Canada to Patagonia at a Worrying Age

I´ve got loads to tell you about Machu Picchu and all that, including the first usage of South American health systems, but bloody George!

I don´t normally write up when in internet cafes, but this is too much. How, exactly, when the programme is rigorously edited, does he imagine he´s going to stir up new interest in politics and widen the socialist agenda. This can have nothing to do with simple publicity for him, can it? What time is his next surgery? I´m presuming Parliament is in recess. And if anyone goes on about Big Brother getting more votes than the general election I shall scream. It does because people vote many times each, something that´s confined to certain wards in Yorkshire and Wales these days. Yes, he´s entertaining, but so was Michael Barrymore, once…

Oh well, come the council elections in May, that´s my job gone.

This has been passed to the site for those interested…

http://beta.cergis.com/george/

PS – Kirsten´s left a comment on New Year´s Eve in Cusco, for those that know her. Isn´t the Interweb great?

Not a bad likeness, although you´ll see my hair has grown very quickly.

PS. Derm says Bird of Cuzco by Nina Nastasia written for John Peel should be a track of one day while I´m here. Haven´t heard it yet, but I´ll trust to his judgement.

Well we knew it would have to happen at some point. Yes – I’ve been kidnapped by a tribe of South American Indians, but it’s not all bad as they have made me their God. Which is nice, for me as well as for them.

Now, I’ve been charged with coming up with a latter day Eden, hopefully without the bad apples and Disney baddy snakes – and this is where you come in.

We seem to be fine for psychotropic drugs and penis gourds, but other than that we’re short of one or two essential items. If someone can arrange to have them delivered I’ll grant you eternal life or 5 years as the celebrity of your choice – whichever you think is the better…

The complete works of Shakespeare and a copy of the bible are already here (next to what appears to be the shrunken head of Sue Lawley), so the only reading materials we’re short of is Match of the Day Magazine and Take-a-Break. If someone could sort out the subs, that would be great.

The drugs do work, but leave us with rotten hangovers, so a (gross) box of Nurofen would be handy.

By and large the girls seem to be fine, their only requests are for push-up bras and a few crates of Bacardi Breezers (all flavours except melon).

The lads, on the other hand, have been arguing for days about what the priorities should be. Finally, they’ve landed on a complete range of Clinique men’s grooming products. Please ensure the sun block comes in SPF 30 as well as 15 for those who are more sensitive to the sun.

The children will be fine with Sunny Delight, as all children are.

Thanks in advance to the first one who can sort this out. Don’t forget to state your preference on the reward thing.

Address is Chief Juan Martin 1, The Incas, The Andes, Peru.

I’ve never been in the middle of a storm at 3400m before. One is rather close to the celestial action. The lightening is right in your face and the thunder is like nothing you have ever heard before. A portent for the New Year? Of course not, I gave up superstition years ago. Off into the jungle for a couple of days…

Choice of the hour comes from Café del Mar… Northern Lights by Lux. Controversial given where I am, but there you go.

A bit later. Bloody Hell. It just struck me I hadn’t played Teenage Kicks in Cusco on this of all days. Consider that wrong righted. Also – just stopped smoking.

Having just been reminded that some people like reading this, I thought a bit of an update was in order following a bit of a gap for a slightly boring time as I acclimatised to being 3400m above sea level.

I’ve spoken to a few people back home tonight, and buggar the altitude sickness, I’ve just cracked open a bottle of Cusqueña beer at midnight GMT (and I’ve just switched on the BBC for fireworks from London!) to remember all of my friend’s family and other people who I know drop in from time to time.

Cusco, all remember Peely at this point, is a fabulous place which I unfortunately have to share with a lot of others – amongst them many, many hippies. Still, there are enough central casting folk around, such as people with pet llamas (and alpaca), some of them babies in slings. The sun’s gone down now, revealing a starlit night and the surrounding mountains glittering away.

Tonight promises to be lively at least, with everyone having to wear something yellow and run around the square for good luck. I’ll be there, but I might not be running at this bloody altitude.

Have a good year everyone.

