Getting Closer.

There are so many lessons that travelling can teach the willing student. How to sneak into 5 star hotels to use the facilities. How to ‘borrow’ a Wi-Fi connection. What can and can’t be used as toilet paper. The list is endless. At the top of the register however must be patience. Countless people before me have written countless books concerning travel, more than some libraries here in Peru even have on their shelves. But one phrase stands out for me, that travel is a series of amazing experiences interrupted by sustained periods of waiting.

 

It’s how we cope with these interruptions that defines the travel experience we achieve. If we have one hand on the guide book and a well-used watch on the other then you had best pack your meditation mat. No one likes to wait, our western culture of instant gratification has instructed us in the art of suppressed (and not so suppressed) frustration. I talk of this because right now I am waiting!

 

Since hanging up the backpack and selecting an alternative method of travel, by bicycle and now motorbike, I have enjoyed the freedom of not having to wait on the timetables of others. But here’s where my challenge lies ….. I am still waiting for my bloody motorbike!

You may recall from previous posts my shipping agent, let’s call him Peter. At last update he informed me of a delay in Singapore. Well he must have that email set as a template as I received it again only with Korea substituted in the location field. Apparently the crate required fumigation, not surprisingly as the guy hired to crate it originally in Australia wouldn’t exactly have passed a health and hygiene inspection himself.

Originally when I hired Peter to take care of the shipping he quoted me 48 days to get the bike here. It’s now been 56 and yesterday’s email now informs me that I am fortunate enough to have another 3 weeks in which to further hone my patient talents. The good news, I have a date. The bad news, Peter will not release the vessel name or container number to me. Does anyone reading this live in Melbourne and know where to find a couple of bricks?

So my challenge now is how to fill my time before my eagerly anticipated mode of transport arrives. And I’m flying solo here for a while as Carlie has had to head back to Oz for a family emergency. The language school finishes at the end of the week, I’m not sure that ‘graduating’ is the correct term, my professors are less endeared to my grasp of low level profanity than I thought they should be while they attempt to hammer verb conjugations into me with a level of futility better reserved for trying to stop North Korea from obtaining nuclear weapons.

   
But let’s take stock here; 3 weeks, cash in the bank, developing Latin American country, loads of beaches and no wife. Yea, I’ve got patience!

New Story - The Little Mutt That Could

Carlie and I recently trekked 4 days in the worlds deepest canyon. And we were joined by a local street mutt for the journey.....
 
Read the story .....<<HERE>>

Cheers
Mark

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…..

LA Arrival

The story so far……..

In another world live a species of human unlike those that walk the same pavement as I. They have shares in wind farms, domestic help and travel in business class. I poked my shaved head into this world on the flight to the US and while welcomed by the amazing staff and pampered with great wine, comfort and around 150 channels of music, movies and electronic distractions, was increasingly glad of the noise reducing earphones. For these gems of modern technology filtered out the complete bullshit and whining the emanated from these otherworldly creatures. 

But the experience was amazing. Monica, our host, would not let us perform even the simplest of tasks, for a moment I thought she would follow me into the toilet. The supplied pyjamas were source of amusement for me as I stared with mirthful wonder at ladies beholden with their own image and comfiture then don these outfits only to then appear to be inmates of a well fed jail. The menu had items like duck, lamb, and seafood in combinations that excited while the wine flowed freely from bottles of Pinot Gris and Pinot Noir. Then our beds were made. Made for us of course and it was time to lay back, catch a couple of movies and sleep before breakfast. For my part, I didn’t have to wait a single time for the toilet, bugger any other comfort; this was almost worth paying the exorbitant price for!

Exit the airport in LA and start shivering! In a freak roll of the dice by the weather gods our 6am arrival was greeted by 5C register on the thermometer. We live in the tropics and have done for 7 years so back into the terminal to unpack undergarments and more t-shirts before once again attempting extraction into this supposedly temperate climate. By 7:30am we roll up at our accom for the next two days, the welcoming apartment of Chris and Kelly, fantastically cheerful, hospitable and great fellow couchsurfers turned hosts, in the heart of ULCA country next door to Beverley Hills. But it wasn’t long before we were counting sheep garbed in complimentary pyjamas.

