Few. Done some miles in the last few days then (up to 7000km now), and got a bit wet and soggy in the process, but thanks to the sub-tropical conditions, not too cold, which is a relief.
So, where were we? I think we´d just driven from Foz do Iguaçu in Brasil, 700km or so to Curitiba in one day, which was a good thing to have done as it was all pretty dull country we had to cross, and we wanted to get it out of the way and get somewhere more interesting. We had wanted to stop in a place just short of Curitiba, but, true to form, the Brasilian sign posts were sadly lacking and we couldn´t find where we were looking for. The whole road network here is pretty random, actually. There are plenty of signs, but as far as I can tell, no-one takes any notice of them if they are highway code signs, and the ones telling you which town or exit you need are mostly right at the exit, so you have almost no time to take them. I think someone in the local council went on holiday to a country with road signs, thought they looked nice and suggested them for Brasil, without explaining to the population at large that they actually meant something. They seem to be more for decoration than anything else. Speed limits are ignored or taken to be a minimum, unless you are driving a truck, in which case the limit is as fast as your truck will go (about 10km/h up hill, and 120km/h down hill). And as for the (no) overtaking ones...well, perhaps they misunderstand them and assume they are an invitation instead of a suggestion not to do so.
So, Curitiba it was; a large city, and we had no real idea of where to stay or how to find it, so in the end we stayed at what turned out to be a ´Love Hotel´where the local couples who still live with their families can go for some quiet time. Not so quiet for us, unfortunately, but it was only for one night.
Next day was off to Morretes, a small town, very Portugese-y, near a UNESCO park of Atlantic Coastal rainforest, which is apparently quite rare. We had a day to wander about there as it was so close to Curitiba and we got there nice and early, and the next day we went up to the park to camp.
This was my first refusal at a road for the trip, as we were heading into the park. We´d just passed the ranger station and signed in, and the road got just plain silly, with steepness and lumpyness which hasn´t come out in the photos or the video, but I´ll try to post both in the next couple of days when the rain starts again. Anyhow, Rich made it up, not with out some difficulty, and I figured that even if I made it to the top in one piece, I´d be fairly likely to fall off on the way down, so I went back to the ranger station, left the bike there and hiked what I needed back up the 4 or 5km track through the jungle to meet rich at the camp site. I enjoyed it far more that way, as I didn´t have the stress of trying to steer the bike, and was able to make the most of the jungle, and I´m glad I made the effort as the camp site was amazing and we were able to walk up mountian too. I say walk, it was as much of a vertical climb as a walk, with steel hoops drilled into the rock face in places to climb up, and lengths of rope and chain to hold on to as you walk 1960´s Batman-stlye up the side of a rockface. It was so ridiculously dangerous that there is no way it could ever have been allowed anywhere other than the depths of a remote rainforest in Brazil, but it was more than worth the effort, given the views at the top - and we didn´t even do the big mountain because we didn´t have time. Maybe on the way back we can stop in again and knock the bastard off, as Ed Hilary once said.
Anyhoo, after that we were off to Antonino, a little fishing town just down the road, and while it was a lovely spot, it marked the start of the rain for us. After only two days of rain in nearly 5 weeks, we were about to make up for lost time.
We spent the next few days coninuing to ride north up the east coast of Brasil, stopping at Iguape, Ubatuba, Itacuruça (where a man who looked like a shaved bear insisted on taking us out for `one beer´which turned out to be at possibly the seediest bar in Brasil. Still, when huge scary shaved bears offer to buy you beer, its very hard to refuse...) and finally Copacobana in Rio, with only one rainfree day which was spent in Iguape instead of making ground, and unfortunately seeing almost nothing of the stunning coastline we were following. We could see enough of the mist-shrouded bays and hills to know just how beautiful it is, and we will follow the same road south in a few days, so will hopefully be able to stop off and properly appreciate it then. In the meantime, we are going to spend a few days in Rio, or nearby at least, soaking up the sun if it comes out, and not riding the bikes for a bit. With a bit of luck, if rain does stop play, I´ll be able to get some video on line and finish organising my photos - which, incidentally, I have put on the map on Flickr, so if you haven´t already, check that out.
So, for now, I´m, off to meet a girl. Her name is Lola, she was a showgirl....
Friday, September 19, 2008
Thursday, September 11, 2008
A Moment of Reflection
Wow look at that, twice in almost as many days! After finishing the other day, I realised I had omitted one or two bits (which I have since added) and felt I wanted to say something about the country we have just been through before it goes fuggy in my brain. This is more for my benefit than yours, so feel free to read on or wait for the next installment, whatever butters your muffin.
4800km in just under 4 weeks through northern Argentina. We didn´t get to the far north west, but may get to do that on the way past after Chile. We did see a huge range of land though, from the snowy, craggy Andes to dry, barren desert bordered by snowy craggy mountains, to dry barren desert bordered by more dry barren desert, to wide open spaces full of farm land that looked like Norfolk, to tropical jungle. And we haven´t even gone near Patagonia yet.
I´ve visited the tops of high hills, crazy old geological rock formations, the middle of big lakes and the depths of unspoiled jungle, and been lucky enough to have been told a little about them by people who know. We´ve stayed in cities with populations greater than the whole of NZ and villages with little more than a bus stop to their name, and met the most fantastically kind, generous, friendly people in them all.
The language barrier was always more of a source of entertainment and amusement for us all than any kind of hinderance to conversation, and I have talked with people (mostly in Spanish) on a range of subjects from raising problem children, to conservation, to the plight of Argentinian rugby, to the fact that the wilds of Argentina will never be safe as long as there are countries out there waving fistfuls of money at the Argy governement in an effort to buy sole access to resources that would be better held onto, if only the government would see the long term view and the potential of the tourist dollar (eg Sly Stallone buying a mineral water spring to bottle and sell in the US, and mining issues), to the similarities and differences between NZ and Argy. And nearly always with a beer in hand and a smile and a laugh in place.
I´ve seen places and things that will stay with me forever, and some that I would prefer to forget, and already been challenged on my motorbike more than I really wanted to be, but on I roll, wondering what the next chapter will bring.
We are now in a small town called Moretes near Paranagua, some 700km or so from where we started yesterday (a mammoth day riding the roads to cover some ground), on the doorstep of a rare Atlantic coast rainforest national park, and we have an interesting route up the coast to São Paulo and Rio planned over the next few days, so we shall see.
That´s all for now, unless something else occurs to me, so until the next one,Keep ém Peeled!
4800km in just under 4 weeks through northern Argentina. We didn´t get to the far north west, but may get to do that on the way past after Chile. We did see a huge range of land though, from the snowy, craggy Andes to dry, barren desert bordered by snowy craggy mountains, to dry barren desert bordered by more dry barren desert, to wide open spaces full of farm land that looked like Norfolk, to tropical jungle. And we haven´t even gone near Patagonia yet.
I´ve visited the tops of high hills, crazy old geological rock formations, the middle of big lakes and the depths of unspoiled jungle, and been lucky enough to have been told a little about them by people who know. We´ve stayed in cities with populations greater than the whole of NZ and villages with little more than a bus stop to their name, and met the most fantastically kind, generous, friendly people in them all.
The language barrier was always more of a source of entertainment and amusement for us all than any kind of hinderance to conversation, and I have talked with people (mostly in Spanish) on a range of subjects from raising problem children, to conservation, to the plight of Argentinian rugby, to the fact that the wilds of Argentina will never be safe as long as there are countries out there waving fistfuls of money at the Argy governement in an effort to buy sole access to resources that would be better held onto, if only the government would see the long term view and the potential of the tourist dollar (eg Sly Stallone buying a mineral water spring to bottle and sell in the US, and mining issues), to the similarities and differences between NZ and Argy. And nearly always with a beer in hand and a smile and a laugh in place.
I´ve seen places and things that will stay with me forever, and some that I would prefer to forget, and already been challenged on my motorbike more than I really wanted to be, but on I roll, wondering what the next chapter will bring.
