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Cuenca Culture

6 October 2010 in Ecuador | No comments

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(Thursday, 6 October, on the bus to Ingapirca, north of Cuenca, Ecuador) A blind man at the front of the bus is strumming a guitar and harmonizing with a young woman, baby in arm – a terribly sad song. In the lyrics I can make out something about being alone on a beach. We have stopped at a station en route where a number of tailored business men and women, in pinstripe and elegant polonecks and shiny leather shoes, picked up their briefcases and left the bus. The Spanish descriptions of fruit salads and potato crisps have been repeated so many times by the vendors walking down between the seats that they have each merged into one especially long sound of intenations and syllables that lasts all the way back out of the bus. Three identically dressed women outside on the pavement are bent around a basket, their traditional pleated skirts covering their stockinged legs. The black rope plaits emerging from their panama hats jiggle against their backs as they work. They are fastening a canvas bag across the top of the basket to stop the chicken inside it from getting out. Her creamy-canvas-colour, feathered-healthy head is blinking and bobbing with an air of surprise and shocked indignation from one end. Read the rest of this entry »

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Ear Fear

14 July 2010 in Bolivia | No comments

(12:15, 14 July, Cafe Mirrador looking out over Sucre, Bolivia) From here up the hill, Sucre is terracotta and white and spans out into the day in all directions until it meets some flat farm-topped hills with mountains behind them. I was up here some days ago with a friend and a glass of wine. We had to rush down to confirm that we would be trekking, in the very mountains the sun had been setting behind whilst we had been distracted discussing his past and my various possible futures. We left for the hike a day later instead, which meant we had to do the 2-day, skipping the last leg so Ollie, who is of Dutch parentage, would be back in Sucre for the final. Pushing it back a day also allowed me to recruit another couple to accompany myself, Ollie and Andreas, the guy who had initiated the trip.

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Wine on the Rocks

4 June 2010 in Argentina | 2 comments

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(12:45, Monday 31st May, under grape vine in little garden of Hostel Laguna Brava,Villa Union, Argentina) I was struggling to organize a trip from La Rioja to the national parks I wanted to go to, as a solo traveller, for any less than 500 Argentinian pesos = R1000. I would happily have stuck around in La Rioja and waited for a group, it really was so lovely, but Mondays are slow days (even slower than normal) and I had already taken two nights advantage of Andrew’s generous “Southern hospitality” as he called it, so I thought I’d better move on. I wasn’t keen to miss out on seeing the parks altogether, if I was so close, and it sounded like the best way to find a cheaper option was to bus to nearby Villa Union as early as I could and try to organize from there. If I still couldn’t afford to go that day, I had decided I’d hang around in Villa Union for the day and try catch a night bus to Tucuman.

So I tiptoed out of Andrew’s at like 6 this morning and watched the sun rise over some of the most stunning mountain scenery from my bus window. I only reached Villa Union at lunch time, so an afternoon trip wasn’t looking promising. But the tour company had no trouble convincing me to stick around for tomorrow’s much cheaper trip when they told me about the very nice, very reasonable hostel here and that the buses to Tucuman go back through La Rioja anyway – I wouldn’t really have wasted a day. So here I am in the picturesque, mountain-lined, vineyard-ful town of Villa Union, in this wonderful, quaint, little hostel with just four other people – none of whom speak English (sigh, but its definitely better for me, because I have to practise my Castellano). The tour tomorrow sounds incredible and includes a little hike which is why it’s so good to have somewhere to put my bag down and relax for the evening, cook some dinner. I’ll go for a little wander this afternoon which the tour lady recommended for sunset. And you know how I feel about sunsets

(09:10, Friday 4th June, common room of Tucuman Hostel, Tucuman, Argentina) Back in a big city so I’ve got some internet time. The tour to Talampaya was incredible. Unfortunately instead of the friendly, helpful tour lady from the office who spoke perfect English (and French) the guide who took us was a slightly yellow tinged old guy who seemed to be very knowledgable between cigarettes but who wasn’t really interested in speaking English for my benefit. Luckily the Argentinian couple who made up our little three person tour group were what South Americans call “divino”! They spent the whole trail translating to me with actions and charades, despite the fact that they spoke far less English than the guide, and helping me with my Castellano while we chatted earnestly about how beautiful it all was.       Theresa: “Que lindo, no?”      Me: “Si! Muy lindo!”

