Manaus

After the tight quarters on the Amazon it was time to chill out in Manaus before heading down to Rio to meet Erick for a couple of weeks holiday (and yes the irony of taking a holiday from travelling is well aware to me).

Chilling out proved to be quite difficult as the temperature hovered around 30 degrees both night & day and the humidity must have been at least 120%. Despite this I managed to move myself from in front of the fan to see the famous opera house. It is indeed extremely impressive and the whole idea of building an opera house in the middle of the jungle, thousands of miles from civilization was definitely visionary.

The other fun happening in Manaus was a bit of a laundry disaster. Up until now all laundry outings had gone spiffingly (well except one time in Colombia when I had to leave the town and my clothes weren't completely dry, so I had to stuff wet clothes into my backpack...), but Manaus was to prove different. When I arrived my laundry wasn't ready, so I headed round the corner for a refreshing cerveja. An hour later she was flustered, but just about putting everything in a plastic bag. She handed it to me and I checked the contents. Two pairs of foreign underwear - old briefs in purple and navy blue and one missing T-Shirt. We solved this with a couple of laughs and a bit of pointing in the laundry room and off I toddled home.

That night though whilst putting on lovely new and lovely smelling jocks I noticed that the fair lady from the laundry had written my name on the labels of all my clothes. Not a huge problem you say, but on the jock I was wearing she had actually written on the white waistband of my otherwise super sexy pulling pants.

Yes, I have my name and to add insult to injury it is spelled wrong on my pants. I feel like a 5 year old. The "Back" scribble was put on to try and make it humorous if ever spotted by a member of the general public.

Iquitos to Manaus: Sailing the Amazon

Iquitos to Tabatinga (Brazil) was achieved in a high speed boat which was so high speed that it broke down after 2 hours and we had to wait on the banks of the Amazon until a replacement arrived from Iquitos. The new boat was slightly smaller than the first, so with typical south american ingenuity some plastic chairs were procured and the luckless seatless souls were given pride of place in the aisles. Causing a somewhat tricky obstacle to be tackled whilst going for a pee.

The supposed 9 hour journey turned into 15 and we arrived in Santa Rosa at 9pm where the Peruvian border guards had pissed off home. So I became an illegal immigrant and took a motor canoe over to Tabatinga in Brazil. Within 10 minutes of arriving I had been offered 90% of all drugs known to man and been propositioned by two elderly prostitutes. Whilst there is nothing wrong per se with these gracious offerings by the locals I was not quite in the mood after a day bouncing down the Amazon.

Along the way we had formed a little group - a Chilean couple and an English couple, so as first world refugees we stuck together and found a hotel. A little on the shabby side, there was a pile of sand and a toilet seat in the reception area, watermelon pips all down the hall, no toilet light and no sheets provided (actually not a problem in the jungle heat).

The next day we dutifully put-putted back to Santa Rosa to get checked out of Peru and hiked the streets of Tabatinga to find the Brazilian immigration. That done, it was time to buy a hammock and a boat ticket for the journey to Manaus. All was successfully acomplished in record time so we jumped in a souped up VW camper van taxi and headed 1km down the road to Leticia, Colombia to complete the breakfast in Peru, Lunch in Brazil and Dinner in Colombia grand slam. Leticia was actually nice, a feck lot more salubrious than Tabatinga at any rate.

The boat was leaving the next day at 5pm, so we arrived around lunch to make sure we were in the queue for the best hammock space. We weren´t the first but had a decent position. Around 3pm ¨boarding¨ commenced which meant that the queue kind of disintegrated as people barged through and women and children were called to the front. But we eventually got on, slung our hammocks and readied ourselves for 4 days on the high seas. Well actually we went upstairs to find the bar which served ice cold Skol.

The 4 days and 3 nights passed quickly, a familiar rhythm developed unconsciously - Wake (normally due to the chap swinging beside me putting on some tunes at 6am), go back to sleep, wake, back to sleep, too hot to sleep, swing in hammock mind refreshingly blank, read, lunch (which was served military style in 15 person sittings from 10.30 to 12.00), doze, read, look forward to dinner, crack open first beer, dinner (strictly 16.30 to 18.00), sunset, more beer... And repeat. The scenery changed little, just a vast expanse of trees bordering the river, the banks becoming further and further apart as we progressed downstream. Every dozen kilometers or so we would pass by a small hamlet, Amazonians doing whatever they do (largely fishing and sitting around doing nothing by the looks of it)

Our little group of 5 was widened with the remaining 5 gringos on the boat. 2 English lads, a Spaniard and two American girls. Time passed slowly like the Amazon, giving us ample time to play every game under the sun - from Shithead to Dominoes, Poker to Checkers. We even threw in a game of eyespy, but the letters A and J just came up far too often. The sunsets were sublime though, a real highlight to every day. The sun going down directly behind the boat, causing the Amazon to turn almost mercurial.

