Last night Peter, Nick and I thought we would take the plunge and finally see the Harry Potter movie. We were convinced it would be in English with Spanish subtitles, in fact, all the signage supported this belief. However, we were shocked when Snape started blabbering in indecipherable Spanish and Hermione screeched in a mangle of indecipherable Espagnol. We couldn't understand a thing!
The theatre was like a time warp to Soviet Russia, there was even an intermission of 7 MINUTOS which flashed on the screen half way through the movie. I thought we would have to stand up and sing the Bolivian national anthem...Seats were allocated manually at the box office using plastic pins and a notice board.
Today Nick got conned by a tour operator who was going to take us to the Tiwanuku ruins but...he never showed up to take us there....
More juicy news to come!
Brittany
Thursday, 25 November 2010
Wednesday, 24 November 2010
Thoughts on Argentina
Hi All
Having left Argentina four days ago, I can now reflect on my time in that interesting country. Above all else, Argentina has an air of sad but proud decay about it, a once highly prosperous country that seems to have been brought to its knees by decades of political instability, although in recent years it seems to have got a bit better.
Arriving at Ezezia International Airporty last Tuesday put us back to the 1960s - one stuffy little customs and immigration room, no quaratine control, and a bored looking security guard who didn´t check the screen as our bags passed through X-ray. We were the only native English speakers there - surrounded by staunch Argentines for whom this sort of hampered life was normal. I realised then that tourism in this part of the world is scarcely developed, and that we had better learn some Spanish and fast, or hope like hell that Brittany would pick it up quick (which she did).
We got a taxi to the airport, and this was an experience. 6 lanes of road either side, strewn with rubbish from the numerous barrios (Spanish for slum) surrounding us. Half built and semi-decayed housing estate towers rose up in every direction, like the set from an apocalyptic war. Buenos Aires is a city of 15 million people after all. Soviet design appears to have taken strong hold here, and as a planner, I re-iterate my rule - never build cities on the flat.
Central Buenos Aires was a surprise however - traffic everywhere, noise everwhere, but somehow it all worked, and the streets were relatively safe, even after dark when we all went out. The subway was exciting, as I have never been on one. Quick efficient, and heavily used, the only drawback being dodgy ticket clerks who short-changed me, a gain for them perhaps but only a $NZ 20.00 loss for me. That won´t happen again.
Politics appears to be big here, if not quite as big as football. Everywhere there are signs and graffitti devoted to Peron and the Kirchners, especially considering that Nestor Kirchner, the former President and husband of the current President Cristina Kirchner had died only a few weeks before we arrived. People are upset - this guy seems to have been the modern day Peron, attempting to rebuild the country from the military dictatorship that ran it from 1975 to 1983 and then the right-wing agenda that took hold after it.
We went into the posh neighbourhood of Recoletta, where wealthy Argentines seem to live out the glory years of Argentina, hidden from the knowledge of what is happening to the rest of the country. The socialist political graffitti wasn´t to be found here though!. What we did find was incredibly unhelpful banks and restaurants with hidden charges for everything - and Portenos Spanish is almost indecipherable. I was glad to leave.
The centre of town is reminiscent of Moscow or an Eastern European capital - huge Italinate columns on buildings similar to the Acropolis of Greece (Peron admired Mussolini), and security guards and police everywhere. As electronic banking is so limited, armoured cars with armoured drivers are everywhere. But cracked sidewalks indicate that that whatever money there is, isn´t being spent on the basics.
Our neighbourhood was quite nice, but still challenging with our lack of Spanish. So when the time came to hop on the bus (an experience in itself, given the crazy Indian-level chaos of the bus station at Retiro) I was pleased to get out of the city, and highly pleased not to have to live in one like it.
More to come on the bus ride to the Argentine border and onwards to Santa Cruz, and then our current experiences in Bolivia.
Having left Argentina four days ago, I can now reflect on my time in that interesting country. Above all else, Argentina has an air of sad but proud decay about it, a once highly prosperous country that seems to have been brought to its knees by decades of political instability, although in recent years it seems to have got a bit better.
Arriving at Ezezia International Airporty last Tuesday put us back to the 1960s - one stuffy little customs and immigration room, no quaratine control, and a bored looking security guard who didn´t check the screen as our bags passed through X-ray. We were the only native English speakers there - surrounded by staunch Argentines for whom this sort of hampered life was normal. I realised then that tourism in this part of the world is scarcely developed, and that we had better learn some Spanish and fast, or hope like hell that Brittany would pick it up quick (which she did).
