Day 145
I am back in Ecuador, back in Las Tunas, with my friends, on the coast. It still rains a lot, but there's sunshine in the late afternoon, and it's WARM! Anyway, I'm going to be here to celebrate Carnaval, which begins on the 1st, and promises to be a great party.
Going back to... last Wednesday. Back in Lima, still don't like the city. Good hostel though, talked with a lot people, including a Taiwanese woman, first of her nationality for this trip, and a family of Argentines, who were quite fond of Lima and said that Central Lima, to the north of the city, had some nice spots. Memo: Come back to Lima some day and find something good about it. Got a bus out to Guayaquil, what would turn out to be a whopping 30 hour bus ride. This was, however, my first cama-class bus for this trip, meaning that the seats go way back so you can sleep comfortably, and they give you good food to eat. Bus rides, after the dozens I've taken, are good times to contemplate reality, philosophy, and other things that can truly be appreciated as miles of highway whiz by your window. Hmmmm... it's good to be back where I started, the full circle metaphor is all over it. Fellow passengers on this bus ride included a family of Australians, who were living in Lima, a pair of French hippies, and a family of Californians who were travelling the world by boat with their 4 year old girl, but had docked in Lima and were going to visit the Galapagos Islands (you can't bring private boats to the islands without a license) who drank beer up near the front of the bus for most of the trip. I woke up the next morning, still on the bus, feeling the icky, sticky feeling that heralded my return to the coastal area of Ecuador. I had issues at the border, I needed to get a photocopy of my entrance stamp from my first time in the country, no clear why, as they gave me another 90 days in the country, even though I asked for only 60. Got into Guayaquil at around 11 at night, had to take a cab into the centre of town, I met my first honest taxista, he opened with $3, the standard rate. Found a hostel right in the middle of town, good, except for the several flights of stairs to reach my room. Next morning, I found that rain is now constant in Guayaquil, and that the stall just off the central square, make the best fruit shakes. Cab back out to the terminal, this time, a bus to Riobamba, in central Ecuador. The new terminal is now open, so for all of you that remember the old one, the new one is larger, across the street, and it more like a large mall than a bus terminal. The ride up to Riobamba is beautiful, passing through forests, small towns, and banana plantations. Arriving in Riobamba, I spot the hotel of my choice, called the Hotel Canada. It's not clear why it is called this, but it had me sold, and it was in good shape. One thing else about Riobamba, is the clear presence of an erupting volcano a few hundred km away. Tunghuragua (sp.) has been smoking since August 06, and it puts a lot of ash into the air, as I found out, and was a factor into my early departure from there, some people in the town wear masks over they're faces to keep the ash out. But, it was all good, for the time I was there. That evening there was a street party in progress ·"Riobamba sin alcohol", which appeared to be the city's attempt at getting youth to have good clean fun. Lots of musicians and such. Next day, went out exploring the city, but had to stop early, as the sickness in my digestive tract was getting a little out of hand. I'm fine now. The fruit juices that they sell in the market are made using ice from the glacier on nearby Volcan Chimborazo (extinct), and taste delcious. That evening, I bought a train ticket on the tourist train for the next morning. Got up early the next morning and went down. The train is in great condition, but the ride, as I found out, was a little disappointing. The highlight is it's journey down the "Nariz del Diablo", the Devil's Nose, which is this steep mountain face that the train gets down by going back and forth into sidings, it wasn't nearly as steep as the name would make you imagine, the train did derail however, and they spent an hour getting it back on the tracks. Most disappointingly though, it is advertised that you can ride on the roof of the train, which they didn't allow, for reasons unclear, but since the early days of the train, they've puts safety rails and yellow plastic chairs on the top of the train, so it seems I didn't miss anything. Got back, disillusioned, but you have to take a bus for a large part of the trip back, much more interesting, with a Japanese kid that thought I'd stolen his seat; he didn't understand that Ecuadorians fill their buses beyond seating capacity. Got back in one piece though. I left Riobamba the next day, and, not wanting to go north to Ambato, equidistant with the volcano, I backtracked to Guayaquil and took a bus to Jipijapa, on the coast. Arrived late at night, in the pouring rain, and found one of the best hotels I've ever been in, with clean tile flooring and a shower with proper hot water. Yesterday morning, still raining, and took a bus to Puerto Lopez, and onto Las Tunas. Arrived in the late afternoon, and there was Antonio, leaving his friend's house. Once again, I'm living in Las Tunas, this time, however, it's much warmer and quite a bit drier than last time. Much better. Today was... interesting. Edison (the senior), had asked if I thought Ecuadorian women were pretty. I'd said yes, being the standard answer when someone asks you, but this was somehow construed incorrectly. He was giving me a lift to here to use the internet, but he decided to detour... to a brothel. I wasn't expecting this, and he said something about a beer, the sign at the front said night club, and it was on the edge of town, it began to sink in when I saw the young women sitting around in bikinis, and was clarified when Edison told me they only cost $5. Okay. I burst out laughing when I realized where I was, and we left after doing my best to explain to Edison that I wasn't one to patronize an establishment like this one. I was laughing most of the way out, the misinterpretation was too much for me. He dropped me off here, and I'm leaving for the graduation ceremony at Antonio's school.
