......the battle of the sand was a legendary battle which took place in the town of Mancora, Peru. Mancora is set on the Pacific surrounded by a vast desert with sandy mountains hemming it in along the coast. It was in this sleepy seaside hamlet the great war of the sand was enacted between a small but powerful Irish army and an equally small but weak Dutch one. The Irish in victorious celebration had to be reminded after a night on the rum and coke what had happened on the beachy battleground. Mancora, not much to do but its hot, sandy and full of cheap rum......
Night buses are a pain in the arse, literally. They are made even worse when people open the windoiws in the middle of the night to cool down. These people should just take of a jacket instead of freezing my balls off. It was after one such trip I found myself in Trujillo. A functional town with a serene central park. The skies where grey so we (2 Dutch, 2 Quebecuers) fled to Huanchaco. The sky was grey there too. But we stayed, wraqpped up in our winter clothes. This is the site of two ancient sites. Chan Chan and Huaca del Sol y de la Luna. Both spectacular and in the desert. Bald dogs roam the sites and angry unofficial guides try to scam money off you but it is worth it just to see the fantastic murals at Huaca de la Luna. In a word it is stunning. I know where South Park got its inspiration from.......
And in this temple they found the warrior Duck. If my Spanish is worth a damn I believe the duck was the spiritual animal of a great warrior of the Moche people. And since they recorded everything through pottery and murals, they have found warrior duck vases in the temples. Looks like Duck Dodgers, seriously.
¿How many people can you fit in a taxi in Peru?
8
¿How many people can you fit into a small Hiace van in Peru?
23
This is how comfortable it is travelling here people.
Good bye
Up the Dubs.
Wednesday 20 June 2007
Thursday 14 June 2007
The Valley of Longevity is a Sordid Place
....whoa Vilcabamba, set at 1500 metres, lush green in a deathly quiet valley, wall like mountains keeping the wind at bay, people sleepily going about their lives in a tranquil bliss. Or so it would seem. The beauty of this place is only matched by the strangeness and in some cases down right evilness of its inhabitants. There is a price for serenity.......
..."ok so lets go get these things." Yes it was an innocent response to the question of whether or not I would like a snake juice from the bar. I consider myself a veteran of reptilian shorts since my days in 'Nam drinking snake whiskey. Eight shots where ordered for the group. Too many names to put down here. The local cowboy brought them out, a horriffic smell tickled at my stomach, inviting my hamburgeusa back up. I held it at bay. The glasses were big for a shot. About one and a half the norm. For show we sat on the novelty saddle seats. "Uno, dos, tres." The violent taste rushed up my nose and down to my stomach. It stayed there. And five minutes later I am reliably informed I was pissed. So to was Hugo, a Canadian cohort but not his wife Gen, who prodded us into stupidity for the night. I don´t remember much after that, except waking up, still pissed and finding Hugo asleep in a hammock, with contented gaze.......
MEET THE RESIDENTS OF VILCABAMBA
Gavin, rough as sand paper Kiwi owner of a local horse riding operation. Annoyed about recent killing of a neighbour who was 5 months pregnant by a policemans son. The police will not prosecute, and son has disappeared into the jungle. Writing a book on the town.
Pieter, dreadlocked German owner of hostel in the woods. Mostly stoned. Has to help the police to hunt down robbers in the mountains because the police don´t want to. Fountain of knowledge regarding the area and its people.
***(For legal reasons) owner of Las Ruinas Quineras, recently released from jail after one year. Different sources say he either assulted, raped, beat up or murdered someone. Nothing sure. Hostel is very odd, atmosphere really bad.
Drunken Irishman, me.
