This daystarted of well and then got weird. Got up took my stuff to the laundry, bought an open ended ticket to Valpariso and got some breakfast all without mishap. I was finally getting the hang of this Spanish thing: I was cooking on gas.
Well the gas must have been infused with acid. I got on the bus, took my seat and took a trip that could not have been foreseen. On the bus came some ladies who announced something about Proctor and Gamble and a promotion. They then gave everyone a box of Ariel "Seven Solutions" clothes washing capsules. Normally I would have been grateful for such largess as it would have been one less item in the shopping for one queue at Tesco`s, but I didn`t need it. I tried to say no but the enthusiastic middle age lady wouldn`t hear of it, so eventually I gave in and placed the box on the adjacent chair.
Now I had seven solutions to problems I didn`t know anything about and one problem that the box couldn`t help me with. The obvious remedy was to leave the box on the chair, well no, I tried that, and the driver came shooting off the bus and gave me them back. I said I didn`t want them, he said I wasn`t leaving them on his bus.
The next obvious solution was to stick it in the bin. Well I wasn`t too keen on that idea I`m a waste not want type of person, I also would like to preserve the planet, protect the environment, reverse global warming and hug a polar bear - metaphorically speaking-and here was my chance. I would give the capsules to the first lady I walked into ( Sexist stereotyping I know, but this is a Latin American and Catholic country and when in Rome..).
Well the first lady I offered the box to looked at me like I`d asked her to fellate me, what did I say wrong? I ran over what I`d said. Mmm, there was a chance I`d asked her to wash me with this detergent, maybe I was being to optomistic about my Spanish, I dont think I asked her to do anything strange. I tried again with another lady. Result, after asking me If I washed, I told her that I was a tourist, I`d been given this and I didn`t need it. With a quick gracias she was away box in hand. And what did she do once she was a reasonable distance away? She stuck it in the bin.
The motto of this saga is to avoid embarrassment fuck the environment and waste everything.
As for Valpiriso, its exactly like it is in the guide books, set on a bay with a backdrop of steep hill it also has a beach resort Viña del Mars next to it. A bit lie Malaga. Like Malaga it is also a working port and naval base. Consequently its full of seafood restaurants, markets and sailors of a merchant and military bent, mean looking bastards who look like they would smash your teeth in if you as much as said hello to them ( There`s a pun and a joke in there folks). One difference from Malaga is the hills are a lot steeper and the buildings cling to them like gulls to a cliff side. How they deal with the earthquakes they get around here? It was using the funiculars, that save pedestrians having to negotiate the punishing gradients, that provided the answer: they dont, the buildings often fall down, often onto the buildins below them, which is not nice.
I did not notice any micro breweries here, a first on this trip.
Saturday, 30 April 2011
Thursday, 28 April 2011
Santiago
Well first impressions of Santiago are boring, grey, smoggy and full of high rises: like Birmingham on steroids. And then all of a sudden it isn`t, well boring that is; it was still grey and the smog hadn`t thickened enough to obliterate my view of the high rises. The reason for Santiago`s change in presentation is a demonstration in the centre of town, taking place between two large statues of men on horses. It`s full of loud students with one or two elderly types among them, many waving peculiar flags: " Estudiantes contre los Pedagouges"; blue and white ones with U C on them; and green and yellow ones with the word Fleche. Just in case all this wasn`t enough to get them noticed there was also a liberal use of loud hailers to chant out the rythms of the workers united etc etc..
It all seemed good natured, but there were a few signals of how things are dealt with here if the authorities get fed up. Down the side streets there were a lot of guys with batons shields and Darth Vader helmets. Alongside them a whole range of vehicles, which looked as if they had been diverted from the Falls Rd: armoured cars, water cannon and a whole fleet of green buses with slits for windows and the exhausts coming out of the roofs. Overhead helicopters flew in circles. It all passed peacefully and no skulls were cracked, well none that I saw. If there was I will see it on TV because there were cameras everywhere..
As if that wasn`t enough for one day things got even more interesting when I met with a friend of a friend here, who introduced me to a concept that I`ve never heard of before: "Cafe con piernas". These are coffee shops where you are served coffee by very shapely ladies who happen to be wearing not a lot, and I mean not a lot. There is a whole string of these places in the centre of Santiago: they are well lit, cheap and don`t have any bouncers. Amazingly they are not allowed to sell alcohol, only coffee, fruit juice and soft drinks, well in Santiago anyway. Furthermore the lady serving you gives you a hug and a kiss when you go. It is possible there is more to these places than I have hitherto discovered, only time will tell. I have also been informed further north there are premises called "Schopp con piernes" which is the same idea only with draught beer.