31.1.08
21.1.08
Notes from the Lonely Traveller
The world is a strange place.
It's full of a mass of anomalies, oddities and absurdities that it uses to keep us on our toes. We're never ever going to be sure what tomorrow brings, and even then, today might end with us understanding even less than when we got up that morning. For instance, Peru, unlike all the other nations it shares the continent with, doesn't generally have central bus terminals, with a couple of exceptions, Cusco being one of them. Another being that, in the city of Copacabana, Bolivia, there is an incredible concentration of Toblerone being sold in the markets and stores. Things like that, while bringing forth perhaps less-than-positive emotions about efficiency and neo-liberal globalisation, are what make stepping out the front door of one's home worth all the risks of harm or, heaven forbid, long-lasting change. They begin to teach you the roots of truth, of how things really are, rather than simply support the facts and statistics you find in books and media. They begin to enlighten you to different sides of things that you can't see on the one face of the TV. It also begins to teach truths about yourself, sometimes with painful clarity, shattering, not so much preconceptions of the world, but preconceptions you've made about yourself, which in turn adjust your viewpoint of everything around you. It is for that, that causes the greater amount of grief, ecstasy, confusion and profundity of travelling, the things that will last long after you settle back into our otherwise sedentary existence. Things will affect you, bash you over the head, that you will never have prepared for, that will sit with you long after the pleasure of a beautiful vista or a wild party have faded. It is for that reason that perhaps, makes packaged tourism one of the strangest things of all. Where one goes out the front door, with someone hold their hand the whole while, taking them out to see the things they think they want to see, protecting them from the possibility that something might happen that hadn't already been mathematically synchronized with the fantasy of the tourist. Like some idea of a corporate sex life: nothing but pleasure, in which your partner gets their orgasm from your credit card and neither of you got anything fulfilling about it because you only got between the sheets of the itinerary and the legal disclaimer. And maybe that's all some people want. It should be a relief to everyone else though, that foreplay can still be great without a schedule or guide, finding things out for ourselves, and never assuming that things are only as interesting as what you read in the brochure. Yes, the world is a strange place, and will continue to be so, providing us with truth, that, if we are lucky, will lead us all to exciting, interesting and fulfilling lives.
