Palegoldenrod

When I left Australia at the start of my trip, the time felt like it extended on before me into that grey haze of “a long way in the future” and it was difficult to contain my excitement. I didn’t want to go home, I wanted to be right there, on the road, exploring, adventuring, finding answers to questions - or just questions.

I remember thinking about the famed “travel bug” (the addiction to travel, not a stomach upset :-P) and whether I would catch it. I wondered what it was about travelling that had so many addicted.

By the end of my travels in South America, a year later, I felt that time had flown by and I was ready to come home. Well, not that I wanted to be home in Australia specifically (though I did want to catch up with my family and friends). Not even that I wanted to be away from South America, but that I felt a need to have a home. To have my own space for a while, to be able to hang out with the same people without having to part ways just as I got to know them. I wanted to sit down with my old friends who knew me well, who I could talk to about “remember when” and feel like I belonged.

I’ve been back a little more than a month now. When I came back I chose to surprise most of my friends and all of my family and was incredibly excited about it. The 20ish hour flight back from Buenos Aires was sleepless due to the energy building up (though admittedly my body crashed once I touched down in Sydney).

I remember the train ride from Sydney to Newcastle, a calm sunny day, and marvelling at how beautiful the countryside is, the lakes, the mountains. Sitting with Amos on the balcony of a pub in Newcastle one afternoon and looking bemusedly at the streets: so clean, well maintained, orderly roads… such big houses and new cars!

I have great memories of leaning over the fence to Amos to greet him in person for the first time in a year: “I say, sir, have you heard the good news about Jesus Christ?” “What the ….? Woah!” and shortly afterwards suprising Jared and Chelsea as they walked into the house. Wandering into my favourite pub where some of my friends were gathering for the afternoon: “Hang on. What the f@#k? When did you get back?”. The silent greeting of a full 10 minute hug from Nick. Or trudging with all my gear up the long gravel driveway to my parents’ house in the midday sun when my brother walked out the front door, did a double take and then ran to the gate to meet me; my parents becoming tearful when they realised that I wasn’t asking them to be home so I could Skype them from South America, but to hug them in person.

And then, bit by bit, the excitement faded away. I am left with strange feelings - a few friends I was quite close to are no longer there; one group is on the verge of falling apart due to the loss of a friend while I was away; very little feels like it did before. I remember sitting with one of my closest circle of friends and feeling out of step. Had they changed, or was it me? Or both? I caught up with a few groups of out-of-touch companions and noticed things about them that I hadn’t before: some things I liked and some I didn’t. In some cases I started questioning what I saw in them in the first place. Several people need me in different ways than they did before I left, and while I love them I don’t know if I am up to the task. And a big surprise for me is that one group whose company I enjoyed but always felt a bit on the outer has turned out to be the only group where I actually feel more comfortable, has made me the most welcome and is making it clear that they want me to hang out with them, though we’re missing one of my closest buddies.

I’ve caught up with several people I met on the road, whose company I love and who I want to spend time with and get to know better. Here they have histories, they have complications, many have lives which appear to have little room for me despite so much common time spent together and shared experiences. So much was different on the road.

When I was travelling I found a lot of questions - some with answers, some without. Some questions have changed since I have travelled. One I’ve had for a long time is wondering where I belong. I didn’t feel like I belonged anywhere before I left, though at times overseas I’ve felt fleetingly that I’ve belonged in that place at that time: mandolin-ing alone in a park in Santiago; a night out at a club with great company in Buenos Aires; deep, honest and nerdy conversations in a hammock in Cusco; afternoons spent in the hills near the ruins outside Cusco; blowing up balloons during a prank in Lima; red wine in a riverside cafe in Cuenca; hilarity at the equator in Ecuador; and getting awesome hugs from some people I adore, to name a few. Since I’ve come back I haven’t felt at home even in the house of my childhood. I am starting to think now if maybe the place I belong is not-belonging, even though more and more often I find myself wanting it to be otherwise

It has all made me ask myself if this “travel bug” thing might be the wrong way around… what if its not so much that the road calls people back, but that home never has the same feeling. Maybe you can never feel like you are home again unless you keep moving. I’ve since heard it from other friends that have returned home in the last month or so: “Why does everything need to be so complicated?”, “Things are more complicated than I thought”, “Urgh, its all just so complicated. It was easier on the road”, “I wish I was back on the road. Normal life sucks”. Complicated. That is coming home. Not “Ah! I’m home!” for long, but soon “I wish I were out there again”.

