tag:philgonesouth.blog.co.uk,2009-11-10:/MokoFeed2009-11-10T02:06:27+01:00tag:philgonesouth.blog.co.uk,2008-03-31:/2008/03/31/title-3974777/philk2008-03-31T14:45:01+02:002008-03-31T14:46:10+02:00 <p>I wish I had more to say about food. My intention for coming out here was to have the opportunity for gastronomic exploration and invention. Unfortunately to cook something different each week when you?re cooking four courses for ten people would mean that you would never leave your chalet.</p> <p>This means that most of what I have to say about the food I?m cooking is how much I can?t bear eating it anymore. The pork, red wine and chorizo casserole that used to make my mouth water now makes me feel slightly nauseous; my amazing salmon dish has become a chore to eat and don?t even get me started on white chocolate cheesecake.</p> <p>In fact, I have to admit, and please don?t judge me for this, is that the most exciting gastronomic moment of my week is ordering a chicken balti pie in the local bar on day off. I know what you?re thinking, because believe me, I thought the same when I first came upon these little monsters, but there is just something about cutting into soggy pastry to release the aroma of spicy curry sauce accompanied by cold beer that is more exciting than I can describe.</p> <p>Have I lost my foodie status?</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://philgonesouth.blog.co.uk/2008/03/31/title-3974777/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:philgonesouth.blog.co.uk,2008-03-02:/2008/03/02/skiers-versus-boarders-3805436/philk2008-03-02T14:33:15+01:002008-03-02T14:33:15+01:00 <p>This could be just the debate between two planks versus one, but this particular one goes so much deeper.</p> <p>My idea of a ski resort was of quite a flash place inhabited with a seasonal population of well turned out well healed public school boys and girls. However with the invention of snow boarding this all seems to have changed to include a bunch of baggy scruffy bums, or as they like to call themselves, boarders.</p> <p>Boarders would (and regularly do) say, ‘you’re just jealous because we look cooler’. In this they may have a point. Mooching around with soft boots and a board slung under your arm, it’s a lot easier to look cool than having your ankles strapped into a static position, clumping around straight legged trying to hold onto two skis, two poles and an ounce of dignity.</p> <p>However if you live by the adage, ‘when in Rome do as the Romans do’ then there really is only one way down the mountain, and that’s on skis. I can count the times on one hand that I’ve seen a Frenchman on a board and my reasoning is that the locals have got to know something that we don’t. </p> <p>Of course it may have something to do with the fashions involved. To lope around in baggy trousers with a beany on is just not something that the French would do. Sadly though just because they haven’t adopted the scruffy bastard look doesn’t mean to say that the French reputation for chic has made it’s way to the mountains. Your French skier is more likely to be wearing an all in one diamond patterned purple ski suit from the 80’s than anything by Chanel.</p> <p>But back to my point. They do say that you can’t judge a man till you’ve walked a mile in his shoes, or in this case slid a mile on his snowboard. So to this end I borrowed a friend’s board and set off up the mountain. At this point it would be very easy to start ranting about how rubbish boarding is but the truth is I sucked so badly I couldn’t even get up, let alone complete a run so until I’ve managed to do that mile, I’m afraid the jury’s out. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://philgonesouth.blog.co.uk/2008/03/02/skiers-versus-boarders-3805436/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:philgonesouth.blog.co.uk,2008-02-27:/2008/02/27/the-smallest-town-in-the-world-3788338/philk2008-02-27T15:53:00+01:002008-02-27T15:53:00+01:00 <p>Having spent most of my adult life in Brighton I thought I knew what it meant to live in a small place. Oh dear god, I really didn’t have a clue about the true nature of small.</p> <p>The first clue to this was after a night spent flirting outrageously with (then being rather rude to) what I thought was a random Frenchman, I found him working behind the bar of the local tavern, which has since become a local haunt. It taught me a lesson that there really is not anonymity here.</p> <p>There is of course an upside to this. You can walk into literally any bar in the village and if you don’t know at least some of the patrons then you know the staff, and given the local consumption round here it’s not long before the door opens to reveal last night’s drinking buddy. It makes me wander whether there is a village in England where you could emulate this without the said drinking buddy being 50ish.</p> <p>Up the mountain is a different matter. Courchevel 1850 is well known in the Alps for being bling central. It’s chock full of the Russian mafia whose ‘moles’ strole the slopes ski-less in fur coats with small yappy type dogs in tow. But the skiers are the real treat. You haven’t seen bling until you’ve seen Russian ski attire. We’re talking all in one white ski suits with motifs, chains, fur, diamante, the works (including small dog).</p> <p>There are stories from up the mountain of people ordering bottles of wine at the cost of 70,000 euros for lunch and not even finishing them. There really is that much money here. Unfortunately I’ve seen it, but not had any of it spent on me.</p> <p>Sufficed to say 1850 is not really my speed, but the occasional excursions up there generally end up at the local ‘discotech’ Kalico’s. The main danger with this is getting a bit over excited and deciding to let the last bus home go without you. The late night public transport round here is limited to say the least and on our wage the local taxis are just not an option. This means that the only way home is down the piste… in a bin bag. This sounds like a really good laugh unless, as was the case the night I tried it, the snow has turned to mush, turned into massive lumps and re-frozen meaning that you’re bin bag gets shredded to pieces in 3 minutes and you have to come down it on your heals down a red run falling every few steps for an hour and a half. The ice cuts on my hands have only really just healed.</p> <p>Best leave the excursions to 1850 well alone, they’re dangerous. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://philgonesouth.blog.co.uk/2008/02/27/the-smallest-town-in-the-world-3788338/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:philgonesouth.blog.co.uk,2008-02-21:/2008/02/21/boys~3760916/philk2008-02-21T16:40:48+01:002008-02-21T16:41:27+01:00 <p>I was going to blog about booze, drinking and the general merriment, humiliation and injury that comes attached to this. However everyone knows what it’s like to be drunk. Sufficed to say the evening life of a ski resort focuses on little else but chucking large quantities of booze down your neck and trying to get home over great expanses of ice and snow.</p> <p>However, far and away the highlight of the drinking week at Courchevel 1550 is Flugel night. At first glance Flugel night might be just another one of those ploys by the local bar to get you to spend far too much money on vast quantities of another novelty beverage (essentially a shot of vodka Redbull in a little bottle). This is in fact until you walk into said bar on said night. It can only be described as total carnage. </p> <p>On my first Flugel night we arrived, and I can honestly say that I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s a fairly dingy filthy little place at the best of times, always full of seasonires spending their pitiful earnings on strong larger, but on this particular night someone seemed to have turned most of the lights off, turned on the pumping techno and thought it a good idea to throw most of the contents of the bar all over the floor. Clustered round the bar were about 20 people, smashed out of their heads and buzzing their tits off, banging out what can only be described as a primal beat on the bar with the little empty Flugel bottles they clutched in their hands. The same bottles are what littered the floor. It was actually rather feral and disturbing. Needless to say I joined them immediately.</p> <p>When drinking Flugel one must: Bang the bottle repeatedly on the table; place the bottle on the table; remove the lid and place it on your nose; pick the bottle up with your mouth; drink the contents and replace the bottle on the table without using your hands; place the cap facing upwards on the top of the bottle (again without use of your hands); throw the bottle on the flour with great relish; repeat ad-infenitum until you’ve got the shakes and you can barely remember your own name. This process can then be followed by yattering randomly to anyone who’ll listen, jumping up and down like a loon, crawling around on the floor, or boy hunting. None of which matter cos the next day it will all be a blur.</p> <p>Arrr, Flugel night. How I love you. Believe me when you live somewhere this small something like Flugel night coming around is enough to make your whole week. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://philgonesouth.blog.co.uk/2008/02/21/boys~3760916/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:philgonesouth.blog.co.uk,2008-02-17:/2008/02/17/skiiiiiing~3740374/philk2008-02-17T16:12:32+01:002008-02-17T16:12:32+01:00 <p>Well… this should be a major part of this blog. After all it’s what most people out here come out for. It’s pretty hard to know what to say about it because I know how dull I found people talking to me about it before I came out. After all, I just came out to cook and get drunk right?</p> <p>To be honest I learnt to ski mainly cos I knew how bored I’d be out here if I didn’t, oh, and because it was free. The first of these reasons is the only thing that kept on the slopes for the first week. I think I can safely say that I sucked… big time! Moving at a snail’s pace down a gradual incline shitting myself and then going flying (into the rest of the class most of the time was a particular specialty of mine), was really not my idea of fun. </p> <p>Then when you watch other people doing it, my thoughts were not, Oh I wish I could do it like that’ but more like, ‘What a bunch of crazy bastards! Why on earth would anyone want to chuck themselves down something that looks like a cliff face at about 40 miles an hour?!??!’</p> <p>The one positive thing I can say about learning to ski was that my legs NEVER hurt. This can not however be said about EVERY other muscle in my body! Spending the best part of two weeks bodily pushing myself up off the ground about 4 times an hour meant that sometimes even thinking hurt. I’m not joking! You can’t use your legs to get you up at all because there two big bastard slidey things attached to them, so you literally have to support your whole body weight with your upper body. I had pistols like boy band heart throb at one point ;-). One day I couldn’t brush my hair because my neck muscles hurt to much brace against the brush.</p> <p>Luckily things changed and I am now captain speedy and loving it. In fact I can’t imagine what it will be like to come home and not ski now. I’ve not been out for about four days now because I’ve been ill and I’m already really twitchy.</p> <p>It’s incredible that your perception on these things can change. A green slope that used to take me 20 minutes zig-zagging across to get down, I can now almost go straight down in about 30 seconds. I red run that I used to look up and get a lump in my throat I can now get down with no trouble. But the weirdest thing is that they actually look different gradients to me now. This is why it’s so nice to progress so far in one place because you know that even though they look like different slopes they are defiantly the ones that used to terrify you. