Valpo and vina del mar

Valparaiso, Chile. Has lots of murals/graffiti and arty feel about it but in a really pov, unpretentious, kind of way. Most are on derelict or half abandoned buildings, some in slummy regions or dark alleys, the paint is flaking, cracked and worn, or freshly painted over. There was a hostel “the house of adventure” which form the outside looks like it has seen better days with worn and striping paintwork, there were sheets hanging out some windows and traces of eggs thrown from balconies, urine in the streets, and an atmosphere somewhere between a college/dorm and a brothel... needless to say I was instantly tempted to stay there but i had already paid for a nice place in vina del mar. There are also some beaches, cabelcars, historic buildings and other attractions but i think the rough but warm, like a city of sin for tourists, feel of the place is what drives visitors to this place.

Island Time

I’m not sure i quite have the concept of the ‘laid back’ Easter Islands down pat. Arrived at 1pm, checked in by 2pm mountain biking up the tallest hill to ancient ruins by 3pm, awesome downhill though gum trees and home by 6pm. Cup of tea, few bites to eat, out to town, sunset over the bay with a bunch of moai (head statues). Next day 40km of biking across a wide range of terrain (mostly flat, pavement dirt and tracks) to see all the statues, houses and beaches. Which would defiantly have been better if my bike had 2 pedals... one fell off halfway through but i eventually found a way to ride that involved kind of pushing the pedal in with one foot and cycling with the other in an awkward gait that would make a chronic stroke victim look coordinated. Still great little island.

But then again I’m not sure that the locals get the island pace either (... mum, don’t google “Easter island riots” everyone here is happy and all is well). My excuse is i did spend a few days in pisco valley soaking up the uhm atmosphere in this fruit and grape growing region, then bus and plane and lots of idleness. I am looking forward to civilisation again so i think a few days in Valparaiso is just what the doctor ordered.

Got Salt?

A 4 day jeep safari across southern Bolivia turned up amazing salt flats (140km long and deep enough to cut bricks out of – that they make houses out of!), flamingo rich lagoons and geysers, as well as awesome lava flows that where perfect for climbing. Luxuries are understandably limited in this terrain, and 7+driver in a jeep is always uhm cosy, especially for 6-10 hours a day. But here were some nice hot springs and some cool sights that i think speak for themselves.

Word to the wise: Don’t buy bolivian salt! After having personally stood on driven over and licked (not in that order) the salt that will then be dried crushed and packaged to be sold... On the up note there are signs telling you not to pee on it so maybe you’ll be OK... maybe.
Also navigativg a train through the salt flats using the Einstien field equasion is not recomended as this derilict train will prove.

Cheap Thrills

Hanging around the street markets and dodgy vendors you find you can get just about anything for a good price. In Cusco I picked up a Hat ($3) some sunnies ($2) and a alpaca wool jumper ($8) after feasting on Quail eggs (5 for $0.30) and a half litre of fresh juice made to order ($1.20). This is due largely to the poverty of these counties where even doctors, lawyers and teachers are forced to drive taxis to survive. Take the town of Juiinetta with a population of 250,000 there are more than 20,000 tricycles (bike taxies) in juiinetta and the principal industry is smuggling... some to Bolivia (e.g. alpaca knickknack for Petrol) some of it within peru. This is a problem as crime doesn’t pay, at least not taxes – the result is dirt roads, poor schools, and no infrastructure. I don’t know if my tourist dollars help, hinder, or don’t affect things but i’d like to think i’m putting some cash into their economy. This may all be over as in Chille i am paying about 2-3 times more for most stuff brining it much closer to prices back home... but there are still some to be had.

The wide variety of experiences too is not to be underestimated. In Lima it was death for breakfast (catacombs), virgin sacrifice for lunch(temple,) jumping off cliffs in the afternoon (paragliding), and more drinks than you can point a stick at in the evening (hostel bar!). And that’s just one day. Others included Breakfast with hourses (riding them not eating them) followd by off road for lunch (and getting boged) eating sand for dinner thanks to my impressive sandboarding skills, and watching the sun set over some of the worlds strangest landscapes. Of course there are also days of sitting on a bus and days of lying in a hammock, hiding from the world watching movies, or catching up with new friends, or just planning where to go and what to see – And these are generally my blogging days. Chillaxing!

Of course this sort of easy lifestyle comes with its fair share of setbacks. More that the occasional 14 hour bus ride on a seat that doesn’t recline that well, with a fat man snoring behind you. Hostel interruptions and other forms of sleep deprivations. I have gone through 3 hats now for reasons ranging from forgetting on a bus, to using it as a emergency containment vessel when the alch...altitude got to me on a bumpy curvy road bus. I’ve been burnt bitten and stabbed by various insects plants animals and unidentified assailants. And had to put up with the most profane toilets that would make Rammstein go pale and hold each other for support. I write this now from a hostel where the crackling thunderstorms occasionally cut the power and let alarms join the tumultuous night sounds.

