Tuesday, November 29, 2011
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
It´s been a while...
Ok, ok I know it has been ages since I last told any of you anything about my travels, for this I am sorry. The only problem I now have is I can´t quite remember what on earth I have been up too in the past couple of weeks, months? Anyways here goes, ready or not here I come...
Bolivia. What a place. I can just see the advert on TV now, flyover of the Salt Flats, followed by a close up of a Llama bleeting, couple of old men with walking sticks and up pops the slogan, neatly placed against the colourful flag...¨Bolivia...the world´s biggest toliet!¨ Now okay, I might be exaggerating slighty but seriously, when you see a grown man, who in my opinion didn´t appear to have any intellectual, physical or mental disabilties pissing in the open daylight on the street you do start to wonder. But on the other hand it is quite a task to go and take a leak in Bo´loo´via. This is the sort of thinking you encounter when realsing that your winkle needs a tinkle.
1. Where is the public toilets.
2. Shit, I don´t speak Spanish, how do I find them
3. Cool, there they are, do I have any money to pay for them (yes, PAY for them)
4. Bugger, I don´t have any change
And it continues until you eventually find a mouldy, crumb ridden boliviano in the bottom of your pocket which nearly passes as currency and gives you access to a hole in the ground, but with very conviently placed footprints on either side so you know where to stand if you are a woman and have to, let´s say squat. By the way, it does´t work the same way for guys. And brings me nicely to may next point, what is it with the Bolivian woman.
I know of course they have the child birth thing, yaddi yadii yarda but I think I have honestly felt myself warming closer to a wet bag on socks. Take this for example. walking through some random town, not quite sure where and I ask a group of local men for a picture, ¨Si, si, no problemo¨ delighted. A matter of days latter I, stupidly, asked the same to a groupd of women. Let´s just say, ever heard of the cash for questions scandal, think cash for pictures. I would like to inform that I resisted tempation to use my wonga to get what I wanted. Maybe I have a future in politics, although lying, taking hard drugs and renting boys isn´t my forte. But anyway I digress. Like I said, World´s biggest toilet. And on to our next adventure...the football match.
After extending my stay by one day I thought I was in the need to see and Argentine football match...brilliant. I thought, catch the United game on tele, walk down the road see River Plate play and get home just in time for Claire before she returns from the zoo, I´m a genius! Well all was going swimmingly, we had heard that it was members only at the River game, something to do with fighting (and not this didn´t put us off) but we were told by a slightly over armed police officer to come back at 2 after the game. After be reassured by a number of fans that we would get it we returned the the ground. To be turned away. Disaster. But wait, we had a plan, this is where the genius really comes into play...we should bribe the police officer with dollars, brilliant.
Okay, this was probably not the most sensible thing to do but it was River, my last day in Buenos Aires and well, it was River! Anyway unsurprisngly our twenty US didn´t exactly encourage BA´s finest to help us although one did try and have a word with a rather scary looking man in a leather jacket. Thankfully, at least I don´t think he was over armed and he let us go with a stern look of dissaproval. Not t be deterred we had one last go trying to jump in at the away end. Now if I was an actor, starring in a movie I imagine I may have got it, and possibly ended up scoring the winning goal but I´m not and wasn´t in a movie, apart the sitcom which is our my travelling life at the moment and so River wasn´t too be. Boo Hoo.
Not to worry though, turned out that the might Racing (bottom of the table) we playing in the wrong side, of the wrong part of town, think Moss Side but with colourful houses. So off we went, in a taxi to again find outselves dumped in the away end. Not quite sure what it is about our British character but the last time I checked my pasty white skin and kind gentlemanly manner (self styled) doesnt exactly scream, hey I really fancy getting involved in a fight right now. Anyways, all turned out well, we got into the game, didn´t have to use our US dollars and managed to piss off our taxi driver on the way home by chanting songs in the back of his cab. Turned out he supported Racing´s biggest rivals. But he duly returned the favour by taking us via the arse end of nowhere so all was even at the end of the day.
And this leads me to now, sitting in Brazil watching in Rain on the beach but hey at least it isn´t snowing!
