soul_surfista's TravelStream™ — Recent TravelPod.com entries TravelStream™ news feed for member soul_surfista on TravelPod's free travel blogs service http://www.travelpod.com/syndication/rss/soul_surfista en-us Copyright ©2009 TravelPod.com Sun, 18 Mar 2007 22:20:03 -0400 http://www.travelpod.com Life on the street and history lesson — Lima, Peru http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/soul_surfista/world_of_waves/1168440900/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/soul_surfista/world_of_waves/1168440900/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/soul_surfista/world_of_waves/1168440900/tpod.html Sun, 18 Mar 2007 22:20:03 -0400 A year touring some of the worlds best surf spots, enjoying different environments and cultures and causing mayhem and laughter wherever possible. Its a simple plan, but a good one.
Lima, Peru

I arrive back in Lima with jb as Emma is arriving two days before Eva. I choose a different hostel without the annoying Liverpool fan and closer to the action of Miraflores, the nicest part of the city. After an early night I am ready to do some sight seeing, I decide to visit the Archealogical and Anthopological museum. Eva and I plan to visit Machu Picchu and I aim to get a briefing on Peru's history and the interesting stuff they have dug up over the years.

I jump in a taxi and in perfect spanish, which I have practised as it is a bit of a mouthful, ask him to take me to the aforementioned museum. He nods, we agree a price and off we go. I know the general direction the museum is in and when he pulls up opposite a grand looking building, I pay him and jump out. I cross the major road towards the museum and as I arrive at the other side I am hassled by a big group of street kids. Even in the huge city of Lima I stand out and they all want money from the gringo. I feel sympathy for their plight but am aware that I have my camera and wallet in my pockets, I firmly tell them no and push through the crowd. I often give change or food to kids in need on my trip, but this time, there are too many and they are too close.

All the kids seem to understand my tone and leave me to focus on the next person, however one young lad is very persistent. I am walking fast and he is keeping up with a bag of sweets pressed to my stomach, constantly pleading for money. I push his arm away many times but it comes straight back, this is not the way to get money from me. I stop and shout at him to go away, he ignores me and continues to shove his sweets against me. I give him credit for his stubborness and perseverance, and no doubt this tactic works on many tourists, however his stubborness is matched by mine and I refuse to give in.

He finally quits his attempts once I begin to walk up the museum steps, realising his time is up. As I enter, I quickly realise that I have been dropped at an art museum, either they are all the same to my taxi driver or he was just after a quick win. I get directions from the desk and I need to head back down the main road I arrived on, to avoid the stubborn kid I take a walk through a nice park next to the museum to bring me out on the road parallel. I walk for a good 45 minutes in the midday heat and by then I am hot and sweaty. I jump in another very cheap cab and within another 5 minutes I am at the entrance to the correct museum.

After cooling off in the foyer and then purchasing my ticket, I begin to make my way round the old building. Most of the exhibits are explained in Spanish and some in English too, I decided against paying for a guide to translate and instead try to guess myself what is what. The museum route goes in pretty much chronological order and charts the history of Peru by regions and its most important periods, displaying tools, ceramics etc and lots of decorative items. The period of the Inca's and the Spanish colonisation that followed was the most interesting for me as the pre-Incan stuff was very basic, although the burial practices and processes to alter skull shapes were different!





After nearly 2 hours I have seen everything and am ready to sit down, relax and eat a good meal. As is my habit when away from jb....I decide to treat myself. I walk for another half an hour towards a large church dominating the skyline in the distance, expecting and finding a main road with taxis passing. I jump in a cab and ask for Las Brujas de Cachiche, a restuarant recommended by someone at my hostel for the lunchtime buffet. I arrive at the doors of a very swanky looking restuarant with wild windblown hair and sweaty sun crisped face, I am dressed in sandals, denim shorts and a scruffy t-shirt. I smile warmly at the smartly dressed doorman as I advance towards him and whilst looking me up and down he opens the heavy door for me. I walk into the entrance hall of the cool, airy restuarant and remove my shades. Right in front of me is a group of 7 or 8 well heeled people in business dress waiting for a table. They part either side of the entrance hall to let me through, I can feel their eyes on me, the sweaty looking gringo who looks like he has become lost looking for the beach. I ask for a table for one and am led to a very central position, surrounded by tables full of suits having business lunches. The waiter informs me that the buffet costs 89 soles, (about 14 pound) very expensive in Peru, most meals I have paid for cost between 4 and 10 soles. This gives you unrestricted access to the 5 course buffet and includes two drinks of your choice. This sounds like a good deal to me and I order a glass of red wine to kick off. The food is fantastic, mostly traditional dishes with modern twists and I am determined to try as much as possible. I have no other plans for the day so I pace myself and after each plate have a good twenty or thirty minute break, I use this time to write out some postcards. Every time I look around to see whats going on there is someone watching the lonesome surfbum dining amongst executives, I hold their gaze and smile, some nod and smile back but most look away.






After nearly three hours in the restuarant I cant eat another thing, most of the other diners have left. I pay my bill, have a good look at the beautiful breast-focused artwork and leave. I am only five minutes walk from the cliffs overlooking the beach and decide a good walk along the coast would help me digest the epic meal I have just treated myself to. The coast section of Miraflores is made up of nicely kept parks full or runners, cyclists, skateboarders and hanggliders....all above an ocean packed with what must be a couple of hundred surfers. I know the water is pretty filthy so I am not envious, especially with that many surfers competing for pretty poor waves. Whilst living and working near Manchester, constantly aching to be closer to the coast and the waves, I often dreamt of living and working in a city with its own surfbreaks.....that dream has now been shredded. Already on this trip I find I can only truly enjoy surfing fully without big crowds, in clean water and away from the hectic city life. The fast growing popularity of our sport together with the disregard many governments have for the health of their coastlines is making this harder and harder to find.





That evening I wander a few blocks down to a German style bar I have noticed which serves good European beers. I pick out a stool at the bar and enjoy a cool pint whilst watching some Bundesliga footage. A fat, moustacheod dapper looking fella sits at the stool next to mine and says hello. He asks me if I am German, presumably becuase I am watching the football, I turn to tell him I am English and notice a large bandage around his big neck. He introduces himself as Ricardo, he has lived in Lima all his life. Without prompting he proceeds to tell me how he grew up in the roughest neighbourhood in Lima and along with his brother has built up a successful car trading business. He speaks Spanish to me but inserts what English he knows when he can , I can understand most of what he is telling me. After five minutes or so, he stops telling and starts asking....whats your story?...where have you been?...how long have you surfed?...you have surf in England??!!...the usual stuff. After this initial exchange of information, we have a short period of silence whilst we both stare at the football. I break the silence with the obvious question....So what happened to your neck? I am also talking in a Spanish/English hybrid.

He laughs and offers to buy me my next beer whilst he tells me, sounds like a good deal to me... The day before Ricardo had been downtown doing some business and was returning to his three week old Mercedes. As he opened the door he felt a strong arm grab his right arm and twist it behind his back, at the same time he felt a knife pressed to his throat. The mugger demanding he hand over his wallet, car keys and watch. Ricardo sat back and smiled at this point, he was obviously a practised storyteller...he took a good swig of his beer and told me what he said to the guy who had a big knife to his throat. He calmly told him where he grew up, the business he was in, the contacts and people he knew and then told him where to shove his knife....a brave man! The mugger thought this through and increased the pressure on Ricardo's throat, repeating his demands....Ricardo gave him more shit in return and only when the attacker ran the sharp knife along the length of his neck, opening up the top layers of skin did he hand over his wallet and watch. The guy took them and ran, leaving a fuming Ricardo with his Mercedes, he was angry he couldnt get a look at his face. He tells me that the mugger had been wise not to take the shiny new Mercedes after all...with his contacts he would have had a good chance of tracing it and punishing the thief. He takes off his bandage to show me the long line of stitches round his neck.

When his story is finished I tell him that he really should have known better given his background, he agrees and says that he plans to use a less conspicious car when visiting the less desirable neighbourhoods. He has also grown less wary and cautious with his age and success, this has served as a wake up call for him and it wont happen again. He says he is ready to fight fire with fire now...I can only assume he has procured a weapon of some sort! He assures me that Lima is very safe, providing you stick to the right areas and use your head, the strong police presence I have noticed on the streets of Miraflores is certainly reassuring.

We talk about other things and he is a really funny and friendly guy, but there is always some comment or look that reminds me that this guy has certainly been involved with heavy stuff in the past. I get the next and final round and as we clink glasses I warn him to make sure it doesnt leak out of his neck! He cracks up laughing and slaps me on the back with his big meaty hand...telling me how much he loves English humour and has learnt a good deal of his English from DVD's of Fawlty Towers, Only Fools and Horses and more recently The Office. He invites me to his house to eat and meet his family the next day, which I am sure would have been an enjoyable and interesting experience. In his broken English he actually did invite me to come and eat his family, another meaty slap to the back when I explained the comedy of his mistake! However, I have to decline as Eva is arriving the next day and we want to get straight to San Bartolo.



