by Jane | Feb 28, 2014 | My journey, My travels, Peru |
As you read this I will hopefully be somewhere in the Andes on a little adventure with some of my friends from the NGO.
I can’t believe how quickly the last three months have gone working with the NGO. Peru has got under my skin and whilst it would be so nice to stay here for a bit longer that would be the easy option and I have to leave soon.
My next port of call is Ecuador but not before the raucous madness of Carnival, Peruvian style. Provided the expected route across the mountains goes smoothly you can look forward to finding out what this entails, but I have heard that water and paint feature strongly. I have my oldest, most hated pair of trousers with me for that day and the tee-shirt which has been in the swimming pool with me each week during Club Vacacional.
It was extremely hard to say goodbye to the children at the NGO who are all amazing but together with my co-teacher (Danish L) I had the most fantastic final day at the beach with the kids.
Future little gems for you to look forward to reading about will include a full report on working for the NGO, the time I spoke French during a ceremony with the Peruvian Scouts, and of course my adventures during the next week.
There has been a small mix up concerning my onward travel plans, but all being well, in two weeks time I shall be writing to you from the beach in Ecuador.
by Jane | Feb 4, 2014 | Bolivia, My travels |
A rare glimpse of the mountain – shame about the Tigo sign
Arriving in La Paz in the middle of a rainstorm I was reunited with BF and waved goodbye to M for a week or so. Plenty of cities look similar to each other but the geographical appearance of La Paz must be unique. Picture a paper cone – the sort that chips come in now that the Health and Safety mob have declared it to be unsafe to eat your fish and chips out of newspaper. Rotate the cone so that the small bit is at the bottom. Now imagine that the cone is the size of a city – a city that can contain a million inhabitants. Fill every single space on the side of the cone with buildings – tall, crooked and for the most part (a tax avoidance scheme) unfinished. Have old dilapidated buses crawl up and down the impossibly steep streets, struggling to navigate the tight corners and which belch out exhaust fumes that smother everything in a coughing grey dust and then have a thin veil of cloud/smog/fog hover over the top of the cone trapping inside all of the pollution and noise. This is what La Paz is like.
Fragile homes cling to the mountain side
At the top of the cone on the massive, flat, goes on for miles alto-plano imagine another million inhabitants, then open up one or two major highways that hairpin up and down and sit back and watch the gridlock as huge numbers in both cities travel between each other like columns of black ants scurrying up and down the mountain side. And for good measure chuck in a couple of political protests which close roads for hours at a time or set up a street market on the main highway. If cars and buses have to use the roads lets not make it easy for them!
pick a token or amulet
I actually felt quite claustrophobic for much of my time in La Paz – eased only when the smog lid lifted and the most amazing snow capped mountain shimmered into view. Our hotel was in the area known as the Witch’s Market where you could buy spells, tokens and amulets, all kinds of dead looking herbs and grasses and llama foetuses. The latter were to be bought whenever a new build was considered and four would be placed – one under each corner of the foundations. to bring luck to the property and to appease the gods.
typical dress code on the streets of Bolivia
Here in Bolivia the vast majority of women wear multi-layered skirts and oversized bowler hats (covered with a plastic bag if rain threatens), all in a riot of unmatching clashing colours. Beggars are far more prolific here than anywhere that I have been in Peru and tiny babies swaddled in rags lie still, plonked on pavements alongside parents selling street food, newspapers or spells.
I should mention here briefly our border crossing into Bolivia at Desaguadero which my Lonely Planet Guide recommended we avoid. This town was horrible. It was jam-packed with queues and chaos all snaking slowly to or from the river which formed the border crossing. We queued for an hour to get an exit stamp from a surly Peruvian official, walked the three hundred metres across the bridge with a tide of handcarts, porters, people and buses jostling and shoving and then joined another queue to get an entrance stamp and visa from a just as surly Bolivian guard. The chaos was so great we actually lost six people from our coach, or at least the driver decided he had to get home for his dinner and left without them, but with their luggage still on board! I was so glad that I was with M and not on my own. It looked like one of those scenes on the Nine o’Clock News when refugees rush a border bridge and I was actually quite nervous, but we did finally get through it all to the relative safety of La Paz.
a local couple
Following the advice of guidebooks and people that we met in La Paz me and BF decided not to risk riding down the Coroico – the Death Road on mountain bikes – but only because it was the rainy season. I would like to think that on my way back through Bolivia I may give it a go – although my fear is not of the cycle ride itself but of the possibility of having to ride some of the terrifying road in a transport vehicle. We watched them loading the vehicles with bikes, spinal boards and stretchers as well as mountain rescue gear for the occasional adrenaline junkie who pushes adventure a bit too far, so if I am going to do it then I will at least reduce the risk and go in the dry season.
