tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-90839962138750254832024-03-13T04:07:51.585-07:00Twattin' SamericaChrissyGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03230884637100050307noreply@blogger.comBlogger14125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9083996213875025483.post-14006475658929881582011-05-04T14:31:00.000-07:002011-06-19T13:29:59.957-07:00Twattin' Samerica 2011: The Awards EditionAs promised, I have a special treat for you all. Essentially, it's a summary piece dealing with what I thought were the best (and worst) of many crucial aspects of South American life. There are some surprises (I certainly was surprised at many points) and some expected conclusions. I shall also attempt (and most likely fail) to draw some meaningful general conclusions. So to find out what Colombia does best (other than cocaine) and why Cristal really is the best drink read on...<br />
<br />
<u><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">The Awards</span></b></u><br />
<u><b><br />
</b></u><br />
<u><b>Best food</b></u><br />
<i>This speaks for itself</i><br />
<u><br />
</u><br />
5. <u>Suriname</u><br />
The mixture of different cultures (and thus cuisines) created by centuries of immigration makes Suriname - and Paramaribo in particular - a culinary delight. The Surinamese take on Indian food is especially good.<br />
4. <u>Trinidad & Tobago</u><br />
Again, immigration (particularly from India and surrounding countries) creates a fusion of Caribbean and Indian cuisine which is both convenient and delicious food.<br />
3. <u>Peru</u><br />
Granted, Peru is cheaper than almost every other South American country, but this is only one of the reasons why it comes in at number 3 in this list. Between the outstanding <i>Iberico</i> sandwich (containing manchego cheese and chorizo sausage, drizzled with a slightly spicy sauce) and the tasty, yet filling, <i>Ceviche </i>(a huge pile of various fish, covered with a citrusy sauce) which is a tourist draw in itself, Lima really does stand out as one of South America's best cities to eat. Away from the capital, delicious offerings such as alpaca meat and <i>cuy </i>- guinea pig - reinforce Peru's place among South America's culinary royalty.<br />
2. <u>Uruguay</u><br />
A country which seemingly offers nothing interesting for one's palate. Yet scratch beneath the surface and you find meat. Lots of meat. Apart from the obvious option of steak, Uruguay also offers the heart-attack-inducing <i>chivito</i>. This is a 'sandwich' consisting of almost every type of imaginable meat covered with only a token bit of lettuce, tomatoes and mayonnaise. If this doesn't fill you up, you can't be human. The <i>chivito</i>, along with the ubiquitous <i>asados - </i>essentially giant, meat-filled barbecues - doesn't render Uruguay a great place for vegetarians.<br />
1. <u>Argentina</u><br />
The countries either side of the Rio Plata have lots in common, of which one thing is their abundance of cheap, yet delicious meat. However, the steaks on offer in Argentina are often the size of a small suitcase and even more delicious than they look. The icing on the cake is the low price one pays for such quality. An enormous, filling steak complete with plenty of chips, will usually not cost more than a fiver. The cherry on top of the icing? That'd be the accompanying Malbec: plentiful and affordable around Argentina.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhybUkyd3F6u50grV7FuW-XFD8KkFbbe4ml2qto2fml7odRijvicmqbnNJQ2p5NCLTHLA11AKPPhw9hoK0310QgdeN3llUrGhFjW_Sf76GwkDWt9eUs2mplCulHykJby7CtVL08Uj1q54nD/s1600/DSC02816.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhybUkyd3F6u50grV7FuW-XFD8KkFbbe4ml2qto2fml7odRijvicmqbnNJQ2p5NCLTHLA11AKPPhw9hoK0310QgdeN3llUrGhFjW_Sf76GwkDWt9eUs2mplCulHykJby7CtVL08Uj1q54nD/s320/DSC02816.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">This isn't a picture of a midget with a normal-sized steak; this is an Argentine steak compared to a human being.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><b><u>Best Airline </u></b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b><u><br />
</u></b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i>Not the most glamorous of awards, but appropriate following the 20+ flights I took in South America.</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="text-align: left;">3. <u>Aerosur Boliviana (Bolivia)</u></div><div style="text-align: left;">The sheer comedy of my experiences with this airline makes it worthy of a place in the top 3. An international flight with fewer than 20 passengers; a plane with an enormous, badly-painted crocodile on the side and having to walk for around 10 minutes amidst taxiing planes and luggage trolleys zooming around to get to the plane from the terminal building. It certainly was an interesting experience.</div><div style="text-align: left;">2. <u>LAN (Chile)</u></div><div style="text-align: left;">The Chilean national carrier operates a smooth, professional service with good customer service and adequately attractive air hostesses. LAN was by far the most professional and similar-to-European-standards airline with which I flew.</div><div style="text-align: left;">1. <u>Avianca (Colombia)</u></div><div style="text-align: left;">Such is the safety record of Colombian airlines that it is a legal requirement for passengers to give contact details for their next-of-kin before boarding. This, presumably, is to hasten the process of informing relatives and friends about loved-ones' deaths. Despite all of this, Avianca was the pinnacle of flight enjoyment: all their planes seemed to be brand new; the on-board entertainment was first-rate; the service was perfect; the meals were above industry standards and the constant niggling feeling of imminent death made everything just that little bit more exciting.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://news.airtreks.com/wp-content/uploads/Avianca%20logo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="61" src="http://news.airtreks.com/wp-content/uploads/Avianca%20logo.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Finest Colombian</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><u><b>Best National 'McDonald's' Equivalent</b></u></div><div style="text-align: left;"><u><br />
</u></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i>Every country seemed to have made their own attempt at usurping the Golden Arches - I tried to search out the best one...</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="text-align: left;">3. <u>Church's Chicken (Trinidad & Tobago)</u></div><div style="text-align: left;">Perhaps more of a KFC equivalent, but Church's Chicken seemed, at times, to be the staple food of the islands, despite the other excellent offerings. Chicken is, understandably, the main offering and it served in a variety of ways.</div><div style="text-align: left;">2. <u>Bembo's (Peru)</u></div><div style="text-align: left;">Very similar to Ronald's empire in terms of burgers and meals offered. I was disappointed not to see a guinea pig burger, but the thickness and apparent quality of the beef patties were sufficient compensation.</div><div style="text-align: left;">1. <u>Toby Burger (Bolivia)</u></div><div style="text-align: left;">Unrivalled quality, rock-bottom prices, questionable hygiene. Toby Burger offered enormous and tasty burger-based meals for much less than a Pound. 'Nuff said.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://images.travelpod.com/tw_slides/ta01/49e/004/l-toby-owns-a-burger-bar-la-paz.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://images.travelpod.com/tw_slides/ta01/49e/004/l-toby-owns-a-burger-bar-la-paz.jpg" width="239" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><b><u>Scariest Place</u></b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b><u><br />
</u></b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i>So many bad reputations - did anywhere live up to them?</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="text-align: left;">3. <u>Caracas</u></div><div style="text-align: left;">Before going to Venezuela, I had heard all sorts of reports of how Caracas was the continent's most dangerous city. This, coupled with an anecdote of an 'express kidnapping', did make me slightly nervous upon arrival in Caracas. However, fitting in with the locals was relatively easy, lessening the chance of being targeted by criminals. Even with this disguise, I did feel the need to constantly look over my shoulder when out and about in Caracas.</div><div style="text-align: left;">2. <u>Bogota</u></div><div style="text-align: left;">When abroad, one would expect to mainly fear the civilian population and bad elements contained therein. Bogota was a different case. Having a gun pointed at you is never a pleasant experience, but being targeted by soldiers, as I was outside the presidential palace (it emerges walking on the pavement outside the palace is considered a security threat) was a particularly harrowing episode. After this, I feared going anywhere lest I be arrested for goodness-knows-what.</div><div style="text-align: left;">1. <u>Georgetown</u></div><div style="text-align: left;">I knew very little about 'G-town' before I arrived. Being told during your first evening that there had recently been a mass prison escape, with few of the escapees having been recaptured was a concerning moment. Being white in a town with fewer than 200 registered white people was also quite scary, especially as there is great resentment for the slave trade around the Caribbean. I'd be lying if I said I ever felt completely at ease in Guyana, especially seeing as my hostel was next to Georgetown's Magistrate's Court, complete with threat-shouting defendants.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://flagspot.net/images/g/gy%5Egps.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="188" src="http://flagspot.net/images/g/gy%5Egps.gif" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Facing an uphill task in G-town</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><b><u>Best Beer</u></b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b><u><br />
</u></b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i>The lifeblood of any traveller. Obviously I'm no beer expert, so comments will probably be limited and not very insightful.</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="text-align: left;">5. <u>Cusque<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">ña (Peru)</span></u></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">The national beer of Peru was a perfect cure for a long day's walking around Machu Picchu or Lima. The fact that I found it in a supermarket in the UK was a special treat for me.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">4. <u>Polar (Venezuela)</u></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">Socialist beer surprised me. Call me ignorant, but I expected any beer in Venezuela to be watery and akin to the beverage described in Orwell's <i>1984. </i>It was refreshing and served in perfectly-sized little bottles, meaning your beer never got too warm.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">3. <u>Quilmes (Argentina)</u></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">This is a beer whose label lets you know it's from Argentina. The patriotic blue and white stripes on the bottle are very recognisable. This beer was commonly available in litre bottles, meaning thirsty friends were never too far away.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">2. <u>Carib (Trinidad & Tobago)</u></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">Carib was delightfully light and refreshing, which was ideal for the heat in the Caribbean. There was also a hint of lime, lending Carib a subtle Caribbean lilt.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">1. <u>Cristal (Chile)</u></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">This beer's name gives it a lot up to which to live. And it does so with ease. The sheer smoothness and drinkability of Cristal made it both the most delicious and the most dangerous beer I encountered in South America.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://28.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_l8hzn7FXME1qdsjwvo1_500.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://28.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_l8hzn7FXME1qdsjwvo1_500.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;"> Something for everyone to drink in and savour. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;"><b><u>Nicest Locals</u></b></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;"><b><u><br />
</u></b></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;"><i>They say it's the people that make a place. Some of these are excellent cases in point.</i></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;"><i><br />
</i></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">5. <u>French Guiana</u></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">Any group of people which can put up with my French accent and condescending nature deserves praise. The hospitality I experienced here was fantastic, with beers being offered left, right and indeed centre. This, coupled with the bizarre combination of French and a laid-back attitude, made French Guiana a breeze to visit.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">4. <u>Brazil</u></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">Whether it was the general party psyche of Brazilians, or my warped view of the place whilst enjoying its night entertainment, Brazil seemed to feature locals always prepared to put up and party with tourists.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">3. <u>Chile</u></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">My initial airport/taxi problems aside, Chileans seemed to be incredibly welcoming to tourists. Indeed, they found us fascinating and were more than willing to listen to our opinions of Chile and humour us as we tried to match their outstanding dancing skills in the local nightclubs.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">2. <u>Peru</u></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">I could not have asked for a better welcome to Peru. In Cusco, my first Peruvian experience, my taxi driver at the airport introduced himself to me, before giving me a quick guided tour of the town for no extra charge. In Lima, during my first lunch there, some locals noticed me studying a map of the city. They immediately came over to my table and, having shaken my hand, said in perfect English, "Welcome to Peru". Lovely.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">1. <u>Uruguay</u></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">I said so in my blog on Montevideo, but I was blown away by the Uruguayans' friendliness. Everywhere I went, there was a cheerful 'hola' for me. People in bars readily engaged foreigners in conversation. It was a perfect demonstration of national hospitality.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn4jFPOXB96AoLOnCcpyzjN_AzZFQm_gpj0oZrD6LhKHcxfucyVKkmIKu2HiUuX2MXX_R42tiE77Mb61CrKEvMqF2oH2CaDVBEJS05MSpV8pfMwoYUHfvrZMur7XR6gygLsgWYLAMIxHEg/s1600/Uruguay+smiley+face.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="208" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn4jFPOXB96AoLOnCcpyzjN_AzZFQm_gpj0oZrD6LhKHcxfucyVKkmIKu2HiUuX2MXX_R42tiE77Mb61CrKEvMqF2oH2CaDVBEJS05MSpV8pfMwoYUHfvrZMur7XR6gygLsgWYLAMIxHEg/s320/Uruguay+smiley+face.png" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;"><b><u>Most Attractive Women</u></b></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;"><b><u><br />
</u></b></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;"><i>Feminists should look away now. The sights that Lonely Planet won't tell you about.</i></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;"><i><br />
</i></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">5. <u>Colombia</u></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">Everyone knows Shakira is a beautiful lady and is Colombian. Now of course not all Colombian women look like Shakira, but many do have a gorgeous hispanic look to them and you know that they all have rhythm.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">4. <u>Argentina</u></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">Despite their perceived arrogance, Argentine women were very pleasant. The fact that all things European are popular means they combine the best bits of Europe and South America in one manageable package.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">3. <u>Venezuela</u></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">The natural beauty of <i>Venezolanas </i>is undeniable. The reason they dress themselves so badly and mostly seem to have dental braces is less clear.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">2. <u>Chile</u></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">It's not all about physical appearance you know: the friendliness of Chilean women went a long way in pushing them this far up the list. They can't half dance either, making even the most mundane of songs seem like red-hot zingers. To top it all off, they're mostly very attractive as well.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">1. <u>Uruguay</u></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">Many people will start accusing me of favouritism towards Uruguay. And it's not hard to see why. However, Uruguayan women were spectacular in the consistency of their attractiveness: nearly every Uruguayan female I saw would attract second and third glances in the UK. They seem to epitomise latino beauty. And there's bloody loads of them.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://worldcupgirls.net/girls-pics/uruguayan-girl_world-cup-2010_03.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="216" src="http://worldcupgirls.net/girls-pics/uruguayan-girl_world-cup-2010_03.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">[Insert bawdy joke here]</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;"><b><u>Best Town</u></b></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;"><b><u><br />