Goodnight and Good luck
..."ok so lets go get these things." Yes it was an innocent response to the question of whether or not I would like a snake juice from the bar. I consider myself a veteran of reptilian shorts since my days in 'Nam drinking snake whiskey. Eight shots where ordered for the group. Too many names to put down here. The local cowboy brought them out, a horriffic smell tickled at my stomach, inviting my hamburgeusa back up. I held it at bay. The glasses were big for a shot. About one and a half the norm. For show we sat on the novelty saddle seats. "Uno, dos, tres." The violent taste rushed up my nose and down to my stomach. It stayed there. And five minutes later I am reliably informed I was pissed. So to was Hugo, a Canadian cohort but not his wife Gen, who prodded us into stupidity for the night. I don´t remember much after that, except waking up, still pissed and finding Hugo asleep in a hammock, with contented gaze.......
MEET THE RESIDENTS OF VILCABAMBA
Gavin, rough as sand paper Kiwi owner of a local horse riding operation. Annoyed about recent killing of a neighbour who was 5 months pregnant by a policemans son. The police will not prosecute, and son has disappeared into the jungle. Writing a book on the town.
Pieter, dreadlocked German owner of hostel in the woods. Mostly stoned. Has to help the police to hunt down robbers in the mountains because the police don´t want to. Fountain of knowledge regarding the area and its people.
***(For legal reasons) owner of Las Ruinas Quineras, recently released from jail after one year. Different sources say he either assulted, raped, beat up or murdered someone. Nothing sure. Hostel is very odd, atmosphere really bad.
Drunken Irishman, me.
Goodnight and Good luck
Sunday 10 June 2007
Set them all on Fire
.....giant bamboo floats wobbled on top of men in the main plaza in Cuenca. Each had numerous novelty windmills attached and they seemed to be a fire hazard waiting to happen, adorned with papier mache and highly flammable bunting. I thought nothing of them, and turned down past the new cathedral where a huge sweet market had assembeled in less than an hour. Women roared out the different flavours and tried jabbing the sweets into my mouth. Then I noticed something, wasps, thousands of them, covering the sweets. I hate wasps but this market went the length of the street. And being there with a fellow traveller, Nadine I didn´t want to appear to be the whimpy man, so casually I ran down the street only stopping to suck in air to scream out. I hid amongst about 20 fusball tables that also had mysteriously appeared.
On regaining my composure we wandered back to the main square were fireworks had begun exploding and the remnants of the fireworks rained down on peoples heads. But they were mere light wood, unlikely to hurt. And then the reason for the bamboo floats became apparent. They were huge firework staging points. People gathered around the floats, eager to be entertained. The fireworks started and smiles washed there little faces. The tower leaned and screamers began pointing into the crowd, smiles sullied with terror now as rockets crashed into the crowd and they panicked for a split second. Then the danced as large blobs of fire rained down on them. A true testament to Latin American health and safety....
....stuck in _Cuenca for 6 days due to road closures can make you go crazy, and it did.Sitting in the Panama Hat shop, while rain pummelled down for the fourth successive day a super hero was born. Casual Man. I saw him there I swear.
.....Got out of there in a rush to Vilcabamba. Valley of Longevity. Interestiung place with a seedy underbelly. You got to wait for that though.
Adios
On regaining my composure we wandered back to the main square were fireworks had begun exploding and the remnants of the fireworks rained down on peoples heads. But they were mere light wood, unlikely to hurt. And then the reason for the bamboo floats became apparent. They were huge firework staging points. People gathered around the floats, eager to be entertained. The fireworks started and smiles washed there little faces. The tower leaned and screamers began pointing into the crowd, smiles sullied with terror now as rockets crashed into the crowd and they panicked for a split second. Then the danced as large blobs of fire rained down on them. A true testament to Latin American health and safety....
....stuck in _Cuenca for 6 days due to road closures can make you go crazy, and it did.Sitting in the Panama Hat shop, while rain pummelled down for the fourth successive day a super hero was born. Casual Man. I saw him there I swear.
.....Got out of there in a rush to Vilcabamba. Valley of Longevity. Interestiung place with a seedy underbelly. You got to wait for that though.
Adios
Sunday 3 June 2007
Damn the Divils Nose
.......active man keith, for four days in Baños I hiked, biked and talked. Then a darkness came. A movement inside that was unmistakable. A bubble and push through my intestines which could only mean one thing. A night on the pot, begging for mercy, or even a respite from an an evil adversary. I won, beating it in one day. Then it was time to say goodbye to the mountains, volcanoes and waterfalls that make Baños beautiful.......
