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Our man in...
Ola amigos!
(which in Peru you respond with "No Gracias, I do not want to buy your paintings/postcards/finger puppets/jumper/kidney/have my shoes polished/go to your restaurant)
First up, notification of a modest distress call. I am in the town of Cusco in the Peruvian Andees waiting to go across the border to Bolivia. However the border has been closed for the last couple of days due to grumpy Unions/revolting peasants who have blockaded the roads with burning cars, pan pipes and the like. The border town (called Puno) has a feisty reputation. A couple of years ago they didn't like their mayor so they did away with him and dragged his body round the town square. Oh dear. I have a bus ticket for tonight but there is a chance we may be pelted with rocks as we go. I like it here but it's time to go. Rocks I can take but another pan pipe rendition of "Obla-di Obla-da" I can not.
Get your google earth out or skip to the next paragraph...Journeying over the last month involves the following roll call...Mr John Williams of Beech Lane party fame has been out here for three weeks helping me avoid comedy moments that would make this mail much livelier...Tribute to you sir. Together we have marched through Lima, Pisco and the Islas Bellastas, Huaccahino oasis (near Ica), Nazca (ancient drawings in the sand. Think Etch-a-sketch), up in to the Andees to Arrequipa, Puno, Lake Titicaca, Machu Pichu and Cusco. I am now on my tod for the first time and have a wee grand plan to head as far south as I can through Bolivia and Argentina, eat lots of steak and get to the bottom of the world in the middle of winter where everyone assures me that it's not so much cold as just simply daft*.
I thought Lima was a cuddly warm lost city of gold sort of a place populated by a whole host of small brown bears with blue coats and red hats. This is an error. Lima is a huge city of nine million that could be best described as somewhere slightly less appealing than parking your car in a Millwall council house estate when going to a game there. After my slightly jet lag enthused last mail (waiting for a connection in Santiago) I arrived in Lima a few hours later at midnight with a serious dose of culture shock. The city is covered in fog, the houses are all bordered up with metal railings at night, a seeming curfew, I have not a word of Spanish beyond Paella, I am in a bus (taxi apparently is a A1 bad idea) with a driver who does not know where my hostel is and drives without his glasses. One of only two other passengers gives me a graphic description of the places I can not go. It turns out to be 95% of the city. This is the kind of place you should worry about me being in.
Changed my underwear and have gradually adapted to South America to the extent that I am afraid I like it very much. There's two sides it seems. Grotty, poor, aggressive, crime ridden, desert strewn lowlands of Peru (I am generalising, apologies JB) that has just conspired to elect a real goon of a new President (his CV reads, president 1985-90. Left the country with economic collapse, a night time curfew and a gorilla war and fled in to exile for six years after). And then there's the Andees. Every hue of orange, brown and yellow imaginable in a tapestry of dramatic peaks, gorges and farming terraces. In the deepest Andees and Altiplano traditional culture is battling alive and well living. Condors, Alpacas, and a million saints. The weather is plain and simple, no messing: Bone dry and sunny till the sun goes down then freezing. Altitude plays tricks however, shoelaces are a challenge now! I'd like to send you some Coca leaves back for your tea but I'm afraid you (not me, notice) might get in to a little trouble with Her Majesties great and good.
So, yep, I have settled for a couple of weeks in the old Inca capital, Cusco, 12,000ft. The "naval of the earth" is addictive. Inca-tastic, buckets of culture and backpacker central. It's a wonder the Spanish left anything of the Incas but fortunately for fans of our green and pleasant land you may be pleased to know that a good chunk of the Inca gold is at the bottom of the Caribbean sea courtesy of Sir Francis Drake. Ahoy!
There was a party here the other week that was well, fairly lively (it's pictures are on line). I woke up next morning to empty my pockets and find a slip of paper that just said www.amateurtransplants.com. My blood ran cold (which was at least a good sign as it was still there). I couldn't remember a thing about it. I gave myself a once over check. Kidneys still present. It turns out it is the website for a song I heard and asked the name of the band (the song is called London Underground and is funny if very sweary - you have been warned). Also tried a local delicacy yesterday. How does Roasted Guinea Pig sound? If you are in any doubt this involves the whole animal sitting on a plate giving you evils. A curious experience.
This is going on a bit. Oh well. One more thing, the Cupa Mundial dear reader. I'd like to say "less is more Spanish commentators" but where's the fun in that? It goes a little something like this...
"Vamos! Vamos! ASHLEY cole. YO cole. oooooo. Franky Lampard. Fou-oule! Cheesy pees. Biggy-dy biggy-dy bal! Zizou (Yes, I know, but...). Yyyyyy. Crooouuuuch...(follwed by laughter)! Ohhhhhh, Beckham...
Gooooooooooooooooooaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaallllllllllllllllllllllll!!!!!!!!
Scorchio, Beckahma. Que superbo goalo! Superbo goalo! Cristal the beer of Peru, buy Cristal the beer of Peru, it's the best beer, Cristal the beer of Peru......Superbo Beckham y biggy-dy biggy-dy bal.
New photos online at www.statraveljournals.com/mrpaulmullens under "Peru" including such culture gems as Condors, Machu Pichu and me in drag.
Adios,
Paul.
I'D RATHER BE A HAMMER THAN A NAIL. YES I WOULD. YES I WOULD. I SURELY WOULD.
* If bored look up on BBC day 5 weather forecast Potosi (Bolivia) and Ushuaia (the bottom of Argentina) for winter temperatures.
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