It all seemed good natured, but there were a few signals of how things are dealt with here if the authorities get fed up. Down the side streets there were a lot of guys with batons shields and Darth Vader helmets. Alongside them a whole range of vehicles, which looked as if they had been diverted from the Falls Rd: armoured cars, water cannon and a whole fleet of green buses with slits for windows and the exhausts coming out of the roofs. Overhead helicopters flew in circles. It all passed peacefully and no skulls were cracked, well none that I saw. If there was I will see it on TV because there were cameras everywhere..
As if that wasn`t enough for one day things got even more interesting when I met with a friend of a friend here, who introduced me to a concept that I`ve never heard of before: "Cafe con piernas". These are coffee shops where you are served coffee by very shapely ladies who happen to be wearing not a lot, and I mean not a lot. There is a whole string of these places in the centre of Santiago: they are well lit, cheap and don`t have any bouncers. Amazingly they are not allowed to sell alcohol, only coffee, fruit juice and soft drinks, well in Santiago anyway. Furthermore the lady serving you gives you a hug and a kiss when you go. It is possible there is more to these places than I have hitherto discovered, only time will tell. I have also been informed further north there are premises called "Schopp con piernes" which is the same idea only with draught beer.
Wednesday, 27 April 2011
Off to Santiago
There was much wailing and gnashing of teeth as I told the Prussian princeses, it was time for me to go. It took a full twenty minutes for me to dry my eyes, compose myself and get ready for yet another bus. They strangely enough were ok about it. As the bus took of I had a sense of deja vu, well as sods law would have it, the route this bus took to Santiago was the same one as the bus took to the base camp of that big mountain I was at on Tuesday, wot I cant spell the name of. You couldn`t invent it.
A fter several hours of doing the same thing I did a few days ago I was mildly entertained by customs, which was an example of Fordism gone wild. You had two adjacent booths next to each other, one for Chile and one for Argentina. You waited in a long queue at the Argentine booth, the person with the uniform took the bit of paper you recieved on entering the country, stamped your passport and gave you another load of paper, which you took to the next long queue at the next booth, where a person in a different uniform took the load of paper `from you stamped your passport and gave you one of the bits of paper back. Why didn`t they just give each other the load of paper? I wouldn't have objected.
Well as much as the climb to the customs post was straightforward, the descent on the Chilean side was terrifying: it wasn`t a descent but a drop, a fucking big one, the road wound beneath you for at least a couple of thousand feet towards what looked like a little resevoir, but was probably a big massive one. There must have been at least thirty tightly bound switches on the road, every one with a unreal gradient, What was worse was there was little leeway outside of the macadamed surface, no crash barriers and we would be going through some clouds. I dont know what was worse, watching the front of the bus overlapping with the end of the road, or wondering in the murk if we were about to lose òur footing.
Heights usually dont bother me, but I`ll tell you I`ll not be doing that again. Any way I am now in Santiago, I have changed my underwear and am chugging down sedatives.
A fter several hours of doing the same thing I did a few days ago I was mildly entertained by customs, which was an example of Fordism gone wild. You had two adjacent booths next to each other, one for Chile and one for Argentina. You waited in a long queue at the Argentine booth, the person with the uniform took the bit of paper you recieved on entering the country, stamped your passport and gave you another load of paper, which you took to the next long queue at the next booth, where a person in a different uniform took the load of paper `from you stamped your passport and gave you one of the bits of paper back. Why didn`t they just give each other the load of paper? I wouldn't have objected.
Well as much as the climb to the customs post was straightforward, the descent on the Chilean side was terrifying: it wasn`t a descent but a drop, a fucking big one, the road wound beneath you for at least a couple of thousand feet towards what looked like a little resevoir, but was probably a big massive one. There must have been at least thirty tightly bound switches on the road, every one with a unreal gradient, What was worse was there was little leeway outside of the macadamed surface, no crash barriers and we would be going through some clouds. I dont know what was worse, watching the front of the bus overlapping with the end of the road, or wondering in the murk if we were about to lose òur footing.
