Food

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Mmmm… Food

24 October 2010 in Argentina, Bolivia, Ecuador, Peru, Uruguay | No comments

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Continuation of Cuenca Culture post
(Around midday, Sunday 24th October, sitting on the grass under a tree, Parque Carolina, Quito, Ecuador) I know eating is universal, and that some people (like myself) get much more excited by this very fundamental act than others do. Of course, it is not an unusual thing for food to have cultural significance and special associations, for individuals and groups alike: Grannies crunchies, Christmas cake. Ritually eating a specific meal as part of a season or celebration or tasting new dishes as a form of experiencing something can be recreational, an activity in and of itself, not solely the fulfilment of a biological need. If there was anyone who really understood and delighted in this, I thought it would be me. But in South America, food is life and life is food. Read the rest of this entry »

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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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Itsy bitsy teeny weeny

26 July 2010 in Bolivia | No comments

(15:15, 26 July, Immigration Office, Santa Cruz, Bolivia) I wasn’t the cut-off exactly, but it was the woman just 2 ahead of me who was the last to be served before Immigration closed for lunch. When I was in Sucre I went to the office there to check because my 30-day visa expires on the 28th of July. The Santa Cruz office, being in a big city, is much bigger and quite well organized (in fact I have written this entire blog post on the little slip of paper they gave me listing what I would require for an extension and how to go about getting one step-by-step), but there are obviously far more people available for making queues.

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Noisy but nice

23 July 2010 in Bolivia | No comments

(22:35, 23 July, Bed in Room 1 next to the stairs of Hospedaje Paola, Samaipata, Bolivia) I wouldn’t say I was scared, but I still took the precaution of standing on the bed before I lifted my food packet to reveal that it was only the curly plastic that had come loose from the very book I am writing in, and not a mouse which had been my momentary imaginative suspicion. The thing is, there’s a bit of a scratchy rodenty noise in my ceiling which I can hear along with the chatter and cutlery clatter of downstairs, and between the spates of magnified flushings and drippings and gushings from the bathroom directly above me. The plumbing forms 2 diagonal pipe stripes hanging from the ceiling, in the corners of my room towards the barebulb light. I thought of asking for a different room but even upstairs in the shared kitchen every noise seems amplified. Only a little less than in my room, as I waited for the kettle to boil, I could hear the noisy conversation in the restaurant two floors down; the shuffling of chairs, the metal on metal sounds of the preparation of food, footsteps up and down, as though it was all happening right inside my own head. I’ve been reading quite contently with my fancy earphones transmitting silence to mute the commotion, but I took them out for a moment’s break, and I feel like the antisocial cousin locked in my room entertaining myself during a family gathering. The hostel isn’t particularly dirty, the bed’s ok and the staff seem friendly enough. It’s just that there are at least three generations of them and they are all down in the restaurant having a lively dinner while I’m cooped up in my single room, my door only a few stairs away.

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Perro que no camina, no encuentra hueso – Dog who doesn’t walk, doesn’t find a bone

9 June 2010 in Argentina | 2 comments

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(8:42, Wed 9 May, Bed in dorm at Hostel Roadrunner, Cafayate, Argentina) The last week or so has been all about thinking space and beautiful scenery. My free tour with the Argentinian couple ended at the mirrador of Villa Union, my third time there and again it was astonishing.  I bused overnight to San Miguel del Tucuman, where I did a guided car tour along the Jungas Circuit – a route through the mountains and cloud forest to the wealthy villages along the way. Apparently there was soccer on so it ended up being just me with this sweet, sweet, perpetually smiling 21 year-old English guide halfway through her degree in tourism, and the chauffeur, her father, who reminded her in Spanish what to tell me now and then. It was like a little family day trip with someone else’s family. From Tucuman, I watched the morning sun peeking at my bus from between and over mountains, which was glorious.