The Culture too can be hard to comprehend and we too quick to judge sometimes. For Example the other day I saw some people at a cemetery/church/temple/thing setting fire to stuff – walls, rocks, incense, the baby Jesus. At first i thought you can’t go and set Jesus on fire!? But then I thought compared to eating his body and drinking his blood, it’s probably the nicest thing to do. And anyhow how can you not support setting things on fire for no apparent reason. The mix of Inca and tribal traditions with Christianity is still an uneasy one.
But all that is what makes travelling fun, the unexpected.

Yi-pi-ki-yay, MoFo!

So today I discovered the real wild west. The place Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid were gunned down, a land of steep canyons, cacti, fast horses, a hot sun in a clear blue sky, and the sort of eerie stillness you expect at the ok-corral just before midday. Turns out that the real America is in Sothern Bolivia.

I stumbled off the overnight train and arrived tiered confused and utterly unable to form a coherent Spanish sentence at my hostel/booking agent. There i met my twin saviours, speaking flawless (from my point of view anyway) Spanish they had just negotiated a 5 hr horse ride with guide, and invited me along. At Bolivian 10:00am (11 something) our own little Sundance kid guided our posse though the impressive formations, gullies and ravines of tupiza.


The special riding hat turned out , unsurprisingly, to be a cowboy style ‘sombrero’. My horse, let’s call him black thunder (because ross was boring name for a horse), was lively but obedient (mostly) stallion who loved to lead and loved to canter, easily outpacing the kid’s mare. So yeah, Turns out cilantro means walk not cantor, woops!

See you cowboys....

La Paz, descent into madness.

La Paz the market rich capital of Bolivia. Here you can buy everything from hats, socks, dried lama foetuses, plumbing supplies, great juices and salads, knitting supplies, electrical and more.

I happened to be there for a colourful street festival, a kind of combination all saints day and black (negro – read indigenous) pride festival. What they lacked in musical or dance skills they made up for with loud flamboyant costumes and the occasional fireworks explosion.


I went on a downhill mountain bike ride down the north yungas road, across nearly 70km and down nearly 3.5km vertically. It features some breathtaking views and some killer drops. Riding through waterfalls and along precipitous roadways the gravel route is an easy but enjoyable ride through Bolivian highland and jungle. It ends with a quick dip and lunch before returning to LaPaz via the same road (on a fast mini-bus). You also get a free tee-shirt, a free cut to the face (should have watched those branches) and the right to say “I survived death road”.

Copa, Copacabana - Lake Titicaca

After a few nice days on lake titikaca catching rediculessly slow moter boats I hoped accross the boder to Copacabana, a charming little village on the boarder of Bolivia peru. Here i stoped for several hours to drink jucies, eat lunch hike up to a little mountain cemitary and sail on a sailboat... for 10 bucks I initially thought that I was renting it for myself. However (luckily for me) it came with ‘El Capitán’. Sailing involved about 15-20 min of rowing, due to my obvious muscular physic, i was doing at least half. Grasping the splintering hulks of wood in my powerful clutches and with my demi-godlike muscles flexing beneath my taught shirt, I rowed with much sound and fury - and sadly little actual forward momentum. Once we got to more open water we attached the rudder and sail. Impressed with my creative steering and cores plotting skills, I finally attempted to tack. Unable to clearly establish my intentions and then heroically cocking up the turn by getting the mainsheet (or is that an outhall) caught on the ore and having the boom flap uselessly in the fallow breeze ‘El Capitán’ helped out with a few strokes of the ores and then attaching the boom back where it belongs. So impressed was he at my nautical skills that promptly promoted me to head bilger which i excelled at. With ‘El Capitán’ at the helm i attempted to make some small talk amongst two salty sea dogs as we were. This too did not go as planned – possibly because i don’t know my pico from my.... uhm actually that’s the only Spanish word i learnt and i’m not sure if it’s sail, boom, gaff, rig, or sheet. The explanations ‘El Capitán’ gave were short involved nodding generally limited to ‘Si’ and at one point followed by something that sounded an awful lot like ‘You’re not paying me enough for this shit’. At this point i should take a moment to describe the boat to a sailor i would say it’s a small squaresail (gaff rig) like a couta... however unlike the beautiful king-billy pine example that some of my families sometimes sail up the Tamar, this one has ores made of rough round timber with two unequal sized planks nailed on; the boom floats freely (no goseneck) till you tie it (a twine downhall?) to one side of the center bunkseat, which then occasionally needs to be banged in again with an ore; The bilge pump consisted of a cut open coke bottle; The sheet is tied on to a rusty hook not fed though a non-slip thingy or a figure of 8 thingy (yep run out of nautical terms); There is no centre board, and the rudder will lean in at a 45 degrees angle when trying to steer. All of this seemed as natural as raindrops on kittens to ‘El Capitán’ but it was ‘Muí diferente’ from where i was sitting. ‘El Capitán’ guided the boat back to the pier where i leapt off and moored our boat and payed the good captain upon which he looked for the first time impressed :)

A Fun day and one of my best bussing days so far.