Heights usually dont bother me, but I`ll tell you I`ll not be doing that again. Any way I am now in Santiago, I have changed my underwear and am chugging down sedatives.
Tuesday, 26 April 2011
Mendoza
Reading through what I wrote about Mendoza I was maybe a little harsh. Before I go on to say why I just need to make sure Hector, a frequent correspondant has his dictionary, atlas, bumper book of facts, and someone next to him to interpret those nasty things called sentences, got them. Good I´ll carry on.
Its a relatively small town, it claims a population of lose to a million though god knows where it keeps them: the city centre is small, with a few high rise buildings and there doesn´t appear to be a lot of suburbs. The centre is built on a grid pattern. You would think that would make getting lost difficult; wrong. While the streets north to south keep their name throughout their length the streets running east to west change their name every block; thats town planning for you, its also a bloody nuisance. Every street in the centre is lined with trees whose branches stretch over the roads giving them a bucolic tunnel like appearance, which is broken only by a central square and four peripheral squares full of the usual fountains and guys on horses; none of whom are called William. Together with all the bodegas, coffee shops and outdoor cafes it makes the town a pleasant place to walk about in. The place is obviously prosperous, though the quality of the streets, like all the Argentine towns I´ve been in, declines markedly the further you get from the city centre or the wealthy suburbs.
One aside which makes you ponder how much the dear green place has declined in economic importance is the gate to the main park in Mendoza, which is a massive piece of fabricated iron and gold leaf, which according to the plate on the main columnm was manufactured by McFarlanes of Glasgow, wonder what happened to them? This is one of many capital items I´ve seen in Argentina that have been manufactured on the Clyde. I doubt we´re exporting them much these days, apart from whisky. Sad really.
Its a relatively small town, it claims a population of lose to a million though god knows where it keeps them: the city centre is small, with a few high rise buildings and there doesn´t appear to be a lot of suburbs. The centre is built on a grid pattern. You would think that would make getting lost difficult; wrong. While the streets north to south keep their name throughout their length the streets running east to west change their name every block; thats town planning for you, its also a bloody nuisance. Every street in the centre is lined with trees whose branches stretch over the roads giving them a bucolic tunnel like appearance, which is broken only by a central square and four peripheral squares full of the usual fountains and guys on horses; none of whom are called William. Together with all the bodegas, coffee shops and outdoor cafes it makes the town a pleasant place to walk about in. The place is obviously prosperous, though the quality of the streets, like all the Argentine towns I´ve been in, declines markedly the further you get from the city centre or the wealthy suburbs.
One aside which makes you ponder how much the dear green place has declined in economic importance is the gate to the main park in Mendoza, which is a massive piece of fabricated iron and gold leaf, which according to the plate on the main columnm was manufactured by McFarlanes of Glasgow, wonder what happened to them? This is one of many capital items I´ve seen in Argentina that have been manufactured on the Clyde. I doubt we´re exporting them much these days, apart from whisky. Sad really.
Up the mountains
The base camp for Aconagua is 90 miles from here so I thought I would do what all intrepid outdoor types do and get the bus to it. After all I´d never seen a 7000 metre mountain before (The pedants can stop right there, I know its just shy of the 7000 mark).
Fortunately the sky was cloudless, though the first 40 minutes of the journey were pretty uneventful, unless you have a vineyard fetish, then a sharp right, a change of roads, and there is the first sight of the big beast. It is enormous, trouble is you have no real sense of how big it is as there are other brutes stretching out on either side of it as far as the eye can see; some of them obviously volcanoes, all of them covered in snow. This new road was also plumb straight. After a half hour the high peaks dissapeared: obscured by the foothills.
Then the climb started, this wasn´t one of those alpine climbs where the road switched back on itself time after time. This road followed the river Mendoza and only bent when the river did. The bus went on and on, the gradients got steeper and steeper, the river carving canyons out of the mountainsides, which were striped horizontally by yellows, reds and blues and intermittently with vertical bands of black and green. Every so often the climb would reach a valley where the river would split and form delta like strands over the gravel bed then it would coalesce and strike out to carve new canyons. Relentlesslythe climb continued, the bus overtaking lorries that were wheezing, coughing and belching out black smoke with the exertions of the climb. The montains towering higher and higher with every mile.