......Riobamba is ugly. The only reason to visit this town is a train ride known as La nariz De Diablo. So arriving a day early made sence, to ensure a place on the train shaped Satins snot. Riobambas grey streets greeted me. Full of teenagers drinking beer outside off-licenses because there are no bars in the town. I hid in my hotel room with my cable TV and waited until the morning to buy my ticket. a grey sun rose(seriously) and bustling in the street woke me early. it was market day. Something to keep me occupied. I went to the train station and asked what time the office opened at. A orange blazered guy told me 3. So I returned there at 3 after a morning trapsing around fish markets. I found a queue. I got in line. It took ten minutes to get to the front. I asked for a ticket. The response knocked me out. Full. No more. it was 3.05pm. The orange clad man came over. Bus to Aloisi? I asked him what time the office opened. He said two. I roared at him, my anger uncontrollable. Riobamba really has nothing there. I told him to place his bus up his arse(my Spanish is improving) and took it out on the grey tarmac of Riobamba.........Then I headed to Cuenca.
......Riobamba is ugly. The only reason to visit this town is a train ride known as La nariz De Diablo. So arriving a day early made sence, to ensure a place on the train shaped Satins snot. Riobambas grey streets greeted me. Full of teenagers drinking beer outside off-licenses because there are no bars in the town. I hid in my hotel room with my cable TV and waited until the morning to buy my ticket. a grey sun rose(seriously) and bustling in the street woke me early. it was market day. Something to keep me occupied. I went to the train station and asked what time the office opened at. A orange blazered guy told me 3. So I returned there at 3 after a morning trapsing around fish markets. I found a queue. I got in line. It took ten minutes to get to the front. I asked for a ticket. The response knocked me out. Full. No more. it was 3.05pm. The orange clad man came over. Bus to Aloisi? I asked him what time the office opened. He said two. I roared at him, my anger uncontrollable. Riobamba really has nothing there. I told him to place his bus up his arse(my Spanish is improving) and took it out on the grey tarmac of Riobamba.........Then I headed to Cuenca.
Monday 28 May 2007
Baños Means Bath not Toilet
A lesson in when not to cheer..........Sitting in the main plaza of Gringolandia in Quito seemed a fine idea to watch the Ireland Ecuador game. I was sat next to Vinny from real Glasnevin and as happens when two Irish guys meet the beer was flowing. The plaza thronged with locals, free from work due to a long weekend. El Presidente himself lurched around, enveloped by at least 100 security personnel. The game flew by. Ecuador scored first and the locals clapped politely, almost as if they expected it. I did not mind, too used to a bad Irish team. Suddenly, Doyler headed in a beauty. Infused with alcohol and aided by a vocal Vinny we jumped and celebrated the goal. The square turned deathly silent. Something fell at my feet, something hit my shoulder, a wetness seeped ontp my skin. We were being hammered by chips and other unwanted foodstuff. It didn´t matter, we couldn't stop. But did when a half pound of meat was thrown in our direction........
.........Baños or toilet in Spanish (it also means bath) is trapped in a small valley somewhere in Ecuador. (This is no tourist site). Huge mountains lurch around this quaint little town in a sinister fashion. Waterfalls cascade down cliffs into a river, skirting the town. But something dark lies in the hills,(2600 metres ain´t no hill). This is an account of a hike in the hills......
