TravelStream™ news feed for member suzloua on TravelPod's free travel blogs service http://www.travelpod.com/syndication/rss/suzloua en-us Copyright ©2010 TravelPod.com Tue, 29 Dec 2009 01:15:33 -0500 http://www.travelpod.com http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/suzloua/3/1261962090/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/suzloua/3/1261962090/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/suzloua/3/1261962090/tpod.html Tue, 29 Dec 2009 01:15:33 -0500 Down Tundra

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Cooper Bay, S. Georgia and Sandwich Isl.

Friday 20 November, 11.33am, Cooper Bay, South Georgia

Early mornings, packed days, late nights, and not a jot of writing done at all. Terrible skills. But do let me try and catch you up now, because it's our last day in South G and I should really make the effort.

It’s been utterly marvellous here, and I am a total South Georgia convert now. On our second day, I even manned up and dragged myself out of bed at 5am to do an excursion before breakfast to Fortuna Bay, which is one of the last parts of the route Ernest Shackleton walked across the mountains to Stromness. There were plans to do the last leg of the walk, but conditions just weren’t suitable. I was so not going to do it (5500m climbs and Suzys do not mix), but when it was called off, Justin said I should lie and say I was, and I was really disappointed it had been cancelled, which made me giggle.

Anyway, Fortuna Bay was beautiful. We saw a lot more king penguins, and I had a great time hanging out watching the chicks bumbling around after the adults. The weather was perfect, the mountains were beautiful, and I had a lot of fun running into people and then wandering off on my own. Beyond the people I hang out with the most – well, let’s call a spade a spade, the people I get drunk with every night – I am on know-them-to-say-hey-to terms with most of the others on board, so I like meandering around and chatting.

In the afternoon we had one of my favourite landings, at Stromness whaling station, where Shackleton eventually wandered into town and raised the alarm for his men on Elephant Island. Like many places on South Georgia, Stromness was an interesting juxtaposition between the abandoned manmade buildings and the animals and plants that had overrun the beach. There were a LOT of seals along the beach, which meant we had to walk in little groups so as to avoid Doing An Arturro, as it's become known over the course of the trip (ie. being bitten in the bum). I ended up walking along with Jacqui, Anna, Graham, Graham’s wife Debbie and his sister Kim, which was a lot of fun – the snow was covering pretty much all of the plains we were walking across, but with these little hillocks peeping out, so we were jumping from one to the next over snow and puddles. Then we walked up this little hill and when we got to the top, Justin throwing one snowball at me turned into a big snowball fight of me, Jacqui and Anna vs Trish (Australian, 40s) and Dan (Australian, 32, and the videographer who is filming our journey), with Jamie dallying around throwing snowballs at anyone and everyone (although sadly failing to hit virtually everyone. He may be pretty, but he is a BAD shot). Even though I ended up being repeatedly pelted with snow, and for some reason stood still and let Jamie put some down the back of my neck, it was a quality afternoon. Justin managed to sneak off after the first snowball, so I didn't get him back until we were nearly back at the Zodiacs when I caught up with him and squished snow on his head.

We’d barely arrived back and stripped off our waterproofs (and in my case, a few snowballs that I’d missed) before we were throwing them back on again to go Zodiac crusing in Prince Olav Harbour. Now with the Zodiacs, you can’t pick who you’re with, you just merrily queue and get on board the next boat in line. When you’re just getting a Zodiac to shore, that’s no biggie, because the max amount of time you’re going to be in one is maybe fifteen minutes, and you’ll be going pretty fast anyway so there’s no real chance to chat. With a cruise, however, you want to get two things right: you want a good gang alongside you, and you want a good driver. The gang is easy enough to accomplish – just queue next to your friends – but the driver is trickier, because we've no control over it. Everyone’s definition of a good driver is different, of course, but mine is one who’s knowledgeable, has good banter, and most importantly, GOES FAST. Jamie is my ideal Zodiac driver because he fits all those criteria and more, but there are some other great ones – John is fast and funny, Flipper is fast and adorable, and Noz is a right laugh and a really good driver in bad conditions. Then there are some others who you maybe wouldn’t want to end up with – they’re nice enough people, but for whatever reason, they just don’t work for me. Shelli seems to lack confidence when she’s driving, the doc is just laughably bad but you can’t help but love him because he has the biggest eyes in all the land, and Woody is perfectly competent and interesting but tends to tell me off. Like, a lot. So while part of me was interested to go with the main man on our first real Zodiac cruise, there was another part of me that heaved a little sigh when I counted ahead and realised that I’d be on Woody’s boat that day.

That being said, it was still a great cruise, and because Woody makes the rules, he can choose when to break them, so we went a little further in than some of the others had been able to and got to see a blonde fur seal, which was awesome. They’re not any different in terms of classification, it’s just a pigmentation thing, but it was very nifty because none of the other Zodiacs got as close as we did. Sadly though, I kept up my winning ways with Woody, and got told off yet again. We pulled up alongside Jamie’s boat, they had a quick confab, and then we pulled away. As we started to pick up speed, Jamie was slightly ahead, so I immediately said, "Ooh, can we race them?!" to Woody. To which he paused, looked at me, and then answered, “...no.” I turned to Jacqui and muttered, “That’s me told then.” I can only presume he has now added Foolish Zodiac Behaviour to my charge sheet, which joins Excessive Noise At Dinner and Going Barefoot In Public Areas. Bad Suzy. Only coal for me this Christmas.

The Zodiac ride was great, as they all are, but this was the first one for me where I was really ready to get off by the time we arrived back at the ship, and it was nothing to do with my bollocking from the Woodster. I had not really anticipated how cold it was going to be whilst we weren’t moving around, and had underlayered significantly on my extremities. My arms, legs and core were all fine, as was my head, but my hands had gotten wet pretty early on and were getting colder and colder, and my feet were so cold by the time we arrived back that it actually hurt to walk. I was pretty scared I was going to slip on the gangway, in fact, because I couldn’t really grip the handrail properly and my feet felt like I had pins and needles, only the feeling wasn’t going away. Fortunately the ship is toasty warm, and once I got inside, I soon started to warm up, especially after I dashed off to wash my hands in warm water, Jacqui shouting a warning about chilblains after me that went pretty much unheeded the whole trip. Wow, I said the word “warm” a lot in that sentence, and yet I can’t see a better way of writing it right now. Plus I’m getting that thing where you look at a word so long it doesn’t really make sense anymore. Warm. Warm. WARM.

(Heh, Lisa is so pissing her sides right now, for reasons that no-one else will understand but which I shan’t repeat here because it’s not the best story and quite frankly I don’t come off that well in it.)