Day 4 came along and the expected ETA of midday was revised to 7pm. So just as the sun was setting we finally got our way and had the barman put on one of our iPods, the English lad sticking on some exquisite house music. So with the sounds of Northern Exposure, the sun going down once again and the fires coming from the Manaus oil refineries raging into the sky we had rather a memorable entry to Manaus.

Iquitos

A wall of heat hit me as I de fecking planed the flight from Tarapoto. Guns and Roses were shouting "Welcome to the Jungle" in my head. Yep, Iquitos is in the Amazon and is hotter and sweatier than satan's crotch in tight undies.
But it is a pleasant enough place to spend some time, moto taxis fly everywhere and there are practically no cars (Fact o'the day: Iquitos is the largest town in the world that is not connected to anywhere else via road).

I had heard that the only golf course in the entire Amazon was near Iquitos, so on the first morning I flagged down a Moto taxi and told the driver to take me out to it, slightly worried that my lack of golf shoes and a collared t-shirt might cause a problem.

I signed in, picked up some ancient clubs, some third hand balls and some tees that resembled toothpicks and walked out to the driving range for a couple of swings. One or two mishits at the beginning, but soon after the balls were flying straight and far. Off to the first tee, where Guido my taxi driver suddenly appears and takes my clubs. Obviously Guido moonlights as a caddy in his spare time. His knowledge was a little lacking and he would offer me a Pitching Wedge for tee off and a driver on the fairway, but he did know when the putter was to be used.
We sweated our way round the 9 holes, having chosen just before midday to tee off. There were turtles in the water hazzard on the 7th and a load of chickens scratching around the 9th green. The greens were like fairways back home and the fairways were like jungle. The rough, was exactly that, very rough. Although the golf bag did come equipped with a machette, but I wasn't willing to destroy more of the Amazon whilst searching for the balls I lost.

After an hour or so we dripped into the club and I handed in my score card, a quite embarassing 70 on a par 38. I blame Guido...

Tarapoto

Four seperate cars got me from Chachapoyas to Tarapoto, the highlight being having to share a front seat with a large Peruvian who had obviously just had a nice and oniony Ceviche lunch.
After a mere 9 hours, I got into Tarapoto and took a moto taxi to the Plaza de Armas. Just like with people it is easy to take an instant like or dislike to a place and with Tarapoto it was a definite "like". Warm, clean, easy going, families out in the streets, women grilling up a storm on the side of the alleyways, in fact it reminded me of Asia. So I spent a very pleasant evening having some street food and a couple of beers, before retiring to my room to get a quick TV fix. Have become a big fan of Anthony Bourdain in his "No Reservations" show. If chefs were rock and roll stars, Jamie Oliver would be a boy band (like thousands of others, no particular talent), Ramsey would be Oasis (loud and showy, but not much substance) and Bourdain would definitely be The Ramones.

After a leisurely start the next morning (i.e. getting up 10 minutes before check out), I had some lunch and made my way to the bustling Tarapoto airport for my flight to Iquitos.

Chachapoyas & Kuelap

After the hiking and general clean living of Huaraz I was once again read to tackle back to back night busses. Huaraz - Trujillo one night and then at 3pm Trujillo - Chachapoyas, capital of the Amazonas district and gateway to Kuelap - a famous pre-inca fortress.

The journey from Trujillo was lovely for the first 4 hours - straight roads, lovely sunset view and a Peruvian girl beside me who started chatting me up. Once the darkness decended though the journey became tortous to say the least. The road became less paved, started ascending, and had more hairpins than your granny in the hairdresser. Oh, and the Peruvian fell asleep, leaving me alone to contemplate the draw of travelling. Eventually I nodded off only to be woken at 5am by the conductress saying we had arrived. I found my way to the central square and to a hostal where the night watchman was quite chirpy to see me.

After a couple more hours sleep I had a look round Chacha, which turns out to be a lovely, clean and very friendly wee town. Quite obviously not on the main Lima-Cusco backpacker route, the people still have time for a chat and are very corteous.


The next morning it was up to Kuelap, which was hyped my many guidebooks as the alternative Macchu Picchu. Now I wasn't a huge fan of M.P. due to the inordinate amount of tourists, but Kuelap really ain't a competitor. It is set in a lovely location, on the top of a hill overlooking many others, but then again so is M.P. It was certainly impressive and the lack of tourists was refreshing but it reminded me of Copan in Honduras. "Oh yeah, another ruin".

I know I'm a Phillistine, or a Palestine or a Filipino or something...