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://philgonesouth.blog.co.uk/2008/02/17/skiiiiiing~3740374/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:philgonesouth.blog.co.uk,2008-02-13:/2008/02/13/in_the_beginning~3722123/philk2008-02-13T16:10:48+01:002008-02-13T16:10:48+01:00 <p>Yeah, so it’s half way through the season on Saturday and I now sort of feel that I’ve got enough perspective on life out here to start blogging. I know it seems strange because a blog should really be a week by week account of the things that happen to you as they happen but life out here is just so different from travelling life that I’ve found it almost impossible to collect together enough things of interest to make it worth your while reading.</p> <p>A day to day account would probably read something along the lines of cook, clean, chat, ski, sleep, eat cake, cook, talk talk talk, drink, sleep. All this interspersed with endless discussions of the snow conditions, which runs are best/iciest/bumpiest/steepest and why, what’s the best way to clean a toilet/oven/stone floor/fire place and whose guests are dullest/oddest/most likely to be caught wandering the chalet in tighty-whities. See… aren’t you glad that I’ve not been filling cyber space with this inane shit?</p> <p>This all makes it sound like life out here is rubbish. It’s not at all; it’s just so very hard to understand why monotony is so very enjoyable.</p> <p>So, two months on, here’s what it was like…</p> <p>IN THE BEGINNING…</p> <p>The beginning was pretty rubbish actually. Nothing was open, we weren’t allowed to ski, cleaning was constant and 12 hour work days were common. None of the public transport networks were open and even if they were we had no idea where we were going anyway. Life consisted of being driven between different chalets (none of which were mine) and having to clean them despite the fact that they looked totally spotless to me (urgh!!).</p> <p>On the upside I was surrounded by a bunch of people who had all been hired due to their ability to be friendly and smiley no matter what and to talk to anyone. I’ve never seen anything like the first night when I looked around to see everyone chatting ten to the dozen having known each other for about 6 hours. Of course we do have to take into account that this is a job which includes pretty much unlimited (and more importantly, unmonitored) wine ;-), which I think helped.</p> <p>Once all the chalets were opened up and the guests started coming we had to contend with Christmas and New Year, which when you don’t really know anyone that well is a little weird. The third meal I had to cook was a full Christmas roast, in a kitchen which I don’t even have to spread my arms in to touch the walls. I also started to realise the problems associated with working for a small company when half the staff came down with bronchitis and there was absolutely no cover available and everyone had to keep on working through fevers and coughing fits.</p> <p>Christmas was also not helped by the fact that the mother of the family I had seemed to get all competitive with me on Christmas day. I’ve heard this is not uncommon in a chalet where women can suddenly seem to take offence at the fact that you’ve the audacity to look after their family instead of them. What a bitch I am?</p> <p>I tried writing this all at the time but it all seemed so depressing and negative and the only reason that I can write it now is because it all seems so long ago and things are so different now that it doesn’t seem to matter. Also there were some really nice bits. Fancy dressing skiing on Christmas day (after a bottle of champagne… weeee!), sharing a room with three other girls has actually been a real giggle and meant that we’ve got an awful lot closer than most other people, pulling yourself up every now and again and realising that you can see Mont Blanc from your window surrounded by snow capped, pine speckled peaks, chatting for a living, free wine and discovering how nice afternoon naps can be a Thursday (… Friday/Monday/Wednesday…) …. Oh, and skiing…. That’s a laugh too ;-)</p> <p>But more on that later.</p> <p>To sum up now… up until now I’ve not wanted to come home at all, quite the opposite in fact. There is a bit of me that thinks I may have found Mecca (and no, not the bingo hall). But half way is really big mental point, so literally today, writing this, I’ve started missing home, family and friends. It makes you think that maybe applying a time restrictions to time away is a bad idea… </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://philgonesouth.blog.co.uk/2008/02/13/in_the_beginning~3722123/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:philgonesouth.blog.co.uk,2007-11-26:/2007/11/26/update~3353673/philk2007-11-26T11:27:45+01:002007-11-26T11:27:45+01:00 <p>I'm off again... and yes I know I'm heading more East than I am South, but I really couldn't be bothered to set up a new blog. </p> <p>But look ^^ I changed the title!</p> <p>I'll start updating it when I leave (8th December), so watch this space! </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://philgonesouth.blog.co.uk/2007/11/26/update~3353673/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:philgonesouth.blog.co.uk,2007-04-13:/2007/04/13/over_and_out~2085353/philk2007-04-13T16:26:34+02:002007-04-13T17:36:00+02:00 <p>Considering how much I've slated Chile the whole way through my trip it seemed an odd choice to decide to have my birthday there. But hey, after 21 they all just blend into each other anyway so what the hey.</p> <p>Seeing as I was in Chile we thought we might as well indulge in a few local offerings... But you see Chile is a big thieving country. They steel their surrounding countries culture and imitate it, badly. So Chile's national drink, the Pisco Sour (stolen from Peru); they serve up empanadas and steak (stolen from Argentina); and if that wasn't enough they apparently stole Bolivia's coast line too (that's just mean!)</p> <p>On closer inspection of the guidebook we found there was a local delicacy in which we could indulge (for the life of me I can't remember the name), a genuine slice of Chilean culture with which to celebrate my 27th year. It turned out to be chips with stuff on it (specifically, fried onions, eggs and bits of sausage).</p> <p>That's right folks, I managed to have a birthday meal on the other side of the world of sausage, egg and chips. Classy? (Ps, was actually really tasty and may get served up round my house in the near future)</p> <p>This was pretty much the last main event before my journey home, which was an emotional event.</p> <p>When the plane touched down in Heathrow, 24 hours of no sleep, 7 hours with out food or water, and three and a half months of no England all kind of impacted and I found my hands shaking and my eyes glistening as I walked through customs (not a good look if you are trying to avoid looking like your up to something). </p> <p>Worryingly having now been back about 4 hours it all seems bizarrely normal here and South America already seems like a hazy memory. I think it's all going to take a while to settle in before I know how I feel about the whole thing, but for now a brief summary...</p> <p>I have:</p> <p>-Danced in the street at Rio Carnival<br> -Walked on a glacier<br> -Stared into the crater of a live volcano<br> -Been soaked under Iguazu Falls<br> -Ridden horses through the Argentinean mountains<br> -Danced the Salsa in Santiago<br> -Drunk cocktails all night in Buenos Aires<br> -Tasted wine in the vineyard where it was grown<br> -Cried at a beautiful puddle<br> -Had some of the worlds best steak<br> -Been to 5000 meters altitude<br> -Eaten fresh seafood on the beach in Brazil<br> -Been to the end of the world<br> -Seen the Tango danced on the streets of Buenos Aires<br> -Eaten a million asado barbeques<br> -Stood on the Salt Flats in Bolivia<br> -Been to the worlds highest city<br> -Been in a hot tub with two fit lesbians<br> -Seen a football (futbol) match in Brazil<br> -Lain on Coppacabana beach<br> -Seen the sunrise over steaming geysers<br> -Been bloody freezing<br> -Been bloody boiling<br> -Been so high and so remote that the sky literally shines with a million stars<br> -Received a proposal of marriage<br> -Laughed till I cried<br> -Seen a meteor<br> -Eaten Llama<br> -Been all the way there<br> -And all the way back<br> -Been totally stranded<br> -Been totally alone<br> -Been totally happy</p> <p>Over and out.</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://philgonesouth.blog.co.uk/2007/04/13/over_and_out~2085353/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:philgonesouth.blog.co.uk,2007-04-09:/2007/04/09/having_a_vine_old_time~2056825/philk2007-04-09T01:46:40+02:002007-04-09T01:46:40+02:00 <p>Heading further south so a town I had heard fantastic things about, Mendoza. Even people from Buenos Aries rave about this place and as that`s the best place I´ve been to so far I was excited.</p> <p>On our first night we met a crazy Chinese boy (who is quite possibly the most enthusiastic person I have ever met), a couple of English girls, a scotsman with crazy eyes, a Belgum boy who`s name neither of us could remember (and thus dubbed Belgy), and a yank called Andrew who became yanky doodle Andy (yak yak yak). This was the group that we took with us on our tour of the local wineries.</p> <p>Trying to organise this many people to do anything always turns into a nightmare, and I realised how relaxed I must have become when I only got a tiny bit irritable and snippy... what a result.</p> <p>The day consists of hireing bikes and cycling round the numerous vinyards and wineries around Mendoza. It`s supposed to be a nice leisurely day out but of course ended up being a mad dash through the rain to try and get as much red down you in the small amount of time we had left of the day.</p> <p>We were however rewarded for this at the end of the day by the most beautiful rainbow I`ve ever seen.</p> <p>Next on the agenda was more white water rafting. After hours of typical South American waiting around we set of with a guide who seemed to think it was a great idea to wear his shorts over his trousers. This should have been a warning. This guy turned out to be a world class nutter.</p> <p>We launched ourselves onto the water and rowed along for a while, skitting over a few sections of rapids. After every rapid the guides would yell, 'celebration', to which we were supposed to bash our paddles together in the air and cheer. Fine. Our guide however seemed to tire of this after a while.</p> <p>After the next rapid he stands up on the sides of the boat and trys to get us all to do the same. Four people all balanced precariously on a raft heading swiftly for the next rapids. The next one was to stand up and slap our arses at the bemused looking fisherman on the banks of the river. And as we finished the course he had us all wedged into the front of the boat, sitting on top of each other in what appeard to be an attempted to flip the ratt. </p> <p>What an awsome time! I don`t think I stoped smilling once. Topped by going arse over tit into the water and being bodily hauled out by the guide, after which I don`t think I could actually stop giggleing.</p> <p>I think Mendoza is now definatly my favouite place of my whole trip. Every one of it`s wide avenues is lined with beautiful trees, all the people we met were awesome, it`s full of beautiful plazas with fountains and little markets, just outside are some of the most fantastic mountains, our hostal had a pool and a great garden, your stopped by men on the street at least three times a day just so they can tell you how beautiful you are.</p> <p>I even recieved a marrage proposal when I was there. A man who must of been at least 60 stopped us in the street and told the belgum boy I was with that I was 'bonita', and that I should marry him as he was single and had lots of money. He then proceeded to get caught up in a playful tussle with his friend and run off giggleing. I love this place!