Anyway, after getting changed, I headed up to the bar, as is my wont, only to meet Flipper on the stairs and tell him very solemnly that I did not think I would be ordering an alcoholic drink when I got up there, even though it was happy hour. I required a warm beverage, so it was looking like the coffee route. And then I walked through the door and discovered that such resolutions were all for naught, because Hannah, in her wonderful evilness, had devised a hot toddy for that day’s happy hour cocktail. And, because we’d done three excursions, and the first had been at cock o’clock, she had even given it a pun-tastic name: Long Day Tod-day. I LOVE HER. I think she thought I was taking the piss because I was laughing my head off at the name, but what can I say, really bad jokes crease me up. What’s red and not there? No tomatoes! See, quality humour.
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Prion Island, S. Georgia and Sandwich Isl.

Sunday 15 November, 5.26pm, off Prion Island, South Georgia

After leaving the Falklands, we had two days at sea, in which I attended a few presentations and attempted to write up the blog, but mainly chatted up Jamie and got lashed with Justin, Daphne and Andrea. At first, Daphne was the one cracking me up, but now they just all make me die. Andrea seems really sensible and calm at first, and then when you've been with her for more than about five minutes, she’ll do something random, like make a weird noise or do a sudden dance or whatever, and I collapse in giggles. She is also the queen of too much information. It is gross and ace all at the same time. And Justin continues to be a delightful blend of evil and sweetness. I am fascinated by him in a very non-sexual way – I just want to like, pinch him, all the time. The other day I used the phrase, "I want to hurt him with my love," much to the mirth of the gathered masses.

There are more of us, but we four are the core gang. Our extended circle includes Jane (American, 49), who like Justin seems innocent and sweet but has a secret core of filth, and who puts up with me imitating her Minnesotan accent with extremely good grace; Jacqui (Australian, 23), Graham’s younger daughter who at first seemed shy and quiet but has massively come out of her shell, and has this totally innocent and silly sense of humour that cracks me up; Anna (Australian, 25), Graham’s older daughter who cracks me up even more the way she picks on Jacqui in a typical big sister fashion; John, (Australian, late 40s), who wins at sarcasm and hardly ever laughs, so I consider it a great victory when I do make him smirk; Jackie (Australian, 41) and Fraser (Australian, 35), a married couple who are a very good influence on me because I still have so much fun with them, but it’s a slightly quieter sort of fun; and sisters Sue and Karen, and their friend Debbie, who along with Jane, make up the other noisy foursome in the dining room besides our gang. They’re great fun. I also love some of the staff (and not just the ones I fancy). Solan (kayaking guide, 32), Hannah (bartender, late 20s), and Andy (assistant hotel manager, 30ish) join Jane in throwing the stereotype of Americans having a crappy sense of humour straight out of the window. They’re wicked. Cathy (hotel manager, 30ish) and the Amazing Noz Darker are both Australian, like most of the staff, and happen to be Jackie's friends from home, so via her, we get quite a bit of crew gossip, which is top. And Annie (assistant expedition leader, late 40s) is not just a sweetheart, she has the sexiest voice in all the land, which much to the amusement of the gang I am also perfecting an impression of.

Every night after dinner there’s a talk in the bar, which I think is genius, because it drags everyone up there and they commence socialising, which is handy for a trip like this, but more importantly, it gets everyone spending their money on excessive amounts of beer. Since as you know, I need no impetus whatsoever to spend all my money on excessive amounts of beer, I seem to spend half my life up there and we’re certainly nightly residents. Last night’s talk was not that fun, actually – most of them range from fine to fecking hysterical, but the guy last night was kind of rocking the “gay-bashing as humour” angle a little, so he turned me off pretty much immediately. Not to mention the fact that most of them do about 10-20 minutes and he was still rabbiting on 45 minutes later. But for the most part they’re great, and hey, it’s a room with alcohol in it, I’m always going to be pro the bar.

So the banter and bonding continued while we sailed to South Georgia, the next stop on our itinerary. I had been forewarned by Alex, my travel agent, that most people who go on these kinds of trips come back raving not about the peninsula, but South G. Combine that with Jamie’s veritable obsession with the place (and since I spend my down time manoeuvring myself into any conversation that I can with the man, I’ve been thoroughly indoctrinated), and my expectations had certainly been raised. And then South Georgia has so far merrily shattered them all by being ten times as amazing as I expected. First off we went to King Haarkon Bay, named for the Norwegian king by the whalers who first sailed out of there. It’s also part of the Shackleton trail, which on this kind of lark plays a part in the day to day itinerary. Having had two sea days, I’d kind of gotten into the being pissed and dallying about, and the thought of bundling up in all my waterproofs again and braving the snowy, blustery conditions outside was hardly a cheery one. Once again though, all unworthy thoughts were instantly banished when I saw the place. It was PHENOMENAL. Hundreds of elephant seals littered the beach, against a backdrop of stunning mountains. In one hollow, we found six very serious looking king penguins. Dozens of birds swooped around our heads, and we saw a bunch of skuas fighting over a dead seal pup (not the nicest thing, I guess, but definitely interesting). The weather stayed perfect for us, we had glorious blue skies the whole time (which one of the photography experts on board, John Rodsted, would say is boring, but bollocks to you, John, I like blue skies, okay?), and the snow and water just sparkled. The horrible thing is, there’s no more I can actually say to describe this place, because all we did was walk around for a couple of hours, but it was two of the best hours of my whole life. It was spectacular, there’s no other word for it. Hee – I ran into Fraser and Jackie as I was wandering around, and this conversation occurred:

Susan: Would it be over the top to describe this as the most astonishingly magnificently beautiful place I’ve ever seen in my whole life?
Jackie: (made agreeing noises)
Fraser: (pause) I don’t know. Bath’s pretty nice.

He slays me.

In the opinion of some of my buds though, King Haarkon Bay, whilst excellent, was knocked into a cocked hat by this morning’s excursion to Salisbury Plains. I personally loved King Haarkon Bay for the grandeur of the place, but Salisbury Plains was pretty impressive too. Imagine, if you will, a king penguin. Then imagine another one. Then imagine that, times a hundred thousand. That’s what Salisbury Plains looks like. Completely ridiculous. Completely spectacular. Completely excellent. Jamie made penguin noises, it was a gas. Well, all apart from the bit where I fell thigh deep into a big puddle of penguin poop. That was less fun. It did lead to this exchange though:

Susan: (innocently) You do know your hat isn’t on straight?
Justin: (without missing a beat) You do know you’re covered in penguin shit?