High on Huaraz

I spend my second night in a row on a bus, jostling for prime position with my lovely neighbour's shoulder and arrive in Huaraz at 6am. This time without coffee I brave the mean streets where the sun is just getting its act together. And out of the blue we have one of those jaw dropping, this is why I travel moments. One by one the Cordillera Blanca range of mountains become visible in the background as they become encased in a warm orange glow. With 33 mountains over 5500m, the C.B. is the 2nd highest mountain range after the Himalayas. I walked around for a least half an hour, mouth open, shooting pictures before realising that I was about to fall over out of tiredness and/or hunger. By now it is around 7, so I ring the door of a hostel to be greeted by an extremely sleepy Canadian. I say "Room". He says "Yes". I say "How much". He says "45". I say "OK". He says "Key". I say "Thanks". And with that Shakesperian encounter I climb the stairs to my room and fall asleep until 4pm.

Upon awakening I take a look around town, which proves to be another Thamel/Cusco/Banos, tourist agents everywhere and every person on the street trying to sell you something. But the Peruvians aren't hard enough to be pushy so you just smile at them and walk on.

I found some food and dared have a beer and was back in bed by 10pm.


The next day it was out to Lake Llanganuco, which deserves the word "breathtaking" in every sense. Situated around 3800 meters, it is the most vivid turquoise colour and is surrounded by 6000m peaks (including Peru's highest mountain - Huscaran).


From Llanganuco it was up to the trailhead for a hike up to Lake 69, which was meant to be even more beautiful than Llanganuco. I was dubious, but started up the valley anyway. On the way I had encountered a young Israeli software engineer who was obviously gay (or so my gaydar told me). We hiked fo 4 hours together and the above sentence is all I got out of him. e.g. he was Israeli and a software engineer. I might have caught his name at some stage but it was one of those weird ones so in one ear and out the other. The weather had turned a little bleak, but we hiked at some speed ever upwards, each step revealing more snowy peaks. After about 2 hours I saw a sliver of blue over a ridge and we clambered up to the lake. And by fuck they were right, Lake 69 is simply stunning. The pure definition of blue, with icy peaks all around it and a waterfall cascading down the rocks to fill it. I was tempted to go for a swim, but held myself back after dipping a little finger in. Any closer to 0 degrees and it would have been ice. The hike down was just as chatty, but thank god the scenery did enough talking and I just stared around the valley taking pictures till my battery ran out.

All in all I think the Huascaran National Park (including the 2 lakes) might actually be the most beautiful place I have every seen. Certainly giving the Milford Sound a run for its money.

Photos here

Travelling 101; #5: Mosquitoes

Much like pigeons, who I wholeheartedly believe are the Microsoft of the animal world - no one likes them but they are bloody successful at what they do, mosquitoes inhabit pretty much every square inch of the places travellers like to roam. From Nicaragua to Nepal, Lima to Luang Prabang & Stockholm to Santiago you will find them, or rather they will find you.
And find you they do with amazing accuracy and speed. It seems like only seconds go by after you turn the lights off at night before that unmerciful and rage/fear-inducing ZzzzzzzzzzzZzzzzMzzzzMzzzzzzZZZZZZZZ sound approaches your ear. Then you do the extremely intelligent and wince provoking "slapping yourself on the side of the head" manouever. Then it is normally lights on and the mosquito hunt begins. But mosquitos are masters at hide and seek and there might have been 42 buzzing around your head, but by the time you reach the light switch they have all hidden under the bed, behind the light bulb or are pretending to be a speck of dust in the corner.

As if that sound weren't enough, it seems like nature gave the mosquito the ability to transmit EVERY FUCKING nasty disease known to mankind. Malaria, Dengue Fever, Yellow Fever, Japanese Encephalitis, West Nile Virus and if you are really lucky, the Rift Valley Fever too. It's fucking amazing that they can't transmit HIV or Rabies, but I'm sure the mosquito council are working on it.

I mean they are so nasty & evil, that if the mosquito were a human it would be Ghengis Khan, Hitler, Pol Pot, Stalin, Bruce Lee, Arnold Schwarzenegger, Chuck Norris and George Bush rolled into one. In the Olympics of bad-ass animals the tiger, lion, polar bear and great white shark would all be cowering behing each other as the mosquito took the gold medal.
Thus your average traveller applies about 16 gallons of repellent each evening. This makes backpacker romance an unsavoury option, as any body part other than the mouth is going to taste like licking vinegar off a dead slug. Well, OK, not EVERY body part.

Travelling 101; #4: Pringles

Some foodstuffs seem universal but after travelling for a while you realise every country has its own beer, soft drinks and chocolate bars. But by in large there are two exceptions to this rule - Coca Cola (and maybe Fanta at a push) & Pringles. The latter seems to be purpose designed for all those travellers who don't trust the native cuisine. So on any long bus journey you will hear that familiar "once you've popped you can't stop" sound of multiple gringos getting their dinner in a metal cylinder ready.

Surreal Spanish

The English word "Peacock" is translated into Spanish as "Pavo Real", which literally translated means "Royal Turkey".
Now you know.