We got a taxi to the airport, and this was an experience. 6 lanes of road either side, strewn with rubbish from the numerous barrios (Spanish for slum) surrounding us. Half built and semi-decayed housing estate towers rose up in every direction, like the set from an apocalyptic war. Buenos Aires is a city of 15 million people after all. Soviet design appears to have taken strong hold here, and as a planner, I re-iterate my rule - never build cities on the flat.
Central Buenos Aires was a surprise however - traffic everywhere, noise everwhere, but somehow it all worked, and the streets were relatively safe, even after dark when we all went out. The subway was exciting, as I have never been on one. Quick efficient, and heavily used, the only drawback being dodgy ticket clerks who short-changed me, a gain for them perhaps but only a $NZ 20.00 loss for me. That won´t happen again.
Politics appears to be big here, if not quite as big as football. Everywhere there are signs and graffitti devoted to Peron and the Kirchners, especially considering that Nestor Kirchner, the former President and husband of the current President Cristina Kirchner had died only a few weeks before we arrived. People are upset - this guy seems to have been the modern day Peron, attempting to rebuild the country from the military dictatorship that ran it from 1975 to 1983 and then the right-wing agenda that took hold after it.
We went into the posh neighbourhood of Recoletta, where wealthy Argentines seem to live out the glory years of Argentina, hidden from the knowledge of what is happening to the rest of the country. The socialist political graffitti wasn´t to be found here though!. What we did find was incredibly unhelpful banks and restaurants with hidden charges for everything - and Portenos Spanish is almost indecipherable. I was glad to leave.
The centre of town is reminiscent of Moscow or an Eastern European capital - huge Italinate columns on buildings similar to the Acropolis of Greece (Peron admired Mussolini), and security guards and police everywhere. As electronic banking is so limited, armoured cars with armoured drivers are everywhere. But cracked sidewalks indicate that that whatever money there is, isn´t being spent on the basics.
Our neighbourhood was quite nice, but still challenging with our lack of Spanish. So when the time came to hop on the bus (an experience in itself, given the crazy Indian-level chaos of the bus station at Retiro) I was pleased to get out of the city, and highly pleased not to have to live in one like it.
More to come on the bus ride to the Argentine border and onwards to Santa Cruz, and then our current experiences in Bolivia.
Bienvedidos a La Paz!
We are now in La Paz, after an incredible bus ride over the Altiplano. The Altiplano is a magnificent desert land about 4000m above sea level.
Our manic bus driver manouvred the bus out of the bustling Santa Cruz streets. At intersections poor street vendors banged on the doors of the bus demanding to be let on. They came on board and tried to sell us everything from raffle tickets to dried bread and cold lime.
A few hours later a young man came aboard to play his Bolivian pipe instrument. Our bus driver let beggars and hitch hikers on board, I was blown away by his compassion, even if his driving skills left much to be desired!
Words cannot describe La Paz. The city truly defies gravity - Crumbling brick shacks cling precipitously to the side of cliffs, encased by subliminal mountain ranges.
La Paz lies at 3700m abover sea level, and we have already had our dose of altitude sickness. At first it felt like a telephone book was pressing against my chest. Then it felt like a toddler was jumping on my rib cage. My muscles turned to jelly and walking up a few flights of stairs makes me incredibly out of breath. Then came the dizziness, nausea and headaches.
I´ve just woken up from a delectable slumber and am feeling pretty good - no more headaches and nausea. We´re all going to take it easy at this altitude.
Our accommodation is right opposite the `witches market` where you can buy everything from baby llama skeletons to coca leaves, coca lollies and velvety smooth alpaca wool jerseys.
La Paz is undeniably one of the most breath taking cities in the world. Literally. I get the feeling that La Paz is one of Bolivia's treasured gems, there is barely a scrap of rubbish to be seen, street sweepers clean the streets at every corner and the inner city gardens and parks are kept immaculate.
The city is peppered with guards in green military uniforms carrying hefty machine guns and people in zebra costumes directing traffic. Apparently the zebra approach works a treat for the city council...The zebras do a little dance and shimmy to show the direction for the cars to go.
Bolivia also has the BEST juices you have ever tasted. You can get anything from apricot, guava or mango juice and it tastes like you have just picked a ripe fruit from tree.