I fell about. Not literally though, as that would have involved me landing in more penguin poop.

You had to get special permission to land at this afternoon’s spot, Prion Island. It’s closed for some of the season to protect the breeding wandering albatrosses and South Georgia pipits (apparently the pipits are kind of a big deal – Tony the bird guy says birders across the land will be unendingly impressed that we saw them. Perhaps I will make some birdwatching friends, just so that I might brag to them), and I think someone said they considered closing it full time to tourism, but they have instead built this special walkway for people to wander along. You have to stick to the path, and you can only stop at the viewing platforms, but it was still ace. At the first one, we saw a parent wandering albatross feeding its chick, which Tony said happens on average about once a week or something, so we were pretty lucky with our timing, and then he had found a dead Antarctic tern which he showed us at the second (admittedly slightly less impressive) viewing platform. It was very nifty. I’m afraid I don’t have a funny conversation fragment from Prion Island, but I can tell you that Solan did an impression of an albatross and a guy called Arturro got bit in the ass by a fur seal. (Seriously. He was fine though.)
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Westpoint Island Settlement, Falkland Islands

Sunday 8 November, 2.14pm, off the coast of Carcass Island, the Falkland Islands

Yes. Jamie's name will definitely crop up again. He is very sarcastic, yet also a perfect gentleman. Well, not quite a perfect gentleman. But a bit of flirting is certainly okay in my book. But you don’t care about the boy I like, you care only about the place I’m visiting! And what a beautiful place it is. Yesterday was spent at sea, or in my case, drinking sea breezes with Andrea and Daphne, having a chat with as many other people I could find to annoy, but mostly hanging off the port side of the bridge gazing at the spray. For those of you who aren’t aware, I did my Helmsman course this summer, so I now have a licence from the RYA to drive a powerboat. But as much as I love sailing Indigo (DA’s little runaround), and I do love it, being on a ship this size is just something else. I truly adore it. I could spend the rest of my life watching the waves breaking against the bow, I think.

So made a few new friends – Fraser and Jackie are an equally beautiful, equally charming, equally lovely couple from Melbourne whom I sat with at lunch yesterday. Also from Melbourne is Justin, who is probably the nearest to my age of the passengers on the boat and, despite his angelic looking face, has quite a filthy sense of humour, which naturally I approve of. Sue and Karen are sisters from Adelaide who are somewhere around 40ish, very travelled, have done Antarctica before along with practically every other cruise Peregrine Adventures offer, and I am totally in awe of their confidence and knowledge. Annie is on the crew and adores my determined attempts to be sensible yet stylish (pink gloves, Marc Jacobs wellies, and a silky hat with little faux fur ears that Lowri cajoled me into buying but which I now heart). There are a couple of others, but those are my new buddies from yesterday. I’m trying to sit with new people for at least one meal per day, so I will hopefully get round everyone before the month is out. Haven’t met anyone I don’t like yet, although Janet is increasingly annoying not because of anything she’s said, but because despite saying sanctimoniously to me and Anne on night one, "Now I hope neither of you ladies snore," she has turned out to be quite the little snorer herself. I have to sleep wearing earplugs, which I hate, because it makes my ears hurt to wear them all night, even soft and squishy as they are. During her waking hours she’s okay, though she moans a bit, but at night I want to smother her with my ridiculous collection of fleeces. (Got to be warm!)

Didn’t get much sleep last night after drinking a ridiculous excess of coffee yesterday to warm me up (I kept going outside, watching the water til I couldn’t feel my chin, coming in, warming up, then heading back out again), not to mention Janet’s snoring, but I should definitely sleep tonight, because this morning’s excursion was exhausting – I think in a few days it’ll all seem like second nature, but right now it’s so time consuming to put all your layers on and get your waterproofs and find your life jacket and get your wellies and hat and sunnies and suncream and lipbalm and oh my good giddy god. However, as much as there is to remember, it’s definitely worth it once you get going. For a start, there's Zodiac travel, which to me is like the best thing ever – next time I go back to Lanzarote I definitely want to learn to handle a RIB (Rigid Inflatable Boat). Duncan, my instructor, wouldn’t let any of us have a go when we did the Helmsman course because the RIB is a very different animal, but he took us out for a spin in it and it was brilliant. Out here the swell is a lot bigger, and I must confess, I utterly adore it. I mean, if I were to fall in, I would undoubtedly be very sad, but right now I just think bollocks to the wildlife, just let me play in the Zodiac for the afternoon!!

But the Zodiacs, much as I love them, are really just a ferry to the destination itself. This morning, for excursion number one, that was West Point Island, which is a small privately owned island of the Falklands. It’s a breeding ground for black browed albatrosses and rockhopper penguins, and oh my god, is it beautiful. From the beach where we landed, we wandered a couple of kilometres over to the other side of the island, where the nesting grounds are – for some reason, even though the rockhoppers only have tiny little penguin legs, they have decided that the rockiest and most inaccessible place is where they’d like to be. They’re completely fantastic though, so small and grumpy looking – I like the albatrosses too, but the penguins as ever grabbed my attention entirely. Jamie says they’re definitely some of the toughest of all the penguins, and they look it – like tiny doormen in their black and white.

There was a bit of a tragedy, however: I bought beautiful white fluffy North Face boots to wear around the ship, and since we were heading across the island I thought they’d be a bit comfier to walk in than my wellies. This was a complete error, because it was muddy as fuck around the rookery, and they are now completely ruined. I’m hoping I can give them a scrub this afternoon though and they’ll cheer up a bit.

Next up is Carcass Island, named for the HMS Carcass, which, er, went there once. (You get the feeling there’s not a lot of action on old Carcass Island, don’t you?) There we’ll see Magellanic and gentoo penguins, which I am equally excited for – they burrow into the grass, like the yellow eyed penguins from Dunedin. Heading for only 48hrs on this ship and it’s already stacked up to be the best trip I’ve ever had.
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King Haarkon Bay, S. Georgia and Sandwich Isl.

Saturday 14 November, 5.23pm, King Haarkon Bay, South Georgia

I know I'm starting every blog with some random thing about how busy I am, but I swear to god, barely a minute to do any writing at all! If I didn’t feel so damned guilty I’d just fuck you all off, but I could never do that to my little ducklings, so here I am. I came down from the bar specifically to write. You lucky lucky people.