</p> <p>My last night there (as well as my last in Argentina) was marked in the only way it could have been, by a huge amount of steak and red wine. Today we caught a bus back to Chile. The road to the boarder is one of the most beatiful I´ve travelled. Scores of weeping willows and bright green and golden poplars sat onto rich red earth and intense greens of the plains. This on a backdrop of dark green mountain with snow capped peaks visible behind all lit with the warm golden sunshine of the start of the Argentinian autum. There were tears as I crossed the boarder and a heart felt promise to myself to return.</p> <p>I really can`t describe how I feel about this country except to say that it`s a feeling as close to romantic love as I can imagine. It has so many levels of warmth it`s almost tangible. I can`t imagine a better place to be. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://philgonesouth.blog.co.uk/2007/04/09/having_a_vine_old_time~2056825/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:philgonesouth.blog.co.uk,2007-04-05:/2007/04/05/oh_my_quad~2039862/philk2007-04-05T19:29:35+02:002007-04-05T20:09:09+02:00 <p>So left Salta with another English girl (Rachel) in tow, who through complete lack of planning didn`t really know where she was going so decided to come with me on the rest of my trip. It`s nice to have the company but I was just getting into staring at the sky for hours on end and not talking much.</p> <p>So we head south to a little town called Tucaman where there wasn`t much to do but wander round in the rain and eat empanadas (an Argentinian delicacy, kind of like a pasty but better). We got a hotel room but on the first attempt to lock it realised that it was stuck. Litterally seconds after this discovery, the Argentinian boys from next door came stampeeding out of their room to come to our aid. Then afterwards seemed intent on acting as tourist information for us.</p> <p>We ended up meeting them for a drink later but seeing as the one I was chatting to spoke no English what so ever and an almost incomprehensible accent conversation was somewhat limited. I got a huge amount of millage on how beautiful the mountains of Argentina are. Every now an again I would glance jelously over to the other one who was speaking in perfect English to Rachel and having a conversation that extended beyond the present tense and wasn't punctuated with hand waving and blank looks.</p> <p>Despite the limited depth of our conversation `Gastone` seemed to become rather attached to me over the next hour and a half and when we told them that we were leaving on the bus the next evening I found my hand clasped to his face which was wearing an expression of deep hurt. This was followed by lengthy protestations and offers to cook me the best empendadas I`d ever had. This was repeted for the rest of the evening accompanied by cries of, 'no no no, you can`t leave´.</p> <p>Bless him, but it was very hard not to laugh. I mean I suppose that I had known him the sum total of about four hours.</p> <p>The next stop was a town called Cordoba which is famous for outdoor activities. However as we arrived we realised that the rain had followed us. When we finally managed to get out into the country side, we went quad biking. As we rode up into the hills I couldn`t help but compare it to the horse trek we`d been doing the week before. As we passed through the beautiful unspoilt moutains we ripped into the calm with the roar of four noisy, dirty, polution belching beasts. In stead of the smiles and salutations of passing locals you are met with scouls and silence (I don`t blame them). However as time wore on you do get kind of into the raw power of these little beasts, it`s easy to see how you could become a bit of a petrol head.</p> <p>That afternoon when we returned to Cordoba we were wandering around looking at what we though were parades for the start of holy week. It was strange though to see such a large military presence. Rachel was really keen to take some snaps of the hords or uniforms standing around the main plaza. We thought better of it and headed home.</p> <p>It was here that we finally discovered what the parades were actually for. Comemorations for 25 years since the end of the Falklands war. Oh my god! I`m amazed we didn`t get linched. Note to self, read the history section in my guidebook next time. We stayed in for the rest of the evening. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://philgonesouth.blog.co.uk/2007/04/05/oh_my_quad~2039862/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:philgonesouth.blog.co.uk,2007-03-28:/2007/03/28/mas_argentina_mas~1993321/philk2007-03-28T19:51:47+02:002007-03-28T19:51:47+02:00 <p>I´m sure the sun was shining a little brighter as I crossed the Bolivian/Argentinian boarder. </p> <p>Bienvenido a Republica de Argentina (Welcome to Argentian indeed!) and i felt better the minute I stepped into the sunnier side of the 'frontear'.</p> <p>One of the main reasons I had wanted to come down this way again is because of the amazing stories I had heard about an Estancia (ranch) down near a little town called Salta. Nothing could touch me as I travelled down on the bus through the beautiful green lush mountains of Northern Argentina, I was as high as a kite.</p> <p>I was only marginally ruffled when the bus was pulled over by the police and we were ordered off and crowded into a little shack to be searched (obveouse drug connection as we were coming from the bolivian boarder). I wasn`t at all worried until they started separating the men from the women. (Oh dear god, I REALLY don´t want to be strip searched!) But it appears that tourists aren´t ever susspected of smuggling as all the gringos where passport checked and dismissed. The whole process did take and hour though, and to my further dismay when I started chatting to a yank apparently the whole process could well be repeated up to three times! This particular yank was garbed in a rather unusual outfit for an 18 year old, of cowboy hat and austeer shirt and tie. When asked why it turns out that it is his job was to spread the story of Jesus to the people of South America. Yay, why do I always end up stuck next to religious maniacs on long journies?</p> <p>So I finally managed to get down to Enrique´s... This place really is a one off. I was greeted by Enrique´s, who was kitted out in full gaucho garb (high boots topped by veluminous trousers, with a large leather sheathed knife tucked into an ellaborate wide belt, a pristine white shirt all topped off by a full on cowboy hat), who only seemed to know profanities in English. A gabble of incomprehensible spanish would be interspersed by a string of obsenity in English. I found it best just to nod and smile.</p> <p>Over the next two days I was taken out by the guide (tono) on some really fantastic horses morning and evening. We trecked in the mountains, through the fields and plantations around, to miles of flat for some awsome gallops. The country side here is just like England but bigger, better and prettier. Dark green moutains provide a backdrop to lush green tabacco fields, the hedges are chocca with a mirriad of mulit-coloured wild flowers and above an azure sky with little fluffy clouds. It was heaven.</p> <p>Interspersed with these was some of the best hospitality I have recieved here. Lunch everyday comprised of a traditional Argentinian BBQ (ie about four or five different types of steak, sausages, salads, the lot), vast quantities of red wine flowed, and afterwards the guitars, drums and flutes would come out and as more wine was consumed they sung and laughed the afternoon away (before going out for the afternoon on the horses, half cut). After that much wine I also discovered how much better my spanish has got. It was wickid, I was actually able to spend the whole afternoon chatting to Tono and translating for the other tourists in the group.</p> <p>On the Sunday, the entire exuberant extended familly turned up, as apparently they do every sunday from all over the province. Lunch that day consisted of about 20 people and was a boistrous crazy afaire. For four hours they all shouted, teased and laughed at each other. It was amazing to be included for the day in a family (even if it´s not your own).</p> <p>I was sad to leave. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://philgonesouth.blog.co.uk/2007/03/28/mas_argentina_mas~1993321/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:philgonesouth.blog.co.uk,2007-03-22:/2007/03/22/get_the_hell_out_of_dodge~1954960/philk2007-03-22T18:25:39+01:002007-03-22T18:25:39+01:00 <p>So there was a plan. There´s always a plan. But me being me, I always have problems changing it. Why change the plan? Here´s why...</p> <p>I get back to Uyuni after my salt flats tour expecting to find a crisp clean bus ticket waiting for me, back to La Paz. This doesn´t happen. The tour agency who were supposed to do it hadn´t bothered, and yes, the bus was now full. Angry as hell I get a hotel room for the night, but was actually quite releived to not have to pile 12 hours more travel on top of the 7 or 8 I had already done that day. The next day was taken up by what activities there are available in Uyuni (ie, eating, drinking and internet). I arrive at the bus station to be told that no busses are going to La Paz due to a blockade on the road (quite common here by all accounts). </p> <p>´Come back at 6am, we´re going to send a bus another way.´</p> <p>Ok, another hotel room and a stupidly early start. I make my way to the bus stop to find... no bus... the bus office closed... and a big crowd of cold pissed off gringos. When the office finally opens,</p> <p>´No bus to La Paz today, more blockades´</p> <p>(note, no appology) I decided to cut my losses and at least go SOMEWHERE, so head for the worlds highest city (Potosi) where there might have been a chance to get passed the blockades, and if not then at least there was a bit more to do there.</p> <p>I´ve now spent two days here and there are still no busses. I´ve done pretty much all there is to do here too, which is visit the silver mines. This was possibley one of the most terrifying experiences of my life...</p> <p>Your kitted up with protective cloting and a head lamp and lead down a pitch black tunnel which is barely high enough to stand upright. There is no light except that cast by the headlamps, pipes and cables dangle way down into the passage which we are told not to touch as they could be electrified. We are walking down a track that every few minutes a cart weighing a ton hurtles down with no breaks, requiring us to press ourselves against the walls of the tunnel until it has passed. The air is unbelivabley thin, and full of dust. Walking a few meters leaves you panting and your heart racing. As the minors hurtle out of the dark their faces bulge groutesquely with massive quantities of coca leaves that they have to chew to get through the day. The tunnel gets lower and lower and darker and darker (I have to admit that i chickened out and had to leave), but for those left behind they were taken down four levels to where they had to crawl on their hand and knees.*shudder*</p> <p>The minors work in these conditions for 12 hour days and start working in them as young as 13 years old. All this for a wage of approximatly 100-130 pounds a month. It really makes you think that I get paid over 10 times what they do, for essentially sitting on my arse and talking bullshit! *shamed*</p> <p>After a few days here, and still no bus to La Paz (four days stranded), I´ve decided to cut my losses and head back to Argentina for the rest of my trip.</p> <p>When I came to think about it why on earth would I go anywhere else? Exchange lack of oxygen, freezing cold, grumpey locals and a joke of a public transport system, for.... Great steak, warm weather, fantastic wine, friendly locals and mountains of a sensible height (thank you very much).