Stay safe kids,
Tim
Bolivia. What a place. I can just see the advert on TV now, flyover of the Salt Flats, followed by a close up of a Llama bleeting, couple of old men with walking sticks and up pops the slogan, neatly placed against the colourful flag...¨Bolivia...the world´s biggest toliet!¨ Now okay, I might be exaggerating slighty but seriously, when you see a grown man, who in my opinion didn´t appear to have any intellectual, physical or mental disabilties pissing in the open daylight on the street you do start to wonder. But on the other hand it is quite a task to go and take a leak in Bo´loo´via. This is the sort of thinking you encounter when realsing that your winkle needs a tinkle.
1. Where is the public toilets.
2. Shit, I don´t speak Spanish, how do I find them
3. Cool, there they are, do I have any money to pay for them (yes, PAY for them)
4. Bugger, I don´t have any change
And it continues until you eventually find a mouldy, crumb ridden boliviano in the bottom of your pocket which nearly passes as currency and gives you access to a hole in the ground, but with very conviently placed footprints on either side so you know where to stand if you are a woman and have to, let´s say squat. By the way, it does´t work the same way for guys. And brings me nicely to may next point, what is it with the Bolivian woman.
I know of course they have the child birth thing, yaddi yadii yarda but I think I have honestly felt myself warming closer to a wet bag on socks. Take this for example. walking through some random town, not quite sure where and I ask a group of local men for a picture, ¨Si, si, no problemo¨ delighted. A matter of days latter I, stupidly, asked the same to a groupd of women. Let´s just say, ever heard of the cash for questions scandal, think cash for pictures. I would like to inform that I resisted tempation to use my wonga to get what I wanted. Maybe I have a future in politics, although lying, taking hard drugs and renting boys isn´t my forte. But anyway I digress. Like I said, World´s biggest toilet. And on to our next adventure...the football match.
After extending my stay by one day I thought I was in the need to see and Argentine football match...brilliant. I thought, catch the United game on tele, walk down the road see River Plate play and get home just in time for Claire before she returns from the zoo, I´m a genius! Well all was going swimmingly, we had heard that it was members only at the River game, something to do with fighting (and not this didn´t put us off) but we were told by a slightly over armed police officer to come back at 2 after the game. After be reassured by a number of fans that we would get it we returned the the ground. To be turned away. Disaster. But wait, we had a plan, this is where the genius really comes into play...we should bribe the police officer with dollars, brilliant.
Okay, this was probably not the most sensible thing to do but it was River, my last day in Buenos Aires and well, it was River! Anyway unsurprisngly our twenty US didn´t exactly encourage BA´s finest to help us although one did try and have a word with a rather scary looking man in a leather jacket. Thankfully, at least I don´t think he was over armed and he let us go with a stern look of dissaproval. Not t be deterred we had one last go trying to jump in at the away end. Now if I was an actor, starring in a movie I imagine I may have got it, and possibly ended up scoring the winning goal but I´m not and wasn´t in a movie, apart the sitcom which is our my travelling life at the moment and so River wasn´t too be. Boo Hoo.
Not to worry though, turned out that the might Racing (bottom of the table) we playing in the wrong side, of the wrong part of town, think Moss Side but with colourful houses. So off we went, in a taxi to again find outselves dumped in the away end. Not quite sure what it is about our British character but the last time I checked my pasty white skin and kind gentlemanly manner (self styled) doesnt exactly scream, hey I really fancy getting involved in a fight right now. Anyways, all turned out well, we got into the game, didn´t have to use our US dollars and managed to piss off our taxi driver on the way home by chanting songs in the back of his cab. Turned out he supported Racing´s biggest rivals. But he duly returned the favour by taking us via the arse end of nowhere so all was even at the end of the day.
And this leads me to now, sitting in Brazil watching in Rain on the beach but hey at least it isn´t snowing!
Stay safe kids,
Tim
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
Food, Glorious Food!
Hola,
This time I justdon't have any excuses for not updating the old electronic notes apart from the fact that South America seems to run on a different time zone to the rest of the world, and we're not talking G.M.T (+/-) here! The fact of the matter is that it really doesn't matter how much you plan because the quite beaultiful and (alot of the time) surreal continent has decided to live in a way to make the tourists life as difficult as possible, in other words, the siesta.
Now, I'm all for culture and embracing the differences the way we live, we eat chicken, they'll chow down on an llama foetus, a break to us is a quick sandwich from boots eating infront of the computer, the South Americans, we'll reward ourselves with a 3-4 hour sleep after a hard morning at the office, precinct or road side vendor. It seems the only way to see, do or even attempt to co-ordinate any activity south of the Equator on the Southern side of America is to do as they do and not wake up at 10a.m. and roll out of the hostel thinking that a breakfast of cereal toast and OJ is waiting for you around the corner. Something quite the oposite infact.