After four hours of this the bus came to a halt in a place called Puente del Inca, which is a multi coloured tunnel carved in the rock by the river, the colours formed by the various ores contained in it. Unfortunately for me the entrance to the base camp was another hours walk and four hundred foot higher, so off I went. At this point I was about 9000 foot high, the wind was howling, the sun was opressive and it was getting colder all this combined to make a short walk tougher than it should´ve been. Then finally base camp and through another canyon a closer view of the highest mountain outside of the Himalayas.
Now I had a sense of perspective, Anacongua atill seemed huge, the snow line was still thousands of feet higher and the moutain seemed totally covered in the stuff. There are a few guide books that say all you need to climb this mountain is an experienced guide, proper equipment and a good level of fitmess. To my mind that would be madness: God alone knows what the conditions are like up there. It was getting bad enough where I was. Attempt to climb 22,000 feet to get planted six foot under? No thanks.
Anyway after a few hours wandering about it was time to return to Mendoza. After the journey to the base camp the descent was an anti climax. Back at my digs I was greeted by the Teutonic temptresses who told me they went horse riding and that they were sore because of it and wouldn´t be able to walk properly for days. After a brief enquiry about my day they went on to ask me what I did for a living, so I gave then the old semi retirement spiel, which was met by the blondest of the teutons with the response: " You are really lucky, your about the same age as my dad, and he will not be able to retire for years". Back to Earth with a thump.
Fortunately the sky was cloudless, though the first 40 minutes of the journey were pretty uneventful, unless you have a vineyard fetish, then a sharp right, a change of roads, and there is the first sight of the big beast. It is enormous, trouble is you have no real sense of how big it is as there are other brutes stretching out on either side of it as far as the eye can see; some of them obviously volcanoes, all of them covered in snow. This new road was also plumb straight. After a half hour the high peaks dissapeared: obscured by the foothills.
Then the climb started, this wasn´t one of those alpine climbs where the road switched back on itself time after time. This road followed the river Mendoza and only bent when the river did. The bus went on and on, the gradients got steeper and steeper, the river carving canyons out of the mountainsides, which were striped horizontally by yellows, reds and blues and intermittently with vertical bands of black and green. Every so often the climb would reach a valley where the river would split and form delta like strands over the gravel bed then it would coalesce and strike out to carve new canyons. Relentlesslythe climb continued, the bus overtaking lorries that were wheezing, coughing and belching out black smoke with the exertions of the climb. The montains towering higher and higher with every mile.
After four hours of this the bus came to a halt in a place called Puente del Inca, which is a multi coloured tunnel carved in the rock by the river, the colours formed by the various ores contained in it. Unfortunately for me the entrance to the base camp was another hours walk and four hundred foot higher, so off I went. At this point I was about 9000 foot high, the wind was howling, the sun was opressive and it was getting colder all this combined to make a short walk tougher than it should´ve been. Then finally base camp and through another canyon a closer view of the highest mountain outside of the Himalayas.
Now I had a sense of perspective, Anacongua atill seemed huge, the snow line was still thousands of feet higher and the moutain seemed totally covered in the stuff. There are a few guide books that say all you need to climb this mountain is an experienced guide, proper equipment and a good level of fitmess. To my mind that would be madness: God alone knows what the conditions are like up there. It was getting bad enough where I was. Attempt to climb 22,000 feet to get planted six foot under? No thanks.
Anyway after a few hours wandering about it was time to return to Mendoza. After the journey to the base camp the descent was an anti climax. Back at my digs I was greeted by the Teutonic temptresses who told me they went horse riding and that they were sore because of it and wouldn´t be able to walk properly for days. After a brief enquiry about my day they went on to ask me what I did for a living, so I gave then the old semi retirement spiel, which was met by the blondest of the teutons with the response: " You are really lucky, your about the same age as my dad, and he will not be able to retire for years". Back to Earth with a thump.
Monday, 25 April 2011
Heading up north
I am now in Mendoza, which is the heart of Argentinian wine country and guess what; I have found another microbrewery, called Mackreprang. I know I have been twittering on about these breweries, but the thing is I haven´t been looking for them, which means there must be a fair amount of them. Oh as an addendum this mob make quite nice stouts and ales again all very strong. Argentine breweries seem to like their alcohol content.
As for the town itself, its pleasant, laid back, but non descript, it has plenty of tree lined avenues and leafy squares, but few striking buildings, unless you count a poor attempt at the Chrysler tower in the middle of the city: nowhere near as good looking and less than half the height. Apparently an earthquake accounted for the old buildings a few decades back, which let the planners in.
