(Monday 21 March 2011, after a long shower, Puerto Varas, Chile) Continuation from Couchsurfing and bed-dwellers The plan was to spend a few days alone, in Paula’s great little beach cottage until she joined me that weekend, just relaxing and thinking over my trip. Just being alone. But on night one, as I lay in bed and started this thinking and alone-being, I found that I was not in fact alone. The bed was FULL of fleas. Having sprung out and examined my clothes and body for unwelcome company, I eventually went back into the bedroom. Needless to say, I pulled up the bed. Her room was by far the nicest place to sleep. I stood in my underwear in the middle of the house, feeling lost. I stared at the big white bed for a while… Nothing moved… I decided I would sleep in my sleeping bag on top of the bed. The fleas were all inside the covers, surely. So I climbed into my sleeping bag and jumped diagonally onto the bed simultaneously pulling it up tightly over me so nothing could get inside. Plus, I lay with my head at the foot of the bed – that would confuse them. Read the rest of this entry »
You are currently browsing articles tagged Mistakes and Mishaps.
Tags: Mistakes and Mishaps
(11:15, 18 March 2011, La Casa de la Paula, Sector Papirua, Chile) The sound of the waves has been right outside the door for a day and a half now, and still I sometimes look out at the sea just to check that it’s real. It’s a brown beach, unlike the beaches I am used to, but its lovely. Pine forest lines the shore and spreads up and down, and up and down the horizon hills behind the houses. There certainly aren’t a lot of people around. Yesterday evening I went for a walk on the beach. And I had a laugh because, if I was worried about finding my way back to the right place, I just had to follow my own footprints – they were the only ones on the whole beach. Read the rest of this entry »
(06:30, 15 November, mirrador of hostel, Taganga, Colombia) The wall I’m sitting on is only just wide enough for both of the bones in the bottom of my bum to be supported on its edges. Its comfortable enough and a bit precarious (I’ve already dropped my fork down to the roof beneath me) but you know the lengths I would go to for a view. I’m perched on the wall of my hostel’s highest patio, having had the lucky misfortune of being relegated to one of the hammocks strung up here due to a shortage of beds. Alicia, an American girl I have travelled from Cartagena with, was overjoyed at my enthusiasm – we are both likely to be sleeping in hammocks soon in National Park Tayrona but she doesn’t feel mentally prepared quite yet so she took the last free bed. But in fact it was much more comfortable than even I had expected once I had lined it with my sleeping bag and curled sideways with the left over bed sheet scrunched up under my head. The night before when I was woken up a million times by my noisy drunken dorm-fellows getting dressed and redressed (and asking my closed-eyed opinion on their colour coordination) until the early hours of the morning and ensuring that they were sufficiently plastered before joining in the Sunday night nightlife. But I slept like a baby up here in the breeze and had the pleasure of waking up to this. Read the rest of this entry »
Tags: Crime, Fiestas, Mistakes and Mishaps
(27 October, hostel common room, still in Quito, Ecuador) I’ve been in Quito for more than a week now. I have checked out and checked back in to my hostel twice. This last time was because one of the guys I met in Guayaquil, and then again in Banos, is heading to Colombia tomorrow and asked if I’d like to travel with him for the next few weeks up to Cartagena.
The first time was because I invested in an mp3 player which, being the cheapest one I could find, didn’t turn on. So I couldn’t leave that night and had to go get my money back when they opened the next morning.
(After an implausibly long time of fiddling with a device that only has 4 buttons, the shop assistant finally conceded that it was useless and gave me a refund. So yesterday afternoon I went to a fancy shop that sells everything, and took exactly $70.70 with me. That would stop me spending too much, I thought. A mistake I have made only too often. Standing swaying on the bus, I thought through the contents of my handbag hanging from my suspended arm, which I had zipped shut on advice to avoid theft, and cursed myself for not at least bringing my bank card in case. Read the rest of this entry »
(21 Sept, Tuesday, Bus to Mancora, Peru) I think we’re in Piura, the provincial capital. A couple of people have gotten off but I’m pretty positive this isn’t the beach town of Mancora – I’m on my way to visit a friend who works in a hostel there for her 21st. There’s a distinct lack of communication on these buses. I ended up skipping Nazca because my bus from Arequipa just didn’t stop. I went straight to curious oasis of Huacachina where I did the standard tourist thing of a sand buggy and boarding tour.