]]> Birthday bash and beachtime with Eva — San Bartolo, Peru http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/soul_surfista/world_of_waves/1168959600/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/soul_surfista/world_of_waves/1168959600/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/soul_surfista/world_of_waves/1168959600/tpod.html Sun, 18 Mar 2007 22:11:59 -0400 A year touring some of the worlds best surf spots, enjoying different environments and cultures and causing mayhem and laughter wherever possible. Its a simple plan, but a good one.
San Bartolo, Peru

I wake up very excited about Eva's imminent arrival, I need to kill time in Santiago somehow. I wander around Miraflores buying a few new clothes in the cheap as chips department stores. At one point a large chunk of what looks like fog passes the main street which I am walking towards. As I enter the tall patch of fog, its feels fantastically cool and wet...I realise its actually mist from the sea and am very surprised. I stand on the corner and enjoy the refreshing feeling, it would take me at least 20 minutes to walk to the cliff overlooking the sea and yet here is a big chunk of sea mist floating down the main dual carriageway of Miraflores trapped between the skyscrapers either side.

On my way to a large department store called Ripleys I am passed by a very noisy procession of demonstrators, I cant quite tell what they are making a fuss about but they urge me to join in. I am walking in the opposite direction and cant identify their cause, so I leave them be. After getting bored of the shops I grab a bite to eat and decide to head to the offices of LAN airways to discuss flight schedules for the remainder of my RTW ticket. I hear the demonstrators again before I see them, and when I get closer to the LAN offices I realise they are LAN employees making a stand for better wages. They are not blocking the entrance completely, only making there feelings known in loud fashion. When I get through the doors of LAN there is a huge queue and only a few staff, obviously the majority are outside shouting themselves hoarse. I decide its not a good time and as I remember some of the hassles LAN have caused me and jb by canceling us off flights and changing dates for no reason, I decide to lend a little support against the organisation. As I exit the front doors and walk away, I face the protesting crowd and punch the air to show them my support. I instantly feel stupid and self conscious in front of all these people, but they cheer my air punch and a group of people close to me grab me and urge me to join them. I have had a few flights with LAN and always found the flight staff very nice, so I think - why not! I spend the next ten minutes shouting, cheering the guy with the loudspeaker and being told why LAN are being unfair with wages, holidays etc.. As much fun as it is to give the capitalist machine some stick, instead of working for it...I soon get bored and leave..saying goodbye to my new friends and hoping they remember me when I get my next flight with them to Auckland.

After relaxing back at my hostel and reading my book for a bit I have successfully killed the time I needed to, its time to go get my girl! The taxi that picks me up breaks down after 15 minutes, after helping him push it off the busy road I have to flag down another. It doesn't take too long and I arrive at the airport with a bit of time. Eva´s flight has arrived but the passengers haven't appeared as yet. I start chatting to a couple of authorised, honest looking taxi drivers to arrange our journey to San Bartolo. They are a couple of jokers and we very quickly have a good rapport going. They see I have three bottles of red wine with me (its hard to get good wine in San Bartolo), I tell them its to help celebrate my birthday, which is the next day, with my girlfriend who is arriving from England on this flight. When they find out its been over 3 months since I have seen her, they joke using crude jestures that I wont have time to drink wine tonight... whilst laughing, I agree....after all I will have so many presents to open! I tell them its no joke and they had better be strong guys because her bags are going to be very heavy....loaded with xmas and birthday gifts.

Eva finally arrives and I shout her over the crowd of other people waiting, she looks as stunning as ever, despite having just done a 21 hour journey with no sleep! After big hugs and kisses in front of the crowds, like something out of a Meg Ryan film, we are ready to get going. The driver is relieved to find that Eva's bag has wheels and a handle as I wasnt wrong about its weight! Although at the time I suspected it was more than likely due to hair straighteners and lip-gloss than my presents! After agreeing a fair fee with the driver, we hop in the back of the taxi and begin to catch up. Eva is understandably tired and is soon lay across the back seats trying to snooze on my lap whilst I continue my banter and Spanish practice with the driver. We arrive at the hotel in San Bartolo and Eva is very happy with the room, not as excited as me though. Its by far the best room I have had on the trip, with a large comfortable bed, power shower, private balcony and beautiful view of the sea and surf break.

Its about 11.30pm by the time we have settled in our room, half an hour until I am 27. Eva has some kind of birthday surprise organised for me and she needs me out of the way. I open a bottle of red, sit on the balcony and get reacquainted with my Ipod and sound proof headphones (I had got my Dad to buy one and put all my music on, I had finally replaced the one I had stolen three months back in Costa Rica..thanks Dad). Its a real pleasure to listen again to some carefully selected classics from Hendrix, The Clash, James Brown, The Beatles and all sorts of other stuff... I have my eyes closed and the only other thing I can sense is the sea breeze. It is already my best birthday ever and it hasn't started yet!!





When Eva brings me out of my sonic world with a tap on the head its really difficult to take those headphones out. When I do, she wishes me Happy Birthday with a big kiss, its 12.15am and I am a year older. She leads me back to the bedroom to see a dozen balloons (explaining her slightly reddened face!), a handful of beautifully wrapped presents on the bed and a finely decorated gingerbread surfboard with a candle in lighting the room. I was stunned...she had obviously gone to a great effort to make my day special. The homebaked gingerbread surfboard was the first casualty, I make the traditional wish before blowing out the candle and take a good bite out of the tasty treat. I am urged to open the card and presents but first I match them with the gifts I have picked up for Eva whilst in Ecuador and Peru. The presents are for Christmas and Eva's nameday, for those who dont know..its tradition in Czech for each name to have a day of the year allocated to it for celebrating. Apparantly when people get to an age when they dont want to celebrate birthdays anymore, they only celebrate their nameday. Nice idea... anything that gives you excuses to party gets the thumbs up from me!





We take it in turns to open a present each and luckily we are both very happy with them. I get a cool t-shirt, the new Aim CD which gets whacked straight on, a couple of good books as I have run out, copies of a bulky Mighty Boosh box set waiting back in Manchester and by far the best gift of all.......three cans of my beloved Guinness!! Contrary to my earlier joke about Eva's hair straighteners, she has sacrificed a lot of baggage weight allowance to bring my heavy presents and some warmer clothes which I needed from home..thats true love! Eva receives some beautiful Alpaca wool and silk clothes from the mountains of Peru (a pashmina, scarf and poncho - perfect for the English winter) and a range of handmade jewellery to match - from artists I have met on the beaches of Ecuador and Peru.

The next morning we wake to beautiful weather, me and jb had been a bit worried as we had experienced nothing but fog and clouds for the last week! We spend the day on the beach relaxing and catching up, tasty seafood and beers are served to us right on the beach without having to move an inch. That night we get dressed up, start the night in style with guinness and red wine at our hotel and jump in a taxi with jb and Emma a bit north up the coast. We have a meal on the Pan-am, and then head to a recommended night club nearby. Its packed full on the dancefloor in front of a live band playing some good music, we seem to be the only westerners in the place! Eva is slowly getting used to being stared at wherever we go, something me and jb got accustomed to long ago. After milling in with the crowd for a while, I splash out on VIP wristbands to allow us access to private bars and seatings areas above the stage and main dancefloor. After plenty of birthday drinks and securing some comfy seats upstairs, we are ready to get stuck into the dancefloor. Noticing jb's distinctively English dance moves (similiar to morris dancing but with less style and coordination), the live band strikes up a song by the english band Keane...I am not a fan and am glad when they return to the latin american stuff which is much better for shaking your hips to. Its been a fantastic night and we make it home very late and very drunk as planned...









We spend the next few days recovering and enjoying the continued good weather. I take Eva to Santa Rosa, a much quieter, longer and nicer beach 20 minutes walk north, we have it to ourselves. It is notable for its consistently heavy shore dump which provides a pleasant crashing sound and refreshingly cool spray. In between sets I brave it for a bit of a swim, I get out ok but almost get slammed back onto the beach when trying to get out. Whilst having a paddle, Eva misjudges the strength of one broken wave and gets knocked off her feet, I cant help but laugh. She punishes me by burying me up to the neck in sand and giving me a confusing set of organs! nice...





We spent our good mates Scottys birthday on the same beach with jb and Emma, drinking beers, playing games and tackling the aforementioned shoredump with vigour. After a few beers we had no fear of the overhead waves crashing onto dry sand, and took great pleasure in getting washed up the beach on our arses for about half an hour. Eva and Emma watched on with bemusement and slight apprehension of an impending accident. Luckily no one was hurt, although at one point I thought I was going to be castrated by my own boardshorts!