What I hadn’t expected was arriving in Tafi del Valle before the sunshine had emptied into the valley. It was so cold! I’m talking ice here, real frozen water! It took me a few hours before my brain had thawed but when I could eventually make up my mind I had an enchanting walk dawdling in the sunlight and enjoying the visual reward granted only to those willing to mission over rocks and slopes to be as high up as reasonably possible. I met a friend from Tucuman, Celine, and we travelled to Cafayate together, stopping for an indulgent 6 or so hours to put down our packs, use the Internet, eat breakfast, sunbathe, chat politics, have a picnic, peruse the gift shop… Oh and of course learn about the geology and anthropology of the area, at Museo Pachamamma in Amaicha. This enormous complex of stone patios conceived by my new favourite artist, Cruz, looks out over the cacti and near-to-nothing-ness of the tiny Amaicha, and is just designed either for a big party or to be lingered in by a pair of travellers reluctant to pick up their backpacks.

There’s an album on facebook for Tucuman and the Jungas Circuit:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?album.php?aid=183971&id=504021698

And one for Tafi del Valle:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?album.php?aid=183972&id=504021698

And another for Amaicha:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?album.php?aid=183974&id=504021698

We were met by at the bus stop in Cafayate by a guy offering a much cheaper hostel than those we had researched on Celine’s laptop using the museum’s café  wifi and although we learnt that the Internet they promised was broken, the awesome people more than made up for it. We went on the most spectacular hike together to a waterfall in the mountains followed by a free tour and wine tasting as the sun set over autumny vines at one of the local bodegas (vineyards). We’ve spent hours chatting and  joking together in a bit of English, some French and Castellano (the latter sometimes calls for a laugh-along-laugh that’s actually oblivious to its reason – a joke in itself because they love making fun of me for faking my understanding)

Yesterday, however, I spent most of the day speaking Castellano… to myself. It’s a popular thing to bus out into the Quebrada (mountains) north of Cafayate and cycle the 50kms back, stopping to look at all the rock formations. Of course I asked if there was an alternative for the non-cycling inclined like myself. Apparently you take the bus with the cyclists and just walk instead, and when you get tired you flag down a bus heading to Cafayate. So we took the early bus and hopped off at the 50km mark at about 11.30am and whilst some friends set off on their bikes I started walking. Because I was walking I could go off the road and walk through “the nature” as well as seeing the rock formations. And it was beautiful.

Unfortunately, buses back weren’t quite as frequent as it had sounded. After about 6 hours I started getting a little bit tired of my own company. By 6pm when the sun was setting I had already counted to 199 (wasn’t sure about 200) a couple of times to practise my pronounciation and had started making up songs in Spanish about the lack of buses and the exiting sun and arriving cold and singing them to the mountains around me.

(2.30am, Sunday 13 May, writing by torchlight from top bunk above snoring Argentinian) Eventually I accepted I wouldn’t make it round the valley in time to catch the last of the sunshine, so I stopped walking. According to the last sign I’d done a little over 22km. From my rock on the side of the road I could watch the sun over this incredible stripy mountain. I wasn’t really in a hurry and I knew there’d be a bus eventually, but I had plans to meet some friends from Tucuman staying in a different hostel for drinks at 8pm, and I wasn’t really that keen to hang around when it got actually dark for a bus that may come at like 9.30 or something. I had an agreement with God that I’d wait til 7 for the bus before I tried flagging down one of the passing cars, of which a few were still passing every hour, staring confused or bemused by the crazy blonde girl in a cowboy hat sitting on the side of the road as the evening set in.

As 7 o’clock approached so too did a white minibus. But my watch read 6:55 and it was set 5 minutes fast. A test of faith, I thought, I’d let it pass. I had met loads of hitchhikers who had all said it was quite safe, and I had just begun thinking about my tactics and wishing that I’d asked more questions when the minibus pulled up next to me. Through the dust, the same friends I was supposed to meet in just over an hour laughed and waved in the windows. They had seen me walking as they headed out on a tour of the Quebrada earlier that afternoon and had asked the driver if he’d stop and pick me up if they saw me on the way back.