We are now in a small town called Moretes near Paranagua, some 700km or so from where we started yesterday (a mammoth day riding the roads to cover some ground), on the doorstep of a rare Atlantic coast rainforest national park, and we have an interesting route up the coast to São Paulo and Rio planned over the next few days, so we shall see.
That´s all for now, unless something else occurs to me, so until the next one,Keep ém Peeled!
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
Farewell Argentina - for Now.
Welcome back - sorry its been a while since the last one, but not much happened for ages, then it got very busy, so I should be able to catch you up pretty quick smart. I´ll try not to procrastinate too much, but you know me, once I get the creative juices flowing, its hard to hold it all in.
When last we spoke, I had just fallen hard down a rocky track, digging a hole in my knee cap. That´s much better now, thank you for asking, but it was a number of days before it became comfortable to ride, I just had to suck it up and take an extra toughen-up pill. Still, the photo was in glorious technicolour, so you got an idea.
We stayed an extra day at Capilla on account of my ow-ie, then set off across the long flat, gusty roads to the Corrientes region. Not much to report other than long, dull, hot (30°C+) days wishing the damn lorries would go away, and a night spent sleeping at the side of the road outside a police station, as our attempts to find somewhere to stay in Rafaela were met with enormous bills. In the end we mistakenly stopped at a place, unpacked, showered, went to reception to settle up in advance, and were told a price twice what we thought, (which was twice what we´d normally hope to pay, but were making an exception). In the end, we coughed up 50 pesos for a shower and moved on. To give you some idea, we´d normally hope to pay 50 for both of us for a night. I also got bee-stung for the first time on a bike, on my collar bone, due to riding with my coat half unzipped to let some air flow in. Bee-stung is kind of like snake-bit in a western, but with less cutting of the wound and sucking out the poison. Still, catches you by surprise a bit and hurts like a bastard! Had to stop and pull out the stinger obviously
Still, next day was short and to Paraná, to regroup and move on, again long and dreary roads but to Parque Naçional El Palmar. We didn´t get the most out of the area in my opinion, but did have a nice horse trek in the evening and an entertaining night chatting to a group of school kids from Buenos Aires.
From there we went north to Yapeyú and got our first glimpse of Uruguay, and from where the sunrise photos were taken. It was after this that things started getting interesting again.
I was keen to visit a unique wetland area called Esteros del Iberá, and our map showed 3 routes to get there. The first was a long back track followed by an earth road, the second was a more direct route but more earth than asphalt, and the 3rd was to head on up the road and then back track. We took option 2, and at about 1130, with the end in sight and a relaxing afternoon awaiting us (and about 5 minutes abfter getting bee-stung again - on teh throat this time!), we met some gauchos who told us the road no longer existed up ahead, and we´d have to go back. So back we went, along the very reasonable earth road, hit the tarmac and went for option 3. Wasn´t much further, the earth roads so far had been fine, it should be no trouble. True enough for the first hour, then it all turned to custard. Or more accurately, to sand, as the road degenerated to mostly quite deep sand, and things slowed right down. By 1800, with about an hour and a bit of daylight left, having been on the road for 9 hours, I fell off again (and once again it was at slow speed - its actually impossible for me to get any speed up on these nasty surfaces). After that, the sun started to set, and the road alternated between sand and puddles and good hard mud. Unfortunately in the failing light, it was very hard to tell one from t´other until it was too late, so a couple of extra spills later, I was down to walking pace with a broken windscreen (I put my foot through it as I stepped clear of the falling bike), riding in my snow style, with feet out as out-riggers, and the sun gone for good. We had about an hour in full dark after that, eventually finding Colonia Carlos Pelligrini and collapsing in heap.
Next day was good for me, as I had a morning out on the big laguna and saw all kinds of SA fauna and birdlife, right up my ally, but sadly I only got spanish names for them all. This is not helpful, as my poor brain struggles to hold the useful conversational words in its grasp, so has no room at all for bird names that can´t be used for anything else. Still, hopefully some video will make its way on to the site soon-ish, and you can see for yourselves. Rich took the time to clean his bike and grease it up, so time well spent for us both, I think.
Next day was back to civilisation, with a patched up screen that lasted all of half an hour until I went down again, and it broke in a different place than my mend, which was satisfying from that perspective if none other. Rude words were said, obviously, as the remains of the screen were biffed in to the roadside and on we went, eventually making it to Posadas, where I was able to buy a new window and feel happy again. Posadas was a lovely town on the edge of the Misiones region, and we had a pleasant couple of days there, just recovering from the heavy going of the previous couple.
From here it was to be straight to Foz de Iguaçu, stopping on the way to make for shorter days, but after having a night camping in San Pedro, we decided to head back a bit and visit Saltos Del Moconá, a little visited waterfall a bit south of where we were. This took us down a proper dirt road, just like I´d imagined before arriving, and because it was dry, it was a great road to ride. If it hadn´t been for a 2nd puncture, caused by the first patch coming off, it would have been a perfect day. As it was, the ride was great and we found a lovely wee camp site 2km up the road from the falls, which we decided to visit in the morning on account of it taking 2 hours to walk out into the river and back - a whole 1km or so into the river, in fact. These falls are pretty much unique, as they run in line with the river for 3km rather than across the current, due to a land shift along what is now the Argy-Brasil border.
Unfortunately, the early morning brought the threat of rain, so we hurried out to the falls at 7am, making it back by 9 and packing to leave by 10. Just as the rain started. And unfortunately for us, even the merest hint of damp on the mud of the road turns it into a perfect slick, so needless to say it was only 10 minutes in before muggins hit the deck again, this time as I was picking my way carefully and slowly up a steep, rocky hill. One wrong move and a wet rock saw me undone, and I managed to break the other side box (oh, did I not mention I broke the mounting clip on one of them already, in the sand? Well I did.). That was the only off of the day though, mostly because I slowed down even more after that. The rain kept going though, and the 30°C we´d had not 2 days before was now a bitter and wet 8°C, but we picked a road out that was being improved, so it wasn´t long before we hit the tarmac and picked up speed. Good in one respect, cold in another. We stopped in San Vicente in a great little hotel that was far cheaper than the con-artist in Rafaela and far better too, dried off a bit and got set to go to Iguaçu the next day.
Which is what we did, arriving about 3pm, too late for the falls that day, but nice and early to relax with a beer and unwind a bit. Next day (7th Sept by now) we did the falls visit which was outstanding. Almost as amazing was the fact that Rich came along, as he tries to avoid tourist attractions like the plague, but even he was impressed, for about 3 hours, then had to leave before he went mad. I stayed on and went on a tour into the jungle and had an interesting couple of hours at the end of the day learning a bit about the forest, and saw a toucan, which made my day!
So now, at 1755 on 8th September 2008, I am in Brazil, about to start for Rio De Janeiro in the morning, and beginning to feel the strain in my shoulders from battling the cold and covering about 4800km in 4 weeks. Hopefully the tropical climate we´re heading to, and a well earned break in Rio, will sort that out.
With Brazil being Portugese speaking, language will begin to be interesting, but I´m not worried. You see, Hablo bueno español. Lo apprendo desde un libro. Thank you Manuel, and good night.
When last we spoke, I had just fallen hard down a rocky track, digging a hole in my knee cap. That´s much better now, thank you for asking, but it was a number of days before it became comfortable to ride, I just had to suck it up and take an extra toughen-up pill. Still, the photo was in glorious technicolour, so you got an idea.
We stayed an extra day at Capilla on account of my ow-ie, then set off across the long flat, gusty roads to the Corrientes region. Not much to report other than long, dull, hot (30°C+) days wishing the damn lorries would go away, and a night spent sleeping at the side of the road outside a police station, as our attempts to find somewhere to stay in Rafaela were met with enormous bills. In the end we mistakenly stopped at a place, unpacked, showered, went to reception to settle up in advance, and were told a price twice what we thought, (which was twice what we´d normally hope to pay, but were making an exception). In the end, we coughed up 50 pesos for a shower and moved on. To give you some idea, we´d normally hope to pay 50 for both of us for a night. I also got bee-stung for the first time on a bike, on my collar bone, due to riding with my coat half unzipped to let some air flow in. Bee-stung is kind of like snake-bit in a western, but with less cutting of the wound and sucking out the poison. Still, catches you by surprise a bit and hurts like a bastard! Had to stop and pull out the stinger obviously
Still, next day was short and to Paraná, to regroup and move on, again long and dreary roads but to Parque Naçional El Palmar. We didn´t get the most out of the area in my opinion, but did have a nice horse trek in the evening and an entertaining night chatting to a group of school kids from Buenos Aires.
