benihnio's TravelStream™ — Recent TravelPod.com entries TravelStream™ news feed for member benihnio on TravelPod's free travel blogs service http://www.travelpod.com/syndication/rss/benihnio en-us Copyright ©2009 TravelPod.com Thu, 28 Sep 2006 11:22:52 -0400 http://www.travelpod.com Getting high on Potosi — Potosi, Bolivia http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/benihnio/rtw-2005/1147396800/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/benihnio/rtw-2005/1147396800/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/benihnio/rtw-2005/1147396800/tpod.html Thu, 28 Sep 2006 11:22:52 -0400 Wanderlust!
Potosi, Bolivia

Potosi is, officially the highest city in the world, this is not surprising in a country that is 90 percent above 2500m and also has the highest capital city in La Paz. Potosi stands at 4090m above sea level. That´s high, it used to be one of the richest cities in Bolivia after large quantities of silver was discovered in the nearby mountain. The silver dried up and all the investors left, and it became another poor city again. It still mines the mountain for copper and nickel and silver, but it is not as lucrative as it used to be. A large proportion of the population of Potosi still work in the mine, despite the life expectancy of a worker to be 10 years after they start working there.

Unfortunately to get to Potosi was one of the most uncomfortable journeys of my trip. We had purchased our tickets before we did the Salar de Uyuni tour, and had natuarlly picked 3 seats together. By the time it came to getting the bus, they had no knowledge of us and the fact we were supposed to be on the bus. After we had shown them our tickets and convinced them we were on the right bus, they let us on... but it was full. The lady from the ticket office came on the bus, and evicted 3 people (all women) from their seats for us. Splitting us up in the process, Martin getting stuck at the back while I got to take the seat neat to the husband of the lady who had to give up her seat and spend the next 8 hours on the bus standing. I felt uncomfortable, but not as uncomfortable as when the fat Bolivian guy next to me decided to get comfortable by sitting on top of me and squashing me up against the window. I tried to explain to him that he was taking up room on my seat in my bad spanish, but I had just taken his wife's seat so he wasn't very talkative. 3 hours into the journey I was feeling so claustrophobic I was going to let his wife have the seat and I would stand, I couldn't cope. Fortunately we had a break and as Freddie was sitting in front of me when we got back on the bus I sat next him and let someone else suffer the fat mans wrath for the rest of the night.

As we were in Potosi, and having nothing better to do we decided to visit the mines, it was a very eye opening experience, as the conditions were appalling, and with the very thin air it was a wonder they lasted 10 years. Before we visited the mines, we had to buy the miners presents, this in it self was a strange experience. The guide advised us that we should buy them drinks and biscuits, because they are very poor and that food and drink are good for them, as opposed to the dodgy looking cigarettes and 80% proof alcohol that was also available to purchase. We decided on a compromise, buying them lots of biscuits, and some alcohol. We also had the option of buying some dynamite, either as a present or just to blow up for fun outside the mine, so we did it cost 10 bolivianos, this is about 70p, for very powerful explosives, that we just purchased from a market in the street. That´s a little cheap and easy, especially when we later witnessed the damage it can do.

After buying our presents for the miners, and putting on our protective clothing, we set off, starting at around 4000m high, we descended into the claustrophobic tunnels of the mines. Being at such a high altitude the air was pretty thin, combine that with all the dust particles in the air it was not easy getting a good lungful of oxygen and a few times I felt a bit light headed. We visited various miners doing various different jobs, all seemed faitrly happy, despite the fact that they know that they will not last a decade working down there. They all gladly appreciated our meagre gifts, being a cooperative mine everyone shares the profits, but being part of the cooperative means they had to purchase all their equipment and dynamite out of their own money. Climbing broken wooden ladders barely held together by string, and traversing narrow ledges over very long drops, none of this aided by Freddy´s head light breaking, we climb on our knees through a narrow low cave, and use a rope to negotiate a rock face on our descent. We stumble across a small shrine to Pachamama, the Inca goddess similar to mother earth, we gave an offering to Pachamama, by way of spilling drink on the floor, as you should always do when having an alcohol drink, always a little bit for Pachamama. As our 2 hours in the mine draws to and end, we head down a long passage, and can hear a slow rumbling in the distance, it was a different noise to the dynamite explosions we had heard earlier in the day, it was a low quiet rumbling that was slowly getting louder as we neared. The air was getting noticeably thicker with dust, and it was feeling hotter. The noise was nearly deafening now, as we climbed another dilapidated ladder. We finally saw the source of this noise, barely visible through the clouds of dust was a miner with a large drill, carving away at the rock face, the dust was so thick he was barely a silhouette, the dust was suffocating and the noise deafening, a few seconds observing the spectacle was all I could manage before the fumes and the noise and the air overwhelmed me and I descended the ladder to the relative calm of the adjoining passage. It certainly made me appreciative of mind numbing desk job, that most surely awaits my return to England.