We talk about long term solo travel being a challenge, taking courage… after you’ve done it for a while, does it just become escapism? Do we do it because when we hit the road, to some extent we’re avoiding the real complications? The ones that arise from the likes of social, family and relationship politics, of the responsibility of a real job, the mundane stresses of day-to-day life in permanent society? After all, an often-touted advantage of solo travel is “when I don’t like someone or some place, I leave. I don’t have to answer to anyone”.

I am in Melbourne now, where I know very few people. I wanted to come here before I left Australia, and while in some respects I am probably lying even to myself about a few reasons I am here, I am still interested enough to give it some time and see what happens. It is a great city, and a new city to me. Some companions from my travels are here but things don’t seem to be the same, no matter how much I might want to catch up like old times. A few of my friends from before the trip are here, but more distant - almost strangers to me, and I am on the most excellent adventure of job hunting during a market downturn with no money and little time to organise myself. Oh, how fun

The challenges are different now. I thought I might stop asking questions when I stopped travelling, but coming home has raised more for me. In the last few weeks I’ve found myself reviewing and questioning what I thought I saw for myself in the future, and what I want: some things I know and have known for a while - that many things I want I can’t have, and many things I don’t want I have. Fact of life, no argument will be entered into, case closed. And as for the things I don’t know, well… I guess for now the adventure is finding work and a home and good like-minded friends here in Melbourne (I now know there might be a few other people in the world with warped minds like mine), and if the answers don’t come to me then the road is always open*, at least to a new place to call home for a while.

*Except if you are in Peru or Bolivia, where roads seem to be closed a lot of the time. lols.

(Once again on post catchup mode…. this part of my trip was so long ago now, urgh)

Our bus trip from Uyuni to La Paz was both interesting and amusing for me, and thoroughly unenjoyable for my companions. When we bought the bus tickets, the girls asked if there was heating on board, if there were meals, if there was a bathroom. The response was an emphatic “yes”. I warned them to assume these didn’t exist - the trip was 12 hours long, and Bolivian bus companies can sometimes be unreliable. As we climbed on board the realised their mistake pretty quickly - no heating, no bathroom. We finally got moving along the dirt roads out of Uyuni at about 8.30 at night, and just out of sight of the street lights the bus stopped to repair a flat tyre.

Five or six more hours along, the bus stopped for the one and only bathroom break on the 12 hour journey. Luckily they stopped at a small “rest stop”, basically a two house village with a small cafe and what can barely pass as amenities available for use of travellers for a small fee.

I smoked a cigarette with Jay as we stretched our legs outside the bus - he was miserable: uncomfortable, tired and just wanting to get to a nice warm bed. I felt bad: prepared for discomfort and cold of the Bolivian buses, I had taken my coat on board with me and was using it partly as a blanket and partly as a cushion for my lower back. Being sensitive to sedatives and having a cold, I had also taken a night time dose of cold and flu tablets and was incredibly groggy and sleep

Jay, Sarah, Sophia, Anna and I arrived in La Paz to the Adventure Brew Hostel, not far from the bus station. The girls had decided that we were staying at the slightly more expensive hostel with the free/included all-you-can-eat pancake breakfast and that was that. (Personally, as a fan of pancakes, I think it was worth it).

We took incredibly long hot showers, relaxed and spent the next few days exploring the new city. The witches’ markets were the main drawcard. Unexpectedly touristy, they were still worth the look: how often do you see dried llama fetus for sale? Or herbal spells and charms for Pachamama (mother earth)? It was a nice walk - the cobble stoned streets and overpriced (for Bolivia, yet still startlingly cheap compared to other countries) alpaca wool goods and hand crafts of every colour laid out along every back alley and sidewalk.

For me, the altitude was a problem immediately. I was out of breath, light headed and struggling with the steps that I seemed to be required to haul myself up regardless of the direction in which we were walking. La Paz is set in a steep valley, with the main road running down the centre: it doesn’t matter where you want to go - at least half of your trip will involve those lovely steps. My appetite all but disappeared, which didn’t help my energy levels either. Over the next 2-3 months at altitude it never returned and it wasn’t I left the heights and returned to La Paz much later that my energy levels and stamina came good again.