From there we went north to Yapeyú and got our first glimpse of Uruguay, and from where the sunrise photos were taken. It was after this that things started getting interesting again.
I was keen to visit a unique wetland area called Esteros del Iberá, and our map showed 3 routes to get there. The first was a long back track followed by an earth road, the second was a more direct route but more earth than asphalt, and the 3rd was to head on up the road and then back track. We took option 2, and at about 1130, with the end in sight and a relaxing afternoon awaiting us (and about 5 minutes abfter getting bee-stung again - on teh throat this time!), we met some gauchos who told us the road no longer existed up ahead, and we´d have to go back. So back we went, along the very reasonable earth road, hit the tarmac and went for option 3. Wasn´t much further, the earth roads so far had been fine, it should be no trouble. True enough for the first hour, then it all turned to custard. Or more accurately, to sand, as the road degenerated to mostly quite deep sand, and things slowed right down. By 1800, with about an hour and a bit of daylight left, having been on the road for 9 hours, I fell off again (and once again it was at slow speed - its actually impossible for me to get any speed up on these nasty surfaces). After that, the sun started to set, and the road alternated between sand and puddles and good hard mud. Unfortunately in the failing light, it was very hard to tell one from t´other until it was too late, so a couple of extra spills later, I was down to walking pace with a broken windscreen (I put my foot through it as I stepped clear of the falling bike), riding in my snow style, with feet out as out-riggers, and the sun gone for good. We had about an hour in full dark after that, eventually finding Colonia Carlos Pelligrini and collapsing in heap.
Next day was good for me, as I had a morning out on the big laguna and saw all kinds of SA fauna and birdlife, right up my ally, but sadly I only got spanish names for them all. This is not helpful, as my poor brain struggles to hold the useful conversational words in its grasp, so has no room at all for bird names that can´t be used for anything else. Still, hopefully some video will make its way on to the site soon-ish, and you can see for yourselves. Rich took the time to clean his bike and grease it up, so time well spent for us both, I think.
Next day was back to civilisation, with a patched up screen that lasted all of half an hour until I went down again, and it broke in a different place than my mend, which was satisfying from that perspective if none other. Rude words were said, obviously, as the remains of the screen were biffed in to the roadside and on we went, eventually making it to Posadas, where I was able to buy a new window and feel happy again. Posadas was a lovely town on the edge of the Misiones region, and we had a pleasant couple of days there, just recovering from the heavy going of the previous couple.
From here it was to be straight to Foz de Iguaçu, stopping on the way to make for shorter days, but after having a night camping in San Pedro, we decided to head back a bit and visit Saltos Del Moconá, a little visited waterfall a bit south of where we were. This took us down a proper dirt road, just like I´d imagined before arriving, and because it was dry, it was a great road to ride. If it hadn´t been for a 2nd puncture, caused by the first patch coming off, it would have been a perfect day. As it was, the ride was great and we found a lovely wee camp site 2km up the road from the falls, which we decided to visit in the morning on account of it taking 2 hours to walk out into the river and back - a whole 1km or so into the river, in fact. These falls are pretty much unique, as they run in line with the river for 3km rather than across the current, due to a land shift along what is now the Argy-Brasil border.
Unfortunately, the early morning brought the threat of rain, so we hurried out to the falls at 7am, making it back by 9 and packing to leave by 10. Just as the rain started. And unfortunately for us, even the merest hint of damp on the mud of the road turns it into a perfect slick, so needless to say it was only 10 minutes in before muggins hit the deck again, this time as I was picking my way carefully and slowly up a steep, rocky hill. One wrong move and a wet rock saw me undone, and I managed to break the other side box (oh, did I not mention I broke the mounting clip on one of them already, in the sand? Well I did.). That was the only off of the day though, mostly because I slowed down even more after that. The rain kept going though, and the 30°C we´d had not 2 days before was now a bitter and wet 8°C, but we picked a road out that was being improved, so it wasn´t long before we hit the tarmac and picked up speed. Good in one respect, cold in another. We stopped in San Vicente in a great little hotel that was far cheaper than the con-artist in Rafaela and far better too, dried off a bit and got set to go to Iguaçu the next day.
Which is what we did, arriving about 3pm, too late for the falls that day, but nice and early to relax with a beer and unwind a bit. Next day (7th Sept by now) we did the falls visit which was outstanding. Almost as amazing was the fact that Rich came along, as he tries to avoid tourist attractions like the plague, but even he was impressed, for about 3 hours, then had to leave before he went mad. I stayed on and went on a tour into the jungle and had an interesting couple of hours at the end of the day learning a bit about the forest, and saw a toucan, which made my day!
So now, at 1755 on 8th September 2008, I am in Brazil, about to start for Rio De Janeiro in the morning, and beginning to feel the strain in my shoulders from battling the cold and covering about 4800km in 4 weeks. Hopefully the tropical climate we´re heading to, and a well earned break in Rio, will sort that out.
With Brazil being Portugese speaking, language will begin to be interesting, but I´m not worried. You see, Hablo bueno español. Lo apprendo desde un libro. Thank you Manuel, and good night.
Monday, August 25, 2008
And the Days, They were Long and Arduous...
Well three of them were, but I'll get to that in a minute. This is a biggie I'm afraid, so strap yourselves in....
So, its been a whole week since my last post, and by crikey things have been happening! Mendoza was a nice break, although I was victim to a scam artist...sort of. My good nature allowed him to talk to me for a bit, this bloke on the street, and he was very polite and spoke slowly so I could follow what he was saying, but then he started asking about how much money I had etc and before I knew it he was holding a wedge of my cash and did some kind of magic trick where he mixed it with water in his hand, it turned into purple mush and vanished, before he revealed it in his other hand. Very clever and worth a couple of bob I guess, but it made me rather uncomfortable when he wouldn't give my cash back when I asked him to, until he'd done his trick. Still, I reckon you need to get stung once at least to learn to avoid wasps!
Anyhoo, we ended up staying in Mendoza an extra day cos it peed down, and when we left, we decided to take the old road back to Uspallata, then head north to Calingasta - about 250km I guess, mostly on gravel. The first part was fine, out past Villa Valencia, into the desert and a bit of an incline. Then the fog rolled in, but the people in Mendoza had told us that if it was foggy this side of the mountain, it'd be clear on the other, so on and up we soldiered.
True to their word, we eventually broke through the fog and clouds, out of the damp and into the sunshine, with some glorious views (we're getting used to those!). We continued up, higher and higher, until some traces of snow lined the road (can you guess where this is going? We didn't.), and then, in shady places, a bit of snow would be in the road, but easily skirted around. And up we went. And lo, the snow it got more plentiful, and the road more slippy, and still we went up, and the worse it got. Eventually, after slipping off the bike a couple of times and being passed by cars that were giving up and turning round, I suggested maybe the conditions were a bit extreme for bikes. Rich figured it couldn't be far to the top, and the sun on the other side would have melted the snow, so why not plod on? Somewhat reluctantly, I agreed and I think we both regretted the decision fairly smartly. By this stage we had worked out (by we, I mean Rich) that riding in the new snow on the verges was easier than the packed stuff - not rocket science, I grant you, but I was preoccupied by trying to stay on my bike at walking pace - so I slipped, slid and dropped my way ever upwards into more and more snow, and no sign of the top any time soon. Rich was faring a little better, but even he came a cropper once or twice, and every time I slid off, he'd stop and help me pick my bike up again, which was jolly team-spirited of him.
