Nightlife

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I played at Wild Rover for two weeks this year

11 September 2010 in Bolivia | No comments

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(13:50, Saturday 11 Sept, Lying on grass looking at oasis, Huacachina, Peru) There’s no church here. There were even churches in the tiny villages on the far side of Colca Canyon, which you can only reach after climbing 4200m downwards, and then a bit more back up the other side. More than the fact that there are no houses, that there is no church confirms that no-one actually lives in Huacachina. You might call it a town, but a collection of hotels, hostels, tour companies and over-priced restaurants wedged between the shore of a small natural lake and the sand dunes that surround it, a resort is probably more appropriate. It’s the weekend so at least some of the shady spots of sand and the paddleboats circling aimlessly are occupied by families of Peruvians, who together with the backpackers probably make up the nonpermanent population of no more than 200 tourists. Read the rest of this entry »

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Bolivia at Last

28 June 2010 in Bolivia | 2 comments

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(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


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Salta Stop

14 June 2010 in Argentina | 1 comment

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(15:05, Mon 14 June, Plaza Belgrano, Salta Argentina) I knew I had to get to a big city for the World Cup so I skipped the Quilmes Ruins and caught the afternoon bus to Salta from Cafayate. No less than 5 exactly the same offers and fliers from hostels awaited me at the bus station and in my indecision I turned down their free taxis to walk to the main plaza and think. Still walking around, with all my kit, I ran into Alon from Cafayate about 2 hours later. He had gone with the first hostel who approached him and whilst he wasn’t that impressed with it, I took his advice about checking in somewhere before walking around the city any longer, to at least put down my backpack – one can always change hostels the following day if need be. I headed for the nearest one, and it turned out to be awesome. There has been a party practically every night just up the road in Balcarce Street (where all clubs and bars are) and Mariana, who works at the hostel organizes free entrance and free drinks and we all go out as a big group. The other guests have all been fantastic people so far and the staff are awesome.

I forgot about the time zone issue and missed the opening concert which was showing early on Thurs here, so I was a bit moapy but by Friday morning I was in good spirits with my SA flag tied around my neck ready to find a pub to watch the game. I rounded up a few people and we set out down Balcarce Street to find, in horror, that they were all closed. We had walked about 10 blocks and the kickoff was drawing nearer so I abandoned the others and ran (yes, ran) down the street to get back to the hostel for the anthems. The few people shouting Sudafrica as I sprinted by in my flag kept me feeling excitedly anxious and the other guests helped by fussing over me as we sat ourselves down in front of the hostel television. Fox Sports showed a split screen with fans in a Gringo bar in Buenos Aires and the fan fest in Johannesburg on the other – not helpful in soothing the pang of regret, but exciting indeed. A clock in the corner of the screen showed 5:15 which we rationalized as being the time in South Africa (5 hour difference, the game was scheduled to begin at 11am here). But when the anthems hadn’t even started by 11:07, the excuses about African timing were sounding unlikely and it suddenly dawned on me that the clock in the corner was showing the minutes into the match! We were watching a channel that was showing people WATCHING the game! So I missed the first few minutes but the match was amazing and aside from our little defense mishap (a little disappointing) I was beaming with pride. It may have been better for me to miss the anthem because I would unboubtedly have been in tears.

Its been really difficult to be here, so far from the vibe at home. Regret lurks heavy in my heart all the time. Especially because, to most tourists’ dismay, the Salteños don’t seem to be interested in any matches that Argentina aren’t playing. Sadder still, even the first Argentinian match on Saturday morning involved none of the big screens in the plaza or pubs overflowing with drunken celebrations that I had expected. Festivities heightened with the win and we joined the 100 odd spectators dancing around the main square at close of play. But even there it was mostly teenage boys dotted conspicuously with gringos. I had met a number of them along my travels and when I went to greet them, many shared in my confusion about the lack of fanfare. No-one had managed to find a cozy pub to watch the games – the Irish pub in Salta does’t even have a tv- so I decided something had to be done. I did a short scout around and found a restaurant/patiserie with a decently sized television and spread the word that, even if no Argentinians would be watching, we would all meet up to watch the England USA match that afternoon.
So although it wasn’t the most enchanting match, at least we had a decent beer-drinking crowd throwing insults at each other about their goalie being “Green with envy”.

I’ve squeezed a few touristy things in between partying, recovering and watching soccer matches, but I’ve been taking the tourist thing pretty easy here. I’ve decided to stay on for a celebration on Thursday in honour of General Guemes who saved the city during the Wars of Independence, which promised to involve bonfires, dancing and 2000 cowboys. So I took this morning off to catch up on my planning and blogging. Tomorrow I tackle some more of the city sights and at some point I’ll head northwards and upwards to aclimatize for the altitiude in Bolivia.

