I sit here in the airport in Santiago. Chile.
The trip is over and I am on the second leg of my long journey home - a journey that began at 1.30am this morning with a flight from La Paz to some random town in Chile, before continuing at 9am with a flight to Santiago.
I have spent the day in Chile...but actually I could have been anywhere in the world as I dragged my exhaused and overwhelmed self to an air conditioned mall and sat in a cinema to quietly watch a movie.
I have spent the day reflecting on the last 4 months - the things that I have seen, the people I have met, the places I've been.
So much has happened....
My first stop was one of the most important to me....to Europe where I spent longed for quality time with soulmates in England and Spain.
I have celebrated two of the year's biggest events side-by-side with two of the people I love so much - christmas in Zurich with my oldest friend and New Year's Eve in Barcelona with my 'best' one...
I have soaked myself in the familiarity of my English life....seamlessly and effortlessly re-integrating my life with those of my so-much-loved and missed friends in this country and enjoying every moment of the simply perfect and easy comfort that is my second home.
I have lived my own Parisian dream. Learning to love my favourite city in a whole new way. Becoming friends with the people within it and dousing myself in its language. The friends I met there became a part of my life - from all over the world we shared a love of the city and a desire to learn the language....not to mention a desire to drink all the cocktails we could in little parisian bistros on some of the most fashionable streets in europe. I became a tour guide, gleefully opening my parisian apartment door to my London-based friends as they took the opportunity to visit my life there, giving them a taste of the experiences I was enjoying, alongside the best of french cheese and wine.
Leaving Europe was difficult, as I always knew it would be, but my experiences in Latin America have proven to be some of the most interesting, memorable, difficult and life-affirming as any I have experienced in my life.
Buenos Aires - the beat of the tango and the smell of the coffee....steak cooked to perfection. Argentina led seamlessly into Brazil as I spent time with some of the people that I will remember most from this trip - a crazily fun group of aussies and brits and scandinavians who made the natural wonders of Iguazu Falls and the harbourside Brazilian town of Paraty even more vivid for me as we partied and explored and marvelled together. By the time we hit Rio it seemed only natural to be together and experience the week-long party of our lifetimes in eachother's company....even while I met even more people to love - splitting my time as much as I could with the promise of more and more caparinhas to keep the party flowing....
Peru....at first a break from the craziness that had been the weeks before, it steadily became a facinating country for me....rich in ancient culture, deeply felt religions and beliefs and some of the friendliest of people. More and more I delved deep into the history of the country, visiting ruins, glimpsing condors and llamas and playing in the cities until the creme-de-la-creme, the Inca Trail, was upon me and I struggled and panted and ached and laughed through the most challenging experience of my life with yet more amazing people....people I will never forget as being the ones who were beside me all the way...
The wonders of Peru gave way to a glimpse of the hard beauty that is Bolivia....the perfect full stop to a trip that has been exactly what I was hoping for as a life changing and life challenging experience.
I have been esctatically happy. I have been heartbreakingly lonely. I have cried. I have laughed hysterically. I have been pushed to breaking point and I have survived. I have danced as if my life depended on it. I have sung at the top of my lungs. I have seen some of the most breathtaking wonders of the world. I have reflected. I have made so so many new memories and so many new friends. I have gained a new perspective.
It truly has been the trip of a lifetime. The second such trip that I have been lucky enough to experience.
And now. Home. To my family and friends who allow me leave with as much understanding as they can muster. Who understand that this travelling malarky is a part of who I am. And who will understand when I turn around and start planning the next trip...
Gypsy...
Till next time....
Friday, 1 April 2011
Bolivian Beauty
The shores of Lake Titicaca, and its main Peruvian city, Puno, were our last stop in Peru...and, we farewelled the country that had been host to me for almost 3 weeks, with fervour as we drank in a local pub before stumbling into a kareoke bar to scare the locals with our singing ('Allllllllllllllllways' by Bon Jovie was the favourite) and then back to the pub before stumbling home in the wee hours.
Nursing sore heads the next morning we navigated the tricky Bolivian immigration (two offices on the Peruvian side, walk across the border, two more offices on the Bolivian side plus another check before a ferry crossing that seemed fairly pointless....my passport has never been so flicked through...) and made our way to La Paz.
By this time I had officially joined the other group with whom I had hiked Macchu Picchu. Through the hike and post-hike celebrations we had formed bonds that I could not dream of breaking and, besides, I was hoping for an extra day in La Paz than my original itinerary provided. It seemed seamless to join my friends on their bus and stay in the same hotel....exploring the Bolivian capital of La Paz together.
I was grateful for that extra time when I, unwittingly, fell in love with La Paz.
Gritty. Edgy. Dirty.
Hints of illegality permeate everyday life here - despite the armies of police on every corner. Five seconds here proves that a bribe will save the day and, if you're after a little something under the table, all you have to do is look interested.
In and amongst the dark underworld lies a city boasting great food, cheap drinks and an edgy, fun feel that makes you anticipate the un -anticipatable....you never know what will happen next.
I had saved the majority of my souviner shopping until i reached La Paz, with the knowledge gained from friends who told me that the shopping is cheap and fabulous. They weren't wrong. I now can't close my backpack. And even so I have spent less than US$100 on knick nacks and gifts.
Having spent the day boosting the Bolivian economy significantly, we finished our last day together in a cosy little pub munching on the best pasta I've tasted since I left Europe before saying our sad goodbyes and leaving for the airport.
I dub them the Inca Trail crew....the group of people that I met that very first day of the walk of my life, and with whom I have spent every day since. They are the latest of a long list of amazingly interesting fun people that I have met over the past 4 months - meeting people all over the world FROM all over the world is one of the most significant reasons that I love travelling and this crew was no different.
Once again it is saying goodbye that wrenches the heart...but the memories make the goodbye worthwhile.
Till next time...
Nursing sore heads the next morning we navigated the tricky Bolivian immigration (two offices on the Peruvian side, walk across the border, two more offices on the Bolivian side plus another check before a ferry crossing that seemed fairly pointless....my passport has never been so flicked through...) and made our way to La Paz.
By this time I had officially joined the other group with whom I had hiked Macchu Picchu. Through the hike and post-hike celebrations we had formed bonds that I could not dream of breaking and, besides, I was hoping for an extra day in La Paz than my original itinerary provided. It seemed seamless to join my friends on their bus and stay in the same hotel....exploring the Bolivian capital of La Paz together.
I was grateful for that extra time when I, unwittingly, fell in love with La Paz.
Gritty. Edgy. Dirty.
Hints of illegality permeate everyday life here - despite the armies of police on every corner. Five seconds here proves that a bribe will save the day and, if you're after a little something under the table, all you have to do is look interested.
In and amongst the dark underworld lies a city boasting great food, cheap drinks and an edgy, fun feel that makes you anticipate the un -anticipatable....you never know what will happen next.
I had saved the majority of my souviner shopping until i reached La Paz, with the knowledge gained from friends who told me that the shopping is cheap and fabulous. They weren't wrong. I now can't close my backpack. And even so I have spent less than US$100 on knick nacks and gifts.
Having spent the day boosting the Bolivian economy significantly, we finished our last day together in a cosy little pub munching on the best pasta I've tasted since I left Europe before saying our sad goodbyes and leaving for the airport.
I dub them the Inca Trail crew....the group of people that I met that very first day of the walk of my life, and with whom I have spent every day since. They are the latest of a long list of amazingly interesting fun people that I have met over the past 4 months - meeting people all over the world FROM all over the world is one of the most significant reasons that I love travelling and this crew was no different.
Once again it is saying goodbye that wrenches the heart...but the memories make the goodbye worthwhile.
Till next time...
Titi....Caca
Yes. Funny name isn't it. Lake Titicaca. Ok. You can stop giggling now.
The highest navigable lake in the world (a little fact for the next pub quiz), Lake Titicaca straddles Puru and Bolivia like a giant puma.
In fact, with the imagination that only chewing copious amounts of coca leaves can bring, the andean people believe that the lake is, in fact, in the shape of a puma and thus its name. Titicaca, in the local dialect, means Giant Puma (another usless pub fact).
Continuing on our south bound trail through Peru our travels took us to the banks of this magnificent expanse of water. More like a sea (sometimes you can't see the other side and when you can, more often than not, you're gazing at snowcapped mountains) the lake is dotted with various little islands and penninsulars boasting little fishing villages with locals that, until tourism hit 30 years ago, had not changed the way they lived for thousands of years.
The most facinating of these are the Uros floating islands where we stopped for a little visit. Crazily these islands are made of reeds and do litterally float in the lake. The locals remained untouched for centuries - not even bothered by the incas or the spanish - managing to retain many of their traditions to this day. Living in teeny tiny reed huts, they rebuild their houses every 3 months and their islands every 100 years. While 80 percent of the islands have embraced tourism, and boast high tech solar panels and tvs in their simple abodes, a small group prefer to live the way they always have and, presumably, they go about their business quietly without swarms of camera touting westerners.
The ones that have embraced tourism, however, have done so with fervour, showing us into their homes and demonstrating how they build their islands, catch their fish and bargain with mainlanders in the tourism off-season. Despite the commercialism of it the floating islands are facinating and the people happy and friendly....a good start to our introduction to the people of Titicaca Lake.
I was already reasonably dubious about our next stop...a homestay with a local family on the banks of the lake, staying in simple mud brick homes and lending a hand to help them with their daily chores. The concept sounded wonderful, but after I had chopped meter-long weeds out of my host's vege patch with a sickle for an hour it was beginning to feel more like slave labour. Next my friend and I were piled into hubby's rickety old tinny and cast out into the lake to help him cast his nets. I didn't mind the ride, but my friend, who can't swim, was more than a little nervous.
Apparently the local's favourite sport is volleyball so we gathered down at the beach, with the village's bull and cows as audience and occasional ball boys, to play a game. The local ladies joined in, colourful traditional costumes and all, before herding us all back to our various houses for dinner. We had been asked to bring as gifts some items that the locals find hard to get hold of - living, as they do, in the middle of nowhere....I took rice, sugar and pasta for my family - which may have been a mistake as my 'mumma' excitedly made us cold spagetti with sprinkled peruvian cheese (kind of like an exceptionally salty feta) on top. yum. not. Others had amazing meals. And others made the meals themselves - which may have explained why they were amazing. Still, it was interesting to watch 'mumma' cook dinner over a traditional open flame oven.
The 'mud hut' bit was fine. The beds were smothered with alpaca blankets which were so warm as to be smothering....though I was dubious about their cleanliness... no laundry mats or washing machines here - but my friend and I ate alone and there was very little of the interaction with the family that I had hoped for. The experience overall was what I would call 'interesting' but underwhelming and I was a little disappointed.
Call me a snob. Call me a princess. But let's just say I was glad to leave bright and early the next morning and return to civilization...
Till next time...
The highest navigable lake in the world (a little fact for the next pub quiz), Lake Titicaca straddles Puru and Bolivia like a giant puma.
In fact, with the imagination that only chewing copious amounts of coca leaves can bring, the andean people believe that the lake is, in fact, in the shape of a puma and thus its name. Titicaca, in the local dialect, means Giant Puma (another usless pub fact).
Continuing on our south bound trail through Peru our travels took us to the banks of this magnificent expanse of water. More like a sea (sometimes you can't see the other side and when you can, more often than not, you're gazing at snowcapped mountains) the lake is dotted with various little islands and penninsulars boasting little fishing villages with locals that, until tourism hit 30 years ago, had not changed the way they lived for thousands of years.
The most facinating of these are the Uros floating islands where we stopped for a little visit. Crazily these islands are made of reeds and do litterally float in the lake. The locals remained untouched for centuries - not even bothered by the incas or the spanish - managing to retain many of their traditions to this day. Living in teeny tiny reed huts, they rebuild their houses every 3 months and their islands every 100 years. While 80 percent of the islands have embraced tourism, and boast high tech solar panels and tvs in their simple abodes, a small group prefer to live the way they always have and, presumably, they go about their business quietly without swarms of camera touting westerners.
The ones that have embraced tourism, however, have done so with fervour, showing us into their homes and demonstrating how they build their islands, catch their fish and bargain with mainlanders in the tourism off-season. Despite the commercialism of it the floating islands are facinating and the people happy and friendly....a good start to our introduction to the people of Titicaca Lake.
I was already reasonably dubious about our next stop...a homestay with a local family on the banks of the lake, staying in simple mud brick homes and lending a hand to help them with their daily chores. The concept sounded wonderful, but after I had chopped meter-long weeds out of my host's vege patch with a sickle for an hour it was beginning to feel more like slave labour. Next my friend and I were piled into hubby's rickety old tinny and cast out into the lake to help him cast his nets. I didn't mind the ride, but my friend, who can't swim, was more than a little nervous.
Apparently the local's favourite sport is volleyball so we gathered down at the beach, with the village's bull and cows as audience and occasional ball boys, to play a game. The local ladies joined in, colourful traditional costumes and all, before herding us all back to our various houses for dinner. We had been asked to bring as gifts some items that the locals find hard to get hold of - living, as they do, in the middle of nowhere....I took rice, sugar and pasta for my family - which may have been a mistake as my 'mumma' excitedly made us cold spagetti with sprinkled peruvian cheese (kind of like an exceptionally salty feta) on top. yum. not. Others had amazing meals. And others made the meals themselves - which may have explained why they were amazing. Still, it was interesting to watch 'mumma' cook dinner over a traditional open flame oven.
The 'mud hut' bit was fine. The beds were smothered with alpaca blankets which were so warm as to be smothering....though I was dubious about their cleanliness... no laundry mats or washing machines here - but my friend and I ate alone and there was very little of the interaction with the family that I had hoped for. The experience overall was what I would call 'interesting' but underwhelming and I was a little disappointed.
Call me a snob. Call me a princess. But let's just say I was glad to leave bright and early the next morning and return to civilization...
Till next time...
Thursday, 31 March 2011
Cocktails in Cusco
After climbing the Inca Trail for four days to reach Macchu Picchu we deserved a party.
And what better place to treat ourselves and to numb our aching legs with a cocktail than in the party town of Cusco.
Meeting my Inca Trail buddies at their hotel we wandered through the Inca-wall-lined streets to 'Fallen Angel'....a cocktail-come-wine bar that would sit happily in any modern city in the world. With beautiful art work lining the walls, dim lighting and a cocktail menu to rival that of any West End bar, I was a million miles away from the dusty trail and inca ruins.
This was much more my style.
Sipping our daiquiris and popping the cork off a well deserved bottle of champagne, we savoured appetizers and reminiced over a walk that seemed a world away.
Cusco comes alive at night. From sleeply colonial city reeking of inca history during the day, at night it becomes a party town with touters drawing crowds into nightclubs surrounding the main square. With promises of free drinks we chose one pumping out samba tunes with a live band and plenty of happy locals.
Dancing the night away it was a reward for the work we'd done and the trek we'd accomplished....and a reminder of where we really belong.
Till next time...
And what better place to treat ourselves and to numb our aching legs with a cocktail than in the party town of Cusco.
Meeting my Inca Trail buddies at their hotel we wandered through the Inca-wall-lined streets to 'Fallen Angel'....a cocktail-come-wine bar that would sit happily in any modern city in the world. With beautiful art work lining the walls, dim lighting and a cocktail menu to rival that of any West End bar, I was a million miles away from the dusty trail and inca ruins.
This was much more my style.
Sipping our daiquiris and popping the cork off a well deserved bottle of champagne, we savoured appetizers and reminiced over a walk that seemed a world away.
Cusco comes alive at night. From sleeply colonial city reeking of inca history during the day, at night it becomes a party town with touters drawing crowds into nightclubs surrounding the main square. With promises of free drinks we chose one pumping out samba tunes with a live band and plenty of happy locals.
Dancing the night away it was a reward for the work we'd done and the trek we'd accomplished....and a reminder of where we really belong.
Till next time...
Wednesday, 30 March 2011
The Lost City of the Incas
It was the most challenging thing, both physically and mentally, that I have ever done.
Trekking through the Peruvian Andes for up to 8 hours a day, following the trail of the Incas to arrive at their famous 'lost city' took 4 hard days of one step in front of the other....Up and down mountains we climbed, reaching our campsites by about 5pm and collapsing into the dining tent ready to be served magnificent meals by our chefs and cosying up into our sleeping bags before beginning the days over again. We coped with no showers and filthy drop toilets with no paper....cleaning away the day's sweat with baby wipes and using copious amounts of deodarant to disguise our stink. It was tough...no princesses here.
Starting on day one at the 82km mark I met the new group we would be travelling with. And as soon as I saw them I knew I had found 'my' kind of people. Mainly aussies, they are young and fun and I immediately integrated into their group and felt I had known them forever. Their presence helped me make it - of that I have no doubt.
I took the Inca trail as slowly as I could possibly manage, helped along by two of my new friends, Peter and Kasey, who encouraged and supported me....helping eachother get over the tough bits and taking little stops every now and then to catch our breath, gaze at magnificent views and to smell the roses.
We were also helped along by two awesome peruvian guides who glibly told us they had done this trek well over 300 times. While they didn't even raise a sweat Lewis and Jefferson understood that we did and were kind and supportive the whole way, pointing out interesting wildlife and flora and co-ordinating our team of porters who ran the trail with weights of up to 25kgs strapped to their backs....all our gear, tents and food. If I felt like complaining I only had to look at these amazing men who run the inca trail for a living without even raising a sweat.
Day two was the toughest. Ascending a long steep path for 4 hours we reached the highest point of the trek, appropriately named 'Dead Woman's Pass' at a hight of 4200 meters (13, 779ft) before decending to a valley and then (what comes down must go up...) ascending again to the second pass and reaching our campsite for the night - well over 8 hours after we had started the day. We were fighting altitude sickness and the thin air found that high in the mountains....while I would have been breathless at the best of times, the lack of oxygen made the climb just that little bit tougher.
By the third evening we were desperate for beer. We were almost there and felt that we deserved a reward. Luckily there was a little restaurant at our campsite that evening that sold the stuff....which we mistakenly drank in copious amounts, much to our regret the next day as we woke at 3am in the pouring rain to hike the last 2 hours to macchu picchu. Soggy, exhausted and hungover, Macchu Picchu was a bit of an anti-climax after everything we had been through to get there.