It was a long day, let me tell you, and the snow on the other side of the hill was just as bad, and progress painfully slow, not to mention just plain painful at times. At one point we stopped for a drink of coke with a family at the side of the road, and they assured us it was only 4km more of snow, then clear roads. What they also mentined was that the snow got deeper first. Oh goody.
By the time my odometer had clocked up 4km, I had traveled about 300m, on account of the poor traction, so we soon lost track of how far we'd gone and how far was left. I was shattered by now, having dropped the bike countless times, and poor old Rich was just as tired from having to help pick it up or push me out of a stuck situation. I was able to return the favour from time to time, but his superior skills kept him out of trouble most fo the time and I'm afraid to say I was starting to feel a bit of a burden. Gotta be grateful to Rich for never losing his patience, despite my tendancy to treat each fall in the tried and tested McMullen fashion of swearing like a sailor with turettes (sp?) syndrome. I doubt you have to be a biker to appreciate how much snow is NOT our friend, however picturesque it looks!
As in all good fairy stories though, good triumphed over snow, and we rolled into Uspallata about 8 hours and 100km after leaving Mendoza. Always looking for silver linings, at least it was sunny and not too cold, and snow not mud, which would have been just as slippy but a thousand times dirtier. And we also got a night in Uspallata, at the youth hostel out of town, where we had a fantastic night, camped out in -5C, and joined some locals on a bank holiday weekend break for their Asado (Argy BBQ), which was a hugely entertaining and vastly more genuine experience than we'd ever have got in a cafe or restaurant. We also made some good friends, got some addresses to stay at in Buenos Aires, and I had my luggage rack unbent by Nico, a mechanic from BA on his holidays. All in all it was one of those whole experiences that starts you off asking "what the hell am I doing here?", then reveals exactly why you're there, like some kind of Karmic wizard.
After that, we headed north to Calingaste, through a wide valley bordered by snowy mountains, had a night there, then moved on to near San Jose de Jachal, to a gap on the river bank near a town called Huaco. The camp site was well hidden from the road and free, so you can't argue with that!
The next day we figured, after asking in a number of Info huts, to take the Ruta 150 to San Agustin. The short route, it was, with the plan of getting to SA and having an early stop and a day off. It was a great road, and hugely enjoyable, with a couple of shallow river crossings to make life interesting. However (isn't there always a "however"?), we got to within 20km of the end of the road, 60km or so under our belts on the gravel, when we ran into a road construction crew. Constructing the road. They found it very amusing when we explained where we were trying to get to, and kindly showed us on our map exactly where we were, before making it very clear we weren't going to be going any further. In fact, the man said, even on horses we wouldn't get through. They asked if the police road block had not told us the problem? We said the policeman just waved us through (in retrospect, he may have been indicating which road to take, but he didn't try and and stop us when we took the other road) They invited us to wait while the finished. Four years, give or take. Inevitably, we turned around, and just as we were heading off back the way we'd come, the chief party pooper pointed to a bird - our first condor in fact - and helpfully said "If you go by condor you will make it!" So back we went. And it was just as scenic from the other direction, and I even got some video footage, which may be too long to load on to Youtube, so may have to be viewed on DVD when I post it back to the UK. When we got back to the tarmac, we went north to Valle de Union, up the side of a huge empty desert with another condor, then, at Union, we went south down the other side of the desert, with another condor. Or maybe the same one, they stay pretty high, so its not always easy to tell them apart. We eventually got into San Agustin far later than planned, and 450 long and boring km later (long arduous day #2), for our well earned rest day. I went to the Valle de la luna, and Rich stayed home and played with the bikes. Hopefully some vid will be on Youtube of my day out (apologies if its a bit dull, but its more for my benefit on this occasion). The second night we followed directions 8km out of town to a camp site. What the directions failed to mention was the 10 or so river crossings we'd need to make to get there, but all well and good and we found a great little spot to stay the night.
Next day, we figured it was time to make some progress west, so we decided on a tarmac day to some destination or other never reached. Yes, as per the opening line, this is the 3rd long arduous day. Started well, though, except we missed the road out of SA that we'd been looking for. No worries, mate, we'll take the next left about 20km further on, no biggie. Except after half an hour on deeper sand than I was used to, we pretty much came to a dead end at some old farm buildings. For the second time, the map had sold us a red herring! Back we went, getting used to the sand, and back down the main road. Eventually, 15km before the actual turn, we spotted a gravel road that the map said would save us some distance, so down we went. Not a pleasant road, I have to say, with quite a lot of sand, some of it proper deep, so extreme caution was used (by me, anyway, Rich was off like a rat up a drainpipe), but all to no avail. I am proud to report that my first crash happened on this road (don't panic mum, it was only technically a crash, being as it happend at a faster pace than a "drop"). I hit a patch of super deep and extended sand, which slowed me down suddenly from about 30km/h to 20, and over I went. Unfortunatley, as the handle bars got embedded in the sand, they bent a bit, not that I realised this straight away, as when I picked the bike up, I managed to do so that successfully that I tipped it over on to its other side. Up it came again, and off I set, spitting sand, only to come a cropper in the same patch of sand 3m further on. You can probably picture the look of joy on my face, if you try really hard. Go on, try, see if you can. Up for the third time, out of the sand, and that was when I realised the bars weren't really pointing where I thought they should be (still got that happy picture of me in your head? Now, times it by 10.). It was at this point things began to get better. And when I say better, of course I mean worse. First, I met Rich coming back the other way. Not, as I thought to see what was holding me up, but because there was a locked gate up the road, and we couldn't get out, so we were going to have to turn round. Again. Bent bars for nothing I thought. Rich was impressed to notice, at this point, that I had thought to let some air out of my back tyre to improve traction through the sand. This surprised me somewhat, as I had done no such thing. Yes. Icing on the cake time, I had a puncure, in the desert. In a really sandy part of the desert with no firm ground ideal for changing tyres, just soft sand, no good at all for changing tyres on. Still got that picture in your head? Add a bit of colour to it. Somehow I had run over a nail. Surely not in the desert, probably at the side of the road, but it had done its job and given all the air an escape route.
An hour later, having had the wheel and half the tyre off, we had patched the hole and put everything back together and were heading back to the road, me even slower than usual due to shaken confidence in the sand due to the fall, and also to the wonky bars which were very unnerving in the sand, though not so bad on the road. In the end, later than planned, we found a B&B in a town called Chepes, where we tried to sort my bars out, as the newly adjusted riding position caused my left hand to go numb (useful in certain circumstances, so I'm led to believe, but not when riding a motorbike). And this is when the silver lining to Long and Arduous Day 3 was revealed. The bloke who owned the beer shop next to the B&B knew a bloke who could straighten the bars, so, after unsuccessfully trying to do it ourselves, I hopped on the back of his scooter for the most terrifying 3 minutes riding so far in South America, to his mates workshop. Five minutes later, having been laughed at a bit (and lets face it, I was beginning to see the funny side...almost) I was presented with a set of perfectly straight bars. A miracle, I hear you cry. Well, its what I said anyway, and between us we re-named the bloke Fernando Da Vinci. And things got better from there. Our new friend, Juan Manuel (yes, he really was called Manuel!)'s wife owned the shop next door, and her parents owned the pizzaria round the corner...and who should her father have been? Why, none other than Mr Da Vinci, of course! So we ended up having a big family experience in the family pizza shop, with lots of beer and laughter and broken spanish, got given a new (and hopefully reliable secon- hand map), and what had been a pretty crappy day ended on a massive high.
For now, that ought to do. We are currently having at least one, and maybe two days off in a small holiday town called Capilla del Monte near to Cordoba, staying in a beautifully tranquil camp site run by ex-2nd-in-Argentina mountain biker Victor. Today, I ran up a mountain (we're at about 950m already, and the summit was 1979m - 1000m up, about 6km of track), and had a fall 5 minutes before reaching the bottom, taking a good chunk out of my left knee, but that is a story for another day. Til then, hope you enjoyed the latest, sorry it was so long, but who'd o' guessed so much would happen on this trip, huh?
