It's still difficult to comprehend the wreckage and destruction the earthquake has reaked...it's still hard to predict the full extent of the damage... some of the facts and figures are flaggergasting:
-500 miles an hour waves -40ft high -quakes the equivalent to 1000 atom bombs -120,000 dead
If you want to find out more information about this week's tsunami of biblical proportions and how you can help the victims, the best place to go is a new blog in the Indian Ocean region that's compiling everything from requests by organizations seeking donations to victim lists. It's called the South-East Asia Earthquake and Tsunami blog. It seems that the bloggers are getting out for more information than any of the networks so check it out.
If you can get the chance to make a donation - do so. The devastated really need the world to unite to bring them out of this nightmare as quickly as possible.
On a lighter note, the show does go on, and its heartening to see people bravely resuming life as best they can. Tonight is New Year's Eve and while the people of Thailand like those of the other affected country are in shock they are determined to celebrate the coming of the New Year the best they can...
I know i am going to follow their brave example. Tonight will be a beach party - the likes of which has never been seen before.
Have a good one whereever you are and be thankful to be given the gift of seeing a new year.
By now you've all heard of the earthquake disaster that has hit so many heavily populated coastlines in Asia. Thankfully, I wasn't affected, but, many were not so fortunate. The death tool so far as accurately as I can get is:
Sri Lanka: 10,800 dead Indonesia: 4,500 dead India: 2,958 dead Thailand: 839 dead Malaysia: 44 dead Maldives: 32 dead Burma: 30 dead Bangladesh: 2 dead
The first I heard of it was an email from my brother. I quickly asked some of the natives of the situation and they outlined the magnitude of the quake and the path of destruction that was being carved out as we spoke. At that stage some of the aftershocks were still sending 40ft waves out into sea. After a quick email home to explain that we were safe we went about finding out as much information as we could. First we were told that 1,000 had died. Later 2,000...So on and so on and now the count is approx. 20,000. Some of the stories that we heard were terrible as the situation unfolded. We met one guy who told us that he was talking to his girlfriend who was stuck in the island of Phuckat (one of the worst hit), she was on top of a mountain with some others who dashed to the summit and she didn't know what to do. They had received a 2 hour warning to reach high ground. Another told a story of how his friend was deep sea diving off the same island when the first wave hit. Both were saved. Others were less fortunate. Up to 20 tourist boats through out all the countries were missing. Many fishermen were lost and even the grandson of the kingdom of Thailand, a 21 year old boy, lost his life while out jet skiing. And its still not over for these areas. Talk has now swung to the disease that will spread due to poor sanitation and lack of clean water. Unfortunately, the death toll is going to be higher. More individual eye accounts can be found on http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/asia-pacific/4125945.stm
Life on the island is going on as if it hasn't happened. Literally, everyone is going about the business. Fortunately, Koa Phanyang is in the gulf and protected by the mainland. As such, we did not experience anything at all. Just huge volumes of emails, phone calls and TV images of the devastation.
I count myself lucky. Back in June I made a decision to stay in Brasil an extra month. If I had not done that I would presently, according to my original itinery be on the east coast of Sri Lanka and would have been in one of the regions that was hit the hardest. I now won't be going there and must contact Quantas to see what my options are of a different flight. Maybe it will be an extra couple of weeks in China or India. I'll have to check it out.
Anyway, thanks for the emails. They were much appreciated.
After some hell-raising with my good old mate, Mick Cluskey, I now find myself in Sydney. It's hot here. Very hot.
Tonight i go with a Japanese boxer, called Rocky, for a meal on the harbour. I'm going to get my 2nd Japanese lesson. Always fun trying to communicate with someone from the other side of the globe with a few clicks, winks ans arm swings.
Becuase of the potential situation with booked flights of not getting to Thailand for New Years Eve i had to make a tough decision to knock New Caledonia and the biggest Lagoon in the world on its head. It will have to be done another time. So much for practicing my French which i've been learning with the help of my new mini Ipod (a God sent for any vagabond).
As it stands i fly on the 24th of December. I stay in Thailand until the 28th Jan. I'm planning to take in the islands a week in the north, a week in Laos and a few days in Cambodia to check out the temples. On the 28th i make my way to Hong Kong to do some gambling ni Macaw and practice the Portugese again. From there one more day in Bangkok and then 2 weeks in Sri Lanka and a month in India.
I'd imagine the Christmas festivities are well and truely on the way. Same on this side of the world. Only difference being Santa has a barby, puts factor 60 on the snowmens' noses and Rudolf is wearing Speedos.
Yesterday i landed in Melbourne and had a long overdue meeting with my good friend Mick Cluskey (the first ever person i met in college). It was great to see him. He had a smile on his face and a twinkle in his step. Not suprised. Considering the fact that he was driving me around in his convertible MG. The boys enjoying life and catching his fair share of rays which are in abundance down here. A very warm 28 degrees today and serious beach weather.
I forgot how beautiful Melbourne is and how big. Well over 3 million people in looks like a very well run city and very safe city. We could take a lesson or two from the way they live down here.
Next few days will be chilling out in the city and visiting the beach. The weekend will be a trip along the famous coast line and a spot of camping.
Oh yeah, as you probabaly guessed Brutos got my password for the blog and has been throwing up some spurious, counterfactual rants. He has been rempremanded.
I was reborn yesterday. The world looks anew now. Things have changed in my mind. I have crossed a Roubicon. It was the very ne plus ultra of excitment.
I was in a bar in Queenstown a couple of nights ago having a few drinks with two Swedish girls when an oldish Maroi dude sat besdie me with his sagacious looking wife. One thing lead to another and we started trading interesting stories about our respective cultures. The topic quickly moved onto how I was enjoying New Zealand, and in particular, Queenstown. I explained to the sage looking man and his gentle wife that I was having a wonderful time. He told me he could see it in my auro before i even spoke. He knew i was happy. He asked me what adventure sports i had done, what i thought of them and what ones did i still want to do. Over a very enjoyable pint of local DB brew i told him in colourful detail my thoughts and observations. I also explained to him that while having done my fair share, i was low on time and money and as such couldn't get it all in in this visit. As i explained to him the iterinary i was and would be leading and the budgetary mechanics involved he excused himself politely and asked could he talk to his wife. Both talked in whispers and then smiled, shook their heads in affirmation and then returned to my company. The eagle featured man then asked me if i had anything planned for the next day. I told him no. He then asked me would i be interested in a once off, never to be repeated sports thrill of a life time. Was i what... He then over the course of 30 minutes explained to me how he and his family and sisters had come from nothing and through a combination of fortune and hard work he was now a multi-millionaire through a portfolio of investments mainly split into property and adventure sports companies. He told me that i reminded him of his son that was living in London, then with a smile he offered me a free package of adventure sports starting at 9am the next day. He explained to me vaguely what was involoved and guaranteed me it would be the best day of my life. A bold statement. After asking a few questions about the practicalities involved and consultating with my brother i agreed.
At 9am i was collected on a hot-rod motor bike from Queenstown Lodge where i was staying. From there I was drove to the local airport and qucikly strapped up and placed in a 4 man microplane that ascended to 15,000 ft. In the plane i was introduced to my tandem instrcutor, a cool, hip hop clothes wearing dude called Rodge. In the plane he placed some more clips on my harness and produced out of a cloth bag a bungy cord. I was worried. I wasn't going for the world record highest bungy jump by any chance? He laughed at me loudly as one of his colleagues came over and doubled checked everything. He calmed me down a little by explaining that there would be no world record attempts but there would be a bungy jump. I was to free fall for 60 seconds, after that he would release a parachute that would bring us gently towards the river below and at 300meters he would release the bungy cord and he said i could then make a jump. He explained that the man i had talked to in the bar had developed the jump and that it was perfectly safe, to trust him and that someone would be waiting for me below. At this stage i had little or no choice and went along with it. It was amazing. I nearly sh*t my pants. The best part was the bungy jump. It was so weird, for someone even to think up the concept and to go ahead wIth building a special double sized parachute was poco loco.
When i gently met the river a large white pole was extended to me from two other guys in a yellow raft. They undid my harness placed a life jacket on me, a pink helmet and gave me and oar. Then, they made me repeat a prayer with them in Maroi and one of them asked me to go to the front with him and help paddle down the ravine. After about 15 minutes of hard paddling we landed ourself in the fercouisly wild rapids. The guide at the back fell out at one stage but got back in. The ride lasted an hour but it went by like the blinking of a river swill on the horizon. If that wasn't enough at the end I was met by a young red headed Australian called, Bruce. He took a photo of me and asked me to remove my clothes. He handed me a towel and told me to change back into a new set of clothes which he gave me. After this he gave me a lunch box and told me to sit with him and eat. I had a chicken sandwich, a drink and a bit of fruit. He told me a little about his home looked at his watch, 12.30pm, and then said right lets go. He brought me through a forest and ahead of us was a chopper. We got on the helicopter and he fired up the engines. After lift off, he lashed on a banging techno number that i could hear in the headphones and we headed for Mount Cook and the massive Tasman Glacier. We landed after 30 minutes and we were both greeted by a very attractive teenage girl called, Jade. She had a snow board waiting for me and asked me if was ready to rock. I simply nodded and got strapped up. The descent was amazing. It was also really cool the way the helicopter pilot hovered above us for about 10 minutes before he left. I could visualise him nodding and shaking his head to his tunes as he smiled and watched me cresting the snow dunes and skimming off the ice.
