Montevideo Takes 2
Ok so we get to the bus station around 11pm and decide to take a bus to meet the girls. WE don't need to pay high prices for a taxi…like $5. Something told me we should have. Anyway Felipe finds a bus stop and we wait a while. Buses going near are ignored, he believes our bus going closer, is close. And getting closer. After a while he sakes someone, they say it's the wrong stop. We don't believe her, and she changes her answer a while later…and another person says what we want to hear. Then they get on a bus and go and we wait. I'm tired as hell and I know the girls are waiting for us, so we ask again, the person says they know one is coming. The they get on another bus and go. Felipe gets the idea to go wait somewhere else, and leads a circular route to another main street at his usual speed not allowing at all for the fact it takes me just a few seconds longer to get my pack on, and my bad knee makes me walk just a little slower. Off he goes.
Sometimes I get the impression that people consider it to be, that to be considerate is just not to completely ignore you. Anything above that is practically martyrdom. Anyway we make our way to a bus stop and I sit to rest. After sinking into thoughts of whether we should just get a taxi, all of a sudden an plastic coke bottle full of water hits the ground right next to me with a BLAST and rebounds with some force directly into my not-so-funny bone. I am more than a little pissed off already, now I want to turn the street into a slaughterhouse. I look everywhere for a culprit, and I think its some punk in the high-rise above us. He will die, that's given, now it's just a matter of when and how.
I watch as passers by get sprayed with water on queue at exactly the same spot and try to figure out where it's coming from. I have a plan to throw that coke bottle with some violence at the perpetrator and beckon him to waterloo. Oh how quickly I loose my ideals when pushed….hmmmm Anyway some guys starts playing guitar from a balcony and some girls join him laughing, and I just start convincing myself he is the mark, I see some shirtless, fat, bald old man with a cup of water looking at them from a window…and then he throws it. And, he gets another! As I consider how to disembowel him from such a distance it occurs to me that this geriatric malcontent is probably completely out of his head on brain altering heart medication, and for all I know, believes he's defending the Montevideo embattlements from marauding british colonists. It's pleasing to know a good 10-20 years at the end of our lives will be set aside for drug abuse. Rather like the rest of it, but these will be more powerful, more mind altering and, more deadly. F$*k Yeah!
As he goes to do it some more I yell out, "HEY WHAT'S UP, MOTHERFUCKER!" and laugh to let him know I'm not murderous (anymore), and make the internationally recognised hand signal for "I see you (Asshole)" and he shrinks into the dark of his turret….or apartment window, depending on the level of hallucinogens running through his plaqued up arteries.
We give up and take a taxi. Its just $5. but it took us 1 & 1/2 hours to bite that bullet. It's worthwhile being cheap sometimes, but others, you gotta know when to fold'em and stop being a mean dumbass.
Pizza and pickpockets
At the hostel we are greeting to a quite shaken Nicole (though she hides it amazingly well). She and Katie, on their way back from the hospital, got off 2 stops too far, and were immediately surrounded by about 15 young kids, who mugged them. They'd ripped at their bags and despite an attempt to fight them off, inevitably, the kids were stronger, more numerous and, well, wanted it more, so they came away with the result. They took Katies sound recorder, like mine, but better (she was going to use for a film - podcast) their 2 ipods, an i-touch, diaries etc.
For me it would be the sense of loss of liberty that would disturb me the most. And for them the loss of irreplaceable recordings….huh don't I know how THAT feels. Although they'd tried to get their stuff back, they'ed realised they were out of their depth when they found the stronghold of the robbers (with the help of their land-lord - a child as it turns out) and within it some burly badass guys, who basically told them to go forth and multiply (thanks dad), and one of whom followed them in their retreat making himself more than clear. Don't come back. These girls…I dunno, I wouldn't have had the balls to do that.