We took a free walking tour (tips welcome and worthy) of La Paz with Red Cap Walking Tours which began in the shadow of San Pedro prison. In this peculiar place our guide told us how
- the inmates get charged entry to the prison
- they have to buy or rent their own cells
- the guards rarely enter
- families may live inside
- it is run like a small town with shops and restaurants run by the inmates
- cocaine production is a thriving industry and
- until relatively recently tourists could gain access on unofficial tours if they bribed the guards on the gate enough bolivianos
If you are interested in knowing more about the amazing life style that went on inside San Pedro, I suggest that you read the excellent book Marching Powder by Rusty Young which I ordered on my Kindle after our tour.
standing guard at Tiwanaku
Instead of risking Death Road we chose to take a day trip to Tiwanaku. I didn’t expect too much having never heard of it but it was actually a real gem. It is set on a remote part of the alto plano and to get to it we had yet another crazy journey. Our driver got fed up of sitting in a taxi jam, pulled through a gap in the central reservation and continued down the main road in the fast lane of the opposing traffic with all of us in the minibus stunned into shocked silence as oncoming cars veered around us!!!! A police officer flagged us down then to our amazement walked along in front of the bus indicating that traffic should get out of our way. He didn’t seem at all concerned that we were on the wrong carriageway, just that we should reduce our speed to walking speed. Arriving at Tiwanaku and grateful to be in one piece we learnt that the site was the cradle of civilisation in Bolivia. It is currently being excavated and courtyards, gates, strange stone statues, pyramids and stone carved faces purported to be of aliens are being uncovered regularly. The importance of the site has only recently been recognised and the biggest and best statue returned to the safety of the museum. It used to stand outside the main football stadium where it had bullets holes shot at it and part of its nose was hacked off by a policeman.
our bus crosses ahead of us
I was actually quite glad to leave La Paz although our final experience on the road out was one which I could have gladly missed too. We drove past a traffic accident on the steep hill, and past three very dead people who had been caught up in it. The police were trying to clear the wreckage and had just laid two of the bodies uncovered on the road whilst the third was still sat, very dead, in his car. It was a relief to get out of the coach and board the little motor boat which took us over a narrow bit of Lake Titicaca whilst the bus got loaded onto a floating pontoon and was brought across separately. Bundling down the hillside we arrived in the cute little lakeside town of Copacabana. Here we had a beautiful looking hotel but this was most definitely a case of looks being misleading. It had the worst service of any hotel I have been in so far, the breakfast was very grudgingly served and the room not once cleaned but its redeeming feature was the outstanding view out over the lake. I adored Copacabana although I never made it on my planned trip to the Isla del Sol as I was floored with altitude sickness. It was odd as I had been fine in La Paz but of course there I had been at the base of the bowl rather than an extra couple of hundred meters up on the alto plano. I felt nauseous, I had a thumping headache, it hurt to walk and I felt as if my heart and lungs were being squeezed, so after drinking my body weight in coca tea (which did work but was very short lived) and turning my tongue green chewing coca leaves I finally visited the pharmacist for his magic bullets and I took to my bed until I acclimatised.