The subject of food is certainly an interesting one when approaching Argentina et al. One one side of the peso we are provided with some of the finest steaks, sauces and BBQ goods the world has to offer but before let's say 9p.m. if you wish to eat, a lunchtime snack or mid morning your options consist of one of the following...
1. Cheese and Ham sandwich
2. Ham and Cheese sandwich or
3. Queso y Jamon sandwich
You don't have to be a rocket scientist, come to think about it a semi retarded chef to figure out the translation for number 3. Unfortunately I do not exegrate. Take this shot story to highlight my point. On a bus from wherever to wherever, this doesn't quite matter at this time we were enjoying the luxury the Argentines like to spoil us travellers with, sitting back waiting for our evening meal. After being handed, well... I can let you fill in the gaps here, but with a touch of variety in the layering department (Brown bread, cheese, brown bread, white bread, ham, white break...yes this was ONE sandwich although it did fall apart rather easily probably down to one of the unfortunate properities it possesed, namely being soggy and floppy) I felt slighty agreeved. But all was not lost...we were given desert, as swiss roll. Delighted, or as I thought. I will let you into a little secret they have in South America, it's called Completo, which translates to this. Take ANY food, bread, pie, wgetables, swiss roll and insert these 2 key ingredients. Wait for it...ham and...cheese. Ok I lie slightly it's ham and egg which may sound better on the variety front but after I just manged to choke down my 145th slice of ham in March and 63rd kg of cheese my palate was screaming at me for a sweet, savory combo. Oh dear. And all of this was with Bolivia, the country nearly every tourist who enters comes out with a massive weight loss, to come.
Well, as I write this now, sitting, quite comfortably with bowel movement only to be described as textbook (I really hope I don't come to regret writing that last line) in a hostel in La Paz, Bolivia's capital I can safely say that, 6 days in the food is bloody marvelous. Okay, we're not talking Oliveramsey compote here but the ham, the cheese and the fricking completo has thus far been irradicated from my diet and in this way I hope it stays, well at least until we get back into Argentina in a week or so.
The last couple of weeks have been quite hectic really. Two contries, about 6 towns and cities, a tour through the world's highest and largest salt flat and back, a bus into the clouds and the kind introduction to Argentina's population of stray dogs. Think traflagar squares but do a quick swap of pigeons for the canine variety. I truly have never, and will probably never see more dogs in such a small confined area. I honestly believe if the dogs bred in the same way in the UK our natioanl anthem would derive from a Pedigree Chum advert and the offical language would be condensed to two words, woof and bark.
It may seem that my time in Argentina thus far has been a bad one, qhen quiote simply it is the oposite I love it and only wish I had more time to see more of it. Like the four day tour I have just got back from in Bolivia of the Salir de Uyuni, the countryside has been breathtaking. Word's cannot even begin to describe the optical treats pupils and co of the Wagg varity has been treated to (even if I could be bothered to try!) I may say this again, infact I probably will with a imminent trip to Macchu Picchu (one of the 7 wonders of the world), but if you ever have the chance to come here, don't think about it, don't even bother typing it your credit card details into Expedia to book your flights, just set up a direct debit and let them tell you when to go. You WILL NOT regret it, unless of course your favourite colour is beige and your hobby's include trains, buses or any other mode of public transport.
Now I'm sure I have a number of hilarious anicdotes, stories and tribulations but I'm off to explore one of the world's highest cities, a a whopping 3700m above sea level, although I did hit 5000m the other day.
I hope all is well wherever you are reading.
Speak to you all again soon(ish)!
Tim
x
This time I justdon't have any excuses for not updating the old electronic notes apart from the fact that South America seems to run on a different time zone to the rest of the world, and we're not talking G.M.T (+/-) here! The fact of the matter is that it really doesn't matter how much you plan because the quite beaultiful and (alot of the time) surreal continent has decided to live in a way to make the tourists life as difficult as possible, in other words, the siesta.
Now, I'm all for culture and embracing the differences the way we live, we eat chicken, they'll chow down on an llama foetus, a break to us is a quick sandwich from boots eating infront of the computer, the South Americans, we'll reward ourselves with a 3-4 hour sleep after a hard morning at the office, precinct or road side vendor. It seems the only way to see, do or even attempt to co-ordinate any activity south of the Equator on the Southern side of America is to do as they do and not wake up at 10a.m. and roll out of the hostel thinking that a breakfast of cereal toast and OJ is waiting for you around the corner. Something quite the oposite infact.