So, its been a whole week since my last post, and by crikey things have been happening! Mendoza was a nice break, although I was victim to a scam artist...sort of. My good nature allowed him to talk to me for a bit, this bloke on the street, and he was very polite and spoke slowly so I could follow what he was saying, but then he started asking about how much money I had etc and before I knew it he was holding a wedge of my cash and did some kind of magic trick where he mixed it with water in his hand, it turned into purple mush and vanished, before he revealed it in his other hand. Very clever and worth a couple of bob I guess, but it made me rather uncomfortable when he wouldn't give my cash back when I asked him to, until he'd done his trick. Still, I reckon you need to get stung once at least to learn to avoid wasps!
Anyhoo, we ended up staying in Mendoza an extra day cos it peed down, and when we left, we decided to take the old road back to Uspallata, then head north to Calingasta - about 250km I guess, mostly on gravel. The first part was fine, out past Villa Valencia, into the desert and a bit of an incline. Then the fog rolled in, but the people in Mendoza had told us that if it was foggy this side of the mountain, it'd be clear on the other, so on and up we soldiered.
True to their word, we eventually broke through the fog and clouds, out of the damp and into the sunshine, with some glorious views (we're getting used to those!). We continued up, higher and higher, until some traces of snow lined the road (can you guess where this is going? We didn't.), and then, in shady places, a bit of snow would be in the road, but easily skirted around. And up we went. And lo, the snow it got more plentiful, and the road more slippy, and still we went up, and the worse it got. Eventually, after slipping off the bike a couple of times and being passed by cars that were giving up and turning round, I suggested maybe the conditions were a bit extreme for bikes. Rich figured it couldn't be far to the top, and the sun on the other side would have melted the snow, so why not plod on? Somewhat reluctantly, I agreed and I think we both regretted the decision fairly smartly. By this stage we had worked out (by we, I mean Rich) that riding in the new snow on the verges was easier than the packed stuff - not rocket science, I grant you, but I was preoccupied by trying to stay on my bike at walking pace - so I slipped, slid and dropped my way ever upwards into more and more snow, and no sign of the top any time soon. Rich was faring a little better, but even he came a cropper once or twice, and every time I slid off, he'd stop and help me pick my bike up again, which was jolly team-spirited of him.
It was a long day, let me tell you, and the snow on the other side of the hill was just as bad, and progress painfully slow, not to mention just plain painful at times. At one point we stopped for a drink of coke with a family at the side of the road, and they assured us it was only 4km more of snow, then clear roads. What they also mentined was that the snow got deeper first. Oh goody.
By the time my odometer had clocked up 4km, I had traveled about 300m, on account of the poor traction, so we soon lost track of how far we'd gone and how far was left. I was shattered by now, having dropped the bike countless times, and poor old Rich was just as tired from having to help pick it up or push me out of a stuck situation. I was able to return the favour from time to time, but his superior skills kept him out of trouble most fo the time and I'm afraid to say I was starting to feel a bit of a burden. Gotta be grateful to Rich for never losing his patience, despite my tendancy to treat each fall in the tried and tested McMullen fashion of swearing like a sailor with turettes (sp?) syndrome. I doubt you have to be a biker to appreciate how much snow is NOT our friend, however picturesque it looks!
As in all good fairy stories though, good triumphed over snow, and we rolled into Uspallata about 8 hours and 100km after leaving Mendoza. Always looking for silver linings, at least it was sunny and not too cold, and snow not mud, which would have been just as slippy but a thousand times dirtier. And we also got a night in Uspallata, at the youth hostel out of town, where we had a fantastic night, camped out in -5C, and joined some locals on a bank holiday weekend break for their Asado (Argy BBQ), which was a hugely entertaining and vastly more genuine experience than we'd ever have got in a cafe or restaurant. We also made some good friends, got some addresses to stay at in Buenos Aires, and I had my luggage rack unbent by Nico, a mechanic from BA on his holidays. All in all it was one of those whole experiences that starts you off asking "what the hell am I doing here?", then reveals exactly why you're there, like some kind of Karmic wizard.
After that, we headed north to Calingaste, through a wide valley bordered by snowy mountains, had a night there, then moved on to near San Jose de Jachal, to a gap on the river bank near a town called Huaco. The camp site was well hidden from the road and free, so you can't argue with that!
The next day we figured, after asking in a number of Info huts, to take the Ruta 150 to San Agustin. The short route, it was, with the plan of getting to SA and having an early stop and a day off. It was a great road, and hugely enjoyable, with a couple of shallow river crossings to make life interesting. However (isn't there always a "however"?), we got to within 20km of the end of the road, 60km or so under our belts on the gravel, when we ran into a road construction crew. Constructing the road. They found it very amusing when we explained where we were trying to get to, and kindly showed us on our map exactly where we were, before making it very clear we weren't going to be going any further. In fact, the man said, even on horses we wouldn't get through. They asked if the police road block had not told us the problem? We said the policeman just waved us through (in retrospect, he may have been indicating which road to take, but he didn't try and and stop us when we took the other road) They invited us to wait while the finished. Four years, give or take. Inevitably, we turned around, and just as we were heading off back the way we'd come, the chief party pooper pointed to a bird - our first condor in fact - and helpfully said "If you go by condor you will make it!" So back we went. And it was just as scenic from the other direction, and I even got some video footage, which may be too long to load on to Youtube, so may have to be viewed on DVD when I post it back to the UK. When we got back to the tarmac, we went north to Valle de Union, up the side of a huge empty desert with another condor, then, at Union, we went south down the other side of the desert, with another condor. Or maybe the same one, they stay pretty high, so its not always easy to tell them apart. We eventually got into San Agustin far later than planned, and 450 long and boring km later (long arduous day #2), for our well earned rest day. I went to the Valle de la luna, and Rich stayed home and played with the bikes. Hopefully some vid will be on Youtube of my day out (apologies if its a bit dull, but its more for my benefit on this occasion). The second night we followed directions 8km out of town to a camp site. What the directions failed to mention was the 10 or so river crossings we'd need to make to get there, but all well and good and we found a great little spot to stay the night.
Next day, we figured it was time to make some progress west, so we decided on a tarmac day to some destination or other never reached. Yes, as per the opening line, this is the 3rd long arduous day. Started well, though, except we missed the road out of SA that we'd been looking for. No worries, mate, we'll take the next left about 20km further on, no biggie. Except after half an hour on deeper sand than I was used to, we pretty much came to a dead end at some old farm buildings. For the second time, the map had sold us a red herring! Back we went, getting used to the sand, and back down the main road. Eventually, 15km before the actual turn, we spotted a gravel road that the map said would save us some distance, so down we went. Not a pleasant road, I have to say, with quite a lot of sand, some of it proper deep, so extreme caution was used (by me, anyway, Rich was off like a rat up a drainpipe), but all to no avail. I am proud to report that my first crash happened on this road (don't panic mum, it was only technically a crash, being as it happend at a faster pace than a "drop"). I hit a patch of super deep and extended sand, which slowed me down suddenly from about 30km/h to 20, and over I went. Unfortunatley, as the handle bars got embedded in the sand, they bent a bit, not that I realised this straight away, as when I picked the bike up, I managed to do so that successfully that I tipped it over on to its other side. Up it came again, and off I set, spitting sand, only to come a cropper in the same patch of sand 3m further on. You can probably picture the look of joy on my face, if you try really hard. Go on, try, see if you can. Up for the third time, out of the sand, and that was when I realised the bars weren't really pointing where I thought they should be (still got that happy picture of me in your head? Now, times it by 10.). It was at this point things began to get better. And when I say better, of course I mean worse. First, I met Rich coming back the other way. Not, as I thought to see what was holding me up, but because there was a locked gate up the road, and we couldn't get out, so we were going to have to turn round. Again. Bent bars for nothing I thought. Rich was impressed to notice, at this point, that I had thought to let some air out of my back tyre to improve traction through the sand. This surprised me somewhat, as I had done no such thing. Yes. Icing on the cake time, I had a puncure, in the desert. In a really sandy part of the desert with no firm ground ideal for changing tyres, just soft sand, no good at all for changing tyres on. Still got that picture in your head? Add a bit of colour to it. Somehow I had run over a nail. Surely not in the desert, probably at the side of the road, but it had done its job and given all the air an escape route.
