We've traversed an awful lot of continent since we last spoke.
Unfortunately we don´t have much time to tell you about it, since we need to go and celebrate having sucessfully crossed the Colombian border in a daring night-time mission with disguises and zip lines and stuff.
Suffice to say all is well, and that we hope to be back in the UK on the 23rd December (fingers crossed). You can see some highlights of the final stages of our journey here (including scary giant dinosaur monsters in the park).
Tomorrow we have to journey across Colombia in a tiny plane, and then somehow make our way into Venezuela. WOOP! Should be a laugh!
Looking forward to seeing you all soon
xxx
Friday, 18 December 2009
Sunday, 13 December 2009
Peru photos
Some photos of the Peru leg here.
Including Iquitos, Lima, Nazca, Cusco, Machu Pichu and Huaraz.
Including Iquitos, Lima, Nazca, Cusco, Machu Pichu and Huaraz.
Some other things that have happened recently
Righty-ho. Hello again! This update is coming to you from the town of Trujillo, somewhere towards the northerny middly coasty bit of Peru. Most of what I have to say however will not concern Trujillo, because we´ve only just arrived, and all we have to report so far is that their banana pancakes are very big and that almost everything is closed on Sundays. Last night was spent on another extremely comfortable bus which took us all the way from Huaraz, using the medium of Forrest Gump to pass the time. This excellent film was marred only slightly by the Spanish dubbing which made the protaganist sound less stupid than he really is and by the fact that the subtitles (strangely also in Spanish) appeared to be telling a completely different story to the dialogue. Enjoyable none the less.
Speaking of enjoyment, Huaraz was really extremely good. I can´t emphasize this enough - it was VERY NICE INDEED. What made it so good were the mountains. There are lots of them, they´re very high and covered in snow and best of all we went and camped in them for a week. Totally brilliant. Some of them, for example, look like this:
Upon arriving in Huaraz, we stumbled a lot and felt dreadful, on account of the way in which we had spent the preceeding two days (see Steph´s post below). Afterwards, we found a friendly Peruvian women with whom we conversed in Spanish (something which we are increasingly finding to be possible, which is nice). She took us to her hotel and rented us a tent, some sleeping bags, a big canister of gas and some spoons. Then we got on a bus which went up some PROPER MENTAL little roads through the mountains. Miraculously it didn´t fall off (although we did have to change a tyre twice) and took us here instead. Then we headed off into the hills, like the intrepid explorers that we are. I say hills - actually they´re REAL MOUNTAINS - we started walking at 3,200 m, and our highest point was a 4,800 m pass. It´s actually quite difficult to breathe at that sort of height, especially with a big rucsac on your back, but we managed to survive none the less. It being the middle of the rainy season, it rained a lot, but that was OK, and made the cozy snugness of our tent and the warming goodness of our noodle soup all the more welcome at the end of a day´s walking. We saw some absolutely spectacular scenery - huge snow-capped peaks, lush green valleys and the most amazing blue-green, crystal clear glacial lakes. The advantage of the rainy season is that hardly anyone else is stupid enough to attempt trekking, which meant that we pretty much had the whole moutain range to ourselves - really superb. Highly recommended to anyone of a mountainy disposition. Also of note was Steph´s new found skill of bull scarer-offing, which was absolutely priceless to watch of a morning - youtube evidence to follow shortly. Having covered over 50 miles of Andean mountain and climbed a total of over 2 km, we eventually arrived exhausted back in Huaraz, via an equally spine-tinglingly terrifying bus ride. Since we´re now in a bit of a mad rush to make it back to Caracas in time for our flight home, we barely had time to scrape the mud, dead skin and blood off our feet before having to head for the station to take the aforementioned bus here to Trujillo (although we just about managed to find time to fill ourselves with cheese before leaving.)
After extracting ourselves from this intenet cafe, we´re going to head off to the beach for a few hours (assuming this is not also closed), and then it´s more bussy magic tonight - this time up to Tumbez, near the Equadorian border. The crossing into Equador is apparently billed as ´worst border crossing in South America´, so that should be a laugh. Assuming all goes well there, it´s on to Quito, and then up to the border with Colombia to try to negotiate our way back to Venezuela.
Much love to all, and we look forward to seeing you all again soon!
xxx
Speaking of enjoyment, Huaraz was really extremely good. I can´t emphasize this enough - it was VERY NICE INDEED. What made it so good were the mountains. There are lots of them, they´re very high and covered in snow and best of all we went and camped in them for a week. Totally brilliant. Some of them, for example, look like this:
Upon arriving in Huaraz, we stumbled a lot and felt dreadful, on account of the way in which we had spent the preceeding two days (see Steph´s post below). Afterwards, we found a friendly Peruvian women with whom we conversed in Spanish (something which we are increasingly finding to be possible, which is nice). She took us to her hotel and rented us a tent, some sleeping bags, a big canister of gas and some spoons. Then we got on a bus which went up some PROPER MENTAL little roads through the mountains. Miraculously it didn´t fall off (although we did have to change a tyre twice) and took us here instead. Then we headed off into the hills, like the intrepid explorers that we are. I say hills - actually they´re REAL MOUNTAINS - we started walking at 3,200 m, and our highest point was a 4,800 m pass. It´s actually quite difficult to breathe at that sort of height, especially with a big rucsac on your back, but we managed to survive none the less. It being the middle of the rainy season, it rained a lot, but that was OK, and made the cozy snugness of our tent and the warming goodness of our noodle soup all the more welcome at the end of a day´s walking. We saw some absolutely spectacular scenery - huge snow-capped peaks, lush green valleys and the most amazing blue-green, crystal clear glacial lakes. The advantage of the rainy season is that hardly anyone else is stupid enough to attempt trekking, which meant that we pretty much had the whole moutain range to ourselves - really superb. Highly recommended to anyone of a mountainy disposition. Also of note was Steph´s new found skill of bull scarer-offing, which was absolutely priceless to watch of a morning - youtube evidence to follow shortly. Having covered over 50 miles of Andean mountain and climbed a total of over 2 km, we eventually arrived exhausted back in Huaraz, via an equally spine-tinglingly terrifying bus ride. Since we´re now in a bit of a mad rush to make it back to Caracas in time for our flight home, we barely had time to scrape the mud, dead skin and blood off our feet before having to head for the station to take the aforementioned bus here to Trujillo (although we just about managed to find time to fill ourselves with cheese before leaving.)