The footpath climbs steeply from the edge of town. It 's not long until I´m panting like a dog in heat. I struggle (I can´t emphasise this enough) to the first look out. Baños looks small. Three German hikers laugh at me and skip off. A local man jogs past me with the agility of a mountain goat. I continue. The path steepens. A cheerful girl bounces down, smiles and speaks sweetly in Spanish. I can´t hear her. My ears are full of sweat and they need to be popped. I reach a second lookout. More Germans. These are different. Angrier. They puff and wander off. Baños looks tiny. I crawl up the trail which has now become a natural ladder. A young boy carrying bricks passes me and smiles.(I want to rip his face off) Again I stop. I can see the cross which is my destination. It seems close. It is not. More Germans. They speak amongst themselves and leave me. I push on. I can smell food being cooked and music playing. I think I´m delirious. I reach the top. Baños is tinier. There is a hostel and cafe on top. I swear as I see people being dropped off by taxi. I swear again. The original Germans offer me water and pity. I refuse, they leave. I leave. Not down but up, because I am stupid. I cry up a thin trail. A river runs through it. It cools me down. I sit in it. A German passes me. I struggle up to the top. The volcano I want to see has cloud cover. I turn and see Baños is a speck. I swear and cry a little. It´s all downhill from here. I meet more Germans on the way down. I think I can beat them. Irish men are good at going down. A cow gets in my way, I push it towards a cliff, an old Indian man strolls past me going up, I am sweating more than him and he carries a huge bag. _I move on. Alright horse, he ignores me. I slip, slide and roll to the bottom. I look around no Germans. I jump and cheer, and schoolkids throw food at me....
...the people you meet while travelling #68
Carlos, a yoga instructor from Florida. His hair is long tied in a pony tail. His clothes fit loosely so as not to impede his spirit. He performs yoga, which he insists is an excellent hangover cure. He has a calm voice which he uses to talk(chat-up) young female travellers. He is 50 and travelling with his son. Think Tim Robbins character in High Fidelity.
Thats it I´m done.
.........Baños or toilet in Spanish (it also means bath) is trapped in a small valley somewhere in Ecuador. (This is no tourist site). Huge mountains lurch around this quaint little town in a sinister fashion. Waterfalls cascade down cliffs into a river, skirting the town. But something dark lies in the hills,(2600 metres ain´t no hill). This is an account of a hike in the hills......
The footpath climbs steeply from the edge of town. It 's not long until I´m panting like a dog in heat. I struggle (I can´t emphasise this enough) to the first look out. Baños looks small. Three German hikers laugh at me and skip off. A local man jogs past me with the agility of a mountain goat. I continue. The path steepens. A cheerful girl bounces down, smiles and speaks sweetly in Spanish. I can´t hear her. My ears are full of sweat and they need to be popped. I reach a second lookout. More Germans. These are different. Angrier. They puff and wander off. Baños looks tiny. I crawl up the trail which has now become a natural ladder. A young boy carrying bricks passes me and smiles.(I want to rip his face off) Again I stop. I can see the cross which is my destination. It seems close. It is not. More Germans. They speak amongst themselves and leave me. I push on. I can smell food being cooked and music playing. I think I´m delirious. I reach the top. Baños is tinier. There is a hostel and cafe on top. I swear as I see people being dropped off by taxi. I swear again. The original Germans offer me water and pity. I refuse, they leave. I leave. Not down but up, because I am stupid. I cry up a thin trail. A river runs through it. It cools me down. I sit in it. A German passes me. I struggle up to the top. The volcano I want to see has cloud cover. I turn and see Baños is a speck. I swear and cry a little. It´s all downhill from here. I meet more Germans on the way down. I think I can beat them. Irish men are good at going down. A cow gets in my way, I push it towards a cliff, an old Indian man strolls past me going up, I am sweating more than him and he carries a huge bag. _I move on. Alright horse, he ignores me. I slip, slide and roll to the bottom. I look around no Germans. I jump and cheer, and schoolkids throw food at me....
...the people you meet while travelling #68
Carlos, a yoga instructor from Florida. His hair is long tied in a pony tail. His clothes fit loosely so as not to impede his spirit. He performs yoga, which he insists is an excellent hangover cure. He has a calm voice which he uses to talk(chat-up) young female travellers. He is 50 and travelling with his son. Think Tim Robbins character in High Fidelity.
Thats it I´m done.