After the harrowing experience of being in the mines for 2 hours, it was a joy to have the sunlight on our faces again, and take a long deep breath of fresh air, our guide takes to a secluded spot on the mountain and we get to have a bit of explosive fun with the dynamite. The guide mixed up the various parts of the dynamite, and then went with Frddie to bury it under a small amount of dirt and small rocks, as they came hurrying back to where Martin and I were sitting, the tension began to mount. After what seemed like a long time there was an almighty explosion and a showering of debris, that more than satisfied our infantile love of loud noises. Our guide later informed us that one group had asked her to put some big rocks and stones over the dynamite and the resulting explosion sent large chunks of rock into a broadcasting aerial that she indicated to behind us. The aerial broadcast the TV signal for the entire city, they were without TV for a few weeks all because of her. She was not very popular...

On our last day in Potosi, before catching the night bus, we went to visit some thermal pools, we were advised to catch the micro, and we got dropped off in the middle of no where, and we think the driver said to go up. We scrambled up a very rough looking dirt track that lead to the top of a steep slope. First we came across a naked, old, Bolivian couple swimming in a very small, but hot looking pool. We thought it best not to disturb them, and ventured on wards. We then came across a broken wall with some steaming pools inside, these were scalding hot, and did not look pleasant, cursing the lonely planet for more bad advise, we spy a couple of gringoes coming over the hill, looking like they had just had a swim. We pushed on to find this huge pool, on the crest of a hill, surrounded by a mountainous panoramic view, there are a couple of other tourists there, but they leave soon. The water is gorgeous, lovely and warm, and someone had conveniently built a ramp by the edge to launch yourself off. We could have stayed there all night, but we had a bus to catch, and with the temperature dropping to minus figures when the sun goes down was prudent to get out in daylight hours. With another extremity covered, worlds highest city, we move on, and I say goodbye to Freddie and Martin, as they head off for a jungle adventure, and I head to Cochabamba to continue learning Spanish.
]]> Uyuni — Uyuni, Bolivia http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/benihnio/rtw-2005/1147137360/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/benihnio/rtw-2005/1147137360/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/benihnio/rtw-2005/1147137360/tpod.html Thu, 28 Sep 2006 10:39:58 -0400 Wanderlust!
Uyuni, Bolivia

After leaving Humahuaca we were off to Bolivia, a late night border crossing went without a problem, I don´t know why I always think that something will go wrong at a border crossing. I guess it´s all the official looking people, never been a fan, safely inside Bolivia we investigated the possibilities of getting to Uyuni that night, but we were informed there were no busses at night, because of a bus strike.

We ended up spending the night in a hostel in Villazon for 20 Bolivianos, that´s about 1 pound 50, not much really. We thought, as we had to spend the night here, we should have a look at the town, after about 5 minutes though the lady from the travel agency who we had asked about busses, came running after us, to warn us that they like to rob gringos at night in this town. Heeding the warning we decided perhaps an early night might be in order, especially as we had an early start the next day. Although we managed to make it earlier than necessary, aiming to get up at 6, we managed to get up at 5am, because Bolivia is an hour behind Argentina, sometimes. Argentina has daylight saving times, and Bolivia does not, sometimes it is an hour behind, and other times, it isn´t. We got it wrong though, and ended up freezing our arses off waiting for the travel agents to open so we could buy our bus ticket to Uyuni. First thing you should learn in Bolivia is there is no such thing as a direct bus, our direct bus involved a rickety bus ride for an hour, a wait of an hour which gave us a chance to buy some salteñas similar to empañadas, except spìcier, and full of scalding hot juice which burnt Martin so badly he dropped his salteña which was devoured by the hungry stray dogs that surrounded us as soon as we had food.

After waiting at the bus staion for an hour we were squeezed into a 4X4 12 of us in total including the driver, chewing away on his coca leaves. Then we off roaded for a couple of hours, as dried up river beds were used as makeshift roads in a country with notoriously poor transport links, probably not aided by the continous disruption by protesters who destroy the existing networks to make a point to the Government.

After the jeep ride we were piled into a bus for the remainder of the journey, which was over similar terrain to the last part, but a lot worse in a big bus rather than a specially designed off road vehicle.

2 vehicle changes and about 8 hours later and we have arrived in Uyuni, the lonely planet was not lying when it said you can wave goodbye to comfortable travel when you arrive in Bolivia.

