There are masses of them.
And the Peruanos have put them all over the roads.
Apparently the teachers are upset about Government plans to privatise the schools, and good on 'em.
It does ean we are going to have to do some funky moves to get back to Santiago in time for our flight home as everything has stopped in Peru.
I'll have to wait until we get back to elaborate, and I can put photos up then too, so, chao for a week.
Sunday 15 July 2007
Wednesday 11 July 2007
On a warm summers evening....
..on a bus that didn't come.
A heap has happened since last we spoke. An my little brain is having trouble trying to fit it all in then spit it back out on the intertubes.
So I'll just start with the day we had to get from Puno to Cusco. We had to be in Cusco by 7 that evening to pay the final part of the money for the Inca Trail trek.
No worries. We had a bus ticket for 8, 7 hour trip, there in plenty of time.
Of course, we had not reckoned on the sometimes exciting political system in Peru. Turns out someone in the Puno department (sort of a state) promised something and didn't deliver, so everyone thought it would be a top idea to go on strike. And strike here doesn't mean 'Great, I can do the washing, some gardening and watch some telly', it means, 'Hey, leats go down and block all the roads out of the state, all the airports, until someone listens.'
Inspiring, I guess, but inconvenient. So the bus station started to fill up with gringos all in the same predicament. Eventually, this dodgy tour company tout that we'd actually bought the ticket through wandered over.
'$50 US each, and we can get you to Cusco', he said. I was a touch reluctant, but K said righto.
So us, a Swiss family of four, and two Spaniards crammed into a van, backpacks on our laps and knees around our ears, and we went.
The van driver had to go around the strikes, so we took some back roads, or back tracks, if you like. It was actually pretty scenic, and as the van driver nodded off once or twice, then snapped awake just as a tour bus came the other way (also trying to get passengers around the strike), it got exciting. The road was only just one car width wide, and the bus was bigger, so our driver slammed on the brakes as we rounded a hairpin. And what happens when you brake suddenly on a dirt road?
So as we went straight ahead towards a two hundred metre drop, I wondered if the couple of hundred bucks we would have lost by waiting for the bus was worth it. Strangely, the rest of the people in the car went quiet, k was asleep.
I reckon he stopped about half a metre from the edge, and he looked quite calm. Then there was a process of parallel parking so he could get closer to the edge to let the bus past.
After that, we quietly asked the Spanish couple to talk to the driver to keep him up.
It was actually a good trip, though.
Memorable was the toilet break and peeing into a gorge deeper than I've ever seen as a local bus drove past and everyone waved at me.
11 hours later, we made it Cusco, and after unfolding my legs we wandered off into the city to find the trekking place and a hotel.
Next time:
the trek.
Salud.
A heap has happened since last we spoke. An my little brain is having trouble trying to fit it all in then spit it back out on the intertubes.
So I'll just start with the day we had to get from Puno to Cusco. We had to be in Cusco by 7 that evening to pay the final part of the money for the Inca Trail trek.
No worries. We had a bus ticket for 8, 7 hour trip, there in plenty of time.
Of course, we had not reckoned on the sometimes exciting political system in Peru. Turns out someone in the Puno department (sort of a state) promised something and didn't deliver, so everyone thought it would be a top idea to go on strike. And strike here doesn't mean 'Great, I can do the washing, some gardening and watch some telly', it means, 'Hey, leats go down and block all the roads out of the state, all the airports, until someone listens.'
Inspiring, I guess, but inconvenient. So the bus station started to fill up with gringos all in the same predicament. Eventually, this dodgy tour company tout that we'd actually bought the ticket through wandered over.
'$50 US each, and we can get you to Cusco', he said. I was a touch reluctant, but K said righto.
So us, a Swiss family of four, and two Spaniards crammed into a van, backpacks on our laps and knees around our ears, and we went.
The van driver had to go around the strikes, so we took some back roads, or back tracks, if you like. It was actually pretty scenic, and as the van driver nodded off once or twice, then snapped awake just as a tour bus came the other way (also trying to get passengers around the strike), it got exciting. The road was only just one car width wide, and the bus was bigger, so our driver slammed on the brakes as we rounded a hairpin. And what happens when you brake suddenly on a dirt road?