After extracting ourselves from this intenet cafe, we´re going to head off to the beach for a few hours (assuming this is not also closed), and then it´s more bussy magic tonight - this time up to Tumbez, near the Equadorian border. The crossing into Equador is apparently billed as ´worst border crossing in South America´, so that should be a laugh. Assuming all goes well there, it´s on to Quito, and then up to the border with Colombia to try to negotiate our way back to Venezuela.
Much love to all, and we look forward to seeing you all again soon!
xxx
Motion, lots of motion, and sickness, a bit more sickness.
But don´t get me wrong - only in the best possible way. Just as funfairs always make you a little bit weird in the belly, so this whirlwind trip has kept us On the Edge of Nausea.
In Nazca we were hot downhill champs for a day, o yes. Ski Sunday should be updated for the modern world and translated onto sand, with K and I presenting as we bomb downhill on weird wooden boards, that awesome theme tune covered by a clangy Peruvian mountain band ringing in the background. Sadly in reality you don´t actually travel that fast at all on wood on sand (though I hate to discolour your delciously highspeed account Kieran!)... Sandpaper has never been known for its smoothness, really, has it. Before hurling ourselves down The World´s Tallest Sanddune we were told that the world record - top to bottom - was SEVEN SECONDS. Aghast, we thought that sounded very fast. It turned out that ´top to bottom´ is in actual fact 3OO metres, once you´ve climbed up halfway from bottom, and that 7 seconds equates to about the pace of an averagely merry llama running downhill at average speed.
For all that cynicism both Kieran and I wowed our Peruvian guide by safely beating the world record hurtling downhill on our bums. Sandy, but the least stylish way is always the most effective.
Tick: motion-that-followed-sickness count 1.
Motion-that-followed-sickness count 2 took us both by extreme surprise. Having bravely dealt with churney boats, dodgy alligator and heady mountain heights, the last thing that should cause us trouble is a piddly little aeroplane flying a few feet above the desert, right?
Well! Nazca Home of The Highest Sandune Ever apparently landed on its tourist feet by also having been chosen by the ancient Nazca culture (1,100 B.C. – A.D. 750 FYI) as the perfect spot for drawing hundreds of giant hummingbirds, spiders, monkeys, fish, whales, llamas, and lizards in the sand. See figure below. To this day no one has a clue what they were for, or why they were there. This is mainly because the only way to see these lovely pictures is from the air (or google earth, which is also cheaper) and everyone´s almost dead certain that the ancient Nazcas did not have aeroplanes (yet to be proven) or google earth (proven).
By way of example, The Monkey:
This monkey is, no word of lie, roughly 250 metres wide. And it´s been there in the sand for HUNDREDs of years. Quite some staying power. Someone accidentally built a road through the tail of the lizard so that one looks less cool, apparently.
Ápparently´, because taking to the air in a hi-tech super-lite really-fun 4-seater desert plane, Steph discovered that her belly was REALLY bad at flying: I didn´t see a thing other than the ground wobbling as we took off and the door opening as I dashed through it to lie as flat as poss on the safe ground once we landed. Kieran valiantly snapped photos of every figure as we soared agonisingly one way round it, then the other way round it, so that i could at least look at the photos. Ridiculous. Not even telling myself that Michael Palin would´ve been down with it helped. The pilots and helpful grounds-people in neon jackets tell you that looking at the horizon helps. It does not. The horizon is impossible to find. Think cat in a see-through tumble-dryer plus sand.
But we ´did some culture´ though! Lonely Planet cultural activity achieved.
From Nazca and its sandy lines, via Lima again to Cusco (3395m above sea level), we checked into loco hostal Loki, partied too hard on white russians and warm Peruvian wine and began a monumental four-day trek to legendary Machu Pichu. Healthy bout of hangover and/or altitude sickness in tow. Lonely Planet says drinking aggravates altitude sickness. Kieran says it helps, and he´s going to be a doctor, so we went with his advice. Pehaps this was erroneous. Day 1 of The Expedition required mountain biking from 4200m to 2500m in hail, fog and headache with dubious brakes and an exquisitely large crevice constantly to one side of us. Hairy. But we have learnt that Motion + Sickness = FUN....
... Having dried out amongst the chickens in a tiny mountain foothill town (inadvertently eating some of their brothers as warming soup, oops), we set out marching through the forests of the Urumbamba River valley, Inca ruins-wards.
Palin would definitely have been down with this and most probably has walked the Inca Trail himself, but I thought it about time to try a new Patron Saint of travelling. Maybe we´d feel less sick. So, enter Mr. Hiram Bingham (very difficult for Peruvians to pronounce so it took us a while to figure out who he actually was). Tall, lanky, conservative Yale Professor and later US senator, he is probably the basis for the actual Indiana Jones character. FACT. More to the point, he got all excited about the Andes and the Incas and asked so many questions and went so far around Peru on petulant mules that he finally found Machu Pichu pretty much on his own in 1911. Wow. Definitely worth a try as a P.S. of travelling. He wrote a completely exciting book about his adventures creatively called ´Inca Land´ which is so good that the National Geographic have published it as one of the World´s Hundred Best Adventure Classics. Christmas read? It really is good. In fact, as naff as it is to quote (!!) someone else in a blog, he does way better at explaining what the trek to Machu Pichu is like than I could, and I know you won´t read the book (which you should) anyway, so:
"From Torontoy to Colpani the road runs through a land of matchless charm. It has themajestic grandeur of the Canadian Rockies, as well as the startling beauty of the Nuuanu Pali near Honolulu, and the enchanting vistas of the Koolau Ditch Trail on Maul. In the variety of its charms and the power of its spell, I know of no place in the world which can compare with it. Not only has it great snow peaks looming above the clouds more than two miles overhead; gigantic precipices of many-colored granite rising sheer for thousands of feet above the foaming, glistening, roaring rapids; it has also, in striking contrast, orchids and tree ferns, the delectable beauty of luxurious vegetation, and the mysterious witchery of the jungle. One is drawn irresistibly onward by ever-recurring surprises through a deep, winding gorge, turning and twisting past overhanging cliffs of incredible height. Above all, there is the fascination of finding here and there under the swaying vines, or perched on top of a beetling crag, the rugged masonry of a bygone race; and of trying to understand the bewildering romance of the ancient builders who ages ago sought refuge in a region which appears to have been expressly designed by Nature as a sanctuary for the oppressed, a place where they might fearlessly and patiently give expression to their passion for walls of enduring beauty. Space forbids any attempt to describe in detail the constantly changing panorama, the rank tropical foliage, the countless terraces, the towering cliffs, the glaciers peeping out between the clouds".