La Paz is a strange city - the poverty through the rest of Bolivia finds its way here to be displayed in its homeless, beggars, street sellers and Bolivia’s usual informal retail market. The bright colours of clothing and goods and the busy chaotic bustle during the day can hide a slightly darker side: stories from other travellers of police corruption, scams, of kidnappings (where the taxi driver is involved), travellers falling to drug addiction and the usual muggings that can be had in every city in the world. You know you are in a special place when in the hostel, alongside pamphlets about tours and tourist attractions you find a leaflet for a lawyer specialising in “tourist issues”. In my experience, as in the rest of South America, you can avoid almost all of this by paying attention, being careful and staying away from much of the seedier side of South American life. You know what I mean.

I’ll write a little more about La Paz in a later post (I returned to the city for a longer 2-3 week stay and saw a lot more) - stay tuned.

We celebrated Jay’s 30th birthday by a cake and clubbing, with those of us who could last the distance wandering home at an insane hour the next day and promptly retiring to bed. The girls headed off shortly after, and I left Jay not long after that for Cochabamba to visit my friend Cristhian.

I had to walk 2 blocks uphill to the bus terminal, with almost 20 kg of gear. I had to stop several times, out of breath. An incredibly old Bolivian woman glanced at me puffed and resting as she easily carried her huge cloth sack of something uphill past me. She giggled. A few minutes later she walked past me again, grinning at me and exaggerating how easy it was for her, and how funny it was that it was difficult it for me. She did it twice more before the novelty must have worn off (or I finally dragged myself into the bus terminal and out of her sight).

The Bolivians are tough (especially their women), and they have a cheeky sense of humour. Damn them

(Another pathetic attempt to catch up with my blogging. This stuff is more than a month old now).

Jay and I walked across the border from Argentina to Bolivia at the twin towns of La Quiaca (Argentina) and Villazón (Bolivia). You can’t catch buses across the border - you need to walk or go by car. The crossing is actually formed by a very small bridge over a dried river bed, the border posts at either end.

The crossing was the least painful so far - in 10 minutes or so, and without questions or bag checks, we were into Bolivia and what felt like a different world. The street immediately on the Bolivian side of the border is full of colours and smells and clothing that isn’t really seen in Argentina - it set the scene for the rest of our travels in Evo’s land.

I was sick - I hadn’t managed to shake the cough that I had followed me around for the last week, and even walking the five or six blocks from our La Quiaca hostel to the bus terminal in Villazón had me out of breath and feeling wretched.

We were lucky enough to snag a ticket on a bus leaving for Tupiza almost straight away and were glad of it (the next one was apparently not for another ten hours or so, and there is very little to do in Villazón). Our first taste of bus travel in Bolivia was fun. The bus was ricketty and aged, but appeared up tot he task. There didn’t appear to be much of a road - our driver chose dried river beds and rocky outcrops seemingly as often as the faint dust tracks of the “road”. Given that the border crossing and trip to Tupiza is a common one I was left wondering what the road situation was like in the rest of Bolivia and how the government decided where to pave roads, if at all.

Tupiza turned out to be a sweet, small town nestled in amongst wind and water eroded dirt hills. It was one of those places where there are so few foreigners that they all say hello to each other on sight; there was no ATM - only cash advances using your passport and credit card, please; and maybe 4 places to eat in town, all with similar cuisine.

We stayed at one of the local HI Hostels (there are two) and booked our tour of the Salt Flats to leave the next day (via the hostel travel service, if you were wondering). We learned there would be two or three others with us.

I think if I had more time I would have liked to stay in Tupiza a few more days - it is well known for its horse riding trails, hiking and climbing and seemed like a pleasant place to chillax for a while.

The next day we were off on our 4 day jeep ride to Uyuni via the salt flats, with our driver Emilio, our cook Dehsi and our new travel companions - three brilliant English girls who call themselves Sarah, Sophia and Anna. While I resigned myself to the fact that I was in for 4 days of “Have you been to pub X in suburb Y in London?”, “Shall I be mother?” and occasional adoration of Shane Warne from my English friends, I had to admit that we had a good group and the outlook for the trip was promising.

