Canada to Patagonia at a Worrying Age

My luck escapes me one more time
Underwhelmed, I am, by a second sign
Get me a camera, a pc, a phone
Give me insurance until I get home
Everything changes, in the words of Take That
Don’t let me get my hands on that robbing twat

A word to the wise in the town of good air
Get some protection, to make things more fair
A good time remains, I´m certain of that
In BA of all places, despite robbing twat
Now to get on with my life. Again.

Mum isn’t to know.

Record, End of the Century, Blur

This from JK….      …. I don’t know what to say really.

In order not to overload with comments the previous post, I thought it better to make a statement on the issue of bus routes. 

Now, I used to work for Crosville, as did Uncle Tommy (no nepotism at all), and feel well placed to comment.  (Anyone know what happend to the McCormack’s by the way?).  I’ve had my fun with the 2A to Blacon, the 52 from Willesden, the 8 and N8 and, of course, the D6, as well as that Birkenhead bus and the various South American options.  However, there can only be one winner.

The L1 goes from that hill at the bottom of Blacon (just before the Creoso Y Cymru sign) all the way to Towyn.  It takes three days, approximately, althought travellers are never disappointed with a good look at Connah’s Quay, should it break down there.

Me and my sisters used to accompany Mama y Papa on this wondrous voyage annually, to stay at our Aunt Janet’s residence by the sea (in a caravan in Towyn – not even at Robin Hood Camp) to take in the air and sample the health-giving properties of the waters of the area.

On one memorable occasion, we left the council house at the crack of dawn, loaded with all the food we needed for the week (it was too dear in Rhyl) and stood in the rain waiting for the bus.  It came and excitement mounted.  When we reached our personal Nirvana some time later, we raced, as usual, to see who could be the first to sit in the black and white plastic seat (even though I knew that when I won, my victory would be short-lived, as being the oldest I would have to go and ‘get the water’ – barrels of it for the washing up and the tea, no poncey bottled stuff in those days).  However, on this occasion Dad had forgotten the key.  If this was now, I would have broken into the sodding thing and worried about keys later, but in those innocent days Dad had to get back on the L1 and return just as we were about to go home, having spent the intervening period on the beach (not at the fair) in the rain.  Happy days.

Now in fabulous Buenos Aires, the city being the entire reason for this trip.  More on this later, but just time to mention the old lady whose bags I carried up the steps of the tube.  When we got to the top, she thanked me and then enlisted my help in collecting as many glass bottles as we could find so she could get the deposit.  Taking my kindness a step too far, I think. 

Today’s Tune – Santa Maria, The Gotan Project.  A truly great record.

This, I feel confident, will be the only blog post on the planet with this combination of Travel Tags.

… said the bloke behind me as the double decker ‘rapido’ bus veered into the soft shoulder at 80 miles an hour.  I would have agreed, but I was trying to recall the words of the motorist´s prayer and to translate them into Spanish to take my mind off the unique driving style of our pilot.

Argentine bus irritant.  The bloke who takes your luggage out of the hold at the end of the journey sometimes demands a tip.  For 10 seconds work.  I asked one what the tip was for.  He replied ‘For me!’.  Had to give him one then, didn’t I?

South American bus funny thing.  All SA bus drivers have a mate.  This person sits up front with the driver, checks tickets and occasionally gives out (extremely bad) food.  But their main job appears to be to wave to their counterparts in buses coming the other way.  I like to think of them as the Dougal to Father Ted.  I normally take the role of Jack, shouting ‘Feck!’ from time-to-time.

Currently in the Blackpool of Argentina, Mar del Plata.  The Stones played their final gig in BA last night with more rioting and a live feed on the telly.  Considering they started in the 60s and are playing now, why is their dress sense still mired in the 80s (the decade that taste forgot)?  They finished with Satisfaction, so Devo’s version of that song is one tune of the day.  Jagger, the ultimate professional, ripped off his shirt for the finale to reveal an Argentine footie top (tailored to within an inch of its life).  Clever buggar.  Still can’t stand him.

It’s U2 next, so telly has gone from wall-to-wall Stones to wall-to-wall Serious Irish Christians.  They’re being supported by Franz Ferdinand, so I’ll go in search of any warm up gigs on Monday with my best Scottish accent at the ready for the guest list.