</u></b></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;"><i>The is for the best individual town/city, based only on things in that particular city.</i></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;"><i><br />
</i></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">5. <u>Montevideo</u></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">The combination of friendliness, food and attractive women makes what would otherwise be a very boring city a more interesting prospect.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">4. <u>Santiago de Chile</u></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">Santiago is surprisingly well maintained and developed, even for one of South America's richer countries. There is plenty to do for those who do a tiny bit of research and, as previously stated, the nightlife is great.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">3. <u>Rio de Janeiro</u></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">I may be looking at this through rose-tinted spectacles, seeing as I was lucky enough to meet some fantastic people in Rio. However, the endless, constant, dizzying party atmosphere that envelops the place, as well as the wonderful beaches makes Rio an awesome place to visit, even with the favela crime threat.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">2. <u>Lima</u></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">The 'City of Kings' lives up to its name in many ways. Despite having been robbed there, the town centre contains some fine examples of Spanish colonial architecture, as well as plenty of other sights. If you stay in the nicer districts, Lima feels like a very wealthy city indeed, complete with its own version of Rahs.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">1. <u>Buenos Aires</u></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">The food, the nightlife, the beautiful Parisian buildings. What a great place. From the entertaining market in San Telmo to the abundance of nightlife that doesn't stop until after most people would be at work: Buenos Aires has it all to make one feel alive. That is until your heart stops, having been clogged up by too many enormous juicy steaks.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://buenosairestourism.net/wp-content/uploads/2011/03/Buenos-Aires-Tourism3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://buenosairestourism.net/wp-content/uploads/2011/03/Buenos-Aires-Tourism3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">'BA' - A vibrant, modern, thoroughly entertaining city.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;"><b><u>Best Country</u></b></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;"><b><u><br />
</u></b></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;"><i>This is for the best country, taking into account all aspects and sights, as well as the national identity.</i></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;"><i><br />
</i></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">5. <u>Brazil</u></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">What more could I want than a country where they have a marvellous snack in the <i>Joelho</i>, a culture where work comes second and partying comes first and that has great weather? Well, simply put, Sao Paulo ruined it a bit for me. I expected so much more from the world's fourth biggest city. Had Sao Paulo not entered the equation, Brazil would surely be higher on this list.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">4. <u>Uruguay</u></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">You may be wondering how Uruguay hasn't topped this list, having been consistently near the top in other lists. The fact remains that Uruguay, despite being pleasant, it fairly boring. Even Montevideo, the capital, is unremarkable and feels like a small, provincial town. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">3. <u>Suriname</u></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">An interesting entry at number 3. Suriname is one of South America's forgotten countries and doesn't have the glamour of many its larger continental brethren. This is part of the charm, as Suriname remains so off the beaten track and offers so much. The true appeal of the place lies in its outstanding natural beauty. The Surinamese Amazon remains relatively pristine and the river dolphins are a must-see.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">2. <u>Peru</u></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">The friendliness here helps a lot, but it is the Incan history of Peru that helps it to second spot here. Machu Picchu, despite the hordes of tourists, is certainly worth the trip. Lima is full of surprises and the scenery in general wouldn't look out of place in a Jurassic Park film.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">1. <u>Bolivia</u></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">A destitute place which is ironically rich in beautiful scenery, with Lake Titicaca being the jewel in this particular crown. The fact that Bolivia is so cheap is another of its attributes. Sure, the food is horrendous and the people are positively unattractive, but this just goes to emphasise the incredible natural beauty which is abundant in even the most clogged up and dirty of cities, La Paz.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisuTVHgDi-Td2tRzIfv7m11WsCeWGH77CAIbHaQ6AffdA9Em4GodaVer9n3olQpLcN81Gd1A8jRcPDLTtGhwHcJbiSvlDAgHhLeEK6dQSASNtjmCWBTBfXJ1hn1YiczfVkYZvtNKHOX_Y_/s1600/DSC03119.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisuTVHgDi-Td2tRzIfv7m11WsCeWGH77CAIbHaQ6AffdA9Em4GodaVer9n3olQpLcN81Gd1A8jRcPDLTtGhwHcJbiSvlDAgHhLeEK6dQSASNtjmCWBTBfXJ1hn1YiczfVkYZvtNKHOX_Y_/s320/DSC03119.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">Bolivian beauty.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;"><b><u>My Top 10 South American Highlights</u></b></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;"><b><u><br />
</u></b></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;"><i>The name should tell you all you need to know. I'm sure there are other things that people would recommend above some of the following, but obviously I haven't seen or done everything in South America.</i></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;"><i><br />
</i></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">10. <u>A night out in Santiago</u></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">The reggaeton music, the hypnotic dancing and the illegal after-parties when the police shut things down at 5 a.m. A night out amongst Santiago's students is a very entertaining experience.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">9. <u>Flamengo vs. Botafogo</u></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">The fact that this match was a local derby AND a cup semi-final added much spice to an already passionate affair. The football may have been woeful, but the crowd and the atmosphere it created were the main attractions.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">8. <u>Bomba de Tiempo</u></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">This percussion group perform every Monday night in Buenos Aires. The music they produce is worth the entrance fee alone, but seeing a huge crowd of people getting so caught up in percussion rhythms and cannabis smoke is a unique bonus.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">7. <u>Cristo Redentor</u></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">The iconic Rio landmark is worth seeing, providing both fantastic views of the city and a great example of art deco sculpture.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">6. <u>Bike tour of 'Death Road'</u></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">At over 30 km in length, this bike ride is easier than it sounds. The only thing you have to deal with is the sheer vertical drop at the edge of the 5 ft wide road. However, some basic cycling skills ensure you get to see some of Bolivia's finest scenery close up.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">5. <u>Street parties in Lapa</u></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">Lapa used to be a rather run-down, dangerous quarter of Rio. Not much has changed. The draw of this neighbourhood is the nightly street party, featuring an array of drinks and illicit substances, thousands of people, breakdancing, furniture shops turned into nightclubs and people enjoying life. Seeing so many people out on the streets at 2 in the morning, all merrily dancing and drinking makes you feel at the heart of Brazilian life. Just don't stay there after the police leave at 3 a.m.: that's when bad things happen.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">4. <u>Machu Picchu</u></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">Why the Incans built a city that high up is unknown. That doesn't stop droves of tourists flocking there to see this wonder every day. And they're quite right to. Pictures do not do it justice, as after travelling for hours and then turning a corner, Machu Picchu is laid out in front of you, with mountains rising on all sides. Truly breathtaking.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">3. <u>Commewijne River Cruise</u></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">I initially booked this excursion to stave off some of the boredom I had in Paramaribo. It was one of the best decisions I made. The sheer size of this relatively unknown river hints at the sheer size of the Amazon in general. The wilderness is also captivating as it doesn't seem like there is another human being for miles. When the dolphins started swimming alongside our boat, I was convinced. When I then watched the sun setting over the river, I was blown away.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">2. <u>Kaieteur Falls</u></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">If you thought Scotland was remote, you ain't seen nothing. An hour-long flight over endless, dense rainforest makes Kaieteur Falls one of the most remote tourist attractions in the world... if you can call it a tourist attraction, seeing as they receive 4 visitors a day there. South America features an abundance of stunning waterfalls, and Kaieteur is just one of many, but the fact that there was nobody, absolutely nobody anywhere near this incredible water feature that appears out of nowhere from amongst the trees, makes Kaieteur even more special than it already is. This is a perfect example of a hidden gem.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">1. <u>Lake Titicaca</u></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">Just stunning. Rarely am I left speechless, let alone by nature, but Lake Titicaca took my breath away. Its pristine-looking water, its dramatic mountain backdrop and the ancient Tiwanaku remains on Isla del Sol, in the middle of the lake, combine to make this my favourite place I visited in all of South America.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIkMJQo12Y4HOIWILzpq7npc43GRY2GFin5JSobGCA8LezXhkcWlQR1Y_g796WvhwB72QTrCBHd-JV19faFQYWAERDUEztvt77ZpNXtom2xxQp7og_fNyE0QVUP3pB5Knxe9SMuevx3_Jn/s1600/DSC03089.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIkMJQo12Y4HOIWILzpq7npc43GRY2GFin5JSobGCA8LezXhkcWlQR1Y_g796WvhwB72QTrCBHd-JV19faFQYWAERDUEztvt77ZpNXtom2xxQp7og_fNyE0QVUP3pB5Knxe9SMuevx3_Jn/s320/DSC03089.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">Perfection.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;"><b><u>Some final conclusions</u></b></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;"><b><u><br />
</u></b></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">*The Canadians and the Dutch bloody love South America. They're everywhere: it makes you wonder who's looking after their respective countries.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">*Forget the stereotype of 'Brits abroad'. Most Brits I encountered behaved no worse than anyone else and seemed courteous and well-behaved for the most part.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">*Instead, it is the Australians who seem to conduct themselves with the least decorum, especially the chaps. At every opportunity, they will remove their shirts to reveal shaved torsos. A beer will almost never leave their hand and if there's someone being loud and obnoxious anywhere, but usually in really inadvisable places, it'll be a group of Australian boys.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">*Despite a common language and history, most South America countries are wildly different. Bolivia and Argentina are about as similar as Germany and China.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">*Why the Dickens didn't the UK hold onto at least one colony? France have French Guiana and Martinique, both very novel places to Europeans, and perfect holiday destinations for French tourists.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">*Travelling alone definitely has its ups and downs. The ups do outweigh the downs though, and the number of single travellers is astounding.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">*Say what you want about South Americans: they've definitely got rhythm.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">*Who knew Uruguay had so much to offer?!</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">*Brazilian women are hugely overrated.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">*South America is a hugely interesting continent. There is snow, sun (lots of it), history and literally thousands of tourist attractions. The prices are mostly much smaller than in Europe and most South Americans are incredibly friendly. I would recommend it to anyone.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">Well, this concludes this monstrously long blog, and indeed the whole Samerica affair. Thanks for reading.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">And please, don't have nightmares.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">P.S. Hi Goat.</span></div>ChrissyGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03230884637100050307noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9083996213875025483.post-78948523133083135032011-04-26T14:43:00.000-07:002011-04-26T14:43:05.651-07:00DOM-TOM PerignonFirstly, an apology. I'm ever so sorry it's taken me this long to write the penultimate Samerica blog. The only excuse I can offer is that going home after such a trip is hectic to say the least.<br />
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Anyway, on to business...<br />
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Leaving Suriname for French Guiana was strange, as I knew I would be heading into Europe once more. You see, French Guiana is technically part of France (see the name of the place for more details), and as such is part of the European Union. They use Euros, receive money from Brussels and use European/French laws. It also costs a similar amount to Europe (i.e. a lot) and thus was by far the most expensive part of the continent. It's a little outpost of the Old World in the midst of the new one. It really was a peculiar thing speaking French, being surrounded by buildings of the same style one would find in mainland France and yet having the world's largest forest being half an hour away. <div><br />
</div><div>The difference between French Guiana and the rest of the Guianas was startling. The climate and landscape was more-or-less identical, but the disparity in finances was evident to all. To give but one example: the roads in Suriname along which I travelled to get to French Guiana were dirt roads filled with random dips and holes. As soon as I crossed into French Guiana, the roads were all paved and of a much higher standard. It's the little things you notice.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Perhaps it's a sort of envy that has prevented there being <i>any</i> major transport links between French Guiana and the rest of South America. The only way in or out of French Guiana from/to other South American countries is by road. There are no flights, no trains, no ships, just dodgy people carriers driving at 80 mph. Or if you enter the way I did, you can climb into a tiny wooden boat and go across the river that divides French Guiana from Suriname.<br />
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<div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja0IUqSGIKJxOyJHR3vPpKVjo0NDo4n45_Q2FmUQ0wMiX12fzWzBcpHFKK2iY2qVw-Wa2zaaG-O9Qc17fDxPajiWPc8Bx39OIqycneYvcNp8pic-SsLwb1FUJGldAiltrIaUhF1IM2pWHP/s1600/DSC03644.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja0IUqSGIKJxOyJHR3vPpKVjo0NDo4n45_Q2FmUQ0wMiX12fzWzBcpHFKK2iY2qVw-Wa2zaaG-O9Qc17fDxPajiWPc8Bx39OIqycneYvcNp8pic-SsLwb1FUJGldAiltrIaUhF1IM2pWHP/s320/DSC03644.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">It was hardly <i>Royal Caribbean</i>, although there was a similar number of sick people</div><div><br />
French Guiana is what the French call a 'DOM-TOM' (Départements d'outre-mer - Territoires d'outre-mer) and receives literally billions of Euros every year from Paris in support. For this reason - or so it is widely believed - French Guiana and many other DOM-TOMs always give a stern "Non!" when asked whether they would like independence. There is a negative side to all this Parisian interference, however. Many Guianese to whom I spoke complained about the long and painful decision-making process for anything major. For example: if they decided an enormous and expensive bridge were needed, the regional government (in French Guiana) would have to ask the national government (in Paris) if this was alright. I'm told this decision-making process takes roughly two years for such projects as French Guiana is - perhaps understandably - seen as a bit of a minor issue in mainland France, meaning issues considered more important are addressed first. Two years later, when the decision has finally been taken, the regional government can then start looking into the finance and planning of said hypothetical bridge. The mind boggles...</div><div><br />