]]> Football, memory maker and lucky policemen — San Bartolo, Peru http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/soul_surfista/world_of_waves/1167922140/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/soul_surfista/world_of_waves/1167922140/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/soul_surfista/world_of_waves/1167922140/tpod.html Sun, 04 Mar 2007 13:52:04 -0500 A year touring some of the worlds best surf spots, enjoying different environments and cultures and causing mayhem and laughter wherever possible. Its a simple plan, but a good one.
San Bartolo, Peru

We arrive in Lima at rush hour, its been a long day and is not helped by being greeted at our hostel by a prat in a Liverpool shirt, I already dont like the place. I am not at all surprised when he introduces himself with a strong southern accent, he is from Cheltenham and talks an unbelievable amount of BS.....a pretty typical Liverpool fan. ;-)

We have some tasty Chinese food for a change and a few beers to see Simon off, he leaves for Cuzco the next morning and we go South down the coast to San Bartolo. We have had some very memorable times with the blonde bombshell from Sydney - great waves, mountain adventures, epic drinking sessions. He has a unique mix of huge enthusiasm and crippling indecision, it makes for great comedy when travelling! We know we are going to miss the young lad.



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We arrive in San Bartolo the next day to be greeted by an Italian fella called Serge, he introduces himself as the owner of 40 rooms in a prime location overlooking the main beach and break in San Bartolo. He asks us if we would like to look at a selection of rooms and whisks us down the stairs with his non stop chatter. Serge is an obvious salesman and he uses an interesting approach I have come across a few times in my job. He instantly tries to become your best friend and give the impresion that he is solely in business to bring his clients pleasure. Everything else is unimportant....

As he shows us round he is constantly using phrases like "I sell memories, not rooms" and "I dont need money, I only want to build your dreams". When he notices we are surfers he is keen to make us understand he loves surfing too "I only surf at night, by moonlight, you wont see me out during the day"...he is either really bad or he doesnt surf at all. With the stories and details about his life he puts across an image of a international womaniser and entrepenuer, he is obviously trying to impress us but somehow it doesnt quite stick. I actually quite like the fella and I know I can negotiate well with him to get us a good deal, after all money isnt important to him! In each room he point out things that mark what he calls his "unique style as a creative Italian", things like little portholes, wooden fishes on sticks and paintings of boats....in fact, his unique style is just very nautical. He shows us into a room with a balcony overlooking the break and bared natural stone giving it a feeling of a coastal cave. The room is very different to anything else we have seen on our travels and seems perfect for our purposes - a base to chill, surf and explore before our girlfriends arrive in a weeks time.

I remind Serge that money is not important to him and that we will more than likely be staying at his place for a few weeks when I suggest a price at half of what he asks for. After a lot of smilling, back slapping, rolling of the eyes and typically Italian expressive hand gestures he agrees to a price a good level below half way. Me and jb are happy with the deal and confident we can renegotiate when the girls arrive and we need two rooms.

That night we explore the main street of the town, competition between restuarants is fierce, they fight so hard for business they have young lads running down the road after cars and shoving menus in through the windows! We spend the next few days surfing at San Bartolo, a right hander in the land of lefts. Its great to be going on my forehand again and you can see how much you have improved by practising on your harder backhand. We consider night surfing by the light of the moon, but never get round to it...probably a good thing as its damn cold and there are lots of big urchin covered rocks to hit if you are not careful. We discover a great little place to have a post surf breakfast in town, they serve up huge fruit salads with great fresh produce on display. The range of fruits they offer is incredible, a fair few I have never seen or heard of before, such as the deliciously sticky Chirimoya (not sure what it is called in English). After tasting this fruit in my first fruit salad, I am keen to find out what it is. I wander along the shop wall trying to guess, then give up and ask...it is pointed out to me and I pick up the biggest one I see, as I do the soft skin gives way and my thumb goes deep into the heavy fruit. I dont have any choice but to buy it now and becuase I have picked the biggest one, I am surprised by the cost, its not cheap by Peruvian standards. I never got to eat the damn thing as jb put it in the fridge where it wasnt happy and it went nasty before the end of the day.






One morning surf without jb I was standing halfway down the groin where we paddled out from doing my warmup stretches for my shoulders. A big seagull perched on the lampost above me relaxed its bowels and dropped a big shower of crap all over my board. I laughed and figured it was a lucky blessing, after cleaning my board on the first duckdive, it turned out to be my best surf since arriving....from now on I search out lucky birdshit wherever possible.
It had been a long time since me and jb had watched football, nearly 4 months since Champions League action on the TV in Costa Rica. We were lucky enough to have a regional 5 a-side footy contest beginning in San Bartolo that week. On the opening night we got some beers and our seats in the basic viewing area around the hard concrete pitch. After a week warm up act in the form of three dancing girls sponsored by some cheesy crisp product, the footy begins. The first game is youngsters and me and jb choose our teams to support, no surprise he has gone for the guys in red and me the boys in blue. After so long without shouting and gesturing at Goodison Park or getting lively with the lads in the pub, it was great to cheer and shout my team in a Spanglish fashion! I was a lot more animated than most of the locals. More games followed, with the age and standard gradually getting higher. Me and jb noted that each team seemed to have a token fat lad to get stuck in and rough the other teams players up a bit, on a concrete pitch this often could be painful! I realise that the 3 older ladies sat in front of us, directly on the side of the pitch and in the line of fire, would appreciate a bit of shelter from the ball and the fatlads crunching tackles. I offer to swop seats and they are very grateful, we get a better view and are closer to the action but our big bottled beers are often in danger and need to be swept up to safety.

I chat to a local guy next to me about the difference between football in Peru and England, the mian one beign lack of funding and good coaching. Most kids learn their skills on the street and never get a chance to really develop to a competitive level. Football is huge here though. A local drunkard and character who has befriended us two gringos and adopted us as his nephews makes an appearance and dishes out his usual gifts of mustacheod kisses and fetid breath, making sure everyone sees he is the uncle of two gringos.






Me and jb decide that the policemen in San Bartolo have the best jobs in the world. They patrol the walkway above the beach all day, taking in the sun and the sight of the bikini clad girls on the beach. Then after ensuring that the crowds of Peruvian holiday makers are behaving themselves, they all settle down in the restuarant at the far end of the beach have some food, a beer and a snooze! There must be about 6-8 police patroling this small area, inside which there seems to be zero crime of any sort! This dosent stop them all from carrying guns of course, just in case someone splashes too hard or kicks some sand onto anothers towel...

I worry that this granting of firepower but with complete lack of action could lead to trigger happy, frustrated cops. My suspicion is confirmed one morning on my way back from a surf, I spot two young cyclists being shouted at by 4 policeman stood above the mini roundabout at the end of the beach access road. I slow my usual brisk walk down to observe and understand whats happening... It doesnt take me long to figure out that these 4 gun totting fellas have been in that spot most of the morning guarding the wet paint on the newly bright orange painted roundabout wall complete with big direction arrows on the tarmac. This is obviously a very important task compared to there usual routine and they are taking it very seriously. They have set up a line of stones to discourage drivers from entering, however there failed to protect from cyclists. It seems that whilst the four of them were distracted by some other police matter.... (perhaps a rogue seagull, unsightly seaweed buildup or a sand castle built without planning permission or abiding to proper building regulations).... the pair of cyclists have cruised in between the stones and left some criminally clearcut tread marks on the direction arrows! Both parties are getting wound up by the situation and as I recognise it is only a matter of time before it flares up and holsters are emptied, I quicken my pace again and head for home. I sleep well at night in San Bartolo knowing that our safety is in good hands!

Before leaving to explore Lima for a few days I am looking round for a suitable room to stay with Eva when she arrives. Our good man Serge is obviously very keen to secure my business and is turning on the charm, squeezing my shoulder, complimenting my approach to life and business and pointing out even more nautically related objects than usual! However, other than the room that I have let jb have, he doesnt have any rooms that I see as suitable. There is only one room that I havent yet seen and as with all the others, Serge is certain that I will fall in love with it and the "memories" it could create for me. I dont expect it to be suitable, but just to please our friend Serge before looking elsewhere I agree to have a look. There is a problem though, the room is currently occupied by a German family who dont leave until the day after me. Serge is unwilling to ask the father if I can look around, as, in his words "he is a typical German man and I dont want to upset him". I ask a few more questions and it seems Serge thinks this guy is very uptight, curt and easily angered...I guess he is not alone in seeing these traits as typically German. However, after making friends with some great Germans in Costa Rica, I am going to give this guy the benefit of the doubt and put it down to Serges Italian flair getting up his nose...