Within 40 minutes it was finsihed. On the way down i kept thinking, what the f*ck is going to be next. I hoped there would be more. There was. Another dude, this time a much older man, Mr Robert P Philip - well, when i say old, older then the ones before - i'd say mid-40s, handed me a mountain bike and pointed to a dense forest path. We went over, and started a gentle descent a long the meandering path. This lasted about 30 minutes and was the least strenuous of all the trips. When he got off his bike we had arrived at a small jungle hut. He brought me inside and in there i was greeted by the man in the pub in the face and his wife. We all laughed when we met. He asked me if i was enjoyng myself. I smiled and just laughted out loud. He told me he'd take that as a Yes. Then he handed me the keys to a 4x4 quad and told me that the both of us would have a little ride along the ledge road, which is this tight hair pin, rubble road on the side of a gorge. The scenary was spectaular the weather was playing a blinder and hitting the river below to throw up a variety of reflecting lights from the stones in the river bed.
After an hour we arrived at a thermal bath and inside were the two Swedish girls that i had seen in the bar the night before. I was ushered to a changing room. Given the smallest pair of speedos you have ever seen and was told that for the next hour i was to be the the Irish ham in a Swedish love sandwich. I was fed grapes, kiwi slices and told that i would receive a pair of Koala slippers after their bubble bath show!! Oh the rest, lets just say its not for public consumption...
I was reborn yesterday. The world looks anew now.
If you don't beleive me you can send a mail to the girls and they'll tell you Their addresses are:
metofat@yahoo.se and elizabethlongnose@hotmail.com
The Master is asleep and so is Eusebius so I have decided to write this blog. Why should he be the one that gets to write everything?
We are in Queenstown now. And the master’s brother is here, Joseph. We’ve all been feeding on extremely rich hunting grounds. I’d be hard pushed to recall a time when so many kills have been made in such a short amount of time. Preys are everywhere and are easy to, pin, wrestle and bite your mental morals into!
Queenstown is Kerry on steroids. It’s green, really green, one hundred greens, with massive multi coloured, multi-sculptured, mountains, clear, blue, round, oval, egg-like, splatted paint-shaped pristine lakes and forever skies with mesmerising cloud formations and memorable multi-coloured horizons that seem to whisper at you some kind of secret song that only mother nature knows how to sing. The song is everywhere down here. Dogs can here it sometimes but humans can’t. In this part of the world the euphony is all around the land. I have heard it on more than one occasion. Eusebius told me that he did too. It is unique and special.
Something Queenstown has that Kerry doesn’t have is glaciers and massive ranges of snow peaked mountains, long, wide, deep gorges and ravines with acres of ripe, fertile, rich soil speckled in carefully manicured lush vineyards of Pinot Noir. Eusebius is more of a Melbec dog and the Master is into Merlot. But no sweat, each dog to his own tail, each dog makes his own whale. We dogs only can register three tastes unlike a human tongue, but, I’m happy with my lot. You can only imagine the smells we can get with our big wet sensitive noses that you humans can’t. Let’s say we’re even.
In the adventure capital of the world there is too many activities to choose from. If you were here for two months you could do a different activity every day. And have loads left over for a return visit. On offer is: the famous AJ Hackett bungy jump, the biggest being the mighty Nevis leap which is 143meters high, there are 3 jumps in total; sky-diving, heli-hijking, heli-rides with drop off mountain bike descents, parachuting, hang gliding, speed boats, glow worm cave explorations, plane flights to the nearby famous Milford Sound fiord lands, world class fishing, rally driving, 6x6 and 4x4 mountain tours, clay pigeon shooting, a variety of horse riding extravaganzas, white water rafting grade 5 rapids, awesome body board sledging and oodles more. The place is made for adventure. And doesn’t fail on delivery. It is the first city in the world that I have ever been to that seems to be dominated by sports. It’s great… I love it here.
Let me give you an example why. Today was sledging with the aptly called Serious Fun Company. A crowd of lu-la, crazy, cool, thrill seekers. This is white water rafting without the rafts. Instead you use a body board… sound strange, it is… The way it works is you lash on a helmet, kind of like one of the ones that you’d see in an inter- county hurling match. Next, is a thick 5mm wet suit, flippers, shoes and gloves. After that comes the shiny board. The trip I went on was in total about 12km, a two run, one and a half hour riot down grade 3 rapids. Grade 3 mightn’t sound like much when you are in a raft but let me tell you, first hand, that when you are in the water without the protection of a raft, when you are at the mercy of dangerous whirl pools, jagged rocks, rips, curls, waves, rushing foam, branches, other boarders, sharp flippers and strong currents, travelling at up to 40km an hour it’s a big fat, crusty based adrenalin pizza your taking a few slices from. For me one of the highlights of this brilliant trip was getting a chance to take on some whirl pools. When you a hit a whirl pool its very easy to go into one, and if not to strong to catch an eddie (a nearby current, usually in the centre of the river) and kick your way out. However, if you lift your board vertical, instead of horizontal, place both hands on the top of the seam and hold it close, parallel to your body in a standing position you catch the whirlpool and spin around super quick and then eventually get spitted out. I caught two really good ones with three full spins inside. I also caught a good wave, paddling against the current and also threw a few mouth filling 360 pipes.
At one point in the second run, it started to rain. It was a beautiful site. 12 people rushing down a roaring river, multi coloured helmets bobbing in the water, boards tossing and turning, legs kicking hard, teeth clenched in wonderful smiles, shouts for joy filling the air, high-fives and index fingers pointing for the heavens and a thousands exploding drops smacking the river’s surface forming thousands of miniature bouncing hollows followed by a thousand more .
A serious work out, serious sport, serious fun, serious hunting.
Today I took my first helicopter ride. My brother and I and the dogs flew around the 70,000 hectares, Mount Cook National Park. For the last three weeks there has been bad weather here. Again, like te sky dive we were blessed with azure blue skies, sparse cloud cover, a high sun and minimum wind. The park consists of 140 peaks over 2,100m, 22 over 3,000 and the centre piece: an impressive 3695 Aoraki Mount Cook. The direct translation in Mauroi being "Cloud Piercer". Fortunately, we also got to see very clearly 3 captivating glaciers: (1) Franz Joseph (2) Foxes and (3)the 29km long largest glacier outside the Artic, Tasman Glacier.
The helicopter ride was a maganimous 40 minutes long. We all had to wear headphones to drown out the deafening propeller sounds but also to listen to some facts from the informative pilot. Half way through the flight we had a landing on Tasman Mountain, and a photo opportunity. Jospeh was like a gunslinger on the photo draw and ample time was given us to get some mighty snaps. Little diamonds. Also on show was a one man hiker. I don't know what he was donig up there but he was pulling his slay along industriously on his way to somewhere. Would have liked a night or two there with a good book, a log fire and a hot port.
Tomorrow is an 8 hour drive to the adventure capital of the world: Queenstown.
Today I took my first ever sky dive. One of the best experiences of my life. At first we didn’t think that we would get the chance to do it as the forcast the night before was threatening all day rains which would have prevented the plane from taking off. But thankfully when we woke up, the sun was out and the jump was on. The jump was in Toupon, half way down the north island, on the mainland, over the spectacular lake Toupon (the biggest lake in the country). It was a 12,000 tandem drop with a 15 second free fall and a 4 minute whirling parachute descent. The way it worked was you turned up on the day and got measured up very quickly and then put on your Beasty Boy jump fit. You got a Biggles hat with goggles and got introduced to the instructor you would be tied on to. Unexpectedly, that was it before we got into the microplane. I thought we would be told what to do when jumping out of the plane and what to do when landing, but none of this happened. All of this either took place in the tiny plane or in the air when the parachute was opened. Overall, there was little to do, the instructors almost had total control of everything. All we had to do was bend our knees back and lift them up to our chest and then start running when we landed.
The moments before the jump were good viewing. Its amazing seeing peoples reactions before leaping out of a plane: fear, trepidation, excitment. The free fall was the peak. All I can remember is a sense a joy and excitement mixed in with a cold sensation on my face and hands and the rushing of air all over my body. A bit like when you stick ypur face out the window of a car going 100miles an hour. Try it if you want to know what a free fall feels like. I shouted all the way down before the parachute exploded open and made its ways to the stars. At 200km an hour you feel like you are being shot out of a gun. The force is tremendous.The skin on your face lifts and you clearly sense that you are hurtling to the ground in a surreal situation. For me there was also a moment of smiles when I thought of what I was doing. Flying. It was a feeling of happiness. A feeling of appreciation and respect. Man through ingenuity and creativity has learned to defy its environment and learned to conquer it in many ways. Some day we will live on another planet. Of that i have no doubts.
After the jump we all made our way on a six hour car ride to Wellington. Next stop is all about ferry rides to the south island and making our way down to the Franz Joseph Glacier and the formidable and striking Mount Cook. If it is anything like the last two days on the north island it will be heaps of fun.
