Digging La Pedrera
Felipe and I arrive at La Pedrera just on nightfall, and it turns out there's no free camping. I try to look around after we asked a camp-site owner about prices, but as usual, he's watching like an angry old Oobleck. Camp-site owners all seem to have the same basic mindset: Everyone is a thief, people with long hair and beards are evil (and they should expect to be treated as escaped convicts), and everything must be a war over money. I figure its a combination of charging money for the use of land (an inherently ridiculous concept, seeing as the earth simply is not owned by anyone) and having nothing else to do, then collect the money and worry about who's "ripping" you off. From your illegitimate job. I HATE CAMPSITE OWNERS. I say hate in a loose sense, and as much of a peace lover I want to be, I really only want to bathe in their blood and eat their children.
Anyway we decide just 1 night is affordable. We set up camp, we head out. There's a little hustle and bustle and Felipe seems to know every transient on the block from his travels in Brazil. In NZ there would be one or 2 people selling woven trinkets, beads and earrings etc, here, the main street is lined with them. Lined with young people living on the road, weaving friendship bracelets, carving whistles etc. And that is a pretty common way for some to choose to live here. I think it's awesome how common this lifestyle is. We hang about a bit and eventually end up sitting in a circle with some of the weavers, and one in particular, Padmera, who seems to have that rare spark of joy for life in him I've only seen once before.
I gave him a whistle I had with me earlier, because he made them, all different sorts, and it felt right. I play some guitar, there is boxed wine everywhere. I simply do not know how people manage to drink boxed wine, wine is bad enough, but boxed?? don't tell me you like the flavor, you LIE, show me the non alcoholic wine with that flavor! for all the kiddies out there to enjoy etc. eh???? LIES, it's shit, and you've been lying to yourself for so long you actually believe it. Pretty much the same goes for beer, but there's no way it's as foul as that goon. Amongst the ragamuffins there is a Brazilian guy, who has no idea where New Zealand is, asks to play my guitar and I take like 20mins to tune it…just operating a bit slow now that I've found these hippies. He doesn't even know where Australia is. Strange. He plays and plays as I make friends with an uruguayan girl. After a while I look back to spot some strange fluid on the guitar, I look closer to see nearly the entire pick-guard and most of the back of the guitar covered in blood. I don't mean a few splatters, I mean it's like a thick red lacquer coating the pickguard. It would seem our drunk friend has been strumming a bit hard. Blood is splattered all through the inside. There's a round of apologies and qualifiers. ahhh etiquette. I don't really care. I know his blood could be a good energy for my guitar, but the fact that he then picks up where he left off and keeps playing is strange for sure.
Now, I wana tell you something, but I don't quite know how to put it without sounding like a twat. There's this other Brazilian there, blonde, white, european descent etc. But I'm just a bit spellbound watching him (no Vashti…I'm not). You see, whenever I've met people with vastly different mannerisms and behaviors, they've always been of a different race. Take a stereotypical person from Jamaica for example. The way they walk, move, gesticulate, talk, laugh, - it's all vastly different. But even though I've noticed it, commented on it, appreciated it and said all the right words, for me, I can tell you, it was utterly different to see someone so common looking, acting so uncommonly. He was like an african or jamaican. And I know stereotypes blah blah, but you know what I'm talking about, that's all I'm trying to get across. And I just couldn't stare enough, he was so relaxed, so natural, loose at the joints, laughing and ….human. I mean, I want to be that relaxed man! and I thought I was getting there. No way. This guy made me realise to be relaxed is something different from me. It would seem you BE, you just let it all go, and I'm nowhere in sight of that. It was cool, I hope I explained it. It has the potential to be life changing.
I've always found that term funny "life changing". I mean, what isn't?
The next day I spend thinking about where the hell Im going to sleep as I just cant afford another night at the campsite. And I am so sick of paying money to assholes, and of course in my bid to experience life, due to the oppressive feeling I get in NZ from people obsessed with worshiping the commerce system, I ironically have centered my life around money and dealing with those who are ruled by it. Uhhh prison earth. Anyway my backpack is my prison guard and I cannot be far from it without the worry of loosing it, and I cannot walk far with it on in the heat, and with my bad knee. So my frustrations grows. The things I own are owning me. I go for a walk to look for the uruguayan girl where Felipe said she would be, but fail. I have an idea she is in the other direction, where she said to meet her the night before. So I go walking that way, also looking for a large bush or something I can throw my pack under so someone doesn't steal it. I see her walking down to the beach near some rocks but I continue looking a moment longer…just because I felt like it. Im not sure it's her but it is where I thought she said she would be. I casually wander over there to find her in tears, unable to hide them at all. She has had a fight with her boss and doesn't know if she can return to work, and seeing as she just started living at his house, whether she has a place to stay. I try my best to comfort her.