The subject of food is certainly an interesting one when approaching Argentina et al. One one side of the peso we are provided with some of the finest steaks, sauces and BBQ goods the world has to offer but before let's say 9p.m. if you wish to eat, a lunchtime snack or mid morning your options consist of one of the following...
1. Cheese and Ham sandwich
2. Ham and Cheese sandwich or
3. Queso y Jamon sandwich
You don't have to be a rocket scientist, come to think about it a semi retarded chef to figure out the translation for number 3. Unfortunately I do not exegrate. Take this shot story to highlight my point. On a bus from wherever to wherever, this doesn't quite matter at this time we were enjoying the luxury the Argentines like to spoil us travellers with, sitting back waiting for our evening meal. After being handed, well... I can let you fill in the gaps here, but with a touch of variety in the layering department (Brown bread, cheese, brown bread, white bread, ham, white break...yes this was ONE sandwich although it did fall apart rather easily probably down to one of the unfortunate properities it possesed, namely being soggy and floppy) I felt slighty agreeved. But all was not lost...we were given desert, as swiss roll. Delighted, or as I thought. I will let you into a little secret they have in South America, it's called Completo, which translates to this. Take ANY food, bread, pie, wgetables, swiss roll and insert these 2 key ingredients. Wait for it...ham and...cheese. Ok I lie slightly it's ham and egg which may sound better on the variety front but after I just manged to choke down my 145th slice of ham in March and 63rd kg of cheese my palate was screaming at me for a sweet, savory combo. Oh dear. And all of this was with Bolivia, the country nearly every tourist who enters comes out with a massive weight loss, to come.
Well, as I write this now, sitting, quite comfortably with bowel movement only to be described as textbook (I really hope I don't come to regret writing that last line) in a hostel in La Paz, Bolivia's capital I can safely say that, 6 days in the food is bloody marvelous. Okay, we're not talking Oliveramsey compote here but the ham, the cheese and the fricking completo has thus far been irradicated from my diet and in this way I hope it stays, well at least until we get back into Argentina in a week or so.
The last couple of weeks have been quite hectic really. Two contries, about 6 towns and cities, a tour through the world's highest and largest salt flat and back, a bus into the clouds and the kind introduction to Argentina's population of stray dogs. Think traflagar squares but do a quick swap of pigeons for the canine variety. I truly have never, and will probably never see more dogs in such a small confined area. I honestly believe if the dogs bred in the same way in the UK our natioanl anthem would derive from a Pedigree Chum advert and the offical language would be condensed to two words, woof and bark.
It may seem that my time in Argentina thus far has been a bad one, qhen quiote simply it is the oposite I love it and only wish I had more time to see more of it. Like the four day tour I have just got back from in Bolivia of the Salir de Uyuni, the countryside has been breathtaking. Word's cannot even begin to describe the optical treats pupils and co of the Wagg varity has been treated to (even if I could be bothered to try!) I may say this again, infact I probably will with a imminent trip to Macchu Picchu (one of the 7 wonders of the world), but if you ever have the chance to come here, don't think about it, don't even bother typing it your credit card details into Expedia to book your flights, just set up a direct debit and let them tell you when to go. You WILL NOT regret it, unless of course your favourite colour is beige and your hobby's include trains, buses or any other mode of public transport.
Now I'm sure I have a number of hilarious anicdotes, stories and tribulations but I'm off to explore one of the world's highest cities, a a whopping 3700m above sea level, although I did hit 5000m the other day.
I hope all is well wherever you are reading.
Speak to you all again soon(ish)!
Tim
x
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
No f*****g money? No f*****g money!
It´s been a while since my last entry so I´m gonna delve right into this time round if that´s ok people...
Okay, so it turns out that my pesimistic opinion on the lack of English speakers in South America may have been made a tas too quickly. Take this for example, it turns out they can speak quite good English, as I found out, at the Chile/Argentine border although I´m not quite sure who tought them. Really needing the toilet, or baño in old money, I thought it may be a good idea to use the facilties than just take down my pants and piss on the border (I think the fact that we stake claim to the Falklands, not that you would know it from looking at maps, it might not have been a good idea to rub it in!)