</div><div><br />
<div><br />
</div><div>What's it like then? Well, to put it simply, it's exactly like France, just with more black people and a lot more sun. It's France, but Caribbean-ised. </div><div><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrKTrbLR_-FbMWYBta2QMRUIXMrAWdOaZWq2T4pzV5Bg-dh7BfU2GzQuQEzRkPBZG3Drmpn7Y3rGp90WgkdEVbTogjzAgqIS6vLejbg_zAaWJXzPKBN0GiEbaAaRkWZ8u68UZUgj9iETaE/s1600/DSC03645.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrKTrbLR_-FbMWYBta2QMRUIXMrAWdOaZWq2T4pzV5Bg-dh7BfU2GzQuQEzRkPBZG3Drmpn7Y3rGp90WgkdEVbTogjzAgqIS6vLejbg_zAaWJXzPKBN0GiEbaAaRkWZ8u68UZUgj9iETaE/s320/DSC03645.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Caribbean take on <i>Carrefour</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div>Unsurprisingly, the predominant music genre is reggae... in French, which kind of works, or at least works a lot better than the Dutch reggae encountered in Suriname. The general psyche of the population is also very Caribbean in its nature - generally relaxed and very laid-back. I recall being the lone passenger on one of the sparse public buses in Cayenne, the region's capital, when the bus driver pulled over at a fast-food joint to get his lunch. I ended up sitting on the bus on my own for 15 minutes waiting for the driver to re-emerge. Where it is far from Caribbean is in the <i>Gendarmerie</i> (or 'police' to the Francophobes among us). During my time there I did not see one black <i>Gendarme</i>. Whether this was by coincidence, or whether there is something more to it I do not know. However, I did get a feeling that there was still an underlying current of racism and/or prejudice present. In fact, this went both ways to an extent: the service in restaurants was generally terrible. When I enquired as to why this might be, seeing as restaurants are a very French concept, I was told that many black serving staff at restaurants felt resentment towards white people for the slave trade and thus were loathe to serve whites, lest it appear like servitude again. </div></div></div><div><br />
</div><div>They do occasionally get down to business around these parts. French Guiana is actually home to the <i>Centre Spatial Guyanais</i> - the Guyanese Space Centre - from which over two thirds of all commercial satellites are launched every year. I'd never even heard of it.</div></div><div><br />
</div><div>The question remains whether I would recommend going to French Guiana. In short, not really. It has a slight novelty to it, but that quickly wears off. If you want to live among the French for a few days, it'd be far more worth your while going to mainland France - not even the French come on holiday to French Guiana.</div><div><br />
</div><div>So there we have it. That concludes my blogs on all the many wondrous and interesting countries I've visited over the past two-and-a-bit months. Next time will be the very last blog in the series, and yes, I do indeed have a treat lined up for you.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Au revoir, and please, don't have nightmares.</div>ChrissyGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03230884637100050307noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9083996213875025483.post-80733993177949436362011-04-16T08:35:00.000-07:002011-04-16T08:35:09.116-07:00Shipping out to 'Name<span class="tx">My next stop on my exploration of the mysterious and completely-unknown-to-almost-anyone </span><span class="tx">Guianas </span><span class="tx">was the former Dutch colony of Suriname </span><span class="tx">and in particular its multicultural capital, Paramaribo</span><span class="tx">. Interestingly, Suriname used to belong to the British until the Dutch came along and swapped it for a little place called ‘New Amsterdam’ or ‘New York’ as it’s now known. The question I set out to answer is “Who got the better deal?”</span><br />
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<span class="tx">Well for starters, the Surinamese tell me Paramaribo is the third safest country in the world. This is supposed to be due to the Surinamese police, who sound like the best police in the world. Let me explain: it is alleged that the police are more than willing – or maybe lazy enough – to turn a blind eye to minor offences, such as speeding or littering. </span>They are also reputed to be incredibly friendly… if you stay in their good books. <span class="tx">Where they really concentrate their efforts </span>- and the reason you’d want to avoid their bad books like a Dan Brown novel - is on coming down like several tons of bricks on serious offenders. You know the type: murderers and violent offenders. <span class="tx">Now of course Suriname and Paramaribo aren’t perfect: the drug and robbery hotspot of the town is actually a pleasant garden full of palm trees, perhaps the size of one city block, i.e. a hundred square metres. It was one of the nicest-looking crime hotspots I’ve ever been to. In fact, I’d go so far as to say that if I were to be murdered, I’d prefer it to be in Paramaribo’s <i>Palmentuin. </i></span><br />
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<span class="tx">New York on the other hand is a cesspool of crime, full to the brim with major criminals and not a place most outsiders would feel completely comfortable in on their own. </span><span class="tx">The crime hotspots there aren’t likely to feature on any postcards and I’ve heard all the police there are of Italian or Irish descent,</span><span class="m"> </span><span class="tx">all with hilarious stereotypical accents. </span><span class="tx">I haven’t had much contact at all with New York police officers, but I imagine that is exactly how they are.</span><br />
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<span class="tx">Suriname 1 New York 0</span><br />
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<span class="tx">Next, the people. </span><span class="tx">Suriname is renowned for its multiculturalism, as well as the social harmony which it accompanies. This is beautifully illustrated by the Caribbean’s largest mosque sitting two houses down from the enormous </span><span class="tx"><i>Neveh Shalom </i>synagogue. It may not sound especially spectacular, but it is quite a bizarre sight. In New York, they deal with different religions by flying planes into tall buildings and locking people up in Cuba</span><span class="tx">. </span><span class="tx"> </span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMHBUJZAclSenDFgyos9fV2tKI3v7aFWCA3pZCea7yOuMtL3en6sOevGu-b2AG1K1y_MLJGTBjPXBsRNEsGHAhLOcPQiBgFHEDXNJjUpXcpM-NbJNJUPdZpHke2QEUGQYwR9SaDNZ-LT_9/s1600/DSC03574.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMHBUJZAclSenDFgyos9fV2tKI3v7aFWCA3pZCea7yOuMtL3en6sOevGu-b2AG1K1y_MLJGTBjPXBsRNEsGHAhLOcPQiBgFHEDXNJjUpXcpM-NbJNJUPdZpHke2QEUGQYwR9SaDNZ-LT_9/s320/DSC03574.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="tx"> Religious harmony?</span></div><br />
<span class="tx">Furthermore, I found one of Paramaribo’s best qualities to be its lack of Brits. I was there for four days and didn’t meet one person from the UK. It was like some sort of wonderful dream where <i>The Sun,</i></span><span class="tx"> political correctness and</span><span class="tx"></span><span class="tx"><i> </i></span><span class="tx"></span><i>Big Brother </i><span class="tx">didn’t exist. Paramaribo was, however, packed full of Dutch. I was slightly concerned that with so many of them in Suriname, there would be no one to look after the Netherlands while they were gone. Everywhere I turned all I could here was a phlegmy noise created by the speaking of Dutch. In their defence, they were all impeccably behaved and the Dutch don’t have many places in </span><span class="tx">the world where their native language is spoken, so </span><span class="tx">they were probably just taking advantage of one of their few former colonies. I also happened to be lucky enough to spend an evening in my guesthouse’s bar with two lovely Dutch girls (both predictably with perfect English), so there were also those who behaved a bit like Brits. </span><span class="tx"> </span><br />
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<span class="tx">New York is full of Brits gawking at ghastly modern architecture and being asked if they know the Queen. </span><span class="tx">The architecture in Paramaribo is colonial building at its best: with a bit of TLC, these black and white wooden, colonial houses could be simply beautiful. As it is, they are still a fantastic sight, </span>especially along the UNESCO-listed <i>Waterkant </i><span class="tx">(saying that in a Dutch accent is something of which I could never get tired, especially when talking about a former boss of mine). </span><br />
<span class="tx"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX7ljcjmci2NaYJ6fW1YREmSlia1tEfbYCvliSTmM8od-ktHi-z5lx7DoXbjiKDHr4mHzbgg8HnDcVQDp8oYO78-uM3o_KqmEOduI51PrpxgJzjcaHYj6nBVbeJcnMxjYAO0eRXiJ9aAfl/s1600/DSC03571.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX7ljcjmci2NaYJ6fW1YREmSlia1tEfbYCvliSTmM8od-ktHi-z5lx7DoXbjiKDHr4mHzbgg8HnDcVQDp8oYO78-uM3o_KqmEOduI51PrpxgJzjcaHYj6nBVbeJcnMxjYAO0eRXiJ9aAfl/s320/DSC03571.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="tx">Top architecture</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="tx"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="tx">Suriname 2 New York 0</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="tx">So how about the culture? Paramaribo has a vast array of eateries, serving cuisine ranging from Chinese to Créole, </span><span class="tx">some of them better than others. Also, </span><span class="tx">like most of the Caribbean, </span><span class="tx">Suriname only really has one genre of music: reggae. You may think reggae in itself is fairly ordinary and nothing special. This soon changes when you hear reggae in Dutch. It is one of the most unnatural combinations I’ve ever heard. To put it bluntly, the first time I heard some Surinamese reggae, and the singing began, I thought it was just Bob Marley clearing his throat before he began with his lyrics. Truth be told, I didn’t much care for it. </span><span class="tx">One incident of note regarding the Surinamese and music was driving along dirt roads to French Guiana at about 70 mph in a fairly knackered old people carrier. As I was praying for survival, the driver and other passengers were all singing along (in broken English) to Wham’s hit <i>Wake Me Up Before You Go Go</i>. </span>Had we crashed, I would hate for that to have been the thing I was listening to as we turned over again and again.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Art musea <span class="tx">and the like are nowhere to be found, which struck me as being disappointing for a country which has so many Amerindian threads woven into its cultural fabric.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="tx">The musical and culinary offerings </span><span class="tx">available on the banks of the Hudson River are immense, as one would expect from such an enormous city. The city can include itself in the list of culinary capitals of the world and there are musea </span><span class="tx">and art galleries in abundance. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="tx">Suriname 2 New York 1</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="tx">Where Paramaribo and New York are similar is in the fact that both have major waterways surrounding them. Paramaribo is neighbours with 2 enormous Amazonian rivers; the <i>Suriname </i>and the <i>Commewijne</i>. </span>There are plenty of others in this part of the world as well, all of which head down to the mighty Amazon Basin. <span class="tx">I was fortunate enough to take a boat tour along the <i>Commewijne</i> </span><span class="tx">, which is home to a great deal of wildlife, including dolphins, caimans and various fish species to name but a few. Along the banks it is also possible (if </span><span class="tx">you get incredibly lucky) to see jaguars, howler monkeys and boa constrictors. During the course of this tour – the primary aims of which were to watch dolphins and the sunset – we were witnesses to the incredible sight of dolphins swimming alongside our boat. It was just incredible and no amount of flowery language and adjectives could ever do justice to one of the greatest sights in nature. This isn’t to say it was like in the movies where the dolphins leapt out of the water constantly alongside the boat, but they would jump out every now and then alongside, before submerging again and popping up again a few seconds later. Some even stuck their heads out right next to the boat as if to say ‘hello’ or to see these strange, pasty, flabby, phlegm-regurgitating creatures. </span><span class="tx">I would happily recommend this experience to anyone, Dutch or otherwise.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglBNAZk9qoZtADR4reRUJrp-UrG0Ts42rhwovWLqeOb2eyzDfFI-xxn1kWD7IOEN5cqzFhBDHtNP4cIgUjyp-hqGPu-aeSryhxlWktPKgM50p_C1cTgQQspq-l50vGWm9AA68_FAyqgJhv/s1600/DSC03603.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglBNAZk9qoZtADR4reRUJrp-UrG0Ts42rhwovWLqeOb2eyzDfFI-xxn1kWD7IOEN5cqzFhBDHtNP4cIgUjyp-hqGPu-aeSryhxlWktPKgM50p_C1cTgQQspq-l50vGWm9AA68_FAyqgJhv/s320/DSC03603.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="tx"> </span><span class="tx"> </span><span class="tx"> </span><span class="tx"> It just popped up to say 'hello', now it's gone back down below. Sadly my photography skills weren't good enough to get any 'in air' dolphin shots.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="tx"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="tx">We also stopped for a snack at an Amerindian village by the banks of the <i>Commewijne</i>. </span>At the risk of turning into a character from the hilarious <i>Gap Yah </i>Youtube hits (I believe youngsters would say they went ‘viral’ about a year ago), the simplicity of their existence was startling. It was the sort of place where the owner of a decrepit moped was seen as the town’s playboy, or where the sight of white people was a day of great excitement. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="tx"> </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVTe8ig1p1Bu10d8muvtvEd_yRUNWM_8GGb7iym2SprHQWj7F8qANfjy8ht-qrVk3wuY48U-JE5gqDUwCRUuQSGAndcg1efhHLEe_nkWgJq_-6wsEuGj1qsCC6SJGCn80wk7U6lsx2GcmP/s1600/DSC03635.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVTe8ig1p1Bu10d8muvtvEd_yRUNWM_8GGb7iym2SprHQWj7F8qANfjy8ht-qrVk3wuY48U-JE5gqDUwCRUuQSGAndcg1efhHLEe_nkWgJq_-6wsEuGj1qsCC6SJGCn80wk7U6lsx2GcmP/s320/DSC03635.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="tx"> Postcard bliss</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="tx"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="tx">New York also… has a river, which is nice I suppose. Good for them. Sadly, the only wildlife of note to be found there is the occasional dead body, or some sort of three-headed fish created by years of unchecked pollution.</span><span class="tx">Obviously it’s a no-brainer.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="tx"> </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="tx">Final score: Suriname 3 New York 1</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="tx"> </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="tx">So there you have it: the Dutch got a substantially better deal than the British back in 1674. </span>Their possession belonged to them a lot longer than ours as well. A great deal if ever I saw one.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="tx"> </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="tx">Suriname then: safe, cosmopolitan, Brit-free and naturally breathtakingly beautiful. </span>Just don’t turn on the radio.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="tx"> </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="tx">Next time I shall be reporting from one of the few remaining European colonies left in the world: French Guiana (I obviously arrived safely enough in case you hadn’t worked that one out by now).</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="tx"> </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="tx">Until then and please, don’t have nightmares.</span><span class="tx"> </span><span class="tx"> </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="tx"> </span><span class="tx"></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="m"></span><span class="tx"> </span><span class="tx"></span></div>ChrissyGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03230884637100050307noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9083996213875025483.post-33754770662585370242011-04-13T18:27:00.000-07:002011-04-13T18:27:04.174-07:00Port-of-RainGoing between the various Guianas is surprisingly difficult as it turns out: it either involved 6 hours on a crowded minibus, hurtling along poorly-maintained mud roads at around ninety miles per hour, or it involves flying via Trinidad & Tobago, and more precisely, Port-of-Spain, the capital. I chose the latter, knowing that the former awaits me on the leg between Paramaribo, Suriname and Cayenne, French Guiana.<br />
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Travelling via Port-of-Spain seemed like the perfect opportunity to check out another former British colony and have a brief glimpse at proper Caribbean life. So that's exactly what I did.<br />
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I booked myself into a pleasant little guesthouse - run by 2 of the loveliest people you could hope to meet - on the edge of town and tried to research the tourist hotspots in Port-of-Spain. As it turns out, there aren't any really. The tourist attraction is the people and the country itself, which isn't the worst tourist attraction I've ever visited... not by a long shot.<br />