Sullenly clamboring to the sun gate - the famously scenic entry to the ruins - I was exhausted and over it, cursing the incas for building their stupid city in such a remote location. But still I couldn't help but gasp at the site of the ruins lying before me. It is thought that Machu Picchu was built around 1440 as a university and place of worship for incan nobility, however there is eidence that this had been an incan site for much longer than that. With temples, palaces and living quarters as well as evidence of astonomical observatories, it was a facinating place that we wandered around for a couple of hours before heading back gratefully on a bus (thank God for vehicles with wheels to save aching legs) to a restaurant with real coca-cola and hamburgers.
As I bumped along the road back to civilization with a filthy body and a light heart I was more proud of myself for completing this trek than many other accomplishments in my lifetime....
Till next time...
Trekking through the Peruvian Andes for up to 8 hours a day, following the trail of the Incas to arrive at their famous 'lost city' took 4 hard days of one step in front of the other....Up and down mountains we climbed, reaching our campsites by about 5pm and collapsing into the dining tent ready to be served magnificent meals by our chefs and cosying up into our sleeping bags before beginning the days over again. We coped with no showers and filthy drop toilets with no paper....cleaning away the day's sweat with baby wipes and using copious amounts of deodarant to disguise our stink. It was tough...no princesses here.
Starting on day one at the 82km mark I met the new group we would be travelling with. And as soon as I saw them I knew I had found 'my' kind of people. Mainly aussies, they are young and fun and I immediately integrated into their group and felt I had known them forever. Their presence helped me make it - of that I have no doubt.
I took the Inca trail as slowly as I could possibly manage, helped along by two of my new friends, Peter and Kasey, who encouraged and supported me....helping eachother get over the tough bits and taking little stops every now and then to catch our breath, gaze at magnificent views and to smell the roses.
We were also helped along by two awesome peruvian guides who glibly told us they had done this trek well over 300 times. While they didn't even raise a sweat Lewis and Jefferson understood that we did and were kind and supportive the whole way, pointing out interesting wildlife and flora and co-ordinating our team of porters who ran the trail with weights of up to 25kgs strapped to their backs....all our gear, tents and food. If I felt like complaining I only had to look at these amazing men who run the inca trail for a living without even raising a sweat.
Day two was the toughest. Ascending a long steep path for 4 hours we reached the highest point of the trek, appropriately named 'Dead Woman's Pass' at a hight of 4200 meters (13, 779ft) before decending to a valley and then (what comes down must go up...) ascending again to the second pass and reaching our campsite for the night - well over 8 hours after we had started the day. We were fighting altitude sickness and the thin air found that high in the mountains....while I would have been breathless at the best of times, the lack of oxygen made the climb just that little bit tougher.
By the third evening we were desperate for beer. We were almost there and felt that we deserved a reward. Luckily there was a little restaurant at our campsite that evening that sold the stuff....which we mistakenly drank in copious amounts, much to our regret the next day as we woke at 3am in the pouring rain to hike the last 2 hours to macchu picchu. Soggy, exhausted and hungover, Macchu Picchu was a bit of an anti-climax after everything we had been through to get there.
Sullenly clamboring to the sun gate - the famously scenic entry to the ruins - I was exhausted and over it, cursing the incas for building their stupid city in such a remote location. But still I couldn't help but gasp at the site of the ruins lying before me. It is thought that Machu Picchu was built around 1440 as a university and place of worship for incan nobility, however there is eidence that this had been an incan site for much longer than that. With temples, palaces and living quarters as well as evidence of astonomical observatories, it was a facinating place that we wandered around for a couple of hours before heading back gratefully on a bus (thank God for vehicles with wheels to save aching legs) to a restaurant with real coca-cola and hamburgers.
As I bumped along the road back to civilization with a filthy body and a light heart I was more proud of myself for completing this trek than many other accomplishments in my lifetime....
Till next time...
Sunday, 20 March 2011
The ‘Naval’ of the World
At times we are all the centre of our own universe.
The Incas were no different.
With no knowledge of any other world beyond their own they named their most prized and beautiful city the Inca word for ‘naval’ or centre, Qusqo. This eventually become known as Cuzco, a beautifully ancient city that is still known to be the centre of all things Inca and is the main city of the Peruvian Andes.
Wandering through the ancient streets today I gazed at still-standing Inca walls, built against the all too common earthquakes here by the clever method of building on an angle - which must make them stronger as they have survived every masssive earthquake since the 1400s. Amazingly, after one initial earthquake levelled the town in the 1300s the Incas rebuilt the city in the shape of a puma - one of its main gods - with the (still existing) main square as its heart. The borders of the shape can still be seen today.
The most notable buildings in the main square and its outskirts are the churches (all 18 of them in a matter of blocks) - all built in the 16th century when the Spanish invaded and imposed their catholic religion on the bewildered Incas, tearing down temples and palaces and building imposing cathedrals in their place.
While the Incas had no choice but to adopt Catholicism, they refused to completely denounce their own ancient religion of worship to the sun, Mother Earth, and it’s deities - the snake (the underground), the puma (the earth) and the condor (the sky). While obediently building statues of Jesus and the saints, the Incan sculptures secretly placed images of the sun, moon and stars on robes, placed suns behind the saint’s heads and managed to combine the two religions with a minimum of fuss - continuing to worship their own gods while adopting the God of the Spanish Catholics. Even today the Andean people have a sort of mixed religion, making offerings to the mountains and mother earth as well as participating in Christian festivals and masses with religious fervour and devotion.
We wandered through the local markets, wincing at the meat section with its cattle hooves and bullock’s noses, and admiring the fresh fruit and veg straight from the rich soil of the high plateaus in the mountains. As well as visiting a museum dedicated to the history of the Incas, complete with (more) mummies, pottery relics and a lot of information about how this fascinating culture lived their lives.
Cusco is tourist central, one of Peru’s most famous cities, and the starting point for trips to Macchu Picchu. There are modern restaurants of every cuisine possible, sweet little coffee shops, and, of course a thriving Irish pub opposite an English one where an English friend and I stopped for a beer to watch the Irish thrash the English in the rugby.
Tomorrow my search for Inca ruins really kicks off as we head to the Sacred Valley for one night before heading off on our four day trek to Macchu Picchu. After a long briefing tonight about the trek I’m feeling a little nervous. The second day (Tuesday) is supposed to be the hardest with long uphill hikes…but, as we were told tonight, 80% of the trek is about having a positive attitude (tell that to my aching legs...!)
Till after Macchu Picchu...
The Incas were no different.
With no knowledge of any other world beyond their own they named their most prized and beautiful city the Inca word for ‘naval’ or centre, Qusqo. This eventually become known as Cuzco, a beautifully ancient city that is still known to be the centre of all things Inca and is the main city of the Peruvian Andes.
Wandering through the ancient streets today I gazed at still-standing Inca walls, built against the all too common earthquakes here by the clever method of building on an angle - which must make them stronger as they have survived every masssive earthquake since the 1400s. Amazingly, after one initial earthquake levelled the town in the 1300s the Incas rebuilt the city in the shape of a puma - one of its main gods - with the (still existing) main square as its heart. The borders of the shape can still be seen today.
The most notable buildings in the main square and its outskirts are the churches (all 18 of them in a matter of blocks) - all built in the 16th century when the Spanish invaded and imposed their catholic religion on the bewildered Incas, tearing down temples and palaces and building imposing cathedrals in their place.
While the Incas had no choice but to adopt Catholicism, they refused to completely denounce their own ancient religion of worship to the sun, Mother Earth, and it’s deities - the snake (the underground), the puma (the earth) and the condor (the sky). While obediently building statues of Jesus and the saints, the Incan sculptures secretly placed images of the sun, moon and stars on robes, placed suns behind the saint’s heads and managed to combine the two religions with a minimum of fuss - continuing to worship their own gods while adopting the God of the Spanish Catholics. Even today the Andean people have a sort of mixed religion, making offerings to the mountains and mother earth as well as participating in Christian festivals and masses with religious fervour and devotion.
We wandered through the local markets, wincing at the meat section with its cattle hooves and bullock’s noses, and admiring the fresh fruit and veg straight from the rich soil of the high plateaus in the mountains. As well as visiting a museum dedicated to the history of the Incas, complete with (more) mummies, pottery relics and a lot of information about how this fascinating culture lived their lives.
Cusco is tourist central, one of Peru’s most famous cities, and the starting point for trips to Macchu Picchu. There are modern restaurants of every cuisine possible, sweet little coffee shops, and, of course a thriving Irish pub opposite an English one where an English friend and I stopped for a beer to watch the Irish thrash the English in the rugby.
Tomorrow my search for Inca ruins really kicks off as we head to the Sacred Valley for one night before heading off on our four day trek to Macchu Picchu. After a long briefing tonight about the trek I’m feeling a little nervous. The second day (Tuesday) is supposed to be the hardest with long uphill hikes…but, as we were told tonight, 80% of the trek is about having a positive attitude (tell that to my aching legs...!)
Till after Macchu Picchu...
Friday, 18 March 2011
The Flight of the Condor
Dodging donkeys and alpacas has become a normal part of my life for the past two days.
As we have travelled through itty bitty villages and stunningly diverse countryside we have seen everything from vincunas (a type of South American camel - like a llama or alpaca but wild and protected from extinction) to llamas and alpacas grazing by the side of the road....and sometimes venturing ON to the road. If the bus isn't swerving around exotic Peruvian creatures it is swerving around landslides or donkeys - with, or without, a colourful peruvian farmer bouncing along on its back. The locals are friendly, quick with a smile, but also quick to sell some sort of peruvian nick-knack. They are dressed in their traditional costumes, colourful and pretty with matching floral hats, I asked my guide if this was done for the tourists. It is not....I have seen them now walking down the narrow streets of their villages going about their daily chores dressed this way, leading their alpacas and carrying their babies across their shoulders in a colourful fabric sling...I find it charming and hopeful that there is still a culture that clings to its traditions on a daily basis.
While dodging donkeys we have driven through astonishing countryside. Having spent hours driving through the desert as we left Lima and Pisco, we are now deep in the Andes with lush green fields in the valleys framed by rocky, snow capped volcanoes and mountains. Arequipa itself, Peru's third largest city, is surrounded by three volcanoes, one of them, named 'Misty' is considered active...and, although she hasn't erupted since the 1400s the locals are wary...no less with all the natural disasters occuring in the world at the moment. Comforting. Perhaps to apease the mountains, the locals still make offerings of coca leaves (the bitter tasting leaves that are supposed to sort out all manner of ills including alltitude sickness), money and flowers. Thankfully they no longer offer babies...at least the catholic influence of the invading Spanish discouraged that particular practise.
Climbing high into the Andes we visited Culca Canyon - known to be one of the highest canyons in the world and famous for a large family of condors which draw crowds of tourists from all over the world in the early morning light, hoping for a glimpse of one of these magnificent birds. A glimpse is all I got, -while perched on a rock recovering from the hour long hike to the lookout point I saw people pointing down and managed to glimpse a wing before the bird disappeared. I waited for another 40 minutes to see another one - with no luck.
Recovery from my little walk took longer than it should because of one worrying factor that is becoming the bain of my life - alltitude sickness. From the moment I decided to come to Peru I knew that alltitude sickness may be an issue. It's discussed in all the books i've read. My doctor had a long chat with me about it before I left home. My guide speaks of nothing else. First thing every morning my fellow travellers and I compare of our symptoms. It's hard to explain what alltitude sickness feels like - it's almost like you feel drunk - but it's not as much fun. The air feels thin and it can be hard to breath. When we first reached 4000 meters I felt dizzy and breathless. Now, at about 3500 meters and slightly more acclimatised I have a throbbing headache and feel absolutely exhausted - even though all i've done is sat on a bus, gone for a light hike and searched a rocky ravine for condors...oh...and eaten.
I could never say I didn't eat well in Peru. The traditional food here is simple and hearty. Chicken soup is a staple (which makes me feel like I should be curled up in bed nursing a cold) as are potatoes and rice. Together. Not potatoes OR rice. Potatoes AND rice. It's a carb lovers dream. We have eaten alpaca-meat stews and a lot of corn. Fish caught straight from the river and delicious desserts made with local fruits. The only thing we haven't had a chance to try yet is the local delicacy....guinea pig. It's only a matter of time.
Tomorrow brings us two 6 hour bus rides to get us to Cuzco...the reason I am here...the beginning of our discovery of inca ruins and, on Monday, the start of a 4 day hike to Machu Piccu.
Till next time...
As we have travelled through itty bitty villages and stunningly diverse countryside we have seen everything from vincunas (a type of South American camel - like a llama or alpaca but wild and protected from extinction) to llamas and alpacas grazing by the side of the road....and sometimes venturing ON to the road. If the bus isn't swerving around exotic Peruvian creatures it is swerving around landslides or donkeys - with, or without, a colourful peruvian farmer bouncing along on its back. The locals are friendly, quick with a smile, but also quick to sell some sort of peruvian nick-knack. They are dressed in their traditional costumes, colourful and pretty with matching floral hats, I asked my guide if this was done for the tourists. It is not....I have seen them now walking down the narrow streets of their villages going about their daily chores dressed this way, leading their alpacas and carrying their babies across their shoulders in a colourful fabric sling...I find it charming and hopeful that there is still a culture that clings to its traditions on a daily basis.
While dodging donkeys we have driven through astonishing countryside. Having spent hours driving through the desert as we left Lima and Pisco, we are now deep in the Andes with lush green fields in the valleys framed by rocky, snow capped volcanoes and mountains. Arequipa itself, Peru's third largest city, is surrounded by three volcanoes, one of them, named 'Misty' is considered active...and, although she hasn't erupted since the 1400s the locals are wary...no less with all the natural disasters occuring in the world at the moment. Comforting. Perhaps to apease the mountains, the locals still make offerings of coca leaves (the bitter tasting leaves that are supposed to sort out all manner of ills including alltitude sickness), money and flowers. Thankfully they no longer offer babies...at least the catholic influence of the invading Spanish discouraged that particular practise.
Climbing high into the Andes we visited Culca Canyon - known to be one of the highest canyons in the world and famous for a large family of condors which draw crowds of tourists from all over the world in the early morning light, hoping for a glimpse of one of these magnificent birds. A glimpse is all I got, -while perched on a rock recovering from the hour long hike to the lookout point I saw people pointing down and managed to glimpse a wing before the bird disappeared. I waited for another 40 minutes to see another one - with no luck.
Recovery from my little walk took longer than it should because of one worrying factor that is becoming the bain of my life - alltitude sickness. From the moment I decided to come to Peru I knew that alltitude sickness may be an issue. It's discussed in all the books i've read. My doctor had a long chat with me about it before I left home. My guide speaks of nothing else. First thing every morning my fellow travellers and I compare of our symptoms. It's hard to explain what alltitude sickness feels like - it's almost like you feel drunk - but it's not as much fun. The air feels thin and it can be hard to breath. When we first reached 4000 meters I felt dizzy and breathless. Now, at about 3500 meters and slightly more acclimatised I have a throbbing headache and feel absolutely exhausted - even though all i've done is sat on a bus, gone for a light hike and searched a rocky ravine for condors...oh...and eaten.
I could never say I didn't eat well in Peru. The traditional food here is simple and hearty. Chicken soup is a staple (which makes me feel like I should be curled up in bed nursing a cold) as are potatoes and rice. Together. Not potatoes OR rice. Potatoes AND rice. It's a carb lovers dream. We have eaten alpaca-meat stews and a lot of corn. Fish caught straight from the river and delicious desserts made with local fruits. The only thing we haven't had a chance to try yet is the local delicacy....guinea pig. It's only a matter of time.
Tomorrow brings us two 6 hour bus rides to get us to Cuzco...the reason I am here...the beginning of our discovery of inca ruins and, on Monday, the start of a 4 day hike to Machu Piccu.
Till next time...
Wednesday, 16 March 2011
I See Dead People
When it came to studying history at school I remember always being much more facinated with the ancient civilizations than those closer to our own time.
The Egyptians, the Greeks and, of course, the Incas...
All had facinating rituals, societies, spiritualisation and knowledge of our planet which we consider so scientifically ahead of their time - but they probably considered necessary for survival. With all the scientific knowledge we now have in the 21st Century we still wonder about ancient monuments and archeological sites that have survived - the pyramids, stonehenge, the Nazcar lines...and the meanings behind them. Why were they built? and how?
While the Incas are probably the most well known ancient civilisation in South America, made famous by monuments and temples such as Machu Piccu and the 'inca gold' made famous in pirate movies, they were actually the shortest reigning of all the ancient societies here. Peru itself was was once much larger - covering much of what is now Chile, Bolivia and Argentina and was conquered by several 'tribes' over thousands of years - including the Nazcar and the Paracas cultures which preceeded the Incas by over 500 years.
Yesterday we delved deep into the minds of the Nazcar as, while staying in the city that takes their name, Nazca, we visited their cemetry...
There seems to be a theme running through this trip for me which includes lots of bones and mummies. I have visited elaborate cemetries in Paris and Buenos Aires including the graves of the famous, and have seen more than my fair share of bones in the catacombs of Paris and the catacombs beneath the largest cathedral in Lima, Peru.
The Nazcas believed that, in order to enter the next life, you must leave it as you arrived. So they mummified their dead in the fetal position as soon as they passed, dousing the entire body in salt and wrapping it in cotton before popping them into graves in the middle of the desert alongside offerings to the gods of seashells, corn, gold and beautiful pottery.
Fastforward to the 20th century to when graverobbers found the site, opened the graves, took the gold and pottery, threw around some bones, broke some ancient earthen-wear and left the graves and the mummies to the mercy of the sun.
The result? White skulls and bones, cooked and bleached by the sun, that without this invasion, would have been covered in salty, 1500 year old skin. I think I prefer the bones after seeing one mummy that the graverobbers missed now kept safe and shaded in a small museum near the site. The fact that it was hidden from the sun means it is still mummified as the Nazcars indended - skin and all. Creepy as it sounds I found it facinating to learn more about the Nazcar's ideas of spirituality and the afterlife.