I walk up to the apartment and knock on the door, as if he has been waiting for me, the door instantly swings open and I am greated by a stocky blond fella with glasses and very tidy hair. After looking me up and down, he simply says "yes?" in a tone that is very obviously saying - what the hell are you disturbing me and my family for you scruffy surf scumbag??!! In my best polite English, trying desperately not to laugh, I explain the situation and ask if I can look around. His face shows he is obviously insulted by me in some way and he explains that they are about to go out, so no, its not possible. I am bothered by what this guys problem is and decide to push harder and see how commited he really is to this unfriendly, attitiude. I explain that I really only need 20 seconds and will be out of his incredibly tidy hair very quickly. Just as he is about to slam the door in my face I hear his wifes voice from another room, he stiffens, thinks for a second with his eyes narrowing on me in obvious hatred and then grumbles something inaudible as he widens the entrance and steps aside. I hurry inside and instantly know its not for me, its dark and a bit dingy, but I decide to extend the guys torture for a while longer. I walk onto the terrace where his smiling wife and beautiful two chldren are reading, I say hello and the wife greets me with questions about what I am doing in Peru. She has obviously heard everything as she tells me that they have really enjoyed the room and its a great place to stay. The kids and wife seem very friendly and happy to talk, no doubt any excuse to escape the guy with some bug up his arse is eagerly grabbed. After a few minutes I excuse myself, say thankyou and head back towards the door. Super tidy hair has not moved an inch, his face has gone a crimson red and his eyes are literally firing a thousand daggers a second, right at yours truly. I give him the biggest beaming smile I can muster, say thanks, and becuase I cant resist it...I hold out my hand to be shook. He looks at me as if someone has just served him some roadkill in a swanky restuarant, has a brief bodily spasm and says with barely constrained anger "just leave". As I walk out, feelin those daggers in my back, I make a mental note to ensure that our door is locked that night when we sleep.....

I return to Serge and when he asks me what I think, I reply "you are right Serge, he is a wanker!", Serge laughs hard, as he was asking about the room. I tell Serge the reasons why its not suitable, the main one being I expect there to be a triple homocide in there that evening! He is gutted, but when I later tell him about the more expensive room I have arranged in a hotel just round from his place he understands...after all, its memories and dreams that matter, not money.
]]> Mountain Warriors - breaking and entering! — Huaraz, Peru http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/soul_surfista/world_of_waves/1199025960/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/soul_surfista/world_of_waves/1199025960/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/soul_surfista/world_of_waves/1199025960/tpod.html Fri, 02 Mar 2007 17:21:59 -0500 A year touring some of the worlds best surf spots, enjoying different environments and cultures and causing mayhem and laughter wherever possible. Its a simple plan, but a good one.
Huaraz, Peru

For the full story of our mountain adventure and his altitude sickness in Huaraz I refer you to jb´s journal below

http://www.travelblog.org/South-America/Peru/Huaraz/blog-115 824.html

I will only add some extra photos and other details....

In truth we were lucky to make it down off Mount Churup without any injuries. As the four of us slid down the rocks in the dark we only had one torch! Fidel took the lead with the torch on his head and jb following behind, at the back me and Simon took it in turns carrying jb´s bag whilst the other used Simons digital camera screen to shed a little light on our path. A broken bone was never far away from my mind....

It was a great feeling to exit the tiny stone room we shetlered in at 6am the next morning. I hadnt slept much but the views of the surrounding mountians as the sun rose and a good soak for my feet in the ice cold stream made up for the night of discomfort. It had been a very long, exhausting and sometimes scary day but left the three of us with some good strong memories.








Gilf and his wife felt pretty bad when I recounted our mountain adventure to them. We felt a little let down that Fidel wasnt that well prepared, having only one torch and no credit on his mobile in a country with no mountain rescue service. The adventure could easily have been a lot more dramatic....

To make it for this they welcomed us into their families New Year celebrations with gusto. After a free meal and a bottle of wine we joined them in their front room for dancing and constantly flowing beers. As midnight came around a host of people appeared in the street, running round with lit fireworks like nutters...I set off the little squealing rockets I had bought earlier that day but after the excitement of our mountain descent they were a bit of an anticlimax! Simon and I get fully involved with the dancing with the ladies in the family ' young and old. Jb wisely keeps his two left feet planted under his chair....

After another hour or so, JB and Simon have had enough and are ready for bed...I am just getting going. I stay up till the early hours, sharing one glass and many beers with Fidel and the men of the family in Peruvian style and ensure all the ladies will remember my unique dancing style...no doubt the bruises on their toes will remind them for a while! The men are sharing mountain stories to dwarf the drama of our experience.

The next day we have a wander into town to have some food and buy our bus tickets to Lima for the next day. Jb tries the local delicacy of Guinea Pig but I am disapointed that I cant stomach it after the previous nights boozing, I like to try strange foods.

Gilf and his wife drop us at the bus station the next morning and give us each a silver laced ice pick as a parting gift, its a nice touch. When very drunk on New Years Eve, Gilf had been telling me how very happy they were to have us staying. The income we provided for his family meant they could celebrate the New Year with true happiness as business is rare out of the high season. We only saw a handful of other tourist for the time we were there.
]]> Christmas gifts from Huey!! — Huanchaco, Peru http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/soul_surfista/world_of_waves/1198161660/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/soul_surfista/world_of_waves/1198161660/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/soul_surfista/world_of_waves/1198161660/tpod.html Wed, 07 Feb 2007 14:27:22 -0500 A year touring some of the worlds best surf spots, enjoying different environments and cultures and causing mayhem and laughter wherever possible. Its a simple plan, but a good one.
Huanchaco, Peru

Due to half of Peru traveling around for the Christmas holidays I am forced to take a night bus to get to Huanchaco, my first one. I have heard mixed things about night buses, but I know that personally I struggle to sleep on transport so I am not looking forward to it. I decide to have a few beers and glasses of wine before boarding to help me sleep.

My seat is in the corner on the back row, not a great start! The guy jammed in next to me has a long beard, fills the seat a bit too comfortably and smells faintly of fish. When he quickly falls asleep he reveals an added bonus to his appealing character, he grinds his teeth! I open the window full, keep my head close to it and settle in for 8 hours of hell on wheels...

Before long, everyone around me seems to be happily snoozing, the gits! As we get lower in altitude and closer to the desert coastline, the bus gets hotter and more uncomfortable for me. I give up trying to sleep and fantasize of riding long warm waves followed by cold showers, my stolen Ipod and any kind of bed, in fact any kind of horizontal surface.

When I finally arrive, bleary eyed and dazed, in Trujillo I jump in a taxi for the half hour drive to Huanchaco. I direct the driver to the hostel jb is staying at and knock on its big doors at 5.30am, the owner answers and takes me to our room. He opens the door and I see a comfortable looking bed with jb crashed out on, I am ready to drop dead into mine and sleep for hours. I angle my boardbag to get in through the door and as I round the corner I see how small the room is and realise that the small double bed jb is spreadeagled on is the only bed we have! I am too tired to give jb any decent level of abuse for his incompetence so decide to leave it for later that day. I dump my stuff and crash on one side of what I soon realise is one of the most uncomfortable beds I have ever slept on, and that is saying something! After a few hours of dozing and chatting with jb we get up and go in hunt of a more suitable hostel, closer to the beach.

Despite feeling knackered, I know that the surf I have been craving will sort my head out. Once we dump our stuff at our new hostel 'El Malecon', we hook up with Simon who is doing some volunteer work at a surf shop/school. After catching up and having breakfast we suit up and get stuck into some small but fun lefthanders right in front of our hostel. Its good to be back in the sea and my shoulder becomes stiff and tired pretty quickly, but no problems so the weeks rest has done the trick. We share the water with the famous Tortilla Riders, they are local fisherman who for 1000's of years have been using these small crafts to catch their prey. They claim to be the worlds first surfers, pre-polynesian, thay may have a case. However, as they were riding waves simply to get back to shore after work and the Polynesians were doing it purely for the pleasure and devoted huge amounts of time to practicing, the Polynesians get my vote!











Our stay in Huanchaco was pretty uneventful, theres not much to do other than surf in the day and then play pool in the evenings. Christmas day was by far the best day.....after a quiet Christmas Eve we wake to find Huey (The God of Waves) has gifted us with some sizeable righthanders peeling into the bay where we hadnt surfed as yet. Fantastic!! After surfing them pretty much alone for an hour or so just in our boardies, it becomes too cold and we are forced to leave the water. We feel gutted we hadnt put our suits on as we didnt expect such good waves, but as we continue to watch the waves begin to deteriorate and close out a lot. It seems Huey was just smiling on us that day!

After drying out, having some lunch and xmas beers we introduce Simon to the board game Risk. We play for a few hours whilst steadily devouring more xmas beers. That evening we join a beach fire with locals and other volunteers that Simon has introduced us to. By midnight we are all suitably merry and ready for our beds.












One day, me and jb make a visit to a Pre-Incan Mud City called Chan Chan, 20 minutes into the desert from the coast. This has been uncovered from the sand that had buried it for many hundreds of years. The precise building of the cities walls and the designs within are very impressive, but the chamber that most amazes is the bath house. It is huge, about the size of a football pitch, no one is bathing in it any more (I was very tempted) but it is still filled with water and has created a small oasis in the desert. Huge banks of reeds and other plantlife provide sustenance for fish and birds, the sight is quite alien and beautiful in such a dry, desolate environment.