La Paz has many western amenities, i.e Burger King, pepsi.....but it does sell countless coca products which help with altitude sickness. 'Mama Coca' is a store up the road which sells coca tea, tablets, leaves...But the shop seems to be barred up most of the time.
The temperature here is mild, which surprises me considering the high altitude. Get chatting to a Bolivian and you will discover they have an amazing life story. A man at Santa Cruz bus station yarned to me about his days working in the Oruro mines. All the work was done manually for 1000km.
I am left in no doubt that Bolivia is a humanist, socialist nation. Evo Morales won 64.2% of the national vote in the 2009 election, leader of the Movement for Socialism Party. Everyone seems to have a smile on their face, everyone is eager to help with my stilted Spanish. The Aymara native women work incredibly hard for their families, I often see them lugging babies, knitting and groceries up steep hills.
Despite the lack of wealth in this city, every person I have seen is dressed immaculately. Bolivians must be very proud of their appearance. There is a noticeable divide between rich and poor, but every Bolivian I have seen resiliently gets through each day and works damn hard to put food on the table.
Tomorrow we are going to see the Inca ruins of Tiwananuku.
Adios,
Brittany
We are now in La Paz, after an incredible bus ride over the Altiplano. The Altiplano is a magnificent desert land about 4000m above sea level.
Our manic bus driver manouvred the bus out of the bustling Santa Cruz streets. At intersections poor street vendors banged on the doors of the bus demanding to be let on. They came on board and tried to sell us everything from raffle tickets to dried bread and cold lime.
A few hours later a young man came aboard to play his Bolivian pipe instrument. Our bus driver let beggars and hitch hikers on board, I was blown away by his compassion, even if his driving skills left much to be desired!
Words cannot describe La Paz. The city truly defies gravity - Crumbling brick shacks cling precipitously to the side of cliffs, encased by subliminal mountain ranges.
La Paz lies at 3700m abover sea level, and we have already had our dose of altitude sickness. At first it felt like a telephone book was pressing against my chest. Then it felt like a toddler was jumping on my rib cage. My muscles turned to jelly and walking up a few flights of stairs makes me incredibly out of breath. Then came the dizziness, nausea and headaches.
I´ve just woken up from a delectable slumber and am feeling pretty good - no more headaches and nausea. We´re all going to take it easy at this altitude.
Our accommodation is right opposite the `witches market` where you can buy everything from baby llama skeletons to coca leaves, coca lollies and velvety smooth alpaca wool jerseys.
La Paz is undeniably one of the most breath taking cities in the world. Literally. I get the feeling that La Paz is one of Bolivia's treasured gems, there is barely a scrap of rubbish to be seen, street sweepers clean the streets at every corner and the inner city gardens and parks are kept immaculate.
The city is peppered with guards in green military uniforms carrying hefty machine guns and people in zebra costumes directing traffic. Apparently the zebra approach works a treat for the city council...The zebras do a little dance and shimmy to show the direction for the cars to go.
Bolivia also has the BEST juices you have ever tasted. You can get anything from apricot, guava or mango juice and it tastes like you have just picked a ripe fruit from tree.
La Paz has many western amenities, i.e Burger King, pepsi.....but it does sell countless coca products which help with altitude sickness. 'Mama Coca' is a store up the road which sells coca tea, tablets, leaves...But the shop seems to be barred up most of the time.
The temperature here is mild, which surprises me considering the high altitude. Get chatting to a Bolivian and you will discover they have an amazing life story. A man at Santa Cruz bus station yarned to me about his days working in the Oruro mines. All the work was done manually for 1000km.
I am left in no doubt that Bolivia is a humanist, socialist nation. Evo Morales won 64.2% of the national vote in the 2009 election, leader of the Movement for Socialism Party. Everyone seems to have a smile on their face, everyone is eager to help with my stilted Spanish. The Aymara native women work incredibly hard for their families, I often see them lugging babies, knitting and groceries up steep hills.
Despite the lack of wealth in this city, every person I have seen is dressed immaculately. Bolivians must be very proud of their appearance. There is a noticeable divide between rich and poor, but every Bolivian I have seen resiliently gets through each day and works damn hard to put food on the table.
Tomorrow we are going to see the Inca ruins of Tiwananuku.
Adios,
Brittany
Sunday, 21 November 2010
Que una aventura....Our Bolivian odyssey begins.