Later that night we learned even more about their culture as we visited a planetarium (well, more like an igloo really...a fairly pathetic planaterium) to hear about one of the world's most mysterious archaelogical sites, the Nazca lines. Etched into the desert ground by scraping away the dark rocks to reveal paler ones underneath, stylised drawings of animals, insects and birds are depicted as well as random lines up to 10km long. Who drew them and why can only be guessed at but theories range from alien invasions (which is the theory I subscribe to) to complex astronomological calendars and indications of underground water sources made by the thirsty desert civilisation.
An overnight bus (my last for a while hopefully) has bought us to 'the white city' of Arequipa. Standing at the foot of the (active) El Misti volcano and oozing the best of spanish colonial charm, Arequipa vies with cuzco for the title of Peru's most attractive city and is actually the country's third largest.
In my day of free time I happily whiled away several hours in the Monasterio de Santa Catalina, a peaceful convent built in the 16th century when it was traditional for the second son or daughter of a family to enter the religious service. The Santa Catalina accepted only women from high-class spanish family with each family paying a hefty dowry for her acceptance. But life inside the convent was far from modest - each nun had between one and four servants, many brought rugs, fine china and silk curtains - and they often threw parties.
In between and around swilling beer with friends though, the nuns must have done some heavy praying. One of the nuns here was canonised by the pope in the 80s for the miracles performed through her...and many people come here in pilgramage to her.
As for me...I found the nun's cells and way of life interesting - but most of all I loved the quiet and peaceful feeling of being in this 'city within a city'....
Till next time...
The Egyptians, the Greeks and, of course, the Incas...
All had facinating rituals, societies, spiritualisation and knowledge of our planet which we consider so scientifically ahead of their time - but they probably considered necessary for survival. With all the scientific knowledge we now have in the 21st Century we still wonder about ancient monuments and archeological sites that have survived - the pyramids, stonehenge, the Nazcar lines...and the meanings behind them. Why were they built? and how?
While the Incas are probably the most well known ancient civilisation in South America, made famous by monuments and temples such as Machu Piccu and the 'inca gold' made famous in pirate movies, they were actually the shortest reigning of all the ancient societies here. Peru itself was was once much larger - covering much of what is now Chile, Bolivia and Argentina and was conquered by several 'tribes' over thousands of years - including the Nazcar and the Paracas cultures which preceeded the Incas by over 500 years.
Yesterday we delved deep into the minds of the Nazcar as, while staying in the city that takes their name, Nazca, we visited their cemetry...
There seems to be a theme running through this trip for me which includes lots of bones and mummies. I have visited elaborate cemetries in Paris and Buenos Aires including the graves of the famous, and have seen more than my fair share of bones in the catacombs of Paris and the catacombs beneath the largest cathedral in Lima, Peru.
The Nazcas believed that, in order to enter the next life, you must leave it as you arrived. So they mummified their dead in the fetal position as soon as they passed, dousing the entire body in salt and wrapping it in cotton before popping them into graves in the middle of the desert alongside offerings to the gods of seashells, corn, gold and beautiful pottery.
Fastforward to the 20th century to when graverobbers found the site, opened the graves, took the gold and pottery, threw around some bones, broke some ancient earthen-wear and left the graves and the mummies to the mercy of the sun.
The result? White skulls and bones, cooked and bleached by the sun, that without this invasion, would have been covered in salty, 1500 year old skin. I think I prefer the bones after seeing one mummy that the graverobbers missed now kept safe and shaded in a small museum near the site. The fact that it was hidden from the sun means it is still mummified as the Nazcars indended - skin and all. Creepy as it sounds I found it facinating to learn more about the Nazcar's ideas of spirituality and the afterlife.
Later that night we learned even more about their culture as we visited a planetarium (well, more like an igloo really...a fairly pathetic planaterium) to hear about one of the world's most mysterious archaelogical sites, the Nazca lines. Etched into the desert ground by scraping away the dark rocks to reveal paler ones underneath, stylised drawings of animals, insects and birds are depicted as well as random lines up to 10km long. Who drew them and why can only be guessed at but theories range from alien invasions (which is the theory I subscribe to) to complex astronomological calendars and indications of underground water sources made by the thirsty desert civilisation.
An overnight bus (my last for a while hopefully) has bought us to 'the white city' of Arequipa. Standing at the foot of the (active) El Misti volcano and oozing the best of spanish colonial charm, Arequipa vies with cuzco for the title of Peru's most attractive city and is actually the country's third largest.
In my day of free time I happily whiled away several hours in the Monasterio de Santa Catalina, a peaceful convent built in the 16th century when it was traditional for the second son or daughter of a family to enter the religious service. The Santa Catalina accepted only women from high-class spanish family with each family paying a hefty dowry for her acceptance. But life inside the convent was far from modest - each nun had between one and four servants, many brought rugs, fine china and silk curtains - and they often threw parties.
In between and around swilling beer with friends though, the nuns must have done some heavy praying. One of the nuns here was canonised by the pope in the 80s for the miracles performed through her...and many people come here in pilgramage to her.
As for me...I found the nun's cells and way of life interesting - but most of all I loved the quiet and peaceful feeling of being in this 'city within a city'....
Till next time...
Tuesday, 15 March 2011
Little Dune Buggy
Am I in the Sahara desert or Peru?
Made up of three seperate environments - the coastal, tropical desert, the Andes and the rainforest (on the other side of the mountains) Peru is diverse and interesting.
Over the past few days I've travelled from modern city (Lima) to desert town (Pisco) taking in a pisco distillary (friends might be lucky....I bought the magic potion needed to make the famous pisco sour at home) and desert like sand dunes on which I bounced in a dune buggy - flying down the hills with sand in my hair and taking in the oasis in the middle which, if I were in a movie, thirsty and desperate, i would have been delighted to see - in real life it was slimy and dirty.
Now I am in Nazca - famous for the Nazca lines etched into the earth by ancient civilizations. The best way to see the lines is by a small plane - but I'm giving it a miss thanks to stern warnings by the Australian government suggesting that, due to several fatal crashes in recent years including one in October 2010, i may not survive the experience. With life intact I will be content to visit the planaterium tonight and have the lines explained before catching an overnight bus further south to the next adventure.
I'm getting closer and closer to cuzco and the inca trail and i'm getting nervous. I have a cold that I hope will not encourage the worrying altitude sickness i'm warned to expect from tomorrow morning when we reach the hights of the Andes, and my legs are already nervous about the hike up the trail. But I must do it, I can do it - and I'll be pleased when I do.
I'm also getting close to my flight home to the real world with less than three weeks to go and my emotions are mixed. Of course I'm looking forward to seeing my family and friends again....especially my baby neice who will be the most spoilt child in the world with all the gifts I have for her (sorry - everyone else has to go without!) but I'm also dreading the end of this trip that I have planned and looked forward to for a year and the post-holiday depression that I'm sure will come with the last day.
I will deal with it the only way I know how....by planning my next adventure.
Till next time...
Made up of three seperate environments - the coastal, tropical desert, the Andes and the rainforest (on the other side of the mountains) Peru is diverse and interesting.
Over the past few days I've travelled from modern city (Lima) to desert town (Pisco) taking in a pisco distillary (friends might be lucky....I bought the magic potion needed to make the famous pisco sour at home) and desert like sand dunes on which I bounced in a dune buggy - flying down the hills with sand in my hair and taking in the oasis in the middle which, if I were in a movie, thirsty and desperate, i would have been delighted to see - in real life it was slimy and dirty.
Now I am in Nazca - famous for the Nazca lines etched into the earth by ancient civilizations. The best way to see the lines is by a small plane - but I'm giving it a miss thanks to stern warnings by the Australian government suggesting that, due to several fatal crashes in recent years including one in October 2010, i may not survive the experience. With life intact I will be content to visit the planaterium tonight and have the lines explained before catching an overnight bus further south to the next adventure.
I'm getting closer and closer to cuzco and the inca trail and i'm getting nervous. I have a cold that I hope will not encourage the worrying altitude sickness i'm warned to expect from tomorrow morning when we reach the hights of the Andes, and my legs are already nervous about the hike up the trail. But I must do it, I can do it - and I'll be pleased when I do.
I'm also getting close to my flight home to the real world with less than three weeks to go and my emotions are mixed. Of course I'm looking forward to seeing my family and friends again....especially my baby neice who will be the most spoilt child in the world with all the gifts I have for her (sorry - everyone else has to go without!) but I'm also dreading the end of this trip that I have planned and looked forward to for a year and the post-holiday depression that I'm sure will come with the last day.
I will deal with it the only way I know how....by planning my next adventure.
Till next time...
Sunday, 13 March 2011
In Search of the Incas
I'm in Peru....land of ancient Inca ruins, cowboys and llamas...and, apart from that, i have to admit that I don't know much about it.
I assume this will change as I spend the next three weeks here travelling through the arid countryside to reach the Andes and trekking for four days (good grief) through the mountains (mountains!!!) to reach machu piccu. All I can say is that those crazy inca ruins had better be worth the pain that I'm sure they will cause me!
I am in Pisco now - famous for its drink, the pisco sour - which, of course, I have already sampled and adored. We caught a local bus down from Lima this afternoon having spent the morning wondering around the stunning colonial buildings of the historical centre - a UNESCO protected world heritage site.
Lima surprised me. I don't know what I expected - if I expected anything with my lack of knowledge about peru (you'd have thought i'd read up on a country I will spend 3 weeks in....) but I think I expected a much dirtier, run down place than I found.
Staying in Miraflores, a costal suburb filled with gorgeous restaurants, cafes and shops I felt right at home...and, even when we ventured into the city, I found everything completely spotless...I even saw a cigarette butt litterally being swept up from under someone's feet.
I was told by my Peruvian guide that the most recent mayor has been responsible for cleaning up the city - bulldozing the slums in the city centre and replacing them with lush green parks, sorting out the theiving pickpockets in the area as well as undergoing a massive regeneration project of the old buildings, even going so far as to provide beautiful housing for the people living in the city centre to move into while the renovations were being done. The result is a modern, clean city with beautiful parks, colonial buildings, cathedrals and friendly people. At least this is what the average tourist sees. I am sure that, behind the scenes, there is just as much poverty and desperation as anywhere else in south america.
In fact, even just travelling down to Pisco from Lima, we saw shanty towns scattered along the desert roads and, upon reaching Pisco we saw the devestation that still exists following a horrific earthquake in 2007....still, we are told that the town is slowly but surely being rebuilt...you have to admire the peruvians for their tenacity.
'We' is my new tour group....six of us plus a guide we are Australian, French Canadian (yes, a good opportunity to practice my French) and British. Problem is that everyone is more than a little bit older than me....retired....and not so much into the partying. I expect this may be a quieter section of the trip than expected - which may actually be good news for my liver. I am disappointed of course, but am trying to see it as a chance for a bit more rest and relaxation before I go home and back to work than i would have had if I was partying every night as I have done the past 3 weeks....well past 3 months really!
Tomorrow, tsunamis permitting (Peru has been on high-alert following the Japanese earthquakes...but so far so good and I believe the worst is over - thankfully as I am on the coast here) we will visit some islands to look at amazing wildlife and birds...
Till next time...
I assume this will change as I spend the next three weeks here travelling through the arid countryside to reach the Andes and trekking for four days (good grief) through the mountains (mountains!!!) to reach machu piccu. All I can say is that those crazy inca ruins had better be worth the pain that I'm sure they will cause me!
I am in Pisco now - famous for its drink, the pisco sour - which, of course, I have already sampled and adored. We caught a local bus down from Lima this afternoon having spent the morning wondering around the stunning colonial buildings of the historical centre - a UNESCO protected world heritage site.
Lima surprised me. I don't know what I expected - if I expected anything with my lack of knowledge about peru (you'd have thought i'd read up on a country I will spend 3 weeks in....) but I think I expected a much dirtier, run down place than I found.
Staying in Miraflores, a costal suburb filled with gorgeous restaurants, cafes and shops I felt right at home...and, even when we ventured into the city, I found everything completely spotless...I even saw a cigarette butt litterally being swept up from under someone's feet.
I was told by my Peruvian guide that the most recent mayor has been responsible for cleaning up the city - bulldozing the slums in the city centre and replacing them with lush green parks, sorting out the theiving pickpockets in the area as well as undergoing a massive regeneration project of the old buildings, even going so far as to provide beautiful housing for the people living in the city centre to move into while the renovations were being done. The result is a modern, clean city with beautiful parks, colonial buildings, cathedrals and friendly people. At least this is what the average tourist sees. I am sure that, behind the scenes, there is just as much poverty and desperation as anywhere else in south america.
In fact, even just travelling down to Pisco from Lima, we saw shanty towns scattered along the desert roads and, upon reaching Pisco we saw the devestation that still exists following a horrific earthquake in 2007....still, we are told that the town is slowly but surely being rebuilt...you have to admire the peruvians for their tenacity.
'We' is my new tour group....six of us plus a guide we are Australian, French Canadian (yes, a good opportunity to practice my French) and British. Problem is that everyone is more than a little bit older than me....retired....and not so much into the partying. I expect this may be a quieter section of the trip than expected - which may actually be good news for my liver. I am disappointed of course, but am trying to see it as a chance for a bit more rest and relaxation before I go home and back to work than i would have had if I was partying every night as I have done the past 3 weeks....well past 3 months really!
Tomorrow, tsunamis permitting (Peru has been on high-alert following the Japanese earthquakes...but so far so good and I believe the worst is over - thankfully as I am on the coast here) we will visit some islands to look at amazing wildlife and birds...
Till next time...
Saturday, 12 March 2011
The Real Rio
Now that I have left Rio - and you won't tell me to jump on the next plane home - I feel that it is safe to talk about safety.
Or lack of it.
Dangerous at the best of times I had been warned time and time again how particularly and scarily dangerous Rio is at Carnaval time.
And, as a result, I have never been more paranoid about my own or my friends' safety in my life. As a regular and experienced traveller in all sorts of environments and countries I think i've been pretty lucky when it comes to having never been mugged or robbed. I'm usually pretty relaxed about safety but I always keep my wits about me with a lot of common sense, a little bit of street smart and an awareness of my surroundings that means few surprises.
These things help in Rio - but they don't necessarily make you safe.
My friend was robbed and mugged on the same day. He's an experienced traveller. My roommate had an attempted mugging as she walked down the street. Two teenage boys rode past on their bikes and grabbed her bag. She grabbed it back and screamed and they ran off. It could have been much worse. My friends constantly and blatently had fingers in their back pockets when out at night - just in case they were stupid enough to leave their wallets in there. We saw children darting through the crowd, their little fingers fishing in and out of pockets and handbags.
We heard horror story after horror story...
Travelling alone made it difficult to be as safe as I would have liked. There were times when I was briefly alone at night and quite often I walked alone during the day - but only on busy streets and always with my hand on my bag, my bag accross my shoulders, glancing furtively around me. I always caught a taxi home at night - never a metro on my own. In Europe I wouldn't think twice about catching the train or metro late at night on my own. I stuffed cash down my bra. That way, if I was mugged or robbed at least I would still have cash to get me back to the hotel. I hate wearing those secret money belts - I think they do more harm than good and I have never worn one, but possibly here it would have been a good idea. Though i have heard of people who have been mugged of their wallet and then told to hand over their money belt too....not so secret then. I never took any of my debit or credit cards out with me - and only took as much cash as I needed for the day or for the night. the rest I hid in different places in my backpack left in the hotel room, and the hotel safe. I only took my camera if I really felt i had no other choice - but never to the beach....and I backed up all my photos every time I got back to the hotel. I was prepared to lose my camera - though it would have been a shame - but not to lose my photos. For the first time in my life I used the hotel's safety deposit box for my passport and of course it NEVER left the hotel. My girlfriends and I often felt hastled by the brazillian men when we were out at night - to the point of having to grab one of the boys in our group of friends, pretending that he was our boyfriend to make the locals leave us alone (at one point i think Quin was 'boyfriend' to about 5 of us...his lucky night!)...and, in Rio, even that wasn't enough...still they came and tried to kiss us and dance with us...just a nuisance really - but annoying and exhausting when all you want is to have a good old dance with your friends.
Rio is beautiful. Yes. Maybe one of the most beautiful cities in the world. It is a super fun place and I had an absolute blast - the party of my lifetime. And I would even say that I would like to come back here when it isn't carnaval time to see what the city is like in a 'normal' time frame. But I hated the feeling of helplessness and danger and the paranoia it caused and for that reason there was a part of me that hated the city too. I believe that the police and Brazillian government are trying desperately to clean up the city ready for the upcoming world cup and olympics. A desperate move in a desperate city.
I have an Australian friend who loves Rio so much that he would move here in a second.
He can have it. Personally....I don't see the appeal....
Till next time...
Or lack of it.
Dangerous at the best of times I had been warned time and time again how particularly and scarily dangerous Rio is at Carnaval time.
And, as a result, I have never been more paranoid about my own or my friends' safety in my life. As a regular and experienced traveller in all sorts of environments and countries I think i've been pretty lucky when it comes to having never been mugged or robbed. I'm usually pretty relaxed about safety but I always keep my wits about me with a lot of common sense, a little bit of street smart and an awareness of my surroundings that means few surprises.
These things help in Rio - but they don't necessarily make you safe.
My friend was robbed and mugged on the same day. He's an experienced traveller. My roommate had an attempted mugging as she walked down the street. Two teenage boys rode past on their bikes and grabbed her bag. She grabbed it back and screamed and they ran off. It could have been much worse. My friends constantly and blatently had fingers in their back pockets when out at night - just in case they were stupid enough to leave their wallets in there. We saw children darting through the crowd, their little fingers fishing in and out of pockets and handbags.
We heard horror story after horror story...
