New Story - Ride the "Kombie"

I have just started a new section of the site called "Stories". Occasionally I like to wax lyrical about the strangeness of travel, the places, the people and my experiences within. Mostly they are true, occasionally they have been airbrushed with artistic license but always entertaining - often in hind-sight for me!
Check them out ...... <HERE>

Cheers
Mark

THE THINGS YOU EAT

Should I be proud of the variety of God’s creatures I have devoured in the name of ‘’experience”? Do I really impress folks at dinner parties regaling tales of consuming the inconsumable? Do I even go to ‘dinner parities’?

So many questions yet so few answers, for I care not. Life is for the living; unless of course you were a guinea pig in Peru last weekend in which case your life was for 32 Peruvian soles (around 10 Aussie bucks). Kebabs in Turkey, fondue in Switzerland, dogs in Vietnam and so it is with small rodents here in Peru. The question is not ‘if’ you want some, but ‘how’. We tried ours the traditional way, whole, fried and complete with all the bits and pieces it was using up until it had its very last bath. There are some photos here on the site that for those of you reading after breakfast might be interested in. I put them up on the facebook site but got very few responses, the wife hinting that my humour would only appeal to a select few, clearly she was referring to the type of people who would be reading this blog!

And it tasted like ……. dare I say it? Chicken. Albeit with a fishy flavour. Take that phrase as you will. It is kind of like eating the quail version of, well, a bigger quail. But the fun part was the, how shall I say, ancillary, bits. Those little buggers have some awesomely grotesque fangs but also the cutest little claws, perfect back scratchers for a leprechaun! However at the end of the day you are what you eat and they did taste like what would have been left on the floor after all the diners had paid and gone home!

But I digress…..

I left you hanging at the end of the last post with us being stranded at the airport here in Arequipa, our host and language school coordinator most unfortunately forgetting about our arrival. And so my first Spanish vocabulary became ‘lo siento’ or ‘I’m sorry’ as I heard this statement several times on the cab ride to her house.

Cut to the present and three weeks later I can happily add to this phrase with more than just ‘uno mas cerveza por favor’. The language learning caper is tougher than it was when I learnt Japanese at the tender age of 15. A few hangovers have passed under the paracetamol bridge since then and it’s not such a situation of flexing the grey matter, but controlling it’s wobble. Last month if you had have said ‘tense’ I might have tried something with my sphincter.

We have 3 more weeks here at the school before its time to cut loose and let more Peruvians witness the murder of their language. We have a date with our bike to keep, the thing now however is that I have the very strong feeling that we are going to be stood up at the altar. Our shipping agent, you might remember his pseudo name was Peter, has just sent me an email, ‘sorry mate, ship was delayed in Singapore, will try to let you know when it arrives’. It might have been a better idea to break it into little bits and put them in bottles!

Cross your fingers for the Gods of shipping, this blog about a motorbike around the world seems to be missing something ………

The view from our room, awesome mountains for a couple of Aussies

Arequipa sights

Books from the 14th C

Arequipa sights

Arequipa sights

WHAT THE SUN LOOKS LIKE FROM THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WORLD

Less than two weeks ago we were kissing cheeks and shaking hands in farewell. I don’t think I can remember what the passage of time should feel like. Sure, about a week of this was spent regaining a mental foothold after the jetlag and overnight flight into Lima but without routine who are we? Apes in trees? Amoeba patiently awaiting subdivision? No, I’ll tell you who we are, incredibly euphoric and contented, safe and secure in the knowledge that we will not have to panic towards a daily deadline that our previous restaurant-owning lives mandated. But I digress.

 The last post was scratched out in Mexico City Airport. As far as airports go then it ticks a few of my boxes. Vast array of time consuming crap in the souvenir store, check! Tempting displays of single malt whiskeys just out of my budget, check! Numerous over perfumed humans talking too loudly on mobile phones to make fun of, check! Bars that take a vast assortment of currency in order to confuse you so you don’t realise how much you are being ripped off, check! But most importantly a quiet, dark corner near your gate that you can just fall asleep in before your flight is called, yes, check! We have travelled through Mexico before and will be through again on this trip so I will save any observations about the Mexicans until we return.

Next stop was Lima, Peru. There are good times to arrive in a new destination, bad times to arrive and real shitty times to arrive anywhere. We landed in Lima at 6am, a bad time. The shitty time would have been the 2am flight. Our hosts and accommodation in LA had been great so we hit the streets of our very first South American city in relatively high spirits. Our room in the hostel wasn’t ready and wouldn’t be for another 4 hours so it was time to work out what meal we should be up to and eat. Turns out it was breakfast followed by a wander through the streets. Before long we found ourselves back at the hostel and the room was ready. Now here I have a great opportunity to make up some really cool story about what happened next, but …. I don’t really recall. I know I slept for around 12 hours and that the shower was hot. Well, I don’t really know about the shower but I’m certain that if it wasn’t then I would have remembered that!

Next day the flight wasn’t until 6pm so we had the day to spend exploring a brand new culture and a brand new city. First up was zumba in the busiest street in Lima. No, not me, but around 100-odd Peruvians shakin’ their thing in response to two blokes up on a portable stage set up in downtown Lima. This activity originated here in South America and damn if they don’t make it look good! Everyone, and I mean everyone, had rhythm. The two fellows up front were fit creatures, unlike many of their audience, and could have just got up on stage after a night of salsa in the local clubs. Next up was a spot of ancient culture and a trip to the local archaeological ruins smack bang in the guts of high-rise buildings, residential apartments and city streets. One of which just happened to tear right through the middle of this site, can’t stop progress I suppose. Our guide for the hour was a middle aged Peruvian lady who had clearly led this tour a few too many times before. The highlight for me was the guinea pigs, yes they are cute and yes I will eat one!

Speaking of eating it was time to head back to the hostel, grab a bite to eat and shoot for the airport, oops, bad turn of phrase.

Tonight we selected a place popular with the locals and tourists alike and went for the cheapest option, a set menu of the day. The next gruelling 35 minutes produced a pasta of distinction, distinct not because of its careful balance of flavours or clearly apparent love in its serving but because I have never before left any pasta on any plate in my entire 37 years of life. The red wine was a thoughtful blend of balsamic vinegar and maple syrup while the pizza would have benefitted by, say, another hour, in the oven. There was garlic bread on the list also, I don’t think we got it, we must have received by mistake someone else’s rock cake smeared with the contents of a yellow highlighter pen.

But we made our flight on time, unfortunately the plane didn’t and if you have ever entertained the idea of writing a book on the highlights of Lima then save yourself the time researching the airport. However 90 minutes later we landed in Arequipa, our home for the next 6 weeks, and were cheerfully disgorged into the happy throng of awaiting Arequipans. One of whom would be our host and language school organiser, or so we thought.

Then we hoped.

Then we made a phone call.

She had forgotten us…..