It's weird this culture, you see affection everywhere, hugs, kisses etc in actions and words. But what I have found is that this is more like protocol, in fact, people here don't seem to hug a lot when they're sad (this isn't the only instance I am basing this on), they don't seem to cuddle up. In NZ I would expect to sit for a few minutes comforting her, but here we exchange a small hug, and that's it. And just to add on an off topic, they may gesticulate wildly, but that seems to have completely numbed their ability to actually pay attention to hand movements - notable when your language skills are lacking. Pointing at something is a bit like doing so with a puppy…it may sniff your finger, and here they may look at you with annoyed confusion (annoyed faces seem to be all the rage here) but they wont think to look where you're pointing, or at what you are doing…or anything…. hmmmm.
Anyway She is more than a little surprised I found her, seeing as it turns out it is no where near where she told me she would be, or even at a time she said she'd be there, but here I am, to which she adds she is thankful I didn't come a moment earlier as she was taking a pee. How convenient.
So she comes back with me to see Felipe and we hang out a little while. When she goes we take our stuff to the place where all the transients sell trinkets and leave it with friends of Felipe…I think, whatever I'm done with it all. We make friends with a saxophonist who is so full of energy he plays nearly constantly if he can. Rare for a saxophonist. We go for a walk eventually (everything here happens 2 hours after it's finally decided on) and play for some people at restaurants and bars. Here it is normal and accepted for a musician to walk up to a bar, ask the manager, and then walk around or stand and play music to the people, after which they pass a hat around and collect coins etc.
The 4 of us are actually very good and we get encouraged by that. We manage to get a proper gig at a large bar the next day. It has a stage and PA etc, bueno. That night we try to get dinner, we don't communicate well, me and my friends…we made friends with a Mapuche juggler and Felipe and I and him go to a pizza place. The cost would be about 500 pesos for the 3 of us and we have about 200, some 140 or so is donated by me. And I'm not going to give more. Here people see you as rich if you're a foreigner, and continually try to get you to pay for everything. I just get sick of it. And yes, yet again, I find myself centered around money. Money money, no one wants to share, everyone's afraid of being used…out of control…unhappy, abandoned through the doller. uhhhhh. It was a long night of looking for food and miscommunication. Anyway we follow chino as he is called (because he looks chinese - oh how I love these people and they way they categorise everyone) out into the dark, past the houses and campsites, down an abandoned road to a bit of bush and I put up my tent and we camp. Felipe has his own tent, but for some inexplicable reason, he'll spend the rest of the time there in mine. Still don't know why he did that. Sure wasn't the most comfortable plan.
Too bad the next day my throat is sore and I'm feeling terrible. I've not had a cold for over 2 years, but this sure feels like one. So I don't go to the gig. Stink.
My teeth are also a problem, I cannot chew or floss without a lot of pain and the fillings feeling like they're pushing on the nerves and coming out. THANKS to all the dentists that have f#$%^d me over, I'm in Uruguay now, in pain, worried my teeth are just getting worse and worse, How're your bank accounts looking? EH???!!!!! hmmmmm. Money. Money makes you see your job…as something you do only for money. and you wont help…you wont make the job right…you'll do what you exchange money for….. that way you're not being mucked around. Thats just the way the world works. Great. It does when that you're in it….
I'm actually really fatigued at this point, so I stop playing and singing with all the travelers like I have been. Instead I just rest and sit. Padmera lends me his coat and I sleep behind the bush in front of which he sells whistles and woven hats, woven puppet birds (which he loves to demonstrate to the kiddies by dancing all over the street with it in his hand, flapping and swooooshing). The streets during the day are now filled with people, and more and more keep arriving. Children and eventually everyone throw water balloons at cars with open windows (with surprising aggression) and anyone else they fancy. I tend to be left alone. Bueno. I talk to the uruguayan girl when she comes to hang out with padmera. Now I don't know when it was but at some point I realized in my stoned and drunk stupor that I would have to head into the bush that night alone and I didn't even have my torch. The uruguayan girl wlked me to the edge of town then went home. I walked for a little bit then gave up and went back to the street, sat and watched the folks go by until dawn. Call me paranoid.
Naturally I slept most of the next day, turned out Felipe hadn't returned to the tent either. There's these birds here, they get up early, their "song" as best I can fathom is to try and get as close to the sound of a chainsaw as possible. Amazing and interesting really…..if you give half a shit. I on the other hand I personally would like to see this bird reach extinction. And the bush here is quite different to the completely tame NZ, or even the comfortable but deadly Aussie forest. Here, every plant, bug and animal would like you to be in pain. They don't want to kill you…at least not individually, but you get a sense of some sinister collective plan when you stand on grass and come up with a 3cm spike that's pieced your jandal and into your skin. And every ant, no matter what size, is absolutely in love with the idea of crawling on you just to bite you. I don't know the gain in it for them, why don't they just go play with their friends? no, they wont. Every leaf has a jagged edge, everything is covered in spines or spikes of thorns.
And the people I'm camping with like to surprise too. These transients, making "Om" necklaces and juggling, they like to throw all their refuse into the bush……..and not even far into the bush - like, right next to the tents! Right next to where they've also decided to take a dump, uncovered, with the paper wipings blowing about in the breeze like some great toilet flower has thrown off it's seeds. How lovely. Here it would seem, is does not matter who you are, they all have the same basic idea, f@k 'em all and take what you can. The beautiful Argentinian girl interrupts my computing to use it for her MP3 player. I talk of re-charging the battery, she reassures me. I find out that means - don't worry, there's enough for what I want to do, and if you want to charge it again, so you can return to your work, well, that's your f@#$n problem.