It was a good day with plenty of beautiful thought space and perfectly ended with a ball of dulce de leche ice cream side by side on a double cone with a ball of Torrontes (the regional white wine) sorbet.

The photos from Cafayate are mostly of rocks, but then that was what I was walking to see. Check out the album: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=183976&id=504021698



Generated by Facebook Photo Fetcher


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I’ve learnt from my Montevideo mistakes

17 May 2010 in Uruguay | No comments

(12:10, Monday, sitting on the dock of the bay – well on a concrete pier over-looking the harbour, Piriapolis, Uruguay) Whilst it may upset some of you (if anyone is still reading my long rants) I intend to tell you the truth about at least some of the things that’ve been happening recently, because I can assure you – they won’t happen again!

I arrived in Montevideo in the early hours on Saturday morning. None of the hostels listed in my guidebook sounded nice enough, or cheap enough, so I had taken some names of better looking ones off the internet. Mistake no. 1: I hadn’t taken down their addresses. I know most of them were in Pocitos, supposedly the nicest, newest, safest area of the city so I decided I’d head there and walk around til I found one. It was almost morning so if I could leave my bags somewhere and chill around or find a 24-hour coffee shop, it needn’t be the hostel I’d check into. So I hopped onto a bus to Pocitos and the friendly ticket guy, realizing I was not only new to Montevideo but also to Spanish-speaking Latin America, consulted with the bus driver to give me directions. He checked out my list of possible hostels with a frown and finally pointed to Pocitos Hostel. He dropped me off and directed me a few blocks up the road… to Pocitos HOTEL. I figured I was in the right suburb, so I kept going. There were many things that looked or sounded like a hostel: real estate agents with colourful walls and big windows, “dormitorios” – places selling furniture. I also noticed an overwhelming abundance of optometrists, but no hostels.

I have a map of a piece of the city in my enormous guidebook, which I snuck a look at outside well-lit buildings with security guards. Trouble is, it is not the piece of the city I was in. But the streets felt safe and the occasional bar or party was still jamming on into the morning so I continued to walk. I stopped to ask a scantily clad blonde lady at a bus stop where Plaza Independencia was. She turned out to be a scantily clad blonde man, but he pointed me in the right direction with a girlish giggle and a warning that it was a very long way. After quite some time a road sign caught my eye which matched up with one of the names I had practically memorised from looking at my map so many times. I took it, hoping I was heading in the right direction. Eventually I found myself on the map, then on the main road, and then uncharacteristically thrilled to see the golden arches of McDonalds. It’s the first time I’ve eaten somewhere I could go at home but I did order a traditional South American breakfast: coffee with medialunas (little croissants). Relieved to take off my pack I had a good long convo with my guidebook, as oppose to our frequent short consultations in stolen patches of light. I hadn’t really felt unsafe in the streets, despite my Joburger instincts, but at least here the only people looking at me were teenagers chowing down after a night out. The Red Hostel was a block away and I had heard it mentioned by an old cycling tourist in Colonia. So I heaved all my kit back on and missioned over. I woke the receptionist up but he was very nice and laughed politely when I explained that I wouldn’t be checking in because I had missed the night and had already had breakfast. We chatted until the morning guy came in, who was also very nice and let me check in for the upcoming night very very early and allocated me a bed, which I received gratefully. The hostel cost more than I normally spend but as you will soon read – expense is relative to one’s need for a bed.

P.S. I would like to retract my previous statement that all Uruguayan men are good-looking (the first few I met were definitely above average) but til now they have all been very nice, and friendly without ulterior motive.