The apartment was not in a good area, and the girls were too scared to sleep there. Katie had decided to sleep in the hospital with Jess, but there was only one bed, and Nicole needed a break so she was back at the packers. I just gave her a hug and got onto ordering some beer and Pizza. I invited a nice Aussie girl who was there and we had a gathering. It was nice to be back amongst them. Turns out the night of our mini concert, Nicole had also had her camera stolen. It was very expensive, but more than that, all her travel photos and films…..that sux royally. Nicole was really having a hard slog, she's the one who can speak spanish, so she interprets the doctors (imagine how easy THAT is), and talks, organizes…I'm quite amazed at her ability to cope.
Police and pirates
In the following days they tried to get their stuff back but were treated to the Uruguayan Police system. Basically the police were able to get her diary, though completely unwilling to actually go into the house that hold the thieves, (eh??) they did manage to spin a yarn about how they'd had to pay, just to get the diary (EHHH??). I dont think I need to explain what a pile of burro-kaka that is. Corruption in the police is quite open here, though the locals seem to think that that's the way it is all over the world, I reassure them that in my country, the pretense of being non corrupt is much better upheld. But yeah, one way or another, I guess it is the same. Except NZ police wouldn't have got her diary.
Julia (jules) is the name of the Aussie chick, and I hang 'round with her the next couple of evenings. We go to meet one of her fiends who's uruguayan and like many argentinians (yes, I said it, but it's not what you think) is constantly on 300%. We eat something like a deep-fried doughnut strip filled with Dulce De Leche (this is in EVERYTHING here) and another revolutionary variety, filled with cheese. We eat an bland meal (all meals are bland here when you eat out and veggie options are soooo difficult) and I work out it takes from Vicky's (the uruguayan friend of jules) info, about 3 hours work to earn enough for one (One litre bottle of) beer.
But something makes me sus on all the descriptions of wages here and the cost of living, because people spend a lot, and seem at least as free with their cash as in NZ. She spends easier than I do. It may be that rent is like $200/month here. Maybe rent is low, but other prices are high, so it balances, I don't know.
Jules and I go out another night, we don't find the cheap restaurant we are looking for, but are treated to a good band and another Vege mix up. After spending a good 10 minutes trying to get a vege pasta option (as there is nothing on the menu), the meal comes full of bacon. Luckily Jules's meal does not and she's kind enough to switch. She's actually really great to hang out with. After all my years of saying NZers were more like the british etc and Aussies like people from the U.S., I can tell you, I was a f^&*n delight to be around an Aussie. It was just so relaxing to be understood. I hadn't realised how contained I'd had to act around people, even the canadians, who were just not going to interpret what I say they way it was intended. With Jules it was like a comfortable old bed or your favorite chair in comparison. I guess we 2 neighbors really are very similar. ewwwww.
Sick Girl Grandma
At some point I go with Nicole to meet Katie and Jess and when I set eyes on her it's quite a site. Last time I saw her she was a bit ill and in bed. his time she is stiff, barely walking, talking at about 3 words/minute (time it yourself, that's SLOW) and basically acting exactly like a 90year old grandma. It was quite striking, and funny too, as she told the same jokes, just slower, voice creaking, eyes unable to move or focus properly, and, as she was going home the next day, spending money like she'd won lotto. It was interesting to see, that with her impairments, she was exactly like a funny old granny, EXACTLY. Makes me think of the aged quite differently I have to admit. I know they say they feel young, but I always went, (in my head), "yeah I bet you do, but you don't act like a young person would". Now I see, it was me who was missing it. mmmmmm
Music and Paranoia
I cant remember what this was about…hmmm…I will…I hope
Nontoxication
Poor old Jules has got some nasty bites and a day later so do Nicole and Katie (who's back after Jess hopped on the plane and headed back to canada). So the fumigation guy arrives and commences spraying, so we rush out of the room to the sound of that old lie "IT'S NON TOXIC". riiiiight, that's what kills the bugs - the non-toxins. I'm sure the company that makes it would love to secure future profits by informing the users of all potential risks, and tell the truth. We can trust.