Getting to Auckland involved watching Spiderman 2, The Terminal, knocking back a few Chilean beers and 13 hours. I didn’t sleep. I tried but simply couldn’t. I left on the 17th of November but arrived on the 19th. The date line is guaranteed to throw your biological clock in a head spin. The first two days in Auckland were all about chilling out and acclimatising. The jetlag was the roughest I have ever experienced. I might try the tablets the next time. Home was one of the biggest backpacking hostels on the planet - the massive, 600 bed, recruitment agency, travel agency consisting Auckland Central Backpackers. The place was so big it even had its own massive backpacking bar. For those that go beware of the elevators. They are nearest thing I have ever seen to a mechanical Venus fly trap. I almost lost a leg and an ear. You have two seconds to get in when the doors open if you want to avoid injury. Weird. The staff thought it was hilarious. In Auckland I hooked up with Lisa and Ann, my friends from Sweden, Jason and Yvonne my Scottish mates from Dublin and my bro, Joseph, who decided to pay his little brother a two week flying visit from the Emerald Isle.
Like any big brother should do he is splashing put a little on his little bro and the life of the Irish Rambling Vagabond and his hairy hounds has gone up more levels of comfort then there is stairs in the classy Auckland Sky Tower. Alas, it has all been top hotels, Sky TV, big booted, rented, fast cars with U2s new album banging a tune or two (like tracks 1,2,3, and 8).
Today was all about grade 5 water rafting. An excellent, high octane, adrenalin water roller coaster. Highly recommended. We went for a tour company called Kaituna Adventures. A serious crew of guides, all looking like something out of Point Break. Dreads, mochicans, six packs and tattoos everywhere. And all with cool names like: Clunk, Wade, Knarl and Fang. One of the guides was a massive 16 stone, body building, blond mochican wearing, hulk-like giant Mauri. Absolutely huge. I can only imagine was John Alomo and Jake the Muck looks like in the flesh.
The rafting expedition we went for was the deepest immersion rafting experience in the world. 1 hour, 3 waterfalls (one of which was a massive 7 meter drop) and 14 rapids over steep, narrow, canyons of brown water. We started off with a Mauri prayer asking the ancient warriors that were buried in the river’s banks for safe passage. In each raft was two guides and six or seven others. To start with we passed the tree of death successfully, we then had to clunk oars off the lucky tree and then after learning a few life saving techniques headed out into the rapids. I was at point with one of the instructors which was great fun. It meant a little more paddling and a little bit more water in the face. But to hell it with it, I was up for it. The highlight of the trip was a massive 7 metre drop which immersed the entire raft. Check out the photos to see how difficult it was. The raft directly in front of us capsized when they went over but fortunately we got through it upright. Amazing feeling going over the top knowing that you're definitely going to be submerged and not knowing if the boat is going to land on you. It was one of the quickest hours of my life. Really enjoyable and well worth the sixty odd euros we coughed up to do it. The vagabond recommends it..
Mendoza is one of Argentina’s biggest and most elegant cities. It is inhabited by over one million Argentines, is located half way down the country, on the western border, almost touching Chile and is closely linked to Santa in the north, Cordoba in the east and Bariloche in the south.
Mendoza is a backpackers Mecca. The city is interesting, expertly planned out and adorned with a very low sky line with a mixture of modern and colonial architecture. Prices are extremely low and tour, food, transport and accommodation quality is high. The people are friendly. Smiles are as obvious as the clouds in the sky, they're the common currency of welcome everywhere you go and are high and wide as the massive 7000m Aconcagua only a few hours bus journey away. I fell in love with the place. Sometimes you just get a feeling! After making my windy way through the multitude of serpentine hair pins from Santiago and across the Andes I got that feeling when entering the city: wide side walks, tree-lined streets with hanging branches and oodles of cool restaurants, bars and Internet cafes. Also on show was a healthy selection of markets selling all types of handmade objects: blankets, hats, key rings, dolls, dog belts, hacky sacks, stones, face masks, the lot. The parks were very cool. Inside were soccer pitches, steam boats, marble statues and excellently tendered flower formations. And let’s not forget the cities justified reputation as having some of the most beautiful people in the world!!!
Mendoza also equals wine. Fine wine. World acclaimed wine. Melbec. I’ve decided I won’t tell you about the vineyards and the excellent conditions and techniques that they have for producing their world famous produce. To do so properly would take many hours. All I shall say is for those that like their wine I can assure you that for a strong, full bodied, oak tinted bottle of red that would do justice to a good spag bolo or a nice medium rare fillet of steak try one of Argentina’s Melbec range. I personally can recommend some of the bottles from the excellent Lopez vineyards.
Home for the 10 days in Mecca was Campo Base. The cheapest hostel I have been in on my rambling at an embarrassingly cheap 2.50 euros a night. Also the only hostel I have ever been where the have triple beds. Forget bunk beds. On these things you climb up that ladder another notch. Fortunately, I got the second bunk so the climb wasn’t too high and just about manageable at 4am in the morning after a day’s hike and a bottle of top notch vino. The place had great staff, a cool lounge and a more than adequate kitchen. Beside its mixture of tranquillity and ostensible beauty, Mendoza also offers a wide variety of adventure sports. In Campo Base they had an activity organised for everyday. On offer was (1) trekking rappelling and hot springs (2) the high mountain hike (which was a vast to Aconcagua Park and the old town bridge) (3) mountain biking and hot springs (4) vineyards tour (5) rafting (grade 3) (6) hitting the town and get absolutely hammered on Melbec wine and vodka, and (7) hitting the town and getting absolutely ossified on Melbec wine and whiskey. I tried them all with the exception of rafting as it was only a baby grade 2/3, and the mountain biking, which I had done my far share of in Bariloche.
On the sports front the best day for me was the day that myself and a very cool Australian dude called Patrick went bare hand sheer-cliff rock climbing. The type of rock climbing where you see a wiry, brave semi-clad soul setting off at the end of a mountain, harness on, hands free and a pouch of white chalk hanging from his hip. I’ve never tried it before. It was exhausting and physically very demanding but I loved it. The climbing was a grade 5-10 which s basically a mid range cliff face with average difficulty. The pros I believe do up to a grade 7 and novices like me should usually start in the 4s.
The face we attempted was a 30 metre high granite wall that ranged from between 80 degrees to 120 degrees in curvature. It had sparse hand grips and only a modicum of foots rests. It had little are no vegetation and was quite slippery. Patrick went first. He had done it before in Canada and had all his own equipment so it was a great help for me watching how he approached the cliff. We were not alone and our guide for the day was there to hold the fall rope and offer us advice in broken English and Spanish.
Climbing is a mixture of flexibility, power and cunning. It lends itself highly to problem solving, something I never appreciated until I was facing a foot-hand grip conundrum at 20 meters up. You literally have to think on your fingers not your feet! When hanging on your fingers you quickly learn how to access possible routes up or down. There s always the knowledge in the back of your head that you can at anytime give up and sit back at your ease in your harness and either have another go at a certain grip or swing to another side of the face to try another route. But there is also the knowledge that to do so is failure. While comforting knowing that the safety harness is always there, the primal animal in me, resigned itself not to use it unless absolutely necessary. The challenge for me was going as high as I could as efficiently as I could, slowly if necessary - but without assistance. To do so I visualised that I was alone, without equipment, without anyone, completely on my tod, in a must find out situation. What proved to be very helpful was I imagined that at every impasse I met, Brutos and Eusebius had been kidnapped by a heinous fiend who had taken them away from me, muzzled them, and was dangling them menacingly over the cliff head above me. Just about to throw them to their doom unless I could get to the top to rescue them. This nightmare image drove me forward and pumped the necessary adrenalin into my arteries to make thinking on my fingers a little crisper and sharper than thinking in my feet. It also gave me superhuman strength. After about 30 dogged minutes of climbing, multiple hand and foot grips and tons of contortions, screeches and reaches I met a stubborn cliff face with an impossible one hand grip to far to my left and a foot grip that a Anakin Skywalker would find hard to get to. I thought of the dogs and used all my powers to try figure out a solution. Nothing. I called on the force. Nothing. I asked the Gods for divine intervention. Nothing. After thinking for a minute or two and after careful recollecting of months of Brasilian meat and beer and a far share of Argentina wines I resigned myself to the fact that I couldn’t do it. In that resignation there was a kind of strange calm, serenity. Almost 20 metres up I felt peace on the side of a Argentinean granite face. I had tried, and tried well. But no biscuit. Not even a dog bone. I decided enough was enough. If it was my destiny not to see the dogs again until I saw them in the big white puffy kennels in the sky, so be it.
After the sheer face climbing our guide brought us to a 8 metre high suspension bridge that looked something straight out of an Indian Jones movies. Dodgy rods holding it together on each side. Really shaky and squeaky planks of wood for footing and a big copper wire to place hands. For about 10 minutes we got the chance to hang from the bridge and jump into the ice water before. We gathered quite a bit of attention from some of the passer bys. Some of which couldn’t resist taking a few snaps of us in action. It was great fun and reminded me of jumping off the rocks in the Guillemene cove, near Tramore back in Waterford, Ireland. Happy days.
Got in and got out as quick as i could. Don´t go there. Reminded me of the smog ridden, claminess and disorganisation of Lima. Spent a couple of nights and then made my way over the amazing valleys of the Andes and into the diametrically oppossed, breath of fresh air -Mendoza. Will be here for a week.