So anyway, I go off to the toilet and there´s two boys around my ages hanging around. I instantly knew the customary 20 odd pence would have to be handed over, the only problem was I had no cash on me, well I wasn´t going to give them a fiver to take a leak! I thought I could once again use my English charm and blag my way in. And just while we are on the side not of the art of blagging it appears that no matter where you are from, how good your English is, unless you are from our might green shore the profession and even the word blag is not understood.
Either way, upright, shoulders broad and staring ahead and confidently tell them that I didn´t have any money and they simply would have to let me in for free. Now here´s where it get´s interesting. "No money?" he said.
"No, I´m sorry, por favor?"
"No fucking money" one of them said with a chuckle
"No fucking money" the other laughed away with him. Now hang on a minute are they going to let me through or not? Is this really the best way to be learning English...
STEP 1: Repeat whatever is said to you
STEP 2:Laugh and insert randow swear word into sentance.
While we are talking about it maybe we could help them along a little, how about, "Could I trouble you for the (twatting) bill please?" or maybe "That´s a nice car you have there, maybe I could take a look (and shit) in the back seats?" Certainly made me think.
I´d love to tell you more about the complexities of the Latino/English divide but for the risk of possbily getting reported by the man running the internet cafe and the fact I have nothing much else to say on the subject I think I will leave this one for your imagination. Please feel free to send in your suggestions to the usual address, the best one wins a postcard, not that you will ever get it as it is, and when I say this I couldn´t stress this enough to you, virtually impossible to get a stamp or send a letter in the South of America.
Just before the border incident we stopped off in a little town called Osorno, think Blackpool but with more pickpockets and a handful of stray dogs on each corner. Thinking that it would be nice to send home a postcard from every country I visit I mistakedly left it to late the previous day in Pucòn (after half 5, so it´s not just the UK then!) so left it to the last minute. Thankfully our 2 hour layover in the Chilian capital of crap was just enough to locate the post office which seems to be the only place to post a letter of any kind. A visit to a bank, pharmacy, supermarket and hardware store were all about as helpful as a turd in a box but we got there eventually. One thing I would say is that at least they´re not hemeraging four millions pounds a day on random offices in the middle of nowhere so Farmer Giles doesn´t have to wait for Tractor weekly.
Been in Argentina for nearly a week now and head my Birthday the other day in a lovely little place called Barilochè, a good cross between a Swiss Alpine village and somewhere in Northen Italy, mainly down to the grand array of pizza places on offer. I must say it was a touch weird being away on my birthday not being able to venture down to Old Trafford and not seeing all the people you want to (not neccassarly in that order!) but extremely cool to say I´ve spent a birthday in the ninth biggest country in the world. Especially as it was more of a celebration than normal after surving a climb up an active volcano only days earlier with the type of guys who look like they should have icicles permanmently attached to their facial hair. Unfortunately there´s not much else to that story apart from the fact that it is will be the last time I get up at half 2 in the morning to partake in a walk up a mountain covered in a selection of the finest snows, stones and sulphuric steams. But it was definately worth the 35 quid price tag!
Off for some more adventures tomorrow though, got a hard day tasting wine, I´m going to get my best Jilly Cooper on, although I still don´t have a bloody clue what hollyhocks tastes off and I´ve certainly never wrapped my tastebuds around an open fire. And before you begin to copmplain about what I luck shit I am I was on a bus for 17 hours last night so a bit of R and R is of course in order. Just before I go though I´m going to leave you with this thought, if you thought plane food was bad...
All the best for the month of March, check in next time for another episode of timwaggtravels...
Tim
x
P.S. Sorry about the above spelling, I could blame it on the keyboard being spanish but in reality it´s cause the spell check is bust.
Okay, so it turns out that my pesimistic opinion on the lack of English speakers in South America may have been made a tas too quickly. Take this for example, it turns out they can speak quite good English, as I found out, at the Chile/Argentine border although I´m not quite sure who tought them. Really needing the toilet, or baño in old money, I thought it may be a good idea to use the facilties than just take down my pants and piss on the border (I think the fact that we stake claim to the Falklands, not that you would know it from looking at maps, it might not have been a good idea to rub it in!)
So anyway, I go off to the toilet and there´s two boys around my ages hanging around. I instantly knew the customary 20 odd pence would have to be handed over, the only problem was I had no cash on me, well I wasn´t going to give them a fiver to take a leak! I thought I could once again use my English charm and blag my way in. And just while we are on the side not of the art of blagging it appears that no matter where you are from, how good your English is, unless you are from our might green shore the profession and even the word blag is not understood.