Jb's foot is very sore still and needs some time out of the water, so after only a week back at the coast I am to head back to the mountains for New Year. I am happy to do so, as Huanchaco gets very busy and more expensive for New Years. Plus, we had enough attention and families asking for photos with the lanky gringos when it was quiet! We are bound for Huaraz in the Cordillera Blanca, it is the main spot for tourists to begin mountain expeditions in high season and is close to some of the biggest mountains in South America. I am really keen to climb some decent mountains and the hostel we have booked has suitable gear to rent. The anticipation is great....
]]> Escape to the mountainous land of Incan gold! — Cajamarca, Peru http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/soul_surfista/world_of_waves/1166134620/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/soul_surfista/world_of_waves/1166134620/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/soul_surfista/world_of_waves/1166134620/tpod.html Wed, 07 Feb 2007 13:42:49 -0500 A year touring some of the worlds best surf spots, enjoying different environments and cultures and causing mayhem and laughter wherever possible. Its a simple plan, but a good one.
Cajamarca, Peru

For the first time on this trip I purposefully head away from the beach to see something else inland, I am excited. The bus ride is the best yet - big, adjustable seats, aircon and free drinks and snacks! I certainly got some strange looks and had plenty of questions from the locals at the bus station in Chiclayo regarding my huge boardbag. I quickly got bored of the laughter in response to me explaining what is inside. I also developed some witty responses to them telling me there are no waves in the Andes.







more photos up top........


As we wind our way through the Andean foothills towards Cajamarca I am having a chat with my doctor regarding how best to fix my fragile stomach and shoulder. The prescription presented is something I can live with - a good comfortable bed, good food and pleasant surroundings. My doctor insists that I find a good hotel in Cajamarca and pamper my self for a night or two. I argue with him for a short while about the expense and how its not proper for a surfer/backpacker, however he stamps on these arguments with force......after all, this doctor is inside my own mind.

I get a taxi from the bus station, attracting more looks than usual with my boards, I am now 3,400 metres above sea level (I dont fancy the trudge down to the beach for a dawn session!). I tell the driver to take me to a three star hotel in the city centre, we pull up at the Las Americas Hotel and it looks perfect, inside is modern and comfortable with big leather sofas and marble floors. I present my scruffy self to reception and they organise a room for me, my bags are whisked away and I am escorted to my room to inspect its condition. I am delighted by what I find....a double bed with a proper mattress, carpet on the floor, hot water and that most incredible of inventions....a toilet seat. Luxury! After a hot shower and shave I return to reception and they try to check me in again, I look like a different person.

I ask for a restuarant recommendation where the food and wine is excellent, they direct me to La Pascana on the edge of town. After a short taxi ride I am sitting in a huge, beautifully decorated room with wooden pillars and ceilings. I am sat alone and only one of the dozens of other tables is being used, I am eating early for Peruvians. I order a bowl of Criolla soup, a prime steak cooked rare and a half bottle of a quality Chilean red. Its a good job I am hungry as the soup is almost a meal in itself....it is a rich mixture of spagetti, mince beef, onions and a fried egg! I recognise it as a perfect hangover cure and use it many times more in Peru for that purpose. The steak is cooked to perfection and is deliciously tender, the wine accompanies it perfectly. I am happy and with a full belly for the first time in days.

I return to my comfortable room and have an early night, I am out for the count when my head hits the pillow. The room and meal for the night only cost me 23 quid, my doctor agrees this is an absolute bargain!

The next morning I take a walk up a small hill near the central plaza to see the Inca seat. It is a large slab of rock on which, many hundreds of years ago, the great Incan leader Atahualpa used to look over his great city and ponder.....what exactly, who knows? Most probably, what to do with the huge amount of gold he had at his disposal. As it turned out, these rich deposits of gold, were his undoing. The Spanish conqueror, Pizarro, had heard of these riches and was determined to make them the property of Spain. When he arrived in Cajamarca, (the second city of the Incan empire at that time) he took Atahualpa hostage and demanded that his people fill a huge room with gold from top to bottom, or else he would behead their leader.

This didnt pose a problem at all for the Incas and they probably filled the room in the space of an afternoon with all sorts of pots, pans and beautifully crafted work. However, Pizarro simply said thankyou very much, took the room full off exquisite gold and the head of their leader. What a git!

On my way down the hill, I got chatting to a group of young lads. They asked lots of questions about England and football expecially. I tell them about my trip and surfing they get very excited about the Womens World Champion who is Peruvian and Nolberto Solano, the only Peruvian footballer I know. I showed them some photos and surf vidoes on my camera and took one of the group. They wanted to put some kind of braid in my plentiful mop of hair, I declined but bought a wristband from one of their stalls that was in the colours of Everton FC instead.











I spend a week in Cajamarca, enjoying good food and my comfortable bed. There are plenty of flash restaurants and swanky hotels for such a small town. This is down to the huge deposits of gold which are still being mined, providing employment and riches for many Peruvians. I arranged a mountain bike trip to some local historic sights like Otuxco, an ancient burial chamber cut into rock and some natural hot springs where the aforementioned Atahualpa used to bathe. I make some good friends with locals working at my hotel and they take me on a couple of nights on the town. I am pretty much the only western tourist in the town and get lots of stares and questions, but I am used to that by now. I dont speak English for about 6 days and really improve my Spanish, which is great. I have a few friendly discussions with the many shoe shine boys that hang around the main square, mainly regarding why I dont think my flipflops need shining up with some spit and polish!






I buy some Christmas presents for my mum and sisters, ceramics and handwoven Alpaca (a close relative of the Llama) and post them across the world. As Christmas approaches, more white faced tourists begin to roll into town and I say my goodbyes to my Peruvian friends to return to the beach and the true backpacking style, budget....
]]> The worst day and night of my trip so far!!! — Lobitos, Peru http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/soul_surfista/world_of_waves/1165969620/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/soul_surfista/world_of_waves/1165969620/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/soul_surfista/world_of_waves/1165969620/tpod.html Tue, 09 Jan 2007 17:06:08 -0500 A year touring some of the worlds best surf spots, enjoying different environments and cultures and causing mayhem and laughter wherever possible. Its a simple plan, but a good one.
Lobitos, Peru

In my humble but informed opinion the best cure for a hangover is a good cup of tea and a greasy, salty full English breakfast....as that wasnt available the morning after Jeff's birthday celebrations we went for a surf instead. A face full of cold seawater is almost as good.......but not half as tasty.

Luckily, the waves were nice and easy, fun short rides and then pulling out before you get caught by the shore dump. I caught my best waves since arriving in Lobitos and was really enjoying myself. I enjoyed one wave a bit longer than was wise and ended up caught between the beach and the shore dump (where the wave rises up sharply just by the shore and crashes hard onto the sand). I didnt have time to grab my board so opted to dive through the dump, as soon as I did it I realised my mistake as the wave took my fragile right shoulder and forced it backwards. I feel what I can only describe as a pop, then pain shot down my arm and went numb and useless, I recognised this feeling and realised my shoulder had finally given in.

After scrambling onto the beach with one arm I lie on my back and curse my body for stopping me surfing. From previous experience I knew I needed a week or so of rest, away from the temptation of the waves. I make the long walk back to the hostel feeling sorry for myself, surfing needs a helluva lot of practice to get to a respectable level and every time I feel myself getting somewhere, something stops me.




That afternoon I borrow a friends guide to South America and check out some suitable locations to spend a week in Peru. I decide on a small town in the Andes called Cajamarca, it has sights to see, is on my way South towards Lima (our final destination) and isnt too high and cold (I only own shorts, t-shirts and sandals). I decide to leave the next day and make the most of my time out of the water. However, an aggressive bacteria I must have ingested had different ideas. Later that afternoon I started to feel a little unwell....

That evening, as always we headed to Mama's place to feed. I am a very warm blooded specimen and if anything, too hot in most situations, as we walked there I begin to feel cold and shiver. Big Jimmy has had a very bad stomach bug for the last day or so and is having his first return meal that evening, he buys some pasta and eggs and asks his devoted Mama if she wouldnt mind cooking up a simple dish for his delicate stomach. Of course, she readily agrees, but her helpfulness knows no bounds and she begins to describe a remedy for Jimmys stomach problem. Between those of us who can speak some Spanish we eventually decode what I guess would be described as an old wives tale in England. She is very enthusiasticand certain of its healing powers, so I tell Mama that I am feeling pretty rough too and that I would also like to try her remedy.