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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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1 out of 50-odd, a Saturday well-spent

2 May 2010 in Argentina | 5 comments

 

(9.50am, 2 May, on bed next to letters, Hostel-Inn Tango City, Buenos Aires, Argentina) A tiny piece of me is a bit bleak that I faded last night. Before 1am I was a bit dozy and I didn’t feel like joining in the partying in the common room, despite the bum-shaking music. No-one was really dancing anyway, just talking above the music and tapping their feet. But whether I approve of my behaviour or not, I was in bed, joined only by the dorm’s 58-year-old Mexican, missing one of about 50 Saturday nights I’ll have in Latin America.

I can’t help but wonder if it would have ended the same if the very interesting olive-skinned man who I had spent some of my day with had not said, with his slightly tipsy dark eyes centimentres from my face because of the loud music, that he was madly in love with his girlfriend back home. Haha. In all honesty, I think I would have left no matter what he said. I was sincerely very happy for him because I had something else to do, so I smiled a lot, agreed that he should definitely marry her, and walked up the 4 flights of stairs to my dorm room (my calves have already grown, I swear, haha).

I had a pile of very important letters to read and finally a chance to cry with no-one watching. So whilst quiet, last night was very special, and I said really said goodbye in my heart to some of the people I love the most.

Yesterday was a crazy cool day altogether, even minus going with the crowd to wherever they were heading in the wee hours. May 01, or Workers’ Day, seems to be a really big deal here. I counted myself especially lucky when, after sipping a very tiny R22 coffee at a zooty restaurant in the Buenos Aires equivalent of New Town on a harbour, we found ourselves amidst one of the loudest and most colourful protests in the city. I had learnt a few hours before on my cultural and historical tour of the city that there had been 300 protests over the last year in Buenos Aires, mostly moving between the congress and the Casa Rosada (Pink House) – the president’s place of work; Argentinians like to demonstrate so I was fortunate to witness one of the largest in their calendar.

When I say it was a colourful protest, what I really mean is red. Thousands of people wearing red and toting red flags and banners either marching around the Plaza d’Mayo, a monument to the guy who kick started independence for Argentina, Chile and Bolivia in 1810, or standing around banging drums or listening to the speeches blasting from speakers around the square.

A couple of South American countries will be celebrating their 200th year centenaries this year – a new set of fiesta dates to include in my planning! Chatting to James the New Zealander last night, I was slowly convinced to stop ignoring how chilly Chile (I had to use it) and the south of the continent would be when I was initially planning to arrive, and to change my route. Apparently its already freezing and if I go to the glacial areas in mid-winter, which had been my clearly misguided plan, I was not only likely to freeze my bum off but I would probably find the hostels and even the roads closed. So I’ll be following the Gringo (tourist) Trail west instead of going south and I’ll try fit the Lake District, Patagonia and the southern tip into the end of my journey, when I return to Argentina next year to fly home.

(10.47am, 2 May, communal computer in common room, Hostel-Inn Tango City, Argentina) Just wanted to let you know: that delicious chocolate/caramel stuff I had with my breakfast the other day is considered Argentina’s best culinary export, and the only food that is truly and completely Argentinian. It’s called dulce de leche, literally sweet from milk, and they eat it on bread, inside little croissant type things and just by the spoon sometimes.

I’m going to sort out the ENORMOUS blister on my heel and get ready to walk to mass in the very very beautiful Metropolitan Cathedral.

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And so it begins…

1 May 2010 in Argentina, Getting Ready | 3 comments

This is just a very very quick one to tell you all that I have arrived in Buenos Aires, slept like a log on my bunkbed on the third floor of Hostel-Inn Tango City, listening to Jack Johnson as I sit at the communal computer trying to figure out the Spanish keyboard, and am leaving on a free tour of the city just before 1pm!

I haven’t decided quite how this blog is going to work, but I’ll update this post asap and explain myself. Think I’ll write on paper whenever I have a moment and type when I can, so things may not flow well. I’ll let you know when and where I wrote each piece.