Steeple Jason and Carcass Island were definitely my favourite of the Falkland Islands, but our visit to the capital, Port Stanley, was extremely interesting to say the least. I must confess I didn’t know too much about the 1982 conflict beyond it was something to do with a land squabble between us and Argentina, but that was the extent of it. (Give me a break, I was minus 2 at the time.) I always had a vague sense that the Falkland Islanders were on the Argentine side, too, but I’m clearly a total dunce because that’s not the case at all. On the contrary, the 2,000 residents of Stanley were and remain very proud to be British – you can use GBP here, they have the same phone networks, the supermarkets are full of English food and drink, and most importantly, for such a small town, there’s a plethora of pubs. As anyone who’s lived in a small English town knows, being overrun with drink is step one towards authenticity.

After we arrived, there was a chance to go out on the Zodiacs to see a few shipwrecks in the bay, which I naturally jumped at. I mean, I’m pretty into shipwrecks anyway, they’re rather groovy, but even if it was just going in circles for an hour I’d be happy as long as I got to be in the Zodiac. (The novelty is not wearing off in any way, shape or form; I’ve now discovered the one to try and get in is Flipper’s, because he goes the fastest.) I was on a boat with some cool folks - there's a guy here called Graham Robertson, who's an expert in albatross conservationism, and he has his family with him. His wife and sister are really nice, as is Graham, and his two daughters Anna and Jacqui are 25 and 23 respectively, so I was delighted to see some more young folk on board! Got some beautiful pics as the weather just turned nice for us, becoming a snowstorm just as we pulled back into the port. The weather down here is shambolic – being faux-Brits, they must love it, because my god is there plenty to complain about. It changes so quickly, not from day to day but literally from hour to hour, or even sometimes minute to minute. We’ve seen horrendous hail and snow follow glorious blue skies, and then said glorious blue skies return straight after the bad stuff. No rain, fortunately, because it’s too cold, but it’s not like we don’t have plenty of chances to get wet in the Zodiacs. For the most part though, we’ve been pretty lucky – had to cancel a couple of excursions because of conditions, like Sea Lion Island and Cape Rosa here in South Georgia, but more often than not we’ve been able to both go to the various places, and really enjoy them too, because the weather’s held for us.

After Zodiac cruising the bay with the lovely Solan (who is awesome, because he’s here as one of the kayaking guides, and so while he's fantastic in that field, it sometimes seems like he knows next to nothing about anything else - the wildlife, the history, any of it, and it’s brilliant because whenever anyone asks him a question, he never knows the answer, but always throws it back with an incredibly sincere "Wow, what a great question! You should ask Scotty/Jamie/Tony about that!". It leaves the asker with a genuine sense of wellbeing, and they barely notice that they don’t have an answer to their question. The man’s a genius!), we pulled back into the harbour. After a turn about the visitors centre (where in a shocking display of self-restraint, I did NOT go on Facebook), we took the bus up to Gypsy Cove.

Gypsy Cove is stunning. It looks like something out of the Caribbean, with sandy white beaches and crystal clear turquoise water. There’s tons of wildlife knocking about, and it is totally pristine. Unfortunately, the reason it is so pristine is because in the Falklands conflict, Argentina put hundreds of landmines in the area, and it is still being cleared now, 25 years later. It’s really sad, because even a short conflict has left this horrible legacy. On the other hand, the fact that most of it is fenced off to protect the humans means the animals have been able to breed there in peace. As a result, it’s a really great site for wildlife viewing. So swings and roundabouts.

Our final day in the Falklands was spent at Bleaker Island, where we saw two colonies of thousands of shags, and hundreds of rockhoppers. Now, I’m sure the shags and cormorants are very, you know, significant and everything, but as far as I’m concerned, watching the rockhoppers scrap with skuas trying to steal their eggs, in between bits of penguin nookie, beats any sea bird by a country mile. Just stood up there for hours chatting to folk and watching them trundle around. They are so bad tempered, like little grumpy old men (Jamie keeps giving me lip about anthropomorphising them, but you would too, trust me. And so does he, as it goes). I completely adore them, and want to keep one. It appears to be frowned upon though, and I’d be concerned it wouldn’t get on with the cats, so perhaps not. Oh – for those of you not aware, Lowri and I have through sheer chance ended up with two kittens, Gollum and Disco. They’re lush. Do not get me talking about them, though, because in the grand tradition of pet owners, I think they’re far more fascinating than anyone else does and I will chat your ear off about their little individual personalities given half a chance.
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Steeple Jason, Falkland Islands

Friday 13 November, 3.31pm, still on the way to South Georgia

Sea days are utterly wonderful, you know. I mean, don't get me wrong, the excursions are the main thing, that’s why we’ve come on the trip after all, but it’s really nice having a bit more free time, which is in short supply around here. I actually managed to have not quite a nap, but certainly a drowse earlier before lunch – which was good, because I felt a bit off colour. There’s a stomach bug going round the ship and I was terrified I’d caught it – not only would that be bad in terms of the actual feeling unwell, but in an attempt to curb the spread of infection, they’ve been quarantining everyone who’s come down with it in their cabins for at least 48 hours. Not fun at ALL – not only would you miss the upcoming excursions, but you’d be bored out of your wits. Apparently one of the girls on staff (her name’s Noz Darker – isn’t that the best name you’ve ever heard in your life? Noz Darker. She should fight crime) got into a bit of a to-do with the doctor because she said they were getting carried away with things – they won’t let us self-serve at breakfast anymore, for example. They have to do it all wearing gloves. So Noz was complaining a bit about this and saying it was overkill, and as though the doc dosed her himself, she promptly came down with it a few hours later. It’s just people throwing up, and mostly they seem to feel fine after the first day, but I definitely don’t want it, not now we’re about to get to South Georgia. As it is, I think it was either too much coffee in the morning or too much red wine last night that resulted in my tummy feeling a little bit unsettled earlier. My faux-snooze has perked me right up, which I’m glad about – I got caught retching in the bathroom by Annie, the second in command, and she was very concerned. I shall choose to believe a tiny part of it was about my health as much as because she was scared there was another case.