Song might as well be Disco 2000 for old time’s sake…

Or Up On The Roof – James Taylor, dead corny and all that…

Towards Midnight

So I went out for a quiet meal where it was noticeable that there were four of us old blokes having individual meals on New Year’s Eve. Having had a glass of wine with my spaghetti, I immediately felt drunk and had to go home for a quick lie down. While there I could hear hippies drumming on a rooftop outside my hotel room. Perhaps they were ostentatiously refusing to join in the mayhem that was building up in town and trying to invoke some Inca spirit or something. Personally I think they should have been trying to invoke some rhythm into their lives. The Incas, by the way, thought Cusco to be the navel of the world. The hippies appear to be the fluff.

Out at 10.30 and the square in the centre of town was becoming a health and safety officer’s nightmare. Hand held fireworks were the nature of the day and many frightening objects were being offered for sale. I met a bloke from Hackney, obviously, who is the same age as me, an ex-altar boy and a member of the SWP (hi Paul). We shared a Cusqueña as he told me of his three robberies in three weeks (am I living in a bubble?), before heading to a fabulous view of the square from a pub balcony.

As midnight approached the fireworks got louder and much more numerous, the crowd (perhaps numbering 25,000) collectively deciding that Phil Spector’s Wall of Sound should be the inspiration for the evening. This effort was supplemented by the screams of revellers as what can only be described as ‘bombs’ were lobbed into the throng.

Now, I’ve been to New Year celebrations all over the world. I’ve been agog in Berlin, drunk in Edinburgh, scared in Budapest, emotional in Rome, cold (and naked) in Vilnius, asleep in Kuta (20 years ago tonight) and been subject to a morris dancing exhibition in Chinnor. However, I can honestly say that this was the most impressive event I’ve witnessed anywhere. The bombs, the screams, the setting, the lights, the little girl on a wooden bull signifying the start of the celebrations (with fire juggling hippies in tow), the man wearing a fire-breathing bull’s head, all served to make this The One to be Beaten. Then everyone started running around the square, as promised, as the noise level was turned up to eleven. Cheers were provided on the balcony with Aussies, Paul from Hackney, a few yanks and a Peruvian and once again I had to reflect on the fortuitous nature of this journey. I could have been stuck in Iquitos in other circumstances…

No picture will give an idea of what it was like, but I’ll try to post one anyway. Had an ill-considered Pisco Sour as a nightcap and was at home for two (oh how times have changed) to hear the hippies still drumming on the rooftop. Three hours practice hadn’t improved their rhythm. Still, they’ve got a year to try to make the grade for next time.

New Year’s Day and the huge sign carved into the mountain outside my hotel room reads “Viva el Peru Glorioso”. Indeed.

Doesn´t capture the mayhem, so you´ll have to use your imagination…

PS Thanks Rita for the comment on Still Rhyl – why does this one remain a repository for such things?

After the fun of Iquitos it’s been a pleasure to be in a place where one can be anonymous and see normal goings on amongst Westerners and locals alike.

Not much to say about Lima except that the old part is much like this marvellous hotel – seen better days. Nice churches and Spanish colonial buildings though. Of the rest, Miraflores is like Kensington (‘nuff said) with only Barranco being the area I could consider for New Year’s Eve. That’s out of the question, however, as there’s no (appropriate) room at the inn. As such I’ve booked to go to the place where John Peel breathed his last. I’m sure it’s renowned for other reasons, but if there’s no shrine there, I’ll set one up.

So it’s Cusco I’m bound, but not without a little drama at the last. On the search for a suitable lodging in Barranco it had slipped my mind to get anything to eat. Remembering this after dithering about in the hotel, I went out for a late supper at a nearby German bar (everything else was closed or closing) at 10pm and ordered a beer and some food. By the time the food arrived, I was on my second pint and within 10 minutes was about to keel over. Naturally, I assumed I had been drugged (what else could possibly be wrong?) and called for the bill while hanging onto the table for dear life. Unusually for Lima, I was able to pay quickly and stumble back to the hotel.

Of course, I was fine within half an hour. Just a little paranoia to fuel the next stage of the journey, not helped by the fact that I could only book a room for one night in Cusco. It appears that many people go there for New Year…

You know Goodbye Girl by Franz Ferdinand? Do you think The B52s want their tune back?