It's full of a mass of anomalies, oddities and absurdities that it uses to keep us on our toes. We're never ever going to be sure what tomorrow brings, and even then, today might end with us understanding even less than when we got up that morning. For instance, Peru, unlike all the other nations it shares the continent with, doesn't generally have central bus terminals, with a couple of exceptions, Cusco being one of them. Another being that, in the city of Copacabana, Bolivia, there is an incredible concentration of Toblerone being sold in the markets and stores. Things like that, while bringing forth perhaps less-than-positive emotions about efficiency and neo-liberal globalisation, are what make stepping out the front door of one's home worth all the risks of harm or, heaven forbid, long-lasting change. They begin to teach you the roots of truth, of how things really are, rather than simply support the facts and statistics you find in books and media. They begin to enlighten you to different sides of things that you can't see on the one face of the TV. It also begins to teach truths about yourself, sometimes with painful clarity, shattering, not so much preconceptions of the world, but preconceptions you've made about yourself, which in turn adjust your viewpoint of everything around you. It is for that, that causes the greater amount of grief, ecstasy, confusion and profundity of travelling, the things that will last long after you settle back into our otherwise sedentary existence. Things will affect you, bash you over the head, that you will never have prepared for, that will sit with you long after the pleasure of a beautiful vista or a wild party have faded. It is for that reason that perhaps, makes packaged tourism one of the strangest things of all. Where one goes out the front door, with someone hold their hand the whole while, taking them out to see the things they think they want to see, protecting them from the possibility that something might happen that hadn't already been mathematically synchronized with the fantasy of the tourist. Like some idea of a corporate sex life: nothing but pleasure, in which your partner gets their orgasm from your credit card and neither of you got anything fulfilling about it because you only got between the sheets of the itinerary and the legal disclaimer. And maybe that's all some people want. It should be a relief to everyone else though, that foreplay can still be great without a schedule or guide, finding things out for ourselves, and never assuming that things are only as interesting as what you read in the brochure. Yes, the world is a strange place, and will continue to be so, providing us with truth, that, if we are lucky, will lead us all to exciting, interesting and fulfilling lives.
15.1.08
Day 129
I know it has been ages since I've written. And now without further dallying, I shall bring you up to date on my current ecapades.
So, to decide where to bring you up to date, my arrival in Bolivia seems to be a good spot, Friday. I arrived at La Quiaca, Argentina, on the frontier, to find that, yes, the border was open (it has been opening and closing spontaneously with general strikes lately, they're drafting a new constitution right now). The border was straight forward enough, took a taxi to the crossing, line up, get my stamp out of Argentina, walk over the bridge, get it stamped on the other.
Welcome to Bolivia!
Now on the Bolivian side, Villazon, I change my money into bolivianos, and march to the bus station, and try to get a direct bus to La Paz. The bus was full, so I got a bus to Oruro, 3 hours south of La Paz. That was when I emailed you during the wait for my bus, I got some empanadas and some Oreo's and sat on the curb munching happily until my bus showed up. I managed to get the busses mixed up, as the bus to La Paz had arrived at the same time, and it wasnt until the ticket boy saw me that I was set straight.
Onto the bus, which was getting back to South American standards; Argentine buses are much more upscale. it was good though, and efficient. The trip was good, the driver roared the whole way to Oruro, there was an immensely fat woman behind me that kept groaning and farting. Arriving in Oruro, which had the appearance of a barren wasteland. It's quite a large city, so there must have been something there, but nothing I saw. Got an early bus to La Paz, which was uneventful, there was an old woman sitting next me eating empanadas. We arrived in La Paz winding down into the vast city of red. It appears that all the buildings are made of brick, with aluminum roofs.
The bus terminal was a big, modern thing, not what I was expecting of the capital of South America's poorest nation. After wandering around the terminal, looking at all the companies, I got a ticket to Copacabana. With that, I got some lunch, beans and rice, yes, back in the South America I was so accustomed to. When the time came around, had to get a ticket to board the bus, for using the terminal, which cost 2 bolivianos, or about 25 cents. The bus was, notably, full of foreigners, all evidently coming to see the fabled Lake Titicaca. The bus climbed up out of La Paz, and it took about 3 hours to get to Tiquina, where they stopped, had everyone get off the bus, so they could load it on a barge to get it across the lake, all of us had to buy another ticket to get a different boat over. On the other side, they checked our passports and we pile back onto the bus, and on we roll, arriving at Copacabana at sunset. Its getting cold, so I head off in search of a place to stay, of which there are hundreds in this resort town. Somehow, despite appearances, I found that everywhere was full, and began to panic a little as I went from place to place been told "No hay camas" There are no beds. After an hour of going around, I found this one place, which had a room for 3, and was charging me 150 bolivianos ($21 dollars, extraordinarily high for Bolivia, because he knew I had no else to go. I told him it would be easy, as I there were many other backpackers wandering around town like me. The room was on the very top floor, the shower had no hot water, but I had a place to stay. So I went out in search of people to share my room with. After wandering around for a little, I met this Swedish fellow, Richard, who readily agreed to take one of the beds. Now relieved, we went out to find a 3rd person. This proved more difficult, as it appeared that all the single travellers had disappeared, leaving couples, and larger groups, who we found were unwilling to split up. We advertised up and town the main street. Found no one, and sat down on and had dinner, watching the street. There was a girl that passed by, but she shied away from the 50 bolivianos. We told her if she couldn-t find anything, we-d be having dinner for a while. She never came back. Richard and I checked prices for the boat to the Isla del Sol for the next day, the big island on Lake Titicaca, and went back to the room, only 2. Slept well that night, and woke early. Its always cold here. Packed up and left the overpriced hostel, grabbed breakfast (thankfully, they eat real breakfast in Bolivia) and I found a new hostel, its more like a hotel, that was only going to charge me 40 bolivianos ($7, still high for Bolivia, but it clean and better kept). Heading out, we bought tickets to the island, but Richard was only doing the half day, so he took a different boat, I never saw him again. The boat is PAINFULLY slow, and it took nearly 3 and half hours to reach the island. On the way, I came to know a pair of Americans and a pair of Brits, who were travelling together, and listened them complain about the entry visa (Americans must pay $100 US, in US dollars, at the border) and this Argentine, Jorge, who was on vacation with his family, and, of all things, wrote rap music.