So, following Mama's directions to the letter, Jimmy and me begin rubbing every bit of body we can reach and particularly the stomach area with a scrunched up ball of plain old newspaper. The idea being that whatever badness has hold of us will be drawn into the paper, a dubious theory, but when you are feeling this bad in the middle of nowhere you will try anything... After a good couple of minutes we figure that whatever bits of badness are more interested in living within a dusty ball of printed paper than our warm, comfortable insides will have jumped ship by now.
The next stage involves fire and lots of spit, vital ingredients for this kind of ritual. Mama strikes a match and sets the paper balls alight. Jimmy and I stand stupidly for a few seconds, twisting the ball to avoid cooking our fingers. Mama then urges the dumb gringos to take it into the street before we burn her restaurant down. We walk out the door and the wild winds of Lobitos snatch the paper out of our hands and down the street, we have been briefed that to complete the process we are to spit on the flaming ball three times. Jimmy cant be arsed and wanders back inside, i decide that to leave this kind of voodoo magic unfinished would be unwise and chase the flames, spitting as I go. Luckily this is a ghost town and no one is around to see my strange antics....

Back in the restuarant I manage to get about 6 forkfulls of fish and rice down my neck before my stomach cramps up in severe pain almost instantly. I begin to sweat profusely despite still feeling cold and I know I am in trouble. Even though very hungry I cant take another bite and just sit and try and bring control over my body, I dont speak or move and just absorb a stomach pain like nothing I have ever felt. When we leave ten minutes later my stomach is large and bloated, the pain is causing me to breathe very quickly and its actually quite difficult to walk.

We get back to the hostel and I am shivering heavily, I head straight to my room and curl up on my bed under the covers to try and get warm. It does nothing and I start to feel colder, meanwhile the pain has got even worse. It isnt coming in waves or ebbing at all, just getting steadily stronger. I dont feel at all nauseous but after a while I realise I have to eject what I have just eaten to try and take this pain away. I force myself to be sick a few times into our toilet and instantly the pain subsides to a dull ache. Because we are in the desert, water is heavily restricted and is cut off for most hours of the day, the toilet doesnt flush and I am forced to leave those 6 regurgitated forkfulls in the bowl to fester, nice!

I wander into the main hall to see the boys gathered round the TV with a film just starting. I beg for any warm clothes people can spare and after seeing how green my face is they are very generous. I soon feel like one of Great Scotts men in the Antartic, wearing three t-shirts, a fleece, a hoody and a woolen hooded jacket from Ecuador on top. I wear shorts, long trousers and three pairs of socks below....somehow I am still shivering. I lay back down on my bed, curl up and quickly fall into blissful sleep.

I awake about half an hour later and for one instant think I am inside some giant oven unable to escape...I am overheating massively and the pain in my stomach has returned. I am sweating like a polar bear in a jacuzzi, so I quickly strip layers of clothes until I feel a little cooler. I hobble over to our toilet and eject something from the opposite end of my body, i wont begin to try and describe it but it feels like it has come from the depths of hell! Either Mama's remedy came too late or she has cursed me instead, I keep faith in that good natured lady and put the blame squarely on my wayward spitting aim....

It is only 9.30pm and my entire night continues in this manner, putting layers on, taking them off, yo-yoing between fever and shivers, trips to the toilet (minus a seat, as is the norm in lots of Peruvian hostels) every half hour, those of you who have experienced food poisoning will be grimacing with the memories. Jb had the unfortunate experience of sharing a room with my sweaty restless self and the noxious odours that come from a heavily used toilet that wont flush. After what has to be the most uncomfortable night of my life, dawn finally arrives. I leave the room and manage to locate someone who can turn the water on and flush away the nastiness so at least jb doesnt have to wake up to it. I open the window wide to clear the air and crawl back under my covers, hoping to finally get some sleep.

I spend the majority of the day in bed and feel well enough and weak enough in the evening to attempt to eat. I manage to swallow about a quarter of the chicken and chips served me, its enough to make me feel stronger and no bad reactions. My first bad stomach problem on my year long trip is ending, unfortunatley its unlikely to be my last....

The next day everyone is leaving to go North or South, I am headed South with Simon to Chiclayo where we get seperate buses for Cajamarca and Simon to Huanchaco (where we plan to meet up for xmas). JB, Jimmy and Alex head back north to Mancora, its a good time for a split, me and JB have spent the last two months or so in each others pockets day in day out, thats not healthy after a while....

end of Lobitos entry

P.S. I still have a lot of catching up to do and hope to do a lot before Eva arrives in Peru on Friday. After having a nightmare with the basic interent services in San Bartolo (current location) the photos below are just a few teasers of what is to come. If you have been reading JB's entries you can match the pictures to the stories. I have only attached a few as JB will be adding the rest to his entries very soon.
Also make sure you check back to entry No8 in Canoa for a load of cracking photos (flamethrowing and everything!) that our good friend Simon has supplied because I had no camera at the time. There is also one other new photo on entry No13 in Mancora, this is worth seeing the total might of JB's beard the night before he shaved it off! Cheers Simon.
Bye for now...







]]> Party on the Pan-Am! — Mancora, Peru http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/soul_surfista/world_of_waves/1165192560/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/soul_surfista/world_of_waves/1165192560/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/soul_surfista/world_of_waves/1165192560/tpod.html Tue, 09 Jan 2007 16:32:48 -0500 A year touring some of the worlds best surf spots, enjoying different environments and cultures and causing mayhem and laughter wherever possible. Its a simple plan, but a good one.
Mancora, Peru

Off to the next country on our round the world adventure - Peru, the land of the Incas, gold, world class surf and old women who hock and then spit in the street! This final fact may be a surprise to some of you, as it was to me when I first experienced it. What passes for ok and normal in one culture can be seen as vile and antisocial in another. For instance, most Peruvians will look at you with some disgust if you let out even a small satisfied burp after a meal or a beer. In England, I can recollect many occasions where me or one of my friends have been heartily congratulated and judged on the length, volume and melody of a burp in the pub. This may say more about me and my friends than Peruvians but the difference in acceptable manners cannot be denied. I have witnessed here on a few occasions men and women forcing up a gob of spit with that unmistakable sound as it drags across the throat and then firing it onto the pavement. This appears to be a normal action for the women and the older ones seem to be the best at it, I even had one wrinkled woman looking straight at me across the aisle on a bus journey whilst she calmly and methodically picked her nose clean without batting an eyelid. I found this amusing and interesting rather than shocking or repulsive and look forward to cataloguing the bodily habits of cultures across the world on the rest of this trip. Sorry if you don't like it, but I just say what I see...

We are waiting outside our hostel in Cuenca and for the first time have a problem persuading a taxi to take two scruffy looking gringos with huge surfboard bags. Unlike the majority of taxi drivers we have met, this guy doesn't see the novelty in having these seven and a half foot monstrosities strapped to his roof. It is a sign of things to come that day...
After a slight delay we get a cab to the bus station and just make it in time to get our first bus, for once we are on a tight deadline as our next bus across the border only goes every 4 hours and we don't want to be left stranded. The route we take out of Cuenca isn't blessed with nice views but there is added excitement provided by rockslides into the road over one particular stretch, it wouldn't take a big one to shove the bus and its precious cargo into a sheer and fatal drop! We arrive in Machala 10 minutes before the bus is scheduled to leave, I quickly find out that the company we need is a good half hour walk across a busy town centre. In the sweltering midday sun, this is not an option. I begin to flag down taxis, but even though a lot of them have roof racks suitable to the task, the triangular Taxi sign just above the front windscreen makes it difficult, none are willing to strap our boards to the roof. I lose count of the number I attempt to persuade, but on the plus side I get good vocab practice under my belt - heavy, secure, no space, long, inside, straps, please, pretty please, sugar on top, damn, blast and go away!

After about 20 minutes and with the knowledge we have missed our connection, a local fella who has been leaning on a nearby lamppost watching my attempts with a wry grin on his face, offers to take us in his pick up truck. He crosses the street reverses it over and we chuck our gear into the spacious back, we jump up front and breathe a sigh of relief. We have accepted our bus has gone but just hope there is something to do or at least somewhere to sit in shade for the next four hours. We arrive at the bus terminal and as luck would have it our bus is just about to leave but they were waiting for the last two seats to be filled. We happily end their wait and settle in for the next leg.

Crossing the border was pretty straight forward, a couple of stamps in our passports and a hairy moment when our bus shot of into the distance with all our gear, I hurriedly found one of the crew and was assured they were coming back after we had all been stamped. We cross under a big Welcome to Peru arch on the border and no noticeable changes until we hit the desert coastline, I already miss the lush green hills that stretch along the coast of North and Mid Ecuador.

We arrive in Mancora and very quickly meet up with a Simon and Ghislaine who we met in Canoa. We check into our beach front hostel and take the very short walk to the happening area on the beach by a volleyball court to catch the last of the day's sun and meet a new group of travellers. There are lots of Australians, some English, a fella from Ireland just over on a holiday to name a few. I know jb will be happy to have plenty of English speaking folk around for a change.