</p> <p>Get the hell out of dodge, that´s what I say! Argentina here I come (again). </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://philgonesouth.blog.co.uk/2007/03/22/get_the_hell_out_of_dodge~1954960/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:philgonesouth.blog.co.uk,2007-03-19:/2007/03/19/nice_one_geyser~1934862/philk2007-03-19T19:56:06+01:002007-03-20T23:36:31+01:00 <p>So I head south into Bolivia towards a tiny town called Uyuni. Uyuni has nothing to recomend it except it`s proximity to the largest salt lake in the world. This is really obveouse from the minute you get off the bus. In fact, I think if this town ever had one horse, they probably shot it and ate it a while ago.</p> <p>Luckilly I managed to get onto a three day trip that left a few hours later and headed off with another five people in a 4x4 with a cook at the worlds most misserable guide.</p> <p>When you approach the salar, at first you don`t realise how close you are to it. Instead you just think the horrizon has gone a bit funny. The mountains look as if they`re floating. Then you realise that instead you see an expanse of glittering white as far at the eye can see, and because it is the rainy season here the surface is covered in water effectivly turning it into a mirror. </p> <p>I`ve been told that it`s actually really dangerous to drive on the salar during rainy season as the surface salt is only six meters deep and it is entirely possible to fall through to the water below. But hey, this is bolivia! This is not a country where every ideal is not suppassed by the necessity for safety. So on we drove.</p> <p>We drove across the salt for about an hour to the point where you couldn`t see anything in any direction accept the solar. This effectly renders the horrizon meaningless. This was until we reached an island populated entirely by cachti some measuring three or four meters in hight. A brief clamber to the top of the island (mind you nothing feels like a brief clamber at this altitude) and all you could see around you was the sky or the sky`s reflection in the lake around us. It felt like being on an island in the sky. I think it might actually be the most beatiful thing I`ve ever seen.</p> <p>At the end of the day we were driven to where we were to stay for the first night. A building where everything (literally) was made of salt. The building it`s self, the beds, the light fittings, the tables, the chairs. Maybe a gimik, but cool none the less.</p> <p>Day two was to take us to a red lake (stained by the minerals in the surrounding moutains) and to see flamingos, but day three was the real treat.</p> <p>As day three (well, i can`t say it actually dawned, but we got up anyway). It`s never easy to see the point of getting up at four thirty, but when your somewhere around 4500 meters altitude and about minus 5 it`s even harder.</p> <p>Bundleing into the jeep and trying to stay warm and catch up one some sleep, this was made harder when the car was flagged down by a group in camoflauge gear and baloklavas. I swear, I thought we were going to be dragged out of the car and never seen again. It turns out they just wanted to check how many people where in the car. Maybe not one told them that wandering round in the dark in balaklavas is in some circles considered a little intimidating.</p> <p>We drove higher and higher and as we came over the brow of the hill we were confronted with the sight of steam billowing out of the ground from the geysers a few hundred meters in front of us. </p> <p>We got out, shivering, to explore this totally bizzar landscape. The rucked and cratered ground was streaked red and covered in steaming craters. When you got to a crater and looked inside at the bottom was a pool of either red or grey boiling mud. At certain points you could only see for a few meters, people would loom up unexpectidly from the nebulas clouds around you. The air thick with sulphur fumes which added to the altidude (now about 5000 meters), made breathing less something you take for granted and more of an actual pass time.</p> <p>It was as if I`d stepped into a sci-fi novel and at any moment tri-pods or triphids might start to appear over the summit of the surrounding mountains, and an epic battle to commence.</p> <p>I would fight them with the materials I had to hand in a desparate fight to the death. They would cower at the sight of my trusty... my trusty... autobiography of Rupert Everate (choices are limited here when it comes to lituriture), they would flee at the sight of my digital camera (´say cheese now monsters´), on second thoughts, maybe I should leave the monsters out of this.</p> <p>Anyway, I was walking round in awe, but still thinking how bloody freezing it was, when I finally realised why we were here at this time, as the sun started rising over the siloetted ridge of the nearby mountain. First blue, then pink, then golden light started to streem through the jets of steam that surrounded us. As the sun rose it illumiated even more the bizzar red streaked earth and craters around, Then cast a bright, warm glow on the terricotta mountains behind.</p> <p>It was AMAZING. and not only that, but it was also warm again... hurrah!</p> <p>If all of this wasn`t enough, when we got back into the jeep we were driven 20 minutes down the road to a set of thermal baths were we could sit in the steaming waters looking out over the mountains watching the remainder of the sunrise.</p> <p>Not a bad set of events to happen before breakfast (which incidentally was banana pancakes, which just makes it EVEN better).</p> <p>I`m now sitting back in Uyuni, after having been stranded here last night. My next stop is one of the great lakes, Lake Titticacca, before heading into my final country, Peru.</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://philgonesouth.blog.co.uk/2007/03/19/nice_one_geyser~1934862/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:philgonesouth.blog.co.uk,2007-03-15:/2007/03/15/la_spaz~1911521/philk2007-03-15T20:28:18+01:002007-03-15T20:28:18+01:00 <p>Sorry... I know it was childish, but it had to be done. </p> <p>So anyway. La Paz. </p> <p>In some ways I was really keen to come to this city and in others, I was a bit aprehensive. I knew this would be the place where all my preconceptions about South America would actually come true. It would be poor, crazy, busy, fasinating, full of atmosphere, a complete eye opener, but at the same time totally exhausting. </p> <p>Maybe it seemed more of all of these things because I really don`t know anyone here and being totally on your own does seem to make things more intense. </p> <p>The first thing you notice is the number of people in traditional clothes. Upon further investigation (thanks Mish) it seems that these people are the majority of the population and suffer on the rough side of the class divide. The upper and middle classes tend to be of Spanish or mixed decent and the majority of the rest of the indigenous population are the working lower class, who are apparently treated like cattal. </p> <p>These are the people in the street begging (always old women, which i find strange) and also selling all sorts of peculiarities in markets all over town. In fact it`s actually quite hard in some places to find a normal shop. </p> <p>Yesterday I found the witches market, which offers a selection of potions, tallesmans, llamas foetuses, dried frogs and the like. Easy to think that this is just a tourist trap but apparently it´s the real deal. </p> <p>There are people sitting on the sides of the roads eating bowels of rice and what looks like chicken inards and selling pigs trotters (which i found myself looking at this morning with genuin interest thinking they were some sort of pastry, before realising and having to run away... fast)</p> <p>I just paid a trip to the coca museum which was facinating. You know that urban myth about there being cocaine in coca cola. It´s only bloody true! </p> <p>The parent of coca cola was called coca wine (12g or cocaine to 28g of wine!!), but when prohibition came about in America they had to find a non-alcholic alternative, thus coca cola was born. To be precise about this, there used to be actual cocaine, but this was stopped (within my life time), but they still use coca leaves to flavour the drink. Crazy! I was thinking about bringing some leaves back but we coudldn´t work out if it was illegal or not.</p> <p>Everything is so fast paced and if you`re a new arrival and don`t speak fluent Spanish it`s easy to get lost and confused. Asking locals where things are is a classic example of this. No one seems to really know where things like the post office really are and it´s easy to get directed to 2 or 3 diffent destinations before finally getting where you were going. If any one thing has taught me to relax and go with the flow, it really is this crazy little city. </p> <p>Got some great photos coming, but am currently cableless. </p> <p>Next stop the salt flats at Uyuni. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://philgonesouth.blog.co.uk/2007/03/15/la_spaz~1911521/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:philgonesouth.blog.co.uk,2007-03-14:/2007/03/14/travels_in_munchkinland_sorry_bolivia~1906226/philk2007-03-14T22:23:40+01:002007-03-14T22:23:40+01:00 <p>Again I have been caught out by the mith that South America is hot and sunny. After a month at 30 degrees plus in Brazil I'd got a bit complacent, so touching down in the Bolivian capital La Paz, was a bit of a shock. I`ve heard lots of claims about Bolivia, that it´s the highest country in the world, that it has the highest percent of it at altitude, that La Paz is the worlds highest capital city, etc etc. This may or may not be true, but I can certainly vouch for the fact that there are a shit load of massive old mountains round here and it`s bloody freezing. </p> <p>Coming from England you never really have the oportunity to come to terms with, 'up high, means really cold', (La Paz being at 3500 meters altitude) as for the fact that it's rainy season here, well that, I'd just chosen to ignore. As I stood there in skirt and flip flops I started mentally going through the rest of my bag and realising that I really don 't have enough of the right clothes to get me through the next month. </p> <p>Being up this high is very strange. Your body just stops working in the way you've come to expect. Things like climbing a flight of stairs becomes a real challenge. </p> <p>This wasn`t the only shock I was about to recive about Bolivia. Over the past few months I`d kind of aclimatised to what the latin look was (tallish, tannedish, and pretty sexy) and kind of expected it to be this the whole way round. Not here. Oh my god, I`m actually in the land of the little people. Nothing is built for people of my height and even my friend Laura (a self confessed short arse) has admitted to feeling somewhat lofty. </p> <p>[D, never come here, you might die.] </p> <p>What I had not realised is that Bolivia bosts the most indiginous (ie: not of Spanish decent) inhabitants in all of South America, about 80%. So instead of the population looking Latin, they look more what you would think an North American Indian would look like(and did I mention, fucking tiny?). </p> <p>So, the first thing on the agenda was to meet up with my friends Katie and Laura and go on a three day treck in the mountains around La Paz. It all sounded so easy at the start. Get driven up to 4900 meters, and then simply walk back down to 1100 meters over the next three days. Down hill sailing so to speak, anyone could do that. </p> <p>The next time you try walking solidly down steap slopes for three days, let me know how you feel. I swear, it has the ability to turn you into the equivelant of a 26 year old pensioner. </p> <p>But really, all that aside, it was fantastic. </p> <p>We started in driving sleet at 4900 meters on a rock face that didn`t have a thing growing on it, surrounded by cloud. Honestly, it looked like the moon. Within half an hour we had decended into a slightly less bleak landscape, which at least bosted grass and thinks to look at like Llamas (in spanish prounounced yammas, which caused much amusment). Below us in the valley snaked a silver stream that over the course of the next few days we were to see grown into a enourmous thundering river. </p> <p>The path was completely deserted apart from the three of us and two guides, except for when a local would appear from nowhere behind us, walk with us for a bit and then just tear off again. These people live in the villages along the way which can`t be accessed by car and are 1 or 2 days walk from the nearest town, so I suppose they have to be a bit quick at the old walking.