So let me continue to catch you up on what I’ve been doing so far, since I suspect time is of the essence – South Georgia’s going to be hectic as anything from the sounds of it. After the fun of West Point and Carcass, which were relatively easy logistically speaking, we moved on to the Jason Islands, where we planned to go ashore at Steeple Jason. Now, Steeple Jason is not easy to get at – Woody, the expedition leader, has never managed it before. (Let us pause now whilst Lowri absorbs the fact that there is a man on this ship called Woody.) The easiest place to get ashore involves clambering over lots of slippery, kelp-covered rocks and that is only achievable when the tides are right. Far from ideal, but the best of a bad lot. When they came over the PA to announce this, warning anyone who wasn’t up for it to maybe sit this one out, I must confess I did consider it for a moment. Only a moment, but I really didn’t want to faceplant in front of all these people, and as you all know, I can and do fall over walking down perfectly flat paved streets, so climbing over rocks whilst wearing fourteen extra layers and a pair of wellies (stylish wellies, but wellies nonetheless) seemed like a recipe for disaster. However, in the end it broke down like this – 1% of me didn’t want to go in case I genuinely hurt myself by falling down. 9% of me didn’t want to go in case I hurt my pride by falling down. 40% of me wanted to go for the sheer love of adventure and wildlife and views and all that malarkey. And the remaining 50% just didn’t want to look like a wimp in front of Jamie. The decision made, I trundled off in the next Zodiac, where in an utterly unexpected move, I got onto the grass with barely a stumble (stood on my waterproofs once with my other foot because they’re a bit long, but apart from that I was golden). And once I’d arrived, the 60% of me that was thinking silly unworthy thoughts about looking suave totally evaporated and I became 100% all about the nature, because wow. What a place.

For a start, the rocks were not THAT hard to get over, and I do quite like messing about on rocks anyway when I’m alone and far from judging eyes (as anyone who read the Rainbow Beach bit of my Oz blog will know. For those who haven’t, it is a fairly entertaining tale in which I end up bloody soaked because I totally misjudge how long it will take for the tide to come in and have to wade back). So after the fun of that bit of foolishness, we were immediately rewarded for our efforts by coming across a small colony of gentoo penguins. They were adorable, quite frankly, and I was happily watching them waddling through their penguin lives, painstakingly building their nests out of stones and bits of tussock grass, but Woody had us keep going because if the conditions changed, we’d be sunk, and the main sight to see was the albatross colony, featuring over 100,000 black browed albatrosses. (Albatrosses is the correct plural, but I kind of favour albatrice, so it's possible you might see that instead as this blog continues.) He was definitely correct on that one, because as sweet as the penguins were (and they were pretty sweet), the albatrosses were just astonishing. I’m not really as fussed about them as I am about penguins, but no-one could fail to be impressed at the sheer numbers of the things nesting on the other side of Steeple Jason. To be able to turn your head as far as it can go one way and see them, and turn it all the way around and still be able to see them is just mind-boggling. Even as I’ve been describing this trip to people, and mentioning that we’ll see colonies of thousands or even hundreds of thousands of birds, I didn’t quite compute what that would look like – I was just parroting what I’d been told by the travel agent. To see them there in front of you... well, it’s given me a whole new appreciation for the humble albatrice, I have to say.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/suzloua/3/1260373173/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/suzloua/3/1260373173/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/suzloua/3/1260373173/tpod.html Wed, 09 Dec 2009 11:09:57 -0500 Down Tundra

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Carcass Island Settlement, Falkland Islands

Thursday 12 November, on the way to South Georgia, 11.15am

Can't believe I’ve not written in so many days – they’ll take my blogging licence away. But quite honestly, I’ve been so bloody busy I’ve barely had time to sleep, never mind write. They run a pretty tight ship around here, no pun intended, and the days are action packed. Even if we don’t have excursions, we’ve got endless talks and things to keep us entertained. Frankly I’m a bit glad we’re at sea again because I get a day of chilling out – there’s just one photography talk this afternoon I want to go to and then it’ll probably be our usual shenanigans of getting trashed in the bar. In the past few days I’ve met more and more people, and now it’s beginning to settle down now into the ones I really like, the ones I am fine chatting to a little if they’re around, and the ones I just haven’t spoken to or haven’t met yet. Amazingly, I am yet to find someone I actively dislike, although Janet is getting more and more on my tits because she doesn’t half moan. She’s not in any way nasty, she’s just one of life’s complainers, and I think Anne is starting to get a bit hacked off with her too. The snoring probably doesn’t help.

Oh bugger, I just left my laptop here open with the above, because I was just nipping next door to say hi to Daphne and Andrea, but then I went to the loo and got distracted talking to Justin and Jane in the reception area and when I came back in, Janet was in here. Hope she didn’t read it. Don’t massively care if she did.

Carcass Island was amazing, my favourite place so far. The Zodiac pulled up on this beautiful white sandy beach (the beaches down here are phenomenal, it seems wrong somehow to be tramping down them in wellies and a parka instead of flip flops and a sarong), where a whole bunch of gentoo penguins were waddling about nearby, but we went off into the grassland first to see the burrows of the magellanics instead. We couldn’t really see any of the penguins, because they were all inside, but it was pretty cool. Then we went for a bit of a wander on the beach on the other side, where there were more penguins and other groovy stuff (including my old enemy, the oyster catcher – Jamie chastised me for continuing to believe they were orange-eyed denizens of hell based purely on one bad experience, but I’m sorry, IT WAS THE SIZE OF A CAT AND IT FLEW AT MY HEAD). Then we headed gradually back around to the landing beach, stopping off via another groovy penguin colony on the way. It was enjoyable enough just for the nature-y goodness, but the combination of fun banter with Jamie on the beach and a running commentary on the other passengers from Daphne that had me in stitches made it unforgettable. Her humour is identical to my own – half the time it’s not even what she’s saying (although that’s funny too), it’s the way she says it, in this completely deadpan way. She slays me. I keep remembering things like her calling the penguins gobshites for continually getting lost or describing a bloke with a white beard as Father Christmas (he was also wearing black wellies and red waterproofs) and bursting into giggles again, even when I’m on my own. She told a story about lying on some tussock grass to get a picture and one of the serious photographer types standing on the other side to bounce her off it, then climbing on top of it to get his own shot, completely ignoring her lying on the ground. Okay, it doesn’t sound that funny when I write it down, but trust me, I was crying with laughter at the time. We’ve also had a lot of banter about our little buddy Justin (along with Daphne and Andrea, he’s one of my best friends on the boat) being Lord Malkovich of the Manor, because he’s quite well off considering he’s only 28. And yes, his last name really is Malkovich. Only it’s spelt Malkiewicz, but that’s not so much fun. He is this charming, easygoing, friendly guy, who every now and again will come out with a comment so cutting and vicious that you can’t help but burst out laughing in shock. I really like him because his evilness is so well hidden. Not like mine, of course.

]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/suzloua/3/1259702099/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/suzloua/3/1259702099/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/suzloua/3/1259702099/tpod.html Tue, 01 Dec 2009 16:34:06 -0500 Down Tundra

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Ushuaia, Patagonia, Argentina

Friday 6 November, 9.43pm, the Akademik Sergey Vavilov

Greetings from Chile! That's where we technically are right now. I know this because at some point I must’ve got signal for long enough to get a text from T-Mobile saying welcome to Chile.