….They burned my teapot too, didn't even bother to remove the plastic tape before they fired it up, and used all my food, and didn't clean it. Not that people here are worse than anywhere else….I seem to recall running into similar issues everywhere...
But the same girl also spend 30 mins boiling and preparing a eucalyptus steam for me so I could get better. And then cooked, translated and helped out a lot for me etc. Hmmmm, I should perhaps try not to jump so quick to conclusions.
After I manage to get some water (con gas, it turns out, means WITH. trap for young players), I discover my paranoia and lethargy was due to dehydration. Now that I think about it I haven't drunk water almost at all for the last 3 days. Ahhhhhhhh (light above my head)
Now shitting in the woods here is fun, there are really no broad leafed plants, just these tiny eucalyptus trees everywhere. Weird to camp around them, because in OZ, they'll drop branches and kill you, here, they're miniature, and don't fall apart quite so readily. New shoots on these trees seem to have the broadest leaves around, so I grab a handful and make my way through the thorny forest to a clearing and try to dig as deep a hole as I can be bothered. I put my pants up on a tree so they don't fill with lonely and discontented insects waiting to bite me, and squat over my divot. It then occurs to me exactly why people have always told me native americans shat with their back to a tree, you see, you become acutely aware of your vulnerability when taking a dump, especially in Puma country, out in the bush alone. If I was a puma, it's not a bad time to attack your prey. …maybe messy though...
Taking a dump the natural way has some unnerving benefits, other than apparently being very healthy for you, it leaves your exit quite free of debris, which is in itself unexpected and worrisome, added to which the eucalyptus leaves have a strange characteristic of always feeling a bit moist…leaving their scent with each stroke…..so I keep wiping, no sign of trouble, but a kinda wet feeling…am I clean??? I pull up my pants and try not to think too much about it. One way or the other, at least I'll smell nice.
Its getting to carnival time and the parade's started, -a tribe of people dressed as fish preceding a large shark, a dragon, loads of people in costumes of every theme from ghostbusters to workmen, cheerleaders (boys included) and other randomness. With a incessant beating drum a crowd surrounds an area of road deep in the festivities and I get a look over the heads (easily done down here in midget-land) to see such a heartwarming sight. A bunch of 11-year old girls dressed in feathered hats, tiny sparkled bras and the kind of anal-floss undies that predominate the beaches here. And yes, they sure are dancing…well…mincing, gyrating, thrusting and shaking loose (as best I can determine, this is their goal) their tiny protuberances obviously in the hopes of loosing them forever and thus becoming entirely uncorrupted. It's so lovely to see children trying so hard to grind like strippers. Really puts things into perspective. I pretty much give up on carnival at this point and go play music with my friends.
On the way I see the only aggression I have since I got there. Despite free drinking and uncontrolled selling of alcohol by anyone and nearly everyone on the streets, the mood is very positive and friendly here, no bad vibes at all. Except for this one guy who seemed to be the single expression of all the collective, like a chocolate-caused pimple, maybe he was channeling it away from everyone else. He was just trying to fight absolutely everything he saw! I followed him and his 2 friends desperately trying to stop him attacking everyone for a few minutes, watching him sequentially set eyes, then ATTACK, set eyes, ATTACK!!! - EVERYONE. Then in a personal attack of unusual clarity I realise it is only a matter of time until he sees me, so I hang back in the crowd and go another way.
In all the heat, carnival and commotion. The tiny village of La Pedrera has NO cold water. It is simply inundated to bursting and no fridge stays closed long enough to cool. So you're stinking hot, bothered and dehydrated (because there is no free water other than the airborne kind - and even that is suspect, full of chlorine and a good part of what made me sick) and there's no cold water! Cold beer exists….but it will dehydrate you. uhhhhhh
The next morning bcd at the campsite the police arrive to clear us out. We cant stay there, and if we light a fire, we will be arrested. So we pack up, hide our things, and that night, I try to return. But there's captain cowboy on his horse waiting for me in the dark of the bush. So I make out like I'm going on a night stroll. Insert if you will, a picture of hairy old me, the sound of whistling and my bearded surprised face trying to pretend I just loooove the smell of the open sewer (that runs off the campsite and down the creek near where the road to our campsite is), making like I'm not going anywhere at all…oh the police huh? hmpf,… wonder what he's up to…doo-de-dooo.
Still the raw sewage is a good way to tell you're on track in the black of the night.
Eventually after waiting nearby, and the cavalry waiting and watching us, we win, and they turn in. The carnival is in full swing and they've got better things to do. And we go back and camp, further into the bush this time.
The next day Felipe gets a message from the canadian girls, they have an apartment and want us to come and stay. Jess is so sick she's just waiting for a flight back. She is dropping in and out of consciousness and loosing track of reality etc hallucinations etc. Not nice. I would learn later she was aware that she was loosing her mind. Scary.