So many exciting things have happened to us in the past 48 hours. I´ll start with our last day in Buenos Aires, (Spanish for ´fair winds.´)
The three of us have been staying at the Art Factory Hostel, San Telmo, Buenos Aires. San Telmo is reminiscent of the left bank in Paris, there are amazing bakeries selling the most delectable chocolate cake you have ever tasted, artisan shops, boutiques, street vendors selling little bread rolls, hole in the wall fruit stalls. Our dorm room had a beautiful balcony which overlooked Avenida Piedras, but at night we barely caught any zzz´s because big trucks blasted down the street constantly. The drivers in Buenos Aires are mad! I swallowed my uncle´s sage advice when he said, ´Be very careful on the streets of Buenos Aires. The drivers WILL NOT stop for you.´
We spent our last day in Buenos Aires wandering around historic San Telmo. We sat down in a cute bohemian cafe where locals were writing, reading newspapers and books sitting quietly and generally relaxing in the strong Buenos Aires sun. The waiter promptly presented us with a placemats explaining the prosititute and brothel history of the area in the 1800s.
We had to whip out our Spanish dictionary to say useful phrases like, `the Bill, please.´ Despite our botched attempts, generally the portenos tolerate our attempts at speaking Spanish.`Portenos´ is the word to decribe Buenos Aireans. It means elite, a bit toffee nosed and super sophisticated.
We wandered through a building we thought was a museum. It looked just like the Parthenon, with huge Roman columns and majestic steps leading up to it. In fact, it was the Engineering faculty of the local university.
Still surviving the sticky heat, we went wandering around the Buenos Aires eco park. Quaint trails wound around a massive expanse of marshland.
The dichotomy between rich and poor really struck a chord with us in Buenos Aires. The city used to be marvellous, but it´s glorious buildings are crumbling and not very well maintained. There is a waterfront area which is modern and glossy new, but the pavements and parks are covered in rubbish.
It was a very awe-inspiring feeling to gaze around us in the city and see endless boulevards reaching towards the horizon. Sky scraper apartment buildings grab the sky with opulent hanging gardens pouring out from the balconies.
Our next adventure was catching the bus to Bolivia, a 36 hour bus ride: 2000 km. With bags in tow and determined faces, we made it to the huge Retiro bus terminal. Unfortunately we had no idea that we had to have our passports scanned at one of the countless FlechaBus kiosks, so when the time came to board the bus, there was trouble. We handed our passports over to the Flecha Bus man obediently as we were about to board the bus, but he gave us a dark look. Apparently we hadn´t fulfilled the exact beaurocratic process and were unable to board. Bugger.
So Peter sprinted inside the terminal with an incredibly friendly Bolivian woman who offered to translate, and they thankfully sorted out our boarding issue. Ah, FlechaBus I have very fond memories of Flecha Bus. On board the bus, techno salsa music was playing loudly on repeat, along with latin american music videos from the 80s with men wearing tight white jeans. We felt very out of place as the only tourists on board, and when word got around that we were from Nueva Zelanda. the locals all looked at us curiously. Our passports wre checked numerous times, we got suspicious looks because New Zealand probably sounds like an obscure country to them. The bus driver asked us ´New Zealand, ees dat Asia?´
We had stocked up on snacks to last us for the long bus ordeal: Choco chip loaf, lollies, apricots...So you can imagine we were a little confused when the bus suddenly pulls up at a diner a few hours north of Buenos Aires. We thought, ah ok, this is where we can buy some food. But no! The bus driver declared ´Lunch. Free.´ We all piled inside and sat at specially allocated seats for FlechaBus. Soon large plates crammed with hunks of fried chicked and mashed potatoes were placed in front of us and our glasses were filled with Pepsi. The service was amazing! And it was all included in the el cheapo bus fare.
A few hours later, we stopped at another diner and were given the same identical meal: Big hunks of fried chicken and mashed potatoes.
The bus trip rolled on and on, we passed some very poor villages where crumbling brick and stick shelters were the norm.
As we finally approached the Bolivian border, the excitement started to build up. The border was heavily policed; from the barren Argentine side we peeked through to the new frontier where we could see a thriving bazaar and crumbling colonial buildings nestled amongst jungly lime green mountains.
After lining up in soaring heat to pass through the border, we had to navigate our way through a crowded bazaar to get stamped by the Bolivian immigration authority. We clutched our bags close because a woman on the bus warned us against pickpocketers. Pictures of the President were plastered everywhere, scary officials glared at us.....The immigration officer who stamped our passports had no idea how many days New Zealanders were allowed to stay in La Paz on a tourist visa. (We were actually only allowed 30 days but we were stamped with 90 days!)