In Nazca we were hot downhill champs for a day, o yes. Ski Sunday should be updated for the modern world and translated onto sand, with K and I presenting as we bomb downhill on weird wooden boards, that awesome theme tune covered by a clangy Peruvian mountain band ringing in the background. Sadly in reality you don´t actually travel that fast at all on wood on sand (though I hate to discolour your delciously highspeed account Kieran!)... Sandpaper has never been known for its smoothness, really, has it. Before hurling ourselves down The World´s Tallest Sanddune we were told that the world record - top to bottom - was SEVEN SECONDS. Aghast, we thought that sounded very fast. It turned out that ´top to bottom´ is in actual fact 3OO metres, once you´ve climbed up halfway from bottom, and that 7 seconds equates to about the pace of an averagely merry llama running downhill at average speed.
For all that cynicism both Kieran and I wowed our Peruvian guide by safely beating the world record hurtling downhill on our bums. Sandy, but the least stylish way is always the most effective.
Tick: motion-that-followed-sickness count 1.
Motion-that-followed-sickness count 2 took us both by extreme surprise. Having bravely dealt with churney boats, dodgy alligator and heady mountain heights, the last thing that should cause us trouble is a piddly little aeroplane flying a few feet above the desert, right?
Well! Nazca Home of The Highest Sandune Ever apparently landed on its tourist feet by also having been chosen by the ancient Nazca culture (1,100 B.C. – A.D. 750 FYI) as the perfect spot for drawing hundreds of giant hummingbirds, spiders, monkeys, fish, whales, llamas, and lizards in the sand. See figure below. To this day no one has a clue what they were for, or why they were there. This is mainly because the only way to see these lovely pictures is from the air (or google earth, which is also cheaper) and everyone´s almost dead certain that the ancient Nazcas did not have aeroplanes (yet to be proven) or google earth (proven).
By way of example, The Monkey:
This monkey is, no word of lie, roughly 250 metres wide. And it´s been there in the sand for HUNDREDs of years. Quite some staying power. Someone accidentally built a road through the tail of the lizard so that one looks less cool, apparently.
Ápparently´, because taking to the air in a hi-tech super-lite really-fun 4-seater desert plane, Steph discovered that her belly was REALLY bad at flying: I didn´t see a thing other than the ground wobbling as we took off and the door opening as I dashed through it to lie as flat as poss on the safe ground once we landed. Kieran valiantly snapped photos of every figure as we soared agonisingly one way round it, then the other way round it, so that i could at least look at the photos. Ridiculous. Not even telling myself that Michael Palin would´ve been down with it helped. The pilots and helpful grounds-people in neon jackets tell you that looking at the horizon helps. It does not. The horizon is impossible to find. Think cat in a see-through tumble-dryer plus sand.
But we ´did some culture´ though! Lonely Planet cultural activity achieved.
From Nazca and its sandy lines, via Lima again to Cusco (3395m above sea level), we checked into loco hostal Loki, partied too hard on white russians and warm Peruvian wine and began a monumental four-day trek to legendary Machu Pichu. Healthy bout of hangover and/or altitude sickness in tow. Lonely Planet says drinking aggravates altitude sickness. Kieran says it helps, and he´s going to be a doctor, so we went with his advice. Pehaps this was erroneous. Day 1 of The Expedition required mountain biking from 4200m to 2500m in hail, fog and headache with dubious brakes and an exquisitely large crevice constantly to one side of us. Hairy. But we have learnt that Motion + Sickness = FUN....
... Having dried out amongst the chickens in a tiny mountain foothill town (inadvertently eating some of their brothers as warming soup, oops), we set out marching through the forests of the Urumbamba River valley, Inca ruins-wards.Palin would definitely have been down with this and most probably has walked the Inca Trail himself, but I thought it about time to try a new Patron Saint of travelling. Maybe we´d feel less sick. So, enter Mr. Hiram Bingham (very difficult for Peruvians to pronounce so it took us a while to figure out who he actually was). Tall, lanky, conservative Yale Professor and later US senator, he is probably the basis for the actual Indiana Jones character. FACT. More to the point, he got all excited about the Andes and the Incas and asked so many questions and went so far around Peru on petulant mules that he finally found Machu Pichu pretty much on his own in 1911. Wow. Definitely worth a try as a P.S. of travelling. He wrote a completely exciting book about his adventures creatively called ´Inca Land´ which is so good that the National Geographic have published it as one of the World´s Hundred Best Adventure Classics. Christmas read? It really is good. In fact, as naff as it is to quote (!!) someone else in a blog, he does way better at explaining what the trek to Machu Pichu is like than I could, and I know you won´t read the book (which you should) anyway, so:
"From Torontoy to Colpani the road runs through a land of matchless charm. It has themajestic grandeur of the Canadian Rockies, as well as the startling beauty of the Nuuanu Pali near Honolulu, and the enchanting vistas of the Koolau Ditch Trail on Maul. In the variety of its charms and the power of its spell, I know of no place in the world which can compare with it. Not only has it great snow peaks looming above the clouds more than two miles overhead; gigantic precipices of many-colored granite rising sheer for thousands of feet above the foaming, glistening, roaring rapids; it has also, in striking contrast, orchids and tree ferns, the delectable beauty of luxurious vegetation, and the mysterious witchery of the jungle. One is drawn irresistibly onward by ever-recurring surprises through a deep, winding gorge, turning and twisting past overhanging cliffs of incredible height. Above all, there is the fascination of finding here and there under the swaying vines, or perched on top of a beetling crag, the rugged masonry of a bygone race; and of trying to understand the bewildering romance of the ancient builders who ages ago sought refuge in a region which appears to have been expressly designed by Nature as a sanctuary for the oppressed, a place where they might fearlessly and patiently give expression to their passion for walls of enduring beauty. Space forbids any attempt to describe in detail the constantly changing panorama, the rank tropical foliage, the countless terraces, the towering cliffs, the glaciers peeping out between the clouds".