While the town is non descript the surrounding countryside is on a different level entirely. once you get past the vineyards, the mountains are like nothing I´ve ever seen: Mendoza isn´t very far above sea level but some of the peaks are over 6,500 metres: thats 20,000 feet in old money.
As an aside I booked into a backpackers here, I´m sharing a room with three German ladies in their twenties. On one level I can only dream, on another I can pretend to be asleep for a while. Anyway I´m getting tired so I´ll sign off.
As for the town itself, its pleasant, laid back, but non descript, it has plenty of tree lined avenues and leafy squares, but few striking buildings, unless you count a poor attempt at the Chrysler tower in the middle of the city: nowhere near as good looking and less than half the height. Apparently an earthquake accounted for the old buildings a few decades back, which let the planners in.
While the town is non descript the surrounding countryside is on a different level entirely. once you get past the vineyards, the mountains are like nothing I´ve ever seen: Mendoza isn´t very far above sea level but some of the peaks are over 6,500 metres: thats 20,000 feet in old money.
As an aside I booked into a backpackers here, I´m sharing a room with three German ladies in their twenties. On one level I can only dream, on another I can pretend to be asleep for a while. Anyway I´m getting tired so I´ll sign off.
Saturday, 23 April 2011
That was Patagonia
Finally had enough of the cold weather and of Patagonia, I am down as Trevelin and have decided sod this how do I get out of here. The cloud level is about six iches most of the time, it is bitterly cold, the wind is howling and it started to snow yesterday. You cant go out. So I watched some TV, which consisted of House, Greys Anatomy and Reality TV shows. It felt like a bad January in Scotland. This is early Autumn. God knows what midwinter is like.
It has to be said when the visibility is greater than the length of your arm and the wind allows you to walk at something approaching vertical, the landscape is truly stunning: either full of mountains and lakes or, flat and preternatuarally bleak..Oh and somewhere in the murk I´ve been told there are coal mines. Is it any wonder the welsh tried to colonise Patagonia.
Given the influence of our celtic cousins you would think the English transaltions of the tourist infornation would be better. Some of it is hilarious. Now I know trying to get a cheap laugh out of an attempt to make things easier for me is innappropriate, and that it is also hypocritical, but that´s never stopped me before, so here goes.
You will be stunned by the intrepid seagulls as they frame your lifetimes experience. (not too sure what this refers to, I think it´s a view)
Enjoy a parridilla with us as you chew on a meaty sausage.
Have a romantic week with your loved one as you learn to do different things with snow.
I could say what do you expect of somebody called Diego Santamaria Del Bosque who claims authorship of the above Bon Mots, but then I wonder how I might try to translate into Argentine Spanish, I want to fetch a wet seashell.
Got a bit of a cosmic message from Hector. Is he back on the Acid? I did figure out Homer Simpson T shirts were for tourists and there was no decent beer in Argentina. Well I am a tourist and there is some great beer down here.
Any way warm weather beckons. Next stop Mendoza.
It has to be said when the visibility is greater than the length of your arm and the wind allows you to walk at something approaching vertical, the landscape is truly stunning: either full of mountains and lakes or, flat and preternatuarally bleak..Oh and somewhere in the murk I´ve been told there are coal mines. Is it any wonder the welsh tried to colonise Patagonia.
Given the influence of our celtic cousins you would think the English transaltions of the tourist infornation would be better. Some of it is hilarious. Now I know trying to get a cheap laugh out of an attempt to make things easier for me is innappropriate, and that it is also hypocritical, but that´s never stopped me before, so here goes.
You will be stunned by the intrepid seagulls as they frame your lifetimes experience. (not too sure what this refers to, I think it´s a view)
Enjoy a parridilla with us as you chew on a meaty sausage.
Have a romantic week with your loved one as you learn to do different things with snow.
I could say what do you expect of somebody called Diego Santamaria Del Bosque who claims authorship of the above Bon Mots, but then I wonder how I might try to translate into Argentine Spanish, I want to fetch a wet seashell.
Got a bit of a cosmic message from Hector. Is he back on the Acid? I did figure out Homer Simpson T shirts were for tourists and there was no decent beer in Argentina. Well I am a tourist and there is some great beer down here.
Any way warm weather beckons. Next stop Mendoza.
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