In the meantime I leave for Buenos Aires, where I intend to stay for a month, on Sunday.  I missed getting a seat on my chosen train – The Midnight Special.  Still, Harry Belafonte’s version of that tune is today’s second song.

Finally, have just finished reading The Day Kennedy Was Shot by Jim Bishop.  Exhausting in detail, but not exactly conclusive (although he thinks it was).  Now, we all know that John Peel killed Kennedy and by coincidence I was listening to a Peel commemoration programme I’d recorded as I got to the bit when Lee Harvey Oswald was being charged with the of the president.  At the exact time Paul Gambacchini was claiming that Peel had said he was there at that moment.  Not according to the book I was reading.  More grist to the conspiracy mill.  Anyway, one of the tunes played on the programme was Holiday in Cambodia by (I’ve just realised this!)… the Kennedys!  In a world of truth and justice that record would have been number 1 for at least 6 weeks and as a result it is today’s third tune.

Bye All

Late PS – Poor Cath from the Patagonia part has suffered a theft in sodding Santiago de Chile.  What is it about that y place?  Anyway, here’s a picture she’s lent me to remind us of that fabulous night on the Glacier.  Keep your chin up Cath.

Just thought I’d pop this in.     

Oh well, that’s the English season over.  When does the cricket start?

So I left Patagonia and arrived late in the town of Bahia Blanca.  It’s just a place on the way really, so I wasn’t expecting too much.  A Norteamericano was practising his Spanglish when I arrived at the info kiosk so I tried to pick his brains.  He was escaping from what he saw as a dump, but I wasn’t up for an overnight bus journey, so asked if we were near the centre (what with my pack etc.).  Dead close he reckoned so I checked with the nice lady in the kiosk.  She advised a cab which would cost a quid.  Glad I took her advice, but I did say to the cabbie that I wanted a cheap hotel near the centre.  Well, it was certainly cheap and it did have nice staff, but it was yet another pit.  It proudly boasted one star, which I presume it got for having a coffee machine.  My room had a window onto the rubbish chute and the shower spat rust at me.

Out for me dinner – early, it being 10pm.  Stayed in the bar that sold omelette and chips for some very exciting Copa Libertadores football, much better than that ECL rubbish you get over there.  First game saw Sporting Cristal of Peru (one of a handful of teams over here named after beer) take a 3-0 first half away lead to Estudiantes of Argentina.  Second half saw Estudiantes score 4!  Last two looked offside to me, but they were at home.  Second game was Tigres (Mexico) at home to Cali (Colombia).  The usual two goals to the away team were given within 15 minutes, with Tigres drawing level before Cali got a third as half time approached.  It was 4-3 to Tigres within 10 minutes of the restart with a fifth later on, Cali making it 5-4 before the end.  14 goals in two live games.  That’s what you want, not dour one-nillers in passion-free games between teams of mercenaries (although the Bremen/Juventus game was rather entertaining).

Anyway, my pit did the job, in that I actually managed to sleep in it.  Booked a bus (7 hours) to the seaside resort of Mar del Plata for tomorrow and moved into the Hotel Italia for the evening.  Twice the price and ten times the comfort rating.

Also, the Stones’ gig in BA last night led to rioting.  Unbelievable that so many youngsters should be bothered enough to see that crowd.  Jagger looked more than ridiculous prancing around to Jumping Jack Flash…

Good to see some football ‘personalities’ have joined in the fun.  I knew about Wayne’s interest in Gothic architecture, but was unaware of anything existing between Mr Gerrard’s ears.  Just goes to show.

PS – Thanks for the photo comment Aida.  Very nice of you.  Yes, I did take the picture.

Hopefully, this will be the last of the ‘Welsh’ posts, although I imagine Mike will feel the need to stretch it that bit further in his current state of mind.  (Although the Guildhall ‘bait’ idea seems to be gaining a currency of its own.)

Yes, indeed, sophisticated Puerto Madryn was four days of beautiful weather, excellent company and some superb food – so not like Llangollen at all really, but that was the comparison a bloke from Anglesey made when I said it was a bit like Rhyl (that exchange really happened).

Finally left for Las Grutas and a bit of non-hostel time in an apartment in the Prestatyn of Northern Patagonia.  Well, it is like Prestatyn except that there is no glass on the beach, or vomit in the gutters or unruly children in the streets.  Of course there are many children and they stay out to have dinner at 11pm.  (If you send your child to bed before 1am here it’s tantamount to abuse.)