In Cusco – First Impressions…

Being 3000m above see level, I’m feeling rather light-headed. It’s not exactly unpleasant, but rather weird. Like that buzz you get when you have a cigarette after a long flight.

My hotel is gorgeous and they’ve given me coca leaf tea to drink, which makes it all the more heartbreaking that I’m only allowed to stay here one night. Oh well, off to search for tomorrow’s bed.

Slightly bitter, this is going to look, I’m afraid.

Up late to ring home (I really was knackered after two 3.30am starts in three nights). Lovely to talk to you all on that terrible line. Promise I’m all right despite what comes next.

Went out for a bite to eat at a place run by a Texan. He was very affable and all that, but it quickly became clear that this place is the centre of an expat community that centres around cheap property, an unspoken form of racism and (much) younger Peruvian wives. Also striking is a big mural in the main square rejecting the use of children by tourists for sexual abuse. I’ve seen this in other countries and it always indicates a sinister aspect to a place.

After lunch I went on a walk to Belen, famous as part of the background to Fitzcarraldo, a fantastic film by Herzog. The book describes the area as ‘an authentic slum town of the last century’ and ‘dirty but beautiful’. I’m afraid I can’t agree. It’s certainly an authentic 20th (19th?) century dirty slum. And that’s where it ends. It’s a steaming, miserable, disease-ridden pit, the sort that attracts paedophiles, religious fundamentalists and charity-workers in equal numbers. Of course some members of these three groups will be one and the same or generally interchangeable. The existence of a group called The Federation of Iquitos Drunks, westerners who do ‘good’ works for the children of the area, only served to worry me more. They may be a fantastic group of well-meaning types wishing to put something back into the community (probably are), but the name and publicity-conscious pronouncements set off something in me.

The other main gringo group here are the eco-hippies, who avert their eyes when they see a westerner such as me. Maybe they know more about the other groups of expats than I do, and as such their ignorance is understandable if they see me as part of that. However, I can’t help but be annoyed at the construct of hierarchical travelling that depends on your own particular level of discrimination starting from you (hippy, charity worker, religious nutter, wife marrier) and goes down in layers from there.

It’s not all bad. The locals are friendly, the town appears safe and it’s a good starting point for jungle journeys. However, I’ll have to see how tonight goes before I commit to anything. Assuming they don’t have Boxing Day here, I think I’ll get a flight to Lima sorted tomorrow. I think New Year will be best spent elsewhere…

Today’s song is Wonderboy by the Kinks. Dark, I know, but I feel this place calls for such a tune.

The Night

As I said, it’s not all bad. I was invited to Christmas Dinner by Jimmy, the hostel owner and got chatting to a Swedish guy about shamans and the like. He claimed to have seen the future (although he was scant on detail, when pushed) and reckoned that you need out of body experiences to find the real you. Disabled parrots crawled by.

Out for a pint at another gringo bar this evening, only to discover the people I’d been at dinner with, but they didn’t acknowledge me as I went to sit at the bar. More Peruvian women were hanging out with the white guys. A lad who’d tried to sell me a jungle tour the night before came to try again. Having failed he asked if I wanted any girls or drugs. I said I didn’t buy people and then he offered himself! I didn’t offer to top up his glass.

After he left, the owner of the bar came up to talk. Another old Texan who explained he was here for the pretty girls. As I sat there the minskirted bar girls would touch my arm or thigh or bum each time they passed. There were Peruvian owned bars not far away, but the gringos in those looked predatory at the least (to my now extremely prejudiced mind). I couldn’t face being identified as such, so I went home.

Boxing Day

Up early to see if I could get a flight. There was one in the afternoon or tomorrow morning. I decided to consider my options and went for breakfast at the first Texan bar (decent fruit salad and all that). Conversation among the expats on a neighbouring table turned to some bloke or another.

“Have you seen him today?”

“Saw him coming out of his apartment this morning with a Peruvian boy. I’ll say no more.”

“You don’t need to.”

So that made up my mind. I went to the airline office and bought a ticket to Lima for today. Perhaps I’m being unfair, but even the uncontroversial bits add up to something murky. As a final clincher on such matters, it should be noted that it’s not possible to reach Iquitos by road. I’m off.