We had scarcely seen our first red rock construction when Marcello asked what I would be doing the following day. Maybe Valle de la Luna? Or another part of Talampaya? I explained that I would be catching the night bus to Tucuman, because I couldn’t really afford more than one excursion. They insisted that I stay on and go with them on the trip they were planning for the next day. They had a car and were planning to pay a guide anyway, so there’d be no further expense if I joined them and I really needn’t contribute. I know, hey?!

The tour the following afternoon was fantastic! Even Theresa explained to me, in half English, half Spanish, that she had “could feel it much better” because of the “energy of the man” ie. the guide was a vast improvement on the last one. An enthusiastic young local, midway through studying tourism specializing in archeology, who laughed along with us when we tilted our heads, straining to see the imaginary figures in the rock formations of The Valley of Magic. He even scored us a glass of foot-pressed wine in Banda Florida, the nearby village, from one of his bodega neighbours – much more delicious than the cheapo box wine I had taken up to the viewpoint with me the day before.

This is the facebook album for Talampaya and all the little places between:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=183968&id=504021698



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Doing the Day to Day

27 May 2010 in Argentina | 1 comment

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(11:00, 27 May, lobby of Hostel Palenque, Cordoba, Argentina) Things have really been slowing down. I caught a direct bus to Cordoba in northeast Argentina from Paysandu, Uruguay, arriving early Saturday morning – my first actually successful overnight bus, haha. After all my initial excitement about the Argentinian Bicentenary celebrations, I had completely lost track of the date so when I went to a cybercafe on arrival in the city to check where I could stay, I had a moment of panic that everything seemed to be full. A long weekend had run up to the 25th of May and people had come from near and far to the bustling University city of Cordoba.
(side note: I may have misrepresented Paysandu – it is in fact Uruguay’s second largest urban centre, so if I gave you the impression it’s a small town, that’s because it felt like one)

A very nice receptionist, Pablo, at one of the full hostels I arrived at to make my appeal for a bed of any sort phoned around and found me a dorm room in a great hostel – very chilled, run by a young couple, full of relaxed hippies from all over (lots from France) with a kinda family atmosphere and a spoilt but beautiful resident labrador. It’s been easy to get comfortable here and I’ve been doing a lot less “stuff” per day than I had been. It’s an interesting city to just get lost in, literally, I’ve done it a bunch of times, plus there’s been quite a festive holiday vibe since I arrived so…
I have been to some historical sites and churches (I was the only one signed up to go around the Jesuit University one evening so I got a personal tour in English given by one of the university students – I asked loads of questions) and to some amazing galleries of antique and modern art, where I stood for inordinately long periods of time in front of some pieces, like a charcoal drawing that looked like duck-billed humans fondling one another, and tried to absorb some “culture” – Cordoba has been called the cultural capital of South America.
But I’ve been taking it slow, getting started a bit later after a leisurely (free) breakfast. Staying up around a dinner table, or a guitar playing traveller singing songs in pseudo-English, as oppose to going clubbing. Even going to bed early with this light read an Australian guy passed on to me in Colonia.

Besides a military parade and a flag-raising ceremony complete with fireworks and live rock bands, which I definitely consider extraordinary activities, I’ve done quite a lost of just ordinary living. I’ve bought groceries, done a whole load of washing (by hand, if you please), spent some time walking around learning Spanish and practising it in my head, some time reading. Doing the day to day.

Yesterday I was back in full-blown tourist mode, maxing out my hours, map in hand, but it was quite ironic – most of the things I saw were about how other people have just ordinarily lived – done their day to day. I caught a bus to Alta Gracia, a beautiful country town developed over an old Jesuit estate. I learnt how the native Indians lived in underground homes cultivating their own veggies, how the Jesuits kept their daily financial records of the cattle and horses which were being raised to support the University in Cordoba, how the African supervisors and labourers (essentially slaves, but with a pretty schweet lifestyle) made boots out of the skin from a horse leg. I saw the kneeler that was used for daily prayers by the daughter of the Viceroy who owned the estate when the Jesuits were expelled from Argentina for spreading liberal ideas. I saw the plates and napkins used by Manuel de Falla’s sister (he was a famous Spanish composer) to serve his breakfast every morning, the clever box that disguises a whisky bottle and glasses as a pile of books, used by one of the town’s famous artists, and even the bathroom young Che Guevara used to brush his teeth and style his amazing hair when his family moved to their country house in Alta Gracia to help him with his asthma.

I will stop just living and move on from Cordoba probably tomorrow night, by which time I should have decided where to go next. Right now I must do something touristy for the day, its already afternoon and I’m still my pyjamas!