Spot on.
Starting walking at 4am on our last day, Kieran and I made it up to the top with our new trek buddies in the first
50 people of the day. This is supposed to be quite good because one of the littler mountains you climb up to look down
on the ruins from is too little and sinking to have more than 400 bodies on it a day. This means people like to be sure
and get in amongst the first 50, just to be safe. Sorted.
More importantly, the place was BREATHTAKING. Ruins take on an extra-spectacular aura when you have hiked your
brains out of your body to get to look at them, but these are something else entirely.
Clinging to the small rocky plateau that hangs off the 2800m high peaks, the place made us all feel dizzy with
mystery (dehydration/exhaustion) and thus mad enough to climb the surrounding peaks for the ensuing 11hrs.
Compelled to get Í´ve-been-there, look-how-stunning-it-is-guys photos´ from every possible angle, we walked
and walked and walked the hilltops `til all we could do was waddle.
And so waddling a few thousand metres down to some lusciously steamy but yellow-with-sulphur aguas calientes
(hot springs for you uncivilised ones), we healed our toes, took a large draught of the local tiple and a train back
to Cusco. Hiram would´ve been down with that adventure. And I am definitely going to become an Explorer-Mountaineer.
Motion accomplished, sans sickness. Result.
Cusco brought us more hangovers and a beast of a night out dancing (´deadly´ to you Irish), an ensuing horrifically sickly
journey back to Lima from whence we voyaged intrepdily into the Cordillera Blanca mountains in the North. Trekking ahoy,
hurrah hooray! (But sighs as we realise the motion and the sickness still haunted us (for our sins, for our sins).
Check out the humour of the mountain folk in their Christmas present toy suggestion for kids and their eatery names ...!
Tuesday, 1 December 2009
Clostridium, Capitals and Coming down slopes very quickly
Hello again. Things have moved on apace since last we spoke. We´ve been to not just one but TWO new places, which is a lot, and doesn´t even include the places we just passed through. We stayed in Iquitos (biggest city in the world which is not accessible by road) for a few days, and went to a butterfly farm where this happened:
You´ll notice that that clearly isn´t a butterfly. We were outraged and left.
Afterwards we went out for dinner and ate some alligator, which was very nice but unfortunately made me violently ill. A torturous plane journey across the country ensued, and we were forced to spend an enormous amount of money on a lavish hotel in Lima to help me recouperate. Sadly our schedule didn´t allow us much time to hang out and see the sights (not even the amazing Llama Woman - see below), and we had to get on a bus out the very next afternoon. Buses in Peru are RIDONCULOUS. Despite being very cheap thay are like hotels on wheels - people come round and serve you soft drinks and full-on cooked dinners, there are blankets, pillows and the like, you can actually LIE DOWN, there are movies to watch and EVERYTHING - we arrived in Nazca and had to be dragged off. Luckily the hotels in Peru are also like hotels, but don´t have wheels, which means they are as comfortable as the buses and easier to find. We stayed in one of those for a while, and went out on some excursions.
Today we have done something amazing, which made us look like this:
We had to get up at half 3 in the morning because otherwise you die of heat exhaustion, and then climb up the biggest sand dune in the world (2080 metres), which was very hard (not literally of course, because it´s made of sand). Then we strapped planks of wood to our legs and threw ourselves down again. It was excellent - you can go really fast and stuff. It´s almost impossible to stop but that doesn´t matter because it´s also very difficult to hurt yourself. Since we got up so early we still had most of a day left, which we´ve spent eating a number of avodados. Soon it´s time for a Pisco Sour or two, and then it´s off to the bus. Next stop - Cusco.
Oh, and the thing with the Llama Lady - basically someone wanted to build a big statue of someone famous in a square in Lima. Since they wanted to convey an image of power, glory, dignity etc, they asked the sculptor to give her a crown of flames. Unfortuntely the poor chap wasn´t really familiar with the use of that particular artistic metaphor, and since the Spanish word for "flame" is "llama" he gave her one of those instead. HA!
Friday, 27 November 2009
The Adventures of Jorge
The Adventures of Jorge
We met Jorge, our little Colombian friend,in Leticia.
Jorge was good fun - always up for a laugh, and generous with the beers. Rare was the night Jorge was not to be found propping up the bar at Hoppies, six beautiful butterflies draped on his arms.
But Jorge wasn´t satisfied with his life of partying. Whilst the girls and the drugs were great, he was invariably left with a sense of loneliness and emptiness, and deep within his soul he longed for something else. Besides, the hangovers were getting worse.
Jorge made his decision. He was going to move to Peru, to a small island on the Amazon, and start a small business providing massages and holistic medicine to the locals.
But how was he to fund this long and dangerous voyage? Jorge had spent all of his inheritance on fast cars and hamburgers! Fortunately he was a brilliant mathematician, and developed a series of fiendishly complicated coin games with which to scam unsuspecting tourists.
In no time at all Jorge had made over a million Pesos - more than enough for his ticket, with some left over to spend on massage oil and crystals. He headed down to the travel agents that very afternoon and booked his ticket.
Early the next day, Jorge made his way down to the docks to wait for his boat.
The journey started well, and Jorge was thrilled to be out of Leticia, making a clean break. All thoughts of drinking and partying banished from his head, he gazed at the banks of the mighty river, breathed deeply the fresh Peruvian air, and thanked God he was alive.