Anytime someone says their bug spray is non toxic, my suggestion is you ask them to drink it. How the hell can it kill a bug dead in 2 mins and be completely non toxic. That isn't a question.
offloading (too much stuff, scanning etc)
Anyway Nicole says her friends friend has a car and may be able to drive the 4 of us (Felipe had to go back to chile….how I miss that little tramp) to Cabo Polonia with his mate, so I crack into getting rid of the study guides I've bought from NZ. Hulking reams of paper rheeming my backpack. I set to with the scanner and my Laptop and one-by-one, scan hundreds of pages. It takes me pretty much a whole day, but by the end of it I'm lighter, and have all the work on my PC. Gehhhhiiiiiinious!
That night it's drinks and music all round, we laugh and play, for tomorrow we head out again. A good send-off. My friend the Sax player from La Pedrerra is there too and we laugh and jostle. Nice life this at times I have to admit. The next morning I awake and pack. My job is to wake Nicole, and as I get up I see her do the same. But a few moments later, she lies down again. I finish packing and Enrique (our lift) arrives. I throw my stuff in his car, but the girls aren't ready. Turns out the waking message didn't get through, somehow. Anyway I return briefly to the Backpackers to make a call, I can't remember why. We load up the small white car, with a huge van-like protuberance on the rear and with 3 in the back, head off down the road. Its not to bad to be traveling with 3 lovely girls all happy and in a new place.
I watch montevideo, once again, turn into suburbia as we leave. Onto The coast!
Sunday, 3 April 2011
Tuesday, 29 March 2011
Digging La Pedrera
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.
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.
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.
Monday, 28 February 2011
Bueno Buenos
Ok guys lets make the transition easy, after this, i'll officially know what a blog is and no longer have deniability. ok
So yea after rushing through jammed traffic to the airport cursing the civil engineers or whoever put 3 sets of traffic lights on a 5 lane road going to an international airport, only to wait an hour in check-in, I, in infinite geniousity rushed to the boarding gate because the paper in my hand and the check in seniorita told me I'd better. Of course there was nothing but waiting to be done there, not that you'd guess after you get directed by a shout from an airportress with a talkradiothing through a temporary walkway encouraging you to hurry, you enter the gate lounge and there's just like 300 people sitting around. Sitting around desperately trying to have nothing to do with each other. So I went and got a burger. Passing people still running with their luggage towards where I've just come from.
Damn you burger king when I ask for a veggie burger, don't make it a salad burger! Is that REALLY what the average vegetarian who's been forced to buy one of your burgers is looking for? Here's a hint: THEY'RE PROBABLY HUNGRY!
(for those of you who are unaware Burger King do a yummy onion ring burger for the desperate carrot muncher)
Ok, anyway we board like an hour later, after I've advertised my self quite satisfactorily by munching ferociously on this burger, with far too much sauce, getting it all over my beard….some people laughed….mmmm. So I board and realize I'd forgotten to ask for leg room. I'm in the middle of 4 seats, in the middle of the plane. There's kids in the front row! their legs don't even reach the end of the cushion and I've got my knees for earrings behind a tiny Argentinian who just likes to recline even though her feet don't touch the ground while she seems to be explaining to her friends the historical significance of Waitangi day to the Maori culture pre-settlement. Oh dear. Its not long after this I discover the 8 hour flight is actually more like gonna be 12. damn maths. Damn cramp.
Anyway, long flights are all the same I expect, had good company with my single-serving friends. Babies screamed on queue, even got a few beers. But the air is so dry Im asking for water constantly. not that they oblige AT ALL. I mean, heres breakfast, and they offer coffee or tea, but have cartons of juice on the cart. So I ask for juice and the lady says "of course" then proceeds to leave my cup empty because breakfast comes with a pre-packaged juice. WHAT THE HELL MAN???…….what did she think? By asking for juice I was actually trying to tell her I wasn't thirsty at all? That I would like less fluid then everyone else, and that that 100ml container was ample, ample. ugghghhgggh.