So why did we travel for 8 hours to get to Uyuni? Well Uyuni is the home of possibly the largest Salt plains in the world, definately South America, and it is supposed to be very impressive. A bit of haggling later and we have organised our 3 day 2 night tour of the Salt plains and surrounding area, leaving at 10am the next morning...
]]> Saltier than Mcdonalds Fries — Salar de Uyuni, Bolivia http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/benihnio/rtw-2005/1147043100/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/benihnio/rtw-2005/1147043100/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/benihnio/rtw-2005/1147043100/tpod.html Tue, 13 Jun 2006 22:37:58 -0400 Wanderlust!
Salar de Uyuni, Bolivia

One of the most talked about places in South America is not Machu Picchu, it´s not Iguazu Falls, it´s not Nazca Lines or Patagonial Glaciers, it´s not the Angel Falls (World´s highest in Venezuela) or Lake Titicaca, it´s not Rio and Carnevale, it´s not drugs, although that is probably a close second. It´s none of those things, everyone I spoke to who had come from South America said I must visit the salt plains in Uyuni, Bolivia.

Now I had never even heard of Salt Plains, let alone Uyuni, but they are the worlds largest salt flats, The Salar de Uyuni covers approximately 8000 square kilometers (3100 square miles), and it is pure white and flat. So like a good little tourist I stumped up the cash hired our 4X4 and driver, and explored the salty desert with Martin and Freddie, our guide Obidio, and a German couple we had previously met on a bus, and helped them with the Spanish, and an Israeli couple.

The salt plains are as you imagine, big and white and flat, they were also very reflective, note everyone in shades in the pictures, they were almost blinding, can you imagine getting salt blindness, like going snow blind but not as cool. It did look like you were walking on snow, and it was a constant surprise that it wasn´t cold and fluffy under foot, but actually warm hard and salty. The salt is surprisingly versatile, and there is at least 3 salt hotels, many handicraft stalls selling salty products, and a salt museum full of sculptures made from salt. It is also a large source of employment in the area, not only for tourism, but also salt farming (I´m not sure if farming is the right word). Thousands of people each day, work for a pittance to create large salt mounds to be picked up by the drivers, and then turned into table salt. They didn´t look too appreciative of the tourists climbing on and jumping over the salty creations.

After driving around in this most barren of landscapes for a while, we came across la isla de pescados, which I thought meant Island of Fish. but also means Island of Cactuses, apparently. It was a bizarre oasis of prickly life in the middle of absolutely nothing, flat and empty all the way to the surrounding mountains.

At the Cactus Islnd we had our first meal of the tour, llama. Llama is kinda like cow but, in my opinion, tougher and saltier, although that didn´t stop Freddie scooping up a lump of salt off the ground and adding some extra seasoning.

That evening we stayed in a hostel in a little village near the salt plains, and whilst wandering around, scaring vicunas (like llamas but wild and not very hairy) and enjoying the scenery, me and Martin, were invited to join in a game of Football, did I mention we were at 3800m above sea level. O to the MG, I nearly died, and after a bad start, some poor passes and an own goal, I was not giving a good account of English skills, but I soon got used to the altitude and after a shaky start, starred in a dramatic come back to nearly win, and beat Martin´s team, providing a good omen for the World Cup (Martin is Swedish) but alas the poor start was too much to over come.

After 40 minutes of football I was ready to curl up and sleep, it was fortunate I was tired, because it was so cold at night that I think if I hadn´t got to sleep quickly I would have been too cold to sleep.

The second day and we were out of the Salt plains, and heading off road to see some more sights, including some mountains, funny rock formations, the White lagoon, and other lakes with some flamingoes in. Our guide promised us many lakes with some flamingoes, or we could go straight to the Red Lagoon, which has around 40,000 flamingoes, and is a dark red colour. We decided on the Red Lagoon, and boy it was red, made the pink lake in Australia look mildly discoloured. This lake could have been the site for a huge bloody battle, and the thousands of flamingoes speckling the surface was also incredible. I had already taken a lot of pictures of flamingoes, so I wanted something a bit special, aided by my 12X optical zoom, and Martin and Freddie´s throwing arms, we succeeded in scaring a few thousand flamingoes, getting them to fly off in unison and arc towards the mountains in the distance. I have had moral dilemmas about our actions, but I was assured that no flamingoes were hit and it did make for some good pictures, I have no regrets...