So as we went straight ahead towards a two hundred metre drop, I wondered if the couple of hundred bucks we would have lost by waiting for the bus was worth it. Strangely, the rest of the people in the car went quiet, k was asleep.
I reckon he stopped about half a metre from the edge, and he looked quite calm. Then there was a process of parallel parking so he could get closer to the edge to let the bus past.
After that, we quietly asked the Spanish couple to talk to the driver to keep him up.
It was actually a good trip, though.
Memorable was the toilet break and peeing into a gorge deeper than I've ever seen as a local bus drove past and everyone waved at me.
11 hours later, we made it Cusco, and after unfolding my legs we wandered off into the city to find the trekking place and a hotel.
Next time:
the trek.
Salud.
Thursday 5 July 2007
High on a desert plain...
...where the streets have no name...
Or in the case of Cusco, too many.
Previously on Buffy...
Our intrepid viajeros had just arrived in La Paz. One had died from soroche, the other had od´d on cable.
But by the next morning I felt great, so we decided to do the walking tour mentioned in the good old Lonely Planet. Found a really old church, went inside, it looked amazing, but people were actually praying and stuff...so we left quick smart.
After a bit of wandering around, we discovered the part of La Paz we were staying in could be broken up into sections. There was soccer shirt street, toenail clipper lane, stationary alley, jeans quarter, and a whole hardware block. The streets all have actual names like Santa Cruz and San Pedro - sounds musical but I guess in Spanish it's about as imaginative as 42nd street.
We had been going mostly downhill at that point...altitude? Pfft! What were those Brazilian footballers whinging about. Then we went uphill.
After ten steps we had a rest.
Easy, really.
Then...shopping. Mucho silver jewellry, alpaca stuff, Che t-shirts. I bought a charango, muy cool.
K decided she just had to go to the Bolivian version of Wagamama, so we headed off down the hill and found ourselves in the sort of CBD. Flash hotels, government offices.
Happily, after our 45 minute walk, the restaurant was closed. And we had to walk back...uphill.
Eventually we got back, found a place for dinner, went to bed.
Next day was more of a sightseeing day, but k managed to find time to buy stuff anyway.
Early the next morning we got up and walked to the bus station and caught the bus to Puno. Not a bad trip, apart from the annoying group of French people on the bus. Another land border, sort of. We had to walk across a bridge from the Bolivian side to the Peruvian side - across Lake Titicaca, which was suitably impressive.
Puno at first seemed really quite crappy, but we found a place to stay. It seemed ok, notwithstanding the knock on the door from the French people (different ones, but they're everywhere) in the room next door that asked if we heard who had stolen all their stuff. K figured that if they'd been ripped off we were safe, and I tended to agree, but we still made sure we carried our important stuff around.
We looked around a bit, and it turns out Puno is quite the tourist town. Dinner was great - I had fillet of Alpaca, k had soup. We picked the place because they were playin old school trance - and just after we ordered, the 2 hour set from the 10 member Andean music band started. It included random dance acts, shrieking girls, blokes with jangly pants, the whole shebang. We bought a CD as we left when the set had finished. I'll burn y'all a copy.
I'll leave it here, and see you in a bit.
We´re off on the Inca trail tomorrow for 4 days.
Oh, and mangoman, your manager should be jealous, she'd love it.
And you really do need a bit of Spanish.
Chao.
Or in the case of Cusco, too many.
Previously on Buffy...
Our intrepid viajeros had just arrived in La Paz. One had died from soroche, the other had od´d on cable.
But by the next morning I felt great, so we decided to do the walking tour mentioned in the good old Lonely Planet. Found a really old church, went inside, it looked amazing, but people were actually praying and stuff...so we left quick smart.
After a bit of wandering around, we discovered the part of La Paz we were staying in could be broken up into sections. There was soccer shirt street, toenail clipper lane, stationary alley, jeans quarter, and a whole hardware block. The streets all have actual names like Santa Cruz and San Pedro - sounds musical but I guess in Spanish it's about as imaginative as 42nd street.
We had been going mostly downhill at that point...altitude? Pfft! What were those Brazilian footballers whinging about. Then we went uphill.
After ten steps we had a rest.
Easy, really.
Then...shopping. Mucho silver jewellry, alpaca stuff, Che t-shirts. I bought a charango, muy cool.