This blog is getting boring so I'll speed it up. I hadn't heard from my Buenos Aires contact so I was a bit stressed. Didn't sleep. Saw a few mountains out a window a few meters to the left. Got there, feeling pretty tired. First thing I see is Toitoi, EVERYWHERE on the ground. Maybe its somehow different, but it looks like we just landed in Westport. Cant say much about the airport other than there's 1 duty free shop and they dont care if you've an outbound flight, they just give ya 3 months on your NZ passport easy as. It reminded me a lot of Fiji, its real relaxed, cheap, falling apart etc.
After getting some duty-free for my host to be, I wander out with Harley, the guy I sat next to on the plane. but I've forgotten my guitar! mmmmm. My perpetually absent mind. So I don't realize this until Im half way out to the next terminal looking for a currency exchange, which of course is loaded with people and who's only serving staff member looks about as hurried as a stoned hippo. So I go back and try to figure out how to get my guitar, talk to the information lady, talk to the security guy (no inglise) then the oh so helpful Aerolinias Argentinas staffman who directed me to a locked door in an abandoned corridor...... and watched me wait there... with no expression on his face. ... I think he could have at least enjoyed f*cking with me, just to make it worthwhile to someone. So he watches me wonder back, wait in line again, and ask someone else, who promptly runs all about for 15mins around the airport and sorts it out for me. Bueno. Turns out I have to go wait in an abandoned corridor next to a locked door. At least I have the company of a spaniard with me. His Visa got denied, so he can come into the country but his bags cant. …. yeap. Argentina por favor.
Anyway my guitar comes thank Hesus, and I meet up with Harley, and we take the US$14 bus to town instead for the public bus that costs 1.25 pesos…exchange rate is roughly 4 pesos/USD. Hmmmmm. I knew it, but it's good to have company when you're going into a new city at night with no-where to stay, and he was a good sort. About 6'3 120Kg Rugby player with tattoos etc. Sweeeeet, he can smack the muggers while I try to unpack my 70cm sawtooth spine-d Gerber Machete. He proved himself honest too when I left my laptop in my trolly and got on the bus without it. He carries it in, " figured this must have some significance" he says. Not a good start but at least if I loose my gear, it wont be from mugging.
We get to town and try to find a bar. Gerhard said his impression of Buenos Aires was, loose, dirty tiled footpaths, smog and dog shit. Well thats just unfair! You cant even see the dog shit at night. fool. We look everywhere for a waterfront bar, or at least something not too poncey. But fail. I go to a bookshop: Donde esta la cerveza senior? I understand nothing of what he says but his hands tell me the story, and a block or two later notwithstanding me trying to commit suicide by looking the wrong way before crossing the street, we're enjoying a couple of coronas and heinekens. No local beer present.
The waitress is lovely, and naturally stunning, but we go in search of the local drop. On the way I try to call Val (my contact) with no success, ….well, that's a lie, I managed to get my first "Hei Gringo!" call by a magazinestander I couldn't hear over the sound of my fists punching the pay-phone. Phones in Argentina cut out…a lot it would seem, and pay-phones seem to give your money back even if you make a call, and sallow it if you don't dial. Either way money is useless here. At the next bar the people are also friendly, but it seems everywhere is closing, it's friday night after all and it's 7:30pm. what the hell? Anyway they give us a litre bottle of stellar and beer nuts ( a welcome standard here it would seem) and let me use their phone 4 times, with no success. It seems if you dial a wrong number and ask for Val, the best option is to say nothing and hang up. That should make the message clear in a place that the phones cut out so often. That will prevent them calling again and again just incase they thought there was a mistake.