(12.18pm, 1 May, hostel, San Telmo, Buenos Aires, Argentina) Breakfast was great! Included in the hostel price so intend to make the most of it. Delicious strong coffee, water (can’t drink the tap water, so again making the most of free water) Kelloggs Frosties and little toasted rolls with this crazy caramel/chocolate spread. Jam in little plastic tubs makes me think of forfeits in Grahamstown, haha. I will def be sticking to my plans of not drinking for a while whilst I’m here: drinks are like $15 and up!! Anyway, must run. Tour leaves from down the road on half an hour.
 I love you all and will write again very very soon.

(7.25am, 30 Apr, seat D67, aeroplane across Atlantic) And so begins my journey…

I fell into bed in the wee hours of this morning, and after a short sleep I woke up just before 6am on the 30th April.

I was so exhausted when I got on the plane I kept dropping my eyes during take-off,  and after a short sleep I woke up just before 6am on the 30th April.

Argentina is 6 hours behind SA, so although my flight is more than 11hrs, I arrive in Buenos Aires at 4.15pm. I´m glad I get to start Day1 from scratch because the first time round I had a small altercation with my backpack cover on the floor of Terminal B, and I had to run to my Gate because I was still looking for a vuvuzela when they announced the final boarding call.
But since the second beginning of my big day things have been going swimmingly.

I´ve set my watch to a few minutes after the destination local time of 7.30 so I´m not late for stuff (It helps, I swear) and after eating pretty decent beef curry and a lemony milktart type thing and stashing my crackers and cheese for later, the very first thing I´m doing, as promised, is writing to you all.
The Fantastical Mr Fox has just started, and I´m still writing, albeit quite a lot more slowly, haha.

Although my journey hasn´t quite hit the right continent yet, I will still tell you what I´ve been doing, as this is what a blog is for. Its been a hectic but awesome week all about getting things ready to be somewhere else and getting things ready to not be where I normally am.
Basically I´ve been trying to finish up with the stuff I usually do and have what I need to start doing things I´ve never done before.

I finished my job yesterday, last minute I know, but it went well. I handed over an enormous database comparing the hotels in South Africa between 1990 and 2010 and taught my bosses how to use it and they seem pretty chuffed. A few weeks ago was my last Confirmation lesson. The class I´ve been teaching for the last 3 years have a lesson or two more and then they´ll be confirmed into the Catholic Church on 15th May. The Social & Communications committee of the parish pastoral council featured me as their person in the church´s e-letter. Bit weird, but anyway.

And then of course there´s saying goodbye. Its been amazing to spend time withfriends and family over the last little while. I’ve been to Port Alfred, Swaziland, the Farm, Wits… I’ve seen my grandparents, a whole lot of aunts, uncles and cousins and most of my mates, incl some I haven´t seen in ages! There are some people I wish I had had time to have a lil chat with before I left; quite a few people. But  I´m so grateful for everyone´s love and good wishes. U´ve all been awesome! I know its a busy time for most.

(12.41am, 2 May, communal computer in common room, Hostel-Inn Tango City, Argentina) What a good day. my keyboard has gone crazy. im in the common room, the music is pumpin and theyve dimmed the lights. the party begins. talk tomorrow.

(unknown time and place) Was so glad as I collapsed sweating into the seat of Hotel Ritz that I had set my watch fast, having speed walked to this brother hostel to depart for our city tour to find I was early. Doesn´t look like being late is much of a problem here.

(10.09am, 2 May, communal computer in common room, Hostel-Inn Tango City, Argentina) Before I write my next post, I should finish a few thoughts. Basically I feel like I did the getting ready to leave stuff ok I think, but the getting ready to arrive stuff…

Let’s just say a bit of basic Spanish would have been a very good idea. And whilst I love being flexible, a vague idea of what I want to do while I’m here would mean that making my next move would be a bit easier. So I’m seriously making it up as I go along. Have decided to stay in Hostel-Inn Tango City one more night. Have made a friend (who speaks good English and Spanish, and is lovely and asks about SA a lot) who is leaving tomorrow and Manuel the Mexican is making supper for us tonight!

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