The Salar de Uyuni is the largest salt flat in the world - visible from space. I had been to the salt flats in Chile in the Atacama desert, but I wasn’t sure what to expect from this famous landmark. Much the same but bigger? Would it be worth the expense of the jeep ride just to see the a similar landscape?

It was worth every cent. The company was excellent, the terrain changed almost every half hour and the tiny villages we stayed in were gorgeous. I looked forward to my regular evening stroll with the others and, when we finally entered onto the salt flat itself on our last day, I was blown away by the immensity and beauty of the damn thing. It really is unbelievable.

The food on the tour was delicious (Dehsi really knows how to cook a veggie soup!), and while a few of us had a bit of a bad night at the highest point (due to perhaps pushing ourselves a bit hard on our sunset walk that afternoon) aside from shortness of breath we were generally unaffected by the altitude. The tour took us as high as 5000m above sea level.

We stayed in a salt hotel on the last night - the beds were carved from salt rock, the floor was crushed salt gravel, the walls were made of salt bricks. The moon rise over the plains that night was something of fairy tales: a large, bright silver disc hanging in that still silence, seeming to be only just out of reach of your fingertips. It threw soft light over the low hills near the hostel and disappearing out onto the edges of the flats themselves, highlighting only some small feature here and there and leaving the rest in shadow. It is not something that can be described easily, especially by someone having as limited a vocabulary as I. I hope I can at least keep that clear memory with me for some time to come.

We celebrated Jay’s birthday on our final morning, an unhealthily early start to the day in order to see the sunrise on the salt. There is an “island” in the middle of the flats, (maybe it is more like a tor?) covered in cactuses and rubble. We fought the altitude and climbed it (well, I fought more than the others, hehe) and were rewarded by a 360º view of the sea of white - Jay mentioned that apparently the salt flats could contain Wales in its entirety.

Arrival at Uyuni confirmed the rumours we had all heard. It is an unattractive, dusty town with little of interest and little to do. We didn’t want to stay any longer than we really needed. We booked a bus that night to take us to La Paz (the girls included), and killed the rest of the afternoon using the internet and drinking and discussing terrible coffee. As we killed the time, I realised with dismay that the English had managed to insert the word “fancy” into my vocabulary.

Today is Blog Action Day around the world and this year’s topic is poverty. As I am currently in Bolivia I thought I’d post a little about the country, some statistics and a little about the current situation.

It is difficult for me, as an outsider who has only been here for a month, to explain Bolivia and its issues relating to poverty, politics (international and internal), economics, employment etc. But hopefully I can provide a few bits and pieces that might help to shed a little light.

I wish I could change the timing of the Blog Action Day and my plans. Next week I start my volunteering at a local orphanage, which would (I expect) make for much more interesting reading than what I am about to provide. But if you return at the end of next week I will hopefully have posted something about the orphanage for you.

First, a little background info. Bolivia is landlocked in the centre of South America and is one of the poorer countries on the continent. It is the 3rd largest producer of coca in the world, after Colombia and Peru.

Last year Evo Morales was elected with a 54% majority (an unusually high figure in Bolivia) and became the first indigenous president of the country.

Evo and Coca Farming

Evo was also a coca farmer which puts him in an interesting position. Where the US had been encouraging (and financially supporting) eradication of the coca crop entirely, Evo’s view is “Coca yes, cocaine no” and so gives full support to legitimate farming of the crop. The farming of coca (for uses such as teas, medicine etc - not exclusively for cocaine production, which is illegal) supports a significant portion of the Bolivian workforce. While I don’t have a solution for the cocaine production issue, I am sure that the sudden and complete halt of coca farming in Bolivia would be disastrous.

Current Situation: Sucession of Provinces

There is a wide gap between upper and lower classes in Bolivia which also seems to be roughly the breakup between people of Spanish descent and those of indigenous descent. The provinces containing the upper classes don’t want to participate in Evo’s plan to restructure and redirect funds to support the poorer provinces. As they prefer to keep their earnings in their own provinces, they are trying to suceed and establish their own government. This has prompted violence in those areas and a long series of negotiations which are taking place on neutral territory here in Cochabamba.

Now, I don’t have an opinion here. But the issue is interesting… when some parts of the nation are incredibly wealthy and others have high levels of poverty, what can be done to help restore the balance? Should anything be done?