Anyway with that I just decide to go straight away, no contest. They're great, and it sounds fun. But there are no buses, so we go to hitch. Don't let anyone tell you hitching is rare here, we were one of 6-7 groups of people waiting. But buy did we wait. and wait. Felipe went and got some bread, and stole some cheese. No wonder they make everyone lock up their bags when they go in a shop. Mmmmm but we had bread and cheese, I decided to let Felipe deal with the Karma-Dharma of that and we laughed and joked and threw a bottle of water at each other to pass the time. Felipe didn't really want to do any of the hitching, and was quite content just to sit there whether I did or not. Great. after ages and ages I gave up. Then I tried again. then gave up. Then eventually I just decided to go, but Felipe held up is palm telling me to wait, just a moment more. And as much as I hated it, and argued, I did, just if nothing else to feel like I had done all I could. Then a car pulled in. A lovely 4WD with 2 amazingly beutiful girls in it, plenty of room for our gear and going to the next town. Amazing! especially as they all talked in Spanish and I sat and looked at the driver who was wearing a blouse that simply did not do it's job. Ahhhhhhhhh riiiiiico.
They drop us in La Rocha, at the bus terminal, where we just cant get a bus until 5:30 the next morning. Felipe wants to do that, but I prefer to keep hitching. So we walk to the main road, about 1/2 a Km away, which I still manage to do, sick, with my pack, bag and guitar. But it starts raining. Now me, I'd have kept hitching, but not Felipe. Funny how people will go so far out of their way to find water, swim, play and drink it. But the moment it falls from the sky, with no effort, for free, it's HORRIBLE! hmmmm. We wait it turns out with people waiting for a bus to Montevideo also. And every empty seated bus tat passes us, they seem ever more indifferent…and my confusion grows. I try to make myself busy cutting up a bottle with my travel scissors to make a make-shit water catcher. Which is accidentally tipped over by someone. And you should have seen me see red until I realized it was a mistake. Oh my Ego.
Anyway somehow in the madness and rain, Felipe manages to wrangle us a seat on a bus. Don't ask me how, but we get it, and the others stand ever indifferently waiting for what I have decided is an ice-cream truck driven by Elvis, because there were more seats available on the bus, of which they took none.
The bus is plush and secure. We will get to where we are going, and as the sunsets, and the clouds shine their metallic orange and lavender reflections in sympathy, and the sky turns a brief beautiful light but vivid Aqua to complete the majestic reminder that the world is beautiful after all, I realize we were never going to make it there hitching. And as the moon sets later that night, like it has done during the past few days, an ever sharpening slice in burned orange dropping below the trees, I point it out to a bewildered Felipe who really does not believe it is the moon at all and I breathe a resting sigh.
Back to Montevideo.
Tuesday 29 March 2011
Thursday 10 March 2011
Montevideo Madness
Montevideo Madness
So yeah. the hostel I'm staying in has a nice balcony the gets the morning sun overlooking a busy boulevard closed off for pedestrians. So I chill out there a lot watching the Uruguavas. There are people who go through the rubbish here, tearing into bags for goodies, I saw this a lot in Buenos Aires too but here they're more a part of a system. There's no recycling etc, so I guess it works for everyone. Some seem to sweep up rubbish in their spare time. Perhaps these are a kind of enthusiast. Its kinda strange 'cause people are just keen as on throwing their rubbish on the ground no matter how close to a bin they happen to be, I guess not vastly different from some kiwis, it's just the amount of rubbish and filth on the streets=eets here, you'd think they'd have made a connection. Maybe it's a kind of blanket statement that says "well its so dirty already, now I wanna see how far we can take it" "whahooooo!". And it is, rubbish all over the beach, …just so much plastic etc. But it seems to have far less kaka on the sidewalks. They seem to wash it off here. Probably just to be different than Argentina in some kind of nationalistic effort to assert their identity. Anyway a couple of, I think bank employees, send a good 1-2hrs every morning scrubbing down the footpath outside their bank opposite the hostel. Yeah efficiency isn't really the name of the game here, I'm guessing people need work, so it's cheap as to get someone to do something - cheaper then blah blah, I don't give a crap about economics for now but each bus has a driver (thank god) and another person dressed like a driver (so you know they're important) selling the $18 peso tickets - roughly thats $1.50 each.
Some of these rubbish guys, Im guessing the high-rollers, have horse and carts and just wander round all day going through the rubbish. turns out they are the garbage men. Thats right guys, I'm taking the word man & men back, correcting it to the androgynous word it has been for hundreds of years. F*uck you wares. Anyway the sound of horses on cobblestone streets is lovely, just try not to associate it with the inequality of the poor, and the malnutrition animal working for them. I didn't see anything close to what I imagine a happy or even contented horse would look like.
But I sound like a real smart-ass, I could rip NZ to hell this way, and its kinda a cop out, cause I loved Uruguay. With a population roughly the same as NZ, the people are really friendly too, very similar in that way to kiwis, and they don't rip you off. Turns out that taxi driver didn't overcharge me, and in fact, no one did while I was there, and they didn't look at me like a busted gut when my spanish failed - in fact most of them spoke enough english communication, all though extremely clumsy was possible.
