I just arrived in Peru the other day, and it’s an interesting place. The most surprising thing was the local food, it mainly consisted of a sandwich filled with a sugary, orangey goo. I also managed to get a photograph of one of the locals in the traditional Peruvian costume too, here it is:
I think I’ll leave it at that…
Shed Seven : A Maximum High
Today was a big day in Bolivia. The Eastern province of Santa Cruz decided that they wanted to hold a referendum on getting greater power over their own affairs. This is because this area is one of the wealthiest in Bolivia and they are unhappy at subsidising the poorer areas of the country. This has resulted in riots in poorer areas throughout the country. If there’s something your average Bolivian on the street loves it’s a little pot of jelly. But if there is no jelly available they also love a good protest. I’ve seen 5 protestsin the 2 or so weeks I’ve been in the country, ranging from a gentle march through Sucre to a bonfire and explosions outside my youth hostel (And there seems to be another one going on right now!).
Anyway, the results if the referendum are yes, they want more autonomy. But the Government won’t let them, so it’s likely more protests/riots will ensue. I hope I can get out of the country safely!!
Sorry, no biscuits on offer here. Unless you post a reply that makes me laugh. Then I’ll think about it.
Or I should say, I had a dream, last night. I don’t remember what it was about, but it was significant for one reason. Last night, Steve Buscemi was in my dreams.
I don’t know why he was in my dream. I can’t remember what he was doing in my dream. But he was definitely in my dream. He was most likely playing a quirky cameo role in an offbeat dream I was having though…
Anyway, the question to you my friends is, who was in your dreams last night? Usual rules apply, best answer wins a biscuit.
I’ve finally got round to it, the competition that I ran to rename my blog ended about 2 months ago, yet I did nothing, mainly due to the fact that the voting was a dead heat. With no-one willing to step up to the mark and make a casting vote, it was left to me.
So the new name of the blog is… Well you can see it at the top of the page. I’ve cheated a bit and used two of the finalists. Honourable mention to Ally Wan for “Fly Fishing with DW Macleod” but unfortunately didn’t make the cut. Maybe you can use that for your own blog, once you take up writing once more – you started so strongly!
Anyway, that’s about it, I owe WithWood and BitsOfBobs a biscuit each, or maybe half a biscuit each, we’ll see how generous I feel…
I am currently in a town called Sucre in Bolivia. I have noticed here an extraordinary number of VW Beetles (Old style). Yesterday I lost count at 25. Today I counted 4 in the 5 minute walk to the shop and back. Can anyone provide a reasonable explanation why? Best explanation wins a biscuit.
No, I haven’t been testing out South America’s more dubious exports, I visited Potosi, in Bolivia, the world’s highest city. An interesting place, with the main industry being the silver and zinc mines in the mountain overlooking the city. I visited one of the mines and the conditions are terrible, there is very poor ventilation, it can reach up to 50 degrees and many of the tunnels are unsafe and prone to cave in. They reckon since the mine began, and slaves were used in the mines, about 8 million peopple have died in the mines (This has been reduced to about 20 per year nowadays)
The life expectancy of a worker in the mines here is about 45, because there is such high incidence of Silicosis from breathing in the dust in the mine. I was glad to get out after 2 hours. Give me a boring desk job in an air-conditioned office any day!!
Hello all,
Sorry I haven’t been posting too much lately, but I thought I’d describe an incident that occurred two days ago, that you may find mildly diverting.
I had just arrived in a town called Uyuni, in Bolivia, after a 3 day jeep tour from North Chile through the largest salt flat in the world “Salar de Uyuni”. Upon arriving in said town I went to the ATM and took out a wad of cash, 650 Bolivianos to be precise, and wandered off to my hostel to check in. Upon arriving at said hostel, the lady at the reception took my details, I discovered there was a problem with the dorm so I was given a single room, she then handed the keys to a wee boy (6-ish is my best guess of his age).