Arriving on the island, we bought entry tickets to the island, and I went around with the 4, with a guide leading us around and telling us about the major sites, many of them pre-incan. There was a lot of walking involved, which apparently the 4 didnt like, and went back early. I stayed on, and walked the long road, from the north of the island to the south. Met a Argentine woman along the way, talked about how cool it was to be out here, I didnt learn her name, but I found out she had 2 sons around my age, and how theyd probably love to be out here doing this. All along the road, we were swarmed by groups of little children, asking for candy. Apprently, many tourists carry sweets to give to the local children, thus this rather nasty habit. After many ups and downs, we made it to the south of the island just in time to get the boat home. Another long boat trip back, in which I was entertained by these excitable Brazilian girls, who appeared to be quite rich, by their appearance, taking pictures of everything and dancing to music on their cell phones. Many people were getting antsy, as they wanted to get back in time to catch buses to La Paz or Puno. We got back eventually, and beelined to my new hostal, where I had a nice hot shower, and cleaned up, then went out in search of dinner. Got flagged by an advertising man on the street, and, being in the mood for pizza, took his offer. The place was nice, and the pizza delicous, but there was an Argentine woman singing there that night, serenading everyone as we ate. Finished there, and walked out the door, and there, on the street, were Saul and Antonio, the Spaniard and Brazilian who I had met in Buenos Aires nearly a month ago. After an energetic meeting, we talked about where we'd been, and how we were doing. They went on to a party, and I, tired from the long hike on the Isla, went back to my hostal, and fell blissfully asleep.
This brings us to today, I've been out buying, selling and repairing my things, some of which are quite worn at this point in my trip.
So, to decide where to bring you up to date, my arrival in Bolivia seems to be a good spot, Friday. I arrived at La Quiaca, Argentina, on the frontier, to find that, yes, the border was open (it has been opening and closing spontaneously with general strikes lately, they're drafting a new constitution right now). The border was straight forward enough, took a taxi to the crossing, line up, get my stamp out of Argentina, walk over the bridge, get it stamped on the other.
Welcome to Bolivia!
Now on the Bolivian side, Villazon, I change my money into bolivianos, and march to the bus station, and try to get a direct bus to La Paz. The bus was full, so I got a bus to Oruro, 3 hours south of La Paz. That was when I emailed you during the wait for my bus, I got some empanadas and some Oreo's and sat on the curb munching happily until my bus showed up. I managed to get the busses mixed up, as the bus to La Paz had arrived at the same time, and it wasnt until the ticket boy saw me that I was set straight.
Onto the bus, which was getting back to South American standards; Argentine buses are much more upscale. it was good though, and efficient. The trip was good, the driver roared the whole way to Oruro, there was an immensely fat woman behind me that kept groaning and farting. Arriving in Oruro, which had the appearance of a barren wasteland. It's quite a large city, so there must have been something there, but nothing I saw. Got an early bus to La Paz, which was uneventful, there was an old woman sitting next me eating empanadas. We arrived in La Paz winding down into the vast city of red. It appears that all the buildings are made of brick, with aluminum roofs.