</p> <p>Did I mention it was the rainy season? It rained. Alot, and by the end of the first day we squelched in to a village consisting of about 7 houses where we were to camp the first night. We really where in the middle of nowhere. It´s amazing how doing a walk like that can make you appreaciate the most mundane of things: sitting down, being dry, having a cup of tea (first time trying bolivias famous coca tea) and some biscuits. But I did have serious doubts about being able to walk atall the next day.</p> <p>Next day, and hurrah, my legs worked once again and today was not only dry but not all down hill. I never thought I would be so extatic at the thought of climbing a huge hill, but it was like bliss! Today was when you started to notice the effects of decending from altitude. The climate became more temperate and humid, and the landscape around us became less like craggy mountains and more like jungle. We spotted puma tracks and some kick arse massive slugs (2cms wide by 15cms long). Unfortunatly it was also the longest days walk and after seven and a half hours of walking even things like moving your leg to see if you`re being bitten become a struggle. </p> <p>We kept on decending lower and lower, and I kept on being totally amazed that we were STILL above the clouds. I really don`t think i had any concept of how high we really started off.</p> <p>Our campsite tonight was litterally a ledge cut from the side of the mountain, and as we walked into it we were greeted by the site of a flock of bright green macaws. Amazing. Then by the site of two of the worlds most filthy children hurtleing towards us like we were the best new toys ever. Which lets face it we probably were seeing as the only other toys i saw there was a disinbodied doll which was seriously creapy.</p> <p>Day three.... hmmm, rain. Loads more down hill... bad mood.</p> <p>Finished... Yay!</p> <p>We then rewarded ourselves with a two day stay in Chororico, a lovely little town at lower altitude where we rented two little bungelows and indulged in sitting around in hot tubs over looking the mountain (still looking down on the clouds) and eating pizza. </p> <p>Next stop, back to La Paz, solo this time... </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://philgonesouth.blog.co.uk/2007/03/14/travels_in_munchkinland_sorry_bolivia~1906226/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:philgonesouth.blog.co.uk,2007-03-05:/2007/03/05/lifeas_a_beach~1850561/philk2007-03-05T14:45:37+01:002007-03-05T14:45:37+01:00 <p>This month that I’m currently having in Brazil is really the only time my whole trip that I’m going to get the opportunity to go to the beach (not to mention two of the worlds most famous beaches, Copacabana and Ipanima). Going to the beach isn’t normally something that I’d consider note worthy. For those of you who have been to the ‘ultimate’ beaches (aka Thailand) will know that they are beautiful, relaxed, full of irritating wankers and for all intents and purposes dull as shit.</p> <p>But this is Brazil we are talking about.</p> <p>During my trips to the beach in this country I have discovered why the Brazilian wax has come into being. The bikinis in this country defy belief… they are tiny! You think I’m exaggerating? No… they don’t appear to have any concept of different sizes. You simply select the three tiny triangles of fabric that most appeal to you, tie them round yourself with the strings provided and off you go! This extends to (and I REALLY mean this) … EVERY lady on the beach!</p> <p>The women are not the only ones to be encompassed by the mantra of ‘less is more’, no, the men are there too in the tiniest pair of Speedos, and Brazil being Brazil, the beach wear inevitably spills out onto the street. This can make an afternoon spent shopping an interesting experience.</p> <p>My friend Miska (who’s (UK) laptop I am currently writing this on – thus the improved spelling) once said to me, ‘In Brazil, if you’ve got it flaunt it. If you don’t have it, flaunt it even more.’</p> <p>I don’t know if I entirely sign up to this theory. </p> <p>The people here just seem to have a really great attitude to their bodies. I mean think about it, if you’re funny looking, old or fat, people know about it. It’s not as if you can hide it. So by trying to conceal it you are actually doing nothing other than calling attention to the fact and therefore, making it something to be ashamed of.</p> <p>Here no one seems to care. The middle aged woman with the bingo wings from hell, the old man with the patchy back hair, the young girl with the huge tummy. They are all there in the smallest clothes imaginable, and why not, it’s bloody hot, and they’re on the bloody beach aren’t they?</p> <p>Hats off to the Brazilians, I think they’ve got it sussed.</p> <p>However, they do also have some of the worlds most beautiful people. The kind of confident, relaxed, happy and cool people that make you squirm, just for the fact that you’re English. The boys who mess around in the waves trying to impress girls are actually impressive… I never thought I’d see the day when people like that weren’t instantly dismissed as idiots, but I’m sorry… pulling off full unassisted back flips in the breakers is pretty dammed cool! Well, put it this way… I took a book to the beach in Salvador, not much of it got read.</p> <p>The final beach location before I jet off back towards the mountains to continue ‘proper travelling’ again has been Recife, to see the aforementioned Mishka. I can’t tell you how nice it is after two months of being away to be staying in someone’s actual home. Little things like being able to get your own breakfast and mooch around on the sofa and cook are like bliss to me this week.</p> <p>Also the fact that she is actually living here for a while means that it’s the first time I’ve had the chance to hang out with locals in Brazil. I can’t understand a bloody word they’re saying, but with some of my ‘translator’s’ help I’ve been taken to some truly fantastic places that one would simply not find as a regular tourist. The other day was a local seafood restaurant where you got to pick your dinner from a tank before smashing it to smithereens with a blunt instrument. Crab is the best food ever. Absolutely delicious, a total challenge and so much work to eat that by the time you’ve finished you have worked off every calorie you’ve just eaten. </p> <p>Then today we were driven out to a resort almost entirely inhabited by Brazilians to spend the day on the beach sporadically being brought fresh seafood and local delicacies, all of which were absolutely fantastic.</p> <p>Next step is to leave this sheltered little haven, which is my last little piece of luxury before home and head to South America’s poorest country, Bolivia. At last heading back to a Spanish speaking country where I’ll at least stand a snow balls chance in hell of being understood. A welcome relief after today being asked by one of the local girls I’ve been spending time with whether ‘thank you’ was the only Portuguese word I knew. As if anything else would confirm what a cultural stereotype I really am. *Shamed*</p> <p>(thank you, sorry, sorry, thank you... only if it´s no problem)</p> <p>(sorry) </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://philgonesouth.blog.co.uk/2007/03/05/lifeas_a_beach~1850561/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:philgonesouth.blog.co.uk,2007-03-05:/2007/03/05/the_bus_trip~1850540/philk2007-03-05T14:41:04+01:002007-03-05T14:41:04+01:00 <p>Everyone who has done any travelling in South America will know that the long distance bus is a way of life. They will also know that generally the standard is extremely high and that things like fully reclining seats, free coffee and even waiter service are not uncommon.</p> <p>So in a way I was kind of looking forward to my first long haul bus experience (26 hours from Rio to Salvador). This is partly because I was coming to it after a busy and quite stressful week in Rio, but also because this type of trip does seem to be so firmly rooted in the South American experience. This was also the first real part of my trip which was genuinely alone. So it was in good (if a little nervous) spirits that I said a rushed goodbye to Sarah and set out for the bus station.</p> <p>Since my arrival in Brazil I have approached the problem of not speaking Portuguese with a big smile, a bit of Spanish, lots of arm waving and a sense of stoicism, and if it hasn’t actually served me well, then it’s got me by without too much bother. Things were about to change.</p> <p>The first few hours on the bus (number one) passed pleasantly enough. There were big comfy seats, there was carpet, there was free coffee, there was no one beside me. This was the first thing to change. A man with the most pungent aftershave I have ever smelt gets on and sits in the seat next to me. Also to get on at this stop was the biggest, noisiest Brazilian family with the most stuff in the world (bags, giant pink teddies, boxes, the works!) who insisted on trying to shoehorn themselves and their possessions into every last available centimetre on the bus. It was at this point that my new neighbour decides to plug himself into the on-bus entertainment system and starts listening to a wailing Brazilian female vocalist at full volume. He then starts singing along with all his heart… Then half the bus (also plugged in) joins in! I hope they didn’t think I was rude when I spent the next ten minutes giggling.</p> <p>The next few hours pass without incident. The bus stops. Lots of people start getting their bags and getting off the bus. This must be a popular stop… In fact, <em>everyone </em>is getting off the bus with all their possessions, except the man who sits beside me (because I’m blocking him in), he’s no longer singing (thank god for small mercies), but he’s now looking at me like I’m a total moron. He then starts gabbling at me in Portuguese, then the driver comes over and starts babbling at me in Portuguese. It becomes clear that they really think I should get off the bus too. Being pretty sure I wasn’t yet in Salvador, I wasn’t over keen on their opinion as you can understand, but what are you to do? </p> <p>I gather together my possessions and, trying really hard not to burst into tears, I get off the bus and am herded onto one of two very small, very cramped, very hot minibuses (bus number two). It’s at this point that I start making up all sorts of theories why this is happening, not many of them are positive. All I know for sure is that I REALLY don’t want to spend the night here.</p> <p>These theories become more weird and wonderful over the next hour as we are driven through some random Brazilian town. After this I was very relieved to be herded back on board another big air-conditioned bus with nice reclining seats (bus number three). I try not to notice that it’s not quite as nice at the first one and in fact smells a bit funny. Over the next few hours, I start to notice the smell more and more. When the air conditioning breaks down a few hours later and the smell takes over the entire bus it become apparent that it is in fact the smell of the on-board toilet. The smell gradually builds up to a stench as it is impossible to open any windows or any doors.