Last few days have been marked by many new experiences.Ive learned a hell of a lot about the Andes, volcanoes, ice climbing, wine cultivating techniques, french and U.S. oak barrel making and how to spot a good wine from an imposter.
Last week in Bariloche Argentina was all about checking out lakes. Their beauty exceeds their reputation. From there a Fiat Puma was rented and I drove across the Andes and into Chile. The day had all four seasons: gentle but lenghty snow falls to stone splitting sun rays and rainbows.
Chile has the straightest and best roads i have ever seen. You literally could fall asleep at the wheel and keep driving for 10 minutes,at 100 miles an hour, without worrying about hitting anything or anyone(a motorbike enthusiasts heaven). The lansdcape is head swinging and window rolling. Similar verdant greens to Ireland, deep and light browns in the mountains and regularly exposed soils on the ubiquitos farms, vineyards and forests that hug the famous route 5 from south to north, and, also a wealth of lakes with a spectrum of blues that a professional oil painter would have difficulty naming.
After receiving some advice in the hostel patagonia we decided to head for Poucan, a famous sking and hiking village. While 450km away, the road trip paid dividends. Sleepy little fairy town, infested with log cabins, huts and 4x4s bringing ski boards, canoes and hiking equipment around its narrow streets and mountain passes. The show piece of the town for me was not the geothermic in and outdoor hot springs but Volcano Villarrica.
Here´s the conversation and sales pitch that made me climb her:
"Ola, como esta...entra, sentar aquai" "Ola, que tal?" "Tudo azul" "Speak English, iºm still working on the Spanish." "Sure." "Cool.Thanks, right, im here about the volcano, can you give me some information about it, can i climb it tomorrow, how much does it cost, equipment? etc." "Sure, the last four days its been called off due to bad weather but tomorrow we go. Let me tell you a little bit about her. Villarrica is an open system basaltic volcano with a long historic record that includes four fatal eruptions. Its 2847m high and always covered in snow and ice. The first historic eruption was recorded in 1558. Since then, there have been at least 54 small to moderate eruptions. There have been two moderate-large eruptions in 1640 and 1948. Mudfows, associated with eruptions, killed a total of at least 73 people in 1949, 1963, 1964, and 1971. The mudflows of 1971 were caused by lava flows that melted ice. Many homes and agricultural installations were destroyed in the Chaillupen and Turbio Valleys. Concrete bridges across major bridges were also cut. About 350 people were killed in Villarrica village by a tectonic earthquake in 1575. Takes 6 hours to get up in full alpine equipment, and an hour to get down sliding on your ass. We kick off at 7am, and....." "Hold your pick there boss, is it safe these days.." "Im holding my what?" "Forget it. Is it safe to climb now. 2004. Safe. No accidents. No problemmass" "Sure. No problemmmaaaas. Its active but nothing is going to happen. We have all the necessary scientific equipment to tell if anythig is going to happen. Let me continue, you pay the national park entry fee of....where you from?" "Ireland." "Ireand, i love that place. Guinness. U2." "Yeah." "That would be euros than?" "Yeah." "You pay 30 euros for the tour, 5 euros in, another 3 euros for the 10 minute cable car, and then take the climb..... Are you a big soppy-woppy-fluffy-bunny and [OUT] or you a green, white and gold lion and [IN]?" "Ill give you 25 for the tour." "Ha ha ha ha" "Ok, ill give you 26, right now and im in, cash" "29" "26.5" "Ha ha ha ha... 29" "27" "28.5" "Im a green white and gold, and very cold, 12 pack, supersonic celtic fox, and........ [In]!" "What?" "Ask your ice pick" "Pablo, we have another crazy Irish man going up the volcano."
The climb took 5 hours and was tuff. We put on the spikes on our boots half way up, and dug into the ice and ascended in zig zag fashion. Very physically demanding but exhilorting. Quite a few turned around and decided not to do it. Visibility was poor and goggels were essential. On more than one occassion visibility dropped to 5 meters when the wind picked up, and changed direction and blew the top layer of granular snow in our path. The top was impressive. Big crater with snow running down into its heart and white bellowing sulpher clouds rushing up with huge shouts and belchs of lava thundering into the air from the lava rivers below. The view from the top was non existant; too much sulpher. Very uncomfortable to be honest. After lots of coughing and a few singed faces we quickly headed back 100m from the apex and then headed down, literally sliding all the way on our ass watching the snow baords and skiers doing their stuff. Good fun and a great experience.
After the volcano, jumped in the panda, let out a few obscenities on hearing 56million Americans let Bush get in for a 2nd term and headed another 400km north to Corico and the vineyards. After a very heavy baby-like sleep went to two vineyards. The first was San Pedro and the second was the Torres Estate. My first true education in fine wines. Learned loads and sampled loads while marvelling at the amazing Andes panaramoic background and throwing my eyes across miles and miles of military precision rows of vines. Ended up buying a bottle of Motlin 2002, from Sao Pedro, which i think i will go and open now. Actually, i think thats a splendid idea. Stop the keyboard tapping and start the wine swirling, tongue curling, colour and nose hurling.
Location: Bariloche
Temp: 5 degrees, cold and windy.
I’m writing this blog from the Hotel-Inn Hostel in Bariloche, Patagonia. It consists of a log cabin, 10km away from the nearest city and civilisation, a small pebbled beach (that leads onto one of the coldest lakes I have ever had the pleasure to swim in) and there are two young labradors looking after the giant garden to the rear. One of which has an injured paw and keeps following me every time I set foot outside.
The dogs are loving it here and have bonded immediately with the two incumbent hounds. We are booked in to stay here until Tuesday, but Eusebius has begged me to stay longer. He can’t get enough of the open air, crystal water, snow tinted mountain valleys and the rich variety of flora. I think they both must be communicating freely again ‘cause Brutos came up and asked if we could also extend our stay. I’m travelling with a cool English girl called Claire and we have agreed to rent a car on Tuesday to do the 7 lakes tour, hit Chile for 4 days and then drop the car off in Mendoza, so it might be difficult pushing the boat out for another day. I told them we’ll see. As ever there just isn’t enough time to do everything. It’s one of the rambling conundrums that ramblers have. You get somewhere, start learning about it, want to check it out, and realise there simply isn’t enough time, so you do what you can. It’s usually hit the main attractions and then if you’re lucky pick off one or two of the others. I might be able to wrangle an extra day here. It will be worth it if I can. There is so much to see: hand gliding, canoeing, diving, serious bike riding and a huge choice of hikes of varying difficultly.
Yesterday was different. I set off to conquer one of the local mountains, mount Frey. It is a 2000m high peak with a small lake on top and a very small hostel with a one man cook-electrician-ski boarding-handyman McGuiver-like Argentina legend called Marcus looking after the place. Not only did he bake a lovely fresh loaf when I was there but he also whipped up magical spag bol for 2euros. Getting to the hostel was demanding. 10km up and 10km down. The terrain varied in difficulty and constitution. It started with your normal forest like scenario that you would get back home. After about 2km it changed dramatically into a flat plain with sporadic streams flowing down from the ice cap above. All around the plain was old grey dead trees. Trees that looked as if they had been hit my a merciless pesticide. Very strange when you turned the corner and went from a fecundity of fertile bright green and brown colours to be hit with weak straw grass and grey dead bark. After about 5km the trail started its ascent. It consisted of some wooden bridges over some small but aggressive rivers and waterfalls and then a lot of bramble and open earthed roots from big giant trees. It was difficult to climb but not as difficult as what lay ahead the last 2k. Mostly rock, mud, bog and finally ankle height snow. Because the trail wasn’t marked too well I got lost on the wrong path for half an hour but I eventually got back on track and made it up to the top after a few handfuls of snow to eat.
The night I thought was going to be calm and relaxed as there was only one Italian man and two English girls in the hut. But I was wrong. At about 9pm 50. Yes 50 Argentian students between the age of 12 and 14 popped out of the snow or beamed themselves from an orbiting spaceship onto the top of the mountain. All of a sudden paradise on the top of mount Frey turned into a tent infested school room where yours truly was interviwed by at least 15 curious oogling kids giving me the Spanish inquisition in broken English and teaching me how to name all the utensils on a kitchen table in Spanish. Not exactly what I expected but a good laugh and a strange place and strange way to learn how to say knife, fork, spoon and butter in Spainish.
On the Spanish front, it is pleasantly very similar to Portuguese. Thankfully I didn’t have to start from scratch to learn a new language. I can confidently say that Portuguese is a much more difficult to learn. The phonetics are far more complex and the use of nasal sounds are more prevalent. Having said that Spanish pronunciations are also difficult. So far I’ve learned that the “v” sounds like a “b” and the “j” sounds like a “h” and the unusual double L “ll” sounds like “ya”. While attempting to speak Spanish it has been difficult resisting throwing in the odd Portuguese word. I more than often do and fortunately usually they understand what I am trying to say. I’d love another two months here. I reckon with 3 months here I’d have strong conversational skills.
So there you have, the south Americal leg is almost over.
Unfortunately some of the eys on my laptop ( the ones besde u and j especially and the comma and full stop) or broen as such ths mumbo-jumbo word-mountan that loos amazingly le the jagged roughed landscape ve just been captivated and nspred by.