Travelling alone made it difficult to be as safe as I would have liked. There were times when I was briefly alone at night and quite often I walked alone during the day - but only on busy streets and always with my hand on my bag, my bag accross my shoulders, glancing furtively around me. I always caught a taxi home at night - never a metro on my own. In Europe I wouldn't think twice about catching the train or metro late at night on my own. I stuffed cash down my bra. That way, if I was mugged or robbed at least I would still have cash to get me back to the hotel. I hate wearing those secret money belts - I think they do more harm than good and I have never worn one, but possibly here it would have been a good idea. Though i have heard of people who have been mugged of their wallet and then told to hand over their money belt too....not so secret then. I never took any of my debit or credit cards out with me - and only took as much cash as I needed for the day or for the night. the rest I hid in different places in my backpack left in the hotel room, and the hotel safe. I only took my camera if I really felt i had no other choice - but never to the beach....and I backed up all my photos every time I got back to the hotel. I was prepared to lose my camera - though it would have been a shame - but not to lose my photos. For the first time in my life I used the hotel's safety deposit box for my passport and of course it NEVER left the hotel. My girlfriends and I often felt hastled by the brazillian men when we were out at night - to the point of having to grab one of the boys in our group of friends, pretending that he was our boyfriend to make the locals leave us alone (at one point i think Quin was 'boyfriend' to about 5 of us...his lucky night!)...and, in Rio, even that wasn't enough...still they came and tried to kiss us and dance with us...just a nuisance really - but annoying and exhausting when all you want is to have a good old dance with your friends.
Rio is beautiful. Yes. Maybe one of the most beautiful cities in the world. It is a super fun place and I had an absolute blast - the party of my lifetime. And I would even say that I would like to come back here when it isn't carnaval time to see what the city is like in a 'normal' time frame. But I hated the feeling of helplessness and danger and the paranoia it caused and for that reason there was a part of me that hated the city too. I believe that the police and Brazillian government are trying desperately to clean up the city ready for the upcoming world cup and olympics. A desperate move in a desperate city.
I have an Australian friend who loves Rio so much that he would move here in a second.
He can have it. Personally....I don't see the appeal....
Till next time...
Thursday, 10 March 2011
Going to a Gay Bar, Gay Bar
Everyone knows how much I love to go out to a good gay bar.
The music is pumping, the crowd is gorgeous and friendly. If you're lucky a hot man will tell you you're beautiful....but they won't try to kiss you....
Clearly there is something seriously camp about Rio's Carnaval and, if you're gay in Rio, or even if you're not, the ultimate place to be on the last night of celebrations is the Scala Gay Ball....
So as soon as I heard that tickets were available i scooped one up and immediately started worrying about what to wear.
Luckily for me Rio at Carnaval time caters for all sorts of dress up opportunities and I shouted myself to a little fairy outfit that I thought was pretty and appropriate. My little group of straight and gay friends wore a combination of feathers and glitter and studded leather and off we went to the nightclub near Lapa where the event was to be held.
The event is televised nationally and entry is via red carpet where, if you're lucky (or not depending on which way you look at it) you might be approached by the crew to be on camera. No thanks. We were content to stand and watch for a while as the outrageous and the beautiful posed and pranced.
The drag queens were everything from the old and tragic to the beautiful and, while i was expecting completely outrageous costumes, most were more on the conservative side with only the odd outfit deserving of a second glance.
Everything from pirates to sailors to avatars were represtented and everyone was happy and smiling, dancing to the house music and samba-ing to the samba band who hit the stage occasionally.
A very gay occasion to round off Carnaval...
After being out all night, only getting home at 6am I am planning to spend my last full day in Rio on Ipanema beach....the only part of town I am yet to explore. I will meet friends there before jumping on a sunset cruise of the harbour...taking in everything Rio has to offer one last time before saying goodbye tomorrow and heading across to Peru....
Till next time....
The music is pumping, the crowd is gorgeous and friendly. If you're lucky a hot man will tell you you're beautiful....but they won't try to kiss you....
Clearly there is something seriously camp about Rio's Carnaval and, if you're gay in Rio, or even if you're not, the ultimate place to be on the last night of celebrations is the Scala Gay Ball....
So as soon as I heard that tickets were available i scooped one up and immediately started worrying about what to wear.
Luckily for me Rio at Carnaval time caters for all sorts of dress up opportunities and I shouted myself to a little fairy outfit that I thought was pretty and appropriate. My little group of straight and gay friends wore a combination of feathers and glitter and studded leather and off we went to the nightclub near Lapa where the event was to be held.
The event is televised nationally and entry is via red carpet where, if you're lucky (or not depending on which way you look at it) you might be approached by the crew to be on camera. No thanks. We were content to stand and watch for a while as the outrageous and the beautiful posed and pranced.
The drag queens were everything from the old and tragic to the beautiful and, while i was expecting completely outrageous costumes, most were more on the conservative side with only the odd outfit deserving of a second glance.
Everything from pirates to sailors to avatars were represtented and everyone was happy and smiling, dancing to the house music and samba-ing to the samba band who hit the stage occasionally.
A very gay occasion to round off Carnaval...
After being out all night, only getting home at 6am I am planning to spend my last full day in Rio on Ipanema beach....the only part of town I am yet to explore. I will meet friends there before jumping on a sunset cruise of the harbour...taking in everything Rio has to offer one last time before saying goodbye tomorrow and heading across to Peru....
Till next time....
City of God
The favelas of Rio are owned by drugs.
While the hard and fast living drug dealers and the 'owner' of the favela live at the top of the hill looking down over their territory of 300 000 people in slum like conditions, their workers are at the bottom with guns, walkie talkies and fireworks, watching every entrant to their territory, ready to warn of trouble from the police or rival gangs. 'Soldiers' patrol the streets ready to be in the front line of fire.
And fire there is. As we toured the favela under the watchful eye of a guide we saw the bullet holes in the walls and passed watchers sitting in prime positions eying us carefully.
It's a dangerous place to be.
The living conditions are horrendous. There are no laws when it comes to building houses...pick a spot, any spot, and build a house. If you want to build on top of someone else, no worries - just buy their roof for 2000 realis and chuck a few bricks on top. Small rooms hold whole families....many of whom have more than 7 children and daughters who start having their own families at 13 years old. It is obvious to see the reason for the landslides which kill thousands each year - house foundations are an afterthought.
The children are smily and friendly. They know three words that we understand - gringo, money and photo. 'So many gringos' they said to our guide as we passed by - but they love that we come. It means that we are interested in where they live and they are proud. They want the world to know that, even through their favelas have terrible reputations they are not all bad people.
'money' they say - holding out dirty palms. But we have been asked not to give them any. The community workers who work in the favelas are trying to teach the kids that if they want money they have to do something for it - so as not to encourage a lifestyle of begging.
'photo, photo' they say as we walk around their streets with our fancy cameras. If they are in our photos, they believe the will be famous...with other gringos seeing them in other countries....fame, to them, is the ultimate 'get out of jail free' card. An easy and quick way to get out of the favela without having to study. If asked what they want to be when they grow up many will say 'singer', 'actor' or...'drug dealer'.
They live hard and fast and die young here. The current owner of the favela is 23. He took over from his predecessor who was shot by police and died at age 21. Even if they are not shot they are living in highly unsanitary conditions though the government is starting to come in now and sort out some of those issues, and NGOs send in health workers and educators.
Most of the residents of the favelas have jobs outside, in the city, as hotel cleaners, construction workers or those annoying people selling touristy umbrellas on the beach. They are trying to make a living to get out of the favela and make something of themselves....but this is the only life they know, and, though it's far from ideal, it is a life with family and friends and a certain amount of protection.
A facinating and eye-opening place to visit...this 'City of God'...
till next time...
While the hard and fast living drug dealers and the 'owner' of the favela live at the top of the hill looking down over their territory of 300 000 people in slum like conditions, their workers are at the bottom with guns, walkie talkies and fireworks, watching every entrant to their territory, ready to warn of trouble from the police or rival gangs. 'Soldiers' patrol the streets ready to be in the front line of fire.
And fire there is. As we toured the favela under the watchful eye of a guide we saw the bullet holes in the walls and passed watchers sitting in prime positions eying us carefully.
It's a dangerous place to be.
The living conditions are horrendous. There are no laws when it comes to building houses...pick a spot, any spot, and build a house. If you want to build on top of someone else, no worries - just buy their roof for 2000 realis and chuck a few bricks on top. Small rooms hold whole families....many of whom have more than 7 children and daughters who start having their own families at 13 years old. It is obvious to see the reason for the landslides which kill thousands each year - house foundations are an afterthought.
The children are smily and friendly. They know three words that we understand - gringo, money and photo. 'So many gringos' they said to our guide as we passed by - but they love that we come. It means that we are interested in where they live and they are proud. They want the world to know that, even through their favelas have terrible reputations they are not all bad people.
'money' they say - holding out dirty palms. But we have been asked not to give them any. The community workers who work in the favelas are trying to teach the kids that if they want money they have to do something for it - so as not to encourage a lifestyle of begging.
'photo, photo' they say as we walk around their streets with our fancy cameras. If they are in our photos, they believe the will be famous...with other gringos seeing them in other countries....fame, to them, is the ultimate 'get out of jail free' card. An easy and quick way to get out of the favela without having to study. If asked what they want to be when they grow up many will say 'singer', 'actor' or...'drug dealer'.
They live hard and fast and die young here. The current owner of the favela is 23. He took over from his predecessor who was shot by police and died at age 21. Even if they are not shot they are living in highly unsanitary conditions though the government is starting to come in now and sort out some of those issues, and NGOs send in health workers and educators.
Most of the residents of the favelas have jobs outside, in the city, as hotel cleaners, construction workers or those annoying people selling touristy umbrellas on the beach. They are trying to make a living to get out of the favela and make something of themselves....but this is the only life they know, and, though it's far from ideal, it is a life with family and friends and a certain amount of protection.
A facinating and eye-opening place to visit...this 'City of God'...
till next time...
Wednesday, 9 March 2011
The Biggest Party in the World
It's billed as the biggest party in the world...
...which is, of course, why i'm here...
While the whole city sambas its way through block street parties in every barrio, the heartbeat of Rio's Carnival is at the sambadrome in the central district....a long thin stadium built specifically for this time of year when the world stops to watch Rio shake its feathered hips
Rio boasts some of the world's best samba schools and each year they compete against eachother in various leagues to win the title. Twelve of the country's top samba schools compete at the sambadrome during Carnival's Sunday and Monday nights. Each with thousands of dancers and a specific theme, the schools take about an hour to samba their way past the crowd, with several breathtaking floats providing the piece de la resistance of each school. Vocalists and drummers repeat the chosen samba song, which more often than not the crowd seems to know as well as their national anthem, singing each song with the same fervour, waving flags and samba-ing in the stadium.
Figuring that Carnival IS the sambadrome I treated myself to visits on both the Sunday and the Monday nights...becoming very comfortable with the concrete steps that became home for 3 or 4 hours each night (more, if you're more hardcore than me and stay till the end...morning...). Each night I watched 3 diffrent samba schools compete, the first from sector 13 for an overview (in other words - i was so far back i could barely see the dots as they moved along the sambadrome) and, on the monday night, from sector 5, from where I could see the action much more clearly.
Luckily for me I was treated to a much more up close and personal look at some of the costumes as my roommates had paid to be a part of the parade with one of the schools on the monday night and received their costumes a few days beforehand. Dressed as peacocks in a 'charles darwin' themed parade, the girls were provied with everything from the brightest of blue boots to headpieces designed to impress. The costumes are fancy but are made to literally last the hour of the parade with bits and feathers falling off along the way. an experience for the girls though and one i wish I had forked out for. However, i was content being official dresser and photographer...
While the sambadrome is the impressive showpiece of the carnival not every rio resident can afford the hefty ticket prices....so the real parties happen just outside the statium, with the bars overflowing and the streets pounded by 'cariocas' dancing to the beat of their own drums....
For me a combination of the heady music, the blingiest of costumes and the imagination of the choreographers and designers combined to provide a specticle with no comparison....
the biggest party in the world...
till next time...
...which is, of course, why i'm here...
While the whole city sambas its way through block street parties in every barrio, the heartbeat of Rio's Carnival is at the sambadrome in the central district....a long thin stadium built specifically for this time of year when the world stops to watch Rio shake its feathered hips
Rio boasts some of the world's best samba schools and each year they compete against eachother in various leagues to win the title. Twelve of the country's top samba schools compete at the sambadrome during Carnival's Sunday and Monday nights. Each with thousands of dancers and a specific theme, the schools take about an hour to samba their way past the crowd, with several breathtaking floats providing the piece de la resistance of each school. Vocalists and drummers repeat the chosen samba song, which more often than not the crowd seems to know as well as their national anthem, singing each song with the same fervour, waving flags and samba-ing in the stadium.
Figuring that Carnival IS the sambadrome I treated myself to visits on both the Sunday and the Monday nights...becoming very comfortable with the concrete steps that became home for 3 or 4 hours each night (more, if you're more hardcore than me and stay till the end...morning...). Each night I watched 3 diffrent samba schools compete, the first from sector 13 for an overview (in other words - i was so far back i could barely see the dots as they moved along the sambadrome) and, on the monday night, from sector 5, from where I could see the action much more clearly.
Luckily for me I was treated to a much more up close and personal look at some of the costumes as my roommates had paid to be a part of the parade with one of the schools on the monday night and received their costumes a few days beforehand. Dressed as peacocks in a 'charles darwin' themed parade, the girls were provied with everything from the brightest of blue boots to headpieces designed to impress. The costumes are fancy but are made to literally last the hour of the parade with bits and feathers falling off along the way. an experience for the girls though and one i wish I had forked out for. However, i was content being official dresser and photographer...
While the sambadrome is the impressive showpiece of the carnival not every rio resident can afford the hefty ticket prices....so the real parties happen just outside the statium, with the bars overflowing and the streets pounded by 'cariocas' dancing to the beat of their own drums....
For me a combination of the heady music, the blingiest of costumes and the imagination of the choreographers and designers combined to provide a specticle with no comparison....
the biggest party in the world...
till next time...
Monday, 7 March 2011
The Girl from Ipenema
Rio is pulsing to the sound of samba.
With the big carnival days, Sunday and Monday, just around the corner and with everyone in the city now on holidays, the streets are filled with people drinking and celebrating.
Meeting up with some of my mates from my last tour on Friday night we decided to check out the biggest and most famous street party of them all - Friday nights in Lapa. Arriving at about midnight we found the party already well underway with thousands of people swarming the streets, dressed in outrageous costumes and swinging to the samba beat. Drinks were plentiful and cheap and the people watching more than a little interesting. Brazillian men have proven to be a slight handful while we're out and about at night. While during the day they dont approach us, at night it seems they have free rein and they are attracted like bees to my Danish friend's beautiful blonde hair, touching her and trying to kiss her she does her best to push them away but, of course, it is tiring....to save her slightly and to get off the crowded streets for a while we went to a club and spent the rest of the night grooving to a mix of brazillian and english house before heading home at 4am....
Rio is made for night time fun. Having recovered from the day before and after spending a disappointing morning at the top of Sugarloaf mountain with views of fog and rain (for a city famous for its sunshine it sure rains a lot...), I gathered the troops and off we went to a street party a little closer to home. In the lead up to carnivale, each 'barrio' holds street parties. Literally a samba band starts playing and the people start coming until a crowd is swaying and bobbing to the beat. With a swing of the hips the crowd then starts following the band as they slowly make their way round the block...a mini parade through the streets, with people watching from high apartment windows and kids dancing with their parents...it's a nice atmosphere and a part of the real rio carnival that is worlds away from the fancy costumes of the sambadrome. A drink or two later we found ourself in ipenema and finished the night with caperinhas and a laugh with friends.
It's a good life...
Till next time...
With the big carnival days, Sunday and Monday, just around the corner and with everyone in the city now on holidays, the streets are filled with people drinking and celebrating.
Meeting up with some of my mates from my last tour on Friday night we decided to check out the biggest and most famous street party of them all - Friday nights in Lapa. Arriving at about midnight we found the party already well underway with thousands of people swarming the streets, dressed in outrageous costumes and swinging to the samba beat. Drinks were plentiful and cheap and the people watching more than a little interesting. Brazillian men have proven to be a slight handful while we're out and about at night. While during the day they dont approach us, at night it seems they have free rein and they are attracted like bees to my Danish friend's beautiful blonde hair, touching her and trying to kiss her she does her best to push them away but, of course, it is tiring....to save her slightly and to get off the crowded streets for a while we went to a club and spent the rest of the night grooving to a mix of brazillian and english house before heading home at 4am....
Rio is made for night time fun. Having recovered from the day before and after spending a disappointing morning at the top of Sugarloaf mountain with views of fog and rain (for a city famous for its sunshine it sure rains a lot...), I gathered the troops and off we went to a street party a little closer to home. In the lead up to carnivale, each 'barrio' holds street parties. Literally a samba band starts playing and the people start coming until a crowd is swaying and bobbing to the beat. With a swing of the hips the crowd then starts following the band as they slowly make their way round the block...a mini parade through the streets, with people watching from high apartment windows and kids dancing with their parents...it's a nice atmosphere and a part of the real rio carnival that is worlds away from the fancy costumes of the sambadrome. A drink or two later we found ourself in ipenema and finished the night with caperinhas and a laugh with friends.
It's a good life...
Till next time...
Friday, 4 March 2011
Copa Copacabana
Rio de Janerio
A city of legend. Songs have been written purely about this place and its reputation for living the good life is world famous.
So here I am. In one of the cities I have most wanted to visit my whole life. And it's fabulous.
Arriving in Rio late-ish last night we checked into our hotel in Copacabana and ducked off for a quick dinner and a fast drinking game to get us in the mood before putting on our gladest backpacker glad rags and hitting the town. First a bar, then a traditional brazillian samba club we salsa-ed the night away to a live band and drank our weight in caperinhas. (again). This was our last night together as a group and as we met this morning, sleepy and hungover, it was a very sad goodbye...
It really is amazing how close you can become to people when you spend 11 full on days with them whilst experiencing incredible places and activities, getting drunk together, eating every meal together, jumping off boats together...
My eyes welled up when I said goodbye to our tour leader, Ursula, a teeny tiny Peruvian, she has been amazing to us and I have enjoyed spending lots of time with her. Some of these guys I will see again - we can't get enough of eachother and have already arranged to meet up tomorrow....but for others I will rely on the miracle that is facebook to keep in touch....
And now, for the next part of my adventure. Rio Carnival! but first....it's time to get some much needed relaxation before all the partying begins again.