</p> <p>At six in the morning the driver (in his own separate little compartment) finally clocks what’s going on (by which time I’m sitting holding my nose and breathing through a blanket) and we are again instructed (in what I’m sure would have been very concise Portuguese, if only I understood it) that we are to move buses, again (bus number four). </p> <p>You can imagine that after this, every time we stopped I was engulfed by a wave of paranoia that had me packing all my things back into my bag ready to make a dash for the next bus to appear. Luckily this never actually happened again.</p> <p>Eventually after 28 and a half hours we finally roll into Salvador. Not quite the relaxing experience I was hoping for. Get me to a beach… I’m a nervous wreck!</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://philgonesouth.blog.co.uk/2007/03/05/the_bus_trip~1850540/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:philgonesouth.blog.co.uk,2007-02-26:/2007/02/26/the_truth_about_rio~1808788/philk2007-02-26T16:37:47+01:002007-02-26T16:37:47+01:00 <p>Right. Me and a couple of friends sat down after Carnival and had a chat about what we would blog/email home about the Rio Carnival. The question being, do you pick out the good bits polish them up and put a rosey glow on things to make it sound fantastic, or do you tell the truth? In a way it´s almost like admitting defeat to say that you came here and ´didn´t have the most amazing time´. It pursuaded me to write....</p> <p>The Truth About Rio</p> <p>Throughout South America, and maybe the world, Rio De Janerio (River of January) at the time of Carnival has the reputation of ´The biggest party on earth´, supported by sayings such as ´no one knows how to party like the Brazillians´. This maybe true. Unfortunatly, what IS true is that there is a staggeringly high rate of crime against tourists, much of that crime is violent and if you are being parted from any money, you can lay bets that you´re being ripped off.</p> <p>I´ve been to a lot of places and been told dire warnings about crime and over caughtous advice on how to protect yourself. I have always pretty much ignored it and been fine. Not so in Rio. Over a four day period, four out of the five people I was hanging out with had either been mugged or had and attempted mugging, we´d all been massively ripped off by taxi drivers randomly driving though the (massive and confusing) city for hours and had heard numerous reports of people being held up with broken bottles, knives and rocks.</p> <p>Ok, nothing has happend to me, but for a carnival where most of the fun to be had involves wandering the streets at night searching for rumoured block parties (blockas) it does kind of impead the fun your supposed to be having.</p> <p>Having said all this, there were some wickid times to be had.</p> <p>Everyone said that if you´re going to see a live football match, you have to do it in Brazil. They are football mad here (not supprising, seeing as they are actually GOOD at it). So we decided to go and see a local league match between Vasco and Fulimines. Forget English football man! These guys, don´t just sing or chant... At the home sides goal end, they had and entire samba band beating out a rythmic primail beat which was accompanied by thousands of fans chanting and singing a constantly changing set of lyrics. And at five or six differant points, five meter flags where being waved in the air. You just couldn´t imagine this happening in Europe, the Brazillians have a exuberance and a rythm that was really facinating to watch.</p> <p>We headed for this part because it looked the most atmospheric. It was, but it was also the area which had the most fights. At one point we had to litterally run out of the way. After the first fight broke out, we noticed that the police had dispenced with their regular night sticks and replaced them with four foot long battons!</p> <p>On another night, coming home after a night on the local rum, we got accosted by a group of ten or so teenage boys. Somthing that if it happened in England would have scared the crap out of me. But here it involved them leaping on us and dancing us round a big circle on the metro plaform singing and jumping up and down.</p> <p>We also did manage to make it to one blocka, a random collection of people standing on a street corner with random sound systems and beer sellers which was a brilliant way of actually interacting with the locals. Again after a few rums it became easier to let go of irrational fear of being mugged or robbed and actually start appreciating the friendliness and sociablity that the Brazillians are famous for.</p> <p>On our final day we were taken into the famous favellas (slums). Rio is a bizar city which is broken up by a serise of steep hills right in the middle of everything. This is where the favellas have sprung up, which means that the very poorest inhabitants are living right side by side with some of the richest. This explains why crime is so rife, becuase povity is litterally everywhere. We were taken up into one of these by a local inhabitant right by Copacabana beach. What has supprised me right across south america is that the really poor people look just like everybody else. They don´t seem to see any reason that just because they are poor that they shouldn´t make an effort with their appearance, dress nicely, do their hair etc. You can´t help but respect them for it, but coming from my culture it does make you less inclined to give them money, cos they don´t really look like they need it. When you see them in the slums which they live in, it really is a stark contrast to how they look themselves.</p> <p>The whole experience felt very safe except for when our guide started chatting away to some chap and I noticed that he had a gun casually tucked into his waste band. When I asked our guide why, he casually replied... ´oh it´s because he´s a criminal´. At this point in my haste to remove myself from his vacinity, I slipped over and fell on my arse. Nice work Phil.</p> <p>Next I´m off to Salvador which is supposed to be smaller, which will be a welcome change. First however I´ve got to get past my first proper South American bus journey. 26 hours of it.</p> <p>More on that later... </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://philgonesouth.blog.co.uk/2007/02/26/the_truth_about_rio~1808788/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:philgonesouth.blog.co.uk,2007-02-21:/2007/02/21/road_to_rio~1782323/philk2007-02-21T22:08:09+01:002007-02-21T22:08:57+01:00 <p>Our final stop before Rio was a little town called Paraty. Apparently a popular holiday spot for the Brazillians. It was here you could really start to feel the anticipation for carnival. In the lots surrounding our campsite the beat of samba bands rehursing became more and more prominant. Early nights became impossible and therfore what was one to do except spend the time one would normally spend sleeping sampleing one of Brazil´s most famous exports, the capahrina (a mixture of local sugar cane rum, sugar, lime and lots of ice). </p> <p>This is where the travelling section of my trip is suspended and the holiday part comes into play. So... bbq´s, boat trips, beaches, cocktails and ice cream start to play a major part in my days. Life is tough.</p> <p>On our first full day me and a pal decided to head out of town a bit and go out to a waterfall which acts as a giant water slide. We walked up the side of the waterfall hoping to be able to hike to the top through the jungle. There wasn´t really a trail, but we struck out anyway, then when the trail really did come to the end ´someone´ had the idea that it might be fun to try and climb up the waterfall. I was litterally up to my knees in water with my boots tied to my back and my bag held over my head that i saw myself on the front page of the bbc news website, and decided to turn back.</p> <p>It wasn´t just the sheer stupidity of what i was about to do, it was also that i remembered that the person i was with wasn´t just the cute blonde doctor of volcanos who´s really into capoara that she first appears to be. This is also the girl who got herself arrested in the middle east for punching a sailor, who wrestled her bag back off a potential mugger and who has openly admitted that she didn´t expect to make it past 25. I think there are better people to go free jungle hiking with.</p> <p>On the way down I got a free tour of local rocks and then we panned for gold in the river, finding massive chunks of the stuff. And no, I didn´t keep it. If any of you have any idea how you process the gold so as to make any money you are welcome to give me a hard time about that.</p> <p>Next stop Rio... </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://philgonesouth.blog.co.uk/2007/02/21/road_to_rio~1782323/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:philgonesouth.blog.co.uk,2007-02-12:/2007/02/12/living_in_a_puddle~1729320/philk2007-02-12T20:11:02+01:002007-02-12T20:11:02+01:00 <p>Welcome to Brazil! The land of endless torrential rain it would seem!</p> <p>You wouldn´t credit it would you? I suppose if you are anywhere for three months it´s got to rain a bit but.... grrrr!</p> <p>So we cross the boarder from Paraguary in to Brazil and head for Iguazu falls. This was one of the highlights of the trip for me (and everyone else surely) so you´ll understand how pissed off I was when I got dengy feaver. No really... I did have it! I got it for the night... 24 hour dengy feaver... it´s true! Well some kind of feaver anyway.</p> <p>If any of you have ever had a feaver in a tent in extream humidity then you´ll know that it´s not pleasant, but luckily by the time it was time to get up to go to the falls I was all better. Hurrah! </p> <p>To see the falls from the Argentinian side we had to cross the boarder BACK into Argentina AGAIN! When we got there the first thing they did was take us out in a boat to look at the falls from the bottom. For those of you that don´t know about Iguazu Falls they are some of the longest in the world, spanning over 2km in length and rising 80 meters. There are over 270 individual waterfalls. Most of these are on the Argentinian side so it´s hard to see them all at once. So as the boat sped round the corner we were faced with about 10 or so falls, pretty impressive... they took us right up to them, closer, then a bit closer... it was only at that point that I realised that we were actually going right under them. How much fun was that??!?! They took us under about 4 times...brilliant!</p> <p>By the time we´d been at the falls for a few hours I was kind of thinking that maybe I´d seen enough, but then we started to walk out to ´Devil´s Throat´, for something to be genuinly cool it has to have a name like that. If it was called ´fluffy pants´ it just wouldn´t have been as good. Anyway this is the largest of all the falls and as we approached the sun properlly came out for the first time that day. Unfortunatly you had to fight the crowds to get to the front, the whole time thinking, ´just bloody take your photo and get out of the way´, however once you got there you could understand why people stopped to stare. It was mesmerising! </p> <p>A horse shoe shaped falls with a river (1km wide) flowing over at such a rate that the water actually appeared to be going in slow motion then as the falls curve round to the side the falls break down into two tears of falls. </p> <p>You can´t even see the bottom because the spray reaches so far up, and oh my god, you´ve never seeen so many rainbows in one place. On top of this the whole area round the falls acutally has swarms of butterflys. It really is a beautiful place.</p> <p>The next day we went back, this time to visit the brazilian side. How many times can you see one set of waterfalls? The answer is... loads! Today´s highlight was the helicopter ride over the falls. I wasn´t convinced that this was worth it at 45 quid for a 12 minute flight, but holy jesus! Yay!