Before long though, the winds rose, and licked up a terrible swell on the water. The boat heaved mightily from side to side, bags and children crashing down the aisles. Jorge hung on for dear life.
But the Gods were smiling on Jorge, and finally he arrived in Iquitos, his journey complete. He knew he shouldn´t, but it had been a long, hard voyage, and he was overcome by an insatiable thirst for a cold, crisp beer. Against his better judgement he stopped off in a local bar, and before he knew it he was on his third.
Since he was only a little grasshopper, and the beers in Peru are very big, Jorge was pretty pissed. He knew he had to stop, so he headed back to his hotel to rest his tired head and prepare himself for the tasks of tomorrow - finding a shop to rent and learning ayurvedic massage.
Unfortuntely for Jorge he was so far gone that he failed safely to cross the road, and was killed by a bus.
RIP Jorge.
Jorge had been an atheist his whole life, so he was not a little surprised when he arrived in the dark blackness of hell, faced with the booming voice of the devil asking him questions about his life of frivolity.
Jorge was unrepentant, and argued strongly that booze and girls had been FUN, godamit, and that if there was one thing an omnibenevolent God should encourage his creations to do it would be to have FUN. The devil was not impressed.
Luckily, just then Jesus arrived, challenged the devil to an armwrestle for Jorge´s soul, and won.
Jesus took Jorge up to heaven and explained that while he had been full of shit with his arguments about God and fun, God was absolutely mad for ayurvedic massage and so had forgiven Jorge all his sins. Jorge was installed forethwith as chief masseuse and lived for eternity in bliss.
God was subsequently disapointed to learn that Jorge hadn´t actually got round to learning any massage techniques prior to his untimely death, and was further saddened by the realisation that, as a grasshopper, he really couldn´t exert very much pressure on God´s weary shoulder muscles.
God is still sore.
THE END
*¡Breaking news!*
Steph manages to log onto the blog, hurrah
¡Buenas! Avid readers/devoted followers of this prestigious site will no doubt have noted the predominantly male (Kiereanesque) flavoured narration thus far. By way of humble explanation, this has been due to Steph´s complete failure to engage successfully with foreign technology. South American governments seem to have permitted her a quota of 6.45 minutes on Facebook and 12 mins on googlemail before entire national systems crash.
This folorn and frustrating state of affairs culminated in my bringing down Colombia´s north coast computer network with a vile electronic virus, and our consequent necessary fleeing of the Cartagenian authorities to Peru - rapidly -by air. Moving overnight up the Amazon river by stealth riverboat, we arrived finally in a city named Iquitos late yesterday afternoon. A frantic plea to the British Embassy here has resulted in my being fortunate enough to snatch these few minutes in their high security internet bunker (located 50m below ground in a classified location) to update K. Gillick´s SuperBlog, so that Gillick voyaging history is no longer gender biased. Relief.
So returning to Playa Blanca, which is where K.G. left you hanging precarioulsy, all that really be noted is that it was/is PARADISE. It was quite simply delicious. Not having quite fully digested the fact that we were on the Carribean Coast, we had not expected the magnificently pristine white sand or lazy palm trees that our eyes found when we rolled off the boat straight into the azurey sea there. Quickly adapting to such indulgent surroundings, as one must, of course, we spent the next few days utterly losing track of time and date, eating nearly-live fish and lolloping between our bamboo hut on stilts and the warm atlantic. Wow.
Spolit and sweaty, (and now off the radar of the pursuing Cartagenian Electronic Police) we were eventually forced to desert Paradise and jump onto a small passenger plane bound for Leticia, the sweetly named south-eastern most tip of Colombia, from where we had been assured a safe border crossing into Peru. Adventure.
But to get to the plane we had to get to the mainland. Challenge. It ought to be noted that this past week has been typified by Terrifying Near-Capsize (TNC). Our boat voyage back to the mainland from Playa Blanca can only be described as Sheer Fright. You have never seen waves as big as this. Never. The boat putted forwards tipped at a continual 45 degree angle, which added to its roaring up and down and side to side made the journey reminiscent of that TV programme I saw on Shackleton before we left. Mental. Kieran´s unwavering calm attained another level, supporting words thus: ´hey we´ll be fine, just pretend we´re on a fairground ride!´... lurch lurch... (but we´re not tied in). worst case scenario, plunging off top of boat into bubbly atlantic ocean. Can´t remember a fairground ride like that. 100% cool. Decided that in fact we´d rather be in the ocean than on the boat and somehow that made it all ok.
And so we made it as far as the mainland, greener in the face but ultimately stronger human beings. I guess with Paradise must come pain.
What befell us next is something that Michael Palin (my personal patron saint of travelling) would have COMPLETELY dug. Nothing of note occurred on the plane journey to Leticia-on-the-Amazon, but o my days what happened on the banks of the Amazon merits full recording.
Leticia turns out to be half in Colombia and half in Brasil. You can stroll gaily between the two (and become alarmed by the Spanish you spoke somehow becoming Urdu? Kurdish? Czec? - no, of course, Portuguese). A traveller who is not entirely wily could be easily caught out by this. Perhaps it is a trick the locals play on tourists to keep them entertained from thier verandas in the sweltering heat....