The bazaar was filled with sweet aromas, musty infusions, coca leaves and child street vendors selling everything from Hannah Montana tshirts to undies and flashing trinkets. We tried to haggle but the Bolivians wouldn´t have a bar of it.
Now we´re in balmy Santa Cruz de la Sierra. The heat envelopes you like an African summer. We saw an incredible church service today in the Plaza de 24 Septembre. The Jesus statue was dressed up in a sparkly purple skirt. Kid you not. The bolivian people are so charming and friendly, even the beggars are polite. We are liking the relaxed ambience, but not the sweaty 40 degree afternoons! The town centro feels like southern Spain. We feel bad for paying such miserly small amounts for things like food in the supermarket. We stocked up on lunch food, snacks and dinner for 2 days and only had to pay about $30 NZD. The Bolivian economy is in a state of crisis, I only hope it is resilient enough to provide strong services like health and education into the future.
Love
Brittany
So many exciting things have happened to us in the past 48 hours. I´ll start with our last day in Buenos Aires, (Spanish for ´fair winds.´)
The three of us have been staying at the Art Factory Hostel, San Telmo, Buenos Aires. San Telmo is reminiscent of the left bank in Paris, there are amazing bakeries selling the most delectable chocolate cake you have ever tasted, artisan shops, boutiques, street vendors selling little bread rolls, hole in the wall fruit stalls. Our dorm room had a beautiful balcony which overlooked Avenida Piedras, but at night we barely caught any zzz´s because big trucks blasted down the street constantly. The drivers in Buenos Aires are mad! I swallowed my uncle´s sage advice when he said, ´Be very careful on the streets of Buenos Aires. The drivers WILL NOT stop for you.´
We spent our last day in Buenos Aires wandering around historic San Telmo. We sat down in a cute bohemian cafe where locals were writing, reading newspapers and books sitting quietly and generally relaxing in the strong Buenos Aires sun. The waiter promptly presented us with a placemats explaining the prosititute and brothel history of the area in the 1800s.
We had to whip out our Spanish dictionary to say useful phrases like, `the Bill, please.´ Despite our botched attempts, generally the portenos tolerate our attempts at speaking Spanish.`Portenos´ is the word to decribe Buenos Aireans. It means elite, a bit toffee nosed and super sophisticated.
We wandered through a building we thought was a museum. It looked just like the Parthenon, with huge Roman columns and majestic steps leading up to it. In fact, it was the Engineering faculty of the local university.
Still surviving the sticky heat, we went wandering around the Buenos Aires eco park. Quaint trails wound around a massive expanse of marshland.
The dichotomy between rich and poor really struck a chord with us in Buenos Aires. The city used to be marvellous, but it´s glorious buildings are crumbling and not very well maintained. There is a waterfront area which is modern and glossy new, but the pavements and parks are covered in rubbish.
It was a very awe-inspiring feeling to gaze around us in the city and see endless boulevards reaching towards the horizon. Sky scraper apartment buildings grab the sky with opulent hanging gardens pouring out from the balconies.
Our next adventure was catching the bus to Bolivia, a 36 hour bus ride: 2000 km. With bags in tow and determined faces, we made it to the huge Retiro bus terminal. Unfortunately we had no idea that we had to have our passports scanned at one of the countless FlechaBus kiosks, so when the time came to board the bus, there was trouble. We handed our passports over to the Flecha Bus man obediently as we were about to board the bus, but he gave us a dark look. Apparently we hadn´t fulfilled the exact beaurocratic process and were unable to board. Bugger.
So Peter sprinted inside the terminal with an incredibly friendly Bolivian woman who offered to translate, and they thankfully sorted out our boarding issue. Ah, FlechaBus I have very fond memories of Flecha Bus. On board the bus, techno salsa music was playing loudly on repeat, along with latin american music videos from the 80s with men wearing tight white jeans. We felt very out of place as the only tourists on board, and when word got around that we were from Nueva Zelanda. the locals all looked at us curiously. Our passports wre checked numerous times, we got suspicious looks because New Zealand probably sounds like an obscure country to them. The bus driver asked us ´New Zealand, ees dat Asia?´
We had stocked up on snacks to last us for the long bus ordeal: Choco chip loaf, lollies, apricots...So you can imagine we were a little confused when the bus suddenly pulls up at a diner a few hours north of Buenos Aires. We thought, ah ok, this is where we can buy some food. But no! The bus driver declared ´Lunch. Free.´ We all piled inside and sat at specially allocated seats for FlechaBus. Soon large plates crammed with hunks of fried chicked and mashed potatoes were placed in front of us and our glasses were filled with Pepsi. The service was amazing! And it was all included in the el cheapo bus fare.