</p> <p>First of all I´ve never been in a chopper before, and it´s so much fun. As you approach it you kind of expect it to go into slow-mo like in the movies... alas my life fails to mimic hollywood yet again. However I did managed to get the front seat though with a glass floor (urrrrgh). Take off was by far the best bit. 12 minutes seemed to last a very long time. First of all it was beatiful flying over miles of rain forest, then you glimps the falls. Yeah yeah yeah, seen them before... loads in fact but from the air they really are amazing! From this hight all of the spray from the falls actually looks rainbow coloured. First pass around them and you think you´ve done only to find that a steep bank (arrrrrrrrrgh) turns you and you are approaching them from right down the middle and much lower. As the helicopter decended back down to earth I was grinning like and idiot.</p> <p>Then.... you´ve guessed it, more falls (after a stop at a bird park where I was nearly eaten by a parrot). This view you could actually see all of them in one go, and again... totally amazing. You could just stay there for hours and hours because in front of you is a waterfall that by any standards is impressive, then you move your eyes a little and there is another, and another and another, for miles! It was a sad moment when we left knowing that I´d probably never come back.</p> <p>I was sad to leave Foz de Iguazu (litteral translation of Falls Of Big Water in the local dialect), all and all had a lovely time there (even with the dengy feaver). </p> <p>Currently in the race to Rio for the legendary Carnival (the biggest party on earth), unfortunatly this seems to involve stopping of in some of the smallest, wettest, insect infested misserable little campsites in the middle of nowhere you´ve ever seen. I have litterally been living in a puddle.</p> <p>Only three more nights left in a tent now, and have at least managed to procure one for myself. Yay!</p> <p>Rio in 3 days! </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://philgonesouth.blog.co.uk/2007/02/12/living_in_a_puddle~1729320/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:philgonesouth.blog.co.uk,2007-02-05:/2007/02/05/frogs_hookers_and_a_brand_new_country~1687527/philk2007-02-05T21:01:23+01:002007-02-05T21:01:23+01:00 <p>Well finally met up with the group when they rolled up in BA. It was like I´d known them my whole life and not seen them for years. Nuts how quickly you get to know people when you spend every day with them outside your normal environment.</p> <p>It´s funny trying to sum up the personalities on this kind of trip. This kind of trip I don´t really class as travelling as it´s just way to easy. I´ve got incredibly lazy as you are driven everywhere, shown stuff, get back on the bus and go somewhere else. I´m taking this as a nice break before starting the more challenging bit but some people here just wouldn´t travel any other way: I find it really baffelling because the main reason I´m here is to challenge myself and spend some pleasant time being lost in order to appreciate being found again and all the good stuff you discover on the way. Does this make me some sort of crazy? I´ll be interested to see what other people think when I get off this truck.</p> <p>Am I being very limited in thinking that when your in a city there really isn´t much to do except get stupidly drunk and go shopping? Musiums? Art Gallerys? Churches? Eh? </p> <p>So yeah... the rest of the time in BA was spent pretty much nocturnally and a bit wobbly but finally braved looking stupid and started trying to chat to the locals. If I could just get over being so English and not wanting to bother anyone I´m sure I could actually do this all the time. I now know the size of the famillies of several attractive, young, male argentinans and have established that they have lived in buenos aries their whole lives and that they like it there. Ta da! Facinating stuff ;-) </p> <p>On leaving the city the fist place we stopped off was a bit of a contrast... camping in a service station/truck park complete with argentinian truck drivers and the local "entertainment".... if the trucks a´rockin´ don´t come knocking, and infact run away, far away! (trying to avoid the mosquitos and the frogs)</p> <p>Have now arrived in Paraguy. This wasn´t of much interest to me when I booked the trip so didn´t really think about it much. I had no idea it was actually one of the poorest countries in the whole of south america. We´re currently in the capital city which is a totally bizzar place. It feels like a small town in the middle of nowhere. There´s litterally nothing here and the only buildings that don´t look totally run down are the embassies. </p> <p>The streets here are very hassley and because they speak a mishmash of spanish and local dialect it"s impossible to tell wheather they want to sell you something or are trying to chat you up. I started off by smilling and saying thank you. Of course if they were in fact trying the latter this could get you into trouble.... I might just try sticking my fingers in my ears and running away. Mainly cos it´s funny, but also because if they think your totally insane maybe they´ll leave you alone?</p> <p>I also don´t think that I´ve ever been anywhere this hot. The two days we´ve been here it´s been 40 degrees in the shade. Today this is fine as I have aircon... tomorrow we´re heading towards iguazu falls where there are rumour of 100% humidity (surely that´s just like being under water), swarms of mozzies and we´re camping. Hurrah!</p> <p>All of a sudden February in the UK doesn´t sound all that bad ;-)</p> <p>On the count down to Rio... 10 days and counting... </p> <p>Oh and also must mention my friends Laura and Katie... I´ve told them that my entire blog focuses on them and they´ll be awfully disappointed if they don´t at least get a mention. Laura and Katie, Laura and Katie... they are here too..... tra la la.... Laura and Katie..... </p> <p>the end. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://philgonesouth.blog.co.uk/2007/02/05/frogs_hookers_and_a_brand_new_country~1687527/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:philgonesouth.blog.co.uk,2007-01-28:/2007/01/28/wounded_she_struggled_back_to_civilizati~1640905/philk2007-01-28T23:30:56+01:002007-01-28T23:30:56+01:00 <p>Ok, maybe that´s a touch dramatic but only slightly.</p> <p>Finally, after much missunderstanding, near tears, fat american tourists and classic latin style shrugging I finally got on a horse in San Antonio. Had a bit of a ride which finished with the little shit dragging me full pelt under some branches and gashing (ok, scrating) my shoulder... It was bloody sore mind! Especially once they´d finished lobbing it with neat iodene (ouchy ouchy ouch ouch).</p> <p>So with that, about a million mossy bites and a helping of sunburn I limped back to Buenos aries feeling a touch sorry for myself,(I really am such a brit abroad... could some one please send me out some union jack boxer shorts and a crate of stella?).</p> <p>Finally get to spend some time in Buenos Aries. I´ve heard fantastic things about this city and they are deserved, what a great place. </p> <p>Maybe I´m just saying this because I´ve spent the previous fortnight in the middle of nowhere, but it´s so great to be back in the city. </p> <p>It combines the cosmpolitan feel and choice of a European city with the warmth of the latins and the whether and cheapness of South America (and holy shit the boys are pretty too). I wouldn´t be exagerating to say that it might just be the best of all the worlds. Plus, any town where you can get a glass of wine for 80p has my nod.</p> <p>The other great thing is that after a few weeks on a bus where everyone knows everything that´s going on, and two days in a town where everyone stares at you for not being local, having some anonimity is actually really refresing. The kind that can only really be found in a big city.</p> <p>Actually maybe just a bit to much anonimity as the people I´d made tentative plans to meet up with seem to have vanished with no way of contacting them... But am finally getting used to being totally alone.</p> <p>To sum up Argentia from my impressions so far... horses, mountains, steak, tango, wine (repeat, ad infinitum). yay! </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://philgonesouth.blog.co.uk/2007/01/28/wounded_she_struggled_back_to_civilizati~1640905/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:philgonesouth.blog.co.uk,2007-01-25:/2007/01/25/going_solo~1623099/philk2007-01-25T23:30:31+01:002007-01-25T23:30:31+01:00 <p>Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiit!</p> <p>Merrily I´ve wandered off on my lonesome.... SCARY!</p> <p>Well, not so much scary as... daunting.</p> <p>Flew into Buenos Aries last night and figured that a city on your own isn´t the best place to be, so found a place in the rough guide that sounded good for riding and got a bus out this morning. Just about managed to bimble through getting a couple of busses. I know this doesn´t sound like a big deal, but when you´re doing it in a foreign language on your own and for the first time, when you finally get on the RIGHT bus it was a bit of a rush I tell you. Especially seeing as for the last few weeks I really have been exceptionally lazy and have relied entirely on other people to sort stuff out.</p> <p>Oh by the way, Mish, you were right, busses in South America rock the house! How comfy are they? I could have stayed there all day!</p> <p>So anyway... off the bus in San Antonio... in the pissing rain and start walking into town, which is completly shut down for siesta and remains so for the next four hours. Yay!</p> <p>I kind of get the impression that I might well be the only tourist in the whole town... This is ofcourse surely the ideal of anyone who wants to get the grass roots of a country and talk to the locals... unfortunatly I also seem to be the only person who speaks any English. It´s amazing how many indepth conversations you can have about, saying hello, listing food types, counting to 1000, saying how many people you have in your familly, ie, the depth of my spanish... (let me tell you now it is exactly.... none). I´ve become a fricking expert at smilling and trying to look intellegent (OK, I´d had practice at that one), and leaping around gesticulating like a wally (ok, ok, that one too).</p> <p>This is a very pretty little place though, I think it´s spanish colonial style archtecture but I can´t be sure. I´m sure it would be even prettier when the sun was shinning. Hopefully I´ll get to see more of it on horseback tommorrow. I´m fast coming to the conclusion that this is the best way to see everything. And more steak.... oh god the steak is good! </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://philgonesouth.blog.co.uk/2007/01/25/going_solo~1623099/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:philgonesouth.blog.co.uk,2007-01-24:/2007/01/24/penguins_march_to_the_end_of_the_world~1612948/philk2007-01-24T13:54:11+01:002007-01-24T13:54:11+01:00 <p>Seeing penguins not on ice is dead weird. They just look like they don"t belong. After all the excitment about the penguins I was actually a little underwhelmed. The walk though, is still very very funny.</p> <p>So, on to the end of the world. You would expect the end of the world to be a little dramatic. You know, storms of ice or horsemen or huddled local induit types covered in seal fat and living in shacks, staring into the abyss that heads out towards antartica. In fact it"s a nice little tourist town with boats and resturants and irish pubs (they get everywhere and are starting to be a bit of a pet hate seeing as the people I"m with dont seem to want to drink anywhere else).</p> <p>The obsession with penguins here is imense! Shops full of penguins (wooden ones, marble ones, cuddly ones, penguins on post cards), then you have people dressed up as penguins and endless trips to see penguins. In fact, i"m a bit fucking bored of penguins!