This morning’s song is Jimmy Jazz by The Clash (alternative – We Gotta Get Out of This Place – The Animals). Next alternative – This Town, Elvis Costello, probably the most accurate one.

The rest of the day…

Paid my bill after the hostel woman had tried to overcharge me by 60%, oh how we laughed at her simple mistake. Picked up a mototaxi to get me to the airport. It was a white-knuckle ride and loads of fun. As the driver didn’t rip me off I tipped him 50% and felt good.

I checked in and all was right with the world as I’d gone for the expensive national carrier with no check-in queue. I’m acting the rich gringo at this point and very happy with myself. I had an hour to kill before going through, with another hour after that. Had a coffee and a sandwich and was politely pestered by a lad wanting to shine my jungle-dirty boots. I’d said no about four times, but he was so polite I eventually gave in for the ridiculous price of 15 pence.

He made a brilliant job of them, far better than the desultory effort in Bogota, and tried his best to understand my mangled Spanish throughout. He looked about 15 (could’ve been older) and had an apprentice in tow who got the simpler jobs and watched the master at work.

I was so impressed by this shiny and welcome aspect of Iquitos life that I gave him triple what he’d asked for, not caring about the next foreigner in my wake. It was the best tip I have ever given, and here’s why.

I went to go through, slightly late on account of the time and care he’d taken, but still fine for time. The guy at security wouldn’t let me through, however, as I hadn’t paid my departure tax – a detail the check in clerk had failed to mention. I went to where they’d indicated I needed to go to see a queue reminiscent of that for tickets when Chester hosted Supermac and the rest of the Newcastle team in the League Cup run. It went outside of the departure hall and much further beyond. I tried to get the LanPeru people to help me, but apart from agreeing it was ‘terrible’ they made it plain there was nothing they could do.

I got in the queue, sweating profusely in the sunshine and hoped. I got out my book to stem feelings of anxiety, but was haunted by the fact that I might have to stay in Iquitos another night. As I stood there, the shoe-shine boy appeared apparently indicating there might be a short cut, but it was plain there wasn’t. I indicated no intiendo and he disappeared off.

As I entered the departure hall again in the shuffling queue I could see another problem. The queue at security was now impossibly long and growing. If I was lucky I might get my departure tax stamp, but would not get through security anywhere near in time. My heart sank as the one woman at the tax counter answered the phone and dithered with change for the people ahead of me.

I looked forlornly at the security queue only to see the shoe-shine boy waving at me from the midst of it! This Angel of The Lord had been trying to tell me he had anticipated the problem and was standing in line for me! His apprentice was with me as I paid the stupid tax (why not include it the fare?) and raced with me to the other queue, which the Angel had timed to perfection. I cut in front of a group of gringos who no doubt thought I was in the habit of paying people to queue for me as I stuffed a few more soles into his hand. He skipped away happy, but I never got the picture I intended.

As I got through, they were waiting for me (I’d heard and couldn’t understand the announcements) and I was rushed onto the lovely first world plane.

I have gone into so much detail as I don’t want to leave myself or you with the impression that Iquitos was all bad. Good tipping and the kindness of strangers (ooh, I’ve come over all Blanche) got me where I am now. In an hotel of absolute faded grandeur (The Gran Hotel Bolivar) at the suggestion of my non-rip-off Lima cab driver, sitting on the balcony having had my complementary Pisco Sour and typing this, my lovely waiter having just announced that he is from Iquitos himself.

It’s great to be back in a big city with the need for a jacket and no mosquitoes. There’s hot water and a bath. I am now going to avail myself of these facilities. And United won 3-0. I love South America.

Up ridiculously early for flight which was the usual mixture of small rip-offs at either end with a 2 hour wait in the cold city of Bogota, where I took the opportunity to get my boots cleaned. Cheeky chappy pointed out that they were a ‘liitle dirty’. So would yours be mate, if they’d been where I’ve been.

Landed in the jungle town of Leticia – bloke next to me said a rosary as we descended (with a great view of the Amazon) and shook my hand with relief when we stopped. Aah!

Arrivals at Leticia are greeted by an Amazonian Indian in a loincloth beating a drum. 10 minutes later he was back in his jeans and shirt.