An hour later, having had the wheel and half the tyre off, we had patched the hole and put everything back together and were heading back to the road, me even slower than usual due to shaken confidence in the sand due to the fall, and also to the wonky bars which were very unnerving in the sand, though not so bad on the road. In the end, later than planned, we found a B&B in a town called Chepes, where we tried to sort my bars out, as the newly adjusted riding position caused my left hand to go numb (useful in certain circumstances, so I'm led to believe, but not when riding a motorbike). And this is when the silver lining to Long and Arduous Day 3 was revealed. The bloke who owned the beer shop next to the B&B knew a bloke who could straighten the bars, so, after unsuccessfully trying to do it ourselves, I hopped on the back of his scooter for the most terrifying 3 minutes riding so far in South America, to his mates workshop. Five minutes later, having been laughed at a bit (and lets face it, I was beginning to see the funny side...almost) I was presented with a set of perfectly straight bars. A miracle, I hear you cry. Well, its what I said anyway, and between us we re-named the bloke Fernando Da Vinci. And things got better from there. Our new friend, Juan Manuel (yes, he really was called Manuel!)'s wife owned the shop next door, and her parents owned the pizzaria round the corner...and who should her father have been? Why, none other than Mr Da Vinci, of course! So we ended up having a big family experience in the family pizza shop, with lots of beer and laughter and broken spanish, got given a new (and hopefully reliable secon- hand map), and what had been a pretty crappy day ended on a massive high.
For now, that ought to do. We are currently having at least one, and maybe two days off in a small holiday town called Capilla del Monte near to Cordoba, staying in a beautifully tranquil camp site run by ex-2nd-in-Argentina mountain biker Victor. Today, I ran up a mountain (we're at about 950m already, and the summit was 1979m - 1000m up, about 6km of track), and had a fall 5 minutes before reaching the bottom, taking a good chunk out of my left knee, but that is a story for another day. Til then, hope you enjoyed the latest, sorry it was so long, but who'd o' guessed so much would happen on this trip, huh?
Saturday, August 16, 2008
...And They're Off!
Its only been a few days since the last update, but we're off into the big unknown tomorrow so thought I'd throw in a quickie in case I forget anything.
The morning after the 80's revival night, we followed some friends out to the small fishing village of Quintay, about 30km south of Valpo. One of our friends has an uncle who owns a seafood restaurant on the beach front (photos will be forthcoming), so we went there and got shouted lunch. It was a beautiful spot, virtually unspoiled by tourists (we tried to leave it that way) and used almost solely by locals or near-locals. Rich had a length of deed fried conger eel and chips, and I had swordfish and chips, or maybe it was swordwhale, given the size of the slice! It was a crazy place, and Rich managed to narrowly avoid a social faux pas in the bathroom, by identifying the rubbish bin for what it was almost as soon as he'd mistaken it for the toilet bowl. Still, seeing as the bin is for used paper (primitive plumbing rules here), I don't think anyone will mind too much. And, as far as I know, there were no witnesses...
Later that evening we went to some other friends for dinner (homemade pizza and pissco sour - a marguerhita style drink that's very tart) followed by a party in a bar hosted, if that's the right word, by a Londoner with a Clash-esque band which none of the locals could understand. No fault of theirs though, we both struggled, it has to be said, but it was loud and had a good beat, and when he'd finished he spun the wheels of steel with the obligatory 80's mix, which, no doubt, was what the locals were waiting for!
And then, almost in the blink of an eye, we were off. The day we left we detoured to Laguna Verde to collect a key for a flat in Santiago where we to stay that night. Unfortunately LV is off the main road a bit...quite a bit...in fact, so far that I got my first taste of rutted mud tracks and steep hills, so a nice little starter for 10 there! I passed with flying colours though, didn't fall off or drop the bike at all, but we failed to find the house we were looking for, so resorted to phoning up from the mian road and waiting for them to bring it to us.
Off to Santiago, then. easy motorway riding to get there, then chaotic rush hour traffic to find the appartment building, including a ridiculously long traffic jam in a ridiculously long tunnel full of absurdley smokey vehicles, so it wasn't long before we were (carefully) weaving our way through the traffic to escape. That evening we met up with a friend of mine from the UK, Tatiana Storie, who visites her family in Santiago every year. We had a great eveing with her, getting more Pissco and another free feed, before back to the flat and an impromtu wine evening with our host and some of her friends. Luckily the wine ran out about 3am, so an early night for once...
Next day was to be our first crossing of the Andes. I expect there to be many more, and having completed ne, I am sure there will be. It was every bit as spectacular as I expect you can imagine, and more so. At one point, I looked ahead at the side of the sheed hill and saw, amongst the massive snow drifts, what appeared to be terraces, like you'd see in a the side of a deep open cast mine. the terraces were in fact the road, switching back on itself with startling regularity, barely seeming to make any progress up the hill for each turn back. Despite the enormous amounts of snow, the roads were incredibly clear and dry, however and the riding superb. The temperature dropped to a minimum of -0.4C at one point, but gear was up to the challenge and we didn't freeze. At the top was the San Pedro Tunnel - 3km long through to the otherside of the mountain - which delivered us to the border and Argentina.
We made it through customs with minimum of effort. On the Chilean side, we had our bike importation documents taken, but were assured we'd be given new ones in Argentina. So we got our gear on, wrapped up warm, got on the bikes ready for the trip through no-man's land to the Argentinian border, set off, and were flagged down 5m on at the next booth. We'd made it to Argentina! Once again, Lady Luck smiled on us and passing businessman took pity on us and filled in all our complicated foreign forms, so we were through there in no time. Easy.
On the way out of the covered customs area, the Argy side was less clear on the roads, and I slid off my bike just out of sight of the customs boys, which saved me a little face from them, but not Rich, who manfully helped pick my bike up. On down the mountain to Uspallata for the night, a tiny developing ski town (give it 5 years and it'll be a Mecca for snow bunnies I reckon), and the next day it was off to Mendoza for a bit of well-earned R&R. Which is where I am now, and where I have run out of time on the computer. We're going vaguely north tomorrow, heading roughly to Paraguay, so I will keep you all posted soon. Until then, perhaps you could tell me: ¿Cuanto es el Perro en la ventuna?
The morning after the 80's revival night, we followed some friends out to the small fishing village of Quintay, about 30km south of Valpo. One of our friends has an uncle who owns a seafood restaurant on the beach front (photos will be forthcoming), so we went there and got shouted lunch. It was a beautiful spot, virtually unspoiled by tourists (we tried to leave it that way) and used almost solely by locals or near-locals. Rich had a length of deed fried conger eel and chips, and I had swordfish and chips, or maybe it was swordwhale, given the size of the slice! It was a crazy place, and Rich managed to narrowly avoid a social faux pas in the bathroom, by identifying the rubbish bin for what it was almost as soon as he'd mistaken it for the toilet bowl. Still, seeing as the bin is for used paper (primitive plumbing rules here), I don't think anyone will mind too much. And, as far as I know, there were no witnesses...
Later that evening we went to some other friends for dinner (homemade pizza and pissco sour - a marguerhita style drink that's very tart) followed by a party in a bar hosted, if that's the right word, by a Londoner with a Clash-esque band which none of the locals could understand. No fault of theirs though, we both struggled, it has to be said, but it was loud and had a good beat, and when he'd finished he spun the wheels of steel with the obligatory 80's mix, which, no doubt, was what the locals were waiting for!
And then, almost in the blink of an eye, we were off. The day we left we detoured to Laguna Verde to collect a key for a flat in Santiago where we to stay that night. Unfortunately LV is off the main road a bit...quite a bit...in fact, so far that I got my first taste of rutted mud tracks and steep hills, so a nice little starter for 10 there! I passed with flying colours though, didn't fall off or drop the bike at all, but we failed to find the house we were looking for, so resorted to phoning up from the mian road and waiting for them to bring it to us.