Wednesday 23 May 2007
Dodgy clubs and the Ecuadorian SSIA
9 am SATURDAY........rose in a cold sweat. The match was about to start and I had to meet up with a group of people to watch it. Dragging my body, which has become a cheap place for fleas to eat out of bed I wobbled out of the basement I´m staying in. In the hallway of the hostel a number of red eyed zombies waited for me. We wobbled out the door in search of a bar to watch a match. It was going to be difficult. It became obvious that this town sleeps in on Saturdays and only an internet cafe was open. So after a light jog through empty streets searching for a big screen we resolved the internet cafe was best. So did every other football supporter. The waiter did not. He was alone and wore a stunned expression as more and more crammed into his little cafe. He sweated profusely and resorted to ignoring peoples requests for beer and more beer. He was as indifferent as the game itself..........
9pm Saturday.........After the fleas had finished their 3 course meal on my belly I gathered up a group of people to go out with. An eclectic bunch, we wandered to the nearest bar for some beer. It`s name, Strawberry Fields and it`s decor was one of romantic Liverpool. All the cocktails were Beatles songs. But not one song was theirs. I sucked on an Eleanor Rigby and listened to the Doors again and again, joining the locals in a sparkling rendition of Light My Fire. After downing a Yellow Submarine we fled to a club which reminded me of a school disco. Young bodies lay be-straggled across tables and a heavy scent of vomit pressed out from the toilets. The place had an air of decadence. Random greasy haired lads were dragged from the dance-floor by irate barmen and thrown(literally) onto the street. Salsa mixed with raggaton raped my ears. When the beer ran out it was time to leave, to search, to find.
And we did. A club with no name, just a symbol. A club formerly known as.... It was airy, had no prostrate teenagers and no lingering sick smell. It played reggae and we wobbled and wooed to the music. Only going home when a bouncer produced his gun and told us to leave.........
........A short lesson in Ecuadorian Finance. An accountant by the name of Jose Cabrera came up with an in-genius savings scheme. The jist of which was invest a sum of money and earn 10% interest a month on your investment. Thats a month people. So the locals not being ones to miss out invested in vast sums and where happy to see their high interests returned. So much so they re-invested. These people included the army, the police, the government and the general people. The only problem was he was running a money laundering scam for a drug lord. The problem was, he died. When a 71-year-old man has a heart attack after allegedly smoking cocaine-laced cigarettes, drinking whisky and popping Viagra in the company of his 18-year-old girlfriend, it's pretty suspect. Jessica Valles, Cabrera's girlfriend of two years, which made her 16 when their relationship started, told police he collapsed in their luxury hotel room after ingesting cocaine, whisky and Viagra. Angry investors dug up his body after hearing of the Pyramid schemes collapse and made sure he was dead, then tore it apart. Check out this link for the full crazy article. http://www.theage.com.au/news/world/a-scandalous-death-rattles-ecuador/2005/12/30/1135732703361.html
.......beating Americans is fun, beating cocky Yanks is even better, which made me winning a pub quiz with a small team over a bunch of loud arrogant yanks beautiful.
Pat Rafter
Unlucky the Pool
9pm Saturday.........After the fleas had finished their 3 course meal on my belly I gathered up a group of people to go out with. An eclectic bunch, we wandered to the nearest bar for some beer. It`s name, Strawberry Fields and it`s decor was one of romantic Liverpool. All the cocktails were Beatles songs. But not one song was theirs. I sucked on an Eleanor Rigby and listened to the Doors again and again, joining the locals in a sparkling rendition of Light My Fire. After downing a Yellow Submarine we fled to a club which reminded me of a school disco. Young bodies lay be-straggled across tables and a heavy scent of vomit pressed out from the toilets. The place had an air of decadence. Random greasy haired lads were dragged from the dance-floor by irate barmen and thrown(literally) onto the street. Salsa mixed with raggaton raped my ears. When the beer ran out it was time to leave, to search, to find.
And we did. A club with no name, just a symbol. A club formerly known as.... It was airy, had no prostrate teenagers and no lingering sick smell. It played reggae and we wobbled and wooed to the music. Only going home when a bouncer produced his gun and told us to leave.........