So we go to an irish bar, the 1st without english-speakers.....playing latin music full on.... and by far the most hostile to the two americans that we obviously are. 1 thing I discovered quickly, if you're a white guy with limited spanish, it's simply a fact that you are an american, and you deserve to be treated like…well not shit, because they obviously love that on the streets, but certainly like something in-between an absolute idiot and a drunk, uninvited guest at a funeral. so yeah, I only had american dollars which they made a point of hating - even though they're used almost as much as pesos EVERYWHERE, but we nursed out local ISENBECK beer (terrible, but not as bad as Lion Red, so…) and I tried once again to call. I'd all but given up trying, but I'm glad I ripped of the phone sex fliers from the phone-box one more time and to call Val, because I finally got through, got an address, said a desperate goodbye to my Burly buddy and jumped in a taxi. I honestly didn't give half a toss he changer me double, I knew he did, even while he was pretended it was a favor, but I just wanted to rest.
Im also glad he came back in 5 mins after dropping me off to see why I was looking so despondent, as I had left the paper I'd written the address on in his car and was standing on a street with 50 apartments at 10pm wondering if I should just yell out.
So I rang the buzzer and met my beautiful host who made me dinner and the monumental effort of communicating with the gringo who'd suddenly called her and was now falling asleep at her dining table. Muchos Gracias Val, beso grande.
Slept like a freaking log.
I pretty much slept all day and went shopping in the afternoon, much to my excitement..which was of course much to Val's surprise. Milk comes in plastic bags, like a sachet of about 500ml. So does Yoghurt, and I bought one. About $1. At home after the green grocer visit and everyone asking if we were married, Val showed me how they use the sachet. She just cuts the bottom off a plastic container, in this case a mineral water bottle, and stuffs the sachet in with a corner cut out, voilà.
After that I tried to contact my mate in Uruguay, tried to call the Boat company (no dice, phone cut out) I was going to use the next day (yesterday) and stayed up trying to find cheap accommodation. No luck, Note to self: Book days in advance! Especially when Carnivalle is coming.
So the next morning I say my goodbye to my Host who I really cant thank enough…my spanish seems to be getting worse, and walk 20 mins to the bus stop and wonder how the hell I ended up with a huge 17KG Backpack, + 2 bags and a guitar. I used to laugh at people I saw like this, "what an idiot!, You don't need all the gear!"….and here I am. Gringo babblingo on his way to catch a bus, which, it turns out, doesn't take notes, and I've no coins. A local woman pays for me and wont accept my notes in exchange either. You money is no good once they decide on something here. Quite nice really. These people are far more friendly.
So I go to the boat terminal with no ticket, through customs with no worries, try not to advertise my new Laptop as I try to steal internet and find accommodation. Mild success in both cases. I get 15mins before they cut it off, get to use my PC (that's right IBM Im taking back your acronym for my Mac) on the net for the first time, and send an email to a backpackers, an expensive one, in Montevideo in the old part of town near the waterfront.
Colonia is where the boat stops, a beautiful Historic town with art history and culture, ruins and buildings etc A must see!
…apparently. But I've got a mules load, it's stinking hot, and I'm not sure I'll even have time to find a place to stay. So I just go straight to the bus to Montevideo. See you on the way back Colonia…..maybe. The buses work like this: Everyone crowd around and push each other blatantly out of the way which each bus fills and then drives away 1 by 1. And then we all wait for the next 3 to arrive while more ferry travelers arrive. So I eventually get on after being forced to barge my way through people who stand in your way oblivious to anything, but quite happy to be bumped and knocked and wakked by my gear as I try to get to the luggage area.
The bus waits to be filled while the matching blonde german couple attempt to get 2 seats each, in their infinite wisdom, hoping that the bus staff, having never encountered weary travelers trying to get more that they've paid for, will let them be. But, shockingly, they of course are asked to move, at which point they give up - after much disgust, and sit next to each other (how utterly vulgar), and to which are provided the insult of a gentle request from the stunning columbian girl next to me, to please reduce the massive reclamation of the seat on which our little SS man is sitting.
I try to make conversation but she's not really interested. So I sit and watch the terrain roll by. Its a LOT like NZ really, but obviously a lot poorer with a lot of white small buildings about the size of bedrooms with washing etc, dirt roads in between. I see some hitchers. After getting out of the city Im convinced I want to start traveling more like I do In NZ. Hitching, out, away from cities. Uruguay seems lovely, I cant compare it to Buenos Aires as I didn't see much of the latter and it would be unfair. At the bus terminal I realise I'm 6km away from where I thought I'd be, and ask a local to point out on a map where I am. Thank you wi-fi. I cant recommend it enough, having a laptop makes life a LOT easier! and I realise my booking was successful! Result!