A few hours later, we stopped at another diner and were given the same identical meal: Big hunks of fried chicken and mashed potatoes.
The bus trip rolled on and on, we passed some very poor villages where crumbling brick and stick shelters were the norm.
As we finally approached the Bolivian border, the excitement started to build up. The border was heavily policed; from the barren Argentine side we peeked through to the new frontier where we could see a thriving bazaar and crumbling colonial buildings nestled amongst jungly lime green mountains.
After lining up in soaring heat to pass through the border, we had to navigate our way through a crowded bazaar to get stamped by the Bolivian immigration authority. We clutched our bags close because a woman on the bus warned us against pickpocketers. Pictures of the President were plastered everywhere, scary officials glared at us.....The immigration officer who stamped our passports had no idea how many days New Zealanders were allowed to stay in La Paz on a tourist visa. (We were actually only allowed 30 days but we were stamped with 90 days!)
The bazaar was filled with sweet aromas, musty infusions, coca leaves and child street vendors selling everything from Hannah Montana tshirts to undies and flashing trinkets. We tried to haggle but the Bolivians wouldn´t have a bar of it.
Now we´re in balmy Santa Cruz de la Sierra. The heat envelopes you like an African summer. We saw an incredible church service today in the Plaza de 24 Septembre. The Jesus statue was dressed up in a sparkly purple skirt. Kid you not. The bolivian people are so charming and friendly, even the beggars are polite. We are liking the relaxed ambience, but not the sweaty 40 degree afternoons! The town centro feels like southern Spain. We feel bad for paying such miserly small amounts for things like food in the supermarket. We stocked up on lunch food, snacks and dinner for 2 days and only had to pay about $30 NZD. The Bolivian economy is in a state of crisis, I only hope it is resilient enough to provide strong services like health and education into the future.
Love
Brittany
Wednesday, 17 November 2010
Salud!
Peter, Nick and myself are still safe and well in Buenos Aires, the city that never sleeps. This city will take your breath away. The buildings we have seen are like something out of the Paris left bank, the people have a sassy attitude and South American spunk is alive and well.
Today Peter got ripped off by a corrupt Metro official. He bought some subway tickets with a 100 peso note, and didn´t notice that the official only gave him 6 pesos in change!
After that sobering experience we made our way to the eerie Recoleta cemetery. There a thousands of sarcophagi sprawling through the urban jungle, you can look through the glass windows of the tombs and see the coffins inside, which are often covered in lace and offerings. Some coffins are stacked on top of each other, some are rotting away and you can see what´s inside!
Desperate to soak up more Spanish to help us get by, we hot footed it to El Ateneo, a bookstore, to buy Spanish phrase books. We have all noticed that even when we are desperate and try to communicate using simple English, hardly anyone understands and it is a real necessity to have a survivable level of Spanish here. This fine eve some people in the street asked us where they could find a place to ´beber´ (drink). We replied in stilted Spanish, they replied in English. Turns out they were Brazilians and were also struggling with the language.
I was lucky to meet up with my uncle Charles tonight, who showed us an insider´s view of Buenos Aires. He took us to an incredible cocktail bar and sandwich cafe, where the appletinis and lemon drops were unforgettable. Nick was rather peeved that there was not a certain type of whisky available, but the bartender made us some interesting concoctions.
The buildings and architecture are on a phenomenally large scale. The Reserve Bank has entry doors atleast 4 storeys high. How the hell do they open those massive doors? Almost everyone here wears denim, even the chairs in the youth hostel are made of denim, it´s like the national uniform. It seems to be slightly reminiscent of Harlem in New York.
On Friday we are venturing to Santa Cruz de la Sierra, one of the main towns in Bolivia. It´s a 36 hour bus ride, we hear. Whenever we mention that we are going to Bolivia to the Argentinians, we get these knowing looks, like they think it´s a whole other world up there. It probably is, but we can´t wait to experience it.