Staying at the hostel was a great idea. Now there wasn't any stress about where I was going to sleep, I enjoyed a strolling through the markets, and waterfront, city etc. Montevideo is nice, and it might sound strange, but a little paint would make it amazing. All these beautiful buildings etc, still in raw concrete, no paint. Everything's just grey. I dunno, it would just look so amazing to have some paint on the colonial and art nouveau buildings next to thew cobble-stone streets etc. A few creeping vines. I know its strange, but it's 1 step away from being an astoundingly beautiful place, instead at the moment, you have to kinda see the beauty in between the tip. This I notice about the beautiful artwork for sale around the city, the artists bring out the beauty, instead of in NZ, where they struggle to capture it, if you follow me.
First thing I do is take a shower at the hostel. The delay on the water mixer is about 30sec which sounds like nothing, but remember if you try 4 settings that's 2 min! I finally get the hot/cold ratio right. Remember this guys, you WILL be tested on it later. Then I discover what will come to be a fun fact, there's roadworks on the street outside and we only have pressure after 10pm and before 8am. Get up early and take a shower, then go back to sleep if you have to. Come dinnertime, cook it first, and if you have a shower, no one will have water for cooking…or dishes….hmmmm. At least never admit if it was ever you who did that. The toilets are not the safe-haven you'd want them to be, and when you travel, paying for a backpackers is offset by enjoying a good shower, now thats out I hoped for a quantum of solace in the kings chair, but no dice. The floors are always covered in water, so you've gotta choose the half-mast-pants-around-calves wrap, the shower style bare-all-and-hang-em-from-the-door trick, or some other form of not getting them wet with backpacker toilet floor water trick. Cubicle are so small you knees touch the doors which do not lock - though you can guess that is hardly relevant, or the other 2 toilets which have larger cubicles and look nice, but smell horribly because they don't flush properly and are almost always full of someone else's last dump. Adding to that those toilets are also permanently high tide with about 3" between your rear and the water. You wouldn't want to lay a clumsy brown trout from that distance into that broth. Hmmmmmm
At the backpackers I quickly make friends with a Danish guy and have dinner with him and martin the somewhat elongated Westley (princess bride) look alike. Martin hates Germans. but seems nice enough otherwise, just a little xenophobia and racism, probably ironically because of hitler. How many people missed the boat on that one? Isn't it great we all know racism, xenophobia and thinking you're better then everyone doesn't work? Isn't it great we now all have a clear reference for how a state can be manipulated, and how only through caring for each other and standing up for love can humanity avoid all that again. How the media can be used to warp peoples perception, control those who disagree etc, how a government can begin wars to avoid threats to capitalism ( 1st world war, which of course was the basis for the second)? So now everyone thinks for themselves huh? And doesn't attempt social change out of fear, and wants to love everyone else and doesn't listen to the media. Ok I'll stop.
Anyway the next morning the danish guy sounds like he's wrestling goliath with his tongue, babbling no specific language, and punching himself in the head and making straaaaange sounds while sitting at the computer jerking around etc. We all just look a bit worried, but he goes away. Hmmmmm. Funny how in my life, I've never had almost anything to do with people with serious mental illness. It's always handled, by experts eh?…hmnmmmm. I find myself really not knowing what to do, like a child waiting for mum to come put it right. Hmmmmmmm.
Anyway walking around, there's a lot of poverty, but its not like, "oh No!", people seem to be chilled out with their lives, poverty seems to be the wrong word we're all taught to use. I guess you only live in poverty if you think you do. The reserve bank (equivalent) here is MASSIVE. When they want to make a statement of national identity here, it seems that scale is how. They have this statue of a horseman in presidential square, it's head alone is like nearly 2 meters long down the nose. Here they have areas where everything's clean, green grass, fountains. Like these little oases usually surrounding a statue of men on horses. Dead keen on them over here. But the rest of the place is pretty run down. It's like 0-60 in a few footsteps.
Service takes hours here, its a part of life that the bank queues go down the street at nearly every bank. In fact it comes to be how you spot a bank. Oh theres a huge line of people, dressed well, lined up looking content, never catching eyes getting dripped on by air conditioners. This is my impression of Montevideo, no paint, horses, bank queues and air conditioner rain. Every 4th-5th person has a thermos under one arm and a Mate by far the best pick-me-up drink I've ever come across) cup in the other. It seems not to have occurred to anyone to put a strap on even a single thermos, no, they would rather carry them around for hours under their arms nearly managing to make it look comfortable.