Lake Titicaca
New Year’s Eve was spent in a rather bizarre bar/restaurant chatting to a Chilean stand-up comedienne and her husband a copywrite lawyer, until midnight when we all piled out into the main street. Copacabana has one main street which rolls down to the beach and it seemed everybody was out there. Fireworks were set off, and rather worryingly, too many by children who may have been five or six years old and who balanced massive powerful rockets in holes in the pavement prior to their launch. We all danced to a line of drummers who bongoed their way up the street whilst keeping one eye on the rockets, poised to dive for cover if one skittered into the crowds and the other on the children who were now throwing strings of firecrackers at our feet.
complete with top hat
crosses on the hilltop
view from the top
On New Year’s Day we wandered into the main church for a quick peek. They were just preparing for a service and we were slightly perplexed that people were taking their dogs in and bundles of flowers. We left when it became standing room only but at least we found an explanation for the flowers. Outside was a car blessing ceremony in which cars and vans were decorated lavishly with flowers, shiny plastic top hats, confetti and even dolls. And then a priest in his long brown robes carrying a blue plastic bucket walked through the crowds sprinkling holy water whilst the owners, not trusting in him and his God entirely, poured the contents of beer cans over each of their vehicle tyres. As the cars drove out of the square and began to cruise around the small town we climbed to the top of the nearby hill. It is a pilgrimage route marked out by fourteen large stone crosses with many more crosses and alters at the summit. On an ordinary day we would have probably been two of a handful of tourist panting up to the top but on this holiday when many extra Bolivians were in town we witnessed some interesting sights as the hill was used for its original purpose. People paused to pray at each cross whilst on the stone alters far older ceremonies were performed with shamans muttering prayers over burning herbs and items. We saw a man melting silver in a little cauldron over a fire and then believers ladled a spoonful of silver into a pot of cold water. The shaman fished out the solidified lumps of silver and for a fee ‘read’ the shapes which had been formed. Extended families picnicked in little nooks and crannies and countless stalls sold the miniature items which people could buy, get blessed and then burn for an offering to their gods.
All too soon it was time for me and BF to say our goodbyes and I set off on my own to the border at Yunguyo so that I could cross back into Peru. This border crossing was far more sedate and sleepy and I arrived without any mishaps at Puno on the Peruvian side of Lake Titicaca. I spent a couple of quiet days in the town although I did take an afternoon trip out to the site of Sillustani
funerary tower stands stark against the skyline
This mystical site is where the VIP’s of the pre-Incan world were buried inside large funerary chimneys. Many of these chimneys remain, their tall forms silhouetted against the sky reminding me of the chimneys of the tin mines on the moors in the UK. As I have already recommended one book in this post I shall unashamedly side track here to recommend a brilliant book by my friend and author Terri Nixon. I felt a similar energy at Sillustani to that which Terri portrays so well in her book the Dust of Ancients. Read it, and feel the magic. You won’t be disappointed. Sillustani was another occasion where the location of a site justified its existence. Set on a breezy lump of land overlooking Lake Titicaca with vultures wheeling overhead and the strong wind coming off the water it was easy to see why they chose this as a resting place for the priests. Our trip home took us via a little small holding to see how a family live with their guinea pigs (food), alpacas, llamas and open fires. I did feel a bit uncomfortable to be poking around in their backyard but it was very interesting. And I can confirm that llamas do spit. With amazing accuracy.
Later that evening back in Puno I had a very interesting night out with a trainee pharmacist from India who I had met on our trip to Sillustani. We shared dishes of guinea pig and cebiche. A lot has been said about guinea pig but apart from the faff of trying to pick through the tiny bones, it was actually really quite delicious. Thank you R for walking me home although I still feel a bit bad that just as you turned to walk back to your hostel there was a thunderclap and the heavens opened. You must have got soaked to the skin.
I eventually met up with M again who had been off on her own mini adventure visiting the islands on the lake and we caught a plane back to Lima from Juliaca and then took our final night bus of the trip to Lima – ready to launch ourselves back into work the following week.
everything you need to buy for your car
by Jane | Dec 18, 2013 | My travels, Peru |
children of El Porvenir
Christmas is approaching fast but it all seems so far removed as the sun here in Peru is getting hotter every day and plans are afoot for a three week break from our work.
By the time you read this I will be on the road, although I am not entirely sure where I will end up. These plans are fluid and subject to change, but coaches and flights are being booked, hostels researched and ideas swapped.
I will have attended a ‘do’ to celebrate the 10th anniversary of the NGO and I will have experienced Chocolatada – the main Christmas event for the children and their families. Nearly four hundred presents will have been wrapped and distributed – a humbling experience when you consider that the football or that doll may be the only toy that the child receives this Christmas and the gifts of panetone and milk to the parents may be rare luxuries. Many of the volunteers are planning to travel throughout South America over the holiday period, some are returning home to the States and sadly some will be moving on from the NGO or returning home.