I grab a taxi and actually almost manage a conversation. He charges me double too, but once again, I don't care. Im gonna put down some roots and sort myself out here, then proceed with efficiency.
The hostel is lovely, the hosteller is friendly (you girls should check out uruguayan guys, very beautiful). The place has hot water, a nice bed with lockable drawers and is quiet & near the water. Niiiiiice. I go online briefly then fall asleep.
OK, I cant guarantee I'll ever be bother being this detailed again, but I'll keep you'all updated.
Chau
So yea after rushing through jammed traffic to the airport cursing the civil engineers or whoever put 3 sets of traffic lights on a 5 lane road going to an international airport, only to wait an hour in check-in, I, in infinite geniousity rushed to the boarding gate because the paper in my hand and the check in seniorita told me I'd better. Of course there was nothing but waiting to be done there, not that you'd guess after you get directed by a shout from an airportress with a talkradiothing through a temporary walkway encouraging you to hurry, you enter the gate lounge and there's just like 300 people sitting around. Sitting around desperately trying to have nothing to do with each other. So I went and got a burger. Passing people still running with their luggage towards where I've just come from.
Damn you burger king when I ask for a veggie burger, don't make it a salad burger! Is that REALLY what the average vegetarian who's been forced to buy one of your burgers is looking for? Here's a hint: THEY'RE PROBABLY HUNGRY!
(for those of you who are unaware Burger King do a yummy onion ring burger for the desperate carrot muncher)
Ok, anyway we board like an hour later, after I've advertised my self quite satisfactorily by munching ferociously on this burger, with far too much sauce, getting it all over my beard….some people laughed….mmmm. So I board and realize I'd forgotten to ask for leg room. I'm in the middle of 4 seats, in the middle of the plane. There's kids in the front row! their legs don't even reach the end of the cushion and I've got my knees for earrings behind a tiny Argentinian who just likes to recline even though her feet don't touch the ground while she seems to be explaining to her friends the historical significance of Waitangi day to the Maori culture pre-settlement. Oh dear. Its not long after this I discover the 8 hour flight is actually more like gonna be 12. damn maths. Damn cramp.
Anyway, long flights are all the same I expect, had good company with my single-serving friends. Babies screamed on queue, even got a few beers. But the air is so dry Im asking for water constantly. not that they oblige AT ALL. I mean, heres breakfast, and they offer coffee or tea, but have cartons of juice on the cart. So I ask for juice and the lady says "of course" then proceeds to leave my cup empty because breakfast comes with a pre-packaged juice. WHAT THE HELL MAN???…….what did she think? By asking for juice I was actually trying to tell her I wasn't thirsty at all? That I would like less fluid then everyone else, and that that 100ml container was ample, ample. ugghghhgggh.
This blog is getting boring so I'll speed it up. I hadn't heard from my Buenos Aires contact so I was a bit stressed. Didn't sleep. Saw a few mountains out a window a few meters to the left. Got there, feeling pretty tired. First thing I see is Toitoi, EVERYWHERE on the ground. Maybe its somehow different, but it looks like we just landed in Westport. Cant say much about the airport other than there's 1 duty free shop and they dont care if you've an outbound flight, they just give ya 3 months on your NZ passport easy as. It reminded me a lot of Fiji, its real relaxed, cheap, falling apart etc.