There’s a facebook album for Cordoba with some pics from the town and festivities:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=183965&id=504021698

And there’s another one with some views of what I saw in Alta Gracia:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=174992&id=504021698

Alta Gracia golf club, where Che practised his golf as a young’un
Me and baby Che at the Che Guevara Museum in Alta Gracia
Alta Gracia
Jesuit Estancia, Alta Gracia


Alta Gracia
Jesuit Estancia, Alta Gracia
Alta Gracia
Alta Gracia


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Art and Artigas

21 May 2010 in Uruguay | 4 comments

(09:25, Friday! It’s Friday the 21st! When did that happen?! That’s 3 weeks! Sitting on rain jacket on wet bench, Plaza Constitution, Paysandú, Uruguay) You may have noticed, but my journey has involved a lot of Plazas, Constitutions, Independencias, 18 de Julio and 25 de Mayos. There’s also a lot of Artigas here in Uruguay and right now I have Gomez pointing dramatically at the ground in front of me, sword in hand, with a very sweet little bird on his military cap and what appears to be a big birds’ nest on his right shoulder pad.

I’ve been seeing so many things which obviously have historical or other significance on top of the aesthetic value I attribute to them. Unfortunately museums rarely have English information and my Argentinian and Uruguyan history is patchy at best. And I certainly wouldn’t dare ask for any more information from one of the many many people whose patience I have tested over the last few weeks (all of whom have been great) as I fumble over the  jumble of Spanish and English in my head, the occasional Afrikaans or even Zulu word popping up in earnest…

(20:04, Fri 21 May, Paysandú Bus Terminal, Uru) I have 2 hrs to kill and even I think what I was writing this morning was boring. I’ll summarize: Basically, I checked out in Montevideo and went to the bus station to catch whatever I could in the direction of Argentina. I ended up alone in the huge dorm at the riverside sport-club in relatively wealthy Mercedes, close to the border. I met a young South African lady who informed me that the border crossing I had planned had been closed for years and it was not unusual for people to find that out only when they arrived in the one-horse town I had been heading for. So I bought a ticket for the earliest trip to the next border town northwards, Paysandú, which would give me most of the day there to organize a ticket onwards to Argentina. So I’ve spent an unplanned  day each in the small Uruguayan towns of Mercedes and Paysandú and both have been incredible. Honestly, my heart has been so touched at how nice everyone has been, I feel tears climbing from my chest when I think about it.

It’s become routine to head to the tourist office in a new town and get the standard map and a run-down of the highlights. At the unlikely looking tourist information in Mercedes was the most incredible charming woman. She sat me down and did her best to explain the significance of each dot on the map – I was normally satisfied with a few circles indicating the best stuff for a gringo tourist to see. She not only offered me the internet in their office to check my mail, she especially organized a car for the afternoon so she could take me to this phenomenal paleontological museum in a castle up the river. She had the curator show us around the collection personally, including a room full of things not on display, and give me a guided tour of the historical venue complete with a view of the river from the watchtower on the roof. We chatted about the tourist industry and their restoration plans as we drove back to the town centre. Then she had the town cathedral opened and all the lights turned on just for me to see – it had been closed when I went that afternoon.

One of her recommendations had been an exhibition of European and Latin American art. When I arrived, again the whole place was unlocked and the lights turned on just for me and the actual art restorer walked me from painting to painting detailing the history, techniques and even the iconography of each. It was without doubt the most indepth conversation I’ve ever had about art and it was in a mash of English, Spanish and gesticulations. He also showed me  the hundreds of pieces lying waiting to be restored in his workroom, or simply stuck away because there’s no space.

This morning I stopped writing because I was bored of my own winge that I don’t know the histories behind most of things I’ve been seeing. I whipped out my map after ignorantly contemplating Gomez’ statue for a while, and a random guy approached me. He said he could see I was a tourist, would I like to know the story behind the statue I’d been staring at? I admit, “Don’t talk to strangers” kept me cautious especially when he offered to accompany me until his appointment at 1pm. But he translated the whole Museo Historico for me and made sure we had a guide at this fantastic cemetery/museum which I would never have organized alone.The guide was so passionate about the place and the three of us had this incredible discussion about the symbolism in the graves and the set up of the cemetery – it was great!

So although my stint in Uruguay has been quite short, the people have all been so patient and nice to little gringa me with my inability to speak Spanish. Mom, I told the women from tourist info that you would be so glad that she had been nice to me and she sent her greetings. I know, so nice hey?!