The second night was a more subdued affair than the first with the 4am start looming over our heads, although we still managed to polish off a couple of bottles of wine. The ridiculously early start was in part compensated for by a visit to some hot gas vents, dry geysers, and then a dip in a hot spring. The only hesitation was it was -10 in the open and 30 in the hot springs, this meant we had to remove clothes and make a made dash for the warm water before we froze. We made it and didn´t freeze, which is more than I can say for my swimming shorts, which I left to dry on a nearby rock, in the sun, and came back and they were frozen solid.

After the hot springs it was a quick visit to the green lagoon, that wasn´t actually green, the guide blamed it on a lack of wind to stir up the micro organisms, and then a driving to the Chilean border to drop off the Germans, and then speeding back to Uyuni, in time for our bus to Potosi, which we looked in danger of missing after a puncture, and running out of gas, but fortunately our guide/driver/cook, was also a bit of a mechanic, and with a little assistance from other vehicles (happy Noel) we were on our way and made it back in plenty of time for Martin and Freddie to be late for the bus because they were buying stupid hats...
]]> A Man, A Plan, A Canal, Panama — Panama City, Panama http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/benihnio/rtw-2005/1150237320/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/benihnio/rtw-2005/1150237320/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/benihnio/rtw-2005/1150237320/tpod.html Tue, 13 Jun 2006 22:01:12 -0400 Wanderlust!
Panama City, Panama

Inspiration for the worlds most famous palindrome, I am now in Panama and with it´s famous canal it represents the last continent I have to visit (Antarctica doesn´t count, and I have been to Egypt in Africa but that is a seperate story).
]]> A natural high for my birthday — Humahuaca, Argentina http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/benihnio/rtw-2005/1146854940/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/benihnio/rtw-2005/1146854940/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/benihnio/rtw-2005/1146854940/tpod.html Mon, 05 Jun 2006 12:15:04 -0400 Wanderlust!
Humahuaca, Argentina

My birthday started nice and early with a 6am bus to Humahuaca from Salta, as my Swedish friends slept soundly on the bus, I witnessed the sun rising over the Andes, and lighting up the cloouds and the mountains in various shades of pink and through to orange.

Humahuaca is a small town in the middle of the Andes and at over 3000 meters altitude it was breathtaking in more ways than one. After settling into our picturesque little cottage of a hostel, bizzarely we decided to tke the hostel that was nearly a kilometer from the bus station, and walk there in the heat with our full packs, but it was a very nice hostel.

After settling in, we decided that a bit of trekking was in order, and we caught a bus out to Hornaditis, where there were allegedley Inca cave paintings, very easy to find we were assured you won´t need a guide. Expecting Hornaditis to be some kinda of town or village with people to ask, we set off. It turns out that all there was at Hornaditis was a large farm, a few little huts, no people and a couple of full size football pitches. Which was to become a feature of the poorer rural areas of South America, it didn´t mater where we went there was always a football pitch, in the middle of no where, bang another football pitch. I guess when you have electricity for only a few hours a day and not a lot money, but plenty of space, what better way to keep the kids entertained than by sticking up a few posts and giving them a ball. Probably explains why argebtiba are one of the best footballing nations.

With no-one to ask for directions, we set off in the most likely direction for inca cave paintings, towards the rocks. After an hour of exploring the rocks and the cactuses we did not see anything even remotely like an Incan cave painting, but that did not put a dampner on what was a great way to spend an afternoon, climbing through alien terrain. The landscape was very barren with every plant havin spikes a plenty to protect itself from various predators, and preserve what little water it can absorb.

A quick exploration of the town, including an imposing statue, probably of a spanish conquistador, in the centre of the town, and we retire to the hostel to get ready for my birthday celebrations. Not only was this my birthday, but it was also our last night in Argentina, and we still had not tried Maté yet. Maté is the traditional drink of Argentina, made famous by Che Guevara in his motor cycle diaries, and is drunk by everyone, everywhere. So why had it taken us so long to try it? The problem with Maté is that you require a special cup, and more importantly a special straw "bombilla" to drink it. It is a made from a bitter herb, that is filled to the top of the cup, and then hot water is poured over it to infuse the flavours, like tea. you need the special straw with perforations in the end to be able to drink it without getting a mouthful of herbs. Our kind host at the hostel, allowed us to use his cup and straw and didn´t charge us for the Maté either.

After our Maté drinking and card session, we set out to town for some food and a few drinks. Unfortunately we were in Humahuaca and not Buenos Aries, and at 11 o´clock all the reccomendations from the hostel were closed. We eventually found a small place inhabited by drunken Argentines that did food and wine and beer, this will do.