K decided she just had to go to the Bolivian version of Wagamama, so we headed off down the hill and found ourselves in the sort of CBD. Flash hotels, government offices.
Happily, after our 45 minute walk, the restaurant was closed. And we had to walk back...uphill.
Eventually we got back, found a place for dinner, went to bed.
Next day was more of a sightseeing day, but k managed to find time to buy stuff anyway.
Early the next morning we got up and walked to the bus station and caught the bus to Puno. Not a bad trip, apart from the annoying group of French people on the bus. Another land border, sort of. We had to walk across a bridge from the Bolivian side to the Peruvian side - across Lake Titicaca, which was suitably impressive.
Puno at first seemed really quite crappy, but we found a place to stay. It seemed ok, notwithstanding the knock on the door from the French people (different ones, but they're everywhere) in the room next door that asked if we heard who had stolen all their stuff. K figured that if they'd been ripped off we were safe, and I tended to agree, but we still made sure we carried our important stuff around.
We looked around a bit, and it turns out Puno is quite the tourist town. Dinner was great - I had fillet of Alpaca, k had soup. We picked the place because they were playin old school trance - and just after we ordered, the 2 hour set from the 10 member Andean music band started. It included random dance acts, shrieking girls, blokes with jangly pants, the whole shebang. We bought a CD as we left when the set had finished. I'll burn y'all a copy.
I'll leave it here, and see you in a bit.
We´re off on the Inca trail tomorrow for 4 days.
Oh, and mangoman, your manager should be jealous, she'd love it.
And you really do need a bit of Spanish.
Chao.
Sunday 1 July 2007
Arrancame el carazon...
te pido amor
¡Hola muchachos!
This cool español keyboard has all the upside stuff and cool ñññññññññs!
Question: what is soroche?
It's sort of like the worst hangover you ever had times ten. But I'll get to that.
We spent our last night in San Pedro at this cool little bar place watching the Copa America game between Chile and Ecuador. Had some beers, got into the chant when Chile scored:
Chi Chi Chi
Le Le Le
Viiiiiiivvaaaaaa Chile!
The only bus out of town to Arica left at 8:45 that night, so we toddled off into the cold and stood around with the other gringos waiting.
13 hours later, Arica.
Bus ticket, 2 hour wait, then onto La Paz.
The bus was actually pretty flash, but it didn'stop me feeling like crap as we climbed above 3000m. The view was pretty bloody awesome from the bus, though - llamas (k was beside herself), flamingos, snow capped peaks, lakes.
Then...our first land border crossing. Went through Chilean customs, then a five k drive through...dunno?
Then into Bolivia. The Bolivian cops really look like cops. None of this blue uniform-security-guard look - they look military and have big guns.
Didn't check our bags at all, though, but then, who smuggles drugs into Bolivia?
After a bit, we got to La Paz. I managed to have quite a decent conversation with some weird dude on the bus wearing a leather jacket, one of those hats the Canadian logger types wear, and totin' a massive leather bound bible. I peeked in his briefcase and it was chock full of other god stuff. He was very impressed that we were from Australia and asked if it was a Catholic country. I was tempted to say mainly Islamic, but decided not to rock the boat.
So I said Hindu.
Really though, he then proceeded to tell me how unsafe La PAz was and how someone would steal K if I didn't watch out. Thank's mate - we weren't nervous at all after that.
Down the hill into La Paz (heaps of eucalyptus trees - strangely similar to coming down the Blue Mountains for a moment - but then you remeber the bus is doing a hundred, swerving, and narrowly missing all sorts of shit).
La Paz is mental. Imagine the most mental South East Asian capital (Bangkok, Jakarta, Denpasar, etc) then replace all the mopeds with Hiaces and all the motorbikes with taxis. Then add micros, old buses all painted up. As always, I came up with a theory about the noticable lack of bikes - the cops have Harleys, but a lot of the cars are American, so maybe nobody bothered to import affordable bikes from Japan, and now only a complete psycho would attempt to ride one around.
The bus terminal was sort of a shed and we grabbed our stuff and walked out into the city with no idea where we were. Strangley, I wasn't that worried - maybe my uncertainty avoidance is decreasing, hey mangoes?
Eventually we found the pub the Lonely Plant recommended...and it was booked out. Tops.
