charming puno

so... i'm not sure if any of you have ever been to lima, but if you have, i'm sorry.

my bus trek to get from quito, ecuador to puno, perú took me from quito to guayaquil, ecuador (7 hours) to lima, perú (26 hours) to arequipa (15 hours) to puno, perú (6 hours), all told, some 54 hours on a bus (by the way, the drivers of ormeño bus lines would like to inform you that the bathrooms will only be available for urnation... WHAT? i'm sorry, but that's less humane than making someone sit through a william shatner sing-a-long). so, my judgement may have been a bit skewed, my critical eye for a town's flare drowsy, my patience, exhausted. but man does that place suck mono tail.

i got out to have a drink of water and catch up a bit on internet stuff, sorry to whoever caught me while i was there, i was a bit more than cranky. but here's an unbiased account.

i go to an internet cafe in a rival bus company just up the road from wonderful ormeño, where they have a prominantly displayed mastercard sign. "i'd like a half hour of your finest world wide web access please." "how will you be paying sir?" "why, funny you should ask, with my sultan of all credit cards, mastercard." "i'm sorry monkey gut, we don't accept tarjetas de credito (loosely translated to we poo on your perception of reality, and did you like our joke about the mastercard sign on the window?)" "very well fools, could you direct me to your nearest dispensary of currency?" "certainly, just down the road."

i go to the atm, get out some cash, which is fine because i needed soles anyhow, and return to try again with my mashed potato brained friend. "i have returned to request once again your services as internet monger," "very well, have you any cash?" "why yes, i have lots of your local currency now, and would like to begin contributing to your economy without delay!" "oh, i'm sorry we don't have any change," "you don't have change for 50 soles? (translation, how does any business not have change for the equivalent of roughly $15?)" "no, why don't you ask at the bus terminal?" "good idea kind sir,"

"i'm sorry," says the uniformed bus chica, "we simply don't have any change" "oh, that's interesting (read: weasel dung! i just waited behind 4 groups of passengers buying tickets for your so called bus, how could you possibly not make change for $15?!)" "sorry sir, you'll just have to go someplace else." so i did. eventually i got change but man, on top of it being one of the most polluted cities i've ever been to, i couldn't wait to get out.

so as you can imagine, it was nice to finally arrive in puno, with crazy rickshaws and cheap hotels. i leave tomorrow morning for the floating islands of lake titicaca.

making my way south...

so i just saw andy and ben off yesterday. it was really a blast to have them here, hopping on random buses, putting back a couple cheap brahmas and taking just about every form of transportation they've got to offer here. We spent four days in the jungle, cuyabeno national park to be more precise, where we saw a dead anaconda, caught a few pirahna (really just ben did this, master ichthiologist that he is), ate them, saw four types of mokeys, a few cayman eyes at night, and tons of big nasty spiders.

Probably the most notable moment was when we were supposed to head out looking for caymans after dark. The family's normal sturdy fiberglass boat was out on a trip so we set out in the smaller, wooden canoe loaded down with just about everybody that was left at camp - some seven or eight folks. Any time one of us moved, the rest of us tried to compensate making for a very shakey ride. And as if this wasn't enough, the boat was sinking. yes. sinking. i turned on my light to look at the water level inside only to notice a gaping hole through which water was pouring into the boat. Sometime around this point patrick, a delightful german fellow noted "this is just like the titanic" only, perhaps it more closely resembled an Evel Knievel stunt given that the water was full of caymans, pirahna and watever microbial beasties we had no idea how to avoid... Our guide divided his time between paddling and bailing us out and eventually we had to stop and wait to hop on the motorboat as it was due back from "town" (read bridge with a shop and a park station). Luckily it was before anything got a bite of us!

here's a quick video of some incredible flintstone style technology...



anyway, it was a blast having them here as it's always better to share a place with someone else. now i start the rest of my trip, making my way south to peru for a few days, possibly bolivia, and possibly chile... we'll have to see. me mum always says to let her know when i'm leaving the state, guess the same goes when i cross national borders...

me blog is over the hill...

i was just about to write a regular blog entry when i saw on my entry counter that this is the 50th post to holmes away from home. we'll have to postpone pyrotechnic displays and parades, but in the mean time, i hope you guys have been enjoying what there is here. it'll keep coming as long as i keep living this cartoon away from the states.

dos fiestas

One of my favorite things about latin america is the fiesta. Granted, after having travelled a bit, i'm not too big a fan of romanticizing what one culture has over another. We've all got wacky things that we take for granted that make life incredible. Westerners/Gringos in particular seem blind to the fact that we, too, have culture (elusive though it may be in the midst of day after-blank sales)

Cultural relativism aside, me likey the parties.

Last weekend was when the quaint little town of Guapulo just outside of Quito has its fiestas. I went with my delightfully anglican roomie Tim (he watches his home football team every saturday morning grunting go on, go on! only to be followed by a dissapointed sigh... they have yet to win a game since i've known him) and his ecuadorian novia Monica, clopping and plodding down the steep incline of the neighboring mountain like clydesdales reined in by a tipsy coachman. It's funny watching our legs trying to negotiate this new face of gravity, challenging befuddled ankles and knees.

It was clear how to get to the epicenter of the fiesta, following the sounds of music and firecracker explosions as unpredictable as the backfire of public buses here. We arrived at the town square dimly lit by unshaded incandesent 40 watts, densly packed with people around a bandstand the way that 6 year old soccer teams crowd the ball. We made our way through the crowd, Tim and I both intensly eyeing the street food (me from curiosity and fanatical penchant for challenging my gut, Tim from disgust and disdain) pushed by mongers only half visible in the partial party light.

We ended up at a dance circle, and we joined in to have a go. Only, no one would let me leave. I kept trying to nudge away, to no avail. I was having fun too until they started joking about meeting the rest of the family and, ahem, planning a wedding date... Gotta go. They chilled out after a bit and then the real fireworks started.

The two most notable features of the spectacle were the vaca loca and the huge exploding tower. The vaca loca is a wire framed, paper mache cow rigged with eplosives that some nut puts on his shoulders. The loon then proceeds to charge through the crowd raining sparks on the delighted bystanders. The tower is a 30 foot tall wonder that they spin in a circle as the fuse makes its way to the top with increasing explosive splendor. Half the folks present at the fiesta insist on dancing in a circle around the tower, including my new found matchmaker friend. Vamos! He shouted and before i knew it i too was in the thick of it. I've got wonderful holes singed in my blue striped shirt to prove it.

The next day was the mmhfff (insert unintelligible spanish word) of the oranges. Trucks packed with people and oranges parade down the steep alleyways escorted by kids costumed as gorrillas, grandmothers, cowboys and the occasional clown. The whole way down, they pelt perfectly good oranges at the crowds waving as they go by. From the balconies too, oranges are lanced like shotputs - at times 4 or 5 at once. Great fun, i ended up with a grocery bag full and didn't pay for juice for a week!

The other fiesta i wanted to write about is the Festival de Esperanza, that is, the festival of hope. You see, Billy Graham's son is coming to town. I know, i know, it's almost too much to bear in one blog. Fireworks, shotput oranges, and... Franklin Graham. But they've rented out the giant soccer stadium in town for three days. And, my spiritually permiscuous self simply can't wait to see what they're gonna do with all that space. Maybe the giddeon's will come and shotput new testaments... better yet, maybe they'll shotput each other in a jesus-praising-gravity-defying feat of faith? It's just a shame that I won't be able to share this with anyone as me brother Andy and a church buddy Ben arent coming until next monday. Think of me and mini Graham this Thursday, Friday and Saturday.