However, after 2 days of sunshine and power cuts (luckily the Coco Bongo Pub has its own generator) and night storms, Las Grutas really has turned into Prestatyn, as today reveals filthy weather more like North Wales in winter, never mind summer.  Luckily, I’ve booked my usual 6 hour bus ride out of here for this afternoon.  Planning to crawl up the coast to Buenos Aires where I may have a flat and a phone number waiting (start researching cheap calls to Argentina).  However, I’m ready to cut and run should it get boring in the holiday spots.

Other than matters football, assuming all well with you all, Lots of Love and that.

PS – Sun just come out.  Can’t be Prestatyn at all…

Today’s song is in honour of the continent going Rolling Stones bonkers at the moment.  It’s Paint It Black by The Mo-Dettes.

…is not a request, but the name of the founding father of Puerto Madryn.  As those that could be arsed to Google could have found out.  John – your most recent comment was prescient, to say the least.  LJP is my new A3 name.

Just fancy that!

As usual, better images at the Flickr site.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/28108075@N00/101358517/

Note to ART staff. Cath, who has started to appear on comments (and was my ‘travel agent’ in Southern Patagonia) is a Donny-dot-commer! Yes, she is almost as besotted as Kim. She wanted Puppy Love to be a song of the day, but I’m not willing to sanction such an extreme measure at this point.

Having had a quick look at the comments, you all need to know I’m having a fantastic time.  It’s a quarter to three and have just left the local Chillout Bar.  Only came home because the match starts early tomorrow.  Last two weeks, including the bus journey, have been a blast.  No orcas today but did see a four-way sea-lion fight (SEALS!).

Tonight’s song has to be One for My Baby by Frank…

1.  Go to airline office to be told they’ve all gone bust and the one remaining one has no seats til Xmas.

2.  Go to tourist info at El Calafate bus station to be told you can get a through-ticket from the agency around the corner.

3.  Go to agency to be see it is closed from 2-5.  Note time is 2.15.

4.  Return at 5 to get very helpful details on tickets.  Agree to buy.  Get told they don’t actually sell the tickets.  You need to go to that office over there (which didn’t shut for siesta), where you can take a ticket for one sixth of the journey.  After that it’s pot luck.

5.  Go to office.  Mad scramble.  Get told customers get service first.  Aren’t I a customer?  40 minute wait for a one minute transaction while computer operator emails his mates.

6.  Next day get on packed bus for four and a half hours and watch Troy.  A torso-fest where I couldn’t wait for Brad Pitt’s death.

7.  Get to Rio Gallegos and retrieve bags.  Struggle to next company`s office where there is another scramble.  Tickets for tonight to Trelew?  No.  Full.  Go for a coffee.  No cafe on this estacion, matey.  But there is one across that motorway in that petrol station.

8.  Return after a think and agree to get tomorrow’s bus – best seat please.  OK, we have these, but why don’t you go today?  What a good idea, I think I will.  Spanglish breaks down.

9.  Get 17 hour bus to Trelew and watch The Lion, The Witch & The Wardrobe.  Sub-standard, post LOTR tosh with the same battle scene as Troy.  Then half watch the remake of The Fog.  Why make it?  The first one was bad enough.

10. Arrive in Trelew and find the hotel can`t book me in for two hours.  Have a coffee and meet Matt!  Good, I’m off to Puerto Madryn with you.

11. Arrive in Rhyl, sorry Puerto Madryn, and bump into Andrew.  Who flew, in 90 minutes, from El Calafate to PM on a half empty plane  for 20 quid more than my 23 hour journey.  Grrr.

12. Dream of the possibility of seeing orcas eat baby seals.  Off to see if it can be done.

Today’s song can only be National Express, the Divine Comedy.  Although to be fair, the steward’s arse was not the size of a small country.

Fine.  Off to a night out beside the seaside.  If I can get the picture up of this town you will see there is a certain humour in it.  Otherwise Google Puerto Madryn and see if you can find what it might be…

Had to pop this email I’ve received on the blog…

St.Anselm’s College
Annual St.Anselm’s Day Dinner will be held at the college on 21st April, St.Anselm’s Day, 7 for 7.30pm. All Anselmians are most welcome, as are their ladies!
Tickets are available from the Chairman, Steve Morris on , cost £17.50.