I have only been in Peru for five weeks but it seems like a lifetime. Despite the complete chaos that is Peru, the language barrier and bombardment of different food, culture and customs, I am loving it. The children at the NGO are all adorable, I love the street food (plastic bags containing hot quails eggs for breakfast are a staple on my walk to work through the parks) and of course, pisco sours. In the few weeks that I have been in Trujillo I have met some amazing people and I will be very upset to say goodbye to them. The volunteer house crackles with emotion and drama (think of it as an international Big Brother), and living is conducted at high volume in several languages but I know that I will remain friends for life with some people here.
I have tentative plans for a VERY long road trip with a couple of friends, first to Lima and then onwards to Arequipa from where we hope to trek into the Colca Canyon. Christmas day may be spent in Cusco – from here it is a train ride up to Machu Pichu, then from there possibly more buses to Puna, Lake Titicaca, over the border into Bolivia and La Paz, but all of this is subject to change.
I will travel as light as possible so I will be leaving my net-book behind. I will bring you up to date in the new year with my adventures and experiences, so please excuse my absence for a while.
Thank you everybody for taking the time to read my blog and I wish you all a wonderful Christmas and a very happy, peaceful New Year from South America. To my family who have mastered Skype, thank you for your love and continued support, to BF, what adventures we are having in our respective countries and to my VERY best friend and your family whom I love as my own, a million million hugs and kisses – and yes Father Christmas DOES manage to squeeze down there!
For my children, where ever you are, I send you heaps of love and I hope that next Christmas I can send you more than a card. Stay safe, be happy and live your lives to the full. It is too short and too fragile to waste on hate or bitterness. My greatest wish is that you will forgive me and allow me a second chance during 2014
by Jane | Nov 20, 2013 | Europe, My travels |
You will laugh about this later
sunrise over the Andes
Those words were supposed to comfort me, but I just wanted to pull the duvet tightly around me, snuggle deep into the wonderful bed and never surface again.
My adventure had begun. I had booked my coach to Heathrow and I was looking forward to my treat of a night at the Thistle Hotel where I had planned to enjoy a leisurely evening meal with a couple of glasses of wine, check out their roof terrace which overlooks the runway and Terminal 5 and experience their new Pod transfer system.
Instead of a fluttering of anticipation and excitement I began to feel quite queasy on the coach and before I even reached Heathrow, I was in the throes of a fully fledged vomiting bug. Somebody up there must have been looking out for me because at least I had one of the better coaches with a decent clean toilet. The bus deposited me at Terminal 5 and feeling dizzy and more light-headed by the minute I struggled with my backpack and my rucksack and staggered off to find to the Pod, the state-of-the-art transport system to my hotel.
the ‘station’
clean lines
I have to admit that when the hotel had phoned me to enquire whether I had heard of the Pod I thought that it was an expensive sounding gimmick, but boy, was I glad of it now. At the futuristic little station tucked away in Terminal 5 consoles rather than ticket officers waited, their screens glowing invitingly in the muted light, lined up alongside little docking stations behind a glass screen. As I followed the very simple instructions on the screen an unmanned electric cart trundled into view. Parking up next to the waiting business man standing at the next station I watched as he stepped in. My Pod was not far behind and I gratefully collapsed onto the wide seat, whilst a soothing recorded voice welcomed me to the experience and advised me to remain seated. Smoothly and almost silently we whizzed along a little roadway, up and down ramps and bridges, crossing over main roads packed with cars. The journey took just five minutes and I very quickly found myself in the car park of the Thistle. Check in was luckily speedy and hassle free, no doubt hastened by my very odd grey complexion as I just needed to get to my room and collapse in a heap.
So no nice meal or drink on the terrace. I couldn’t even take advantage of the tea and coffee making facilities in the room, but I did come very close to experiencing the on-call doctor. Luckily by four in the morning my symptoms had eased and I felt more confident about taking two consecutive flights and travelling for close on twenty four hours.
the pod
As I checked out, I was able to experience the Pod transfer system a little better. The little vehicles reminded me of some of the better bubble lifts at ski resorts, clean and nippy with stacks of room inside for up to four passengers and their bags. The station was just a short walk from the hotel reception and whilst marginally more expensive that the Heathrow Hotel Shuttle Bus, it was certainly worth the extra. I still come out in a cold sweat when I think how I was intending to catch the shuttle bus and I am not at all sure that I would have managed that journey.