We ended up getting very drunk (I blame the altitude) and having a great time with a group of old men, who kept on bringing up the Falklands and Thatcher and "Mano de Dios" the Hand of God, for those of you less football inclined, it was referring to an incident when Diego Maradona, decided to score with his hand against England in the 1986 World Cup. Definitely a sore point amongst English football fans. It all ended amicably with everyone having a great time, and one of my new Argentinian friends going home with an empañada for his daughter Lucy.

Definately one of my more unusual birthdays.

The next day we decided to take a trip out to Iruya, a mountain town, with spectacualer scenery, the drive over there was very impressive, stopping for a toilet break at 4000m was a highlight of the trip through winding mountain roads at cloud level. Once in Iruya, the steep cobbled streets were an endurance test, not aided by the 30 minute football game against some of the local kids, which, despite a deserved victory for the europeans, was not easy at over 3000m. After a bit of condor watching, and a rather bizarre attack by 4 stray dogs on a Donkey it was time to leave Iruya return to Humahuaca, and spend the remainder of our Pesos before our bus to Villazon, and Bolivia.
]]> Ups and Downs of travelling — Puerto Iguazo, Argentina http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/benihnio/rtw-2005/1146407280/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/benihnio/rtw-2005/1146407280/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/benihnio/rtw-2005/1146407280/tpod.html Fri, 02 Jun 2006 14:16:02 -0400 Wanderlust!
Puerto Iguazo, Argentina

After an overnight bus from Buenos Aires to Puerte Iguazu, and I arrive bleary eyed at my new hostel early in the morning. I meet a couple of Swedes, full of energy and about to head off to the famous Iguazu falls, as it was there second day there they knew how to get there cheapest so I thought I would tag along, having nothing better to do.

We arrive at the falls and pay a measly 30 pesos (6 pounds) to see one of the most impressive sites so far, ranking up there with Ayers Rock and Angkor Wat. Firstly we decided to walk over to an island that offers great views of the falls, and was carved out by the 2 strongest points of the falls. The walk to the Island was surprisingly eventful, as we encountered numerous coatis an animal I had never even heard of, long nosed creatures similar to monkeys crossed with anteaters. These strange looking creatures were very inquisitive, looking for food from the tourists. We also saw a monkey with a reverse mohican like Keith Flint from the prodigy, leaping acrobatically with the falls an impressive back drop to his antics.

The wild life around the falls was an added bonus, but even with out the strange mammals, huge soaring birds, and plentiful mettalic butterflies, the Iguazu falls would have been a highlight in anyone's world tour.

You could hear the roar of thousands of tons water long before you could see it, and rounding that bend to witness the panoramic view of the falls, caused us to stop in our tracks, even getting my Swedish friends to take there eyes off the particularly attractive Argentian tourists we had been following for the last 10 minutes. The power of the large falls, known as the garganta del diablo (the devils throat) contrasted by the beauty of the countless smaller falls that trickled their way down the cliffs was spell binding, for a while. A few photos later and we were following the good looking girls again...

The trip to the Island took us closer to the falls, and if anything they looked even better close up, what I had previously thought to be trickles of water were actually giant cascades, any of which alone would be worth a visit, but they paled in comparison to the power houses.

A quick boat ride over to the island, we opted against the adventure tour, another 30 pesos to go in a boat and get soaked, and relaxed on the beach for a bit before exploring the Island. The view from the look out point on the Island was mesmerising, quite literally as I feared that one of my new Swedish friends was in the thralls of hypnosis, not taking his eyes of the falls for nearly half an hour, neither moving nor talking in this time, until his friend decided to wake him from his trance. So far I had only viewed the falls from below, so we decided to trek up to the top, and take the free train to the garganta del Diablo.

The ride and the walk from the train was a picture of calm, the cataracts that lead in to the falls appeared as still and flat as a mirror, deceiving as to the ferocious force of nature that was to come. The garganta del Diablo is the supposed highlight of any visit to the falls, but for all it´s power and spray that it kicked up as it crashed down into the valley of it´s own creation, with hundreds of smaller falls assisting in the torrential flow of water, I was definitely more impressed with the intricate patterns weaved by the many smaller falls, and the overall panoramic view of the falls from the Island of San Martin.

It was getting late and the last train was set to leave soon, but we were in no hurry enjoying the majesty and power, as calm slow moving waters were transformed into a rushing beast. As the many tourists started to leave we managed to watch the falls virtually alone, with the exception of an Irish guy only too willing to take pictures of us, and an official looking man with a whistle. We were ushered from the garganta del Diablo by the man with the whistle, and noise of officialdom that translates into any language, wanting to ensure we reach the last train before it departs. A final bit of wildlife watching as we spot a cayman, smallish crocodile type thing, from one of the bridge that spans the cataracts of Iguazu. Managing to snap off a final picture before the man with the whistle is upon us again.