After getting some duty-free for my host to be, I wander out with Harley, the guy I sat next to on the plane. but I've forgotten my guitar! mmmmm. My perpetually absent mind. So I don't realize this until Im half way out to the next terminal looking for a currency exchange, which of course is loaded with people and who's only serving staff member looks about as hurried as a stoned hippo. So I go back and try to figure out how to get my guitar, talk to the information lady, talk to the security guy (no inglise) then the oh so helpful Aerolinias Argentinas staffman who directed me to a locked door in an abandoned corridor...... and watched me wait there... with no expression on his face. ... I think he could have at least enjoyed f*cking with me, just to make it worthwhile to someone. So he watches me wonder back, wait in line again, and ask someone else, who promptly runs all about for 15mins around the airport and sorts it out for me. Bueno. Turns out I have to go wait in an abandoned corridor next to a locked door. At least I have the company of a spaniard with me. His Visa got denied, so he can come into the country but his bags cant. …. yeap. Argentina por favor.
Anyway my guitar comes thank Hesus, and I meet up with Harley, and we take the US$14 bus to town instead for the public bus that costs 1.25 pesos…exchange rate is roughly 4 pesos/USD. Hmmmmm. I knew it, but it's good to have company when you're going into a new city at night with no-where to stay, and he was a good sort. About 6'3 120Kg Rugby player with tattoos etc. Sweeeeet, he can smack the muggers while I try to unpack my 70cm sawtooth spine-d Gerber Machete. He proved himself honest too when I left my laptop in my trolly and got on the bus without it. He carries it in, " figured this must have some significance" he says. Not a good start but at least if I loose my gear, it wont be from mugging.
We get to town and try to find a bar. Gerhard said his impression of Buenos Aires was, loose, dirty tiled footpaths, smog and dog shit. Well thats just unfair! You cant even see the dog shit at night. fool. We look everywhere for a waterfront bar, or at least something not too poncey. But fail. I go to a bookshop: Donde esta la cerveza senior? I understand nothing of what he says but his hands tell me the story, and a block or two later notwithstanding me trying to commit suicide by looking the wrong way before crossing the street, we're enjoying a couple of coronas and heinekens. No local beer present.
The waitress is lovely, and naturally stunning, but we go in search of the local drop. On the way I try to call Val (my contact) with no success, ….well, that's a lie, I managed to get my first "Hei Gringo!" call by a magazinestander I couldn't hear over the sound of my fists punching the pay-phone. Phones in Argentina cut out…a lot it would seem, and pay-phones seem to give your money back even if you make a call, and sallow it if you don't dial. Either way money is useless here. At the next bar the people are also friendly, but it seems everywhere is closing, it's friday night after all and it's 7:30pm. what the hell? Anyway they give us a litre bottle of stellar and beer nuts ( a welcome standard here it would seem) and let me use their phone 4 times, with no success. It seems if you dial a wrong number and ask for Val, the best option is to say nothing and hang up. That should make the message clear in a place that the phones cut out so often. That will prevent them calling again and again just incase they thought there was a mistake.
So we go to an irish bar, the 1st without english-speakers.....playing latin music full on.... and by far the most hostile to the two americans that we obviously are. 1 thing I discovered quickly, if you're a white guy with limited spanish, it's simply a fact that you are an american, and you deserve to be treated like…well not shit, because they obviously love that on the streets, but certainly like something in-between an absolute idiot and a drunk, uninvited guest at a funeral. so yeah, I only had american dollars which they made a point of hating - even though they're used almost as much as pesos EVERYWHERE, but we nursed out local ISENBECK beer (terrible, but not as bad as Lion Red, so…) and I tried once again to call. I'd all but given up trying, but I'm glad I ripped of the phone sex fliers from the phone-box one more time and to call Val, because I finally got through, got an address, said a desperate goodbye to my Burly buddy and jumped in a taxi. I honestly didn't give half a toss he changer me double, I knew he did, even while he was pretended it was a favor, but I just wanted to rest.
Im also glad he came back in 5 mins after dropping me off to see why I was looking so despondent, as I had left the paper I'd written the address on in his car and was standing on a street with 50 apartments at 10pm wondering if I should just yell out.
So I rang the buzzer and met my beautiful host who made me dinner and the monumental effort of communicating with the gringo who'd suddenly called her and was now falling asleep at her dining table. Muchos Gracias Val, beso grande.