........A short lesson in Ecuadorian Finance. An accountant by the name of Jose Cabrera came up with an in-genius savings scheme. The jist of which was invest a sum of money and earn 10% interest a month on your investment. Thats a month people. So the locals not being ones to miss out invested in vast sums and where happy to see their high interests returned. So much so they re-invested. These people included the army, the police, the government and the general people. The only problem was he was running a money laundering scam for a drug lord. The problem was, he died. When a 71-year-old man has a heart attack after allegedly smoking cocaine-laced cigarettes, drinking whisky and popping Viagra in the company of his 18-year-old girlfriend, it's pretty suspect. Jessica Valles, Cabrera's girlfriend of two years, which made her 16 when their relationship started, told police he collapsed in their luxury hotel room after ingesting cocaine, whisky and Viagra. Angry investors dug up his body after hearing of the Pyramid schemes collapse and made sure he was dead, then tore it apart. Check out this link for the full crazy article. http://www.theage.com.au/news/world/a-scandalous-death-rattles-ecuador/2005/12/30/1135732703361.html
.......beating Americans is fun, beating cocky Yanks is even better, which made me winning a pub quiz with a small team over a bunch of loud arrogant yanks beautiful.
Pat Rafter
Unlucky the Pool
Thursday 17 May 2007
I'm no Gringo
..........The use of the word gringo here is derogatory. It is an insult which I have become accustumed to and enjoy. Although there is a problem. The origin of the word gringo is quite simple. It stems from when the power hungry States invaded Mexico for not oil but water. The colour of their uniforms were green and Mexicans coined the phrase Green Go which developed into Gringo. Which unfortunately means I have to correct anyone who calls me a Gringo. Who says this blog is´nt educational?......
.........Police populate every corner of this city, especially around the two main tourist districts, Old Town and Mariscal. Clad in knee high Nazi boots and various coloured uniforms they seek out and punish offenders on the spot. And it is implemented instantly. A young kid was pinned against the wall of a KFC. Four police officers in SWAT gear took great joy in ramming his head intermittenly against the wall. They did not question him and grew irritable at any noise he made. I don't know what he did but there was a small stall holder pointing his finger accusingly at him. The punishment handed out by them certainly seemed harsh if, as I suspect he only nicked a packet of smokes. And as I sit here I am watching a stocky police man in black clothes randomly kick a homeless man with 4 army officers looking on vacantly. Latin American justice......
....The church of San Francisco in Quito has a dark secret. The divil himself helped build the thing. A local man, whose name I can´t remember, but will call him Juan needed help completing the church for a big festival. Work was going slowly until the divil showed up and offered to have it completed by the appropriate day. Juan accepted and the church was completed but slowly his soul seeped away until he assumed a crazed look about the eyes. Even today people don´t frequent the church because of the curse of Juan. .......
Thats it kids, more in a few days, when I will still be here because of another Spanish course.
Adios
.........Police populate every corner of this city, especially around the two main tourist districts, Old Town and Mariscal. Clad in knee high Nazi boots and various coloured uniforms they seek out and punish offenders on the spot. And it is implemented instantly. A young kid was pinned against the wall of a KFC. Four police officers in SWAT gear took great joy in ramming his head intermittenly against the wall. They did not question him and grew irritable at any noise he made. I don't know what he did but there was a small stall holder pointing his finger accusingly at him. The punishment handed out by them certainly seemed harsh if, as I suspect he only nicked a packet of smokes. And as I sit here I am watching a stocky police man in black clothes randomly kick a homeless man with 4 army officers looking on vacantly. Latin American justice......
....The church of San Francisco in Quito has a dark secret. The divil himself helped build the thing. A local man, whose name I can´t remember, but will call him Juan needed help completing the church for a big festival. Work was going slowly until the divil showed up and offered to have it completed by the appropriate day. Juan accepted and the church was completed but slowly his soul seeped away until he assumed a crazed look about the eyes. Even today people don´t frequent the church because of the curse of Juan. .......
Thats it kids, more in a few days, when I will still be here because of another Spanish course.
Adios
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