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The first thing one would associate with any Caribbean nation is fantastic weather. Well the weather in Port-of-Spain wasn't in a compliant mood. I don't think I had one day there when it didn't rain. And every time it did rain, I seemed to be caught outside and hadn't had a chance to bring my sensible cagoule with me. This was the sort of weather I had wanted to escape from, but the Devil had decided to vomit in my kettle once again.<br />
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As you should know, the majority of T&T's (that's what they call it there) inhabitants are black, and there is also a sizeable Asian community, meaning any 'Honkies' (white people) who go there will stick out like... a white person in Guyana. This can, and indeed did, lead to some racist banter to which I was subjected. Now obviously it wasn't a violent beating administered by a group of 20 Trinidadians or a lynching; it was fairly harmless repartee directed at me as I strolled around town, usually from passing cars. Some highlights include: a car full of young guys slowing right down next to me and playing Vanilla Ice at full volume; another car, with a similar group of passengers slowing down next to me, whereupon all occupants showed me their palms, which of course are white. Besides this there was an assortment of things shouted at me and various car horns being sounded. Initially I thought/hoped there just happened to be a load of women driving past and that I 'still had it', but the truth was not much worse to be honest. I must say that it really didn't bother me one jot and some of it was actually quite amusing.<br />
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So what about the town itself? Well, there's a nice promenade named after T&T's most famous son, the cricketist Brian Lara, a man truly revered around those parts. Other than that, there's a pleasant botanical garden - reputed to be the oldest in the Caribbean and not much else.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwpGOEcbQKHw_iBEQNBB2Bq3jp4JcND3EM_vcsMbMGs4bbmEZ034fPSepZi6LmaxvXAdgxjgxzfQMugpunHIZN5RG4AbJYua8os1XXXMEHIBQNNy4MM_CX1J-JpTxpJa95gG2rYEsCQHFm/s1600/DSC03463.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwpGOEcbQKHw_iBEQNBB2Bq3jp4JcND3EM_vcsMbMGs4bbmEZ034fPSepZi6LmaxvXAdgxjgxzfQMugpunHIZN5RG4AbJYua8os1XXXMEHIBQNNy4MM_CX1J-JpTxpJa95gG2rYEsCQHFm/s320/DSC03463.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Brian Lara's statue on the promenade named after him.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">T&T is also home to some unique and genuinely excellent cultural aspects, such as 'doubles', a couple of slices of flat fried bread, very similar to a thick chapati, with curried chick peas on top. The trick is to eat it with no cutlery and ideally without making too much mess. In fact, much of T&T's food has its roots in Asia, which makes for a surprisingly excellent culinary experience.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.alwayshungryny.com/images/thoughtforfoodpics/galleries/AllAboutDoubles___v1_4_-_Version_4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://www.alwayshungryny.com/images/thoughtforfoodpics/galleries/AllAboutDoubles___v1_4_-_Version_4.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Doubles in all their glory.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Another cultural delight of T&T is their own particular brand of reggae - heard at all hours, from all places - called 'Ragga Soca'. This is a combination of traditional Caribbean reggae and the Trinidadian Calypso style, which makes for some interesting listening.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">So what did I take away from Port-of-Spain, or Trinidad in general? Well, apart from some postcards, not an awful lot. I felt a lot more relaxed, as most of the Caribbean is incredibly laid-back and a welcome change from the chaos that envelopes most of Latin America. In the end, I can't say I'd recommend Port-of-Spain as a tourist destination. In case you hadn't gathered already, I've really struggled to come up with anything interesting or insightful to say about this particular place, pleasant as it is.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">I'm sure it'd be nice enough for a beach holiday, but that really isn't why I'm here, so I shall simply say that beyond a stopover destination for flights between the Guianas, I wouldn't bother with T&T. Although who am I to say where's good and where's not?</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Until next time, when I intend to wow you with tales of a little island of Dutch in a sea of Spanish. Until then, and please; don't have nightmares.</div>ChrissyGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03230884637100050307noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9083996213875025483.post-52960527186548401972011-04-10T09:38:00.000-07:002011-04-10T09:38:04.618-07:00Georgetown's Guyana get ya"Guyana? What the hell's that?"<br />
<br />
This is an all-too common question when discussing my travel plans with most people, especially Brits. Even most South Americans would struggle to point it out on a map of their own continent, a continent that only contains 12 countries.<br />
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Guyana is the only former British colony in South America and thus the only country on the continent where English is the first language. Well, a form of English anyway: I could barely understand a word. Its capital is Georgetown, a city of of some 240,000 people and arguably the least developed city I'd been too so far. I had read that the Guianas were particularly under-developed, but it was quite a shock to the system how far the Guyanese had to go to reach parity even with somewhere like Bolivia.<br />
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So there I was, at Georgetown's Cheddi Jagan Airport, which was essentially a large hut with an runway next to it and a few strategically-placed Guyanese flags to remind people where they were. It turned out that this airport, allegedly serving Georgetown was at least an hour's drive away. The actual distance from the town centre is only 40 km, but Guyanese transport infrastructure manages to make this relatively short journey last a lot longer than it should: there was the equivalent of a British 'B' road in a terrible state of repair serving as the major connecting route between the international airport and the capital.<br />
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Georgetown itself is hardly a major tourist destination. Even those few who do come to Guyana for tourist purposes spend most of their time away from the city... and with very good reason.<br />
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Georgetown was by far the most unsafe-feeling place I have been to so far, even above 'South America's most dangerous city', Caracas. I don't even think my feelings were unjustified: a quick glance at the local paper was one of the most depressing things I've ever read, and I've seen <i>The Sun</i>. Every report was about a murder or a violent robbery, many in broad daylight with lots of witnesses. Many also involving the use of firearms. This general sense of constantly fearing for one's life was exacerbated by the blatantly obvious fact I was a tourist. This doesn't mean to say that I walked around wearing socks with sandals, a large Nikon camera hanging around my neck and clutching a large guidebook in my hand: I tried to dress as discreetly as I could, but there was one tiny, minute giveaway. I was white. I felt like a white sheep in an enormous flock of potentially dangerous black sheep. To give you some idea as to the extent of my similarity to a sore thumb, the 2002 Guyanese census reported that a mere 0.15% of Georgetown's population was white. In a city of 240,000, this equates to 196 white people. I don't think I saw any of them during my stay. Of course I'm not saying all the inhabitants of Georgetown are dangerous - most of them are perfectly nice people - it's just that the tiny minority of ill-harbouring Georgetownians might see me as someone with an enormous target painted on my back for robbery. The 'language barrier' didn't entirely help either. I struggled to understand what the Guyanese were saying in their thick Caribbean accents and many of them seemed to struggle to understand me. So after a few clumsy exchanges, I decided to adopt a very deliberate, perfectly-annunciated RP accent. I felt like some sort of awful colonialist, but sadly this was the only way I was going to be able to communicate with the Guyanese. <br />
<br />
With this in mind, I decided to see what Georgetown had to offer. Not much, it turned out. They've got a wooden cathedral, which was nice, but many of their supposed national landmarks were in rather a state of disrepair.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1bdjuAd6GHF3oSJBF3v594OoBNXIGMbLPkQPwyjPWZ0cU9RjPggTJ7b2cY4GXGIHU2GRey1PadcYlqMCOZvQhS0r8_frAM_Jd2Mbk1kIIgN54Qe97UiSNHbEvJTkcj8nnS1cf-jigsTq4/s1600/DSC03477.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1bdjuAd6GHF3oSJBF3v594OoBNXIGMbLPkQPwyjPWZ0cU9RjPggTJ7b2cY4GXGIHU2GRey1PadcYlqMCOZvQhS0r8_frAM_Jd2Mbk1kIIgN54Qe97UiSNHbEvJTkcj8nnS1cf-jigsTq4/s320/DSC03477.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">St George's Cathedral - it's the highest wooden structure in the world don't you know.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">It turned out the more time I spent in Georgetown, the more Caribbean the place felt. I have to say I was expecting somewhere with general poverty, and maybe a slightly different feel to the rest of South America, but this was entirely different. This was quite a good thing it turned out: the pace of life is a lot slower and far more relaxed. Restaurant staff would finish their conversation before attending to customers; drivers would frequently let pedestrians cross in front of them, even if it was at a really stupid place and I often found myself frustratedly walking behind a particularly slow-moving woman or group of schoolchildren. Noone was in a hurry here.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Slow-moving people were, however, the least of my worries. The mosquitoes were rampant. I must have lost several pints of blood during the 3 nights I stayed in Georgetown. This is despite sleeping under a mosquito net and covering myself liberally with Colombia's most expensive mosquito repellent each night. My feet were a sight to behold after a few nights... I fear there's only worse to come as I move eastwards across the Guianas.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Where I was staying was right next to the town's Magistrates' Court, with my window actually looking over the prisoner transfer corridor-type-thing. This meant I was treated to a unique alarm clock every morning, which consisted of angry defendants loudly threatening to kill someone different every day as they were dragged to the prison van. The potential victims ranged from the magistrate to the officers charged with guarding them. It did provide some entertainment, but it was annoying when this was happening all day long from early in the morning.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">This, combined with an otherwise excellent meal spent with with the second worst person in South America (the worst being the German who robbed me in Lima), made me want to leave Georgetown, at least for a day. Handily I had booked myself onto a tour headed to Guyana's Amazonian interior. I was going to Kaieteur Falls, 'the world's highest single drop waterfall' and was rather looking forward to it.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7LI_Kj7S8tJVoAU2Fvr84W9gJryeuX81IYceelcVMAtXE5b7q4_j5W9aWj02R5Pg2GQaWwJ689d9ncvBmJvq7ELDB9UWr67xbITNhz2dJUgvzqYPW321dAqyGB0PzVadJa2pNGQ3Ud91I/s1600/DSC03484.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7LI_Kj7S8tJVoAU2Fvr84W9gJryeuX81IYceelcVMAtXE5b7q4_j5W9aWj02R5Pg2GQaWwJ689d9ncvBmJvq7ELDB9UWr67xbITNhz2dJUgvzqYPW321dAqyGB0PzVadJa2pNGQ3Ud91I/s320/DSC03484.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Our trusty steed to the interior.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Kaieteur Falls is South America's hidden gem. Sure, there may be other waterfalls and yes, they might be more visually appealing, but the fact that there would only be 4 tourists visiting the site in one day created a sense of adventure and of seeing unspoilt, unbetouristed nature. So this involved me and 3 other Brits climbing into a little Cessna (flown by an out-of-work American commercial airline pilot, but that's another story) and flying to a little airstrip next to Kaieteur Falls. The scenery as we flew over the rainforest was samey to say the least: all there was were trees as far as the eye could see. It put into perspective how massive the rainforest actually is. As we neared the falls themselves, our pilot treated us to a few swoops over the drop, creating some spectacular photographic opportunities.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpIpF0SqkQEOubj2MjcHyLv1n7VNL5NTZViGnCeLyB03MMXSm6OUxMJ6UzBzJAguSj2_vwV3aP3rMWimsQsmCPcKTCOKZgtDUMmfqg9MoS80Ecfl5P3J3gmoWVi5MpBAdrndV42qLqfiTf/s1600/DSC03495.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpIpF0SqkQEOubj2MjcHyLv1n7VNL5NTZViGnCeLyB03MMXSm6OUxMJ6UzBzJAguSj2_vwV3aP3rMWimsQsmCPcKTCOKZgtDUMmfqg9MoS80Ecfl5P3J3gmoWVi5MpBAdrndV42qLqfiTf/s320/DSC03495.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Kaieteur Falls from the air.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">The falls themselves were stunning. It's hard to describe the sheer power of nature you could sense when up close to them: thousands of gallons of water pouring over a 226 metre-high drop every second. It was breathtaking.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">After speaking to my fellow Brit tourists, I learnt that they were there not for the falls, but to see the wildlife. How bizarre, I thought. Kaieteur National Park is home to some unique species it turns out, including a parrot thing called a <i>Cock-of-the-Rock, </i>as well as a tiny, bright-gold frog called, unimaginatively, the <i>golden frog</i>.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_h_uhpS4Btf2FSuKNMcO8Z29qru2r7KAkqL7VBLQR8HGW7lmwsFyzLE4mizB3tCFZYZnWpYXZmYiHPBysRAJibtctcu48rRvNtYJBWjpcWJIpjYv-qL1PrIzil9lL8b_f79WbYRBck14a/s1600/DSC03509.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_h_uhpS4Btf2FSuKNMcO8Z29qru2r7KAkqL7VBLQR8HGW7lmwsFyzLE4mizB3tCFZYZnWpYXZmYiHPBysRAJibtctcu48rRvNtYJBWjpcWJIpjYv-qL1PrIzil9lL8b_f79WbYRBck14a/s320/DSC03509.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">The tiny Golden Frog spends its entire life cycle inside giant plants called <i>Tank</i> <i>Bromeliads.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="text-align: left;">So having seen the falls from various angles, each more various than the last, we hopped back into the Cessna and headed to another waterfall... as if one wasn't enough.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Our next stop was to be <i>Orinduik Falls</i>, a relatively mundane sight as it turned out. These were a series of smaller waterfalls which cascaded over large slabs of semi-precious stone called <i>Jasper. </i>The main point of coming here though, was that you were able to stand under the falls and generally frolic about in the water. This was rather pleasant as it turned out: the water from <i>Orinduik </i>was warmer than that in the shower of the hostel where I was staying. It was invigorating nevertheless.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8LLprgBDeoFTSFKh4GW1kUdwYNMfztK_IlGW2KdZ5gtCMMHfQ_wtsQG7uhFN93bhsR9J5k7JdGZ2-whmG5qaCzHX2VdMFJgXDs2GYDU_j6dSgi4k3_hPvMn44SwY4S9ZeNVYqpOexRdF9/s1600/DSC03549.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8LLprgBDeoFTSFKh4GW1kUdwYNMfztK_IlGW2KdZ5gtCMMHfQ_wtsQG7uhFN93bhsR9J5k7JdGZ2-whmG5qaCzHX2VdMFJgXDs2GYDU_j6dSgi4k3_hPvMn44SwY4S9ZeNVYqpOexRdF9/s320/DSC03549.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">The best shower I'd had in days.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">After that, we flew home in our trusty plane and back to that hotbed of crime, Georgetown.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">So that was Guyana. If you're looking for a laid-back, Caribbean experience, but with great opportunities to explore nature up close and personally, then I can only recommend Guyana. Georgetown can't be that unsafe either if an idiot like me didn't get attacked or robbed.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Until next time. And please, don't have nightmares.</div>ChrissyGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03230884637100050307noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9083996213875025483.post-40183723557252530632011-04-05T15:22:00.000-07:002011-04-05T15:22:14.974-07:00"Caracas, Gromit?" "No thanks, Wallace; it's s**t."The trip has left the beaten track behind. Gone are the tossers with their silly tea-towel scarves and their seemingly endless bracelets. The world I have moved into is populated by real people, people who know how to sew on a button or cook an edible tomato/pasta-based dish. Sadly, I can do neither of those things, but I'm here anyway...<br />
<br />
Caracas then: capital and largest city of South America's most politically dangerous country: Venezuela. Caracas is also widely believed to be the most dangerous city in South America, and as we all know, that's up against some pretty stiff competition. The thing with Venezuela is that it's all about the politics - even my flatmate where I was staying had political reasons for being there, on which more in a bit- of which the three main pillars are the following (in ascending order):<br />
<br />
1) Socialism and how great it is.<br />
2) Hugo Chavez<br />
3) Simon Bolivar<br />