Waiting for the bus back to the town of Puerto Iguazu the Irish guy, who has spent the last week in Puerto Iguazu tells us about Cuba Libre apparently the best place to drink and dance in the town, he was not wrong. After convincing my Scandinavian friends to eat at a proper restaurant and try the fabled Argentine beef, a week in Argentina and they had not had a steak, the fools, we set off to Cuba Libre, it was dead, we remembered that we were in Argentina and nothing gets started until 1, so we head over to our sister hostel* to play a bit of pool and practice our Spanish. 1am sneaks up on us amid a pool tournament and we venture out to Cuba Libre. In the 3 hours since we first saw this small, lifeless bar it had turned into a seething, hot, sweaty mass of Argentinians and a few intrepid tourists. After a few more close encounters with the local wildlife, and discovering the dancefloor at the back of the bar I rolled back to our hostel with Freddie, (Swede 1) leaving Martin (Swede A) with his new Brazilian friend, at 6:30am.

Awaking far too early and in no state to make a decision I decide to accompany the two Swedes through Paraguay, and then onto Bolivia was my plan, little did I know at the time I was going to travel with Martin and Freddie for the next 2 weeks, such is the joys of travelling.

*I should probably mention how bad the hostel was at some point, sharing the same name as one highly recommended in the LP, it lacked even the most basic facilities, water, a flush, sheets that actually fitted the mattress, despite boasting a pool, dirty and mouldy, and free internet, "no funcionar". It´s sister hostel did not look much better but it at least had a bar, and functionl toilets, and a pool table, although ripped, and uneven.
]]> Finally a Bed — Salta, Argentina http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/benihnio/rtw-2005/1146692820/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/benihnio/rtw-2005/1146692820/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/benihnio/rtw-2005/1146692820/tpod.html Sat, 20 May 2006 13:28:56 -0400 Wanderlust!
Salta, Argentina

After 2 consecutive overnight busses, and 3 in 4 days, Buenos Aires - Puerto Iguazu, Asuncion - Corrientes, and Corrientes - Salta, I was relieved to check into a hostel, lie down in a bed, and rest my weary body.

Unfortunately my chances of sleeping (admittedly at 7am straight after the bus) were hampered by a gentleman deciding to play Argentine radio in the dorm room. Tiredness eventually won a fairly one sided battle, but my Swedish friends were less than happy with this behaviour, I was just glad to not be in motion. It later transpired that the guy in our dorm was seeking solace in the radio as he had been kicked out of his home by his girlfriend/wife and was residing in a hostel and drowning his sorrows most nights.

Salta is a highly recommended place on the backpacker trail, good for trekking and horse riding and other such activities, surrounded by the majestic Andes. Unfortunately this backdrop to the city was permanently obscured by the mist that had descended around the city.

We occupied ourselves on the first day with a fruitless search for a Tourist Information office the biggest one on the map, no longer existed, although we did get to see some cool football related murals, including one of Maradona, and possible Pierre Luigi Collina, but it didn´t make much sense for it to be Collina. We searching for the Tourist office for 2 reasons, one to find out about trekking in the area without paying a lot of money for it (the man at the hostel said it was, "impossible to go trekking without a guide, here is a leaflet for my ´reasonably priced´ trekking company"), and also about the "Tren de los nubes" train of the clouds. When we eventually found a Tourist information place we discovered the reason that the big was closed. The big T.I. was at the train station for the "Tren de los nubes", which was broken and had been for a few years, curse you Lonely Planet. The extremely helpful lady at the T.I. place did tell us about how to go trekking without a guide, and gave us some wonderful advice on places to stop on our journey to Bolivia. It is in no small part thanks to her that we ended up spending my birthday in the incredible surroundings of Humahuaca, but that is another story.

After working out our plan of action for the next days trekking we had a stroll up the hill near Salta´s city for a grandstand view of the mist, as darkness descended while we had our milk shakes we watched the mist finally clear and the city light up below, we also discovered a little Jesus watching over the city, nothing like the scale of Río´s JC or many of the other effigies of Christ that adorn hilltops around the cities of South America, but it was the first one I had seen, along with the Virgin Mary that watches over Santiago.

After our exertions, it was time for a beer or 2, don´t drink the Salta Negra (black beer) it´s a very poor mans Guinness, and bed.