The next couple of days were spent wandering the streets of West LA, a very interesting place to indulge in a spot of voyeurism. The bus ride to Hollywood proved to be a snapshot of culture. Here we were sitting on the bus behind a homeless man, wrapped in rags, carrying rags looking ragged. In the background a movie set-like scene of manicured gardens, curved drives sporting numerous and various luxury cars all gleaming new and clean in the crisp Beverley Hills morning air. As a traveller I try not to judge, things are as they are. My observations come from my own social norms framed within my home culture. Travel for me is about the observation of similarities and differences not the poncing, moralistic judgements of commentators. All things aside, this was one hell of a juxtaposition.

Hollywood proved to be in the grips of Oscar Fever as the red carpet was being laid down in preparation of the big night 3 day hence. A virtual forest if media satellite dishes had sprung up around the strip, the grandstand along the carpet read like a who’s who of the celebrity reporting media outlets as young security guards nonchalantly strolled within the fenced perimeter. But the locals were clearly unfazed by this, their own individual style guide strangely being an unspoken uniform. Ripped jeans, jingling chains and oversized earrings being the norm at 3pm on a Thursday afternoon.

Enter Spiderman. An elderly fellow wrapped in a bodysuit displaying bulging shoulders, biceps and abs that may have been authentic forty years ago. The original superhero on the strip he quietly bemoaned the incursion onto his patch by the new breed of underpants wearing buskers. With 35 years of personal history in the role you could see the strip regulars afford him the status he deserved, referring to him as ‘OG’ or ‘original guy’.

But its time to go, our quick stop over in LA only a delay in getting to the real adventure. So after working through the jetlag now we have an overnight flight to Lima via Mexico City before another layover until we get to our final destination of Arequipa, tired but hopefully excited to be in Spanish land, hasta la vista people!

A SLIGHT CHALLENGE – NO MOTORBIKE!

So the title of this entry might come as somewhat of a surprise to you as it did to me. The boat due to carry my metal mule to the new world sailed yesterday, however its precious cargo was left standing forlornly dockside, the unfortunate result of an administrative catastrophe. But upon reflection maybe I am not so surprised, but that story starts around a week earlier…….

I had booked the bike in to be crated up on the 11^thof Feb down on the Gold Coast, a tourist hub, not the industrial shipping mecca that might have sprung to mind for such a task. My shipping agent, let’s call him Peter to preserve anonymity, had arranged his man to perform the job. Now I am no stranger around power tools and woodworking, but for this first and most important of shipping endeavours that I am going to do in the next three years I though it prudent to trust it to a professional. And after talking to him the night before I use this term very loosely. Lets just say that the grossly overfed, ill-mannered filthy creature who greeted us the next day fit perfectly into my preconceived image of the man. To add insult to injury his ‘home’ put the phrase ramshackled to shame. Broken cars, rusted hoists and fallen trees greeted our arrival. But all hope was not lost as the innards of his sprawling shed revealed numerous vintage and collectable motorbikes, some in good condition, others clearly still on the ‘project’ self. One vehicle in particular a ’52 Ducati Scooter Cruiser caught my eye and momentarily distracted my thoughts of foreboding for my own machine.

In the end it simply was too late to change the situation and I left ‘zora’ with the fellow, hoping to once again be reunited with it on the other side of the Pacific. 

Skip forward past several reassuring emails and phone calls to ‘Peter’ to the date of departure for the ship which was to convey the bike firstly to Bussan, Korea and then onward to Callao, Peru. Just as Carlie was serving up our second last Aussie home-cooked meal, a delicious lamb roast with all the trimmings, our red wine indulgence was interrupted by Peter. “The bad news, mate, is that it didnt get onto the boat”, I was left waiting for the good news. I am still waiting for the good news. Of course it wasn’t Peters’ fault, it was the shipping agents. And here I was naively thinking that HE was my shipping agent. No all was lost, as of two hours ago and with only 22 hours before I myself board an outward-bound craft for the New World, I received a call. The bike will now go via Sydney, Singapore, Bussan and arrive in Peru only two weeks later than promised gaining no frequent flyer miles while I sit in exotic places fearing the next phone call from Peter.

Yea, it’s a challenge alright but there’s not much to do about it now but sit back enjoy the last Aussie beers for a while and get excited about flying business class. Now there’s fodder for the next blog entry…….

From the Australia Beer Garden,,

Mark