Either way, upright, shoulders broad and staring ahead and confidently tell them that I didn´t have any money and they simply would have to let me in for free. Now here´s where it get´s interesting. "No money?" he said.
"No, I´m sorry, por favor?"
"No fucking money" one of them said with a chuckle
"No fucking money" the other laughed away with him. Now hang on a minute are they going to let me through or not? Is this really the best way to be learning English...
STEP 1: Repeat whatever is said to you
STEP 2:Laugh and insert randow swear word into sentance.
While we are talking about it maybe we could help them along a little, how about, "Could I trouble you for the (twatting) bill please?" or maybe "That´s a nice car you have there, maybe I could take a look (and shit) in the back seats?" Certainly made me think.
I´d love to tell you more about the complexities of the Latino/English divide but for the risk of possbily getting reported by the man running the internet cafe and the fact I have nothing much else to say on the subject I think I will leave this one for your imagination. Please feel free to send in your suggestions to the usual address, the best one wins a postcard, not that you will ever get it as it is, and when I say this I couldn´t stress this enough to you, virtually impossible to get a stamp or send a letter in the South of America.
Just before the border incident we stopped off in a little town called Osorno, think Blackpool but with more pickpockets and a handful of stray dogs on each corner. Thinking that it would be nice to send home a postcard from every country I visit I mistakedly left it to late the previous day in Pucòn (after half 5, so it´s not just the UK then!) so left it to the last minute. Thankfully our 2 hour layover in the Chilian capital of crap was just enough to locate the post office which seems to be the only place to post a letter of any kind. A visit to a bank, pharmacy, supermarket and hardware store were all about as helpful as a turd in a box but we got there eventually. One thing I would say is that at least they´re not hemeraging four millions pounds a day on random offices in the middle of nowhere so Farmer Giles doesn´t have to wait for Tractor weekly.
Been in Argentina for nearly a week now and head my Birthday the other day in a lovely little place called Barilochè, a good cross between a Swiss Alpine village and somewhere in Northen Italy, mainly down to the grand array of pizza places on offer. I must say it was a touch weird being away on my birthday not being able to venture down to Old Trafford and not seeing all the people you want to (not neccassarly in that order!) but extremely cool to say I´ve spent a birthday in the ninth biggest country in the world. Especially as it was more of a celebration than normal after surving a climb up an active volcano only days earlier with the type of guys who look like they should have icicles permanmently attached to their facial hair. Unfortunately there´s not much else to that story apart from the fact that it is will be the last time I get up at half 2 in the morning to partake in a walk up a mountain covered in a selection of the finest snows, stones and sulphuric steams. But it was definately worth the 35 quid price tag!
Off for some more adventures tomorrow though, got a hard day tasting wine, I´m going to get my best Jilly Cooper on, although I still don´t have a bloody clue what hollyhocks tastes off and I´ve certainly never wrapped my tastebuds around an open fire. And before you begin to copmplain about what I luck shit I am I was on a bus for 17 hours last night so a bit of R and R is of course in order. Just before I go though I´m going to leave you with this thought, if you thought plane food was bad...
All the best for the month of March, check in next time for another episode of timwaggtravels...
Tim
x
P.S. Sorry about the above spelling, I could blame it on the keyboard being spanish but in reality it´s cause the spell check is bust.
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Monday, February 25, 2008
The Night of the long snores
Hola, we´re in South America, aigh aigh aigh, arribbbaaa!Before I get into once another insight to the wonderful worldly world with wagg I´m going to give you all a bit of advice, and I´m going to say it once so here goes. If you ever find yourself in a room, namely a 8 bedroom dorm with a collection of Australian and Brazlian twenty somethings and they seem to have some sort of disorder in which breathing at a volume less than that of a Airbus A380 taking off do not hesitate to suffocate them with a pillow. Infact, any soft object that will stop the insufferable and constant rumble eminating from their throat will do. Unfortunately this is something I didn´t realise till about 10a.m. this morning and I´m now facing a ten hour bus journey over night, with only a couple of hours of sleep in me. SNORING IS THE ROUTE OF ALL EVIL. Forget banning YouTube let´s start with the real issues here! Ok complaing over...