Ciao,
Brittany
Peter, Nick and myself are still safe and well in Buenos Aires, the city that never sleeps. This city will take your breath away. The buildings we have seen are like something out of the Paris left bank, the people have a sassy attitude and South American spunk is alive and well.
Today Peter got ripped off by a corrupt Metro official. He bought some subway tickets with a 100 peso note, and didn´t notice that the official only gave him 6 pesos in change!
After that sobering experience we made our way to the eerie Recoleta cemetery. There a thousands of sarcophagi sprawling through the urban jungle, you can look through the glass windows of the tombs and see the coffins inside, which are often covered in lace and offerings. Some coffins are stacked on top of each other, some are rotting away and you can see what´s inside!
Desperate to soak up more Spanish to help us get by, we hot footed it to El Ateneo, a bookstore, to buy Spanish phrase books. We have all noticed that even when we are desperate and try to communicate using simple English, hardly anyone understands and it is a real necessity to have a survivable level of Spanish here. This fine eve some people in the street asked us where they could find a place to ´beber´ (drink). We replied in stilted Spanish, they replied in English. Turns out they were Brazilians and were also struggling with the language.
I was lucky to meet up with my uncle Charles tonight, who showed us an insider´s view of Buenos Aires. He took us to an incredible cocktail bar and sandwich cafe, where the appletinis and lemon drops were unforgettable. Nick was rather peeved that there was not a certain type of whisky available, but the bartender made us some interesting concoctions.
The buildings and architecture are on a phenomenally large scale. The Reserve Bank has entry doors atleast 4 storeys high. How the hell do they open those massive doors? Almost everyone here wears denim, even the chairs in the youth hostel are made of denim, it´s like the national uniform. It seems to be slightly reminiscent of Harlem in New York.
On Friday we are venturing to Santa Cruz de la Sierra, one of the main towns in Bolivia. It´s a 36 hour bus ride, we hear. Whenever we mention that we are going to Bolivia to the Argentinians, we get these knowing looks, like they think it´s a whole other world up there. It probably is, but we can´t wait to experience it.
Ciao,
Brittany
Tuesday, 16 November 2010
Here we are at last.
Buenos Aires will take your breath away, probably with fear of the crazy drivers, or the fact that you will get horribly lost in its rabbit warreny streets (like we did last night....) The drive to the city exposed Buenos Aires vast slum and ghetto area: It makes one feel incredibly lucky to be living in New Zealand. The motorways into Buenos Aires are not to be trifled with. We spotted a crazy van pumping Spanish techno with louts hanging out the doors and waving argentinan flags, travelling at about 100km per hour.
The flight across the Pacific with Aerolineas Argentinas was charming and the time passed fairly due to consumption of vino tinto. Note to self: Do not think that a Spanish phrase book will allow you to get by in Latin America. I asked for an orange juice in Spain Spanish and was given funny looks. Then the man sitting next to me whispered `The word for orange juice is different in Latin America. The language changed because we don`t like the Spanish.`
We found ourselves perplexed at why we had to declare our cellphones, it seemed bazarre, but the Chilean man sitting next to us explained that there is a large cellphone smuggling problem in Argentina. Quarantine was basically non existent in BA airport, and the forms we filled out on the plane never got checked. As we trollied our luggage outside, taxi drivers swarmed around us and tried to grab it, but it was nothing a persistent yelp of NO couldn"t handle.
Last night the three of us decided to go for an explore around San Telmo. San Telmo is like a grungy Paris, and the rest of Buenos Aires is like a dilapidated, but spunky New York. The streets are very narrow and cobble stoned.
Needless to say we ended up getting incredibly lost because we decided to take Peter for his first ride on the subway (Subte), but eventually our desperate pleas for directions from the locals were answered. Many escalators to the subway are made of wood, it`s like riding an antique thing underground.
Each bar or restaurant we walked past looked spooky because there were hordes of people inside staring fixated at the soccer match on TV, not laughing or joking around, just staring in solemn fixated silence.
Hardly anyone speaks English here, which is a real culture shock. I am rapidly brushing up on beginners Spanish so I can keep my head above water.
Two words describe Buenos Aires. Steak. Soccer.