</p> <p>We took the obligitory boat tour out to see, yes... penguins, and sealions and also loads of birds and islands out in the beagle channel. Really really beautiful and totally deserted. The whether here has been fantastic which apparently is unheard of which has made stuff like the walks we"ve done in the national park really really lovely. (is it bad though that the best bit was the cake and wine we had at the end?)</p> <p>I"m sorry the end of the world wasn"t more biblical. What can you do? </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://philgonesouth.blog.co.uk/2007/01/24/penguins_march_to_the_end_of_the_world~1612948/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:philgonesouth.blog.co.uk,2007-01-22:/2007/01/22/towers_of_pain_e~1602870/philk2007-01-22T21:18:40+01:002007-01-22T21:18:40+01:00 <p>When we were driving into the Torres Del Paine national park I was being told about a trek that I would be able to do called the towers of pain walk. No kidding, and this is supposed to be enjoyable!</p> <p>I declined and instead decided to do the grey glacier walk. Seemed nice enough, 3.5 hours there before I really realised that I also had to come back! Ok, all fine, until about half an hour later the torrential rain and the gale force wind had started. By this time I had also walked on ahead from the main group and was on my own, bricking it about being lost and dying of exposure :-S</p> <p>three hours later, soaked to the skin and freezing cold I made it to the pick up point in order to stand in what now feels like hale waiting for the boat for half an hour.</p> <p>By the time we got back from camp the rest of the group where bricking it, thinking that we"d got lost, collapsed, or caught hypothermia. Luckily this meant that they had set up a fire, made us tea and stew and treated us like celebs for the rest of the night.</p> <p>Makes you wander though... if that walk was like that, how bad would the pain walk have been?</p> <p>Thankfully the rest of my time there wasn"t as dramatic. In fact seeing as the view out of the front of my tent was the actual snow capped towers themselves, in front of a clear turquoise lake, actually it was pretty dam cool. Got some truely fantastic horse riding in too.</p> <p>Next... I go to the end of the world. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://philgonesouth.blog.co.uk/2007/01/22/towers_of_pain_e~1602870/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:philgonesouth.blog.co.uk,2007-01-19:/2007/01/19/in_a_funny_cycle_oh_and_big_ice~1584533/philk2007-01-19T21:13:31+01:002007-01-19T21:13:31+01:00 <p>So after Pucon we crossed the Chilien-Argentinian boarder (first land boarder crossing for me and I was quite excited), it takes bloody hours of standing in queues but I got two more stamps in my previously very untouched passport so all to the good. Then the rest of the drive to Bariloche.</p> <p>Bariloche is one of the places I was excited about going because of beautiful sceanery, stuff like white water rafting, riding and a beatifull town. Unfortunatly we were only due to spend a day there. I´m starting to see the down side of not being able to plan your own itinerary. Then for various reasons didn´t see much of anything I wanted to see, but did however do a 40km bike ride. I shit you not, and yes it did really hurt the next day.</p> <p>Really great to do it though, as I´m sure you know it is entirely what I would not have done should I have been at home. Really amazing that I know that I can do something like that without my legs falling off ;-)</p> <p>After this was another massive bus journey (2 days straight actually) to see the marino glacier. Up until recently this was the worlds only advancing glacier. It is also currently ´calving´ which means that big old massive chunks will fall off it every half an hour or so. If you stood there and watched bits of ice about 15 meters high would slowly crack and fall into the icey water below. For a few seconds following this it was fairly unimpressive, but after a moment a huge splash of water would jet 60 meters in the air whilst the water below would boil for what seemed like minutes on end.</p> <p>The group I´m travelling with are a good laugh. Lots of Ozzy´s, Irish and Brits. Holy Jesus though, are the Australian´s capable of not abbreviating absolutly everything or adding and ó´ to the end of it? I shall have to check with Jimbo and ross´co about that.</p> <p>Alot of them have been on the road (and more specifically on this bus) for over two months now, so I´ve stumbled in on a load of prexisting tensions and politics which has been ´fun´. I´ve decided to leave them to their own devices for a few days and fly from Ushuaia (the most southern city in the world) to BA cutting about 5 solid days of driving which hopefully means I´ve got more time to hang out with the gouchos, eat steak and learn the tango.</p> <p>Oh yeah, saw pengiuns today, they are just like they are in the zoo, but with less fish being thrown around. Picturs to follow but having tech problems.</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://philgonesouth.blog.co.uk/2007/01/19/in_a_funny_cycle_oh_and_big_ice~1584533/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:philgonesouth.blog.co.uk,2007-01-14:/2007/01/14/more_meat_than_you_could_poke_a_meat_sti~1555763/philk2007-01-14T23:53:13+01:002007-01-14T23:53:13+01:00 <p>We had been told about a trip to ´willie´s place´, well, you just go don´t you? It´s going to make a kind of story...</p> <p>Driving up over the brow of a grassy hill to see an adillic setting of a little wooden shack with a traditional Argentinian asado bbq sunk into the ground and smoking gently in front set amongst trees with a couple chickens, a trout pond and a couple of horses tethered outside, all for our personal enjoyment (I don´t think anyone actually ´enjoyed´ the chickens, but I would have to check).</p> <p>An evening of riding, drinking local wine, more (half pissed) ridding, singing and dancing, singing and most importantly eating ensued...</p> <p>Fresh trout pulled straight out of the pond and bbq´d, sides of beatiful salted beef carved straight of the bone into melting thin slices, marinated pork ribs and the most amazing selection of salads I´ve ever seen.</p> <p>So if any one asks you to go to Willie´s place... just say YES! </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://philgonesouth.blog.co.uk/2007/01/14/more_meat_than_you_could_poke_a_meat_sti~1555763/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:philgonesouth.blog.co.uk,2007-01-09:/2007/01/09/phil_v_the_volcano_and_the_great_poo_con~1534248/philk2007-01-09T18:48:47+01:002007-01-09T18:48:47+01:00 <p>13 and a half hours of bus journey later and I´m now in a small town called pucon, which is the place that I´d arranged to do the volcano trek from. People were shouting numbers at me for how high this thing is supposed to be, but to be honest it didn´t really mean much if you don´t really know about mountains. </p> <p>However as we drove into town someone pointed this thing out.... It was bloody enourmous! I´m not joking, it had clouds about the top!! After expressing my ´concern´ about this, I was told that it was ok and not to worry because I would be supplied with crampons and an ice pick!!!! (which as you can imagine totally dismissed my fears).</p> <p>The day started cloudy and we were concerned that we might not be able to walk due to poor visablity. (Well, concerned aka secretly hoping). But as we drove up to the starting point we came out above the low lying cloud into blazing sunshine to be confronted with the absolutly massive mount Villarico (Still very active having last errupted in 1983).</p> <p>It is without a doubt the most physically demarding thing that I´ve EVER done, and did wander several times towards the top if I could ever face doing something of the kind again. It just carried on and on for hour after hour (4 in total), one foot in front of the other seemingly endlessly, the gradient getting steaper and steaper. As you looked back all you could see was low lying cloud with dark green mountains poking up through the top which the guide called ´cloud lake´, it really was exceptionally beautiful. Then as we reached the final leg coming up to the crater the cloud suddenly cleared and we were confonted with the most amazing view I´ve ever seen, it literally went for miles and miles of mountains and massive lakes (photos uploaded in the next day or two).</p> <p>As the top we were supposed to be able to look down into the crater and see magmer but unfortunatly there wasn´t any to be seen. Just a big facefull of sulphur gas.</p> <p>It was at this point I found out that we weren´t due to climb back down. No, we were going to be sliding down on our arses! Oh my god, I´ve never had so much fun in my whole life! shooting down 2800 meters of snow capped volcano going about 40 miles an hour looking at THAT view, with the sun blazing down on you. Absolutly amazing. It was that moment that I realised that it was a Monday and most people I know would just be at work. I have to admit a little smugnes (sorry).</p> <p>Today was white water rafting, but it was a bit tame so I´ll tell you about it when I´ve done it again and a it´s a bit more hardcore.</p> <p>Right, must go, got an Argentinian style bbq to go to and horse to ride.... </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://philgonesouth.blog.co.uk/2007/01/09/phil_v_the_volcano_and_the_great_poo_con~1534248/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:philgonesouth.blog.co.uk,2007-01-06:/2007/01/06/soy_gringa~1521629/philk2007-01-06T17:23:50+01:002007-01-06T17:23:50+01:00 <p>First of all the feeling was ´arrrrrrrrrrrrgh!´</p> <p>It changed when I was checking in a Heathrow to ´What the hell am I doing, this is such a stupid idea!´</p> <p>Then (as i flew over the Andies capped in snow, or seeing the bright orange slash of sunrise from the air - there really is nothing like a sunrise from the air!), the feeling changed to... ´I´m a bloody genius´ ;-)</p> <p>What I found out yesterday is that all tourists in this part of the world are called gringos (or gringas). I never knew what it meant before.... I definatly never thought I´d be one as I had an impression that you had to be decked out in a poncho, stuble you could sandpaper and sporting a cigar.... I´ll work on that.</p> <p>Chilie is a little more afluent than I was hoping. Don´t get me wrong, it´s not like I want it´s population to live in abject povity so that I can come along and get a culture shock, but it really is alarmingly western (with the most shops that just sell pants I`ve EVER seen *pop fact which may one day assist you in trivial pursuit). Well that was my first impression anyway. But what I´d forgetten about South America is that it´s the people who make it special. For someone who spends their time contemplating their own cultural characteristics and how they limit me, watching the lust these people have for life and how little they let inhibition affect them is fantastic to watch, and whilst your here you let it creep into you a little too.</p> <p>They are also disarmingly cheesey, but for some reason, it suits them and they just get away with it. Bless them :-)</p> <p>Of course you see this kind of thing in the evening mostly, so yes, my idea about not drinking has swiftly and firmly sprinted out of the window :-S</p> <p>The best thing is that people here seem to know how to salsa even though it´s not indigenous to here chilie doesn´t seem to have a national dance so have adopted salsa and merenge (sorry, for what i´m sure is a totally shocking spelling of that!). It´s so brilliant to see a dance floor of a bunch of normal people who are all dancing together, man and woman together.</p> <p>We head out of Santiago tomorrow morning into the country side and off to climb an active volcano (so active that the treck might actually be cancelled if it looks if it´s going to erupt or the sulphur fumes are to strong). And again, kind of back to - ´what the hell am I doing´ </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://philgonesouth.blog.co.uk/2007/01/06/soy_gringa~1521629/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>