Till next time...
A city of legend. Songs have been written purely about this place and its reputation for living the good life is world famous.
So here I am. In one of the cities I have most wanted to visit my whole life. And it's fabulous.
Arriving in Rio late-ish last night we checked into our hotel in Copacabana and ducked off for a quick dinner and a fast drinking game to get us in the mood before putting on our gladest backpacker glad rags and hitting the town. First a bar, then a traditional brazillian samba club we salsa-ed the night away to a live band and drank our weight in caperinhas. (again). This was our last night together as a group and as we met this morning, sleepy and hungover, it was a very sad goodbye...
It really is amazing how close you can become to people when you spend 11 full on days with them whilst experiencing incredible places and activities, getting drunk together, eating every meal together, jumping off boats together...
My eyes welled up when I said goodbye to our tour leader, Ursula, a teeny tiny Peruvian, she has been amazing to us and I have enjoyed spending lots of time with her. Some of these guys I will see again - we can't get enough of eachother and have already arranged to meet up tomorrow....but for others I will rely on the miracle that is facebook to keep in touch....
And now, for the next part of my adventure. Rio Carnival! but first....it's time to get some much needed relaxation before all the partying begins again.
Till next time...
Paraty....sounds like 'party'!
And a party it was....
For three whole days we have played around the waters and the town of Paraty. Just 5 or so hours south of Rio, this is a world heritage listed town complete with all the pretty bits and pieces that go along with the title, quaint little cobbled streets lined by bars and colourful shops, beautiful colonial churches and a picturesque harbour that is the mainstay of the town with colourful fishing boats poised along the jetty ready to take the tourists out for a splash of water fun. Jumping off into the clear blue water we sipped our caparinas in the sea and enjoyed a bbq of steak and salad whilst anchored off shore....it rained. but we were wet anyway and the braver ones amongst us (myself NOT included!) finished off the day by jumping into the water from a rather high looking cliff face....
then there was a perfect day spend at the beach...lazing on the sand with girlfriends - the perfect hangover cure from a night of partying. the beach was surrounded by rainforest and walking tracks (which i did not attempt, content, as I was, to spend the day just lying on the sand with a few dips to cool off in between).
A little drive out of Paraty are the waterfalls which finished our time in this beautiful part of the world. not quite iguazu standards, these were a little more interactive as we gingerly made our way accross the top to then use the rocks as a water slide, slipping and sliding into the deep, cold water using the force of the waterfall itself to slide faster and faster. sounds dangerous? I thought so too! but oh so much fun...!
Paraty lives up to its name when it comes to nightlife. every month there seems to be a festival of some sort and this month it was paraty's birthday - which we were very happy to help celebrate. With a few drinks in a bar in the centre of town on night one we sussed out the festival before venturing into the rain (it rains A LOT! in Paraty) to dance to a brazillian band on stage. We have spent most of our nights at 'Dino's Bar'...THE place to be when it comes to Paraty-ian nightlife. We were treated to a capoeira show...brazillian fighting complete with the most acrobatic movements I've ever seen and a little samba to finish off and we have eaten the most delicious food using a brazillian system that I think I should franchise in Australia...chose your own food, anything you like, from a buffet of delicious looking goodies and then take your plate to be weighed. Your food basically costs whatever it weighs. Perfect for the budgeting backpacker!
Paraty is the kind of place you could spend forever. But the next stop is Rio....and, let's face it, nothing will beat Carnivale!
Till next time...
For three whole days we have played around the waters and the town of Paraty. Just 5 or so hours south of Rio, this is a world heritage listed town complete with all the pretty bits and pieces that go along with the title, quaint little cobbled streets lined by bars and colourful shops, beautiful colonial churches and a picturesque harbour that is the mainstay of the town with colourful fishing boats poised along the jetty ready to take the tourists out for a splash of water fun. Jumping off into the clear blue water we sipped our caparinas in the sea and enjoyed a bbq of steak and salad whilst anchored off shore....it rained. but we were wet anyway and the braver ones amongst us (myself NOT included!) finished off the day by jumping into the water from a rather high looking cliff face....
then there was a perfect day spend at the beach...lazing on the sand with girlfriends - the perfect hangover cure from a night of partying. the beach was surrounded by rainforest and walking tracks (which i did not attempt, content, as I was, to spend the day just lying on the sand with a few dips to cool off in between).
A little drive out of Paraty are the waterfalls which finished our time in this beautiful part of the world. not quite iguazu standards, these were a little more interactive as we gingerly made our way accross the top to then use the rocks as a water slide, slipping and sliding into the deep, cold water using the force of the waterfall itself to slide faster and faster. sounds dangerous? I thought so too! but oh so much fun...!
Paraty lives up to its name when it comes to nightlife. every month there seems to be a festival of some sort and this month it was paraty's birthday - which we were very happy to help celebrate. With a few drinks in a bar in the centre of town on night one we sussed out the festival before venturing into the rain (it rains A LOT! in Paraty) to dance to a brazillian band on stage. We have spent most of our nights at 'Dino's Bar'...THE place to be when it comes to Paraty-ian nightlife. We were treated to a capoeira show...brazillian fighting complete with the most acrobatic movements I've ever seen and a little samba to finish off and we have eaten the most delicious food using a brazillian system that I think I should franchise in Australia...chose your own food, anything you like, from a buffet of delicious looking goodies and then take your plate to be weighed. Your food basically costs whatever it weighs. Perfect for the budgeting backpacker!
Paraty is the kind of place you could spend forever. But the next stop is Rio....and, let's face it, nothing will beat Carnivale!
Till next time...
Sunday, 27 February 2011
Brazil Baby!
It's been a crazy few days.
Crazy. Amazing. Beautiful. Fun. Drunken.
Leaving Buenos Aires after a big night out with the super fun crowd on my tour we made our way north to Brazil on the overnight bus ride to beat all overnight bus rides...18 hours later we arrived at the border and entered the land of samba and caparinhas...
We have spent the last few days at Iguazzu Falls, admiring the power of these amazing falls from both sides of the border - the Brazilian side for an overview and the Argentinian side for an up close and personal inspection - including a speed boat ride underneath to be completely soaked by the spray. The falls are up there with the most breathtaking and generally coolest thing I have seen in the entire world in my life. To describe them would be impossible and I have spent quite a lot of time just staring at them, pinching myself that I am actually here, in Brazil, experiencing such an amazing sight.
When I'm not playing under waterfalls I have been spending time with my new friends, eating at fun restaurants and drinking many many caparinas. A healthy mixture of aussies (of course), brits and scandinavians most of us are young and up for a good time, letting our hair down every night and holding parties in our rooms after hitting the town.
Heading to a bar a couple of nights ago we danced the night away to some latin tunes and chatted in spanglish to the locals. Last night we were invited to a barbeque with some other GAP tour groups that are here at the moment. The local contact here who transports us around often holds barbeques for the groups at his house....an amazing place with pool and built in barbeque it was the ultimate party venue and as we drank even more caparinas and munched on the most delicious steak we met other travellers before dancing the night away under the stars.
It hasn't been anything less than completely full on and we are looking forward to the next few days which will be a little more relaxed as we travel by another overnight bus tonight to Paratay....which to me sounds like 'party' always a good sign....a beach town where we plan to do some boat trips and chillax under the brazilian sun.
Till next time...
Crazy. Amazing. Beautiful. Fun. Drunken.
Leaving Buenos Aires after a big night out with the super fun crowd on my tour we made our way north to Brazil on the overnight bus ride to beat all overnight bus rides...18 hours later we arrived at the border and entered the land of samba and caparinhas...
We have spent the last few days at Iguazzu Falls, admiring the power of these amazing falls from both sides of the border - the Brazilian side for an overview and the Argentinian side for an up close and personal inspection - including a speed boat ride underneath to be completely soaked by the spray. The falls are up there with the most breathtaking and generally coolest thing I have seen in the entire world in my life. To describe them would be impossible and I have spent quite a lot of time just staring at them, pinching myself that I am actually here, in Brazil, experiencing such an amazing sight.
When I'm not playing under waterfalls I have been spending time with my new friends, eating at fun restaurants and drinking many many caparinas. A healthy mixture of aussies (of course), brits and scandinavians most of us are young and up for a good time, letting our hair down every night and holding parties in our rooms after hitting the town.
Heading to a bar a couple of nights ago we danced the night away to some latin tunes and chatted in spanglish to the locals. Last night we were invited to a barbeque with some other GAP tour groups that are here at the moment. The local contact here who transports us around often holds barbeques for the groups at his house....an amazing place with pool and built in barbeque it was the ultimate party venue and as we drank even more caparinas and munched on the most delicious steak we met other travellers before dancing the night away under the stars.
It hasn't been anything less than completely full on and we are looking forward to the next few days which will be a little more relaxed as we travel by another overnight bus tonight to Paratay....which to me sounds like 'party' always a good sign....a beach town where we plan to do some boat trips and chillax under the brazilian sun.
Till next time...
Monday, 21 February 2011
Paris of the South
Buenos Aires is a city of contrasts.
From the older barrios of San Telmo and La Boca with their tango and street markets to the ultra modern Palermo and Puerto Madero with their swish and trendy restaurants and shiny sky scrapers the city oozes a cosmopolitan charm, holding its head high against some of the better known cities in the world.
They call it the Paris of the South - so I, of course, have been searching for the similarities to my favourite city. They are few and far between. Perhaps Buenos Aires is more European than some of the South American cities I'm yet to see, but the charm it has is its own in a somewhat quirky way. It's a little more gritty and a little more dirty than Paris owing, I guess, to economic troubles in recent years. Sidewalks crumble and buildings are tired...a degree of poverty is obvious with large-eyed children juggling tennis balls at traffic lights in the hope of a little cash and beggers approaching tables at restaurants...
But the leafy avenues edged by art deco facades, wide sidewalks and old cafes do suggest a slightly Parisian feel, in particular Avenida de Mayo which was deliberately built in a Parisian style as an emphatic statement to the world that Buenos Aires is a cosmopolitan city.
The historical centre of the city is walkable and my hotel is central so i have spent the days using my own two legs to get around. strolling gently in the sunshine through the antique street markets open only on Sundays in San Telmo...stopping for a beer here or there and tasting local specialties such as empanadas - delicious little baked pastry morsels filled with ham and cheese or a bolognaise type sauce.
I have splurged on a mouth-watering Argentinian eye fillet and a glass or two of Argentinian white at a fancy restaurant in Peurto Madero and have watched tango on San Telmo's ancient streets. Today i got off the beaten track (if you wish to read that as 'I got lost' then so be it!) and found myself in a quirky little pizza restarant with wood fired flavours to die for in Palermo - the area where well-to-do Portenos walk their pedigree dogs and well-dressed children (or is it the other way around?) outside of comfortable looking apartment blocks.
I have wandered the museums - the Museo de Arte Latinoamericano de Buenos Aires (MALBA) - a MoMA type building filled with crazy and beautiful pieces of contemporary art, where the building itself may just diminish the art somewhat. And a museum dedicated to Evita...her life's story, photographs, dresses and the heartbreaking tale of her death that has made me want to turn around and watch the movie again (Madonna or no Madonna....)
It's fascinating - this city of contrasts...a city rich with colour and tradition and with just the right amount of nod to the modern and the trendy.
till next time...
From the older barrios of San Telmo and La Boca with their tango and street markets to the ultra modern Palermo and Puerto Madero with their swish and trendy restaurants and shiny sky scrapers the city oozes a cosmopolitan charm, holding its head high against some of the better known cities in the world.
They call it the Paris of the South - so I, of course, have been searching for the similarities to my favourite city. They are few and far between. Perhaps Buenos Aires is more European than some of the South American cities I'm yet to see, but the charm it has is its own in a somewhat quirky way. It's a little more gritty and a little more dirty than Paris owing, I guess, to economic troubles in recent years. Sidewalks crumble and buildings are tired...a degree of poverty is obvious with large-eyed children juggling tennis balls at traffic lights in the hope of a little cash and beggers approaching tables at restaurants...
But the leafy avenues edged by art deco facades, wide sidewalks and old cafes do suggest a slightly Parisian feel, in particular Avenida de Mayo which was deliberately built in a Parisian style as an emphatic statement to the world that Buenos Aires is a cosmopolitan city.
The historical centre of the city is walkable and my hotel is central so i have spent the days using my own two legs to get around. strolling gently in the sunshine through the antique street markets open only on Sundays in San Telmo...stopping for a beer here or there and tasting local specialties such as empanadas - delicious little baked pastry morsels filled with ham and cheese or a bolognaise type sauce.
I have splurged on a mouth-watering Argentinian eye fillet and a glass or two of Argentinian white at a fancy restaurant in Peurto Madero and have watched tango on San Telmo's ancient streets. Today i got off the beaten track (if you wish to read that as 'I got lost' then so be it!) and found myself in a quirky little pizza restarant with wood fired flavours to die for in Palermo - the area where well-to-do Portenos walk their pedigree dogs and well-dressed children (or is it the other way around?) outside of comfortable looking apartment blocks.
I have wandered the museums - the Museo de Arte Latinoamericano de Buenos Aires (MALBA) - a MoMA type building filled with crazy and beautiful pieces of contemporary art, where the building itself may just diminish the art somewhat. And a museum dedicated to Evita...her life's story, photographs, dresses and the heartbreaking tale of her death that has made me want to turn around and watch the movie again (Madonna or no Madonna....)
It's fascinating - this city of contrasts...a city rich with colour and tradition and with just the right amount of nod to the modern and the trendy.
till next time...
Sunday, 20 February 2011
It Takes Two to Tango
It's sex in a dance.
That's really the only way to describe the way the Portenos (people from Buenos Aires) dance the tango. Strong and sensual, intense and passionate the dancers move effortlessly to the music with the woman in the highest of heels and slitted dresses all the way up her thigh....all the better to lift her leg up at incredible angles and hook it around her partners' waist all the while managing to not topple over. The men are suave and cool in suits and hats, effortlessly twirling his partner, occassionally throwing her around a bit - maybe over the shoulder or bent back to the floor.
The tango is an art form that dances to the beat of Porteno life....I had expected to see some but I hadn't expected it to be so much a part of life here. Sure a lot of it is for tourists, but there is more to it than that as specialty tango shoe shops along the shopping malls advertise their wares and tango shows are as common as movie theatres.
I took myself on a date to a tango show last night. Most people do dinner and a show but there's not much point in that when i'm on my own so dinner was a snack beforehand instead and unforutunately I think my choice meant I had the worst seat in the house - right at the back. But I loved the show...with it's sparkly dresses and fun set changes it was more like a theatre production than I expected. I left completely perplexed as to how they do some of those moves....it takes two to tango...
It rained all day yesterday. If I had wanted rain I would have stayed in England - but at least the rain cooled things down somewhat. I decided I would go ahead with my ultra touristy plans anyway and get one of those open topped buses to see the sights in one tourist crazed day. I got soaked. But I also got to go to La Boca....my fave part of BA so far.
I've never seen so many bus loads of tourists snapping away like crazy or so many souvenir shops in one block....but you can still see what this area must have been like in its heyday - one of the poorest parts of BA (still) it has always been a working class stronghold and a centre for bohemian artists. Tango developed here in the tenement houses made of corrogated iron painted in the brightest of colours with the paint left over from the dock and ships at the harbour just down the road. The city's first port, La Boca was an African slave colony before the Italian immigrants moved here in the 1880s and it retains a thriving cultural scene - in and amongst the tourists.
I also visited the museum of fine arts, the best in the country, according to my oh so knowledgable guide book, containing collections with all the greats of european art - renoir, rembrandt, rodin, picasso etc as well as a whole floor of argentinian art which I found refreshing and different after 2 months viewing the works of many of the above european artists in their home towns.
and now it's time to tango my way further into this facinating city...
Till next time...
That's really the only way to describe the way the Portenos (people from Buenos Aires) dance the tango. Strong and sensual, intense and passionate the dancers move effortlessly to the music with the woman in the highest of heels and slitted dresses all the way up her thigh....all the better to lift her leg up at incredible angles and hook it around her partners' waist all the while managing to not topple over. The men are suave and cool in suits and hats, effortlessly twirling his partner, occassionally throwing her around a bit - maybe over the shoulder or bent back to the floor.
The tango is an art form that dances to the beat of Porteno life....I had expected to see some but I hadn't expected it to be so much a part of life here. Sure a lot of it is for tourists, but there is more to it than that as specialty tango shoe shops along the shopping malls advertise their wares and tango shows are as common as movie theatres.
I took myself on a date to a tango show last night. Most people do dinner and a show but there's not much point in that when i'm on my own so dinner was a snack beforehand instead and unforutunately I think my choice meant I had the worst seat in the house - right at the back. But I loved the show...with it's sparkly dresses and fun set changes it was more like a theatre production than I expected. I left completely perplexed as to how they do some of those moves....it takes two to tango...
It rained all day yesterday. If I had wanted rain I would have stayed in England - but at least the rain cooled things down somewhat. I decided I would go ahead with my ultra touristy plans anyway and get one of those open topped buses to see the sights in one tourist crazed day. I got soaked. But I also got to go to La Boca....my fave part of BA so far.
I've never seen so many bus loads of tourists snapping away like crazy or so many souvenir shops in one block....but you can still see what this area must have been like in its heyday - one of the poorest parts of BA (still) it has always been a working class stronghold and a centre for bohemian artists. Tango developed here in the tenement houses made of corrogated iron painted in the brightest of colours with the paint left over from the dock and ships at the harbour just down the road. The city's first port, La Boca was an African slave colony before the Italian immigrants moved here in the 1880s and it retains a thriving cultural scene - in and amongst the tourists.
I also visited the museum of fine arts, the best in the country, according to my oh so knowledgable guide book, containing collections with all the greats of european art - renoir, rembrandt, rodin, picasso etc as well as a whole floor of argentinian art which I found refreshing and different after 2 months viewing the works of many of the above european artists in their home towns.
and now it's time to tango my way further into this facinating city...
Till next time...
Friday, 18 February 2011
Don't Cry For Me Argentina...
I am in Buenos Aires...the first time I have ever stepped foot in South America.
I am excited!