Hasta luego,
Brittany
Buenos Aires will take your breath away, probably with fear of the crazy drivers, or the fact that you will get horribly lost in its rabbit warreny streets (like we did last night....) The drive to the city exposed Buenos Aires vast slum and ghetto area: It makes one feel incredibly lucky to be living in New Zealand. The motorways into Buenos Aires are not to be trifled with. We spotted a crazy van pumping Spanish techno with louts hanging out the doors and waving argentinan flags, travelling at about 100km per hour.
The flight across the Pacific with Aerolineas Argentinas was charming and the time passed fairly due to consumption of vino tinto. Note to self: Do not think that a Spanish phrase book will allow you to get by in Latin America. I asked for an orange juice in Spain Spanish and was given funny looks. Then the man sitting next to me whispered `The word for orange juice is different in Latin America. The language changed because we don`t like the Spanish.`
We found ourselves perplexed at why we had to declare our cellphones, it seemed bazarre, but the Chilean man sitting next to us explained that there is a large cellphone smuggling problem in Argentina. Quarantine was basically non existent in BA airport, and the forms we filled out on the plane never got checked. As we trollied our luggage outside, taxi drivers swarmed around us and tried to grab it, but it was nothing a persistent yelp of NO couldn"t handle.
Last night the three of us decided to go for an explore around San Telmo. San Telmo is like a grungy Paris, and the rest of Buenos Aires is like a dilapidated, but spunky New York. The streets are very narrow and cobble stoned.
Needless to say we ended up getting incredibly lost because we decided to take Peter for his first ride on the subway (Subte), but eventually our desperate pleas for directions from the locals were answered. Many escalators to the subway are made of wood, it`s like riding an antique thing underground.
Each bar or restaurant we walked past looked spooky because there were hordes of people inside staring fixated at the soccer match on TV, not laughing or joking around, just staring in solemn fixated silence.
Hardly anyone speaks English here, which is a real culture shock. I am rapidly brushing up on beginners Spanish so I can keep my head above water.
Two words describe Buenos Aires. Steak. Soccer.
Hasta luego,
Brittany
Saturday, 13 November 2010
Hola amigos!
Only one more day until the Odyssey. Nick, Peter and myself all have First Aid Kits brimming with anti-malarials, antibiotics, and other mysterious substances. It's like I'm carting a whole doctor's surgery with me across the other side of the world.
Nick Plimmer, Peter Wilson and Brittany Travers, (otherwise known as intrepid trio) are going to squeeze in as many cultural experiences and adventure as we can between these destinations: Buenos Aires, Salta, Sucre, Cochabamba, La Paz, Cuzco, Macchu Picchu, Brazil, Uruguay and Patagonia. We only have 2 and a half months for the odyssey and we've brushed up on our beginner's Spanish thanks to the back of the Lonely Planet.
Nick and Peter are going to tackle the world's most dangerous road by mountain bike. Are they crazy? Or just scarfies in the jungle? We shall see.... (There are no minimum safety standards for adventure tourism in Bolivia....Don't tell Peter's mum!)
All three of us are going to volunteer at Inti Warra Yassi - A Bolivian NGO which looks after mistreated wild animals whilst rehabilitating them into their natural habitat.
We are going to soak up the south american vibes and the stunning andean scapes. Stay tuned!! Luscious pictures will soon be posted, I promise! Not long till the adventure begins.
Brittany
Only one more day until the Odyssey. Nick, Peter and myself all have First Aid Kits brimming with anti-malarials, antibiotics, and other mysterious substances. It's like I'm carting a whole doctor's surgery with me across the other side of the world.
Nick Plimmer, Peter Wilson and Brittany Travers, (otherwise known as intrepid trio) are going to squeeze in as many cultural experiences and adventure as we can between these destinations: Buenos Aires, Salta, Sucre, Cochabamba, La Paz, Cuzco, Macchu Picchu, Brazil, Uruguay and Patagonia. We only have 2 and a half months for the odyssey and we've brushed up on our beginner's Spanish thanks to the back of the Lonely Planet.
Nick and Peter are going to tackle the world's most dangerous road by mountain bike. Are they crazy? Or just scarfies in the jungle? We shall see.... (There are no minimum safety standards for adventure tourism in Bolivia....Don't tell Peter's mum!)
All three of us are going to volunteer at Inti Warra Yassi - A Bolivian NGO which looks after mistreated wild animals whilst rehabilitating them into their natural habitat.
We are going to soak up the south american vibes and the stunning andean scapes. Stay tuned!! Luscious pictures will soon be posted, I promise! Not long till the adventure begins.
Brittany
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