Once through I was met by Daniel “I’m in Lonely Planet, you know”. We negotiated a price for what I knew in advance could be a complicated day and I got my exit stamp from Colombia, even though I don’t know when I’m leaving.

Daniel’s car was not the 4-wheeled drive he’d airily waved his arms at, but a Beetle with many years service behind it. Still, we checked into the hotel I’d selected (£8 a night inc breakfast) and headed out for the boat office. This is in Brazil. However, the boat leaves from Peru, obviously. No boat tomorrow, but there is one on Christmas Eve. One seat left. Phew. Of course, it will be Xmas Eve price (40% more) but there you go.

While waiting to complete some formalities Daniel and I tried to get me over to Peru in a boat to get my passport stamped. Rain began to fall and he went to close the windows on his car. When I suggested we should perhaps find some cover, he said that it ‘wasn’t real rain’ so we could stay and stare at the river. Fair enough – the unreal rain, by the way, turned the banks of the Amazon into Glastonbury conditions in 10 minutes flat.

The day’s delay meant I ‘had a problem’ in Daniel’s words as I would technically be over 24 hours without being assigned a country to stay in and this is not allowed. We couldn’t get from Brazil (Tabatinga) to Peru at the time I needed, so went back to Colombia so Daniel could go and find another Gringo having first exacted a premium for dubious extra services such as waiting. (Like the whole of the continent doesn’t have waiting as its major pastime.)

I managed to get on a ‘boat’ to Peru (Santa Rosa) and shared it with a German woman who advised me that all Peruvian officials were crooks. They might be, but they weren’t open to stamp my passport. As the boat headed across the Amazon, some lads were attempting to refloat the one which had left earlier. I managed to stay dry.

I then wanted to return to Colombia so hailed a boast to Leticia, however, he needed to call into Brazil first – hence three countries in 20 minutes, with no legal right to stay in any of them!

Early to bed after pleasant wanderings around the Colombian side, which is relaxed and pleasant. The Brazilian side is as anarchic as you’d expect and the Peruvian side is a muddy village.

Next day, Daniel turned up to ’help’, which is fine as it means less hassle for me.

I got my passport stamped under my own steam while Daniel arranged a Brazilian side hotel, as ferries don’t go from Colombia to Peru at 3.30am. On the way back from Peru to pick up my stuff from Colombia to move to Brazil (keeping up?) I hailed the fluvial equivalent of an unlicensed minicab. Much mayhem ensued, but it got me where I was going.

So now in Brazil with a 3am wake up call arranged for a (minimum) 14-hour boat ride to Iquitos with a bruised coccyx! See you after Xmas…

Today’s Song – Wade in the Water, Ramsey Lewis

Xmas Eve

Up at 3am for a 3.30 river crossing. The Amazon was beautiful, star and moonlit. Sort of thing you never forget.

We set off early at 4.30am for Iquitos with a couple of stops for running repairs and immigration stamps. The journey then passed uneventfully until about 12 hours into the journey when the engine cut out. I was slightly alarmed to see the boatmen get out the paddles. Then we all had to stand at one end of the boat while the engineer attempted to get it restarted from the other end. I presume there were safety reasons for this – but never quite found out for sure. After half an hour with much joking about spending Xmas on the Amazon, we got going and arrived in Iquitos (to the sound of Bomb the Bass) at about 7pm.

The quayside was chaotic with mototaxi drivers attempting to be my amigo. There was genuine danger of falling in the river at this point, such was the scuffle for reclaiming bags and doing business. As the only gringo, I was a fairly lucrative prize as ‘Jhon’ held onto me for all his worth.

After I’d asked him for the eighth time the price of his service he announced $10. I went to grab my bags off his tuk-tuk and he reduced it to $3. Still too much, but less than Abbey home from Angels in the ‘80s, so fine by me. Interesting to imagine what response ‘Anybody light, over the water?’ would bring, when it’s the Amazon in question…

(Why is it, by the way, that cab drivers the world over are robbers’ dogs. Is there some sort of global rehabilitation programme that encourages thieves to go straight by learning The Knowledge and getting themselves a dodgy vehicle of whatever hue? I don’t mind really, being a rich gringo, but for years now I’ve accepted that my arrival in any new town will be hailed by some sort of overpriced transport arrangement.)