(12:20, Wed 23 June, computer in house of couchsurfer, outskirts of Salta, Argentina) It became something of a joke at the Sol Huasi hostel in Salta centro. Every morning a few people’s bags stood in the reception, because they had checked out and would be leaving Salta that day. The next morning the same bags returned to their post, or something even more common, someone stumbled from their dorm room blinking at the afternoon sun having missed check-out. Again.
It had its perks because the people who were staying at the hostel with me were all such great people and we partied and cooked and chatted and laughed together for more than a week. But not unlike a couple of others, I have now been in Salta for two full weeks. The World Cup has undoubtedly played its role. The three matches take place here at 8.30am, 11am and 3.30pm. By the time you’ve seen them, you have a few hours to spare before supper starts and the drinking begins.
Aside from just enjoying the city and the people and doing some of the things that travellers who are slowing down do, I’ve been to two awesome events that were worth a Salta stop.

Not long after I had arrived in Salta I heard about the Guemes Festival on the 17th June. I hadn’t thought I would still be around but as the day grew closer and my clothes remained comfortably unpacked on the floor at the foot of the bed (It’s tough with bunkbeds, cos top bunks have to share floorspace with their lower neighbour. In exchange I had perfected hoisting myself onto my bed in the wee hours with absolute minimal noise) the temptation to stay for the festivities grew more appealing.

I must still tell you about the Guemes Fest and the awesome event I went to on a WOOFFing farm south of the city with this great couchsurfer I met. I’ll post about it soon.

For now here are a couple of pics from the facebook album:
http://www.facebook.com/stacey.hopebailie#!/album.php?aid=183977&id=504021698

Partying in the Plaza when Argentina won



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The sounds, the language, the smell

4 May 2010 in Argentina | 7 comments

(6pm, 4 May, lobby of Tango Backpackers, Palermo, Buenos Aires) A friend asked the other day if I´ve gotten used to the sounds, the language, the smell. As you may know, some cities smell. Cape Town for instance, while undoubtedly beautiful, smells. Of fish and industry. But there are things that will make any city smell, like stepping in dog poo. It´s not that Buenos Aires smells, its that the streets of Buenos Aires have crazy crazy amounts of dog poo that is easily stepped in. It seems everyone owns a dog and walks it along the sidewalk to do its business, the evidence appearing in concentrations between one every 10 metres, to one a metre. So yes, despite my diligence, I have experienced the smell of Buenos Aires at least once.

The language. In theory I can speak basic Spanish, ´introductory level´. In practise, when someone speaks to me I freak out and struggle to even tell them in Spanish that I don´t speak much Spanish. I even said Dankie to the receptionist at the Art Museum today. And thus the soundtrack to my walks in the streets is still Michel Thomas, language instructor to the stars.

(12.15pm, 5 May, lobby of Tango Backpackers, Palermo, Buenos Aires) I moved to a different hostel yesterday. Not because I didn´t like the one I was in. En contrario, I seriously recommend it and will definitely stay there when I come back to the city to fly home. The dorm I was in had its own en suite bathroom, and there were extra showers and toilets just outside our door. The cleaning staff never stopped – they even made the beds – and all for 36 pesos a night (about R64). Plus the people were really awesome. We had a big jam on my last night for the barman´s birthday.

The new place actually works out cheaper because I get my fifth night free and its also a great spot so far. Much bigger and a lot more English speakers – even an American guy who was born in South Africa. I went out with him and his mates last night, my first official night on the town. Verdict: clubbing in Buenos Aires is much like clubbing anywhere in South Africa. Loud, fun, some good songs, some bad, smoky… I didn´t really feel very glam in my hiking shoes, but what can you do.

The reason for the change of hostel was to move to a different area of the city. I am now in the barrio of Palermo (barrio being a neighbourhood, like a big suburb) and it is truly beautiful. San Telmo and the Microcentro, where I have spent most of my time so far, was a beautiful area of old buildings,

(14:34, 10 May, lobby of Tango Backpackers, Palermo, Buenos Aires) Sorry, had to do something so stopped mid-sentence the last time. Will finish this post soon.

(20:50, Mon 11 May, lobby of Tango Backpackers, Palermo, Buenos Aires) I’ve been putting off finishing this post because I know I’m gonna struggle to explain what Palermo is like. Green spaces at every corner and so many incredible sculptures and monuments that eventually it overcomes you and you start to forget that they are so extraordinary. Palermo has the Rose Garden (another world!), the Zoo, the Eva Peron Museum, but it also has the nightlife. The streets are dotted with bars and restaurants and people taxi from all over the city to join in the party. Basically its amazing and whilst I was sad to leave Tango City in San Telmo, I’m so glad I moved to a new side of town.

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