Our day of trekking started very early, I was beginning to think I had mss heard my travelling companions, and that they had said they were sadists not Swedish. A short bus ride out into the country side and, unable to find a map or any sort of indication of what kind of trail we were following. Martin and Freddie arguing over whether it was a round trip, or one way path, meant for horses to complete in a day, or for people to cover in 3-4 days. I was having flash backs to my time lost in the Blue Mountains, which had clearly defined pathways and lots of other tourists if you got lost out here you were in trouble, the path ways were sometimes obscure, and the number of tourists was minimal, in fact we did not see another soul the whole 8 hours we were trekking, and with mist deepening at times we were struggling to see each other.

In the end the most sensible decision was to the follow the path that ran alongside and continuously crossed the small river that led up into the mountains, safe in the knowledge that all we had to was find the river and follow it down stream to safety. After a good 4 hours maybe 5 we had ascended high into the clouds, and at a summit which afforded a spectacular view of white nothingness, it seemed sensible to me and Freddie, turn back and return the way we came. Alas Martin, still full of energy, had different ideas and proceeded to set off on his own, saying he would turn around in an hour and catch us up on the descent, and while me and Freddie were catching our breath he was gone, disappearing into the mist, never to be seen again...

Actually he did return, but not until after he had got lost, been surrounded by mist so that he could barely see his hand in front of his face, encountered wild horses, tried the emergency call number 112 (it didn´t work), ran for about an hour to eventually re trace his steps, and find the path down. Meanwhile me and Freddie were having our own adventures with the mist, and Cows that made noises that made them sound possessed, complete with horns that would easily kill a man and refused to move from our path until we had taken their picture. Also trapped in the ever thickening mist Freddie, being the happy go lucky light hearted kinda chap he was, mused on how he would actually tell his and Martin´s parents if we never saw him again.

Fortunately we did, as we were following the river back to the start point, we hear something thundering along behind us, fearing the demonic cows we were relieved to see Martin bounding along, dripping with sweat after running to catch us up.

Alls well that ends well, but it is never a good idea to go trekking off on your own, especially on the less trodden paths, in a country like Argentina. (It feels like one of those episodes of He-Man with a moral at the ending that helped mold me into the man I am today.)
]]> Corrientes — Corrientes, Argentina http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/benihnio/rtw-2005/1146588600/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/benihnio/rtw-2005/1146588600/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/benihnio/rtw-2005/1146588600/tpod.html Mon, 15 May 2006 19:33:12 -0400 Wanderlust!
Corrientes, Argentina

I have not written anything in the Asuncion entry because we arrived there late, there was no sign of any busses to Bolivia, there were no hostels as such, and we found a bus leaving for Corrientes to change busses to get to Salta, team Sweden´s next destination, in an hour. Not the most eventful experience, we tried Paraguayan cuisine a ham and cheese sandwich, and experienced some mathematic difficulties trying to change the right amount of Argentinian pesos, to give us the exact amount for the bus, and leave us each with 1000 guaraní note. This nearly failed miserably upon trying to pay when Freddie realise that his previous calculation, 3*8 = 16, was actually incorrect, throwing a few dollar bills at the surly ticket office man we eventually got on the bus. God bless America, well their illuminati inspired currency at least, US dollars will get you everywhere.

Another confusing border crossing later, dogs, x-ray machines, missing passports, and no departure cards, all conducted in Spanish, and I´m back in the land Che*.

We get off the overnight bus in Corrientes, which turns out to be an all day stop over as the next bus to Salta is at 8, again an overnight bus, a good way to travel, if you can sleep on them, unfortunately I am not the best sleeper, having adapted to sleeping in dorms with snorers, and wrigglers, sleep talkers, and the odd shagger, I am still unable to sleep on a moving vehicule for any longer than 30 minutes at a time. Corrientes turned out to be a wonderfully picturesque town, the border with Paraguay defined by the Río Paraná, it was a brilliant sunny day perfect to explore the towns old fashioned streets, with many murals and works of art, little pedestrian streets with fountains and statues as well as a couple of large parks to play a bit of football in. Predictions for England Vs Sweden, the more aggressive tactics will be the undoing of either teams and negative tactics seemed to be the way to success in a game of one shoe football (not as I originally thought playing football with one shoe, but a great game when only 3 players and a football, each player has a shoe to defend as a goal, and the player must hit someone else´s shoe to score, concede 5 goals and you are out, last man standing wins).