Got to my extremely quiet hotel and was given the spiel on a trip into the jungle. The dread words ‘6-hour trek’ were mentioned. I shall have to see. The evening was a bit of a washout, I’m afraid (literally so when an almighty storm unleashed it’s rain). I had a nice meal and some wine and was immediately knackered. I was in bed for 10.30pm while Peru celebrated Xmas Eve at midnight. Strange parallel with Bali 20 years ago this week when I slept through New Year’s Eve in extremely similar circumstances. Xmas day was to produce more striking similarities with Kuta that I’ve only just realised as I write this. More later.

Today’s Song – Proud Mary, Ike and Tina unless you can get the Brazilian version I heard at dinner last night in a very friendly restaurant…

Currently in Brazil/Peru/Colombia – nice little story of the event lies broke on a disc in my back pocket. Might post later.

Essentially got last place on the Xmas Eve boat to Iquitos by criss-crossing the Amazon at the three way border. Very wierd place, but OK.

Will spend tomorrow on a minimum 14 hour boat journey while you all do last minute shopping or go down the pub. Off for a sunset drink over the big river that is most definitely not the Dee…

Have a good one.

Time to leave the Caribbean coast and head into a different jungle (in the wet season) over a thousand miles away. I must be daft as I could head back up to Santa Marta for Xmas on the beach and come back to Cartagena for the New Year Festivities and a 4 day electronic music festival in January. But that would be too comfortable, obviously.

So instead I’m heading out at 4.30am to try to catch an overpriced flight (with a dodgy connection in Bogota) to Leticia in order to catch a boat up the Amazon to Iquitos in Peru. Trouble is I’m cutting it fine to catch the boat, which may not be running on Xmas Eve anyway. Should that happen I’m in a town of 30,000 souls for the holiday. Wonder what will happen. As ever I’m nervous, but I can’t stay here any longer as I’m starting to feel like Alan Partridge in his Travel Tavern. One of the receptionists even gives me one of those wry smiles as she corrects my Spanish each day.

Final thoughts on the area I’ve been staying for the last month.

Extreme poverty goes side by side with a burgeoning middle class here. Yesterday I witnessed two self-styled parking attendants fighting over the right to hinder motorists trying to park their 4-wheel drives for 100 pesos a time (two and a half pence). It ended with the old guy trying to hit the young man with the golf club he was using as a walking stick, before enlisting the help of the police who did nothing. Puts it all in a nutshell, really.

An unexpected thing has been the Colombian need to celebrate Christmas by putting up as many lights as the National Grid will allow. It’s truly astonishing the levels to which people will go to have illuminated santas, reindeers and nativity scenes in 30degree heat. It’s like the whole country (including the poorer barrios) has turned into a huge American suburb. Even the naval and army bases on the edge of town have joined in.

Whatever, everyone has been nice and it will be a shame to go. But I need to get to Patagonia before the end of January (sort of) or it’ll be too cold to visit.

As ever, a small warning about the diary. It may be a bit difficult to access the interweb t’internet in the Amazon, so I’ll wish you all a Happy Christmas now. I should be in relative civilisation for New Year whatever happens unless I’m kidnapped. If I am, though, my insurance runs to £100 per day of incarceration up to a maximum of 10 days. So that should leave everyone comfortable in their dotage.

Great quote from The King appeared the other day – so much so that I feel the need to spread it further…

‘Ronaldinho is the kind of player who makes kids dream. Kids aren’t going to walk around with Deschamps or Desailly on the back of their shirts, are they? If there were only players like Deschamps and Desailly around, there would be about 10 people who’d bother to take up professional football and they’d be their cousins and nephews.’

So there we go. Colombia about to be history. Peru about to be the future. All relies on taxis and planes. Neither are too reliable around here…

Mad note to sisters. You may have multiple entries in your in boxes. Essentially letter to parents. If problematic please work out a way to print the note and then visit the following link for general photos, one or two of which you might like to print for Mum. Will try to continue to leave pics there, which may be interesting to others as well.

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

By the way there is a well dodgy note on ‘Still Rhyl’. Anyone know anything about it?

Feliz Navidad everyone.