Off to Santiago, then. easy motorway riding to get there, then chaotic rush hour traffic to find the appartment building, including a ridiculously long traffic jam in a ridiculously long tunnel full of absurdley smokey vehicles, so it wasn't long before we were (carefully) weaving our way through the traffic to escape. That evening we met up with a friend of mine from the UK, Tatiana Storie, who visites her family in Santiago every year. We had a great eveing with her, getting more Pissco and another free feed, before back to the flat and an impromtu wine evening with our host and some of her friends. Luckily the wine ran out about 3am, so an early night for once...
Next day was to be our first crossing of the Andes. I expect there to be many more, and having completed ne, I am sure there will be. It was every bit as spectacular as I expect you can imagine, and more so. At one point, I looked ahead at the side of the sheed hill and saw, amongst the massive snow drifts, what appeared to be terraces, like you'd see in a the side of a deep open cast mine. the terraces were in fact the road, switching back on itself with startling regularity, barely seeming to make any progress up the hill for each turn back. Despite the enormous amounts of snow, the roads were incredibly clear and dry, however and the riding superb. The temperature dropped to a minimum of -0.4C at one point, but gear was up to the challenge and we didn't freeze. At the top was the San Pedro Tunnel - 3km long through to the otherside of the mountain - which delivered us to the border and Argentina.
We made it through customs with minimum of effort. On the Chilean side, we had our bike importation documents taken, but were assured we'd be given new ones in Argentina. So we got our gear on, wrapped up warm, got on the bikes ready for the trip through no-man's land to the Argentinian border, set off, and were flagged down 5m on at the next booth. We'd made it to Argentina! Once again, Lady Luck smiled on us and passing businessman took pity on us and filled in all our complicated foreign forms, so we were through there in no time. Easy.
On the way out of the covered customs area, the Argy side was less clear on the roads, and I slid off my bike just out of sight of the customs boys, which saved me a little face from them, but not Rich, who manfully helped pick my bike up. On down the mountain to Uspallata for the night, a tiny developing ski town (give it 5 years and it'll be a Mecca for snow bunnies I reckon), and the next day it was off to Mendoza for a bit of well-earned R&R. Which is where I am now, and where I have run out of time on the computer. We're going vaguely north tomorrow, heading roughly to Paraguay, so I will keep you all posted soon. Until then, perhaps you could tell me: ¿Cuanto es el Perro en la ventuna?
Sunday, August 10, 2008
They're Under Starters Orders...
Wow. Culture shock and awe going on here. It's day 4 right now and my head is spinning with the sights, sounds, smells, language, beer, you name it, its probably making my head spin right now. I've had it pretty easy so far, it has to be said. I was met at the airport by a friend of a friend who, after having to wait 1 1/2 hours for my late arrival then offered to drive me the 120km to Valparaiso, thus saving me the trials of finding bus stops and buying tickets. Result, and thank you, Anamaría! My initial attempts at carefully rehearsed phrases I thought I would need when I met Anamaría dissolved into a confused mix of Frenish (or maybe Spench?) as nerves took over. Fortunately, Anamaría spoke pretty good English, so I had an impromptu Spanish lesson as we drove to Valparaiso.
She dropped me off at the bus station in Valpo, where I met Rich, and we headed to his base, in the house of a Chilean guy called Daniel who he met one day when Daniel was checking out Rich's bike (still with me?). Daniel has almost no English and Rich had almost no Spanish, but with a mutual love of bikes, within a very short time they were best mates, and Daniel was offering his house and lock-up for sleeping and bike storage respectively, and the invitation included me.
We have developed a fairly symbiotic relationship as far as language goes, with us teaching Daniel and him teaching us, and it works well, if you abandon inhibitions, roll up your sleeves and just get miming. It is amazing what you can communicate with sound effects, extravagant gesticulations and big smiles! Add into the mix Daniel's large social network and you find yourself holding long and complicated conversations in a mixture of English, Spanish, French, German, Italian....and mime. Once initial shyness over trying to speak foreign went, I've found I'm really enjoying the challenge of it all.
Anyhow, the rest of Wednesday included beer, a walk round town, an attempted mugging (we were the victims, not the attackers) by a couple of school kids having a crack at the newly arrived gringo (maybe talking loudly in English in small alleys is not a good idea - I think it draws attention), and an impromptu knees up at home with some of Daniel's mates, lasting til the wee small hours and involving my introduction to Pisco, a local liquor made from grapes and possibly used for stripping paint.
Thursday introduced us to the joys of "Coffee with legs" and took us to the Port and my bike, and Daniel proved his worth once again by going above and beyond the call of duty by spending the whole day standing around with me waiting while people passed bits of paper around and around and around. Its a crazy system for sure, but I freed my bike in record time (only 7 hours - it took Rich 3 days). We celebrated by going to a seafood restaurant that Daniel knew (we are so far off the tourist trail, its great!) and I enjoyed (its all relative - up to this day, I've generally avoided shellfish) a bowl of shellfish soup, containing not just the shell fish, but also their shells, tubey bits and most of the sea bed, judging from the high sand content! I have quickly realised that I'll have to eat anything put in front of me, at least until I can understand the menus well enough to know what it is I've ordered! Big smiles and bellies full (of bread mostly), we popped home then out again to a local bar full of local people - like I said, Daniel is taking us to the heart of Valpo and we laugh at the silly tourists - with loads of people, a live band playing their own music and vodka and cokes served in such a way that there is almost no room for the coke. The people are so friendly and welcoming and before long (well, 2.30am) we were off for more beer at someone's house, before finally passing out on various sofas in the even wee-er small hours.
Yesterday was bike fiddling stuff and, for dinner, more peculiar local fare courtesy of Daniel's favourite cafe - some kind of cold jellied pork (or some other meat-like product) served in a bowl with raw, sliced onion and white kidney beans. Mmmm. Luckily there was bread and beer to wash it down so we put in a good showing and made like it was the best thing ever - which in a way it was, I suppose. We followed this up with a return to the local bar, which tonight had a DJ playing twin turntables with classic 80's vinyl with some Beatles thrown in for good measure. Duran Duran,Tears for Fears and Spandau Ballet never got such an enthusiastic reception! Its a crazy atmosphere with people sat at tables jumping up to dance when the mood took them, loads of booze and heaps of fun. We have coined a phrase, Richard and I:"Everything's normal in Chile". Seems to cover all eventualities...
So, that's what we've been up to, but what of Valparaiso itself? Well, for those of you familiar with Wellington in NZ, its the same kind of layout, i.e. a flat level strip round the seafront with massively steep hills covered in houses that seem to defy the laws of gravity and built of mostly corrugated tin and crossed fingers. The roads are tarmac in the town centre but crumbly concrete slabs and cobbles on the unfeasible steep hills (I have never driven up steeper) and crazy dogs leaping out of every corner. The sunsets are amazing and I can't wait to get out on the open road and see more of it.
Have to go now though, so just remember: Esta es un robo!
She dropped me off at the bus station in Valpo, where I met Rich, and we headed to his base, in the house of a Chilean guy called Daniel who he met one day when Daniel was checking out Rich's bike (still with me?). Daniel has almost no English and Rich had almost no Spanish, but with a mutual love of bikes, within a very short time they were best mates, and Daniel was offering his house and lock-up for sleeping and bike storage respectively, and the invitation included me.
We have developed a fairly symbiotic relationship as far as language goes, with us teaching Daniel and him teaching us, and it works well, if you abandon inhibitions, roll up your sleeves and just get miming. It is amazing what you can communicate with sound effects, extravagant gesticulations and big smiles! Add into the mix Daniel's large social network and you find yourself holding long and complicated conversations in a mixture of English, Spanish, French, German, Italian....and mime. Once initial shyness over trying to speak foreign went, I've found I'm really enjoying the challenge of it all.