And hot.
It's 30 degrees here. It's 7 degrees in London. I'm feeling the difference. And the lack of sleep after a 16 hour flight. Luckily I have four days here to explore - perhaps now is the time to rest.
There are several things I like to do when I first arrive in a strange new city in a strange new continent.
1) Get Lost.
It's not that I like to do it - it's just what generally happens. However, this afternoon while wondering around the local area I discovered that it's less likely to happen here. The city is a grid with very clear street signs. Yay for gridlike cities!! However....let's not speak too soon....
2) Drink Beer
It's so hot...I had walked about a block before I started looking out for a sidewalk cafe that might sell beer. No one else was drinking beer I noticed - just coffee and pepsi. Spot the Aussie anyone??? Still....it was big and cold and it hit the spot while I read in my guidebook all about what I'm supposed to be looking at.
3) Eat.
The only thing I've eaten here so far is ice-cream (did I mention how hot it is?). It was good. From what I can see there are two types of restaurants in which to eat dinner. Steakhouse or pizzeria. This is my kinda place.
4) Do Like the Locals - particularly when crossing the road
Every city is different when it comes to crossing the road. Many are like most aussie cities - you wait for the green man before you cross unless it's the middle of the night and there's no cars to be seen for miles. Then there are the cities in South East Asia where you litterally walk out in front of trillions of scooters and walk very slowly, holding your breath, so they can scoot around you. Or Rome, where you're supposed to look the driver in the eye to make sure they stop (they don't anyway)....very difficult to do when there are 10 cars coming at you. Here...it seemed pretty straightforward. You cross when the cars are stopped. Simple. Still...I waited for the locals to go first.
So far so good for Buenos Aires. I'm looking forward to going out to check out the steak later. But for now it's time for me to indulge my jetlag....
till next time...
I am excited!
And hot.
It's 30 degrees here. It's 7 degrees in London. I'm feeling the difference. And the lack of sleep after a 16 hour flight. Luckily I have four days here to explore - perhaps now is the time to rest.
There are several things I like to do when I first arrive in a strange new city in a strange new continent.
1) Get Lost.
It's not that I like to do it - it's just what generally happens. However, this afternoon while wondering around the local area I discovered that it's less likely to happen here. The city is a grid with very clear street signs. Yay for gridlike cities!! However....let's not speak too soon....
2) Drink Beer
It's so hot...I had walked about a block before I started looking out for a sidewalk cafe that might sell beer. No one else was drinking beer I noticed - just coffee and pepsi. Spot the Aussie anyone??? Still....it was big and cold and it hit the spot while I read in my guidebook all about what I'm supposed to be looking at.
3) Eat.
The only thing I've eaten here so far is ice-cream (did I mention how hot it is?). It was good. From what I can see there are two types of restaurants in which to eat dinner. Steakhouse or pizzeria. This is my kinda place.
4) Do Like the Locals - particularly when crossing the road
Every city is different when it comes to crossing the road. Many are like most aussie cities - you wait for the green man before you cross unless it's the middle of the night and there's no cars to be seen for miles. Then there are the cities in South East Asia where you litterally walk out in front of trillions of scooters and walk very slowly, holding your breath, so they can scoot around you. Or Rome, where you're supposed to look the driver in the eye to make sure they stop (they don't anyway)....very difficult to do when there are 10 cars coming at you. Here...it seemed pretty straightforward. You cross when the cars are stopped. Simple. Still...I waited for the locals to go first.
So far so good for Buenos Aires. I'm looking forward to going out to check out the steak later. But for now it's time for me to indulge my jetlag....
till next time...
Wednesday, 16 February 2011
Last Days....
Tomorrow I leave Europe...and I don't know when I will be back. It hurts. It feels like the end of my trip - even though I know I am yet to spend 6 weeks in South America.
I leave behind some of the people I love most in the world. But the time I have spent here with them has been healing and relaxing...just as spending time with people you love should be.
I got on that plane in Brisbane 2 months ago with so much excitement...winging my way over to this side of the world with plans and dreams and the highest of hopes.
I was welcomed back to my old home town of Horsham with open arms by the people who are so close to me and who I love so much that I refer to them as my 'English Family'. In no time it was as if I had never left. I spent heaps of time in the South of England and plenty of time in London, being treated to amazing meals, lots of drinks and fun days spent in all my favourite English places catching up with a lot of the people who really matter to me.
I flew to Barcelona twice to spend much-craved quality time with my best friend...soaking up this amazing spanish city through his eyes and learning about his life there...committing every moment to memory in the hope that they will last me through until i am next with him...seeing in this year of change by celebrating the very best of spanish food and traditions, helped along by a dinner party full of fun and fabulous people...
I spent a snowy white christmas in switzerland with my long-time and very precious friend Alex and a bunch of fun aussies that embraced me straight into their home and group. we clamboured around mountains at the top of the world and raced down them on toboggans before heading home to gallons of french champagne.
I lived out my ultimate fantasy by living in Paris for a month....in a little apartment on the left bank, learning french, meeting fun new people from all over the world, including a few frenchies! and attempting to be 'la belle parisienne'...living and breathing my favourite city in the world and making the most of every single opportunity it offered....
I leave with a very heavy heart. This was a trip I have looked forward to from the moment I left in June 2009...and saying goodbye was always going to be difficult
But there is one thing I know...Horsham, and the cities around it in which I have become so comfortable, London, Barcelona and Paris, will always hold an anchored, stable place in my life and my heart. I'll be back...hopefully sooner than we all think.
And now....on to Buenos Aires and a whole new adventure.
till next time.
I leave behind some of the people I love most in the world. But the time I have spent here with them has been healing and relaxing...just as spending time with people you love should be.
I got on that plane in Brisbane 2 months ago with so much excitement...winging my way over to this side of the world with plans and dreams and the highest of hopes.
I was welcomed back to my old home town of Horsham with open arms by the people who are so close to me and who I love so much that I refer to them as my 'English Family'. In no time it was as if I had never left. I spent heaps of time in the South of England and plenty of time in London, being treated to amazing meals, lots of drinks and fun days spent in all my favourite English places catching up with a lot of the people who really matter to me.
I flew to Barcelona twice to spend much-craved quality time with my best friend...soaking up this amazing spanish city through his eyes and learning about his life there...committing every moment to memory in the hope that they will last me through until i am next with him...seeing in this year of change by celebrating the very best of spanish food and traditions, helped along by a dinner party full of fun and fabulous people...
I spent a snowy white christmas in switzerland with my long-time and very precious friend Alex and a bunch of fun aussies that embraced me straight into their home and group. we clamboured around mountains at the top of the world and raced down them on toboggans before heading home to gallons of french champagne.
I lived out my ultimate fantasy by living in Paris for a month....in a little apartment on the left bank, learning french, meeting fun new people from all over the world, including a few frenchies! and attempting to be 'la belle parisienne'...living and breathing my favourite city in the world and making the most of every single opportunity it offered....
I leave with a very heavy heart. This was a trip I have looked forward to from the moment I left in June 2009...and saying goodbye was always going to be difficult
But there is one thing I know...Horsham, and the cities around it in which I have become so comfortable, London, Barcelona and Paris, will always hold an anchored, stable place in my life and my heart. I'll be back...hopefully sooner than we all think.
And now....on to Buenos Aires and a whole new adventure.
till next time.
Wednesday, 9 February 2011
A London kinda day
It's freezing cold and the people are rude. I must be back in London! I must be 'home'....
A month in France has left me linguisticly confused....while i'm ever so grateful to be back in english-speaking-land I keep finding myself saying 'merci' to shopkeepers as they hand me my purchase and 'pardon' (the french way) when I bump into someone on the train....
Coming back to England I decided to spend a quiet couple of days in London itself with Alex before heading back down south. Planning a day to myself to take in the fact that i was back and quietly reminice about the good times in France I took myself off to Greenwich. Famous, of course, for the fact that it is 0 on the median line (or something or other) Greenwich has a lot more going for it than that just that. Crazily and unexpectedly the day had dawned with sunshine (*gasp*) so i spent some time in the big park....sitting in the sunshine and watching the locals taking their dogs for a run....before heading off to visit the various museums and art gallaries in the royal observatory and surrounds.
Later, meeting Alex for a drink in East London I was surprised by her choice of meeting place. Alex is my ultimate gal-about-town in London. She knows all the places of the moment, is up with all the latest happenings...and if a restaurant is cool she knows it. So when she suggested meeting at the 'Commercial Tavern' I had to wonder....to me it sounded like some sort of back street pub for the local factory workers! I couldn't have been more wrong....nestled into a tiny corner in Shoreditch the pub is eccentric and quirky in all the right ways....with a mismatch of chandeliers hanging above the bar and brightly floralled wallpaper the crowd was super hip and the decor super fun.
Moving on for some food we stumbled across 'Pizza East'...pretentious, said Alex. but gorgeous if we are deined good enough for a table....the place was packed at 7.30 on a tues night but somehow we must have been deined good enough and found ourselves at the bar watching the hot italian chefs toss around their dough without a care in the world. oh...and the food was good too.
The main reason for my little stay in London was our next activity. A teeny tiny venue in Shoreditch was hosting Art Vs Science - a well known band from sydney who haven't yet made it big over here - thus the small venue - a bonus when seeing aussie bands in england...I have learnt, over the years, to trust Alex's taste in music. She is much more 'up' on the scene than i am (even the australian scene despite the fact she lives in london) and, though i only knew one song from this band ('Parle Vous Francaise'...a song which i clearly adore for the lyrics if nothing else...!) I wanted to go along for a little dance anyway....and dance we did....the music was awesome, the band breathtaking live and the crowd well into it...! what a fun night...
Every now and then - more often than not - london turns on the perfect day for me. Yesterday was another one.
I do love this city.
Till next time.
A month in France has left me linguisticly confused....while i'm ever so grateful to be back in english-speaking-land I keep finding myself saying 'merci' to shopkeepers as they hand me my purchase and 'pardon' (the french way) when I bump into someone on the train....
Coming back to England I decided to spend a quiet couple of days in London itself with Alex before heading back down south. Planning a day to myself to take in the fact that i was back and quietly reminice about the good times in France I took myself off to Greenwich. Famous, of course, for the fact that it is 0 on the median line (or something or other) Greenwich has a lot more going for it than that just that. Crazily and unexpectedly the day had dawned with sunshine (*gasp*) so i spent some time in the big park....sitting in the sunshine and watching the locals taking their dogs for a run....before heading off to visit the various museums and art gallaries in the royal observatory and surrounds.
Later, meeting Alex for a drink in East London I was surprised by her choice of meeting place. Alex is my ultimate gal-about-town in London. She knows all the places of the moment, is up with all the latest happenings...and if a restaurant is cool she knows it. So when she suggested meeting at the 'Commercial Tavern' I had to wonder....to me it sounded like some sort of back street pub for the local factory workers! I couldn't have been more wrong....nestled into a tiny corner in Shoreditch the pub is eccentric and quirky in all the right ways....with a mismatch of chandeliers hanging above the bar and brightly floralled wallpaper the crowd was super hip and the decor super fun.
Moving on for some food we stumbled across 'Pizza East'...pretentious, said Alex. but gorgeous if we are deined good enough for a table....the place was packed at 7.30 on a tues night but somehow we must have been deined good enough and found ourselves at the bar watching the hot italian chefs toss around their dough without a care in the world. oh...and the food was good too.
The main reason for my little stay in London was our next activity. A teeny tiny venue in Shoreditch was hosting Art Vs Science - a well known band from sydney who haven't yet made it big over here - thus the small venue - a bonus when seeing aussie bands in england...I have learnt, over the years, to trust Alex's taste in music. She is much more 'up' on the scene than i am (even the australian scene despite the fact she lives in london) and, though i only knew one song from this band ('Parle Vous Francaise'...a song which i clearly adore for the lyrics if nothing else...!) I wanted to go along for a little dance anyway....and dance we did....the music was awesome, the band breathtaking live and the crowd well into it...! what a fun night...
Every now and then - more often than not - london turns on the perfect day for me. Yesterday was another one.
I do love this city.
Till next time.
A little town called Marseille...
When the time came to leave france it seemed i wasn't quite ready. I have had such an amazing month in paris...learning (a little) french, playing with my new friends, exploring my new surroundings...I felt comfortable and at 'home' in Paris and wanted to discover whether I felt the same way in other parts of the country.
Luckily Bethany is always up for an adventure so the two of us began to plan a weekend away.....the problem was where to go. There were several options - most only 3 hours away by France's high-speed super trains - the TGV. Nico suggested Marseille so we threw that into the mix and, after a little research it topped the list. The deciding factor was the weather - for 15 degrees with sunshine our vitamin D deprived selves would have gone anywhere!
Nestled against the Mediterranian in Provence, Marseille is one of the oldest cities in France - second in size only to Paris it is grittier and harder than the capital, but with ancient architecture - island forts and churches - and streets of mansions reminicient of the left bank of paris.
The Vieux Port - the old town - feels just like a little fishing village - it reminded me of some I have travelled through in Normandy - on the West Coast of France a million miles away. A massive harbour with expensive yachts alongside shoddy little fishing boats...a fishmarket held every morning at the crack of dawn and seafood restaurants lining the streets nearby.
The specialty is boulbanaisse....a crazy soup that comes all at once in three different servings - bread with a mustard mayonaise and cheese, a seafood broth, and a plate of seafood - fish, mussels, and boiled potatoes...I'm not sure what the correct method is to eat this thing but i just chucked it all together and it went down a treat with a glass of cote de rhone!
We 'did' the city in 24 hours...from pretty churches on top of nearby mountains to cruises down the mediterranian coast to glasses of wine in gritty little back streets Marseille impressed us with its laid back atmosphere. Definitely a place to come back to - maybe in the summer when you could go for nice long walks along the rocky coastline and find a quiet little spot in the sun before dipping into the water for a quick snorkle....
It seems that I am indeed as at 'home' in other parts of France as I am in Paris.
A bientot mon belle France. I'll be back...soon...
Till next time.
Luckily Bethany is always up for an adventure so the two of us began to plan a weekend away.....the problem was where to go. There were several options - most only 3 hours away by France's high-speed super trains - the TGV. Nico suggested Marseille so we threw that into the mix and, after a little research it topped the list. The deciding factor was the weather - for 15 degrees with sunshine our vitamin D deprived selves would have gone anywhere!
Nestled against the Mediterranian in Provence, Marseille is one of the oldest cities in France - second in size only to Paris it is grittier and harder than the capital, but with ancient architecture - island forts and churches - and streets of mansions reminicient of the left bank of paris.
The Vieux Port - the old town - feels just like a little fishing village - it reminded me of some I have travelled through in Normandy - on the West Coast of France a million miles away. A massive harbour with expensive yachts alongside shoddy little fishing boats...a fishmarket held every morning at the crack of dawn and seafood restaurants lining the streets nearby.
The specialty is boulbanaisse....a crazy soup that comes all at once in three different servings - bread with a mustard mayonaise and cheese, a seafood broth, and a plate of seafood - fish, mussels, and boiled potatoes...I'm not sure what the correct method is to eat this thing but i just chucked it all together and it went down a treat with a glass of cote de rhone!
We 'did' the city in 24 hours...from pretty churches on top of nearby mountains to cruises down the mediterranian coast to glasses of wine in gritty little back streets Marseille impressed us with its laid back atmosphere. Definitely a place to come back to - maybe in the summer when you could go for nice long walks along the rocky coastline and find a quiet little spot in the sun before dipping into the water for a quick snorkle....
It seems that I am indeed as at 'home' in other parts of France as I am in Paris.
A bientot mon belle France. I'll be back...soon...
Till next time.
Saturday, 5 February 2011
Monseiur young and funky...
I am spending my last week in one of the most beautiful cities in the world...a major player on the world scene, a western city crammed with millions of people.
One would think, with this in mind, that when my Chillian, American and Brazillian friends and I wanted to go for a little dance somewhere hot and funky, Paris might have something to offer us...even on a Wednesday night.
It seems not.
Walking down rue Montorgruil on Wednesday night at around 11pm the bars around us were closing and we were trying to work out where to go next (story of my life it seems....)
We must have been talking rather loudly. My chillian friends MAY have been staggering slightly....whatever the reason we drew attention from two young french guys quietly smoking outside a bar.
"Do you know where you are?' mr young and funky said to me in his frenchly french accent.
"yes...of course!" i said haughtily (la belle parisienne remember....)
"you want to go dancing but you are in paris on a wednesday night. there is no where to go."
oh....shame.
'BUT!' he continued....'just around the corner is a bar owned by a friend of mine. it is an underground bar (not litterally....just in terms of being young and funky i think...). It is known only by locals and if I don't take you there you won't know where to find it - there is only a door.....'
Hmmmm - intriguing! Of course i couldnt resist and rounded up my 5 friends (not an easy task...) and followed mr young and funky down the road.
The bar was amazing. teeny tiny and literally just a hole in the wall (mr young and funky was right - we wouldnt have found it if it wasn't for him...), the bar is owned by 'Sof', bartender and owner, he lives above the bar. he was born on this street, the bar was his father's before him, but he has turned this space into a trendy local spot in a seriously trendy part of paris, with DJs playing on the weekends and heavenly mojhitos being whipped up behind the bar.
I stayed for hours, enjoying the atmosphere (and the mohitos)....but most importantly the company where i chatted to the young and funky locals, one of whom had lived in australia for a year....who needs a dancefloor when you have found a secret bar....? parisian nightlife doesn't get better.
The next day bought a french experience of an entirely different sort when Bethany, my New Yorker friend, and I decided to do a souffle course at a little cooking school just near Hotel de Ville. Whipping up (litterally) a concoction of spinach fluffiness for our spinach souffles and a vinagarette dressing for the salad we enjoyed the fruits of our labour with a glass of vin blanc while the white chocolate souffles also whipped up by the class rose obediently in the oven.
Two hours of gastronomy heaven was so much fun amongst similarly minded foodies....both living in paris and visiting....a highlight of my trip....
It's been a good week...and I can't believe it's over.
One more party tonight with my amazing new friends who i will miss very much....then Bethany and I head to Marseille for more french adventures.
Till next time....