35m long 1 m wide 60m high a majestical pantng that nature rarely produces and often takes away in the blinking of an eye the masterpiece s still here and unbelievably s still being panted everyday a frosty slap in the iris a blue punch n the pupil a shotgun sound n the ear the falling ice chunks small tidal waves eye tnted mountans small nimble birds with spiky heads and attitudes thousands of jagged undulating bumps with a ten types of blue and a hundreds types of white dd you now that the esmos have 300 names for snow down here the ce must have the same nearby El Chatlen and the magnanimous Fitzroy range climbing paradise the powerful towers of pain huge stone masses shooting ominously into the sy nqustve condors 4 hour horse track innumerable meandering rivers a nice Swedish couple a 4th generaton rshman called Marcos avanagh hs stores of attacng puma on the prares the world famously cold bone chilling winds three coats two pants were not enough almost nhumanable conditions beautiful wld horses that are traded for 125 euros turquoise lae Argentna tender lomo meat durng ther toughest economc tmes of late n one wee the country had unbelievably 5 presdents no longer one to one wth the dollar the people are slowly readjustng the widest variety of snow capped moutons have ever seen that run on for ever laugng at the stars and talng wth the cluds the cheapest but slowest nternet access yet hostl el calafate almost loosng my camera a dash bac to get before the bus left the coolest customer servcce rep ever altruism n full swng repad hm wth a bottle of melbec fnshng the edtng of the 3rd boo starng out a bg clear wndow the lazest dogs n the world that go around n bg pacs shaelton lounge and lyng star shaped on the ground loong at the heavens drun on wne and beer havng to fly to Buenos to get to Barloche fryng up my own tender steas n the hostel the 7 laes tour on the way and holeween n the lae dstrct. John Culnan wherever you are you’d love t down here ths place was made for you.
Ive copied and pasted a little but enough is enough.
Iiiiiii….hey ‘I’ is miraciously back in action and so is kkkkkkk
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;,,,,
im back…..life on the road for a beaten, bounced and walloped laptop.
Day: 210
Location: Tierra Del Fuego, Argentina
Temp: 5c
Tierra Del Fuego, or the “The Land of Fire” is located at the tip of South America, down from the Falkland Islands, past the straits of Magellan and a mere two day freight boat away from the penguins in Antarctica. It earns its name from distant shoreline campfires the indigenous Yagan people tended to. These infernos were ogled at by mesmerised explorers sailing the surrounding, channels and straits in years gone by. These days almost all the Yahgan`s are gone and the archipelago is owned mostly by neighbouring Chile, though the biggest cities of Rio Grande and where the dogs and I are, Ushuaia, belong to Argentina. The last few days have consisted of cable rides to Glaciers and climbing mountains in the country’s first coastline National Park. But hold the husky ride for a moment. Let me back pack (I`m getting so used to that name now), I mean back slay a bit for a moment. Let’s tie up the dogs and let me tell you what’s been happening since my last blog.
Here is the abbreviated and censored version:
My good friend Alex Martin decided to pay me a whirl wind, “high-rolling” week long visit after learning that he had been accepted to do his MBA in Sydney. For a period of 10 days we went mad. First in Sao Paulo, at my farewell Brasilian party which was a hell raising, drunken, hugs, kisses and champagne affair that became very messy at about 8am in the morning. And let’s not forget emotional. I now consider a part of my heart Brasilian. I love the people. I love the culture. And I love picanha, Corinthians and Guarana! After my Sao Paulo exit we headed to Buenos Aires where Alex was swiftly introduced to my ever smiling Scotish friend Yvonne and her ultra sound and ultra cool boyfriend Jason. Over the space of a few blurry days we hit some of the nightclubs: Club 69, Pasha, BA News and the 8am to 3pm Kaix club which is the craziest club I have ever went to in my life. You got to check this place out. It’s situated on the River Plate, which gives it a dramatic watery affect, and at 8am the sun makes its way gently into the sky and hits the small circular dance floor with some of its dappled yellow and golden rays. The club holds about 2,000 people. About 2,500 people were there when we made our introduction, 95% on drugs, 99% out from the night before, all taking part in a clubbing marathon. When we arrived ther were 5 bodybuilder gay lords commanding the dance floor with flamboyant multi-coloured spiked haircuts, squeezing their pecks and tensing their biceps to every beat in the excellent uplifting house tunes and 80s rifts. Beside them were two 6ft 2 or 6ft 3 giant transvestites that danced languidly with the lissom grace of one of the incoming waves in the bay. Speckled all around them were a corpulence of banging ravers jumping, shouting, whistling, biting, hugging, jaw chewing, index finger firing, pill dropping, sneaker wearing dancers all seemingly having the time of their life. Alex and I got home at about 11am. Eusebius never saw anything like it in his life and spent most of his time jumping up and down and taking mental notes of everything he saw. He mostly stood on the periphery. Brutos on the other paw got stuck in there in the middle of the dance floor and gave as good as he got. As the morning progressed and the tunes kept spinning he introduced himselfs to loads of people. By the end of the day he must have shook tails and barked friendly at least half the people there. He slept for 24 hours afterwards.
Unbelievably, after 3 days, Alex decided a visit back to Brasil was in order, this time the River of January. And in a scene reminiscent of Snatch, our passports flashed by us, were quickly stamped and our metal bird hit the sky and before you could say “Polar Bears are actually very dangerous and not to be petted” we were taking snaps of Christ the Redeemer, body boarding in Ipanema, and knocking back more champagne then you can imagine (on one occasion 10 bottles in one night).
After all that madness Alex headed back to London in a heap and I was sent in individual parcels down to Buenos Aires and put back together by the beautiful Meire and Beatchie, friends from Brasil, who decided to visit me.
One of the highlights of my entire trip was a wonderful meal we had at an amazing Tango show called “Senhor Tango”. A two hour, amazing extravaganza with the best dancing I have ever seen, and, a rendition of “Don’t Cry for me Argentina” at the end which had Eusebius in tears. Fantastic and highly highly recommended. A must see in my books if you get to Buenos Aires. And at US$50 for the show and a top notch meal well worth pushing out the budget. The next few days were spent lazily strolling around the highly sophisticated, beautifully adorned, cosmopolitan capital. A wonderful city. A cross between the old town in Stockholm and Paris. The city seemed to be a never ending pall of thousands and thousands of chic and classy indoor and outdoor cafes and restaurants all surrounded and intertwined with a variety of elegant older buildings. In our short trip we got a chance to visit the beautiful district of Rocoleta with its unforgettable cemetery, take in some weird and wacky markets in Boca, on the port (the home of the famous Boca Juniors team, where Diego Maradona applied his trade and is revered as a demigod) and loiter around the widest main street in any capital in the world, Av 9 del Julio (and impressive 8 lanes, 56m wide).
After their whirlwind visit the Brazilians returned to their homeland and I hung out for a few days with Yvonne and Jason. This was complete chill out time. With plenty of rest and plenty of good food. They’re now in Mendoza and more than likely slugging back some fancy red wine, that came from a fancy rare grape variety that was stored in a fancy oak barrel wine. I’m looking forward to swirling, spitting and downing some of it myself in a few weeks.
Okay, where was I… Oh yes, glaciers and national parks… I am presently leaning on the keyboards of my laptop in a cool hostel called Torre al Sur looking out into the heavily snow capped mountain surrounded bay in Ushuaia. There are two English women and an Irish woman across the table from me debating whether or not they have the time, money or equipment to take on the 10 day trip to the Antarctica (so far I’ve gleaned it costs 2,000 US dollars for 10 days [more expensive in high season Dec-Jan], it takes the big freight boat 2 days to get over and 2 days to get back and that its cold), and I`m loading some of the photos from the last two days` excursions on to my hard drive. The first trip was a cable car ride to the Martial Glacier, which took about 2 hours and boasts one of the most spectacular views of the city and bay. Truly beautiful. Today was a visit to Parque Nacional Tierra Del Fuego which consists of numerous hikes, the most southerly operating train in the world, cascading rivers, giant lakes, tall dense forests, blue pink glaciers and sporadic beaches. I decided to take on the hardest trail which was an 8km hike up and down to the very steep Cerro Guanaco through a heavily meandering, forest path, which took me a demanding 4 hours to wrestle and conquer. The site from the top was even better than the Martial Glacier. Luckily enough I got back to my base station and a warm fire just before a huge downpour of snow, sleet and rain hit the park. I`m tired now but enthused. I`m sleepy but ready and waiting for tomorrow’s adventure. Hopefully I’ll be clapping flippers with seals, studying the foxes and beavers and staring at Andean condors and black-browed albatrosses.
Acabo de sair das viagias que passei em Brasil. Foi super-legal. Fiquei com meu muito generoso pai Marcel. O tempo estava cheio com: adventura, diabrura and sorrisos. Fui visitar muitos lugares interessantes, e vi as cascatas em Chapada Dimentina e Falls de Iguacu, e dansei em Fortaleza e Salvador, e nadei com tubarao e golfinhos em Fornando de Naronha. E muito outra coisas……Ouvi muita musica Brasiliana, comei carne spectacular e gritei par Tiamao em Pacanbeau.