The bus terminal was a big, modern thing, not what I was expecting of the capital of South America's poorest nation. After wandering around the terminal, looking at all the companies, I got a ticket to Copacabana. With that, I got some lunch, beans and rice, yes, back in the South America I was so accustomed to. When the time came around, had to get a ticket to board the bus, for using the terminal, which cost 2 bolivianos, or about 25 cents. The bus was, notably, full of foreigners, all evidently coming to see the fabled Lake Titicaca. The bus climbed up out of La Paz, and it took about 3 hours to get to Tiquina, where they stopped, had everyone get off the bus, so they could load it on a barge to get it across the lake, all of us had to buy another ticket to get a different boat over. On the other side, they checked our passports and we pile back onto the bus, and on we roll, arriving at Copacabana at sunset. Its getting cold, so I head off in search of a place to stay, of which there are hundreds in this resort town. Somehow, despite appearances, I found that everywhere was full, and began to panic a little as I went from place to place been told "No hay camas" There are no beds. After an hour of going around, I found this one place, which had a room for 3, and was charging me 150 bolivianos ($21 dollars, extraordinarily high for Bolivia, because he knew I had no else to go. I told him it would be easy, as I there were many other backpackers wandering around town like me. The room was on the very top floor, the shower had no hot water, but I had a place to stay. So I went out in search of people to share my room with. After wandering around for a little, I met this Swedish fellow, Richard, who readily agreed to take one of the beds. Now relieved, we went out to find a 3rd person. This proved more difficult, as it appeared that all the single travellers had disappeared, leaving couples, and larger groups, who we found were unwilling to split up. We advertised up and town the main street. Found no one, and sat down on and had dinner, watching the street. There was a girl that passed by, but she shied away from the 50 bolivianos. We told her if she couldn-t find anything, we-d be having dinner for a while. She never came back. Richard and I checked prices for the boat to the Isla del Sol for the next day, the big island on Lake Titicaca, and went back to the room, only 2. Slept well that night, and woke early. Its always cold here. Packed up and left the overpriced hostel, grabbed breakfast (thankfully, they eat real breakfast in Bolivia) and I found a new hostel, its more like a hotel, that was only going to charge me 40 bolivianos ($7, still high for Bolivia, but it clean and better kept). Heading out, we bought tickets to the island, but Richard was only doing the half day, so he took a different boat, I never saw him again. The boat is PAINFULLY slow, and it took nearly 3 and half hours to reach the island. On the way, I came to know a pair of Americans and a pair of Brits, who were travelling together, and listened them complain about the entry visa (Americans must pay $100 US, in US dollars, at the border) and this Argentine, Jorge, who was on vacation with his family, and, of all things, wrote rap music.
Arriving on the island, we bought entry tickets to the island, and I went around with the 4, with a guide leading us around and telling us about the major sites, many of them pre-incan. There was a lot of walking involved, which apparently the 4 didnt like, and went back early. I stayed on, and walked the long road, from the north of the island to the south. Met a Argentine woman along the way, talked about how cool it was to be out here, I didnt learn her name, but I found out she had 2 sons around my age, and how theyd probably love to be out here doing this. All along the road, we were swarmed by groups of little children, asking for candy. Apprently, many tourists carry sweets to give to the local children, thus this rather nasty habit. After many ups and downs, we made it to the south of the island just in time to get the boat home. Another long boat trip back, in which I was entertained by these excitable Brazilian girls, who appeared to be quite rich, by their appearance, taking pictures of everything and dancing to music on their cell phones. Many people were getting antsy, as they wanted to get back in time to catch buses to La Paz or Puno. We got back eventually, and beelined to my new hostal, where I had a nice hot shower, and cleaned up, then went out in search of dinner. Got flagged by an advertising man on the street, and, being in the mood for pizza, took his offer. The place was nice, and the pizza delicous, but there was an Argentine woman singing there that night, serenading everyone as we ate. Finished there, and walked out the door, and there, on the street, were Saul and Antonio, the Spaniard and Brazilian who I had met in Buenos Aires nearly a month ago. After an energetic meeting, we talked about where we'd been, and how we were doing. They went on to a party, and I, tired from the long hike on the Isla, went back to my hostal, and fell blissfully asleep.
This brings us to today, I've been out buying, selling and repairing my things, some of which are quite worn at this point in my trip.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