Corrientes is a town seemingly dominated by school kids, with boys uniforms of long white jackets making them look like scientists who had shrunk themselves. As our brief but very enjoyable stay in Corrientes came to a close, we attracted a group of mini scientists with our football. These were kids from a private school in Corrientes, where they were studying English, and gave us an escort to the bus stop we needed, to get the collectivo to the Terminal. We happily chatted about football and the world cup, and no mention was made of Maradona. Bidding farewell to our helpful little friends, I realised that the people of Argentina were exceptionally friendly, except in Buenos Aires, I guess it is big/capital city complex, my liking of large cities has still not improved, but I was getting a much better feeling about South America, after being largely unimpressed by the cities of Santiago, Mendoza, and Buenos Aires, the number of other tourists around was also decreasing, I wonder if that was also a factor...

I was still pondering on such matters when we boarded our second consecutive overnight bus, my third in 4 nights, the other night being in Puerto Iguazu, where I did not get to bed until 6:30am...

*Che Guevara being the most famous Che, but it wasn´t his name, rather Che is a nickname by other Spanish speaking Latin American countries for people from Argentina, due to their pronunciation of ´Y´ and ´LL´ sounds, having done my first Spanish classes in Buenos Aires it is also the accent I have picked up, and will have to shake off soon as I head to Bolivia, although apparently Spanish women find it very sexy, so maybe I won´t lose it all together...
]]> Ciudad del Este — Ciudad del Este, Paraguay http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/benihnio/rtw-2005/1146595620/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/benihnio/rtw-2005/1146595620/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/benihnio/rtw-2005/1146595620/tpod.html Sun, 14 May 2006 19:52:52 -0400 Wanderlust!
Ciudad del Este, Paraguay

If you read the Lonely planet, you would believe that Ciudad del Este is full of criminals, with everyone running around in black and white hooped tops, and big bags saying SWAG slung over their shoulders. Ciudad del Este has a bad reputation because it uses it´s geographical posistion bordering 2 strong rich countries, Argentina and Brazil, to flog cheap and knocked off goods to it´s more affluent neighbours. Our experience in the city was very pleasant, after a bit of confusion about geting our passports stamped, the only problem that we experienced was that Paraguayans are very bad at giving directions and either walk very fast or do not know how long 10 minutes is. After getting our stamps we saw some fellowe travellers from the bus get in a taxi, not having any Paraguayan money, we thought it would be easier and thriftier to walk. So we asked some one where the bus terminal was, and how long it took to get there, only 10 minutes walk that way. Sounded easy so we shouldered our packs and set off. 10, 20, 30 minutes later and we ask some one else, "10 minutes that way". So off we set again, enjoying our pleasant surroundings as we passed playing fields and parks a plenty. 10, 20, 30 minutes later and we ask again, "2 blocks that way". Ok 2 blocks we are getting somewhere, what the kind Paraguayan did not mention is that one of the blocks was a park that spanned 3 football pitches, and then some smaller pitches. Getting disheartened we stop at one of the smaller pitches and have a bit of a kick around. My Swedish companions had made the inspired decision to buy a football. Soon we had a couple of local kids playng with us, mirroring the World Cup group, England, Sweden and Paraguay, all we needed was for Dwight Yorke to turn up to represent Trinidad and Tobago...

He didn´t and if our little tournament is anything to go by Paraguay will be soundly beaten, and Sweden will finish top, but there was two of them, and they are both younger than me, but without Rooney, perhaps it will prove to be an apt indicator.

So after a conversing in the universal language of football, in Paraguay they do not speak Spanish as a first language, we asked the way to the bus terminal, "10 minutes that way", came the familiar response. 10, 20, 30 minutes later, after heading in the wrong direction for 10 minutes, we are eventually given some useful directions, behind the football stadium and to the right.

Eventually we arrive at our destination, and meet again the fellow travellers from the bus, it would have been a pleasant walk except for my 20 kilo home strapped to my back, I´m beggining to hate my backpack.

A quick eat and we get the next bus to Asuncion, the capital of Paraguay.
]]> Don´t forget to wipe your feet... — Foz De Iguazu, Brazil http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/benihnio/rtw-2005/1146501900/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/benihnio/rtw-2005/1146501900/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/benihnio/rtw-2005/1146501900/tpod.html Sun, 14 May 2006 19:32:11 -0400 Wanderlust!
Foz De Iguazu, Brazil

We left Puerto Iguazu on our adventure through the rarely travelled route of Paraguay, but before that Brazil, we crossed into Brazil, on our bus, we got off the bus to go through passport control, stamped out of Argentina, back on the bus, and we are Brazil, the home of Samba, the best footballers, corruption, favelas and carnaval, and we were all ordered off the bus, asked to wipe our feet, and back on the bus, through Foz de Iguaçu (the Brazillain equivalent of Puerto Iguazu) and into Paraguay, I guess the Brazilian stamp will have to wait...
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