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Colonial Colonia, Muchos Caliente and Maté to Share

13 May 2010 in Uruguay | No comments

(20:30, 13 May, Hostel Colonial, Colonia del Sacramento, Uruguay) I know it’s only my second country, but Uruguayan men are definitely my favourite so far. They’re laid back, friendly, incredibly good-looking and they don’t try to convince you into anything more than good, friendly conversation. Although “No” really does mean “No” in Spanish, Argentinian men only seem to understand when you’re shouting it into the faces.
I wish I had got the name of the traveller from Uruguay that I met in Buenos Aires who convinced me that missing the country altogether would be a huge mistake. But although I’m unlikely to see him, I’m excited to hit Montevideo for the weekend.

Tonight I’m taking it easy in the sleepy town of Colonia. I caught the ferry here from Buenos Aires, arriving in the early early hours of this morning.
I had spent some time looking at the map and deciding how I would get to my hostel. But sitting in the fancy arrivals’ lounge…

(13:40, Thurs 14 May, bench under pink-flowered tree, Plaza Major, Barrio Historico, Colonia) Fell asleep, sorry…Sitting in the fancy arrival’s lounge at the ferry station in Colonia, with all my kit I decided against walking there in the dark and braved the stares of the security guards and the cleaning crew who worked around me and slept against my pack on a bench in the station.

When the sun finally rose, I discarded my hobo impersonation and walked outside only to find that Colonia is so small, my hostel was a few hundred metres away. They let me check in as soon as I arrived so I had few hours sleep before I went sight-seeing. I had specifically chosen Hostel Colonial because they had free bicycles available. What they say about riding a bike is true but I still ended up giving it back after 20 minutes or so. I had decided that the loose seat was bearable and had hopped on again after visiting the first site – the old City Gate. I was just getting my balance in the first few metres when the next thing on the itinerary, went by. Most of the attractions are in the Historical Neighbourhood of Colonia and the place is so small they are generally a couple of steps from one another. From where I am sitting I am basically looking at 8 of the 15-odd things to be seen. It’s a lovely little historical town that was a smuggler’s port to Buenos Aires in its day and is now an attraction for local and international tourists, with decent information and beautifully kept and restored quaint cobbled streets with 18th century blue and white tiled name signs on the stone walls of old Portuguese and Spanish styled homes. I’ve changed some money to Uruguayan pesos so today I’m going to all these gorgeous little museums full of the most incredible things. From the fossilized skeleton of this crazy enormous sloth-like animal called a Lestodon discovered in the area, to beautiful antique porcelain maté cups.

Maté is this great thing, a really authentically South American pastime. So it was so amazing to see these very European cups, displayed amongst the Portuguese vases and Spanish bullfighting costumes, were used by the wealthy to do something so distinctly un-European. Like we go for coffee socially or meet for tea, South Americans have maté. At any time of day you will see them with a little gourd of herbs with a metal spoon/straw, which they top up with hot water from a flask or kettle. The thing I like so much about it is that when you meet for maté you don’t each have your own; one maté is made and topped with water as it’s passed around. I tried to explain the warm fuzzy feeling this communal ritual idea gave me to the Argentinian who was telling me how it works, and he suggested that whilst it was a lovely sentiment, it wasn’t something most people thought about when having maté and perhaps I was reading into it a bit much.

(14:30, 14 May, Plaza Major, Colonia del Sacramento, Uruguay) I can just hear Edith Piaf drifting from a nearby café. I’m surrounded by this stunning flock of squawking green and yellow birds – they look a bit like cockatoos – who are hopping around in the branches above me, showering me in big pink flowers. I have one or two more museums to see and then I think I’ll head up to the beaches a little way away to enjoy the sunny afternoon. My bus to Montevideo leaves just before midnight so I’ll hit the city for the weekend. While it’s only 1.5 million people, nothing like Buenos Aires, the lovely little Colonia del Sacramento has been a wonderful change of pace.

Heading back to the urban, there are a couple of lessons I learnt in Buenos Aires. Whilst the subway system’s routes are labelled A, B, C etc and the stations are marked on the street with a round coloured sign of the letter, heading for a round blue E sign won’t help you, no matter how many times you do it. E stands for estacionamiento, and since you are looking for the subway, a car park is unlikely to be useful to you.

Also an abbreviation: when filling your water bottle at a basin, avoid the tap marked C. The one you are looking for has an F for frego, or cold. C, I think is for caliente and you will undoubtedly melt your bottle because the geysers here are all set way too high.
Speaking of which, the clouds are edging in and I’m keen to maximize the warmth in Colonia.

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