Slept like a freaking log.
I pretty much slept all day and went shopping in the afternoon, much to my excitement..which was of course much to Val's surprise. Milk comes in plastic bags, like a sachet of about 500ml. So does Yoghurt, and I bought one. About $1. At home after the green grocer visit and everyone asking if we were married, Val showed me how they use the sachet. She just cuts the bottom off a plastic container, in this case a mineral water bottle, and stuffs the sachet in with a corner cut out, voilà.
After that I tried to contact my mate in Uruguay, tried to call the Boat company (no dice, phone cut out) I was going to use the next day (yesterday) and stayed up trying to find cheap accommodation. No luck, Note to self: Book days in advance! Especially when Carnivalle is coming.
So the next morning I say my goodbye to my Host who I really cant thank enough…my spanish seems to be getting worse, and walk 20 mins to the bus stop and wonder how the hell I ended up with a huge 17KG Backpack, + 2 bags and a guitar. I used to laugh at people I saw like this, "what an idiot!, You don't need all the gear!"….and here I am. Gringo babblingo on his way to catch a bus, which, it turns out, doesn't take notes, and I've no coins. A local woman pays for me and wont accept my notes in exchange either. You money is no good once they decide on something here. Quite nice really. These people are far more friendly.
So I go to the boat terminal with no ticket, through customs with no worries, try not to advertise my new Laptop as I try to steal internet and find accommodation. Mild success in both cases. I get 15mins before they cut it off, get to use my PC (that's right IBM Im taking back your acronym for my Mac) on the net for the first time, and send an email to a backpackers, an expensive one, in Montevideo in the old part of town near the waterfront.
Colonia is where the boat stops, a beautiful Historic town with art history and culture, ruins and buildings etc A must see!
…apparently. But I've got a mules load, it's stinking hot, and I'm not sure I'll even have time to find a place to stay. So I just go straight to the bus to Montevideo. See you on the way back Colonia…..maybe. The buses work like this: Everyone crowd around and push each other blatantly out of the way which each bus fills and then drives away 1 by 1. And then we all wait for the next 3 to arrive while more ferry travelers arrive. So I eventually get on after being forced to barge my way through people who stand in your way oblivious to anything, but quite happy to be bumped and knocked and wakked by my gear as I try to get to the luggage area.
The bus waits to be filled while the matching blonde german couple attempt to get 2 seats each, in their infinite wisdom, hoping that the bus staff, having never encountered weary travelers trying to get more that they've paid for, will let them be. But, shockingly, they of course are asked to move, at which point they give up - after much disgust, and sit next to each other (how utterly vulgar), and to which are provided the insult of a gentle request from the stunning columbian girl next to me, to please reduce the massive reclamation of the seat on which our little SS man is sitting.
I try to make conversation but she's not really interested. So I sit and watch the terrain roll by. Its a LOT like NZ really, but obviously a lot poorer with a lot of white small buildings about the size of bedrooms with washing etc, dirt roads in between. I see some hitchers. After getting out of the city Im convinced I want to start traveling more like I do In NZ. Hitching, out, away from cities. Uruguay seems lovely, I cant compare it to Buenos Aires as I didn't see much of the latter and it would be unfair. At the bus terminal I realise I'm 6km away from where I thought I'd be, and ask a local to point out on a map where I am. Thank you wi-fi. I cant recommend it enough, having a laptop makes life a LOT easier! and I realise my booking was successful! Result!
I grab a taxi and actually almost manage a conversation. He charges me double too, but once again, I don't care. Im gonna put down some roots and sort myself out here, then proceed with efficiency.
The hostel is lovely, the hosteller is friendly (you girls should check out uruguayan guys, very beautiful). The place has hot water, a nice bed with lockable drawers and is quiet & near the water. Niiiiiice. I go online briefly then fall asleep.
OK, I cant guarantee I'll ever be bother being this detailed again, but I'll keep you'all updated.
Chau
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