Stats: Wealth Distribution and Health

Bolivia has such an imbalance of prosperity internally (a minority hold the majority of the wealth) that the number of people in the lower classes and the issues facing the government relating to investment in infrastructure and social support, mean that overall Bolivia is struggling compared to most other countries.

The UN Human Development Report for this year ranks Bolivia as 117th out of 177 countries - putting it in the “medium human development” category. Lets have a look at a few statistics compared to Australia, my home country, ranked 3rd of 177.

The enormity of the wealth imbalance astounds me still, even though I have read these and similar statistics many times in the last month. And there are countries that are worse off in the world. Scary, no?

As expected, the effects of poverty are visible in health as well.

I have come to appreciate clean and drinkable running water, a flushing toilet and a clean bathroom so much more since having spent time in South America

Emloyment and Income as an Indicator of Improvement

The informal labour market supports a significant part of the Bolivian population, which makes it difficult to really get an idea of the emlpoyment situation of many Bolivians. As Diego Cevallos points out in his article Not Everyone Celebrates Improved Poverty Statistics:

By adding cans to the products she scavenges and sells, Guadalupe raised her average monthly earnings from 70 to 85 dollars. But she feels as hard-pressed as before and finds no reason to celebrate.

An increase in income or even a job in the informal labour market is not necessarily a good indicator of an improvement in situation or of a financial situation at all.

Current Political Situation: Further Impact on Economy

Compounding the impact of the worldwide financial crisis, Bolivia´s political issues (internal relating to sucession of some provinces, external relating to diplomatic relations with the US) are also having an effect on the economy. There are significantly less foreigners in the country, and therefore less money being pumped into the multitude of businesses in the tourism industry, as well as vendors and beggars on the street that usually rely on donations from comparatively wealthy travellers.

In addition, according to local news, some factories for US companies are considering shutting down operations operations in Bolivia and relocating to a country with a better diplomatic relationship. If this happens, it is likely that many Bolivians will be out of work, many businesses that supply these factories may lose their primary client and of course the knock on effect could be dramatic. I imagine that some existing trade or financial aid agreements with many allies of the US may be in jeopardy too.

In Australia when such a significant event occurs the government may be able to offer some support or guarantee to the employees of those companies. Here, where the government doesn’t appear to have enough money to provide well paved roads between many of its major cities, I wonder if those workers will have anything when (if?) those companies leave.

But even with employment there is something I don’t understand. Here in Cochabamba there are people on almost every block asking for money, or busking - including children who seem to be only 2 or 3 years old with no parent in sight. Yet, when I walk down the streets in the centre of town every second store has a “help wanted” sign in the window - almost all of them have been there since I arrived. I’m not sure why these jobs aren’t being filled…. maybe one of you can help me figure that one out.

Resources

Here are a few resources for you:

• Sustainable Bolivia - Non Profit - volunteering support and co-oridinator of sustainability projects in Bolivia
• Volunteer Bolivia
• Kiva - financing entrepreneurship in underdeveloped communities
• UNICEF - Poverty in Bolivia
• Global Call to Action Against Poverty - Bolivia
• WorldBank’s PovertyNet Library - Bolivia
• Freerice - expand your vocab while providing rice to those who need it

Wrap Up

Thanks for reading. I’d like to encourage you to find out more about why I posted this at the Blog Action Day site.

Next week I plan to post about my experiences volunteering at the orphanage. I hope you gained some small insight into Bolivia from this spiel. If you have anything to add or ask, please comment below.

Blog Action Day is an annual nonprofit event that aims to unite the world’s bloggers, podcasters and videocasters, to post about the same issue on the same day. Our aim is to raise awareness and trigger a global discussion.

This year, Blog Action Day is on Wednesday the 15th October and is on the topic of poverty. Get involved: register your blog and write about poverty on the day, contribute to the project in other ways, or be inspired to get out and do something to combat poverty in your part of the world.

As for Palegoldenrod, I hope to write something relating to Bolivia, where I have been for almost a month now. I haven’t quite decided on the exact topic yet, hehe.

Catch you on the 15th!