Yesterday on the coach transfer from the airport, Peregrine Lady insisted politely but firmly that we all be ready for at least 10am, and preferably more like half nine, so that our suitcases (or in my case backpack, because, you know, hardcore and that) could be collected and taken to the ship. We would then have the morning at our leisure in Ushuaia ("Ooo-swaiya", if you were wondering). Now Ushuaia, while claiming to be a city, is clearly hiding its cathedral in someone’s basement or something, because if I might be so bold, its charms are somewhat limited. It’s very quaint, very sweet, it’s got quite a lot of hotels and some very nice restaurants (from what I experienced last night, anyway). It is not, however, especially large or grand. In fact, it is doing an excellent job of disguising itself as a small town that’s sprung up to service a busy port. Thus spending a morning at leisure in the place is not the gripping possibility it might initially sound. Either way, I didn’t really get the chance – I wanted to go to the farmacia to get some moisturiser and aspirin (I idiotically forgot to go to Boots on the morning I left England, and at Piccadilly, and at Euston, and at Heathrow), but instead I spent a fairly dull morning practically falling asleep in reception – I don’t know what the hell they were doing at 10am, but they weren’t picking up my luggage, as they were supposed to, nor, from what I can ascertain from my fellow passengers, were they picking up anyone else’s either. Eventually at 11.30am I rang them, to which the woman basically said “Yeah, it takes a dog’s age, leave it with your hotel and let them deal with it.” So I did just that – the nice girl at reception said she would hand off my bag when they arrived, and I could go hang in the transit room. I tried to get a kip on the couches downstairs, but they were these ridiculously overstuffed leather things that were SO not comfy – perhaps a tactic to stop people outstaying their welcome? – and I could not get comfortable, so instead I just pootled about on the internet for a while. Which turns out to have been a sensible thing to do, because it’s the last time I’ll get a chance for a while - the story with the ship net is that it’s all done via radio, and they have to set you up an email account. I don’t really know why I wrote that, of course, because by the time anyone reads this, I’ll be back in Argentina, uploading this from my hotel! Does mean that I can stay in touch with the important folk though. And would you adam and eve it, I was clever enough to send an email out this week to all the people I like to e regularly, so I’ll just email Louise in the morning and get her to send my new email to everyone so they can keep in touch with me here aboard the Vavilov. It’ll be quite strange to not go on Facebook for a month though. It’s entirely possible that I’ll die. It’s also entirely possible it’ll do me a power of good and I’ll stop being such a 'book addicted loon. I’m still going to be updating my Twitter via text though whenever we get a signal anywhere ashore – you don’t win that easily, open-ocean-with-no-internet.

So how it is here, out on the open ocean? Well, aside from the distinct lack of internet, it’s not too bloody shabby. When I arrived at the meeting point, I was feeling very small and lonely only, couldn’t work out which bus to get on and was worried everyone would be approximately a hundred and seven and I would be scorned for being young and moronic and not being able to discuss serious, weighty issues like birdwatching and Palestine. I figured it was a certainty that NO-ONE would be interested in discussing America’s Next Top Model with me, that was for damn sure. When I got on the bus, it was all full up except for a few seats at the back with just one person on them, so I joined a reasonably un-serial-killer looking chap called John, who turns out to have a very wicked sense of humour. He’s Australian and probably in his late forties, and spent the rest of the day following me like a puppy, bless him. Clearly he wants my sex. (Stop hyperventilating Lynda, he shan’t be getting it.) When we arrived at the ship, I trundled off to my room to find my two roommates already inside. Anne, Janet and I are all strangers, but Anne and Janet do have one thing in common, which is I’m guessing (although Anne looks a bit better preserved) that they’re both in the region of their late fifties or early sixties. Anne might be a little bit younger, actually, because she’s mentioned having a son who’s 23, so I’m guessing she didn’t have him too much after she turned 40, if at all. They’re both very nice, Anne’s Australian and a right laugh and Janet is English and quite sweet, if a little old-fashioned. Even so, I must admit to heaving a hearty sigh of relief upon exiting the room and discovering that next door are the much younger Andrea and Daphne. I initially pegged them as being not much older than me, but after having some chat with them I’m thinking they’re probably in their early to mid thirties, since Andrea mentioned that she lived in Manchester for 14 years, and she moved there because she went to Salford Uni. Andrea is English, Daphne is Irish, and they’re both absolutely lovely. I also met Jo and her husband Neil. Jo is an Irish girl who’s probably late thirties, who I spotted on the plane down from BA – she’s got gorgeous red hair so she’s hard to miss. I immediately identified her as the only one who looked vaguely of an age to me, and decided I would befriend her come hell or high water. We’ve not been on the ship a day and we already had good banter at the meet and greet bit and then sat together at dinner. Mission accomplished!

There are also some crew people I am intrigued by. One is called Jamie. He’s the only English guy on the crew (others are a mix of mostly Aussies, some Yanks, and a couple of Canadians and Kiwis). He’s probably early to mid thirties. He has an awesome smile. And he’s very dry. This is a Good Thing. I have a feeling his name may crop up again.

Tomorrow we head to the Falkland Islands. We’ll get there early on Sunday, so all day tomorrow’s at sea. I’ll sign up for the email first thing then I can pester all you lovely folks back at home. In the meantime, I’m going to turn in – Janet and Anne had already bagsied the two bunks when I arrived, leaving me with the sofa bed, but it doesn’t really bother me, to be honest, because every night during dinner, the turn down team (yep, the turn down team) come and make it up into a bed, and then every morning during breakfast, they come along and remove all the bits and turn it back into a sofa. I get goddamn maid service, motherfuckers. I don’t have to make my bed for a fricking month. BOOYA.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/suzloua/3/1257507380/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/suzloua/3/1257507380/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/suzloua/3/1257507380/tpod.html Fri, 06 Nov 2009 06:42:18 -0500 Down Tundra

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Ushuaia, Patagonia, Argentina

Friday 6 November, 8.17am, MIL810

Goodness me, it seems I just can't sit still at the moment. Arrived in Ushuaia last night after the longest fricking plane journey ever, more than two hours late. We got delayed setting off from BA, and then for some reason (I’m not sure why because they only made their announcements in Spanish), we landed in some random spot and sat on a runway for over an hour. Eventually I fell asleep and didn’t wake up until we were back in the air. No idea what it was all about. Bloody annoying though. But eventually we got to Ushuaia, which really did not disappoint – amazing mountains just sat right there next to the airport. It looks something like I imagine Alaska to look, actually, but I guess this would be the southern hemisphere version.