Anyhow the day picked up and the adventure truly got under way.
The British Airways flight to Miami airport passed smoothly despite the American man to my left pointedly refusing to be drawn into any sort of conversation at all but he insisted on spilling over into my seat. The British man on my right did chat away but he also kept falling asleep and snuggling in against my shoulder.
Customs at Miami was more interesting. I had to go out through customs and then re-enter. It was very busy and at the head of my queue there were two men joking with each other about who was to go first. Well, the customs officer wasn’t having any nonsense at all and bounced out of his booth, got right into their faces and bawled at them, insisting that they tell him what was so funny. He really was quite menacing and was tapping his belt as if itching for them to give him an excuse for a good beating or a shooting. Torn between being nosy and trying to shrink down behind the man in front I really wished that I could have taken a photograph but that was a definite no-no. After my turn of being photographed and finger printed I automatically drifted forward to lean on the officer’s desk – and was promptly ordered in a very loud voice and in no uncertain terms to stand right back IMMEDIATELY. To lull me into a false sense of security, the official allowed the corners of his mouth to twitch in what was possibly a tiny smile, and when I responded with the same he yelled at me again – he was certainly revelling in his power and also managed to snigger at my passport photo too, but he did ‘ma’am’ me and wish me a good onward flight.
over Peru
There then followed an extremely boring seven hour wait at Miami for my next flight which would take me down to Lima in Peru. I have to admit to getting a little nervous at this stage, worrying about the imminent taxi ride and simply locating my hostel. A couple of airplanes later (they kept breaking) and three gate changes we boarded two hours late but had another uneventful five and a half hour flight to Lima. I managed to doze for most of it but woke to a magnificent sunrise whilst below the plane, the sharp jagged peaks of the Andes pierced the fluffy magicalness of the clouds, running all along the horizon on the left as far as the eye could see. I was momentarily confused as the captain announced that landing was imminent and the clouds were still far below us, but all became clear as we suddenly descended and landed in thick fog know as garua. Carmen, the dinky little Peruvian to my right explained that for much of the year. Lima is rather cruelly cloaked in a grey mist, not like any normal mist but one which bathes the city in a luminescent ghostly pale glow. It lifts briefly for a few short months during the summer and is due to do so any day now and when it does the people of Lima will rejoice
My adventure did not have the auspicious start that I had hoped and planned for but I will certainly not forget it and Sis was right – I am in the southern hemisphere, I am in South America and I can laugh about it now
Disclaimer: I received complimentary tickets for the Pod by the Thistle Hotel: but this did not, in any way influence my comments in this article, which are my own, personal views.
by Jane | Aug 4, 2013 | Europe, My travels |
‘We shwim with the nature here. If you would like to shwim with the nature too with no clothes on then that is all right by us’. Those rather worrying words were spoken by our host who had just picked us up in his car from the side of a deserted lane in the middle of nowhere. He had introduced himself as Willem and he was driving us to his farm and what was going to be our home for the next two weeks. I didn’t dare look at my friend as I felt sure that I would have a fit of the giggles and I didn’t want to offend our host at this early stage of the game.
Earlier that morning we had set out from Lisbon on the intercity coach to Lagos and then caught a local bus to Bensafrim. I was a little worried because we didn’t have an address for our destination. Apparently rural addresses in Portugal can be problematic and our bus driver had no idea where our stop was either despite it appearing on the timetable. We were left on a grass verge in the middle of nowhere and hoped that we could get a mobile signal so that we could contact our hosts or we would be stuffed!
Luck was on our side and Willem soon appeared in his car. He was large, loud and Dutch and we joined him in the car to be bounced down dusty tracks to his farm where we were introduced to his wife Sol who was quiet, petite and Portuguese.
We were given one of the cottages on their farm which was spacious and cool and whilst it was sparsely furnished, it was perfectly adequate. It had been empty for a while but my friend was a darling and swept out the majority of the cobwebs and their occupants before we unpacked.