Blog Action Day website

A 23 hour bus ride from Iguazu to Salta left me feeling a little drained, but it was still good to see a familiar face in Jay when I arrived. Through some fluke we both ended up there at the same time, and were planning to travel north in roughly the same direction at the same time too. high five

Salta was warm, fairly tranquil and generally a nice city. We stayed at one of the HI Hostels (the one in calle Buenos Aires) which, as well as having a bar, breakfast and a good feel also had a pool and dinner included most nights as well. This was a great opportunity to meet people and have some good food while saving that precious ca$h.

My accomplishments in the week I was in Salta were few. Jay and I climbed the nearby hill - by the steps, not via the pansy cable car doohicky, mind you. 1070 steps up, 1070 back. It was a good walk, though it did remind me how unfit I am! I sampled many a coffee in the areas around the main plaza too - nothing too memorable there.

We met some other guys and gals on a day tour to Cafayate, which took us through some beautiful countryside as well as a short walk in a few gorges and finally to Cafayate itself where we sampled wine at two vineyards, had lunch and lazed on the grass in the sun in the main plaza. We also got to have photos with the “World Famous” llama named Thalia. Thalia selected Jay as the only member of our tour to spit upon, which he narrowly avoided due to quick reflexes. It was a great day.

One memory I will keep from Salta: The night before the Cafayate tour I wasn’t able to sleep, so I got up at 5.30am or so and went for a walk. Continuing with my trend of speaking with homeless people, I started talking to a vagabond (Fernando) who had some stories about how he lost his daughter and how he had been living on the streets for years, as well as a bit of poetry here and there. He shared some gin with me while a working girl came up and started talking to us as well. There was an awkward silence at one point which was then filled by Fernando’s (impromptu, I think) recitation in Spanish. I can’t remember the exact Spanish words, but the gist of it in English was:

I have no words for you, friend
Only the warm sun on my face
And the gentle breeze at my back.
I’m sorry.

After which he gave me a hug and wandered away into the early morning light, almost-empty gin bottle dangling loosely in his fingertips.

We went out to the clubs a few times - all the clubs are on one street, and were OK. While walking home one night with Jay and Claire, we saw what appeared to be a working girl sauntering towards us, dressed in the expected revealing attire. As we passed this person, they let out the biggest, most masculine grunt imaginable - as if to prove the point that “she” was in fact a “he”. We all looked at each other as we kept walking, and finally burst out laughing uncontrollably. It was so unexpected, and, while I am not capable of describing it well, was hilarious.

On our last night we went to a traditional restaurant that is not well known by tourists, but is popular with locals. The food was great, and there was a group of 3 guys (with guitar and cajon) singing Andean music which was excellent.

Eventually Jay and I bought our tickets to La Quica (the town on the border with Bolivia) and caught a bus up there. We had heard about unrest in Bolivia (it turned out to be only parts of it). We had even been told by the information desk at the Salta that the Bolivian border was closed and we couldn’t enter. They were wrong.

We slept through our 6 or 7 hour bus ride to La Quiaca, stayed the night in a random hostel and then walked across the border to Bolivia without incident the next morning.

(Please prepare yourself once again for a flurry of posts in an effort to catch up on the last month of my travels).

Puerto Iguazu is a town in Northeastern Argentina - the Argentine town at Iguazu Falls. After farewelling the guys in BA I jumped on a Crucero del Norte bus (cama, of course) for a 17 hour overnight solo busride and a chance to catch up on some sleep.

I didn’t realise that the bus was so cold until I stepped off and into humid 35 degree heat and full midday sun. Looking around, I was already starting to appreciate the town - green, quiet, wide streets with parks and cafes and not much else. After a week of party in BA, the town was looking perfect.

I had selected a random hostel from hostelworld - Puerto Canoas - because it was in town and it wasn’t the HI hostel. I wanted quiet, not more parties… and anyway, the HI Hostel was out of town. I took a taxi to the hostel which turned out to be a whole 3 blocks away (I didn’t care, I was tired and hot). The owners there spoke no English, I realised immediately - as I walked in the door another Australian guest was trying and failing to ask (in English) how he could wash his clothes. Excellent I thought, more opportunity to practice after having travelled with English speakers for a few weeks

After dumping my gear I decided to go for a walk through the town and then along the river. As usual I was unprepared. I had not researched Iguazu much, except how to get to the falls themselves. While walking along the riverbank I discovered that there is a place there where two huge rivers converge. From the top of the hill there you can see the two other points of land - Brazil and Paraguay, each with an obelisk and their national colours. The convergence of 3 nations. Very cool to see.