He was really sweet showing me where everything was, showed me the where bathroom was, and the kitchen, then took me to the room, pointed out where the light switch was, showed me how the key worked unlocking the door, showed me all the things in the room (a table and a bed), showed me how to open and close the window that opens out into the main hostel hall, then showed me you could lock the door from the inside… At which point he shoved the key in his pocket, looked up me, put his hand out and asked “¿moneda?” (“coins?”). Now, this is where my seemingly trifling mention of visit to the cash machine earlier becomes relevant, 650 bolivianos, given to me in six hundred notes and one fifty, a fifty is about 4 quid and no way was this boy getting that off me, so I apologised and said in my best Spanish “No, I no sorry can not have the money ask you for, no?” or something equally garbled. To which he replied “No money, no key”. Oh dear… This is what is oft described as “a pickle”. Here I was locked in my room with a 6 year old boy, and the only means of escape was tucked away safely in his pocket, and I certainly wasn’t going to start rooting around in there. Try explaining that one to the Bolivian authorities.
“So you say the young boy overpowered you and locked you in your bedroom?”
“Yes officer”
“And the only way you could escape was to put your hand in his pocket?”
“Yes officer”
“And at that very inopportune moment, the proprietor of the establishment arrived at the room to witness this?”
“Yes officer”
“Hmmmmmmm…”
Anyway, so we had reached an impasse, he had the key, I wasn’t willing to retrieve it by force, and I had no change to give him. One of us had to make a brave move. Unfortunately it was him. He threw the key out the window into the hostel hall.
So now I am locked inside a bedroom, with this boy and we have no means of getting out except through this window, which is about 1 foot wide by 3 feet high. I tried to squeeze out but I couldn’t reach the floor and couldn’t fit through. Only one of the two of us was capable of fitting out that window. Unfortunately it was him. So I lifted the young lad out the window, got him to pick up the key, all the while holding on to his arm so he wouldn’t run away with it. Unfortunately he escaped my clutches and ran away. Fortunately however, his greed for dirty money got the better of him, and he returned to the window and allowed me to lift him back through, still keeping the key from me. However at this point I had a brainwave. A few days earlier in a town called Salta, I was given a Kinder Surprise, which contained a small toy robot, i thought this may appease the beast. It did, and I was able to retrieve the key. However, he still wanted his money and stood in front of the door not letting me unlock it. So I pushed him out of the way. Once I had the door unlocked he made his next move… he ran under the bed and hid and wouldn’t get out. I tried coaxing him out, then I pr tended to lock him in the room, at which point he started shouting for his mum, so I quickly stopped that manoeuvre. I can imagine the conversation…
“Why are you locking my son in your room?”
“Er, well he took the key, locked me in my room, held me to ransom and wouldn’t let me out…”
“He’s 6 bloody years old!”
Anyway, I decided that wasn’t a good course of action so I just walked away, which did the trick and he ran after me, so I doubled quickly back and locked the door, with both of us outside. Success! Victory was eventually mine!
I hope you enjoyed this little story about what happened to me the other day, and I look forward to hearing similar stories about your life. Sorry that it was all writing and no pictures too, I know how difficult that can make reading it. Good night.
Hello there folks, sorry there hasn’t been a posting for a while – unlike fellow blogger WithWood I have not the excuse of being too busy to blog due to exams, however I have been suffering from an acute bout of bloggers block. But here’s my first attempt at getting back into the game – Empanadas.
I’ve been in South America for about 2 weeks now and I wanted to tell you one of my favourite things about the place – Empanadas. Pictured below
If I’m completely honest these are pretty much just big, dirty, unhealthy (delicious) pies. However, the reason I like them so much is, because I’m in South America, and it is part of the local cuisine, I can eat them guilt free as I am taking in Argentinian culture. When I eat pies at home, I am just being fat. Hooray for empanadas!
I mentioned before that I was growing a beard. Well I did. A big ginger one – here it is
Today I decided I’d had enough of it so was to shave it off using the utensils at my disposal, namely a Bic disposable razor. Not ideal, but a lot better than a rusty penknife. However, as I’m a boy, I had to do what every boy does when they shave off a beard. That is, go through each of the stages of beard. And as I’m shameless (This was quite embarrassing to do in a shared bathroom in a busy hostel) I have recorded the results to share with you. So here we are
The goatee style beard
The Sgt Pepper era Beatles moustache (A personal favourite)
The standard moustache
And, we knew it was coming, the Hitler moustache
(Does this make me a racist??)
And here’s me beardless, just for comparison.
So there you have it. I like to call it the 6 stages of beard, and I think you’ll agree, it’s taken years off me – Also this will be my last entry in New Zealand, tomorrow I fly to Chile!