Foi uma tempo especial no meu vida que nunca esquecer. Eu sento quasi Brasilian ahora. Eu ansisoso que uma dia eu vou voltar.
To all my friends, of which there are too many to mention, I say a big Thank You. There will always be a special part of your amazing country in my heart of hearts. So let`s not say goodbye. Let`s say “ate logo”.
And to all of you Brasilian rambling vagabond who are thinking of visiting the other side of the world always know that you have a place to stay with me in Ireland.
For those of you that know the rambler, you will know that soocer has been an integral part of my lifeforce for a long time. Maybe not as much now as it used to be, but, still it plays a big part. Ever since i can rememebr i`ve been kicking a ball. I have 25 years plus football pumping in my vains, i have played with many teams, in many countries, and in many cities. I`ve competed in myriad leagaues and cups , in almost every position on the pitch and in almost every weather condition. At this stage i must have played thousands and thousands of games. So many it`s impossible to count... I want to tell you about a game of football i played that was nothing like i`ve ever experienced, or come close to experiencing in my life of football ever before!
The story starts when I met a group of blokes last weekend, friends of friends. We exchanged handshakes and salutations, and as you do, then got speaking over a few beers on a variety of topics: Cornelius as usual got an appearence, and i got slagged again for the 10,000nt time, if there still was a war in Ireland, how Bush is such a prick, and then, pleasantly we drifted onto a conversation on soccer. We discussed the finer details of the Spanish league, we argued about the demise of the Italian and French national teams and we clonked glasses on how great it would be if Ireland could play Brasil in one of the opening games of the next world cup in Germany (with the man of the moment down here Cornelius making an appearence in the middle of the park with Keano). At the end of the conversation one of the guys said that they played every Wednesday at midnight on an astro turf pitch, with electronic scoreboards, usually 5 a-side. To their credit, as i`m becoming accustomed to down here, they immediately stuck out the hand of friendship and asked me did i want a game. It has been a few months since i played a proper 5 a-side game and if i was to be honest would have to admit that i was a little suspicious that my new found friends were about to vent the fury and built up anger of a nation towards the Irish and Cornelius by subjecting me to a barrage of dirty tackles and a healthy portion elbows for the duration of the game. But, i`m used to that so after a fleeting moment of thought and a quick mouthful of beer I accepted. IT WAS COMPLETELY NUTS for various different reasons that i couldn`t have expected and will never forget.
My nameless friend picked me up in his car at 10.30 with his girlfriend and dropped her off, winked at me, and headed for the pitch. When we got there it was actually a complex with about 4 similar pitches, each roughly half the size of a standard pitch, with big nets and a small dug out. The complex had a club house that served food and drink. Straight away i was brought to meet the players in the bar and we all had 2 or 3 beers before the game kicked off. Strange preperation i thought to myself! At ten to twelve we went to the pitch with about 10 people from the bar who acted as a semi interested crowd. Just before we kicked off, one of the guys in the stand lit up the first of many joints and half the players took huge mouthfuls of the drug into their system in what i can only guess was a substitute for a warm up çause none was done. That is with the exception of a rather large goal keeper on the oppositions team that shook his head around twice, and scratched his eyes as if he had just woke up after 2 days of non stop sleep.
The game of ball was nothing like i had, in error, prepared myself for. I thought it would be a little rough and tumble with a healthy proportion of traditional Brasilian flare and dexterity. It turned out to be all flare and dexterity and no rough and tumble. Pure football. All passing and movement. It was great. I relaxed took up a role in the middle of the park and in a 19-14 titantic battle played my part in slaying a disgruntled and highly excited opposition. But that`s not where this game ended as some of the players explained to me over a few final-whistle handshakes. The real game was about to begin. After a quick shower i sat down on some steps beside the bar with the other players. My driver and talented centre half duely collected 2.50 euros from us all and went into the bar and came back with a black dustin full of ice and beer. Then, as if on q, every week, a big fat japanese dude pulled up in a dusty beaten down car and handed over a big bag of favala cocaine to our goal keeper. After a few bottles of beer each, half the team started rolling joints and the others started taking their turn going back towards the pitch to take a line of coke. So there i was in the middle of a beer soccer sandwich with a group of brasilians clapping me on my back congratulating me on my soccer performance, saying that Cornelius was actually alright, and probably had his own problems that no one knew about, and that their marathon runner should be thankful as he is now world famous and a Brasilian TV channel are already talking about making a film of his life, and seemingly all the girls now think he`s really handsome and want to bed him. For the next hour and a half I dug into the bottle of beers and the boys dug into a variety of other substances. The subject varied from what type of drugs there is in Ireland, are all the women tall, with blond hair, blue eyes, long legs and can drink 10 pints of Guinness, to, how Brasil has been corrupted by the politicians and how that someday they wished that it could grow and flourish and change from a 3rd world country full of economic and social disparities to a 1st world with a more balanced culture and economy that bridges the gap between poor and rich.
The debates were lively, interesting, intelligent and often elegantly and cogently discussed. It was a strange game of footall. And as i laid in bed at night pondering on what happened i couldn`t help but think once again how football (or any team sport for that matter) had been such a wonderfully weird teacher of life. To the boys, of last night, who i may never see again, to the nameless soccer warriors i will probably never cross shins and elbows with, drink a beer with or discuss life again... the vagabond salutes you.
Last few weeks have been all about hangin' out in Sao Paulo and chillin' after the last few hectic weeks of traveling. I needed it after 15 plane flights and 2 months on the road. Back in SP, I've been brushing up on my Portuguese, doing a lot of reading and writing, hangin' out in Angelica Grill stuffing delicious picanha and cheese bread into my gob, watching the mighty Corinthians soar up the football table, and have been learning how to dance Forro with the beautiful Dany (I've already hit her an elbow and stood on her toes at least three times)!
With a tear in my eye I'll be leaving Sao Paulo at the end of the month. Que Pena! But, on the upside will be two-foot tackling, my first Argentian stop, the sophisticated, cultured and intriguing capital of Buenos Aires. I hope to spend five weeks in total in Argentina. So far I'm thinking of spending a week in the capital and after that I'm undecided? Brutos wants to head straight down south ( on an over-night bus), to Tierra del Fuego, via a quick stop in the beaxh resort of Mar-Del-Plata. Eusebius wants to kick off our rambling by heading for the north to sample the tasty criolla chica and cereza grapes in Mendoza, San Juan, La Rioja and Salta . He's more interested in educating his mid pallete then getting rough and tumble with a few fiords, rolling mountain chains and active volcanoes in the Lake District. We've all aggreed that a quick visit to, Punta Arenas, a quick hike through The Frency Valley and Lake Grey to check out the impressive scarped peakes of the Torres del Paine (or Towers of Pain) is a must.
Next, being hotly debated is in which order to prioritise other areas to ramble to? So far the list is looking like, in first place the massive, gorgantuian, mountain:
Aconcagua
2. a visit to Cortoba
3. an extended stay back in the capital if it proves to be a hit and
4. a cheeky two day trop to neignbouring Uruguay and Montevideo which is only a one-hour boat trop away from Buenos, before flying onwards to Santiago.
Some strategic and tactical decisions will have to be made very soon. Anyone out there in cyber-space got any advice or recommendations or even contacts I could use, drop a dog a bone.the
Location: Jungle
Day: 148
Weather: 37
Tour Operator: Green Planet Tours , cost: 75 euros for the entire trip! Hotels: Hotel Monoco *** and The Tropical Hotel ****
The Amazon houses and possess a mountain of interesting facts figures and statistics that are hard to digest- here are a few openers that you might be interested in: it touches nine of the thirteen countries in south America, it covers 42% of Brazilian land mass, it is the world’s largest concentration of flora and fauna, it is home to the world’s largest river in terms of volume constituting 30% of the world’s river water. Some local academics also contend that it is also the world’s longest river currently attributed to the Nile and at this time are researching that its source is further up in the Peruvian Andes. I could go on forever but I won`t. If you want to know more buy a book or get down here on your next holiday.
Chief and I started our brief exploration of the Amazon in the capital of the state of Amazonian: Manuas. Manuas is situated on the Rio Negro seven miles upstream from the impressive convergence of the Solomines and Negro rivers, which join to form the birthplace of the Amazon River. Manuas is a strange city. There is a huge population of over 2 million and it is juxtaposition of a high tech urban economy, reminiscent of a colonial past and a present day struggling lower class that predominantly come from a poor Indian heritage. It houses some of the biggest manufacturing, research & development, petrol, telecommunication and computer internationals on the planet but at the same time has a very poor infrastructure and has widespread prostitution and unskilled labour. My recommendation would be to come into Manuas and get out to the jungle as quick as possible to utilise all the precious days of your trip to the Amazon. There’s not a lot to see in the city except for the ornate opera house which is a symbol of the opulence that once thrived in the region due to the rubber industry boom that happened two hundred years ago.