I walked back and spent the rest of the afternoon in a hammock at the hostel, soaking it all in. The courtyard with strange and unusual plants overflowing the garden borders, the humidity; the terracota tiles on the ground and the brightly painted walls; the blue sky; the sound of the birds and the breeze in the trees. After dark, the sound of heavy rain on the tin roof. It was wonderful.

The next day I jumped on an early bus to the falls themselves, to arrive shortly after the park had opened. I decided to go by myself rather than with a tour - it was cheaper, I could stay as long as I wanted and move at my own pace. I’m glad I did it that way.

I really wish I could upload my photos for you right now, because I don’t think that anything can explain the falls except the photos. Actually, not even then. You really need to be there, to see the whole thing… to turn around 360 and see the sheer size of it all and feel like you are (in the words of Kimya Dawson) “a speck of dust inside a giant’s eye”. Especially at one place where there is a boardwalk that takes you right up to a wall of water from a huge fall. Standing there with that vast amount of water falling from such a great height behind you - when you turn to face it there is nothing but a wall of water filling your vision… the deep rumbling blocking out everything else and the water spray, cold and fresh, drenching your clothes through. It is definitely an experience.

There is an island there too which looked really cool and is accessible only by boat, but because the river was up so high no one could go across that day (d’oh).

I walked around the falls (the Argentine side only) for the whole day and finally went back to the town for a coffee. I then booked my ticket to Salta and then spent another relaxing evening at the hostel.

I wish I could easily write in mathematical notation on this blog. I’d write a formula for my contactability inversely proportional to my immersion in Bolivia. I’d write a formula defining the limit of z (where z is my Spanish speaking ability) as x approaches infinity (where x is the time I have spent travelling with non-spanish speakers or perhaps more accurately, native English speakers - damn you Pommies) and factoring in y which would either be the number of non-spanish speakers I have spent time with, or some measurement of my laziness. I would attempt to write a mathematical explanation for my desire to be incredibly nerdy right now…. unquantifiable maybe

Anyway, here is a bunch of news / info which will hopefully tide over those who have bombarded my delicate little inbox with (initially) polite enquiries after my health and whereabouts, but finally degenerating into name-calling, bribery and down-right skullduggery in a vain attempt to get me to communicate. My lack of communication, I assure you, is not deliberate. It has been thrust apon me, unwanted though not entirely unexpected. It is South America. (Funny though that even Branxton has better connection than Cochabamba, lol).

• I am in Cochabamba, Bolivia
• I am fine. Cochabamba is quiet, safe, and appears to be likely to stay that way. If it looks like it won’t, I’ll leave for Peru via La Paz (which is the opposite direction to most of the trouble, if you don’t know yet).
• I am staying with Cristhian / Figu and his family while I am hunting for an apartment here to stay for a few months. I think we have found a nice one.
• I am having extreme internet problems which prevent me from doing almost anything except responding to emails. I am in an internet cafe now just so I can write this for you all.
• If you want me to be able to respond, for now you can contact me via: my contact form on this site; skype; direct email; or my Bolivian mobile phone. (The latter is on my facebook profile)
• Yes, I am still playing the Mandolin.
• Yes, my cough has finally disappeared and I am able to once again speak without sounding like an 80 year old
• Yes, I have a pile of photos to upload and I am not sure when or how I will be able to do it. Hopefully when I have internet connection at my apartment. Fingers crossed…
• No, fortunately I have yet to fall ill due to food or water, but I have been affected by altitude (a story for a better blog post about my travels, when next I have time). Luckily Cochabamba is much lower and I can actually breathe / move / function properly here.

OK, time for me to go… I love you all. Please let me know what is going on with your travels or back at home, I do miss my stories!

Hugs!

Carly

More junk from the mind of a travel-maddened, exhausted, over-partied, distant chica wandering lost and in a daze through South America. I think I have hit a point where my thinking is becoming seriously affected by this experience and has yet to settle down. Its an odd experience.