Turns out the hosteller dude, Frederico is a guitarist and we plan a jam, hopefully with my friend whom I've come to see. The next day my mate the danish guy is fully freaking out again after going on the computer. I don't know about epilepsy, but this isn't how I imagined it, this is more like depictions of schizophrenia (no guys that has nothing to do with multiple personalities) I heard and saw in my university studies. Fredericos sister, hemaina (I have no idea how to spell it) is simply one of the most beautiful girls I've ever seen, and as is the custom here, completely friendly even so. NZers could learn a fair bit from these guys. Anyway we debate what to do with this guy as people are getting really anxious. what is he going to do? he's locked himself in the bathroom and making strange noises. No one, no one knows what to do. Very few are actually concerned for him. He's upsetting them, …who knows what he might do. I hope you get my point, he's done nothing but show us he's having a hard time. Anyway, because you really never know how someone who's already acting so differently, will act, we are all worried too. How different will it get? it's unpredictable. oh shit. Anyway Hemaina says her brother is coming and he'll handle it. so I head off to get a phone working etc. Its best I have nothing to do with this I say to myself, I have not experience. funny that.
I still haven't been able to meet up with my friend. I go to change some money and get such a great illustration of why banking services take so long. In a tiny office, behind something-proof plastiglass, 3 men stand, and behind them, (they have just enough room to squeeze past each other) is more plastiglass and a man in-front of some sort of computer. I give them my NZ and Argentinean currency, and with well practiced, dramatically jerky motion, they form a machine, one takes the money, hands it to the other, who runs it though a machine, handing it to the man behind the 2nd plastiglass with a printout from the machine delivered to him by the first, while another man watches with the skilled intent of a trained looker. Then the same for the second currency, while the man behind the 2nd plastiglass puts the money onto another machine, gets a printout and hands it back at which point he is handed the second currency. The 1st lot of money is then counted, while 2 men watch, a computer is tapped at, another printout comes, carefully folded into the money and returned to me, and the men stand at attention awaiting the 2nd lot of money which sees the same treatment. You hardly notice how long it's taken. Its just kind of mesmerising to watch there guys, like some sort of synchronized money dance ritual.
Back at the hostel our Danish friend has been kicked out. No one asks where, or if he'll be ok. He's just gone, YAY! everyone left breathes a sigh, we all act similar and don't have problems, we are good company. Why spoil it. So anyways Frederico and I arrange to put on a small concert when we realise we have all the equipment we need, I have 2 mics, cables and a pickup for my guitar, he has an electric acoustic and 2 mic stands, and amp, mixer & speaker. For now I just make dinner with the three lovely canadian girls I've met. I've also made friends with a great Chileno who speaks about as much english as I do spanish - ok a wee bit more, but not a lot. We hang out a bit and the next day we all go to the beach together. I stand out a wee bit, with my hippie pants, get the Hesus call and people staring at me all the time. Everyone has the idea those pants are for girls and as I look around all the guys pretty much wear the same thing and the girls have their system, almost no variation, and as try to wonder why this happens here I realise it's exactly the same in NZ. Im just more aware of everything here. All the monkeys stare- that's not what everyone else does, TV doesn't support that, ou ou ou ou oaaaahaha. It's really amazing if you think about it.
The beach is a nice change of scenery, but filthy, and with the reassuring occurrence of a lot of dead fish. That is actually good, because at least something can live in this water. then I realise that maybe it means just the opposite. I don't go swimming. While there I ind out one of my mates has started experiencing paranoia, cant leave the house sometimes and has lost some memory. I have no idea how to help him either.
That night a whole bunch of chileans turn up and sing songs all night, we cook a huge roast and rice and stir-fry (kind of) dinner and I sing songs 'till the early morn, while poor canadian girl number 3 (Jess I believe her name is) gets more and more sick.
The next day unfortunately she is worse and they start getting busy with doctors. My Chileno amigo Felipe wants to go to La Pedrera for Carnaval and I decide to pack up my HUGE load of gear (which I was planning to reduce that day) and leave a day early. The 3 girls were planning on going there, but are staying to care for their friend and say goodbye with an obvious air of disappointment.
The way the buses work here is that you're never sure you can get a seat, and you get in quick or you'll have to wait another hour or two until the next bus. It's Almost like they had a big event a few years ago and are still clearing the backlog. The bus ride is nice, and I try not to fall asleep watching what is essentially, the dead boring terrain. What if I miss something? yeah, sleep.
So yeah. the hostel I'm staying in has a nice balcony the gets the morning sun overlooking a busy boulevard closed off for pedestrians. So I chill out there a lot watching the Uruguavas. There are people who go through the rubbish here, tearing into bags for goodies, I saw this a lot in Buenos Aires too but here they're more a part of a system. There's no recycling etc, so I guess it works for everyone. Some seem to sweep up rubbish in their spare time. Perhaps these are a kind of enthusiast. Its kinda strange 'cause people are just keen as on throwing their rubbish on the ground no matter how close to a bin they happen to be, I guess not vastly different from some kiwis, it's just the amount of rubbish and filth on the streets=eets here, you'd think they'd have made a connection. Maybe it's a kind of blanket statement that says "well its so dirty already, now I wanna see how far we can take it" "whahooooo!". And it is, rubbish all over the beach, …just so much plastic etc. But it seems to have far less kaka on the sidewalks. They seem to wash it off here. Probably just to be different than Argentina in some kind of nationalistic effort to assert their identity. Anyway a couple of, I think bank employees, send a good 1-2hrs every morning scrubbing down the footpath outside their bank opposite the hostel. Yeah efficiency isn't really the name of the game here, I'm guessing people need work, so it's cheap as to get someone to do something - cheaper then blah blah, I don't give a crap about economics for now but each bus has a driver (thank god) and another person dressed like a driver (so you know they're important) selling the $18 peso tickets - roughly thats $1.50 each.