In any case, having grabbed some scrumptious Letician street food (saddening rumours suggest it might have been some kind of local dog meat) and a jovial room to stay in, we prepared ourselves for a 3am departure by boat to Iquitos in Peru. This 3am departure seemed tricky enough when we realised that the Colombian half of the town ran at 1hr earlier than the Brasilian half, or vice-versa, or something more confusing, and it was difficult to tell exactly which bit you were in, or who watched/believed which clocks. They interchanged currencies willy-nilly so why not interchange time too? Eek. In any case, clutching our passports and intrepidation we made it in time of sorts to the docks. We were shipped by Taxi Fluvial - billions of bugs in hot pursuit - to the other side of the Amazon, whose opposite bank was/is in Peru (3 countries in 2 days, result). It swiftly became clear por que the 3am start: it took 2hrs to leave and we needed to do so before dawn. Leaving, quite extraordinarily, necessitated an hour´s hike through pitch black, steamy, scratchy Amazon mud-marshes to the Immigration Control of Peru hut, whereupon our reluctant guide woke the confused Immigration Guard who slept inside it by constant banging and shouting (for roughly 10 mins). Violently waking a Peruvian Immigration Guard has never, I believe, led to an easy passage through the country. As punishment the necessary stamps in our passports required concerted and complex negotiation, and quite some time to get. What´s more, due to the huge amount of time that took we were bribed into getting a makeshift Taxi Fluvial back to the original boat departure site for too-many-pesos. There were 8 of us boat passengers, 3 assorted guides and the very uncertain boat owner all sardined into the tiny creaking Taxi Fluvial. And this is the bit that Palin would have been totally down with. Senor el boat owner gave the shaky vessel a doubtful once-over, the two Americans whimpered, Kieran for the FIRST TIME EVER looked nervous, and I turned my back so that I faced backwards instead of forwards, as the thing started to fill with water and began chugging across the vast amazon, into the dark.
All that need be known is that despite taking on a good few gallons of water, we reached the Big boat alive, which took us smoothly up the Amazon proper to where we now sit, dry and chuffed, in Iquitos, home to jungle canopies, exotic butterflies and an American desendant of old rubber barons called Mad Mick, who seems to own almost everything. Lovely.
Peruvian wine and coffee are uber-tasty, and everywhere, so there is little more that we need, apart from all your news! Drop us a line about anything if you can - weather, traffic, weekends, we are missing you.
Lima next and a trip to the world´s massivest sand dune to go sandboarding ... o gosh.
Love, S & K.
...one last thing... we picked up a friendly grasshopper named Jorge along the way who is keen to make an appearance somewhere on this page with his own picture diary... checkitout si si.
besos xxxx
Steph manages to log onto the blog, hurrah
¡Buenas! Avid readers/devoted followers of this prestigious site will no doubt have noted the predominantly male (Kiereanesque) flavoured narration thus far. By way of humble explanation, this has been due to Steph´s complete failure to engage successfully with foreign technology. South American governments seem to have permitted her a quota of 6.45 minutes on Facebook and 12 mins on googlemail before entire national systems crash.
This folorn and frustrating state of affairs culminated in my bringing down Colombia´s north coast computer network with a vile electronic virus, and our consequent necessary fleeing of the Cartagenian authorities to Peru - rapidly -by air. Moving overnight up the Amazon river by stealth riverboat, we arrived finally in a city named Iquitos late yesterday afternoon. A frantic plea to the British Embassy here has resulted in my being fortunate enough to snatch these few minutes in their high security internet bunker (located 50m below ground in a classified location) to update K. Gillick´s SuperBlog, so that Gillick voyaging history is no longer gender biased. Relief.
So returning to Playa Blanca, which is where K.G. left you hanging precarioulsy, all that really be noted is that it was/is PARADISE. It was quite simply delicious. Not having quite fully digested the fact that we were on the Carribean Coast, we had not expected the magnificently pristine white sand or lazy palm trees that our eyes found when we rolled off the boat straight into the azurey sea there. Quickly adapting to such indulgent surroundings, as one must, of course, we spent the next few days utterly losing track of time and date, eating nearly-live fish and lolloping between our bamboo hut on stilts and the warm atlantic. Wow.
Spolit and sweaty, (and now off the radar of the pursuing Cartagenian Electronic Police) we were eventually forced to desert Paradise and jump onto a small passenger plane bound for Leticia, the sweetly named south-eastern most tip of Colombia, from where we had been assured a safe border crossing into Peru. Adventure.
But to get to the plane we had to get to the mainland. Challenge. It ought to be noted that this past week has been typified by Terrifying Near-Capsize (TNC). Our boat voyage back to the mainland from Playa Blanca can only be described as Sheer Fright. You have never seen waves as big as this. Never. The boat putted forwards tipped at a continual 45 degree angle, which added to its roaring up and down and side to side made the journey reminiscent of that TV programme I saw on Shackleton before we left. Mental. Kieran´s unwavering calm attained another level, supporting words thus: ´hey we´ll be fine, just pretend we´re on a fairground ride!´... lurch lurch... (but we´re not tied in). worst case scenario, plunging off top of boat into bubbly atlantic ocean. Can´t remember a fairground ride like that. 100% cool. Decided that in fact we´d rather be in the ocean than on the boat and somehow that made it all ok.
And so we made it as far as the mainland, greener in the face but ultimately stronger human beings. I guess with Paradise must come pain.
What befell us next is something that Michael Palin (my personal patron saint of travelling) would have COMPLETELY dug. Nothing of note occurred on the plane journey to Leticia-on-the-Amazon, but o my days what happened on the banks of the Amazon merits full recording.
Leticia turns out to be half in Colombia and half in Brasil. You can stroll gaily between the two (and become alarmed by the Spanish you spoke somehow becoming Urdu? Kurdish? Czec? - no, of course, Portuguese). A traveller who is not entirely wily could be easily caught out by this. Perhaps it is a trick the locals play on tourists to keep them entertained from thier verandas in the sweltering heat....