Went for a wander round the little town centre, but it was so cold I didn’t do nearly as much wandering as I’d thought I would, and instead just located a nearby restaurant and flung myself gratefully inside – hadn’t eaten since my uberlush brekkie in BA, and it was about 8pm by this point. Definitely worth the wait though, as I gorged myself on mussels, king crab, and chocolate mousse. Three courses, including two of the more expensive dishes plus a bottle of wine, and it still only came to £50 – I love this country. I realised last night that in the place I went to in BA, I accidentally tipped about the same as the meal cost – I’m all for generous tipping, but I think that might have just been throwing my money around. It’s hard trying to keep three currency exchange rates in your head at once though – the Argentinians use pesos, but you can also use USD in most places. I don’t have any pesos, just USD, because that’s what you use on the boat, so I figured I’d get by with my card in Argentina. But the symbol for pesos is $, just like USD, so I keep thinking things are in one currency when they’re actually in another. Thus for an $80 bill, I tipped $20, because I’d been so hungry and the steak was so good and the waiter warmed up a lot after our first interaction, so I was feeling generous in the region of 25%. But then last night I was thinking about it and working out the exchange rate in my head and I realised 80 pesos, which is what the bill was, is about £15. Then I realised 20 dollars, which is what I’d tipped with, is about £12. So while the meal was wonderfully cheap for what it was, I made it a lot more expensive by tipping like 90%. I’m the best tourist ever! All hail my currency foolishness. Still, no harm done, and I’ll know for next time.

We meet this afternoon at 3.30pm to get on the boat, but I have to be out of here by 10am, which is unfortunate. However, they have a transit room where you can hang out once you’ve checked out if your flight or whatever isn’t til later, so I’m just going to go down there. Might have a little nap, actually. Then maybe I’ll have another scout around Ushuaia since I have a few hours to kill – it’s very interesting looking, very old fashioned and quaint, but again, there’s a definite air of poverty. I suppose it shouldn’t be that shocking, this is South America after all, but I guess I just wasn’t expecting it as much as I should have been. Naive of me, really.

Right, must get on. Breakfast to eat, packing to do. Next update might take a while, I don’t know what the situation is with the boat’s internet, but if you haven’t heard from me in the next 48hrs, assume I won’t be updating for a while. I’ll still be on email if you want me (suzloua@gmail.com) and if I can get on Twitter, I’ll be microblogging my minute observations (www.twitter.com/suzloua). Enjoy your Novembers, and just in case I don’t see you, good afternoon good evening and goodnight.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/suzloua/3/1257457264/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/suzloua/3/1257457264/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/suzloua/3/1257457264/tpod.html Thu, 05 Nov 2009 22:07:21 -0500 Down Tundra

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Buenos Aires, Argentina

Thursday 5 November, 8.55am, Hotel Elevage

There is not a cloud in the sky in Buenos Aires, but there are plenty in the hearts of its people. At least, that was my impression as I wandered around yesterday. Arrived safe and sound in the morning and was collected by the woman in charge of my transfers, Cecilia. She furnished me with an annotated map, pointed out some areas of interest that I could explore given that I had only an afternoon to do so, and then left me to my own devices at the hotel. I was tired, but determined to see a little of BA before I had to leave, so I had a little rest for an hour and then set off at lunchtime to see what I could see.

I did a big circle up towards Government House, where Eva Perón addressed the nation, and the Plaza de Mayo, before heading down to the Obelisk, and weaving my way back through the shopping district towards the Place de San Martin. Cecilia had carefully marked on the maps which streets i should and shouldn’t walk on, because not everywhere is quite safe. The buildings were eyecatching and interesting, but the shopping district threw me for a bit of a loop. I'm not entirely sure what I expected, but I think something quite grand and old fashioned in its appearance. Instead, what I found felt more like a souq or a bazaar – miles of tiny dirty shops, selling knock off everything. Beautiful children with huge eyes, begging on street corners. Men with nothing but a box, selling the same thing as other men fifty feet away (these squashy tomato things, since you ask). Buskers, playing every conceivable instrument, some with a full electronic set up. Mats with dresses, hats, sunglasses, and every type of jewellery imaginable laid out for your perusal - naturally, no-one but the tourists went anywhere near. Tourists and natives alike, however, wear their backpacks on the front to guard them from pickpockets – I’ve never seen this practice so widespread anywhere else. Argentina definitely feels the most foreign of all the places I’ve ever been, and I’m including, like, regular holidays in that too. A faint but pervading air of menace hangs over the streets, detracting attention from the gorgeous architecture and pretty green spaces, not to mention the friendly Argentinians that I have met so far.

I don’t feel I can judge the whole of this enormous city from a few hours of wandering round, and I’d like to come again, but a combination of jet lag, uncomfortable shoes (I brought the wrong flip flops, because I’m an idiot) and general culture shock resulted in me feeling quite pathetic come about 5pm. I trundled back to the hotel, looking for a restaurant nearby so I could just walk a couple of blocks back afterwards. Found a little place that seemed nice enough (they had wifi), and ordered a steak and half bottle of red wine. The guy seemed pretty unfriendly while he was taking my order, and made me change it because he said I’d ordered the wrong thing or something. I was beginning to feel very sad and very hungry (hadn’t eaten since breakfast on board the Heathrow/Sao Paolo flight) and had such an idea fixed in my head of delicious Argentinian beef and wine, and was so afraid it wouldn’t be nice when it came. I can always get room service if I’m still hungry, I told myself, trying to keep a lid on it.

As it turned out, when my steak came, it was a little overcooked, but it was the size of a human child, with tons of sliced potatoes (they have a weird definition of chips down here), perfectly fried, and a gorgeous mushroom sauce. I almost burst into tears with relief. It was bloody lovely. Drank another mini bottle of wine, ate all the bread they brought (and I don’t even like bread, but this bread was amazing), and eventually stumbled back to my hotel, feeling a thousand times better. Possibly low blood sugar may have contributed to my earlier emo-osity.

Must get on now, as Cecilia will be here shortly to collect me for the airport. Breakfast was utterly lush – pancakes with toffee sauce v unorthodox and fattening, but completely gorgeous. They also did teeny tiny frankfurters which were almost balls rather than sausages. Fun!

