beautiful from her mouth, not a word but a sound. Her lips moved, I stared and caught "40 hours" from in between hic-cups, belches and burps. I knew this already. I had been out the night before with this slim waif like woman. Her frame could fit behind a lamppost comfortably. She smilled while drunkenly sticking her fingers up at me. She stood and walked around a swimming pool to prove her sobriety. She seemed ok while walking, it was when she talked that trouble started. I walked away and came back 4 hours later. She was still there. All swagger and wobble. The girl is a legend, the girl is a stereotype, the girl is Irish, the girl will remain un-named....
Adios mi amigos. Estoy en Arequipa ahora y estudio Español por dos semanas aci. Depues Voy a salir a Cuzco.