A bit like the mosquitoes in the area the tour operators and jungle lodge owners in the Amazon swarm around tourists the minute they step through arrivals. They sell their journeys when you queue for the taxi, they peddle their goods when you are trying to go to the toilet, they tip you on the shoulder when you are shopping in the local supermarket or when you are having a maracuja fruit juice. There buzzing can be heard in the streets. And like their two winged friends they are dangerous. If they bite you your experience of the Amazon could be a disaster. Poor sleeping facilities, slow boats, poor food, non-English speaking guides, etc. I wish their were a Larium, Malarone or Doxiciclina that you could take to prevent their bites but unfortunately our best minds haven’t come up with a repellent yet! Maybe the answer is somewhere deep in the jungle !When picking a tour it is recommended that extreme caution and forward planning be used. Its worth doing your research before you get here as the tourist office in the town is a disaster with little or no literature and staff that can only speak Portuguese. It is as if the there is a tour operating cartel in operation! After a stressful day of shooting around in a taxi trying to find information to compare on tours Chief and I decided after, some debate and haggling with a local weird and wacky Portuguese German eccentric Irish looking tour operator called Nelson to take a two night three day tour with a company called Green planet. And boy was it some experience. It was about as strange as a Daddy Long Legs being put in the heart of an invested jungle lake and told “There you go boy , you’re home, you’re back in the wild, go forth and multiply”. It’s new territory. It’s an unfamiliar world. Having said that it wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be and we rose to the challenge.
Home was a floating lodge 30 feet wide by 50 foot long. Bit like a floating school gym with a tin can roof. Sleeping facilities consisted of several low maintenance rooms consisting of beds and ripped mosquito nets. On the front deck were twelve hammocks. Food was dished up by a one armed chef and consisted primarily of pasta, rice, fried bananas, white fish I don’t know the name of, the smallest and sweetest bananas you’ve ever seen and orange juice, hot milk and water. Sanitary conditions were modest but effective and the seating area to the front was spacious and comfortable and provided a good area to watch the local boats occasionally go by.
Day one of our trip into the unknown consisted of taking a boat from the dock in Manuas to the meeting of the waters. This is a strange phenomenon where the black water of the Rio Negro from Colombia merges with the Solimoes river of Peru. Brought me back to one of my science glasses when I was a kid. If my memory serves me right it was the same effect when you mixed water with oil. Anyone know the technical term send me a mail. Can`t recall it. Anyway they don’t mix so the effect is like a crack in the water where on the left of the boat you have black water which is 5 degrees hotter than the brown water which is on your right. After the meetings we went to our floating camp and within the space of a few hours headed out piranha fishing and crocodile hunting at night. Myself, Chief, Eusebius, Brutos, four friendly Spanish, two beautiful Italian women, a stoic Japanese axe-murder looking man, Flavio our 16 year old ship captain and coconut tree climber, and last but not least, our excellent multi-linguist, ex-army, avid flora and fauna hunter and guide Naronha set off up one of the plenitude of tributaries of the Rio Negro (which is one of the main supplies of cocaine from Colombia in the world) to see what the Amazon would throw at us. After experiencing piranha fishing in the Panthanal, the fishing on the day was a little less fruitful. However what we lacked in luck and skill with our fishing we made up with verve. It was great fun hearing all the members of the boast shouting obscenities at the fish in Japanese, Irish, Spanish, Catalan, Italian, Portuguese and English. On more than one occasion, Chief almost had a catch, but, mischievously, they kept nipping at his bate and cheekily stealing it from under his nose. He wasn`t happy. Same held through for Eusebius, no luck; and Brutos was getting so upset, at one stage I had to restrain him from throwing himself into the water to hunt with his paws and teeth! To date he’s still zero for zero on the fishing front!
After a quick bite of grub we went out again, this time at night, wearing full length clothes and with flash lamps to hunt for crocs. It tooks us hours but we eventually caught a little baby male which we all got a chance to handle. It was only two or three feet long (but will grow to about twenty foot when an adult). Felt like holding a scaly snake! The best part of the trip for me was the experience of listening to the boat glide through the river and dodge the various tall towering trees that sprung up from the river forest. It was a constant feat of dexterity on the part of Flavio the navigator at the back of the boat from keeping us from crashing into a giant tree and capsizing. The beauty was in the symphionic choruses, blurbs, oinks, chirps, whistles, squeeks and sounds that surrounded us from all the various wild animals. There night talks and screams were like a beautiful orchestral performance. Most impressing on my mind was the very clear picture of the heavens dotted with an uncountable amount of starts and clouds, all reflecting off the water below. The water was so clear it acted like a mirror and gave a surreal effect of two night skies. To make things even better. Fire flies kept shooting past the boat in the night making it look as if there were shooting stars in the water and only a mere hand grasp away. A beautiful experience. And one which I hope comes out some what well on the cam corder so I can relive it again.
On another Amazon high pitch note I need to explain something to you!!! You’ve all heard of your fair share of frightening animals that exist in the Amazon? Permit me a minute to remind you of a few. You have Malaria carrying mosquitoes, stinging ant armies that march in huge phalanxes, a wide variety of frightening spiders- tarantulas and black widows- and a hoard of other spiders that hunt with webs that they throw at their prey, spiders that hunt in packs for snakes and birds and others that create webs that are the size of big fishing nets. Then there are the cats: the majestic but deadly Puma, the noble but lethal Jaguar, the slender but cunning Oclet, and much more. And let’s not forget the birds of prey, the hawks and eagles that patrol the skies. And unfogetably we have the snakes, which are world famous: lightening quick vipers, strangulating pythons and bone crushing anacondas and a multitude of highly toxic brightly coloured snakes, frogs and insects that vary in length and girth that you simply don`t want to get into an argument with................. I haven’t even touched on what lives in the waters......... Creatures, which in my opinion, are some of the most frightening animals in the world. Razor sharp piranhas, snapping and wrestling caymens and up to 13 stone clandestine man eating ugly looking pucajuras ….but let’s forget them for a moment. There is one that you might have never heard of which for me is the most frightening of them all. One of the most fearsome animals of the human race anywhere on the planet. Let a 25 foot crocodile attack me and bring me to the bottom of a lake, let a 30 foot aconaconda digest me over a month, let the razor sharp claw of a jaguar rip at my back and tare at my neck before letting me be taken by this abomination. His name is the "CANDIRU" and he frightens the living day lights out of everyone I know. I need to tell you a little about this merciless, bringer of EXCRUCIATING pain, mother f*c*er, enemy of the human race. There are actually two distinct groups of fish known as candiru in Brazil. The so called “whale catfish” famous for the rapaciousness with which they attack hooked fish much like piranhas and bathers alike, and the smaller, gill dwelling catfish that have become legendary for swimming into unlikely human orifices (including the vagina, anus, nose and ears). These needle shaped fish are adapted to dwell in the gills of large catfishes where they extract muscus and blood. Traditionally, menstruating women avoid candiru infested waters for fear their blood may attract these water demons. According to native folklore these fish are also attracted to urine and they are reputed to be able to enter the penis of a man urinating by the side of a river by swimming up the urine stream. Reports are no doubt apocryphal. Candiru do on occasion however enter the urethra by both male and female bathers more than likely attracted by the urine. However remote the likelihood of this unpleasant event the mere prospect is sufficient to cause even the most avid bather of thinking twice before he enters the water and has made Chief develop an unusual technique of diving into the water with one hand protecting his grind and the other guarding his back passage!
Day two consisted of trekking into the jungle for a class on flora and a spot of torantical hunting . It only lasted a few hours but it was action packed. The guides were brilliant. They showed plants that produce sap that make anti-cancer remedies. Trees that produce rubber, and produce the primary ingredients for bubble gum, and others which branches act like filters to retain water for the locals to cut down and drink from when trekking through the jungle for days on end. Very educational. And straight out of a Michael Pallin documentary. I really enjoyed it. Later in the day we did a little canoeing up the creeks to see some more flora and then went to a local woman`s house which in the space of half an hour turned into a pub come, smallest night-club you`ve ever seen. Strangest, but one of the coolest bars i`ve ever been in: the pool table had a 20 degree slant on its left hand side, you had to go through the old woman`s sitting room to get to the one tiolet and the locals pooled up in thin long stick baots to oggle at the gringoes and hit the odd tree on their way home full of petrol tasting vodka and canchasa. Great fun.
Third day was a quick trip to a local indian home where we had a chance to see some of the local farming crops and buy some of the local jewelery. Chief and I got on well with a 6 and 11 year old kid and spent most of our time being thought how to play football by them on a small beach. By the end of the day it was a full scale 5 on 5 international soccer match with a dip in the river, a refreshing fruit juice and a slow boat back to the camp to chill out. A great end rto a great trip.
Recommendations:-Bring anti-malaria tablets with you before you come they are surprisingly desperately hard to buy when you get here.-A pair of night vision glasses like the military have would be like a dream come through-high power head torch a must-Camcorder is a must as well as heaps of memory on your digital camera-Get anti-mosquito spray that has in its ingredients DEET 100%. The mossies hate this stuff.-Bring some of your own food with you into the jungle: any of the sugar based products will give you a daily boost in case the food is not agreeing with you.
[1] The north is far poorer and cheaper than the south. Having been here 4 months my opinion to date is that Brazil is not only a Continent due to its colossal size but it is a dichotomy between a first world economy in the South East ( Rio, Sao Paulo, Florianopolis, Porto Alegre) and then the third world which is the rest of the country.