I’ve been sandboarding in Kenton. It’s not that tough. After bouncing and screeching through the themepark of dunes in our buggy we stopped for our first try. What you do is lie tummy down on the board, propped up on your forearms, holding onto one of the footstraps. As long as you keep your feet hanging slightly apart off the back you will sail safely and very quickly to the bottom. It’s a good tactic. The one couple in our group, who were over 60, stuck to this strategy the whole time. But of course, if you are at all hardcore, you stand. Read the rest of this entry »
(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.
Tags: Culture, Food, Mistakes and Mishaps, South Africa
(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.
Tags: Educational, Mistakes and Mishaps, Nature, soccer
(16:25 Uruguay time, Monday 28 June, Bus between Villazon at Argentine border and Tupiza) Nearly two months into my trip and finally I’m in Bolivia! I’ve spent the whole day travelling but through the most astounding scenery. The train I am on, supposedly the best form of travel from the border, doesn’t run every day so I had to plan ahead for my trip from Salta – another reason to linger in the city which has been my longest stop by far, about 17 days.
Busing in the Quebrada (mountains) north of Salta is relatively easy and the spectacular route through coloured mountains and yellow plains, thorny with cacti, runs from one quaint montane town to the next, each with its share of tourist to-do’s and see’s and more hostels than necessary at this time of year. Despite the recommendations of most Salteños, I decided to stop in San Salvador de Juyjuy, the capital city of the northern Juyjuy province, just to check it out. Unfortunately I had stayed out clubbing until 6.30am from the night before, which had been normal for Salta, except my bus to Jujuy left at 7am.
I knew I was tired (I have a small bruise on my right eyebrow where I kept falling asleep against the window pane while I tried to watch the view from my first bus) and I had my whole pack with me, so after I walked around, went to a few museums and felt like I had had a taste of the city, I stretched out on a park bench in the sun to have a kip. Obviously, I missed my bus to Pumamarca so I bought the next ticket north, direct to Tilcara, which was supposed to be my stop for the following night. There’s a lot to do there and I could always take a local bus back to Pumamarca if I liked.
But halfway between the two, a little town called Maimara had beautiful vegetables growing along what is literally called ” The Painted Mountain” for its colouration. A Hostelling International sign provoked the idea and given a couple of metres to remember it had been some time since my last spontaneous decision, I sprung up to tell the driver I planned to stay. Having checked in as the only guest at the Flor de Maimara, without doubt one of the loveliest hostels I have stayed in, with the most helpful receptionist, I walked through the “rural sector” on my way to the the local vineyard and indeed the vegetables were lush and large. I slept when I sat down at a table overlooking the fields of grape vines, and I slept when I sat down on the lazyman’s mirrador (the real one looked a bit ambitious in my state) so it seemed if I stopped moving at all, I slept. Personally I blame it on the altitude. After about 12 hours without movement, in my hostel bed, I felt much more acclimatized!
I shared a taxi to Pumamarca with five locals (too many) to see the famous Cerro de Seite Colores (Hill of the Seven Colours), collected my things and thoughts back in Maimara and headed to Tilcara with only enough time to hurriedly hike to the waterfalls and back before the Argentina Mexico match. Considering the victory, the cold and the fact that it was Sunday, it is understandable that none of the museums I had wanted to see were open.
Unlike before, it seems most people are now heading in the same direction as me at the moment, so I caught a bus to the border with most of the other 18-odd guests staying at my hostel. Having waiting some time for the Bolivian border control to get more of the papers they needed to print my visa, I arrived at the train terminal to find the only tickets left were first class (Ejectivo) to Tupiza. Whilst it cost about three times the popular class, I’m secretly thrilled because I’ve had an extremely comfortable trip with lots of legroom, big windows and enough free seats to switch around when the view’s better on the other side. And I would never have paid the extra given a choice. Plus the complimentary ham and cheese roll and coke is almost all I’ve eaten all day. The only question now that I’m finally in Bolivia is which soccer team to support!
I took a bunch of photots out of the bus window, check out the album on facebook:
http://www.facebook.com/stacey.hopebailie#!/album.php?aid=189493&id=504021698
- Front seat on the bus! Yay for big windows!