Mancora is directly on the Pan-am and is quite a busy place, we have our first and last nights drinking on the roadside bars that evening, it is good noisy fun with big HGV's blasting their horns at regular intervals. We have a good crowd of people to speak to, many of whom are surfers or trying to learn. The next morning I get up for a surf and leave jb nursing a mixed hangover of booze and antibiotics for his foot. Tiny perfect waves are peeling across the beach from the reef which I am yet to see exposed so I paddle out to join only two other surfers. I catch a few fun waves but one dies very quickly and leaves me over the reef. My first reef break, without thinking I step down to push onto my board, my first contact is with a sharp rock which leaves a good two inch slice down the base of my big toe on my right foot. Literally the worst spot to have a cut as it is where I put all my weight when controlling the board. I decide to pass on the tiny waves for the rest of the day to let my foot at least begin to heel. After seeing what has happened to what was initially a small cut on jb's foot I am hoping to avoid a long term sore.

We stay in Mancora for another two nights, relaxing, enjoying the consistent days of sunshine and making friends. Simon entertains us and the rest of the beach one afternoon by paddling out to surf in nothing but a pair of bright pink speedos, a brave and highly entertaining pursuit. Not long after this the police arrived and escorted him off the beach. Well done mate!








We get news of a swell arriving in the next day or two and make the decision to leave for Lobitos, a world class break an hour and a half south of Mancora. We get a crew together which after me and jb includes Simon (Sydney), Big Jimmy (W.Aus), Alex (England) and two Israelis, Omar and Idan (hope I spelt that right). A proper lads surf trip....
]]> Flamethrowing and the night of the bite — Canoa, Ecuador http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/soul_surfista/world_of_waves/1164735120/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/soul_surfista/world_of_waves/1164735120/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/soul_surfista/world_of_waves/1164735120/tpod.html Tue, 09 Jan 2007 16:25:28 -0500 A year touring some of the worlds best surf spots, enjoying different environments and cultures and causing mayhem and laughter wherever possible. Its a simple plan, but a good one.
Canoa, Ecuador

It took me about an hour of pained discussions with the bus company in Atacames we travelled from Quito with to find out that local bus companies called Cooperativas operate services along the coast and we can take three sepèrate buses to get to Canoa, its a long trip but can be done in a day. We leave Atacames at 7.30am, Canoa is a definite surf break and is further south. We stand at the bus stop with a host of locals who are admiring our hefty pieces of luggage as usual. Our bus arrives and the drivers wingman, who hops on and off and collects fares, tells us that the boards will go on the roof. We survey the roof of the bus and see only a couple of metal hooks on either side and no rack, which means our trusty straps from far away England are no use to us. The guy clambers up the side on a ladder and we pass the heavy board bags up to him, he just begins to lash them onto the roof with what is only thick string when the driver beeps his horn in frustration. After further experience we find that the local bus services are very efficient and run like clockwork, mainly because everything is done at hyperspeed! The guy on the roof tells us to get on the bus quick and as there is no space for our rucksacks below we take them on a packed bus with us. The second we have set foot on the colourfully decorated bus the driver puts his foot down, we are the only tourists on there and get a mixture of funny looks and welcoming smiles from the locals as we rocket past them trying not to give anyone a black eye with our bags!

As we set off along dusty, hole ridden roads with regular speed bumps in the built up areas we realise that the guy is still on the roof! We cant see him but can see people on the roadside watching his James Bond style roof antics with amusement. The only image I can conjure is of him and our boards bouncing down the road behind us and as we are near the back we wouldnt see this amusing but painful sight either. Me and jb share nervous looks and cross our fingers until we reach the next stop and I crawl half way out the window to check the roof. The boards are there, intact and look very secure, Spiderman somehow managed to clamber down whilst the bus was moving and was already at the front of the bus to greet the new passengers getting on, I am amazed but happy!

The first bus takes us through a number of places, some we stop at and people get off to get hot food cooked fresh on the street. The bus itself is decorated with stickers, flags of the world, and pictures of Jesus in adult and baby form, the Catholic religion is very strong here and I guess the divine one is there to protect the bus and its fragile contents. You cant fail to notice that Ecuador is in the middle of an election campaign, the majority of walls, fences and posts are plastered with posters or painted with campaign material. The information is basic, the name of the candidate, the number to vote for and a mug shot. Mug shot being pretty accurate for most of them, there are dozens and dozens of different candidates, I presume some are local and not national. The local ones show some pictures that could quite easily be from the likely suspects folder me and jb flicked through at the Police Station in Costa Rica after my bag was stolen. The national ones are much more professional, nice colour pictures with a winning smile in the style of Blair and every one of the women running are beautiful, Mo Mowlam and Anne Widdecombe wouldnt stand a chance! Unless of course they put policies up in place of a photo, there is rarely even a party name! It makes me wonder how much the population outside of the cities know about what the various candidates stand for, or whether the majority of Ecuadors people vote for who they like the look of, much like some in the UK.

We arrive at our first change in a place called Chamanga and true to form the hustle to get on the next bus and go as soon as is humanly possible is in full swing. We only have time to be befriended by a young lad. He is about 8 and stood in front of me looking up and pinching his arm, my first thought is that he wants money so I start to dig for some change. Before I can hand it to him, he points at my arm and I realise he is amused or amazed by the thick layer of hair on our arms. Its not the first time we have experienced this, the hairy me and the even hairer jb got a lot of attention in Atacames when wandering along the beach or streets with just shorts. At first we thought it was just the sight of two white blokes but soon realised they were laughing and pointing at the rugs on our chests. Blokes in Ecuador dont have much in the way of body hair. I decide to increase the young lads fun by proudly lifting my Everton shirt to display the English forests, his laugh changes into a nervous one and he runs home to his mum to tell her of the exotic beast he has just been scared witless by! The guy from the next bus comes over and I drop my shirt before he can take the opportunity to grap a handful of curly dark hairs and drag me onto the next bus. The Everton shirt was a gift from the lads back home and I have started wearing it for all our days on the road, the locals love football and its a good conversation starter. Jb obviously takes the piss that they will have never heard of my team, but he still hasnt worn his Liverpool shirt gift once on the first two months trip, he is obviously ashamed of something!

The next bus is a different company and has very masculine decorations and the name Flying Destroyer painted in big letters on the front and back. I figure from this that individual buses can be owned by one or a small group of people and they are free to decorate it how they like. Despite the aggresive look the bus still has baby Jesus watching over it. This time we have room to store all bags underneath and our hearts are spared another scare. The bus sets off and what I can only describe as awful music begins, it sounds like a latino version of Chris Rea and it comes close to making my ears bleed, without an Ipod I am at its mercy. The previous bus played a funky mix of Calypso and Reggaeton which I enjoyed a lot, but this was torture! We arrive at Pedernales for our last change and have rival buses fighting over our bags to take us for the final leg, one guy already has one of our boardbags on the roof so he wins out. The final bus rewards my abused ears with a Salsa Calypso mix with a Jamaican style DJ toasting over the top. I like it a lot and wonder where I can get hold of a CD. Finally we arrive at Canoa.

It is late afternoon and as we drag our bags down the street towards the beach a number of young kids shout Bambu! Bambu! at us and point down the street. We continue in that direction and come across Hotel Bambu, the first place we have found that is ideally situated right on the beach. We have a quick look around I meet the staff who are very friendly and instantly asking questions about our bulging surfbags and the boards they hide. They show us up to the only dormitory in the hotel, it is great price and as it is at the top of the building the only room with a view of the beach and more importantly the waves! We fall in love with the place instantly, dump our stuff and head out to the surf. The waves are very choppy but the simple act of paddling out through the decent size waves is an absolute pleasure, we are back where we want to be, sitting on our boards scanning the ocean for a suitable peak to ride. The stress of Miami and the disapointment in Atacames is washed away and we leave the ocean with a Cheshire cat grin on our faces! We meet a fellow surfer outback called Simon from Oz, he is staying at a place just down the coast but plans to visit Canoa that weekend, he seems like a sound geezer and we arrange to hook up for some beers when he comes over.

There is a great mix of friendly locals and travellers at Bambu most evenings and for the first time I get to enjoy a realy good social vibe at the place we are staying. I can feel my Spanish improving quickly without study and I am trying to teach jb bits here and there. Although not too much as it restricts my scope to stitch him up and share private jokes with the locals at his expense.