Some of these rubbish guys, Im guessing the high-rollers, have horse and carts and just wander round all day going through the rubbish. turns out they are the garbage men. Thats right guys, I'm taking the word man & men back, correcting it to the androgynous word it has been for hundreds of years. F*uck you wares. Anyway the sound of horses on cobblestone streets is lovely, just try not to associate it with the inequality of the poor, and the malnutrition animal working for them. I didn't see anything close to what I imagine a happy or even contented horse would look like.
But I sound like a real smart-ass, I could rip NZ to hell this way, and its kinda a cop out, cause I loved Uruguay. With a population roughly the same as NZ, the people are really friendly too, very similar in that way to kiwis, and they don't rip you off. Turns out that taxi driver didn't overcharge me, and in fact, no one did while I was there, and they didn't look at me like a busted gut when my spanish failed - in fact most of them spoke enough english communication, all though extremely clumsy was possible.
Staying at the hostel was a great idea. Now there wasn't any stress about where I was going to sleep, I enjoyed a strolling through the markets, and waterfront, city etc. Montevideo is nice, and it might sound strange, but a little paint would make it amazing. All these beautiful buildings etc, still in raw concrete, no paint. Everything's just grey. I dunno, it would just look so amazing to have some paint on the colonial and art nouveau buildings next to thew cobble-stone streets etc. A few creeping vines. I know its strange, but it's 1 step away from being an astoundingly beautiful place, instead at the moment, you have to kinda see the beauty in between the tip. This I notice about the beautiful artwork for sale around the city, the artists bring out the beauty, instead of in NZ, where they struggle to capture it, if you follow me.
First thing I do is take a shower at the hostel. The delay on the water mixer is about 30sec which sounds like nothing, but remember if you try 4 settings that's 2 min! I finally get the hot/cold ratio right. Remember this guys, you WILL be tested on it later. Then I discover what will come to be a fun fact, there's roadworks on the street outside and we only have pressure after 10pm and before 8am. Get up early and take a shower, then go back to sleep if you have to. Come dinnertime, cook it first, and if you have a shower, no one will have water for cooking…or dishes….hmmmm. At least never admit if it was ever you who did that. The toilets are not the safe-haven you'd want them to be, and when you travel, paying for a backpackers is offset by enjoying a good shower, now thats out I hoped for a quantum of solace in the kings chair, but no dice. The floors are always covered in water, so you've gotta choose the half-mast-pants-around-calves wrap, the shower style bare-all-and-hang-em-from-the-door trick, or some other form of not getting them wet with backpacker toilet floor water trick. Cubicle are so small you knees touch the doors which do not lock - though you can guess that is hardly relevant, or the other 2 toilets which have larger cubicles and look nice, but smell horribly because they don't flush properly and are almost always full of someone else's last dump. Adding to that those toilets are also permanently high tide with about 3" between your rear and the water. You wouldn't want to lay a clumsy brown trout from that distance into that broth. Hmmmmmm
At the backpackers I quickly make friends with a Danish guy and have dinner with him and martin the somewhat elongated Westley (princess bride) look alike. Martin hates Germans. but seems nice enough otherwise, just a little xenophobia and racism, probably ironically because of hitler. How many people missed the boat on that one? Isn't it great we all know racism, xenophobia and thinking you're better then everyone doesn't work? Isn't it great we now all have a clear reference for how a state can be manipulated, and how only through caring for each other and standing up for love can humanity avoid all that again. How the media can be used to warp peoples perception, control those who disagree etc, how a government can begin wars to avoid threats to capitalism ( 1st world war, which of course was the basis for the second)? So now everyone thinks for themselves huh? And doesn't attempt social change out of fear, and wants to love everyone else and doesn't listen to the media. Ok I'll stop.
Anyway the next morning the danish guy sounds like he's wrestling goliath with his tongue, babbling no specific language, and punching himself in the head and making straaaaange sounds while sitting at the computer jerking around etc. We all just look a bit worried, but he goes away. Hmmmmm. Funny how in my life, I've never had almost anything to do with people with serious mental illness. It's always handled, by experts eh?…hmnmmmm. I find myself really not knowing what to do, like a child waiting for mum to come put it right. Hmmmmmmm.
Anyway walking around, there's a lot of poverty, but its not like, "oh No!", people seem to be chilled out with their lives, poverty seems to be the wrong word we're all taught to use. I guess you only live in poverty if you think you do. The reserve bank (equivalent) here is MASSIVE. When they want to make a statement of national identity here, it seems that scale is how. They have this statue of a horseman in presidential square, it's head alone is like nearly 2 meters long down the nose. Here they have areas where everything's clean, green grass, fountains. Like these little oases usually surrounding a statue of men on horses. Dead keen on them over here. But the rest of the place is pretty run down. It's like 0-60 in a few footsteps.