One would think, with this in mind, that when my Chillian, American and Brazillian friends and I wanted to go for a little dance somewhere hot and funky, Paris might have something to offer us...even on a Wednesday night.
It seems not.
Walking down rue Montorgruil on Wednesday night at around 11pm the bars around us were closing and we were trying to work out where to go next (story of my life it seems....)
We must have been talking rather loudly. My chillian friends MAY have been staggering slightly....whatever the reason we drew attention from two young french guys quietly smoking outside a bar.
"Do you know where you are?' mr young and funky said to me in his frenchly french accent.
"yes...of course!" i said haughtily (la belle parisienne remember....)
"you want to go dancing but you are in paris on a wednesday night. there is no where to go."
oh....shame.
'BUT!' he continued....'just around the corner is a bar owned by a friend of mine. it is an underground bar (not litterally....just in terms of being young and funky i think...). It is known only by locals and if I don't take you there you won't know where to find it - there is only a door.....'
Hmmmm - intriguing! Of course i couldnt resist and rounded up my 5 friends (not an easy task...) and followed mr young and funky down the road.
The bar was amazing. teeny tiny and literally just a hole in the wall (mr young and funky was right - we wouldnt have found it if it wasn't for him...), the bar is owned by 'Sof', bartender and owner, he lives above the bar. he was born on this street, the bar was his father's before him, but he has turned this space into a trendy local spot in a seriously trendy part of paris, with DJs playing on the weekends and heavenly mojhitos being whipped up behind the bar.
I stayed for hours, enjoying the atmosphere (and the mohitos)....but most importantly the company where i chatted to the young and funky locals, one of whom had lived in australia for a year....who needs a dancefloor when you have found a secret bar....? parisian nightlife doesn't get better.
The next day bought a french experience of an entirely different sort when Bethany, my New Yorker friend, and I decided to do a souffle course at a little cooking school just near Hotel de Ville. Whipping up (litterally) a concoction of spinach fluffiness for our spinach souffles and a vinagarette dressing for the salad we enjoyed the fruits of our labour with a glass of vin blanc while the white chocolate souffles also whipped up by the class rose obediently in the oven.
Two hours of gastronomy heaven was so much fun amongst similarly minded foodies....both living in paris and visiting....a highlight of my trip....
It's been a good week...and I can't believe it's over.
One more party tonight with my amazing new friends who i will miss very much....then Bethany and I head to Marseille for more french adventures.
Till next time....
Thursday, 3 February 2011
Ou est le discotheque?
A big tick off the list of things to do in Paris finally occured on Saturday night....
Though I have spent many happy Happy Hours in a little Parisian brasserie here and a fancy cocktail bar there I was yet to hit the dance floor...which, as you know, is one of my favourite things to do no matter where I am in the world.
But it wasn't until my good friend Jenna popped across the channel to help me party that it finally all came together. Meeting my Brazillian friend Guilli at a dive of an area (supposedly up and coming party spot though we saw no evidence of it...) Oberkampf we quickly moved into the centre of things - a fabulous street called Rue Montogruil near Les Halles - chock full of bars and restaurants this street has fast become a bit of a favourite for me.
A few mojitos later and we were ready to party. The problem was...where?? Rue Montogreil, as far as I know, contains bars, bars and more bars, but not a nightclub to be seen. Wandering around the streets aimlessly we decided that if there was ever a time to use our french...this was it. Jenna stood back....her french is perfect in comparison to us beginners...but I think she got a kick from seeing us give it a go...
Approaching a group of three fairly friendly looking people on the street we smiled sweetly and tried to look as touristy as possible.
"Excuse-moi," I butted into their conversation. "um....ou est le discotheque?"
They laughed and smiled sweetly and forgivingly back at us (Parisians can actually be really lovely).
"I speak good english" boasted our new friend. (Thank goodness! we thought, well let's face it...anything would be better than our french!!).
He proceeded to give us directions to two possibilities down the rue...one - a real 'club' club playing electronica where the 'little girls on the dance floor are hot...' (Guilli's eyes lit up but Jenna and I were clearly unimpressed.) Or, a bar with a dance floor...'continuez down the street beaucoup beaucoup beaucoup...and tournez a gauche.'
Cool. 'Merci beaucoup to our friendly parisians...we had a plan and off we went - to the bar with the dancefloor....
Expensive drinks, a crowded dancefloor and a dj pumping out random english tunes (some of which we knew the actions to....well Jenna and I did at least - we seemed to be the only one's on the dfloor that did! We did get some strange glances and I seem to remember a flash going off in my face at one point - perhaps the crazy english don't frequent that fancy club too often doing their silly moves) and I felt right at home.
I practiced my french with the friendly dancers around us and realised that I can actually manage to communicate (albeit basically) with someone who speaks little english...probably after a few shots have loosened my inhibitions.
"Je suis Australienne', I announced happily over an Oasis tune. "Mais j'habite en Angleterre pour cinq ans."
Sadly the person I was speaking to looked confused so I screamed in his ear again - this time in English.
"um...yes, I understood you the first time'....he said....before resuming his headbanging to the Beatles.
I was thrilled! I had been understood....In French! Most of the time I'm not even understood in English. What a breakthrough.
Till next time...
Though I have spent many happy Happy Hours in a little Parisian brasserie here and a fancy cocktail bar there I was yet to hit the dance floor...which, as you know, is one of my favourite things to do no matter where I am in the world.
But it wasn't until my good friend Jenna popped across the channel to help me party that it finally all came together. Meeting my Brazillian friend Guilli at a dive of an area (supposedly up and coming party spot though we saw no evidence of it...) Oberkampf we quickly moved into the centre of things - a fabulous street called Rue Montogruil near Les Halles - chock full of bars and restaurants this street has fast become a bit of a favourite for me.
A few mojitos later and we were ready to party. The problem was...where?? Rue Montogreil, as far as I know, contains bars, bars and more bars, but not a nightclub to be seen. Wandering around the streets aimlessly we decided that if there was ever a time to use our french...this was it. Jenna stood back....her french is perfect in comparison to us beginners...but I think she got a kick from seeing us give it a go...
Approaching a group of three fairly friendly looking people on the street we smiled sweetly and tried to look as touristy as possible.
"Excuse-moi," I butted into their conversation. "um....ou est le discotheque?"
They laughed and smiled sweetly and forgivingly back at us (Parisians can actually be really lovely).
"I speak good english" boasted our new friend. (Thank goodness! we thought, well let's face it...anything would be better than our french!!).
He proceeded to give us directions to two possibilities down the rue...one - a real 'club' club playing electronica where the 'little girls on the dance floor are hot...' (Guilli's eyes lit up but Jenna and I were clearly unimpressed.) Or, a bar with a dance floor...'continuez down the street beaucoup beaucoup beaucoup...and tournez a gauche.'
Cool. 'Merci beaucoup to our friendly parisians...we had a plan and off we went - to the bar with the dancefloor....
Expensive drinks, a crowded dancefloor and a dj pumping out random english tunes (some of which we knew the actions to....well Jenna and I did at least - we seemed to be the only one's on the dfloor that did! We did get some strange glances and I seem to remember a flash going off in my face at one point - perhaps the crazy english don't frequent that fancy club too often doing their silly moves) and I felt right at home.
I practiced my french with the friendly dancers around us and realised that I can actually manage to communicate (albeit basically) with someone who speaks little english...probably after a few shots have loosened my inhibitions.
"Je suis Australienne', I announced happily over an Oasis tune. "Mais j'habite en Angleterre pour cinq ans."
Sadly the person I was speaking to looked confused so I screamed in his ear again - this time in English.
"um...yes, I understood you the first time'....he said....before resuming his headbanging to the Beatles.
I was thrilled! I had been understood....In French! Most of the time I'm not even understood in English. What a breakthrough.
Till next time...
Friday, 28 January 2011
Aussie Day in Paris
Winter in Paris can not feel any further away from a sunny January Australia Day spent eating lamingtons and snags straight off the barbie...
But Australia Day anywhere in the world is about celebrating being Australian and that is what I did in an aussie bar near the Hotel de Ville on the right bank of the Seine with friends from all over the world.
The six of us started with a few drinks in Cafe Oz. My new friends from the french class come from all the corners of the world - USA, Brazil, Chile and Turkey...but all were Aussie at heart last night as they threw themselves into trying aussie beers (while i stuck to a slightly more european style cocktail - but then again i don't have to pretend to be aussie...)
A little metro ride took us next to the Theatre de la Main d'Or...a teeny tiny theatre showing a one-man play that had rave reviews...performing entirely in English (thankfully), Frenchman Olivier Giraud spent an hilarious hour teaching us 'How to Become a Parisian in One Hour'...with shameless digs at the french and even more at the americans his tongue-in-cheek performance had us in stitches....and perhaps we learnt a little something about how to be Parisian in the metro, in a nightclub...and even in the bedroom....!
Back to the ozzie bar we went, knowing the place would be pumping with a dj playing and a healthy mix of aussies and parisians thoroughly warmed up. The dj cranked up some latin tunes which had my brazilian buddies hitting their stride....
....as for me? I lifted my glass in the air and grinned....simply relishing being an Australian in Paris.
Till next time...
But Australia Day anywhere in the world is about celebrating being Australian and that is what I did in an aussie bar near the Hotel de Ville on the right bank of the Seine with friends from all over the world.
The six of us started with a few drinks in Cafe Oz. My new friends from the french class come from all the corners of the world - USA, Brazil, Chile and Turkey...but all were Aussie at heart last night as they threw themselves into trying aussie beers (while i stuck to a slightly more european style cocktail - but then again i don't have to pretend to be aussie...)
A little metro ride took us next to the Theatre de la Main d'Or...a teeny tiny theatre showing a one-man play that had rave reviews...performing entirely in English (thankfully), Frenchman Olivier Giraud spent an hilarious hour teaching us 'How to Become a Parisian in One Hour'...with shameless digs at the french and even more at the americans his tongue-in-cheek performance had us in stitches....and perhaps we learnt a little something about how to be Parisian in the metro, in a nightclub...and even in the bedroom....!
Back to the ozzie bar we went, knowing the place would be pumping with a dj playing and a healthy mix of aussies and parisians thoroughly warmed up. The dj cranked up some latin tunes which had my brazilian buddies hitting their stride....
....as for me? I lifted my glass in the air and grinned....simply relishing being an Australian in Paris.
Till next time...
Wednesday, 26 January 2011
Paris Life
Now that I am two weeks into life in Paris I have settled into a routine which I happen to find very pleasant indeed. There is nothing, in fact, to complain about 'working' only 4 hours per day - even if those 4 hours are fairly full on and confusing. And, I do complain about the 9am start....I know I shouldn't...I don't exactly have it hard.
The hours following those long hours of morning study seem to meld into a Parisian life of sorts...visiting the supermarket for supplies...meeting friends for coffee (ok...wine....ok....cocktails)... and maybe popping into a museum here or going for a long walk somewhere new there.
I have a little group of friends from my class that I am getting to know. They are from all over the world and are all here for different reasons- but we are all in the same boat and on Friday, to celebrate the arrival of the weekend like every other Parisian, we decided to meet in the late afternoon and go for a few drinks. Technically the most local since I live closest to the school I suggested we meet at metro Odean, where I am, quite literally, a regular at a funky cocktail bar called 'Etage St Germain'...yes, they know my name and greet me by it when I arrive. and yes...they know my drink order - a large margarita. There is nothing that makes me feel more local.
The weekend bought the arrival of the friend who has...somehow....put up with me the longest of any of my friends - Alex. We have known eachother our whole lives.... Sharing a slightly obsessive adoration of paris I visited her when she lived here for a month several years ago and now it was time for the hospitality to be reversed. Meeting Aussie friends of hers who also happened to be in town for the weekend, the four of us started in a very civilised fashion with cake and coffee at a patisserie in St Germain before moving on to 'my' bar. (it's clearly not surpristing that they know me!) Margaritas were followed by moules and frites at a seafood restaurant nearby where the maitre-d' took great joy in making us practise our french (and correcting it sternly) before we completed the evening with fromage and wine at another bar I rather like - Le Pub St Germain. A little bit posh, a little bit fancy and with a Frenchly-flirty and handsome waiter...it was definitely an amazing place to finish off our evening.
Seedy Sunday was spent relatively quitetly. Amazingly there were two fairly touristy activities in paris which neither Alex or I had ever done. The first was a wonder around the Cimetere Pere Lachaise...the cemetetry which guards the bodies of such celebs as Jim Morrison and Oscar Wilde. Both of whom had graves quite badly defaced by fans. With Wilde's tomb covered in lipsticked kisses and Morrison's the inevitable graffiti, the tombs tell of men adored by fans even in death.
A quick cross back over the river took us to Musee d'Orsay...the magnificent museum/ex-train-station on the left bank boasting masterpieces including significant work by Van Gogh and Renoir and their followers (more men adored by fans in death...) We spend a speedy hour racing around the breathtaking building before closing time - taking in as much as possible - before heading to the Marais district for drinks and dinner.
Another of my favourite districts of paris (if I wasn't staying in St Germain I would be staying here), the Marais is hip and trendy, filled with bars, nightclubs, restaurants and boutiques - many of them aimed at the district's large gay community. Our mohitos were strong and our meals mouthwatering so we stayed in the one bar for hours before heading home in giggly moods via roadside nutella crepes.
It was lucky that we had an amazing night out that night since our exciting plans for my birthday had to be cancelled the next day...Poor Alex woke up feeling like she would die...with a (thankfully only...) 24 hour gastro bug ruining the day. While I raced off to the pharmacy for supplies (thank God the French are such hypercondriacs with a pharmacy on every corner...) poor alex stayed in bed for the day...Cancelling our amazing dinner plans I drank a small bottle of champagne instead in sorrow and celebration....
There will be other birthdays....
till next time...
The hours following those long hours of morning study seem to meld into a Parisian life of sorts...visiting the supermarket for supplies...meeting friends for coffee (ok...wine....ok....cocktails)... and maybe popping into a museum here or going for a long walk somewhere new there.
I have a little group of friends from my class that I am getting to know. They are from all over the world and are all here for different reasons- but we are all in the same boat and on Friday, to celebrate the arrival of the weekend like every other Parisian, we decided to meet in the late afternoon and go for a few drinks. Technically the most local since I live closest to the school I suggested we meet at metro Odean, where I am, quite literally, a regular at a funky cocktail bar called 'Etage St Germain'...yes, they know my name and greet me by it when I arrive. and yes...they know my drink order - a large margarita. There is nothing that makes me feel more local.
The weekend bought the arrival of the friend who has...somehow....put up with me the longest of any of my friends - Alex. We have known eachother our whole lives.... Sharing a slightly obsessive adoration of paris I visited her when she lived here for a month several years ago and now it was time for the hospitality to be reversed. Meeting Aussie friends of hers who also happened to be in town for the weekend, the four of us started in a very civilised fashion with cake and coffee at a patisserie in St Germain before moving on to 'my' bar. (it's clearly not surpristing that they know me!) Margaritas were followed by moules and frites at a seafood restaurant nearby where the maitre-d' took great joy in making us practise our french (and correcting it sternly) before we completed the evening with fromage and wine at another bar I rather like - Le Pub St Germain. A little bit posh, a little bit fancy and with a Frenchly-flirty and handsome waiter...it was definitely an amazing place to finish off our evening.
Seedy Sunday was spent relatively quitetly. Amazingly there were two fairly touristy activities in paris which neither Alex or I had ever done. The first was a wonder around the Cimetere Pere Lachaise...the cemetetry which guards the bodies of such celebs as Jim Morrison and Oscar Wilde. Both of whom had graves quite badly defaced by fans. With Wilde's tomb covered in lipsticked kisses and Morrison's the inevitable graffiti, the tombs tell of men adored by fans even in death.
A quick cross back over the river took us to Musee d'Orsay...the magnificent museum/ex-train-station on the left bank boasting masterpieces including significant work by Van Gogh and Renoir and their followers (more men adored by fans in death...) We spend a speedy hour racing around the breathtaking building before closing time - taking in as much as possible - before heading to the Marais district for drinks and dinner.
Another of my favourite districts of paris (if I wasn't staying in St Germain I would be staying here), the Marais is hip and trendy, filled with bars, nightclubs, restaurants and boutiques - many of them aimed at the district's large gay community. Our mohitos were strong and our meals mouthwatering so we stayed in the one bar for hours before heading home in giggly moods via roadside nutella crepes.
It was lucky that we had an amazing night out that night since our exciting plans for my birthday had to be cancelled the next day...Poor Alex woke up feeling like she would die...with a (thankfully only...) 24 hour gastro bug ruining the day. While I raced off to the pharmacy for supplies (thank God the French are such hypercondriacs with a pharmacy on every corner...) poor alex stayed in bed for the day...Cancelling our amazing dinner plans I drank a small bottle of champagne instead in sorrow and celebration....
There will be other birthdays....
till next time...
Thursday, 20 January 2011
Tuesday, 18 January 2011
Sexy bar for crazy night
When Heidi and I ventured into St Michel in the Latin Quarter last night in search of a late-opening bar after a few celebratory birthday cocktails in the Odeon area, we thought the one called 'Latin Bar' looked like it had a good crowd and a fun vibe....not until we sat down with a beer outside and saw the sign 'sexy bar for crazy night' and, seconds later, were served by a (very chisled and muscular!) man wearing only his underwear did we think we might have stumbled into an altogether different sort of bar....
St Michel, on the Seine's left bank in the Latin Quarter, is one of the uber touristy parts of Paris that I'm really not a huge fan of. One minute you're admiring a beautiful statue in the square surrounded by the most parisien of buildings and with the Seine flowing gently behind you, the next you have turned off the main street and found yourself in neon sign mania...tons of greek restaurants complete with tacky broken plates at the doors and touters trying to force you inside with the promise of some sort of freebie...you could be anywhere in the world but for somehow it reminds me a lot of Athens - it definitely doesn't feel like the beautiful Paris that I know. The bars and clubs are expensive and tacky and there's not a french bistro or brassarie to be seen...but on a monday night when you're looking to stay out and celebrate a 30th, it's the only place to go...and go we did....we weren't home till 2.30am....!