[2] Most internet cafes don’t have a 2.0 USB port. Especially, outside the 1st world and prices vary between 1.5 euro and 4 euros an hour and between a 56 and 512 speed. Fastest speed I experienced was a T1 in Sao Paulo airport.
[3] In Brazil the country is littered with public phones with the number 31 on it. Basically if you want to make a call within the country you have to type 031 + prefix (e.g. 11 SP) and then number.
[4] Reception frequencies can be very wobbly if not non-existent in parts of the north.
[5] Agua de Cocas can be bought for R$ 50c in the north i.e 12/13 cents back home.
[6] Internal flights in Brazil are exorbitant. Already mentioned in a previous blog but worth commenting on again. If possible, if travelling extensively in Brazil, more than likely best by and air bus ticket from home with one of the star alliance members before you come.
[7] There are little or no train services in the country. It’s primarily buses, then flights and next cars. Outside of the 1st world regions and outside the main cities around the country the roads are poor. Doing a highway 1 or a route 66 is not a real runner. However you could rent a buggy and take on the distance going from beach to beach if you had the time.
[8] There are a huge variety of fruits and vegetables. But I haven’t seen a turnip, cabbage or goose berries on my travels. Not yet.
[9] In the few youth hostels that I was in it is well worth having an international youth hostel one year membership card. You can nearly always get 10% off the price.
[10] Some bus rides for example Porto Alegre to Manuas can take up to 4 days. As such they have some of the most comfortable buses you can imagine. Fully reclining chairs, TVs, videos, chefs, shower facilities. Basically, close to 1st class service on a plane.
[11] Was enquiring about a 3 bedroom, 65m, 5th floor apartment, in a good area, 3km away from the beach resort of Ponta Negre in Natal. The cost was approximately 29k euros. Not a bad little investment considering the city is becoming recognised as Brazil’s surf city and is constantly beginning to swell in numbers.
[12] When getting a taxi you can take your standard car taxi or take a ride on the back of a motor bike for a little cheaper. Felt strange the first time seeing it and taking one but now its par for the course.
In Manuas, in the centre of Brazil It`s hot, real hot. And it's humid, real humid. Taxi man told us that it hit 40c at midday. I`d believe him. Hottest ,most humid weather i have experiemced in Brazil since i`ve been here. Actually,probably the hottest place i have ever been to, ever. Tomorrow will be field research. We need to hunt down the best 4 or 5 jungle tour we can get our hands on with hight quality conditoins, a good English speaking guide, high octane food and a reasonable price. So far we have been hounded by tour operators peddling their goods. Some are complete chancers that promise you a wrestle with an amacondo, a dance with a snake and a slap up meal with an indigenous tribe that haven`t seen gringoes ever before! Others offer you a trip to a five star jungle hotel that will bring you on multiple one day excursions down rivers, into national parks frought with a wide range of monkeys, snakes and spiders, piranha fishing and a jungle tour that will teach you about the municipal wonders of the magical Amazon vegetation. Others off you a bit of both which we are trying to get our hands on.
Will let you know how it pans out when I get back. Hopefully, i don`t make too many friends with the mosquitoes or creepy crawlies!
I’m in the two million plus beach city Fortaleza to the north of Brazil. I’m basking in 29 degrees of sunshine, tapping away on my laptop, wearing my speedos, drinking a refreshing glass of iced Guarana and watching bronzed people dipping into and relaxing by the pool. It’s now day three of the winter carnival. The first two days have been unforgettable. I’ve never experienced anything like it in my life. And both my partners, hounds and masters in anarchy and hedonisms: Chief and Maddog, agree, the Brazilians know how to party in a way that none of us have ever dreamed of before in Ireland, and, in a way we all agree would be hard to match anywhere in the world. We’ve all done our fair share of travelling over the years, but none of us can remember having such a non-stop, rollercoaster, run of fun like we’ve had these last few days. And the beauty of it all is there is more to come! Nossa!
I’m sure you’ve heard how the old saying goes: sometimes words are simply not enough to explain the true meaning or feeling of a place or experience. Sometimes words allow you sketch or charcoal an image or concept. But that’s it. There often circumscribed. Sometimes you need more than letters and numbers to paint a true picture. You need other tools. You need more senses, more mediums; more methods. You need different brushes, inks and papers. This is such a time. This is the carnival. You have to see the colours, smell and taste the food, you have to let the music shoot into your ears and reverberate through and envelope your heart and soul, you have to shake your booty like you’re a big giant African Momma, you got to jump as high as you can clapping, shouting and roaring with the people to your front, back, left and right. You have to take on the persona of the Brazilians on their home turf doing their world famous home thing. You have to come to Brazil. No video, no DVD, no TV program, no book, no blog can come close to describing how much fun it is. You got to haul your ass down here and shake it if you want to know what the carnival is all about.
This is how the last two days have panned out. Oh yeah, before I go on let me explain one fundamental thing about the carnival. The carnival can be the one they have in Rio were you see flamboyant floats with dancing, smiling people on top dressed in bright, exotic over the top costumes. Or in some cases not dressed at all except for a few bits of string and the odd pin here and there. This is more of a pageant then a carnival. Bit like Paddy’s day. You don’t really take part, its more a spectator spectacle. Then you have the other type of carnival which is: get it there, get dirty, sweaty, take a major part in carnival. This type of carnival is the Salvador type carnival where the majority of the music played is by the famous musicians of Salvador. I prefer the interactive, hands on, ears in, hips gyrating approach.
Carnival takes place on the streets. In this case a 4km strip of road parallel to a beach front. Stands are erected on the side of the street and tall hotels and apartment blocks full of colourful people line the streets and fill the air. To get access to the main areas of the carnival we had to pay 50 euros per day. For that you get a sleeveless pink, yellow or orange t-shirt, depending on what day you want to attend. To start everybody meets on a street and stands just behind a large open double decker bus. Then hundreds of stewards get a rope and squadron off the immediate street area beside the bus. Leaving only the curb areas free for those who have not paid for their t-shirt. At about 9pm, or 9.30 the band kick off and the mayhem begins. In our case we went for the famous Chicolete com Banana band. The U2 of Samba. I already saw them once before and once again they didn’t let me down. Their instruments threw sparks into the smiles, hips and feet of the people and lit the place on fire. Everyone loves these guys. If you can get your hands on one of their CDs, do so. I plan on bringing home at least three or four of their albums before I leave Brazil. Anyway, so there you are, behind the bus. There are thousands of people wearing ridiculous t-shirts, everyone is wearing shorts, drinking beer, whiskey or vodka, and non stop, dancing, bouncing and kissing.
The kissing ethic is worth a note. Basically, anything goes in between the ropes. What you have is a load of people out for a good time. You simply have to dance beside a person, try make eye contact, grab a hip, cheekily pinch a bum, stroke a hand or throw a kiss, and that’s it. You know pretty quickly if you are going to get a red card or a green card. Chief on the first night chalked up 45 red cards and 5 green cards. Maddog 23 red cards and 3 green cards. The vagabond, well, let’s just say that the vagabond, like a gentleman, never gives away his antics. That said, Eusebius chalked up 4 reds and a green; Brutos got 68 reds and 3 greens. And that was only the first night. When we all got the swing of it the following night was even more chaotic.
The carnival is like the tour de France. You`ve had one tough day climbing the Pyrenees and need a well earned rest when the alarm clock goes off at 2pm in the evening and you have to get yourself ready again for the physical onslaught. Quick wash, few hours’ sun, a few coconuts and a speedy plate of grub and off again. It’s only day two and Chief is begging for a lip transplant, Jim has a dodgy ankle and my legs could do with a good massage. We have to keep reminding ourselves that we have trained for this type of thing long into the night in the pubs of Dublin, Waterford and abroad for over 15 years and we have to plough on no matter what the physical or emotion consequences. By the end of tomorrow I can see us sleeping a full day to catch up.
Last night we went to the carnival with some two foot tall Irish hats and my camcorder. We got a very warm reception. Chief kept saying that we were conducting a documentary for a local TV channel in Ireland and that he needed a kiss on the camera to show the people back home how Brazilian women kiss. Amazingly it worked. It’s amazing when you a put a camera in some peoples faces what they’ll do. Jim had a different approach, 50 press ups and 10 chins ups on the beach on the way to the carnival, to inflate his biceps, a few stretches of the legs and hips to get ready for the dancing, and loads of “Hey, hey….how are you, one kiss please”. Amazingly it worked. The dogs had a different approach. Eusebius just danced slowly and methodically and waited for the odd Brazilian dog to throw him a glance. He did alright out of it. And surprisingly was very confident with himself when the opportunities arose. Eusebius was like a gattlin gun, anything that moved in his range, he tried to shoot. Considering the amount of red cards and nasty looks he got, it was amazing his ego wasn’t deflated. Paradoxically, he seemed to thrive on it.
I hear some of you out there already ask about quality. To describe this I don`t have to write too much. The simple fact of the matter is that Brazilian women are beautiful as a rule of thumb. They really know how to look after themselves. No pint drinking or major food binges. More like buckets of dancing, exercising and sun bathing. The quality was high with the odd lapse here and there.
Unfortunately, I can’t produce any photos for you as I lost my camera in Rio and in the process of trying to retrieve it. However there is a few snaps up on the blog from some of my recent antics in Sao Paulo with the boys.