Anyhow, the rest of Wednesday included beer, a walk round town, an attempted mugging (we were the victims, not the attackers) by a couple of school kids having a crack at the newly arrived gringo (maybe talking loudly in English in small alleys is not a good idea - I think it draws attention), and an impromptu knees up at home with some of Daniel's mates, lasting til the wee small hours and involving my introduction to Pisco, a local liquor made from grapes and possibly used for stripping paint.
Thursday introduced us to the joys of "Coffee with legs" and took us to the Port and my bike, and Daniel proved his worth once again by going above and beyond the call of duty by spending the whole day standing around with me waiting while people passed bits of paper around and around and around. Its a crazy system for sure, but I freed my bike in record time (only 7 hours - it took Rich 3 days). We celebrated by going to a seafood restaurant that Daniel knew (we are so far off the tourist trail, its great!) and I enjoyed (its all relative - up to this day, I've generally avoided shellfish) a bowl of shellfish soup, containing not just the shell fish, but also their shells, tubey bits and most of the sea bed, judging from the high sand content! I have quickly realised that I'll have to eat anything put in front of me, at least until I can understand the menus well enough to know what it is I've ordered! Big smiles and bellies full (of bread mostly), we popped home then out again to a local bar full of local people - like I said, Daniel is taking us to the heart of Valpo and we laugh at the silly tourists - with loads of people, a live band playing their own music and vodka and cokes served in such a way that there is almost no room for the coke. The people are so friendly and welcoming and before long (well, 2.30am) we were off for more beer at someone's house, before finally passing out on various sofas in the even wee-er small hours.
Yesterday was bike fiddling stuff and, for dinner, more peculiar local fare courtesy of Daniel's favourite cafe - some kind of cold jellied pork (or some other meat-like product) served in a bowl with raw, sliced onion and white kidney beans. Mmmm. Luckily there was bread and beer to wash it down so we put in a good showing and made like it was the best thing ever - which in a way it was, I suppose. We followed this up with a return to the local bar, which tonight had a DJ playing twin turntables with classic 80's vinyl with some Beatles thrown in for good measure. Duran Duran,Tears for Fears and Spandau Ballet never got such an enthusiastic reception! Its a crazy atmosphere with people sat at tables jumping up to dance when the mood took them, loads of booze and heaps of fun. We have coined a phrase, Richard and I:"Everything's normal in Chile". Seems to cover all eventualities...
So, that's what we've been up to, but what of Valparaiso itself? Well, for those of you familiar with Wellington in NZ, its the same kind of layout, i.e. a flat level strip round the seafront with massively steep hills covered in houses that seem to defy the laws of gravity and built of mostly corrugated tin and crossed fingers. The roads are tarmac in the town centre but crumbly concrete slabs and cobbles on the unfeasible steep hills (I have never driven up steeper) and crazy dogs leaping out of every corner. The sunsets are amazing and I can't wait to get out on the open road and see more of it.
Have to go now though, so just remember: Esta es un robo!
Saturday, June 28, 2008
A watched pot...
This is getting silly now. I still have 20 days before I get to leave NZ, and I'm starting to get a bit tetchy. I just want to get underway, even if that just means starting my 2 weeks in the UK. Anything's gotta be better than killing time at work (never thought I'd hear myself think that! I love my job!). I haven't even got my bike to play with any more. Probably just as well, given my kak-handedness. I have two short stories of ineptitude where learning about the bike is concerned, for those that are interested, and here they are.
The first centres around the inner tubes. I was reasonably successful at taking the wheels off the bike, and the tyres off the rims, all be it with some grunting and groaning over the back one. Mark the mechanic very wisely tried to recreate 'the side of the road' in the workshop for realism, so tyre irons only were allowed...until the back tyre wouldn't budge, so he used his fancy machine to get me started. Anyway, all good: tube off, new tube back on, and in a first-attempt show of generosity, Mark even let me balance the wheel on a small steel drum to give me more leverage to get the tyre back on, while the other guy in the shop showed me how to bash the tyre on with a judical mix of leaning on the bead with one hand and a knee, and bashing the other part on with a rubber mallet. All going well, until I started to get a bit tired (ahh, those puns again) and managed to clout my supporting arm instead of the bead. While all my weight was on it. Leaning forward.
It was, I suspect, one of the more graceful manoevers ever performed in the workshop, as I fell in an elegant forward roll, perfected in the ninja dojos of the world, over the top of the wheel, onto my head, while carefully protecting the not-so-delicate yet surprisingly hard and pointy sprocket with my groin. Or maybe the sprocket protected my groin from the ground, its hard to say. Lets just say, they weren't tears of joy at my first success that were coursing down my cheeks...I learned a lesson.
The front was easy after that...except I managed to dig 3 large holes in the new, expensive, heavy duty inner tube as I tried to put the tyre back on. I learned some more.
The other tale of woe was the new battery, which only asked to be filled on a level surface, so I picked one of those optically illusional level surfaces, and so managed to spill a quantity of the acid on the ground. Probably got enough in there though, should be alright....now I just have to charge it (easy!). Except the charger wasn't working, so one of the guys moved it to another plug, one without an adaptor to regulate the in-going current (can you tell I have no idea what I'm talking about? No? How kind of you...). Shortly afterwards, the carefully inserted, impossible to remove black plastic caps used to stopper the filling holes were firing across the workshop like some kind of low budget special effect. Needle in a haystack doesn't come close. Those caps did not want to be found amongst the Frankenstein's laboratory of bike parts. Never mind, just think how powerful my battery will be now, with all that extra electricity in it...
Well, I hope its enjoying its trip in the box, it'll only be a few weeks out of Valparaiso by now. Closer than me anyway. Is that what they mean by 'bike envy'? Hey ho, on with the Spanish lessons. Hasta luego....or something...
The first centres around the inner tubes. I was reasonably successful at taking the wheels off the bike, and the tyres off the rims, all be it with some grunting and groaning over the back one. Mark the mechanic very wisely tried to recreate 'the side of the road' in the workshop for realism, so tyre irons only were allowed...until the back tyre wouldn't budge, so he used his fancy machine to get me started. Anyway, all good: tube off, new tube back on, and in a first-attempt show of generosity, Mark even let me balance the wheel on a small steel drum to give me more leverage to get the tyre back on, while the other guy in the shop showed me how to bash the tyre on with a judical mix of leaning on the bead with one hand and a knee, and bashing the other part on with a rubber mallet. All going well, until I started to get a bit tired (ahh, those puns again) and managed to clout my supporting arm instead of the bead. While all my weight was on it. Leaning forward.
It was, I suspect, one of the more graceful manoevers ever performed in the workshop, as I fell in an elegant forward roll, perfected in the ninja dojos of the world, over the top of the wheel, onto my head, while carefully protecting the not-so-delicate yet surprisingly hard and pointy sprocket with my groin. Or maybe the sprocket protected my groin from the ground, its hard to say. Lets just say, they weren't tears of joy at my first success that were coursing down my cheeks...I learned a lesson.
The front was easy after that...except I managed to dig 3 large holes in the new, expensive, heavy duty inner tube as I tried to put the tyre back on. I learned some more.
The other tale of woe was the new battery, which only asked to be filled on a level surface, so I picked one of those optically illusional level surfaces, and so managed to spill a quantity of the acid on the ground. Probably got enough in there though, should be alright....now I just have to charge it (easy!). Except the charger wasn't working, so one of the guys moved it to another plug, one without an adaptor to regulate the in-going current (can you tell I have no idea what I'm talking about? No? How kind of you...). Shortly afterwards, the carefully inserted, impossible to remove black plastic caps used to stopper the filling holes were firing across the workshop like some kind of low budget special effect. Needle in a haystack doesn't come close. Those caps did not want to be found amongst the Frankenstein's laboratory of bike parts. Never mind, just think how powerful my battery will be now, with all that extra electricity in it...
Well, I hope its enjoying its trip in the box, it'll only be a few weeks out of Valparaiso by now. Closer than me anyway. Is that what they mean by 'bike envy'? Hey ho, on with the Spanish lessons. Hasta luego....or something...
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