Anyway, as usual, an apology and a reminder that this really isn’t here for you. Its here because I can. hugs to all my homies in da big hizzouse of da world

He called out over the noise
“hold on to each other!”
afraid we would lose each other in the press of people.
I was afraid
I would lose myself

“HOLD ON to each other”, I thought.
Profound.
I, who had never really held on to anyone
There, with strangers
Wanting to hold on
to HOLD ON!

“Who are strangers,” I thought
“but friends we haven’t yet met.”
An old saying that made me smile.
One I usually scoff at -
I hate that shite.
But not that night.

I held on
With every part of me.
I asked them to carry me gently to the places where the poets are
so I could stroll once more with Clare and Cohen and Shelley
like I used to when I was young
when things felt more real

I almost found it again
that place where I could see and taste and touch and smell
and love
where I could breathe and know I was alive

Then the crowd was gone
and the stranger-friends dispersed
scattered in the four directions
and I’m on the road again
a long bus ride with time to ponder
the nature of love and friendship

23 hours of uninterrupted road
to hold on to

A full week in Buenos Aires, especially in the Milhouse Hostel, may be enough to kill some people. It is quite possible to inadvertently party yourself to death in that place. I think I came close.

Brad and I arrived at about 10am after an interesting taxi ride from the bus station where I took the opportunity to practice my spanish and essentially unravel the taxista’s life story as well as grab some tips for nightlife in BA. We couldn’t check in until 1 so we sat internetting in the foyer for a few hours where I got talking to Jay (England).

I quickly determined that Jay was indeed not a freak (remembering a certain crazy Isreali at another hostel) but instead quite cool, if a bit too witty for his own good. After meeting up with Brad’s sister Aline and her friend Sharni, we all agreed to head out that night. We hit the Bahrein for some drum and bass and while the night was still quiet at 2am by 3 it had picked up and we let Brad loose on the dancefloor with us where the statue made its famous appearance once again. A good time was had by all.

Over the next few days and nights we explored Palermo, La Boca, the centre and Recoleta, some restaurants, the movies, as well as checking out a hip-hop / reggaeton club called Lost with some more of Aline’s friends. After Lost, Jay, Brad and I wandered over to club 69 for “electronic music and a tranny show” which instead turned out be a sex show and the first time I have seen a completely naked woman on stage. It was an interesting night. Also Carly’s lesson #1: do not accept a smoke from a cute Argentinian. Especially not in a club like that. But never fear, no harm befell me. My boys (ever my heroic protectors) and I made it home safely even if we were generally a bit disappointed with the evening.

Brad, Aline and Sharni left us towards the end of the week and Jay met two new incredibly cool people: Zac (Australia) and Charlie (England). On my last Saturday night Jay, Zac, Charlie and I booked a trip to the Pacha Club via the hostel (a bus straight to the club, access to the VIP room etc) and off we went. Best night ever in South America so far, hands down, hard to beat. Do it. There was an English DJ playing (sorry guys, I can’t remember who, but the boys were excited to hear about it) the music was good, the company was great, the vibe was unbelievable - there were a few thousand people on the main dance floor. All round awesome. Never did find the VIP room though, haha.

We were there until close at 7am and eventually managed to find a taxi back home where we had some breakfast. Some of us decided to catch a few hours sleep while others wanted to push through to the afternoon when we had a soccer trip planned. We again booked with the hostel because we were lazy (it is much more expensive than buying the ticket directly from the stadium - the only convenience is the bus… don’t buy through the hostel unless you are as lazy as us).

The football game was a disappointment, and no it wasn’t just because we were feeling seedy. The talent (or lack thereof) was, as Charlie declared, “meh”, but the crowd was loud and passionate and singing a lot, and the day was nice so that was OK.

My last few days included eating the best steak ever which was stuffed with cheese, ham, sundried tomato and god knows what else, and which practically climbed into my mouth to be enjoyed. When I remember the name of the place I will let you know, but it is in Palermo. I also spent some time at the Ecological Reserve with Jay, and wandering some more through the city to see the Cathedral near Plaza de Mayo and some shops.

Finally I sadly had to say goodbye to my new friends in BA and jump on my bus for Puerto Iguazu. I really wanted to hang around a bit longer with Charlie, Zac and Jay - three of the coolest people I have met on the road, and who I dearly hope I will see again. I really had the best time with you guys, especially Jay who I was lucky enough to spend a whole week with (thats a record on my travels). Much love to you all on your travels and take care.