In any case, having grabbed some scrumptious Letician street food (saddening rumours suggest it might have been some kind of local dog meat) and a jovial room to stay in, we prepared ourselves for a 3am departure by boat to Iquitos in Peru. This 3am departure seemed tricky enough when we realised that the Colombian half of the town ran at 1hr earlier than the Brasilian half, or vice-versa, or something more confusing, and it was difficult to tell exactly which bit you were in, or who watched/believed which clocks. They interchanged currencies willy-nilly so why not interchange time too? Eek. In any case, clutching our passports and intrepidation we made it in time of sorts to the docks. We were shipped by Taxi Fluvial - billions of bugs in hot pursuit - to the other side of the Amazon, whose opposite bank was/is in Peru (3 countries in 2 days, result). It swiftly became clear por que the 3am start: it took 2hrs to leave and we needed to do so before dawn. Leaving, quite extraordinarily, necessitated an hour´s hike through pitch black, steamy, scratchy Amazon mud-marshes to the Immigration Control of Peru hut, whereupon our reluctant guide woke the confused Immigration Guard who slept inside it by constant banging and shouting (for roughly 10 mins). Violently waking a Peruvian Immigration Guard has never, I believe, led to an easy passage through the country. As punishment the necessary stamps in our passports required concerted and complex negotiation, and quite some time to get. What´s more, due to the huge amount of time that took we were bribed into getting a makeshift Taxi Fluvial back to the original boat departure site for too-many-pesos. There were 8 of us boat passengers, 3 assorted guides and the very uncertain boat owner all sardined into the tiny creaking Taxi Fluvial. And this is the bit that Palin would have been totally down with. Senor el boat owner gave the shaky vessel a doubtful once-over, the two Americans whimpered, Kieran for the FIRST TIME EVER looked nervous, and I turned my back so that I faced backwards instead of forwards, as the thing started to fill with water and began chugging across the vast amazon, into the dark.
All that need be known is that despite taking on a good few gallons of water, we reached the Big boat alive, which took us smoothly up the Amazon proper to where we now sit, dry and chuffed, in Iquitos, home to jungle canopies, exotic butterflies and an American desendant of old rubber barons called Mad Mick, who seems to own almost everything. Lovely.
Peruvian wine and coffee are uber-tasty, and everywhere, so there is little more that we need, apart from all your news! Drop us a line about anything if you can - weather, traffic, weekends, we are missing you.
Lima next and a trip to the world´s massivest sand dune to go sandboarding ... o gosh.
Love, S & K.
...one last thing... we picked up a friendly grasshopper named Jorge along the way who is keen to make an appearance somewhere on this page with his own picture diary... checkitout si si.
besos xxxx
Monday, 23 November 2009
Butterflies
In Colombia, all the insects are numbered, so that if anyone steals one they´ll be able to tell it´s theirs.
Interestingly, they only use prime numbers.
Thursday, 19 November 2009
Photos
Hello again. We´ve finally managed to get some of our photos up, and you can now see some of the highlights of our trip so far by clicking here (Venezuela) or here (Colombia).
Lost city cont.
OK, you´ll be pleased to hear we made the bus. It took us to Cartagena, which is ´The Jewel of the Carribean Coast´. Which sounds very nice, I think you´ll agree. We´ve not really had much time to explore yet, but it´s good so far - a big metropolis, but with a beautiful old town with walls + stuff.
Anyway, previously I was in the middle of telling you about our trek to the LOST CITY. Big abandoned place left by the Tyrona people in 1500-odd, in the middle of the jungle. AMAZING. There was a group of 12 of us who set off with our intrepid guides William and Juan Carlos last Thursday. A nice mixture of Dutch, Irish, Canadian, Israeli (described himself as Israelian, which worried us a bit initially) and Americans - lots of funny characters. A broken car took us up a road full of holes and dropped us at a little village at the edge of the jungle. From thereon in it was just us and the donkeys, walking for 5 or 6 hours a day up and down tracks through the trees. In the evenings we stayed in these little wooden huts, in hammocks, and were fed (extremely well) and watered. From time to time we had to do things like jump Tarzan-style into big waterfalls and cross rain-swollen rivers in rickety little boxes on ropes. Lush.
After three days we reached the final 1300 stone steps that lead up to the ruins and emerged up into the cloud-shrouded beauty of the city. Also lush. It rained a great deal then, but we had a good chance to look around, and rest our tired legs. Then, the president´s wife arrived in a helicopter - which was unexpected. She had a stroll around and chatted to us a bit about the security situation and our nationalities. We gave her access to The Irish which was almost a disaster, but they were quite well behaved in the end. She flew away after a while, and we headed back down through the jungle on foot.
Upon our return to Taganga we spend a little time reminding ourselves about beer and rum, said our goodbyes to our new-found friends, and then it was off on the aforementioned bus to Cartagena.
Tomorrow we leave for Playa Blanca, a beatiful beach on an island just off the coast, and then on Monday we catch a flight to Letitia, on the border with Peru and Brazil, from where we begin an expedition up the Amazon. Also, lush.
All our love and best wishes to everyone back home. Hope all´s well! Send us some news if you get the chance :)
xxx
Anyway, previously I was in the middle of telling you about our trek to the LOST CITY. Big abandoned place left by the Tyrona people in 1500-odd, in the middle of the jungle. AMAZING. There was a group of 12 of us who set off with our intrepid guides William and Juan Carlos last Thursday. A nice mixture of Dutch, Irish, Canadian, Israeli (described himself as Israelian, which worried us a bit initially) and Americans - lots of funny characters. A broken car took us up a road full of holes and dropped us at a little village at the edge of the jungle. From thereon in it was just us and the donkeys, walking for 5 or 6 hours a day up and down tracks through the trees. In the evenings we stayed in these little wooden huts, in hammocks, and were fed (extremely well) and watered. From time to time we had to do things like jump Tarzan-style into big waterfalls and cross rain-swollen rivers in rickety little boxes on ropes. Lush.
After three days we reached the final 1300 stone steps that lead up to the ruins and emerged up into the cloud-shrouded beauty of the city. Also lush. It rained a great deal then, but we had a good chance to look around, and rest our tired legs. Then, the president´s wife arrived in a helicopter - which was unexpected. She had a stroll around and chatted to us a bit about the security situation and our nationalities. We gave her access to The Irish which was almost a disaster, but they were quite well behaved in the end. She flew away after a while, and we headed back down through the jungle on foot.
Upon our return to Taganga we spend a little time reminding ourselves about beer and rum, said our goodbyes to our new-found friends, and then it was off on the aforementioned bus to Cartagena.
Tomorrow we leave for Playa Blanca, a beatiful beach on an island just off the coast, and then on Monday we catch a flight to Letitia, on the border with Peru and Brazil, from where we begin an expedition up the Amazon. Also, lush.