The first night in Bambu is eventful, we take advantage of all the facilities on offer, ping pong, restaurant, bar and pool table. I am playing pool with a guy who introduces himself as Ariel, he is from Paraguay. He has some very strange rules for playing and talks rapid fire Spanish with very descriptive gestures and sounds, it makes it easier to understand him, but I still get easily lost but allow him to continue, responding to the bits I understand. Whilst we play he is trying to explain something he calls Devil Sticks, eventually I understand he means juggling with flames of some sort. He talks about it a lot and with passion and I respond positively, hoping to see him in action. A bit later me and Jb are sat at the bar and I am talking to a young barman called Leo, he is a keen surfer and is asking where we have been and what are plans are whilst in Ecuador. He starts to laugh when he hears we have left a surfless Atacames for Canoa. I ask whats funny and he informs me that just down the coast from Atacames is a break called Mompiche, considered the best wave in Ecuador. We had heard of it, but had wrongly thought it was further South of Canoa. He describes the heaviness of the waves and the sick barrels its possible to get when its working, he then describes the shallow razor sharp reef it is highly likely I would have ended up being slammed onto if I had tried to surf it. We are disapointed to have missed at least seeing it or surfing it, but mentally pencil it in as a possibility to travel back up north if we have time.

Ariel returns from wherever he has been to help us prop up the bar and we begin another lively discussion with him, jb chipping in where he can. He is a crafstman by trade and makes jewelry, he has a very artistic and colourful look to go with the trade and we promise to take a look at his work the next day. A friend of his arrives with the aforementioned Devil Sticks and a bottle of parafin. Ariel passes them to me and look at me expectantly, he urges me to the beach to show him my skills and its then that I realise my basic Spanish has led to a misunderstanding. Ariel believed my positivity earlier was me admitting to be being pretty handy with the old fire sticks myself and much as I would like to back up that claim, i am no where near drunk enough! I hand him his kit and he leads us onto the beach just in front of Bambu, we sit on a log bench and before we know it, he is flinging the flaming sticks high into the air and catching them as they spin back toward him, splattering me and jb with parafin constantly. It looks a bit awkward and I ask him if he usually sits down, when he says this is the first time I stand up and back away a few meters and jb joins me. Ariel is very skillful, but like a true professional he just gives us a taster of what he can do before the main event that weekend.










The only downside to Bambu is the very aggresive mosquitos, it is situated by a small swamp where they breed and then come to feast at the closest spot packed full with ripe western flesh ready for the bleeding. Without knowing it (perhaps due to the beers and the 2for1 cocktails in happy hour), I take a lot of bites to my feet, ankles, arms, back, nowhere is left untouched. Mine swell up to nasty lumps which itch a lot and are painful to touch but are bearable. Jb is not so lucky, his dont swell up and the relentless fiends have more space to attack again and again. The next morning his feet are expecially bad, he must have at least a hundred bites on each foot, he is unable to resist scratching them and some of them turn into sores. I wont go any further, better to check his journal for the description - Attack of the killer mosquitos http://www.travelblog.org/South-America/Ecuador/Canoa/blog-1 05901.html
]]> Great waves in a desert ghost town — Lobitos, Peru http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/soul_surfista/world_of_waves/1165711140/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/soul_surfista/world_of_waves/1165711140/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/soul_surfista/world_of_waves/1165711140/tpod.html Wed, 20 Dec 2006 19:57:12 -0500 A year touring some of the worlds best surf spots, enjoying different environments and cultures and causing mayhem and laughter wherever possible. Its a simple plan, but a good one.
Lobitos, Peru

Its the morning of the trip and we have arranged for a local guy called Coco to drive us and our mountain of stuff to Lobitos an hour and a half away. When I see the size of his van and the fact it has no roof rack I am already a little worried about whether we will all fit. We finally get everyone's stuff on board and this is the precarious view of our valuable boards, 11 on top in total! We say our goodbyes and cruise of into the desert in search of bigger, better waves.


I spend most of the hour and a half trip chatting to Big Jimmy, the life and soul of any party, a bit of a lad and owner of an infectious laugh. We have a similar sense of humour and have each other in stitches a number of times. We arrive in Lobitos to see perfect lefthand waves peeling of the point for a good distance, its late afternoon but every one of us are itching to get out there. The problem is, a good sized crowd has already beaten us to it. We dump our stuff in the first hostel we find, it sits high up above the beach a bit down from the point. The main social room is a large circle about 15 metres across and has glass windows edge to edge, giving fantastic panoramic views of the entire break.

We all suit up and paddle out, the first wave I duck under tricks me into thinking I am back in England, after two months of surfing in nothing but boardshorts, its bloody cold! Lobitos faces southwest and is blocked from the lovely warm Panama current, the currents here come north from much colder climes and the southerly wind is very strong. Paddling in a wetsuit again is hard work, the waves are fast, quite hollow and packed with good surfers. I struggle to catch my first wave for about half an hour, then when I do it takes me by surprise and I get it all wrong, when I fall and hit the water I feel a pain in my right shoulder. I spend another half hour paddling for waves but either cant quite drop in or someone else is on it first. I get cold in my sleeveless suit and my shoulder feels sore so I paddle back to shore pretty demoralised!

That night the crew heads out to the nearest restaurant, one of two in town (it really is a ghost town like something out of a western) I can't remember the name but we called it Mama's place due to the friendly owner, a bubbly, middle aged Peruvian lady who has met Big Jimmy previously and taken a liking to him, told you he was a bit of a lad. We all order the usual fish and rice and sit chatting about the waves and the location, we all agree it's a pretty perfect setup but ruined by the very competitive crowds. We decide to head to the next break north the next morning, Pasenas, it's a 15 minute walk but will be well worth it to avoid the crowds. Mama is serving our grub and I notice she has changed outfits since we arrived, she is now sporting what looks like a nightdress with some kind of teddy bear picture and in English underneath 'I love you....' We tease Jimmy that the wardrobe adjustment was purely for his benefit and he completely agrees in his own unique manner that causes much laughter!

The next morning my shoulder feels very stiff and I make the tough decision to have a day out of the water. I have a long history of shoulder problems from surfing since my first trip to Costa Rica in 2003. On that occasion I was on a two week holiday and refused to miss waves and rest up, it is a decision that has left me with a problem that is unlikely to go away without some kind of surgery. Shoulders are used a huge amount in surfing, having the luxury of travelling for a year means I can take rests to ensure it doesn't develop into something that puts me out of the water permanently. I take the opportunity to try out my camera skills from the beach and capture the boys tearing it up. I can take good quality video and point breaks give you an opportunity to get quite close to the action and catch some reasonable footage. The morning session ends but because of the low tide I haven't been able to get any good footage.


The afternoon session is higher tide and allows me a better angle from the beach. I get some good waves from jb, jimmy and simon but soon get bored and frustrated because I am not out there with them. To add humour to the proceedings I begin to add commentary, a skill I had overheard big jimmy putting to use on his video camera. It starts off with a bit of fun, using silly names like 'big jimmy, the giraffe of the surfing world' and commentating on the waves like it's a horse race. After a while I start to add a bit of depth to the characters on the screen. For example, Jimmy is described as "the worlds tallest surfer at 7foot6" he is actually a mere 6foot7! JB obviously gets some stick, becoming a shining example of underachievement - "johnboy has been surfing since he was only 8 months old, with his nappy strapped to a body board, you think he would be able to give us something better than that!??!" and "the disappointing jb attempts to pull off a reverse halfpenny twist with a bash to the lip, but he manages what can only be described as a plop followed by a few week bubbles". You get the idea....

The footage is played back later that day and everyone is disappointed about how crap they look compared to how good it feels when you are riding the wave...luckily this feeling is balanced by laughter at my ridiculous commentary.

The next day is my best days surfing in a while, we go back to Pasenas and have it to ourselves. I catch a number of good waves all the way to the shore dump. My shoulder starts to ache and get stiff again so unfortunately I can't spend as many hours in the surf as I would like. But no matter, it's Jeff Bells birthday night out back in England that very Saturday night and we have planned a celebration to match what our mates are doing in Manchester. Getting drunk doesn't take much planning to be fair, we bought a bottle of rum before going to Lobitos, which contrary to jb's diary account was actually a good and expensive bottle of Appleton's finest Jamaican rum. It cost more than three times the amount of the local brew, but it's certainly worth it in the taste.

Anna and Ghislaine have bravely joined us from Mancora in the desert Ghosttown of Lobitos for the night and will join in the festivities. I take the opportunity to get a group photo from home out of my bag with Jeff in it, partly to make sure everyone knows the person who's birthday we are celebrating and partly to show off my beautiful girlfriend Eva. At about 7.00pm (midnight in Manchester) a generous shot of Appleton's is served up to everyone before we head out to dinner and the night starts from there. Jb's and mine were especially large, here's the evidence....check out the long hair, I am ready for the abuse my friends. It took a while to fully transform myself from executive to surf bum, but I feel I have finally made it!







We go to Mamas armed with booze and really liven the place up even more than usual. By the time we have finished our meal we are all quite merry and head back to the hostel to continue to celebrations. I am not sure who started it but we all end up doing whatever break dancing or displays of balance we can muster in our merry state, Simon tops them all by shimmying up the centre pole of the hostel and hanging from the top for a while, monkey style, he was a good 8 or 9 metres of the ground.
By 11.30 we are all suitably drunk and head to bed, no late nights when there is surf to be shredded the next mornin!







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