We have spent Heidi's time here eating lots of cheese and drinking quite a few cocktails. We have found a little bar in St Germain that we like and have been back there a couple of times...not often enough to know the waiter just yet but enough to know the menu...We have ventured into the Marais and visited the Pompidou centre - a museum for contemporary art...we have been lost so often that we have lost count and we have eaten pizza on the street swigging beer from the bottle and people watching in Les Halles. We've caught a boat down the seine and listened intently to our english speaking headphones, reveling in the history of the iconic buildings...and we have drunk a bottle of champagne while eating birthday gatauex - one milk chocolate with merange and one white chocolate - sweet and delicious little cakes bought from the patisserie down the road...it is 30 in style. It is the way to kick off the next decade of adventure and new experience. It is a sexy bar for a crazy night. It is a birthday spent in Paris...
Happy birhday gorgeous Heidi!
Till next time...
St Michel, on the Seine's left bank in the Latin Quarter, is one of the uber touristy parts of Paris that I'm really not a huge fan of. One minute you're admiring a beautiful statue in the square surrounded by the most parisien of buildings and with the Seine flowing gently behind you, the next you have turned off the main street and found yourself in neon sign mania...tons of greek restaurants complete with tacky broken plates at the doors and touters trying to force you inside with the promise of some sort of freebie...you could be anywhere in the world but for somehow it reminds me a lot of Athens - it definitely doesn't feel like the beautiful Paris that I know. The bars and clubs are expensive and tacky and there's not a french bistro or brassarie to be seen...but on a monday night when you're looking to stay out and celebrate a 30th, it's the only place to go...and go we did....we weren't home till 2.30am....!
We have spent Heidi's time here eating lots of cheese and drinking quite a few cocktails. We have found a little bar in St Germain that we like and have been back there a couple of times...not often enough to know the waiter just yet but enough to know the menu...We have ventured into the Marais and visited the Pompidou centre - a museum for contemporary art...we have been lost so often that we have lost count and we have eaten pizza on the street swigging beer from the bottle and people watching in Les Halles. We've caught a boat down the seine and listened intently to our english speaking headphones, reveling in the history of the iconic buildings...and we have drunk a bottle of champagne while eating birthday gatauex - one milk chocolate with merange and one white chocolate - sweet and delicious little cakes bought from the patisserie down the road...it is 30 in style. It is the way to kick off the next decade of adventure and new experience. It is a sexy bar for a crazy night. It is a birthday spent in Paris...
Happy birhday gorgeous Heidi!
Till next time...
Republic
With a couple of hours to kill before meeting Heidi at la Gare du Nord on Saturday afternoon I decided to seek out the Canal St Martin area, which I had heard was the latest hotspot for up and coming designers and artists, as well as a hip place to party come nightfall.
The Bastille area of Paris, of which the canal is a neighbour, has long been the centre of rowdy demonstrations of democratic strength by the french lower classes. The most famous of these, of course, being the french revolution....but the french are still known to regularly throw their weight around in protestation...there are regular strikes of postal workers and train drivers which tend to disrupt the country somewhat.
So when I arrived above ground at the Place de la Republique metro station to dozens of police wearing full riot gear and heard the sounds of chanting and yelling from the thousands of people clambering on the statue and milling around it waving Tunisian flags I wasn't necesarily surprised but I was definitely wary. Not particularly fancying a mouthful of tear gas, any sane little aussie chick on her own would have meekly turned around and moved on to the next metro stop....
Not me....
Curious to find out what was going on and drawn by the crowds I made my way to the square, closer to the statue and stood on the edges of the demonstration watching the flag waving chanters, trying to work out what they were protesting/celebrating. Of course I know of the troubles in Tunisia at the moment but the atmosphere was celebratory (I have since found out that France refused the Tunisian prime minister assylum that day and I believe the crowd was celebrating that decision...)
In the end the police seemed to be enjoying a nice day in the sun. The crowd seemed well behaved, if excited, and eventually I moved on to a lovely walk along the canal and my excited visitor watiing at the train station...
till next time.
The Bastille area of Paris, of which the canal is a neighbour, has long been the centre of rowdy demonstrations of democratic strength by the french lower classes. The most famous of these, of course, being the french revolution....but the french are still known to regularly throw their weight around in protestation...there are regular strikes of postal workers and train drivers which tend to disrupt the country somewhat.
So when I arrived above ground at the Place de la Republique metro station to dozens of police wearing full riot gear and heard the sounds of chanting and yelling from the thousands of people clambering on the statue and milling around it waving Tunisian flags I wasn't necesarily surprised but I was definitely wary. Not particularly fancying a mouthful of tear gas, any sane little aussie chick on her own would have meekly turned around and moved on to the next metro stop....
Not me....
Curious to find out what was going on and drawn by the crowds I made my way to the square, closer to the statue and stood on the edges of the demonstration watching the flag waving chanters, trying to work out what they were protesting/celebrating. Of course I know of the troubles in Tunisia at the moment but the atmosphere was celebratory (I have since found out that France refused the Tunisian prime minister assylum that day and I believe the crowd was celebrating that decision...)
In the end the police seemed to be enjoying a nice day in the sun. The crowd seemed well behaved, if excited, and eventually I moved on to a lovely walk along the canal and my excited visitor watiing at the train station...
till next time.
Saturday, 15 January 2011
Tres Macabre
What else could be a better activity to do on a sunny Friday afternoon in Paris than to decend into the cavernous underground and spend some time amongst 6 million dead bodies?
Below the metro, deep underground in disused quarries beneath the city of Paris, lie the Catacombs, damp and dark tunnels bounded by the bones of the city's 18th century residents.
The first of the bones were placed here in 1786 when decomposing bodies started seeping into the cellars of the market at Les Halles drawing swarms of rats and causing disease. A public outcry resulted in the bones being moved, carefully and with respect, by black robed priests and their helpers, into the Catacombs and stacked neatly by bone type - packs of tibias and piles of spinal disks, often with a tongue-in-cheek artful arrangments (skulls and their crossbones, skulls arranged in a heartshape, and more in a cross...)...
The walk takes about 45 minutes and is eerie and macabre...but for the odd soft light from lamps along the way it is dark and damp with drips that fall from the rocky ceiling and run down your back causing the odd unexpected shiver. Some of the tunnels are narrow and, with the low ceilings, you certainly wouldn't want to be clostrophobic or, as the sign warned at the front door, be of a 'nervous disposition'. I found the whole experience interesting and a little surreal...I was glad to have done it but perhaps wouldn't be rushing back in a hurry - especially not at halloween!
Thankfully, I was not alone. I was joined for this particular outing by Bethany, a New Yorker from my French class with whom I have spent some time over the past couple of days, watching french movies (in french with french subtitles...!) and enjoying several glasses of vin rouge at a couple of little bars nearby.
One week has already flown past and I am wishing that time would slow down. I am comfortable in my surroundings and feel like I know my neighbourhood (though there will be always be a little side street or another hidden little bar to discover...). I feel my french improving as understand more and more and it is less of a struggle to make myself understood.
I am looking forward to Heidi arriving this afternoon so I can indroduce her to my life here and maybe check out the Parisian night life in style.
Till next time...
Below the metro, deep underground in disused quarries beneath the city of Paris, lie the Catacombs, damp and dark tunnels bounded by the bones of the city's 18th century residents.
The first of the bones were placed here in 1786 when decomposing bodies started seeping into the cellars of the market at Les Halles drawing swarms of rats and causing disease. A public outcry resulted in the bones being moved, carefully and with respect, by black robed priests and their helpers, into the Catacombs and stacked neatly by bone type - packs of tibias and piles of spinal disks, often with a tongue-in-cheek artful arrangments (skulls and their crossbones, skulls arranged in a heartshape, and more in a cross...)...
The walk takes about 45 minutes and is eerie and macabre...but for the odd soft light from lamps along the way it is dark and damp with drips that fall from the rocky ceiling and run down your back causing the odd unexpected shiver. Some of the tunnels are narrow and, with the low ceilings, you certainly wouldn't want to be clostrophobic or, as the sign warned at the front door, be of a 'nervous disposition'. I found the whole experience interesting and a little surreal...I was glad to have done it but perhaps wouldn't be rushing back in a hurry - especially not at halloween!
Thankfully, I was not alone. I was joined for this particular outing by Bethany, a New Yorker from my French class with whom I have spent some time over the past couple of days, watching french movies (in french with french subtitles...!) and enjoying several glasses of vin rouge at a couple of little bars nearby.
One week has already flown past and I am wishing that time would slow down. I am comfortable in my surroundings and feel like I know my neighbourhood (though there will be always be a little side street or another hidden little bar to discover...). I feel my french improving as understand more and more and it is less of a struggle to make myself understood.
I am looking forward to Heidi arriving this afternoon so I can indroduce her to my life here and maybe check out the Parisian night life in style.
Till next time...
Thursday, 13 January 2011
Soldes a Paris
I am prepared for you to scoff at me...
If you read my blog from yesterday you will recall that I mentioned that every day that I am in Paris I aim to do something I've never done before...
Today I went shopping....
BUT!!! Hear me out!
With a mission in mind to track down something fabulously Parisien as a birthday gift for my equally fabulous friend, Heidi, I made my way, this afternoon, to Le Bon Marche...the chicest department store in a city chock full of chic department stores. A hop skip and jump down the road from my apartment, this is THE store in Paris, my guide book tells me, where celebs duck in for essentials while everyone else pretends not to recognise them. I had never been there before and, therefore, I'm sure you will agree, it counts...
Another reason for hitting the shops today is that Paris - the self confessed shopping capital of the world - began its January sales today. A couple of weeks later than the rest of the world perhaps - but who am I to complain?
And so with a mission and a cause, I shouldered into the department store alongside the rest of paris, pushing aside the odd bored male and tipping a few children out of their prams in my effort to reach the nearest bargain. Unfortunately I soon realised that even the most fabulous of bargain basement sale items were still a couple of hundred euros more than I could ever dream of affording (sorry Heidi) so once I considered Le Bon Marche well and truly ticked off my list of 'must dos' I followed my (well honed) nose past a few Louis Vuitton bags and a couple of Cartier rings to the slightly more affordable Parisien version of Britain's 'high street'.
I should have known my own nose a little better as it lead me next door instead, to La Grande Epicerie Paris, the haute couture of grocery stores sporting aisle after aisle of gourmet goodies...cheese (of course- this is paris), chocolate, desserts and meats from all over the world. Lost in my own little foodie world I refrained from purchasing even more cheese and bread for tonight's dinner (my jeans are starting to feel uncomfortably tight!) and dragged myself back to the mission at hand.
Eventually, I found just the gift I was looking for (no hints...) and realised I had also got myself a little bit lost (no surprises there) in the excitement of rushing from one sale-sign filled shop to another. I sunk into a chair outside a nearby bar for a cocktail and a furtive glance at my map.
There are two things I love about Parisien bars:-
1) they seem to have fully and wholeheartedly embraced the concept of 'la happy hour' - a 5 euro cocktail sure beats a 10 euro one between the hours of 7 and 9pm.
2) once you have ordered and paid you are welcome to sit and relax for as long as you would like without being hassled by any snooty waiters...doing like the french and sitting at outside tables facing the street, unashamedly people watching. The french, it seems, like to be seen and they like to be watched. They do it to others and they expect the same in return. They dress, I'm sure, especially for the people in the bars staring at them as they walk past. So, I'm happy to be la belle parisienne once more, staring, watching, listening in to unintelligible conversations....and sipping my 5 euro mojito
Happy shopping!
Till next time...
If you read my blog from yesterday you will recall that I mentioned that every day that I am in Paris I aim to do something I've never done before...
Today I went shopping....
BUT!!! Hear me out!
With a mission in mind to track down something fabulously Parisien as a birthday gift for my equally fabulous friend, Heidi, I made my way, this afternoon, to Le Bon Marche...the chicest department store in a city chock full of chic department stores. A hop skip and jump down the road from my apartment, this is THE store in Paris, my guide book tells me, where celebs duck in for essentials while everyone else pretends not to recognise them. I had never been there before and, therefore, I'm sure you will agree, it counts...
Another reason for hitting the shops today is that Paris - the self confessed shopping capital of the world - began its January sales today. A couple of weeks later than the rest of the world perhaps - but who am I to complain?
And so with a mission and a cause, I shouldered into the department store alongside the rest of paris, pushing aside the odd bored male and tipping a few children out of their prams in my effort to reach the nearest bargain. Unfortunately I soon realised that even the most fabulous of bargain basement sale items were still a couple of hundred euros more than I could ever dream of affording (sorry Heidi) so once I considered Le Bon Marche well and truly ticked off my list of 'must dos' I followed my (well honed) nose past a few Louis Vuitton bags and a couple of Cartier rings to the slightly more affordable Parisien version of Britain's 'high street'.
I should have known my own nose a little better as it lead me next door instead, to La Grande Epicerie Paris, the haute couture of grocery stores sporting aisle after aisle of gourmet goodies...cheese (of course- this is paris), chocolate, desserts and meats from all over the world. Lost in my own little foodie world I refrained from purchasing even more cheese and bread for tonight's dinner (my jeans are starting to feel uncomfortably tight!) and dragged myself back to the mission at hand.
Eventually, I found just the gift I was looking for (no hints...) and realised I had also got myself a little bit lost (no surprises there) in the excitement of rushing from one sale-sign filled shop to another. I sunk into a chair outside a nearby bar for a cocktail and a furtive glance at my map.
There are two things I love about Parisien bars:-
1) they seem to have fully and wholeheartedly embraced the concept of 'la happy hour' - a 5 euro cocktail sure beats a 10 euro one between the hours of 7 and 9pm.
2) once you have ordered and paid you are welcome to sit and relax for as long as you would like without being hassled by any snooty waiters...doing like the french and sitting at outside tables facing the street, unashamedly people watching. The french, it seems, like to be seen and they like to be watched. They do it to others and they expect the same in return. They dress, I'm sure, especially for the people in the bars staring at them as they walk past. So, I'm happy to be la belle parisienne once more, staring, watching, listening in to unintelligible conversations....and sipping my 5 euro mojito
Happy shopping!
Till next time...
Wednesday, 12 January 2011
A rabbit in headlights
The teacher stares me down and pegs the tennis ball at me at the same time as barking a subject and a verb in my direction...I'm supposed to turn this around into something french-sounding that makes sense and toss the ball back all in one smooth motion...
I'm like a rabbit in headlights...
For approximately 2 hours of every 4 hours (ok - for 3 of the 4) that I am in a little classroom with 15 others at the Alliance Francaise each morning I pretty much have no idea what is going on. Luckily, as I look around at my fellow classmates the vast majority of them are looking just as confused.
The lessons, of course, are conducted entirely in french. This is true immersion. Luckily the teacher is quite good at miming and acting out her instructions...she's obviously done this before. Sometimes I DO understand what she's asked of us - but that is usually 30mins later - and by then it's too late...
It's hard to concentrate on something you can't understand for four hours a day (and then go home and do an hour or so of homework - especially when you haven't really understood what you're supposed to do!) and by the end of each morning I'm exhausted....but, as the hours go by, surely I will begin to understand more and more and will finally begin to contribute the way I would like. My saving grace is that mistakes are expected here and the people around me are friendly and just as useless at french as me....
One day perhaps I'll not be such a rabbit...
My aim each day (after ducking the headlights each morning) is to do something that I have never done before. Today it was to head to Montparnasse - an area of Paris just south of my apartment. Climbing to the top of Tour Montparnasse - the highest building in Paris - I had the perfect view of the Eiffel Tower and the City of Lights as it turned on it's magnificent display...
My enthusiasm is dimmed by events in my home town...as Toowoomba lies in ruins because of flash flooding and my friends and family are left to clean up the debris I feel very far away. I have been watching the international news every day and watch images on French news channels where the only word I understand is 'Toowoomba', trying to grasp the true magnitude of the tragedy. Toowoomba, it seems, is finally on the map on an international scale - but for all the wrong reasons. I trail through facebook looking at the horrific photos uploaded by my friends to try and feel connected. Perhaps Paris is the best place to be...at least my feet are dry - but it's times like these when you like to pull together with the people you belong to and who belong to you and I feel like I'm missing the opportunity to do that. My thoughts are with you my soggy queensland readers.
Till next time...
I'm like a rabbit in headlights...
For approximately 2 hours of every 4 hours (ok - for 3 of the 4) that I am in a little classroom with 15 others at the Alliance Francaise each morning I pretty much have no idea what is going on. Luckily, as I look around at my fellow classmates the vast majority of them are looking just as confused.
The lessons, of course, are conducted entirely in french. This is true immersion. Luckily the teacher is quite good at miming and acting out her instructions...she's obviously done this before. Sometimes I DO understand what she's asked of us - but that is usually 30mins later - and by then it's too late...
It's hard to concentrate on something you can't understand for four hours a day (and then go home and do an hour or so of homework - especially when you haven't really understood what you're supposed to do!) and by the end of each morning I'm exhausted....but, as the hours go by, surely I will begin to understand more and more and will finally begin to contribute the way I would like. My saving grace is that mistakes are expected here and the people around me are friendly and just as useless at french as me....
One day perhaps I'll not be such a rabbit...
My aim each day (after ducking the headlights each morning) is to do something that I have never done before. Today it was to head to Montparnasse - an area of Paris just south of my apartment. Climbing to the top of Tour Montparnasse - the highest building in Paris - I had the perfect view of the Eiffel Tower and the City of Lights as it turned on it's magnificent display...
My enthusiasm is dimmed by events in my home town...as Toowoomba lies in ruins because of flash flooding and my friends and family are left to clean up the debris I feel very far away. I have been watching the international news every day and watch images on French news channels where the only word I understand is 'Toowoomba', trying to grasp the true magnitude of the tragedy. Toowoomba, it seems, is finally on the map on an international scale - but for all the wrong reasons. I trail through facebook looking at the horrific photos uploaded by my friends to try and feel connected. Perhaps Paris is the best place to be...at least my feet are dry - but it's times like these when you like to pull together with the people you belong to and who belong to you and I feel like I'm missing the opportunity to do that. My thoughts are with you my soggy queensland readers.
Till next time...
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