All our love and best wishes to everyone back home. Hope all´s well! Send us some news if you get the chance :)
xxx
Wednesday, 18 November 2009
Colombia and Lost Cities
So, we`re in Colombia! We`re still alive and everything (thanks for your concern), and continue to enjoy ourselves immensely. We`re staying in a little fishing village on the Carribean coast called Taganga, which is beautiful and very relaxing. When not relaxing, we`ve managed to get a bit of partying in, done some scuba diving and made friends with some musicians. Oh, and we`ve also just got back from a six-day trek through the jungle to see an amazing abandoned Tyronian city in the mountains (see photo above. doesn`t look so abandoned there on account of the president`s wife (see below)). The trek was spectacular - proper jungle experience (why couldn`t the raver find the monkey? `cos the jungalist massive), with wild animals a-plenty, hammocks and waterfall swimmings.
Unfortunately I have to cut this update short now as we`ve just realised that our bus to Cartagena leaves in hardly any minutes. More to follow soon...
Much love to all! xxx
Wednesday, 4 November 2009
Los Llanos and some mountains
Did you know that despite having an area of over 1,000,000 square kilometers, Venezuela has only 15 million inhabitants? Well, now you do. And where all of those people are not, is where we have spent the last few days - we´ve just arrived back in Merida following a beautiful and eventful adventure into the los llanos national park. Our exuberant Venezuelan guide Carlos and his subdued but smiling sidekick Adolfo drove us around in a van seeing some of the sights, along with Alex and Christina, our new Spanish friends. We climbed a mountain, saw a miniture replica of a chapel (bit weird), got rained on from time to time (quite refreshing), drank lots of little shots of aniseed rum stuff, did a bit of rafting with beautiful sunset mountain backdrop (I fell in and almost died, but was very brave and just about managed to survive) and ate LOTS of VERY NICE food. After that we headed out into the national park proper - miles away from everything, on a ranch kind of place, with horses and dogs and giant frogs. We hung out there for some time drinking rum, and went on a series of excursions to check out the wildlife. Of note were: caymans, vultures, LOADS of other birds of all shapes, sizes and colours, an anaconda (sweet), an anteater (who invented them?? mental), pirhanas (caught a few of them for dinner whilst retaining full complement of fingers), fresh-water dolphins, capuburras (see anteater comment), turtles, a bird that looks EXACTLY like a tree and a number of other fascinating creatures. Lush. Also we rode the horses (I got mine into mode 2), lay in hammocks quite a lot and went on a night safari. Since everyone else there was speaking Spanish the whole time, the trip also presented an ideal opportunity to learn a bit of that. This went quite well, and we can now drop into conversation such useful words as mantequilla (butter), hambre (hungry) and repollo (cabbage).
All in all the trip was extremely good - lovely to be away from it all in wonderful surroundings with no worries except how to open the beers and which way round in the hammock to lie. We think we´re almost in proper holiday mode :)
The plan now is to stay in Merida for another day and then head up to Marracaida, from where we can get a bus into Columbia, where we plan to head for the Carribean coast and take in some beach action. Woop!
Lots of love to all
xxx
All in all the trip was extremely good - lovely to be away from it all in wonderful surroundings with no worries except how to open the beers and which way round in the hammock to lie. We think we´re almost in proper holiday mode :)
The plan now is to stay in Merida for another day and then head up to Marracaida, from where we can get a bus into Columbia, where we plan to head for the Carribean coast and take in some beach action. Woop!
Lots of love to all
xxx
Wednesday, 28 October 2009
Mexico, Caracas and the first monster journey
Hello!
Well, we´re still alive, have escaped Caracas with all our belongings intact, and have made our way to an AMAZING town with a beautiful hostel to stay in, mountains to look at, rocks to climb, rivers to float down, tasty arapas to eat and LOADS of other excellent things.
There were some flights, none of which we missed. We checked out Mexico City airport, which is fairly average but does serve wonderful coctails. Also Caracas airport, which has less coctails but a LOT more black market money changers, dubious taxi drivers and robbers of all descriptions. We spoke some Spanish at some people and it even kind of worked, and got us onto a bus into the city; which is actually a lot less mental than people would have you believe. Contrary to what our guide book told us we were not immediately shot in the head, but rather found ourselves installed with a minimum of fuss in a very pleasant hotel, where we fell asleap for two days.
After we woke up we ate an enormous plate of meat, drank some coffee, wandered around looking at some buildings, failed to get a cable car to the top of a mountain, and then put ourselves on a bus which drove us to Merida. Despite being inexplicably maintained at a constant -5 degrees, the bus was otherwise fairly comfortable, and took us without event to this wonderful little town (see above).
We´ve just installed ourselves in some hammocks, opened a bottle of wine and look forward to some action/relaxation -packed days ahead.
xxx muchos besos
Well, we´re still alive, have escaped Caracas with all our belongings intact, and have made our way to an AMAZING town with a beautiful hostel to stay in, mountains to look at, rocks to climb, rivers to float down, tasty arapas to eat and LOADS of other excellent things.
There were some flights, none of which we missed. We checked out Mexico City airport, which is fairly average but does serve wonderful coctails. Also Caracas airport, which has less coctails but a LOT more black market money changers, dubious taxi drivers and robbers of all descriptions. We spoke some Spanish at some people and it even kind of worked, and got us onto a bus into the city; which is actually a lot less mental than people would have you believe. Contrary to what our guide book told us we were not immediately shot in the head, but rather found ourselves installed with a minimum of fuss in a very pleasant hotel, where we fell asleap for two days.
After we woke up we ate an enormous plate of meat, drank some coffee, wandered around looking at some buildings, failed to get a cable car to the top of a mountain, and then put ourselves on a bus which drove us to Merida. Despite being inexplicably maintained at a constant -5 degrees, the bus was otherwise fairly comfortable, and took us without event to this wonderful little town (see above).
We´ve just installed ourselves in some hammocks, opened a bottle of wine and look forward to some action/relaxation -packed days ahead.
xxx muchos besos
Friday, 23 October 2009
Welcome
Hello Everybody!
Would you look at that eh? Steph and Kieran - MARRIED and everything!
Here's a website showing you what they got up to on their honeymoon. Hope you enjoy it!
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