Service takes hours here, its a part of life that the bank queues go down the street at nearly every bank. In fact it comes to be how you spot a bank. Oh theres a huge line of people, dressed well, lined up looking content, never catching eyes getting dripped on by air conditioners. This is my impression of Montevideo, no paint, horses, bank queues and air conditioner rain. Every 4th-5th person has a thermos under one arm and a Mate by far the best pick-me-up drink I've ever come across) cup in the other. It seems not to have occurred to anyone to put a strap on even a single thermos, no, they would rather carry them around for hours under their arms nearly managing to make it look comfortable.
Turns out the hosteller dude, Frederico is a guitarist and we plan a jam, hopefully with my friend whom I've come to see. The next day my mate the danish guy is fully freaking out again after going on the computer. I don't know about epilepsy, but this isn't how I imagined it, this is more like depictions of schizophrenia (no guys that has nothing to do with multiple personalities) I heard and saw in my university studies. Fredericos sister, hemaina (I have no idea how to spell it) is simply one of the most beautiful girls I've ever seen, and as is the custom here, completely friendly even so. NZers could learn a fair bit from these guys. Anyway we debate what to do with this guy as people are getting really anxious. what is he going to do? he's locked himself in the bathroom and making strange noises. No one, no one knows what to do. Very few are actually concerned for him. He's upsetting them, …who knows what he might do. I hope you get my point, he's done nothing but show us he's having a hard time. Anyway, because you really never know how someone who's already acting so differently, will act, we are all worried too. How different will it get? it's unpredictable. oh shit. Anyway Hemaina says her brother is coming and he'll handle it. so I head off to get a phone working etc. Its best I have nothing to do with this I say to myself, I have not experience. funny that.
I still haven't been able to meet up with my friend. I go to change some money and get such a great illustration of why banking services take so long. In a tiny office, behind something-proof plastiglass, 3 men stand, and behind them, (they have just enough room to squeeze past each other) is more plastiglass and a man in-front of some sort of computer. I give them my NZ and Argentinean currency, and with well practiced, dramatically jerky motion, they form a machine, one takes the money, hands it to the other, who runs it though a machine, handing it to the man behind the 2nd plastiglass with a printout from the machine delivered to him by the first, while another man watches with the skilled intent of a trained looker. Then the same for the second currency, while the man behind the 2nd plastiglass puts the money onto another machine, gets a printout and hands it back at which point he is handed the second currency. The 1st lot of money is then counted, while 2 men watch, a computer is tapped at, another printout comes, carefully folded into the money and returned to me, and the men stand at attention awaiting the 2nd lot of money which sees the same treatment. You hardly notice how long it's taken. Its just kind of mesmerising to watch there guys, like some sort of synchronized money dance ritual.
Back at the hostel our Danish friend has been kicked out. No one asks where, or if he'll be ok. He's just gone, YAY! everyone left breathes a sigh, we all act similar and don't have problems, we are good company. Why spoil it. So anyways Frederico and I arrange to put on a small concert when we realise we have all the equipment we need, I have 2 mics, cables and a pickup for my guitar, he has an electric acoustic and 2 mic stands, and amp, mixer & speaker. For now I just make dinner with the three lovely canadian girls I've met. I've also made friends with a great Chileno who speaks about as much english as I do spanish - ok a wee bit more, but not a lot. We hang out a bit and the next day we all go to the beach together. I stand out a wee bit, with my hippie pants, get the Hesus call and people staring at me all the time. Everyone has the idea those pants are for girls and as I look around all the guys pretty much wear the same thing and the girls have their system, almost no variation, and as try to wonder why this happens here I realise it's exactly the same in NZ. Im just more aware of everything here. All the monkeys stare- that's not what everyone else does, TV doesn't support that, ou ou ou ou oaaaahaha. It's really amazing if you think about it.
The beach is a nice change of scenery, but filthy, and with the reassuring occurrence of a lot of dead fish. That is actually good, because at least something can live in this water. then I realise that maybe it means just the opposite. I don't go swimming. While there I ind out one of my mates has started experiencing paranoia, cant leave the house sometimes and has lost some memory. I have no idea how to help him either.
That night a whole bunch of chileans turn up and sing songs all night, we cook a huge roast and rice and stir-fry (kind of) dinner and I sing songs 'till the early morn, while poor canadian girl number 3 (Jess I believe her name is) gets more and more sick.
The next day unfortunately she is worse and they start getting busy with doctors. My Chileno amigo Felipe wants to go to La Pedrera for Carnaval and I decide to pack up my HUGE load of gear (which I was planning to reduce that day) and leave a day early. The 3 girls were planning on going there, but are staying to care for their friend and say goodbye with an obvious air of disappointment.
The way the buses work here is that you're never sure you can get a seat, and you get in quick or you'll have to wait another hour or two until the next bus. It's Almost like they had a big event a few years ago and are still clearing the backlog. The bus ride is nice, and I try not to fall asleep watching what is essentially, the dead boring terrain. What if I miss something? yeah, sleep.
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