]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/suzloua/3/1257351219/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/suzloua/3/1257351219/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/suzloua/3/1257351219/tpod.html Wed, 04 Nov 2009 11:22:36 -0500 Down Tundra

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Sao Paulo, State of Sao Paulo, Brazil

11.36pm, somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean
So you thought you’d just be getting my usual witty blend of information and facts about my current location, ah? Well think again, bitches, because having lured you in with my insightful musings on travelling and tales of mad women in Sydney hostelries, I am now going to force an impromptu film review on you. You will listen to whatever thoughts I have to think, peons, and you will like them. Oh yes. Anyway.
I just saw the best film of my fucking life.
Seriously. I don’t think it’s my favourite film – in fact, it will be some time before I watch it again, if ever, because it was so powerful I was literally squirming throughout. But I think my life and my head has been enriched for watching it, and I am utterly blown away by everyone involved, many of whom I will be mentioning by name. Such was the power of this film, I was inspired to grab my trusty laptop and write up my thoughts now before they flit away, making this my first aeroplane blogging effort. So believe me when I say I cannot urge you strongly enough to run, don’t walk, to your local kino and see The Soloist.
Jamie Foxx has been riding high ever since his Oscar-winning turn as Ray Charles in the biopic Ray, and fellow Best Actor winner Robert Downey Jr has followed years of critical acclaim with commercial success in recent years with his turn in the Iron Man franchise. Director Joe Wright turned out a perfectly adequate and beautifully shot version of Pride & Prejudice (it’s not his fault that Colin Firth and Jennifer Ehle had already cornered the market on Darcy and Elizabeth while Matthew MacFayden and Keira Knightley were still waiting tables) and followed it with his stunning and adept adaptation of Atonement, which not only did justice to its source material, but arguably surpassed it. But the combination of bringing these three cinematic powerhouses together, and backing them up with talent like Catherine Keener, Tom Hollander and the fantastically versatile Nelsan Ellis (recently of Alan Ball’s True Blood) has produced a truly majestic result.
Foxx stars as Nathaniel Anthony Ayers Jr, a homeless man whose gift for music is matched only by his unending passion for Beethoven. Unfortunately, Ayers’ career as a potential world class cellist was cut short when he quit the Julliard School of Music after beginning to suffer from schizophrenia. Years later, he is befriended by Steve Lopez (Downey), a journalist who is drawn one day to the sound of this man expertly playing a beaten up violin with only two strings. Lopez initially believes Ayers’ story is worth an article or two, but as he becomes more and more involved in Ayers’ life, he realises there could be a book in this. That book, written by the real Steve Lopez, is what The Soloist is based on, and quite honestly I can’t wait to get off this damn plane and find myself an English language bookstore so I can buy it.
Downey’s performance is incredible, as is typical of the man who can with one hand, make you love a white Australian dressing up as a black American and with the other, portray one of cinema’s most abiding legends with such realism that it’s almost shocking to see scenes of the man himself at the end of that biopic and have him not look like Downey. He is constantly struggling between his journalistic curiosity, his genuine desire to help this man, and his fear of intimacy, both with his family, represented by his ex-wife and boss Catherine Keener, and with Ayers, who becomes increasingly and almost frighteningly dependent on him. You can see every inch of his discomfort and frustration towards Ayers, the patronising pity he sometimes displays, and finally the sadness he feels in accepting that he cannot fix this man, he cannot save him from himself. Lopez is portrayed as likeable but flawed, and wholly human, with all that that entails – an impressive task, considering that the real Lopez came up with the source material.
Joe Wright has rarely put a foot wrong in his previous directing efforts (see the six minute long single shot Dunkirk beach scene in Atonement, for a prime example of his prowess), and this latest addition is no exception. Ayers’ backstory, how he came to live on the streets of Los Angeles, is seamlessly interwoven with the present day story of his involvement with Lopez. (Not to continue to harp on about Atonement, but Wright accomplished the same non-linear storytelling with equal success in that film.) He also keeps the story very tight on the characters involved – if it were not continually mentioned that Lopez is a journalist for the Los Angeles Times, it would be possible to forget which city the tale is set in altogether. He wastes no time on sweeping glamour shots of the city – this isn’t about making the characters’ world look pretty, after all. Ayers is homeless in a dangerous urban environment, and the shelter where he spends time is a distinctly unglamorous example of LA’s underbelly. This film isn’t supposed to seem pretty. It’s supposed to seem real. There is a fantastic example of this in the juxtaposition of overhead shots of the city as viewed from a plane, making it appear to be a sea of swimming pools and condos (which also serves as a visual representation of the strong theme of grace – the world as viewed from Heaven), followed by Wright immediately bringing you straight back to earth by taking you to the homeless shelter and reminding you that the shiny happy people aren’t the only residents of the City of Angels.
Overall, however, the film is ruled by Foxx. His characterisation of Nathaniel Anthony Ayers is sensitive, moving, and profound, but never strays into being sappy or Narm-y (that’s not really a word, but I can’t think of the word I need because the stupid internet term for “it’s supposed to be sad but the scene is overplayed and you just end up laughing instead” is circling my brain like a greyhound - apologies). Instead, you feel, as Lopez feels, the compassion for this tortured soul, whose ability to enjoy and nurture his unique gift is being taken away by his own brain. And then you equally feel the discomfort – the “otherness” of this man, how intimidating it can be to feel as though any second you will say or do the wrong thing and not only will you not be politically correct (an everpresent danger when dealing with a mentally ill black man, of course), but you may end up in real danger. Ayers isn’t always in control of himself, and woe betide you if you cross him. Foxx makes you love this man, but never trivialise or underestimate him, and as Sean Penn could tell you, it’s a thin tightrope for an actor to walk. Like your man said – never go full retard.
Foxx is guaranteed to garner another Oscar nomination for his performance here, and I’d be amazed if Downey and Wright don’t get the nod too. The Soloist is, as I said at the beginning, a powerful film. Not everyone will love it. Some, I imagine, will downright loathe it. But I defy anyone to watch this film and not feel a totally visceral reaction to it. The soundtrack alone, which is ruled like Ayers himself by the classical composers, demands it. And the performances of the lead actors involved guarantees it.
Okay, I’ll stop being wanky now. That was my audition for Empire for the day. Any factual errors I apologise, I’m working from memory here and have no IMDb to back me up on the research. Ditto the bits where I stop being Journalist Susan and stray into Blogging Susan – obviously I’d tidy this up for publication. I’ll continue to warn you if I feel the need to go off on one like that again, you can skip it.
In other news, I am very intimidated by the fact that I don’t speak Spanish on this exceedingly Spanish airline. I feel like the spazzy English girl come to play at being international. God only knows what I’ll be like in Argentina itself. (Oh, I’ve just realised why – I have extremely, EXTREMELY rudimentary Spanish but I couldn’t understand a word. It’s because TAM isn’t a Spanish airline, it’s a Brazilian one – they’re speaking Portuguese. Doy.)
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