It´s was something of a funny feeling stepping off our 12 hour flight from Auckland but still managing to arrive 4 hours before we left, but hey, we were in South America and there was only a mere 8 hours left of the 40 hour 20th February we were tackling. I think my first regret of my trip hit home moments after the wheels screeched onto the tarmac and we were wandering through the arrival lounge suddenly realising, oh shit no one speaks English. Now just so you know it´s not like when you go to Greece, Spain or even America when it seems on the surface that no one can grasp our mother tongue because Chile is a whole different ball game. When I say no one I mean, no one (well maybe one or two but we´re talking needles in haystacks in fields here!)
I must say though we are starting to get to minor grips with this highly romtansised language they speak but saying that Pete did just get his sideburns abused in a hairdressers only about an hour ago. "Sideburnio...no problemo, adios." Thank god for hair re-growth (sorry Dad, Uncle Andrew, Phil P and anyone else who´s mop as a touch on the lighter side. Anyway I´m digressing here, the fact of the matter is I now know how it feels to be a foreigner in Britain. Take this for example the other day, we´re all looking for plug adaptors (adap-ta-dor in Spanish) when after about what seemed a day and a night (with snoring) we stumbled accross what seemed somewhere we might get what we wanted. Well it was but it t
urns out that it´s no only the English, when presented with someone who doesn´t speak their language, thinks the best way to communicate is to do one of two things. The first being repeating what they have just said but v e r y slowly and LOUDLY, and the second, the one we have found the most frequently here to just keep speaking just as fast but change what they have said. Now I know we can be thought of as quite an ignorant bunch when it comes to languages but if I ask someone for directions in really broken Spanish and the persons reply comes back at the accommpanied with a handful of sonic booms I´m going to struggle. But anyway it´s not all bad we did manage to get ourself instood, and possibly robbed yesterday, although we´re still not totally sure.We´ve just spent the last couple of days in a nice little city called Valparaiso just north of the capital, Santiago, where we all are now after we returned here on the bus to catch a football game. Colo Colo v Ñubmense. One interesting thing about Valp though, the bus drivers of freakin´mental. It seems like they own their own buses, drive around faster than they speak and the one we met clearly took inspiration from Pimp my Ride when he decorated his cab.
We thought the best thing to do was to get to the football early, get our tickets from the office and then nip off for a couple of cheeky ones. Only thing is when we got to the ground there was no ticket office, instead about 40 Chilian teenagers bombarding us with questions with the word Boletto frequently being mentioned. Now from our recent bus journey we knew that this of course meant ticket but they didn´t want to sell, they were asking for us to buy. Thinking this was a touch odd we found some older chaps, who confirmed that you bought a ticket for the game today and was given another one for next weeks for free, take note Premiership Chairman! Now understanding why Gringo was the buzz word amongst our new adolescent friends and why we were also the most popular people at the ground we handed our tickets for next weeks game over to the highest bidder, or in my case whoever won a round of rock, paper, scissors (although at first when I suggested the game one of the kids thought I wanted them to fight for it!)
Thinking that was that, we headed of for quattro cervezas y capriña (for Claire) por favor only to be malled once agin by a younger set of Latinos. Thinking I had done my good deed for the day and I still had ambitions to go to today´s game I walked past the boy in question, mainly because I´m not quite at the level as being able to say, "Listen mate, I just gave my ticket to his over there, if you want it you´ll have to pester him instead" in search for the nearest bar. Thinking I would take one last glance at the carnage we had just left I found the same boy with a rock, not much smaller than that of a football lodged in his right arm, posing as he was about to lauch the f*****g thing in the direction which only could be described as ours. Not knowing quite what to do I remembered my last blog entry and swooped in with a bit of British charm and smiled at him to which he replied kindly to by dropping the stone, if only it had been on his foot!
Either way I don´t hold any grudges, apart from with anyone from stayed in our dorm room last night and wasn´t English and in hinsight a broken foot may have been a touch harsh, especially as Colo Colo, the team who he supported lost 4-1. We still don´t know if we were swindled though!We´re off to Pucon tomorrow though, leaving the big city to what seems to be the Queenstown of Chile, although like I said we´ve got to sit on a bus for ten hours to get there! Oh how travelling the world is so tiresome. One last thing before I go, Pete and I are thinking about hitch hiking to Kosovo for charity later this year and would like to get as many teams of two together as possible so if your interested drop me a line.
Keep it real children of the Empire!
Tim
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Saturday, February 16, 2008
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