- Sunset from the train
- Funeral procession down the streets of Villazon, amongst the buses
Generated by Facebook Photo Fetcher
Tags: Mistakes and Mishaps, Nature, Nightlife, soccer
(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
Tags: Food, Mistakes and Mishaps, Nature, Spanish
(17:50, Tues 17 May, standing on a concrete block randomly on unused roof of Che Lagarto Hostel, over-looking Plaza Independencia, Montevideo, Uruguay) Cool! Some soldiers are marching across the square down below… They’re doing a big regimented taking down of these three big flags… Sucks to have to fold them in steps like that – taking ages. There are these random bouts of shouting and bus hooting, not sure if its related. Anyway, the sun has set and I’m getting pretty chilly up here in the wind. Will go downstairs to write my story.
(09:25, 21 May) Just to follow up on the hooting and shouts. The soccer team from Montevideo won the national soccer league so people went bos here. They were going crazy and even attacked the statue of Artigas in Plaza Independencia that my hostel overlooked. We went to have a look before it got cleaned up, they had painted insults and stuff all over it. Football hooliganism is literally a paying career here. A story for another time perhaps.
(18:15, 17 May, Bar of Che Lagarto, Montevideo) Better. So I smiled a lot yesterday. The museums in Montevideo are all closed on a Monday and after making up my mind that I wouldn’t go far along the coast to one of the big resort towns because its so cold, I decided to rather head to Piriapolis for a short trip. It’s a little beach town with a zoological reserve on a hill nearby, I had read about some cool things to keep me busy for a day. Plus there was an HI (Hostelling International) hostel there with great rates because I’m a member. Learning from my mistakes, I took down the address and caught an evening bus so I could cook and eat supper in Montevideo but still arrive with a good few hours to find the hostel and sleep before morning. I left my big pack at Red Hostel and packed a very well-strategized minimalist day pack and got directed and then redirected to the bus terminal.
Prepared with my address, I quickly found Hostel Piriapolis and rang the bell. I had read about it in my guidebook and on a bunch of websites. I had been too late to book online for that night, but it was supposedly a very big hostel and I knew it would be quiet enough to have spare beds.
But this was very quiet. I checked my watch: 20h45 – most South Americans were just finishing off dinner. The lights weren’t on at reception. I kbnocked on the door, looked through the glass, shouted the best “Hola!” I could muster… Nothing. I laughed as I walked around to the side. A wooden door with a light above it yielded a little boy but we had trouble communicating, even after he went back inside a few times to get feedback. Eventually his mom came to the door and explained that the hostel was closed. Since September! She suggested I try the main drag along the beachfront where there were loads of hotels. No hostels.
So, haha, I’m learning. I walked down a way next to the beach and then back up smiling at myself. Strolling the beaches of Uruguay in the starlight – homeless. I was so glad I had only had a daypack, but in all my consideration and wisdom I had left my great big guidebook behind. It certainly didn’t have a map, even of a piece of Piriapolis, but it had listed the prices of recommended hotels. An occasseional party-goer zoomed by on his motorcycle with a cat call now and then; all fairly benign. I wasn’t keen to fork out for one of the many hotels and pondered on sleeping in my towel and sarong at the camp site I had passed near the teminal. If my mom found out she’d kill me. After deciding I’d be unlikely to find a café open near midnight on a Sunday. I turned back for the only hotel which had people sitting at reception. At least it was 2-star unlike all the 3-stars and boutique hotels along the street.
I think the guy at reception guessed my desperation when I excitedly handed him a 200peso note, equivalent to USD10. “Ochiciente,” he repeated, stifling a smile. Ah, 800, not 180. “Do you take Visa?”
All I could do as I fell across my double bed, my minimalist bag unpacked over the extra single bed behind me, was laugh. I had a tv. I didn’t turn it on cos I couldn’t understand the Spanish sign on the door and it sounded suspiciously like they would charge me extra. I had a private bathroom. I had only really brought soap, a facecloth and suncream in my compact toiletry kit though. So I had a good long shower in the morning making good use of the four complimentary towels, but I couldn’t wash my hair or do a pedicure. I warmed my feet in the beeday but not before I sprayed myself in the face.
All in all it was very funny and a really great experience. A door opened onto a teeny balcony looking over the beach but there was a shutter over the top half I couldn’t get open. So I lay horizontally over my bed and drifted between sleep and watching the early morning sunlight over the sea. A chairlift, a trek up a big hill, two treks down hills, statues of San Miguel and Our Lady of the Pescadores (Fishermen, I think), a giant cross, some crazy cool zoo animals, an adrenhilin boosting encounter with an angry dog, a few short bus-trips and some absolutely incredible views later: I would recommend Piriaplois and the Cerro Pan de Azúcar to anyone.
Tags: Mistakes and Mishaps, soccer
What You’ve Been Saying