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Venezuela shocked me slightly when I first arrived. Even in the immigration hall - where I had to queue for a good hour and a half - had huge posters advertising the benefits of Chavez's socialism. We were told how "over a million Venezuelans had benefited from the government's education programme" and how "40,000 children had moved above the poverty line" thanks to socialism. Going from the airport to the centre of Caracas provided me with an endless stream of political propaganda. Everywhere I looked there was a billboard proclaiming how wonderful various things were, ranging from Simon Bolivar to the percentage by which milk production has increased (1220% in case you were wondering). The propaganda highlight was an enormous billboard which must have been more than 100 metres in length simply saying "Let's work!". Brilliant, Chavez, just brilliant.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCScU6H0MkO6IhtmZ0PTJaPBJHRTBIy5nws7AQXdojjuGMI-PNmEYl-XfTq6NWYEoCT23L3XnC77qK92X7KMQMSPS3uJDwd6Vi4pzRQEcmfY8wDTtvMYzDuS8GvFeW5KwDHA69yDfgq6X1/s1600/vivirensocialismo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCScU6H0MkO6IhtmZ0PTJaPBJHRTBIy5nws7AQXdojjuGMI-PNmEYl-XfTq6NWYEoCT23L3XnC77qK92X7KMQMSPS3uJDwd6Vi4pzRQEcmfY8wDTtvMYzDuS8GvFeW5KwDHA69yDfgq6X1/s320/vivirensocialismo.jpg" width="239" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Airport propaganda</div><br />
I'm aware that for people who have visited countries which don't have similar styles of government to our own, this may not seem that extraordinary, but for me it was rather intriguing.<br />
<br />
At the risk of sending some readers to sleep, I'm going to continue on the political path by talking about Hugo Chavez, the slightly insane Venezuelan president. He seems to have built up a slight cult of personality, similar to that of Stalin, albeit not on the same scale. Many people see him as a great leader and the man to turn Venezuela into a world force. Others dislike him immensely and completely disagree with his policies. This latter group, however, will very rarely criticise Chavez publicly. According to a Venezuelan university professor to whom I spoke, the fear of expropriation is a constant threat. One wrong word against Chavez, and you lose your land quicker than you can say "socialist c***". For this reason, many choose to let Chavez know how <i>he </i>isn't wrong, it's his ministers who have given him bad advice and <i>they </i>should be blamed. Not him, not Chavez.<br />
<br />
Sadly, he hasn't really justified his methods or the near-fanatical support of many of his followers. Peru, which was widely perceived as a joke country, run by 'indians', has overtaken Venezuela in terms of GDP. Where Venezuela was near the top of this particular South American league table, it now languishes behind many of its competitors and inflation is relatively rampant, hovering at around 30%.<br />
<br />
In an attempt to combat said inflation, Venezuela has an official exchange rate for its currency. This rate is 2.15 <i>Bolivares</i> for every U.S. Dollar. There is also a whole black market of currency exchanging, with rates offered being between 3 and 9 <i>Bolivares</i> to the Dollar. Now not being a complete moron, I opted for some slightly illegal and sexually arousing black market exchange action, netting me rate of 7 <i>Bolivares</i> to the Dollar. 7, compared to 2.15. No wonder the country's economy would be buggered without its oil reserves. Venezuelan people are forced to pay more than three times as much for things as foreigners using the black market (when relative value in Dollars is calculated).<br />
<br />
And this shows on the women. Venezuela has produced more beauty queens than any other country in the world (even more than Uruguay!) and you can see why. However, the often stunning beauty of female Venezuelans is very much undermined by their seeming inability to wear clothes that fit them or look at all good. Further hampering my shallow interests was the fact that 9 out of 10 Venezuelans seem to be wearing dental braces. Imagine a gorgeous, dark-skinned, hispanic girl with lovely hair and everything. Now add some baby pink braces. Now dress her in a boy's tracksuit which is unwashed. That's a Venezuelan woman. I honestly believe Venezuelans would rank higher than Uruguayans if it weren't for these drawbacks, but drawbacks they were.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.examiner.com/images/blog/wysiwyg/image/miss-venezuela-2007.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://www.examiner.com/images/blog/wysiwyg/image/miss-venezuela-2007.jpg" width="231" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Venezuelan potential.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">I must say, however, that Venezuelans have rhythm. I went to a salsa bar with my flatmate one evening and it was a great sight. No, not in that way. I was immensely cheered to see how everyone was dancing, all in pairs as well: anyone standing near the dancefloor was immediately invited to a dance. It was impossible not to feel like a loser in this place (insert joke about me being a loser here). It wasn't drunken dancing either: it was just through the sheer enjoyment of dancing and music that people were in there; not to get drunk like we would in the UK. Imagine a place in Britain where alcohol is served and people go to dance, without feeling at all self-conscious. No? Me neither.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_6lisDrTh2dLFiPXjFwutDLUlOUVoPmzi_94_I7PhrU0ROpaMufmTl4c4Y0DEqhwqgjFGRlV0soJmtNIL0wpiH31D6MAN-knmJ-Hy5XeG3ZbyZ_MX4spQxgiPTmKkXwvWi1CJLjp42GJQ/s1600/DSC03437.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_6lisDrTh2dLFiPXjFwutDLUlOUVoPmzi_94_I7PhrU0ROpaMufmTl4c4Y0DEqhwqgjFGRlV0soJmtNIL0wpiH31D6MAN-knmJ-Hy5XeG3ZbyZ_MX4spQxgiPTmKkXwvWi1CJLjp42GJQ/s320/DSC03437.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Salsa <i>a la Venezolana</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="text-align: left;">The flatmate in question was a fellow from New Zealand. He was a huge conspiracy theorist (that's not to say he was fat, I just meant he was convinced by various conspi... oh it doesn't matter, let's get back to the blog), who remains certain that there will be a huge global period of hyperinflation and that corporations are taking over the world. He has a point I suppose... He was in Venezuela as a political refugee, having fled with his family - who temporarily reside in California - following various trials at which he refused to accept the court's authority. For a similar case in the British arena, Google "Birkenhead judge arrest". He actually had his original arrest on video, which he showed me, and let's just say I can see why he might have fled New Zealand, a country which is supposed to be liberal and safe. On the video, he seen being beaten rather savagely by 2 'Crown Constables', or policeman to the layperson, for no apparent reason other than he was being a bit difficult to arrest. He was very adamant about his political beliefs, and actually aims to establish a political party in New Zealand and has grand plans about meeting Chavez and getting his support. I'm aware none of this has anything to do with Venezuela, but it was an interesting experience I wished to share, alright?</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">So back to Caracas. The city itself is only remarkable for its total unremarkability. It has no well-known landmarks, or even much to do. There's a mountain overlooking the city, but even the views from there are fairly mundane. There's no real pleasant architecture to of which to speak either. Caracas does hold the honour of being the birthplace of one Simon Bolivar.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Simon Bolivar is a South American hero. In fact, in Venezuela, he occupies a position in people's estimation just below God. He is the man responsible for liberating vast swathes of South America from the Spanish in the early 19th century. Peru, Ecuador, Colombia, Panama, Bolivia (named after him) and Venezuela all owe their existence directly to Bolivar. Everywhere you look in Caracas are pictures of the great man. Hugo Chavez actually changed the name of the country to incorporate his great love for Bolivar. Venezuela is officially known as <i>La Republica Bolivariana de Venezuela</i>, and the government seems to stick the adjective <i>Bolivariano</i> in at every opportunity. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWPPWhJD76IFR4WcyF5vtg9RwXP7GD8LL-GSkp553Id__NazVWatgX340iRgei11byUtSeXevi-dLRtCqOfGWiwWlv6rNhd0k2FVfZeg_BkXv91b_FRuzwD_Z0ieDUF-ov-sdxwPJy-r-J/s1600/DSC03444.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWPPWhJD76IFR4WcyF5vtg9RwXP7GD8LL-GSkp553Id__NazVWatgX340iRgei11byUtSeXevi-dLRtCqOfGWiwWlv6rNhd0k2FVfZeg_BkXv91b_FRuzwD_Z0ieDUF-ov-sdxwPJy-r-J/s320/DSC03444.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">One of the many monuments to Bolivar. T<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">he text reads "<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 15px;"> If nature is against us, we shall fight it, and make it obey." Inspiring stuff... for someone... probably.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 15px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 15px;">So having diced with politics and the differences between Common Law and Admiralty Law, a topic I still don't remotely understand, I decided to leave South America. I haven't gone far though, I've just nipped across the Caribbean to Trinidad and Tobago. Let's just say that the words "incredibly different" are insufficient for the next chapter in my voyage...</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 15px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 15px;">Until next time, and please, don't have nightmares.</span></span></div>ChrissyGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03230884637100050307noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9083996213875025483.post-40022559595988319852011-04-02T12:45:00.000-07:002011-04-02T12:45:21.585-07:00Co-lame-bia<div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">So I’d left the delights of Peru behind me and headed on up to Colombia, a country famed for its excitement and general hijinks. As it turned out, this excitement and hijinks weren’t as innocent as they sounded. But there again I probably should have guessed that things weren’t going to be a pleasant Sunday afternoon in the park, what with Colombia being the country that gave rise to the man who would go on to become the 7<sup>th</sup> richest man in the world in 1989… due entirely to dealing cocaine.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Even the flight to Bogota, a city of some 9 million people and a self-proclaimed ‘Megacity<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>of South America’ (along with Sao Paulo, Rio de Janeiro, Buenos Aires and Lima), was exciting, but with a heavy dose of vice. You see, when I’d sat down on the plane, I happened to glance to either side of me and notice that both of my neighbours were rather buxom and generally largely constructed of plastic it seemed.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Rather unsurprisingly, it turned out they were Colombian porn stars. As I said, exciting, but you know your mother wouldn’t approve.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">So with that particularly bizarre journey behind me, I thought I’d penetrate Bogota itself and I must say, I was unimpressed with what I saw. Bogota did not look like a city of its size. Not by a long chalk. It made Machu Picchu look like a bustling metropolis. The city centre felt tiny, as did the rest of the city. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The people were friendly though. Whilst seeking out somewhere to have lunch one day, I came across an affordable-looking restaurant, so I quickly wiped it off and apologised before entering the premises. This restaurant was jam-packed with Colombian soldiers in dress uniform, with not a spare table in the house. I must have looked devastated, as, before I knew what was happening, I was invited to sit and dine with some of the aforementioned soldiers. In the whole travelling spirit of things, I duly accepted and sat amongst Colombia’s finest. Even though I speak barely enough Spanish to order food in a restaurant, let alone make casual conversation with Colombian squaddies, I had a very enjoyable lunch despite the dire quality of food. The soldiers were incredibly friendly and made me feel welcome and I’d recommend having lunch with the armed forces to anyone.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">On the job though, these soldiers were a completely different type of person. Gone was the amiable, talkative geezer, and in his place was the hard-nosed, merciless oppressor, as I found out (very nearly) the hard way. After lunch, I decided to investigate the city’s colonial architecture, which was pleasant and Hispanic enough, despite the best efforts of an American Evangelical missionary group trying to convert people through the medium of new-age dance and football demonstrations. One of said sights was the vast presidential palace, which was heavily fortified. If one covered one’s ears for a moment, it would have appeared a lot like Colonel Gadaffi was cowering there. I was innocently walking along the pavement looking slightly confused one minute, and the next I was confronted by 3 heavily-armed presidential guards, all with assault rifles pointed directly at me. My heinous crime? Walking on the pavement next to the palace. Paranoia? Probably. Unnecessary? Most certainly. Even outside the White House in Washington, tourists are allowed to gawp and take photos all they like without the notoriously oppressive American security forces coming down on them like a ton of bricks. Not in Bogota.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXRgQaC1YsD7ZF9kC_83Hiso0PvXTYBlHaZx6tUtCedNXIfS-cnQTyUtPNaqKv5lENGhV6vGkgIRqqlRR4LMK-K8NU-P7CNZjTsUUVjks9xcvCGWU2puTDrv52L8lODAY0sOJ3ZZ15PL2I/s1600/DSC03367.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXRgQaC1YsD7ZF9kC_83Hiso0PvXTYBlHaZx6tUtCedNXIfS-cnQTyUtPNaqKv5lENGhV6vGkgIRqqlRR4LMK-K8NU-P7CNZjTsUUVjks9xcvCGWU2puTDrv52L8lODAY0sOJ3ZZ15PL2I/s320/DSC03367.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The Evos do their thing in Bogota.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">And it isn’t just tourists that the authorities scared. The street vendors peddling their counterfeit DVDs immediately shut up shop and ran for their lives as soon as there was mention of some sort of authority figure approaching.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Bogota, I decided, was not the place for me, so like any self-respecting individual, I left and went to the Caribbean coast and the architecturally famous colonial town of Cartagena. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Cartagena was, in a word, hot. Very, very, very hot. Now I enjoy heat as much as the next man, but this was too much. It is supposedly the playground of Colombia’s elite, and thus has all the typical upper-class trappings: there were big yachts moored in the harbour; attractive, rich people everywhere; a Hard Rock Café. Yet I wasn’t all that entertained. The Cartageneans just didn’t seem like they cared all that much about their town and so there was a constant feeling that it could be so much better, so much cleaner and prettier. And then there were all of the more illegal and unpleasant trappings that accompany money and glamour. Outside the hostel in which I was staying, there was the constant presence, day and night, of the friendly local drug dealer. Every time I exited the hostel, he would immediately approach me, ask me where I was from (I actually played a little game with myself, telling him increasingly unusual home countries. The best I came up with was Mongolia) and proceed to offer me “the finest cocaine in Cartagena”. Goodness knows that was against some stiff competition. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Then there were the prostitutes. They were like bats, unseen during the day, but swarming the streets at night. The most popular ‘pick-up’ line seemed to be “Amigo, f**k me, f**k me, f**k me.” It was all beginning to sound a lot like Newcastle on a Friday nights… except the prostitutes were dressed more tastefully.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Tourists were also, unsurprisingly, a common feature of Cartagena. This helped support the local underground economy and all the thousands of street vendors this involved. There was all sorts being sold: handicrafts, jewellery, DVDs, musical instruments and food. I even saw one thin-looking lady with an equally undernourished child in her arms, sitting on the pavement trying to sell passers-by an old plastic cup with a few coins in it. She didn’t manage to sell the cup as far as I could tell, but several people did seemingly augment the value of the cup by adding their own coins to it.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Tourists come to Cartagena for good reason as well. The town is actually Colombia’s main port, so any boats coming in from the Caribbean will dock in Cartagena, unloading their haggard-looking cargo there. Then there is also the rather wonderful colonial architecture. The old, walled city has lost only a little of its colonial charm, with pleasant balconies and cobbled streets in abundance, as well as the imposing hillside fortress, built to keep Brits like me out of the town. Finally, there is the weather, which, as previously mentioned is mightily warm.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtUR3mmd9Q9LKmIhlA-5LhtFCujKsTduN88YhZPyOyHVsW-m9g91KNZvCiIWrPvLvpftzH0pg62DdmKYQePL9ij-l9PMFgdeJCBST2ouxVu5qSKWokRwemesYLZw74tqUvldtEqVMvdeqq/s1600/DSC03404.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtUR3mmd9Q9LKmIhlA-5LhtFCujKsTduN88YhZPyOyHVsW-m9g91KNZvCiIWrPvLvpftzH0pg62DdmKYQePL9ij-l9PMFgdeJCBST2ouxVu5qSKWokRwemesYLZw74tqUvldtEqVMvdeqq/s320/DSC03404.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Cartagena by night</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The fortress, or castle (I believe both are acceptable in Cartagena) was started in 1639 with the specific aim of protecting the town from French and British invaders. Thus, it was with a slight sense of irony that I opted for a guided tour of this previous bastion of defiance against Britannia’s dominance of the seas. The castle itself was very impressive, with a maze of underground tunnels, some nice views of the city and what looked like Colombia’s biggest flag. What made the tour for me, however, was the tour guide. This was a little Colombian fellow called Umberto who had the social skills of someone with autism and a stammer which could have been the basis for an Oscar-winning British film about a monarch and wartime speeches. Either way, I learned a lot, although I do suspect some of the things I was told about in the castle were made-up.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjY0HOleyoR_zZhH-FowHJF_lJm4Qz5qGAfwmivcCnbVySpYHMOwlTpj4mFmJgKBzaN7e1YU6-E9igwW2t9GkhYuzgdqZRoANe-P69mLb631kZ3eXGG8qE3FjLHgYGQqJkD7aNZTeFBe0L/s1600/DSC03385.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjY0HOleyoR_zZhH-FowHJF_lJm4Qz5qGAfwmivcCnbVySpYHMOwlTpj4mFmJgKBzaN7e1YU6-E9igwW2t9GkhYuzgdqZRoANe-P69mLb631kZ3eXGG8qE3FjLHgYGQqJkD7aNZTeFBe0L/s320/DSC03385.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Castillo de San Felipe de Barajas, complete with enormous flag</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">After several days of sun, I left Colombia with a great sense of disappointment and headed to what most South Americans consider to be the most dangerous city on the continent: Caracas, Venezuela. But you’ll find out if I survived the crime and the insane, socialist dictator next time.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Until then, please, don’t have nightmares.<o:p></o:p></span></div>ChrissyGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03230884637100050307noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9083996213875025483.post-31747211096108280142011-03-28T13:06:00.000-07:002011-03-28T13:06:47.509-07:00Peru-sing South America's most unexpected gem...With the poverty and scenery of Bolivia behind me, I was anticipating good times and great experiences to be had in Peru, South America's 3rd largest country by area. I was flying from La Paz to Cusco, the traditional jumping-off point for people going to the world-famous Machu Picchu. This may not sound remarkable in itself, but on my flight there, I was accompanied by only 14 other people on the plane (an Airbus A319 painted to look like a crocodile - a plane that can supposedly carry around 134 passengers). This made me feel especially guilty about my carbon footprint, which is more of a 'carbon trench' being carved out in South America's lovely landscape.<br />