Walked around the corner and found another, looked good. We went in, and by that time we had been on buses for 24 hours. Anyway, it turned out to be a top-end type place, quite flash. Hot water, 100 cable channels, internet downstairs, private bathroom, b very exy for La Paz, though - USD$35 a night!
So we booked for three nights :)
And I felt like complete and utter shit. Altitude sickness apparently. Migraine type headache, wanted to throw up, sort of that headache you get when you curl up on the bed into the smallest ball possible and try to block out the entire world and hope like hell you will fall asleep at some point.
Which is what I did, while k happily watched House on the telly without a care in the world!
Whoa, long post.
I'll leave it here then write later about La Paz itself.
I'll leave you with this - flicking through channels we found Steve Irwin dubbed into Spanish.
Piss funny.
Imagine ¡Dios! said like crikey, if you will.
Hasta luego, señores y señoras.
¡Hola muchachos!
This cool español keyboard has all the upside stuff and cool ñññññññññs!
Question: what is soroche?
It's sort of like the worst hangover you ever had times ten. But I'll get to that.
We spent our last night in San Pedro at this cool little bar place watching the Copa America game between Chile and Ecuador. Had some beers, got into the chant when Chile scored:
Chi Chi Chi
Le Le Le
Viiiiiiivvaaaaaa Chile!
The only bus out of town to Arica left at 8:45 that night, so we toddled off into the cold and stood around with the other gringos waiting.
13 hours later, Arica.
Bus ticket, 2 hour wait, then onto La Paz.
The bus was actually pretty flash, but it didn'stop me feeling like crap as we climbed above 3000m. The view was pretty bloody awesome from the bus, though - llamas (k was beside herself), flamingos, snow capped peaks, lakes.
Then...our first land border crossing. Went through Chilean customs, then a five k drive through...dunno?
Then into Bolivia. The Bolivian cops really look like cops. None of this blue uniform-security-guard look - they look military and have big guns.
Didn't check our bags at all, though, but then, who smuggles drugs into Bolivia?
After a bit, we got to La Paz. I managed to have quite a decent conversation with some weird dude on the bus wearing a leather jacket, one of those hats the Canadian logger types wear, and totin' a massive leather bound bible. I peeked in his briefcase and it was chock full of other god stuff. He was very impressed that we were from Australia and asked if it was a Catholic country. I was tempted to say mainly Islamic, but decided not to rock the boat.
So I said Hindu.
Really though, he then proceeded to tell me how unsafe La PAz was and how someone would steal K if I didn't watch out. Thank's mate - we weren't nervous at all after that.
Down the hill into La Paz (heaps of eucalyptus trees - strangely similar to coming down the Blue Mountains for a moment - but then you remeber the bus is doing a hundred, swerving, and narrowly missing all sorts of shit).
La Paz is mental. Imagine the most mental South East Asian capital (Bangkok, Jakarta, Denpasar, etc) then replace all the mopeds with Hiaces and all the motorbikes with taxis. Then add micros, old buses all painted up. As always, I came up with a theory about the noticable lack of bikes - the cops have Harleys, but a lot of the cars are American, so maybe nobody bothered to import affordable bikes from Japan, and now only a complete psycho would attempt to ride one around.
The bus terminal was sort of a shed and we grabbed our stuff and walked out into the city with no idea where we were. Strangley, I wasn't that worried - maybe my uncertainty avoidance is decreasing, hey mangoes?
Eventually we found the pub the Lonely Plant recommended...and it was booked out. Tops.
Walked around the corner and found another, looked good. We went in, and by that time we had been on buses for 24 hours. Anyway, it turned out to be a top-end type place, quite flash. Hot water, 100 cable channels, internet downstairs, private bathroom, b very exy for La Paz, though - USD$35 a night!
So we booked for three nights :)
And I felt like complete and utter shit. Altitude sickness apparently. Migraine type headache, wanted to throw up, sort of that headache you get when you curl up on the bed into the smallest ball possible and try to block out the entire world and hope like hell you will fall asleep at some point.
Which is what I did, while k happily watched House on the telly without a care in the world!
Whoa, long post.
I'll leave it here then write later about La Paz itself.
I'll leave you with this - flicking through channels we found Steve Irwin dubbed into Spanish.
Piss funny.
Imagine ¡Dios! said like crikey, if you will.
Hasta luego, señores y señoras.
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