Willem then gave us a tour of his land which consisted of several large fields, a dozen chickens, and a handful of holiday cottages which are rented out to tourists. There was also a swimming pool but this was no ordinary swimming pool. It was an eco-pool which meant that it had no chlorine or chemicals in it and it was cleaned by nature i.e. frogs, newts and water lilies. Willem reiterated that guests often like to swim naked in the pool and if we chose to also ‘feel free’ at quiet times that would be fine with them. It´s so funny how things change because now I regularly visit a nudist beach where I even stand at the bar with no clothes on or have a massage totally naked but back then I wasn´t quite so daring. You can go to this link if you would like to know how a series of personal challenges to myself led me to end up on a beach with no clothes on!
Their home in the main house was stunning; all high ceilings and beams and windows and light. Sol is a designer and had worked wonders on their home as well as on the other cottages with innovative colour schemes and mosaic tile displays.
We were here as volunteers on a work exchange scheme. The deal was that we should each work 25 hours across seven days in exchange for bed and board. This is the standard as recommended for this sort of scheme with Workaway although they do vary from placement to placement. In our case, Willem and Sol would provide the ingredients for meals which we would prepare ourselves although they would sometimes invite us to eat with them. That first evening we joined them on their terrace to a lovely lamb casserole; the second evening we cooked for ourselves but I was given a plate of freshly grilled sardines hot off the coals. My friend dipped out as he doesn’t eat fish and received nothing.
After oversleeping the next morning and hurriedly reporting for work at 11am our first jobs were to weed the large pebbled perimeter path of the pool and to cut down the waist high grasses from the bank. We weeded and scythed and then we raked the cuttings down into the field.
Our next task was to clear the algae from the pond. There was very little but it had to come out and Willem demonstrated his well established technique for dealing with it. It floated hazily where it had been blown down one end of the pool but it was deceiving in its mass. The trick was to insert a finger into the water and gently stir in a circular motion. Like stirring a cloud the translucent substance would wind around your finger and gather there like candy floss and then it could be pulled out of the water. Where it had caught around the stems of the water plants you could carefully comb it out through your fingers. There was the continuous chirripping sound from the frogs that hopped and plopped into the water loudly every few minutes which sounded like birds, not like frogs at all, but very musical and which brought to mind the Paul McCartney song the Frog Chorus.
swimming with frogs
Day two and we creaked out of bed following all the physical work the previous day. We managed to wake earlier so that we could work in the cooler hours and were first asked to weed a large flower bed. Sol loved her flowers and colours but the wild boar had recently got into the beds and ripped up some of her plants. We weeded for several hours until we disturbed an ants nest and I got several nasty nips on my toes whilst my friend was happy to finally establish the difference between a plant and a weed and proudly announced that ‘if it came up easily it was a plant’.
Willem and Sol had three adorable dogs who appeared to have adopted us and spent all their time following us around or lazing under the enormous bougainvillea tree on our terrace. There was a small simple bar just fifteen minutes down the hillside in the village although it took twenty five minutes to haul ourselves back up to our cottage after a couple of drinks; but when three pints of the local beer and three VERY large wines cost less than seven euros it would be rude not to wander down. The second time that we went down to the bar the four locals who were sitting on the terrace and watching the world go by shared their bar snacks with us. No idea what they were – sort of like giant salty sweet corn kernels but very nice too and it felt good to be accepted as a part of the gang despite the language barrier.
We spent the third day in the vegetable garden;, weeding between waist high rows of corn, pruning olive trees and preparing a raised bed to plant out lettuce seedlings. I did intend to plant the seedlings out in the cool of the evening but we got home too squiffy to tackle that delicate task!
Over the next couple of days I planted out those eighty baby lettuce plants and we pruned the olive branches. We also double-dug (is that word?) a raised bed in preparation for sweet potatoes and there was more sitting in the waist deep water at the edge of the pool in my bikini to clean the algae.
And then….we had achieved our twenty five hours so we could take the rest of the afternoon off. And the following day we set off early to catch the local bus to Lagos for a well deserved break.
This article was first published in August 2013 but has been updated as I re-tell my story of living a nomadic lifestyle