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This wasn't the only air travel-related incident of note. On arrival in Cusco 'International' Airport, all 15 passengers were forced to wait while the immigration official ambled slowly to his desk from goodness knows where. When he had finally arrived, he had a look on his face as though the passengers had asked him to wipe their arses one by one.<br />
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Once I had finally made it into Peru, the patriotism was almost tangible. Every single Peruvian with whom I came in contact informed me of the great joys of Peru and how much of a wondrous place it is. A typical line was "Peruvian women are fantastic". This turned out to be mostly codswallop. Despite their false promises, I was made to feel very welcome in Peru. One incident that springs to mind is my first lunch in Lima, when a local chap, having spotted my map of Lima, shook my hand and said "welcome to Peru, amigo". I was touched. But my sexual assault case is a story for another day, Peruvians were simply incredibly welcoming.<br />
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I must say, I wouldn't remain quite so friendly if my home had been overrun by 'gringos' (a South American term for backpackers). Cusco was full of them. And this was the low season allegedly. This in itself wasn't a major issue for me, it was more the general ignorance of all of these gringos. Whilst sitting in a café (named Inka-fé - geddit?) enjoying a cup of maté, a group of 4 English gap year girls sat on the table next to me. When they ordered, not once did they attempt a word in Spanish. Surely everyone knows at least the words 'gracias' or 'por favor'? Alas, no. The English had managed to embarrass a whole nation once again just through sheer ignorance and laziness.<br />
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So from Cusco, off I went to arguably South America's best-known tourist attraction. Machu Picchu. For those ignoramuses (ignoramus of course being derived from a latin verb form, not a noun, thus rendering the pluralisation 'ignorami' ironically incorrect. But I digress.) who don't know, Machu Picchu is basically a city of ruins high up in the Peruvian mountains. I must say, the whole day was a pleasure, right down to the transportation to and from the site. Getting there involved a train. Not any old train though: this was train travel as it should be. The carriages were large and spacious with plenty of light and just before departure, the whole platform was a chaotic scene of passengers, conductors and catering staff. It was the most enjoyable chaos I've seen in a while. When we finally got under way, there was a trolley service with delicious and thoughtful meals provided. I was indeed a happy bunny.<br />
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When I had finally reached the site itself, my first thought (other than 'wow' of course) was "why the Dickens did someone decide to build a town here?". To put this in perspective, it took us 25 minutes in a bus to get up the mountain. That was in modern times, how did they manage it in the 15th century? Either way, the journey was worth it. Despite being riddled with tourists and the driving rain, I had a thoroughly interesting time at Machu Picchu, and would recommend it to anyone.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKCEHsH273nptfcQ7nwiV7qVrrRst0jA77MB8QMv4KioKY3LaltIJT7JQz6ju7N_FMLb-uU4BMP4furGLCK4EDtJKvCiyCwiiORJI1IUdTSQfBjBCpYQzIrQ5DHOL2bmGzBIhnBUSLUyfT/s1600/DSC03257.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKCEHsH273nptfcQ7nwiV7qVrrRst0jA77MB8QMv4KioKY3LaltIJT7JQz6ju7N_FMLb-uU4BMP4furGLCK4EDtJKvCiyCwiiORJI1IUdTSQfBjBCpYQzIrQ5DHOL2bmGzBIhnBUSLUyfT/s320/DSC03257.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Back to Cusco. A fairly unremarkable colonial town with a pleasant central plaza and some nice architecture. The city itself has more-or-less 400,000 inhabitants, which puts it on a par with Liverpool. "This all sounds wonderful" you may be saying, "but why the hell should I care?". I'll tell you why: every night at 10 p.m., the city of Cusco turns off the water supply. No running water. At all. Until 5 a.m. In a city the size of Liverpool. Insane.<br />
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So I left Cusco (smelling terrible) and headed to the capital, Lima. A city of some 9 million people and one of the former capitals of the Spanish South American Empire. Yet sadly, Lima seems to be omitted from most people's itineraries. I must say I was surprised by Lima: many people had warned me I'd be bored and that there was nothing to do there. With this in mind, I turned up with low expectations.<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I</span> was staying in 'Gringo Central', an area of the city called Miraflores. This just so happened to be the wealthiest part of the city, and thus was filled with shops, pleasant parks and fewer homeless people than elsewhere in Lima. In fact, Miraflores was the richest place I had been to on my trip so far. I saw people driving around in Hummers, Mercedeseseseseses, BMWs and a host of other luxury cars. All of which seemed rather pointless. I'm not going to criticise the capitalist system at this point, merely point out how Limeños are the worst drivers I have ever seen. They made Romans look like careful, considerate motorists. Lanes were painted on the roads, but the local government may as well have painted pictures of frogs spinning plates whilst playing billiards with a seahorse. This probably would have made more sense than trying to persuade Limeños to stay in their respective lanes.<br />
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And for those of you wondering if the standards of the women had improved since Bolivia, they certainly had in Miraflores. This was Peruvian rah central. I hadn't seen so many Ugg boots since my time at Durham. This was truly a beautiful place filled with beautiful people.<br />
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The city centre was a different proposition, however. On my one day (it'll become clear why I didn't go back) in the town centre exploring the sights, I was accosted by a German. Now, being British and a bit of a Germanophone, I was too polite to simply ignore the man, so I humoured him and engaged him in conversation. He fed me some cock-and-bull story about how he was attacked and mugged, and how the German Embassy had told him he needed to travel to another one of their consulates to get hold of a new passport. At first I refused because I clearly didn't believe his story, but in order just to get him away from me, I offered to give him 2 Soles (about 50 Pence). As I was rummaging around in the coin section of my wallet, he somehow managed to take a 100 Soles note out without me noticing at the time. He left me alone, seemingly content with the 2 Soles and I was happy to escape. Only later did I discover the missing monies and curse myself for my naiveté. I felt like the Allies in 1939: completely betrayed by the Germans following various unkept promises.<br />
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This German wasn't the only unpleasant person I encountered in Lima: the service in restaurants was almost as bad as the driving on the roads to get to the restaurants. Staff were slow, inattentive and rude. The worst part was when they had the audacity to ask for a tip at the end. No chance. I nearly spat out my <i>Inca Kola</i>. But Peruvian dining wasn't all bad: they have both the aforementioned <i>Inca Kola</i> - a new favourite soft drink of mine - and Pisco sour - a new favourite alcoholic drink of mine. <i>Inca Kola </i>is a bubblegum-flavoured fizzy drink, occupying the same market as <i>Coca-Cola</i> or <i>Sprite.</i> Except <i>Inca Kola</i> is a lot more popular than these two pretenders. A lot more popular. In fact, <i>Coca-Cola</i> was so worried about its dominance on the Peruvian market, that instead of trying to compete, it just bought the <i>Inca Kola </i>company.<br />
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Pisco sour is an alcoholic cocktail made from lime juice, egg whites and a local spirit called <i>Pisco</i>, a sort of grape-derived brandy. Again, this was delicious and certainly did the trick.<br />
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Besides its drinks, Lima is home to a great number of surfers' beaches. However, these are all named after other famous beaches: there was a <i>Redondo Beach </i>and a <i>Waikiki Beach</i>, all of which led me to think: do they really want to name parts of their country afters places traditionally filled with Americans..?<br />
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So after a few days enjoying the hidden delights of Lima, I was off to Colombia. But that's a story for another day.<br />
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So long for now, and remember: never trust an injured German.ChrissyGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03230884637100050307noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9083996213875025483.post-75815911885146589962011-03-20T14:46:00.000-07:002011-03-20T14:46:26.786-07:00It's unboliviable Jeff!When I left you last time out I was gasping for breath in La Paz, the world's highest capital city, at over 4,000 metres above sea level in parts. The sad thing is, I wasn't even joking about being constantly out of breath: just sitting down makes you pant like a dog in a hot car after a particularly strenuous walk (I exercised considerable restraint with that analogy). The locals advise getting through this by drinking vast amounts of <i>Maté de coca</i> (Spot test: which country was especially keen on <i>Maté</i>? The answer will be at the bottom of the page.), which I gleefully took part in and soon developed an alarming coca habit.<br />
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The second thing to hit me (well the third if you count that Bolivian woman with the enormous hand luggage that bashed me in the face) was just how comparatively poor La Paz is. Having previously been to Brazil, Uruguay, Argentina and Chile, all countries in the top 5 richest of South America, Bolivia was a shock to the system: houses were half-built yet still lived in; the public buses had had their heyday in the US... in the 50s; children apparently paying homage to Oliver Twist swarmed on the pavements in abundance and everywhere I went there was someone trying to sell me something, be it an Incan charm, a pickled llama foetus or even bits of chewing gum. One thing I found particularly cruel and unnecessary was the ubiquitous Samsung billboards advertising products most of these people would never get close to owning through legal avenues: what the hell is a homeless Bolivian street child selling chewing gum to tourists going to do with a 3D television? The guy didn't even have any shoes on, let alone a reliable source of electricity or the means to subscribe to a very generous and good value satellite service, offering all the sports, movies and documentaries one could wish for, all available in stunning 3D and high definition.<br />
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Yet all this poverty is a blessing in an horrendous disguise for idiot tourists like me: Bolivia is ridiculously cheap. A typical lunch from a set menu comes in at less than a Pound. A Pound. For 3 courses and a drink. Sure, the food was average at best and I considered myself lucky every time I woke up the next day with my vision relatively intact, but Bolivian food does represent excellent value.<br />
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The food wasn't the only health risk I encountered. La Paz is extremely polluted. The ancient buses and similarly aged cars made Chinese heavy industry look like a Greenpeace oxygen, environment and happiness factory. If each cigarette takes 8 minutes off your life, then 8 minutes in La Paz must take at least a week off your lifespan.<br />
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Now call me a speculator (if that's the worst I get called by the readers of this blog I'd be very surprised), but I suspect all of this pollution may contribute a tiny bit to one of Bolivia's most remarkable aspects: Bolivians are ugly. Seriously, I didn't see one attractive Bolivian (male or female) during my entire time there. Maybe I was just unlucky, or maybe I have a very bizarre taste in women, but I can safely say I did not glance twice at any one Bolivian female.<br />
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Bolivia's not all bad though. Far from it in fact. La Paz now has the great honour of being home to my third favourite museum in the world: <i>El Museo de Instrumentos Musicales</i> in La Paz. I felt like I was 5 again, as I was surrounded by all these weird and whacky instruments, a lot of which I was allowed to have a go on! If I felt like this aged 23, how would I have felt aged 5... I can't remember the last time I had so much fun bashing, plucking and tinkling...<br />
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Having offended the hearing of everyone within 2 miles of the museum with my overenthusiastic musical efforts, I decided to escape town for a while lest I be lynched by angry La Pazians. My destination of choice was the hilariously-named Lake Titicaca. Now to say it was pretty would be plain wrong. Beautiful would still undersell it substantially. I can honestly say that Lake Titicaca is in the top 10 most stunning Bolivian bodies of water I have ever been to. But seriously, it was incredible. Just amazing. The scenery was breathtaking, the sapphire-coloured water complementing the dramatic surrounding mountains perfectly, all fittingly wrapped in an envelope of sunshine. If you only have time to visit one place in Bolivia, this should be it. This wondrous place was only made better by my accommodation, which was an enormous room with 4 beds, 2 hammocks and a kitchenette. This may sound quite good in itself, but the icing on the cake was the view from my window. Just outstanding.<br />
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Titicaca (giggle) is only 1 of the 2 recommendations I have for anyone headed to the La Paz area. The other is to go for a bike ride on the so-called 'World's Most Dangerous Road' (about 300 people died on it every year until a safer replacement road was built). This takes you along a 40 mile route along a narrow, rocky road with some fantastic scenery. If I wasn't concentrating so hard on staying on the road I could describe it far better to you. 40 miles may sound like a lot, but the whole route is basically downhill, meaning the only thing that gets tired is your fingers from all the braking.<br />
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Bolivia is truly eye-opening then, both in a bad and a good way. Poverty and daily struggles are happening in front of one of the most glorious backdrops in the world. The landscape and the prices (but not the women) have left me wanting to return to Bolivia one day, although next time I'll have to pack my thesaurus to help me adequately describe Bolivia's natural beauty.<br />
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Until next time, when I'll be discussing the delights of my current location, Peru. And please, don't have nightmares.ChrissyGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03230884637100050307noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9083996213875025483.post-55981733475764575632011-03-13T16:12:00.001-07:002011-03-13T16:12:16.299-07:00Red hot Chile's betterWhat does anyone actually know about Chile other than it being the basis for a lot of awful 'Chilli/chilly'-related jokes?<br />
<br />
Well, it's one of South America's richer countries, has a long and proud history involving both European immigrants and indigenous peoples, it has a population of nearly 17 million (of which 4 million live in Santiago, the capital) and they're good at getting trapped miners out of the ground.<br />
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Chileans are also tremendously friendly. The hardcore followers amongst you will remember my ranting about the friendliness shown by Montevideans. Chileans come close, with everyone out and about ready to help ignorant, lost little tourists like myself.<br />
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I only had a chance to visit Santiago, which is relatively boring on the face of it, but scratch beneath the surface and you find a population ready and willing to engage in some serious fun. One of Santiago's stand-out traits is its apparent peculiarities. Santiago seems to have more stray dogs than the rest of the world put together. What surprised me though was that these dogs didn't look mangy or flea-ridden or anything; they just looked like someone owned and indeed looked after them and had forgotten to put a collar on them. I saw huskies, German shepherds, sausage dogs and poodles. It was truly bizarre. Furthermore, they seemed to have better road-crossing skills than most Brits I know.<br />
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Something the Brits can do, however, is drink. The Chileans less so. The police in Santiago insist all nightclubs shut at 5 a.m., meaning there is a host of illegal clubs behind locked doors. These have all sorts of peculiar customs, such as look-outs informing revellers when the coast was clear to leave and a range of secret knocks to gain access to said venues.<br />
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Apart from illegal clubs, Santiagons have another vice: 'Café con Piernas', or 'Coffee with legs' to the non-hispanophone. These are cafés where the waitresses (and they are all waitresses) all wear very short skirts. The strange thing is that they don't normally serve alcoholic drinks, which begs the question of 'why bother?'. Well, the coffee served there is no more expensive than in most other places, and I have been reliably informed that the quality of coffee there is actually superior to most other places. I think this is an idea that could be exported to the UK. Although they'd have to apply it to things that aren't coffee, seeing as most Brits are about as sophisticated as sack full of dog turds. 'McDonald's with legs'? 'Jobcentre with legs'? The options are plentiful...<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><img alt="Cafe con Piernas" src="http://photos.travellerspoint.com/232627/IMG_0774.jpg" /></div><br />
Moving on now... Having met and grown friendly with a large group of people at my hostel, we decided to take in a Chilean League football match featuring Chile's largest team, Colo Colo. The atmosphere wasn't as good as the one I experienced in Brazil and the standard of football was insulting to many in the crowd, but the ride home on the Metro was something else. Really one of the most fun times I've ever had on public transportation with my trousers still on. We were in a packed carriage with lots of victorious Colo Colo fans, who were all singing and clapping very loudly and generally being happy at the result. Then they started jumping up and and down. This wasn't just a few people, this was a carriage full of about 200 people, all jumping simultaneously. This made the carriage move around more than the north-east coast of Japan. I was genuinely concerned we would derail whilst going round a corner. Things got so shakey that the train had to stop at a station for an extra 5 minutes or so whilst everyone calmed down a bit... and then continued once we started moving again.<br />
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Unfortunately, the people of Chile are used to the ground shaking a lot, seeing as they suffer from a lot of tectonic activity. In early 2010, they suffered and earthquake and resulting tsunami which killed over 500 people. Speaking to a Chilean about this particular earthquake really opened my eyes. He told me it happened at around 3 a.m. on a Friday night, meaning a lot of people were enjoying a night out. When the earthquake struck, they are alleged to have gone out to the streets quickly and cheered, apparently ignorant of the scale of this fatal 8.8 magnitude tremor. The Chilean attitude to earthquakes seems to be one of only mild annoyance. They perceive earthquakes occurring with the same mild irritation we do when the sky's slightly cloudy when we're trying to have a barbecue.<br />
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Now I'm sure you've all been religiously reading these posts and have been blown away by their quality and insightful. If you'd like to read more on the topic of travelling, with an emphasis on South America, I'd recommend the following, each with a slightly different twist on the travelling theme:<br />
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<h6 class="uiStreamMessage" data-ft="{"type":"msg"}" style="color: black; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 5px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; word-wrap: break-word;"><span class="messageBody" style="line-height: 14px;"><a href="http://www.oxfordtoday.ox.ac.uk/Blogs/Oliver_Kerr.html" rel="nofollow" style="color: #3b5998; cursor: pointer; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">http://www.oxfordtoday.ox.ac.u<wbr></wbr><span class="word_break" style="display: block; float: left; margin-left: -10px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"></span>k/Blogs/Oliver_Kerr.html</a> A serious and intelligently-written blog on the uncertainty of the post-degree gap year.</span></h6><h6 class="uiStreamMessage" data-ft="{"type":"msg"}" style="color: black; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 5px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; word-wrap: break-word;"><span class="messageBody" style="line-height: 14px;"><br />
</span></h6><h6 class="uiStreamMessage" data-ft="{"type":"msg"}" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 5px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; word-wrap: break-word;"><span class="messageBody" style="line-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: grey; line-height: normal;"><a href="http://www.listentome23.blogspot.com/" rel="nofollow" style="color: #3b5998; cursor: pointer; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">www.listentome23.blogspot.com</a> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: normal;">A light-hearted, more personal take on all things Gap Year written by one the most qualified people I know.</span></span></h6><h6 class="uiStreamMessage" data-ft="{"type":"msg"}" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 5px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; word-wrap: break-word;"><span class="messageBody" style="line-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: normal;"><br />
</span></span></h6><h6 class="uiStreamMessage" data-ft="{"type":"msg"}" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 5px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; word-wrap: break-word;"><span class="messageBody" style="line-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: normal;">For now, I'm in La Paz, a city so high above sea level, breathing is constantly difficult. Hopefully you're also now feeling slightly breathless after reading this. Farewell. </span></span></h6><div><br />
</div><div class="mvm uiStreamAttachments clearfix" data-ft="{"type":"attach"}" style="color: #333333; display: block; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-top: 10px; zoom: 1;"><div class="UIImageBlock clearfix" style="display: block; zoom: 1;"></div></div>ChrissyGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03230884637100050307noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9083996213875025483.post-29701466211397879412011-03-08T15:22:00.000-08:002011-03-08T15:22:14.578-08:00BA's MaracasThe problem with France is that it's full of French people. Sure, there are <i>some </i>nice ones, but the majority of the French manage to offend nearly all 5 senses. If this fact puts you off going to the traditional Paris - you know, the one in France - you can always do what I did and hop on a plane and take a trip to the self-proclaimed 'Paris of the South': Buenos Aires.<br />
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Buenos Aires is a curious place: it has elegant baroque architecture in abundance, but when the local government were planning where to put all of their 60s tower blocks, someone must have sneezed on the blueprints. This is only explanation I could come with for why every pleasant colonial-era building seems to have a hideous great hunk of concrete next to, in front or on top of it. This is a crying shame, because Buenos Aires' buildings (the nice ones at least) really surpri<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">sed me with their splendour. The <i>Palacio de Congreso</i> for example was supposedly based upon Washington's Capitol building, but in execution there was one crucial difference: they actually thought about it, rendering it tasteful and not garish.</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheR965nXKowtI7OLvRwr5eHmFfvH4389DUvAcvxmzhNOJwr7DHIkFSBuTSsTB8NMvaR5sRIYllAw9ssUmZyOOQycHb-pJkpMScMyjWhXm79ggS4Mn_mRo6GMiqUrA381opLJv-FIQHeSvu/s1600/DSC02796.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheR965nXKowtI7OLvRwr5eHmFfvH4389DUvAcvxmzhNOJwr7DHIkFSBuTSsTB8NMvaR5sRIYllAw9ssUmZyOOQycHb-pJkpMScMyjWhXm79ggS4Mn_mRo6GMiqUrA381opLJv-FIQHeSvu/s320/DSC02796.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Buenos Aires is indeed a proper big city, with all walks of life represented and all sorts of locales in which they live and work, so a lot like Rio really in this respect. Where it differs - and it differs hugely - is the sense that all <i>Porte</i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 15px;"><em>ños</em> (as residents of Buenos Aires are known) know that work also has to be done and that there is a time to be serious as well as a time to have fun.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 15px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">And fun they do have: on my first night in Buenos Aires, I decided to check out the local cuisine and so headed to my nearest <i>Parilla</i>, or steakhouse to you and <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">me. I was sat down and immediately given a shot of Jerez for no obvious reason. Not wishing to offend my beaming waitress, I obliged and drunk it. Following this I ordered a steak with chips, expecting a relatively standard st</span>eak-based affair. How wrong was I. The cow from which the steak seemed to have been cut must have been 40 feet tall and had a rump the size of </span>Sunderland. It was humongous. It was also delicious.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 15px;">When I finally finished this gargantuan pile of protein, I was offered more complimentary alcohol, which I gleefully accepted (Limoncello in case you were wondering). The greatest surprise came with the bill. All of </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 15px;">this excellent food and alcohol and it amounted to less than £10. What a place this was turning out to be.</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP2zgiLsvxRSHSSa-yf9y-uMnqBUhwjDl9kjTHHySJF_qv6dXrh4tjcoCt5LFkc_kpD5iQsGscmYKqUpEPqbu8m1vfeC4HyiciNgHIbJ1wWPp52D7RtIwvV2-6nrqf5zHmxKBmHIWehrjf/s1600/DSC02816.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP2zgiLsvxRSHSSa-yf9y-uMnqBUhwjDl9kjTHHySJF_qv6dXrh4tjcoCt5LFkc_kpD5iQsGscmYKqUpEPqbu8m1vfeC4HyiciNgHIbJ1wWPp52D7RtIwvV2-6nrqf5zHmxKBmHIWehrjf/s320/DSC02816.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 15px;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 15px;">What every good </span></span><i>Porte</i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 15px;"><em>ño </em>does<em> </em>after their nightly steak (it is estimated that Argentinians each eat on average 70kg of beef a year) is let the meal digest until about two o'clock in the morning and then head out on the town. The Argentinians like to leave it late. And I mean <i>late</i>. In one nightclub we visited</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 15px;"> the doors opened at midnight and the dancefloor didn't open until 3 a.m. They all enjoy it as well. I was hard-pressed to find a miserable-looking clubber, although that may have had something to do with the 'clubbing aids' readily available in the lavatories. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 15px;">Not even I could dampen their spirits with my horribly broken Spanish: I managed to sort-of converse with an Argentinian financial analyst for nearly an hour and she humoured me throughout, not once pretending to go to the bar or the toilet. I would say she was just more desperate than other women to whom I've spoken in the past, but I like to think it's just the Argentinian way.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 15px;">The undoubted highlight for me was going to see a percussion group called 'La Bomba del Tiempo'. This was a group consisting of drummers, bongo players and even a Bez impersonator on the maracas, all of whom were expertly led by a conductor who seemed to be frantically trying to communicate with the group through what looked like some primitive sign language. Either way, it worked.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 15px;">So if you're looking for somewhere with lovely architecture, great food and a cracking nightlife, go to Paris. If you want all of the above, but with fewer Frenchmen and bigger steaks, head to Buenos Aires.</span>ChrissyGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03230884637100050307noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9083996213875025483.post-36417897219698192492011-03-02T11:35:00.000-08:002011-03-02T11:35:40.284-08:00Montevideo grilled the 'acado' star<div><b><i>Author's note: You may have seen that I've located the image-insertion function, so expect more visual accompaniments to my ramblings.</i></b></div><div><br />
</div>Terrible. Awful. Horrendous. The worst place I've ever been to. A pointless globule of pigeon turd spoiling what would otherwise be a fine continent.<div><br />
</div><div>None of the above describe Montevideo, city of some one and a half million people and capital of the bovine powerhouse of Uruguay. It's actually a really nice place to be. It has the same sort of endearing quality as your favourite grandparent who used to take you on all sorts of exciting trips but is now senile, incontinent and can't remember who you are or why you're hugging them. Montevideo is akin to a faded Spanish seaside resort: all the ingredients are there for litoral perfection, but they lack polish and care.</div><div><br />
</div><div>You see, Montevideo is on the surface very well run and maintained, with seemingly little poverty and few negatives. Then you start noticing more and more little things that detract from the whole; large chunks of pavement missing, tramps hidden cunningly behind signs and bins so they aren't moved on by the police and the fact that most of the public buses seem to be older than than Uruguay itself.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Despite all of these shortcomings, Montevideo is without doubt one of the friendliest places to which I have ever been. The tramps mentioned above greet everyone with a cheery 'hola' and people will try and start conversations with you wherever you are and even though they might as well be trying to communicate through interpretive dance for all the Spanish I know. One excellent example of this willingness to not let anything get in the way of a good natter was when I was on a bus one day. We were stopped at some traffic lights and another bus pulled up beside us. The two bus drivers then proceeded to discuss seemingly everything that's ever happened in the world ever, not even hinting at moving. This continued even though the lights had long since changed to green. It was only after one more cycle of traffic lights that they decided the time was right to continue with their jobs. The strangest thing about this whole episode was that noone in the cars behind honked their horn. I don't even think they noticed, such is the chilled-out vibe of the place. People in the UK may complain about infrequent rubbish collections, but in Montevideo the pace of life means they use a horse and cart to collect people's rubbish. It's utterly bizarre and confusing.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQpYWilU2lX7AuT3DeWKVUckO-vLBePIgLHpMrHHCdmoPuZaRyFIJpXHZDr2S6d5NhKFVHZsMH8bMtcqhofYRyVRnA-tKDXMKHiok7Cw8y7Ci7zsMsSFz1HPsqSovKsuNkPa1axDm-Fp03/s1600/DSC02783.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQpYWilU2lX7AuT3DeWKVUckO-vLBePIgLHpMrHHCdmoPuZaRyFIJpXHZDr2S6d5NhKFVHZsMH8bMtcqhofYRyVRnA-tKDXMKHiok7Cw8y7Ci7zsMsSFz1HPsqSovKsuNkPa1axDm-Fp03/s320/DSC02783.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div><br />
</div><div>The friendliness aspect of the residents of Montevideo can once again be illustrated by buses. Each bus has 2 types of horn: one normal horn to make pedestrians move off the road when necessary, and a second, quieter horn which emits a whistling noise. They use this second horn to 'whistle' at other bus drivers, nothing more. </div><div><br />
</div><div>As mentioned above, the Uruguayans are really quite keen on their meat. Their two national dishes involve meat as much as they can. There are <i>acados</i>, which are basically huge barbecues with as many different types of beef thrown on top as possible, and there are <i>chivitos</i>. A <i>chivito</i> makes a burger from a US branch of McDonald's look like a snack. For a mouse. Who's just eaten a large roast dinner. In short, they are enormous burgers, with all sorts of unhealthy and hilarious extra ingredients. Initially, it looks like a regular burger, just a lot larger. Then comes the shovelling on of extras: ham, cheese, eggs, artichoke hearts, chicken, more beef, more cheese, pickled onions, pickled carrots (seriously), more cheese and about a gallon of generic pink <i>chivito</i> sauce. These things could keep even the most stereotypical of Americans full, for a few hours at least. </div><div><br />
</div><div>Then there's <i>Maté</i>, a drink similar to tea to which Uruguayans seem to be addicted. You will often see people out for a stroll, <i>Maté</i> mug in one hand and a Thermos flask in the other to top up the hot water (see image below). <i>Maté </i>is made of bitter herbs brewed in hot water. It is then drunk through a special straw with an inbuilt strainer. </div><div><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9_uXQSzrJSYCIfsng1MwbkokOvbM17b6wB2p2KmFRCQNrF9ax_-BSE8VpB3VdcsVuHtuB5n6u4kUghN-AhRkfxpb82tGXJwaI29Oy9E63272J_Y24FbrjhdpieZ65spjuQVRcoXPGlSVN/s1600/IMG_2596.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9_uXQSzrJSYCIfsng1MwbkokOvbM17b6wB2p2KmFRCQNrF9ax_-BSE8VpB3VdcsVuHtuB5n6u4kUghN-AhRkfxpb82tGXJwaI29Oy9E63272J_Y24FbrjhdpieZ65spjuQVRcoXPGlSVN/s1600/IMG_2596.JPG" /></a></div><div><br />
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</div><div>This fantastic friendliness and feeling of welcome is only one of Montevideo's fine attributes. The women there were generally extremely attractive, a feature enhanced by their seeming self-deprecation. If these women were in the UK, they would be eternally dressed in bikinis and trousers so tight you'd think their backsides were doing their best impression of Vanessa Feltz taking part in a lasagne eating contest. This, and the pleasantly warm weather make it really not hard to see why so many Nazi war criminals chose to come here. </div><div><br />
</div><div>Montevideo effortlessly exudes bonhomie and never feels like a city with 1.5 million residents. This quietness is further emphasised on Sundays, when the entire city centre is eerily empty, and again on week nights, when most bars seem to shut at half past 8 in the evening. Nightlife during the week in Montevideo is a lot like the clitoris: it may take hours of searching and several moments of doubting its existence, but when you do find it, it will bring hours of enjoyment.</div><div><br />
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</div><div>"Montevideo is your home, as is this square"</div>ChrissyGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03230884637100050307noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9083996213875025483.post-56386742840226376132011-02-25T12:47:00.000-08:002011-02-25T12:51:06.484-08:00Brazil: nuts.Brazil: land of samba, football, caipirinhas and crime. What a way to start my Samerican voyage...<br />
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First stop was Rio de Janeiro. For those of you who don't know, Rio is Brazil's second largest city (population: over 6 million) and former capital. It is also arguably Brazil's most exciting city, and after long and extensive research which included going to one other Brazilian city at least - and indeed at most - I've decided to agree.<br />
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Rio is a natural marvel. The tatty-looking tower blocks are superbly juxtaposed with the very impressive surrounding mountains and other natural features. Despite its glamorous reputation, Rio is very obviously poverty-stricken and run-down in a lot of places. Every street has its own little family of homeless people going through the bins for cans they can sell on for the tiniest amount. Sewage seems to be a major issue as well, with some roads smelling like a festival toilet after 3 weeks of continuous use. This is an issue only exacerbated by the intense heat. The average daily in Rio was easily over 30 degrees centigrade, peaking at 40 during my time there.<br />
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The Rio de Janeirians/ites/istas/arians (delete as appropriate) are, as a whole, very pleasant and welcoming. There seems to be a general feeling of settling for their lot in life: yes, there's plenty of crime and the police are useless; yes, they are impoverished even by our lowest standards; yes, they have to deal with millions of <i>gringos</i> (as backpackers are known around the continent); and yes, there's the intense heat to deal with. The reputation of crime in Rio is not the best in the world, and it's such a shame for the honest, friendly and hospitable residents of Rio that this reputation is due only to a small minority of scallywags and drug lords.<br />
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Why not eliminate these scallywags and drug lords? I'll tell you why: the police in Rio are about as much use as Anne Frank's drum kit. Sure, they seem to be better equipped than the British Army, but the sheer amount of danger they encounter every day at work is similar to that of a ginger desert tour guide: any day could be their last. It wasn't surprising to see, therefore, that they treated every situation with the utmost vigilance. During one particular incident, the tamest of scuffles outside a bar/club/furniture shop (more on this later), the nearby police did nothing to intervene until their patrol car was bumped into by the combatants. At this point, a burly-looking policeman walked over to the action and drew his gun. He had his thumb on the hammer and finger on the trigger the whole time.<br />
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This wasn't the only instance of what I perceived to be heavy-handed policing. Earlier on on the same evening, some friends and I were urinating against a wall (there was a street party and no toilets: we've all been there) when a police officer spotted us and started walking over, truncheon drawn and ready for action. Naturally - and in our slightly inebriated state - we ran finished, ran off and lost him in the crowd.<br />
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Now of course the police can be forgiven for overreacting in these cases. They do an incredibly dangerous job in Rio (2 police are killed every week on average in the city), yet earn on average just under £6000 a year, compared to £23,000 for a constable in the UK (yes, I did some research for this). This low pay means most have other jobs at night working for private security firms, and thus, you will find that most police officers in Rio get only 3 hours' sleep a night. No wonder they looked so grumpy when they saw some Americans and a Brit relieving themselves on Rio...<br />
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None of the above facts prepared me for what I saw on my 2nd night in Rio. My new friends and I had decided to go to Lapa, a popular nightspot where people drank and danced on the streets and where much fun was had by all. At the time of the incident, we were dancing and chatting outside a furniture shop where the owner had decided to set up a DJ with speakers, along with a fridge full of drinks for sale. We saw an old-looking homeless man collapse and start fitting on the road just outside the furniture shop, right next to some police. Instead of helping, the police ordered the man's friends to carry him off the road as he was blocking traffic flow. The man was brought over to a tree near us, against which he was leant and where he proceeded to have one final, big seizure. When an ambulance did finally arrive, the man had already died. Whether he could have been saved by police intervention or how often this happens is unknown to me, but it was a very shocking episode nevertheless.<br />
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We nearly joined the homeless fellow on a ride on one of Rio's plentiful public buses. This particular bus seemed to have been driven by Rubens Barrichello (a Brazilian Formula 1 driver for those of you who are less familiar with Bernie Ecclestone's life work) and with standing room only, I became very well acquainted with the chap next to me.<br />
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Despite all this, I would thoroughly recommend going to Rio: the stereotypical and slightly overused description of the people of Rio always dancing and being generally up for a good time is actually very accurate. Before the incident with the homeless chap, we witnessed an escalating argument between two local youths. We all thought this might get out of hand when one of them moved aside and the other started break-dancing. Yes, that's right, they had a dance-off to resolve an argument. As much as I condone this in Rio, I fear a similar attempt at conflict resolution in the UK would involve two fat blokes falling over a lot and altogether causing far more damage and injury than any brawl would have done.<br />
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The beaches were beautiful and the sea even more so. The weather was hot to say the least. Rio also has a fantastic method of transportation called the 'collectivo'. This is basically a minibus with a fat guy hanging out the window shouting at anyone who looks like they might need to go somewhere. These collectivos drive along set routes and can pick up and drop you off wherever you like along these routes, all for less than the price of a bus ticket.<br />
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I made some great friends in Rio, and even though one may have tried to sexually assault a German and masturbated when others were in the room, I would happily go back for more.<br />
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Next up was Sao Paulo. This followed a 6 hour bus ride (very short by South American standards) on a coach which was more comfortable than every plane on which I've ever travelled. Sao Paulo is the 4th biggest city in the world and the biggest in Brazil and South America. Despite this, it has relatively little in terms of excitement. Sure, it has a great nightlife with every type of club imaginable represented, but there are no landmarks, no unique architecture and no unique atmosphere like there was in Rio. Maybe this is because Sao Paulo is more developed than Rio and seems to have less poverty and crime than Rio, resembling a kind of much bigger and less practical Berlin, with its uniformly 60s tower blocks. Luckily I'm leaving here tomorrow morning and will be going on to Montevideo, the little-known capital of Uruguay.<br />
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At least now I can say I've been to both South Africa and Brazil and didn't get kidnapped, robbed or murdered once.<br />
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Love and hugz,<br />
ChrisChrissyGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03230884637100050307noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9083996213875025483.post-87126969748442835612011-02-15T09:53:00.000-08:002011-02-15T09:53:01.537-08:00Ex and 'why?'It's not every day people decide to go to South America - there's usually some sort of hilarious and heart-warming story behind each twist and turn in the build-up to any trip like this one.<br />
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Now of course this particular trip is no different... other than in almost every way. There was no real hilarity in the planning of my jaunt to Samerica*, and you're unlikely to need those Rennie tablets you have on standby: there is little or no heart-warming to be found. That said, and if you're still reading, then you obviously either have some sort of mild interest in what I'm doing or literally nothing else to do...<br />
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So why am I doing this? Why Samerica? Why now and not 5 years ago, before I'd spent twenty-odd grand on university? All of these questions will be answered, some satisfactorily, most of them less so. In fact, the short answer to all of the above questions is simply "why not?". Of course, that answer would lead you to believe that I am a massive, annoying douche. You'd be right...<br />
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With graduation looming, I had applied for jobs left, right and indeed centre, with little tangible success (how 'tangible' can an interview be?). Now apart from being quite disheartening and bloody annoying, it left me with no idea of what I wanted to do career-wise and a year of my life to fill while I sorted out some sort of future. At the time, I was in a relatively serious relationship and she was keen to have a post-degree gap year and see a bit of the world. Seeing as I had sweet Fanny Adams else to do, I thought "Oh go on then, I'll tag along." There were several obvious upsides to this: she could do all the planning and decide on the routes/attractions/accommodation and everything else, leaving me the simple yet painful task of finding some money and handing it over in one handily-sized, tree pulp-based payment vehicle (I believe the layperson calls them 'cheques').<br />
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By November 2010, things were progressing nicely: I had a job working in a local excuse for a restaurant and the money was coming in, various trip options were being researched and discussed and I was generally contented. Then along came a large, dump-shaped (make of that what you will) spanner that inserted itself into the proverbial works. I was given a relationship P45, I became a citizen of Dumpsville, I would henceforth be flying solo. I suppose the key point of that particular sentence would be that I broke up with the girlfriend.<br />
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Obviously this was irritating and immensely upsetting for me, so I had a good mope for a month or so. I carried on working and decided to press ahead with a trip somewhere. The next issue was choosing which continent to visit. I opted for South America.<br />
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Why there? It was the perfect balance of being neither too dissimilar to cultures to which I'm used nor too similar. I decided travelling around entirely foreign (if you'll pardon the pun) places alone might be ill-advised and take me way out of my - admittedly narrow - comfort zone. Romance languages being spoken would help as well... Africa? Too different and also a bit obvious. North America? Too similar. Asia? Too different. Oceania? Too expensive, too similar: too bad. Surely Europe then? I've already done most of western Europe and the eastern part just doesn't interest me. South America? Let's see: huge European influence, check. Mixed with indigenous cultures, check. Romance languages spoken, check. After literally minutes of consideration, I had decided Samerica was the destination for me.<br />
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Where in Samerica? It's a big place. I solved this problem by taking inspiration from the world of animation. I first drew a big circle, covering all but 2 countries. This circle, or my route, as it evolved into, was refined constantly by people's advice and recommendations. It turns out everyone either knows someone who's been, or has been themselves. This ranged from my corporate banker friend from the gym (his name conveniently being 'Jim'), who had been to Brazil and Argentina a few times to do some banking, to Lorna (not that one), one of the cashiers at my bank, who proceeded to try and sell me the HSBC Super Premier Platinum Advanced Plus Gold account in between regaling me with tales of how her brother was mugged in Venezuela.<br />
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It wasn't just bankers either: friends' housemates had their experiences to share, from a hostel recommendation for Germanophiles in Buenos Aires, to brief guides to the best museums in Bogota. Suddenly, Samerica no longer seemed 'original' and 'cool' and 'different'. However, I had booked my flights by this point, so there was no turning back.<br />
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Whenever I tell people about my trip, the most common reaction is jealousy. Some are jealous just of the fact that I'm leaving the UK for an extended period, others are jealous of specific aspects of the trip. I have one friend who had in fact spent a considerable amount of time in Samerica himself and to whom I am very grateful for providing endless tips and advice. When he was shown a copy of my itinerary, he became slightly geographically confused and informed me of his jealousy concerning my planned visits to what he called 'The Guineas'. He obviously meant 'The Guyanas', a region with which very few seem to be familiar. Suriname was especially difficult to organise, but that's a story for a future 'blog'.<br />
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If you're reading this and becoming jealous, then you're one of many and this makes me immensely pleased. In fact, the five and a half grand this expedition will cost me overall will have been very well spent if I invoke envy from just one person...<br />
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But for now, there's packing to be done, affairs to be arranged, things which need to be attended to and indeed other engagements to be carried out, so I shall endeavour to update everyone as often as possible on how it's all going.<br />
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Hugs 'n' kisses,<br />
Chris<br />
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* 'Samerica is clearly short for 'South America'. If you hadn't figured that one out, then hang your head in shame.ChrissyGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03230884637100050307noreply@blogger.com0