Blog 101

Since November 18th 2008, I have posted 100 pieces on my blog. This is Blog 101.

These days, I am spending more time looking forward than back, but as a turbulent year of change comes to a close, it seems wrong not to think back over these 100 pieces.

At that moment, when I posted the first piece, it felt that many things were sliding underneath my feet, as the trigger for setting up my blog was losing my job. The first pieces were all about that experience, for myself and friends. Looking back on it, I feel a clarity that I had been allowing my job to be my life, a clarity which was definitely missing for a number of years. My friend Yvonne said to me in the Summer, “I don't want to be defined by my job”, and certainly I was in danger of that. When the job was removed I felt a part of me was removed too. Instead what has taken its place is a willingness to look at life in a different way and look at what my values are through different experiences.

It doesn't mean I have any regrets. My life in Canon gave me the chance to experience diversity in ways I could not dream of back in my teens when I tried to imagine my future working life. From the moment I started working with people from different countries, I felt at home and suited to the environment, personally and professionally. The job led me to live in different countries and experience new cultures, languages and people first-hand. Those opportunities more than anything have shaped my character.

Nevertheless, I needed a trigger for a new start, a new development. If I am honest, probably I would never have willingly left Canon without the push, so for that I am personally grateful. It is a rare case to have the will to make a change hand in hand with a push from your company and the resources to make the jump. Every day I remind myself how lucky I am to have been able to take time off and review where my life is headed.

Many of my pieces over the last 14 months have focused on the change of job. But increasingly things have shifted, as they have for all my former work colleagues in Canon. Instead of mourning the loss, I found new spirit in thinking about new plans for the future and writing about my travel. Trips to America in April, Spain in May, Greece and East Europe in June and July and the whole tour with Nicki since October have given so much inspiration and new input.

It has meant that my directions and dreams have shifted since I set out my plans in this blog in early 2009, yet somehow have stayed on track.

The first dream and direction was to write a book about Amsterdam. While the work I am now writing will be very different to my planned novel, the book “49 Things You Might Want To Know About Amsterdam” (working title) will be published in 2010 – of this, I am absolutely certain. My love for the city, the research I have done and my will to write and create something unique will come together in this book.

Where the book will be published remains to be seen. Amsterdam? London? Buenos Aires? Auckland? All are possible.

The second dream was to go to Australia, and that dream has transformed into the most memorable experience of my life, thanks to this world tour with Nicki. Seeing such extremes of country and culture has been amazing. The madness of Venice Beach and the calm of Sonoma's wine valley. Peru's poverty in the countryside and dramatic history at Macchu Picchu. The buzz and creativity of Buenos Aires' San Telmo district and the calm and quaintness of Colonia Del Sacramento in Uruguay. And the all-happening life in New York contrasted to the calm beauty of Easter Island and Tahiti. What incredible luck to have seen all this! And still to come are all that New Zealand and Australia have to offer, and so the dream has taken on totally new wings.

The final part of the dream was to start my own Business Coaching company. I still intend to start a company but it will be a very different one. The company – DJB Pubs BV – will publish the first “49 Things” book. There is a whole plan developing in my mind for what to do to make this successful – to make it so much more than “just” a book and rather a way of life for me in the future – but this is still in process, so more on this another time.

Through it all, friends and family have been so supportive and understanding of these decisions not to simply move to London or hunt a new job immediately.

At the end of 2008, Sonny and I came up with the slogan for the new year. “2009 – The Time for Radical Change”. At the end of 2009, I want to keep the spirit of that with my wish for this New Year. 2010 – The Time for MORE Radical Change.

And the motto for the year will be;

“If they give you lined paper, write sideways”. (Juan Ramon Jimenez)

All the best for the New Year, thanks for reading my blog, and be assured that there is plenty to come on this site in the coming months.

Blog 100 - Easter Island, "The Farrest Place in the World"

(This is my 100th Blog Entry!)

Since flying from Santiago in Chile, we have been spending some idyllic days on Easter Island.

Where is Easter Island? About 1900km from anywhere... a 5 hour flight West of Santiago and 1900 km East of tiny Pitcairn, to be precise. This makes it the most remote place on earth - or as one car sticker said, "Easter Island, The Farrest Place in the World". There are around 5000 people on the island now, but they all stem from 111 survivors of a Smallpox outbreak after colonists came to take over. The name of the Island comes from the date of its discovery by the Dutchman Roggeveen on Easter Sunday in 1722 (the Chilean name "Isla da Pascua" comes from the old Dutch naming "Paasch-Eyland", direct translation being Easter Island.)

It is an incredibly relaxed place. Hanga Roa is the main town where most of the hotels and restaurants are plus a "high street" with a some little supermarkets and half a dozen trucks selling a few fruit, veg and complete pigs. There is tourism, but it's not at all in your face and we have managed to hire bikes, take the full-island tour and see a Polynesian dancing show in the last few days. The water is a beautiful blue (in contrast to Uruguay's brown waters) and very rough as we both found out when trying to swim in a small bay - currents pull you all over the place, so we have repaired to the pool for the rest of our swimming.

Our bike ride was funny. We got excellent mountain bikes with seats that were made for speed, not comfort and after a few kilometres, the road switched from tarmac to dirt-track. First we had to negotiate some pretty huge waterlogged parts of the road and then had to handle the difficulty of sore bums as the road got rougher and rougher! But it was a beautiful way to see the island's simple, green landscape and animal life. We had it explained that there are 4000 horses on the island but almost no trees as at some stage in history, every tree was used up. This is one of the reasons the island is so limited in population - it simply has no resources.

The Island tour took us to see the Moai - those strange heads which are dotted over the island. Over the years, there have been various theories about their origins, and the beauty of it is that nobody really knows. The people of the island have an ancient written language which no-one can decipher, and because of the smallpox epidemic, it left nobody with the knowledge to pass on about the roigin of the Moai.

They are huge heads and torsos, standing around 8-10 metres tall. They were carved at a quarry and manoeuvred across the land into position on platforms which formed locations of tombs in later years. When finished and in place - and considering that they weighed incredible amounts, it's amazing they ever got them in place - the eyes were then placed giving the Moai the spirit or holy Mana. In one location there are 15 of them, looking seriously out to the land with chin up high and dignity oozing from their stance. It is understandable why the islanders would be in awe of these huge, imposing stones.

After some tourists tried to chip off pieces of some of the Moai, the island has become extremely careful to warn tourists to minimise their impact on the land and the stones. They are carved from 80% volcanic lava, not the most enduring, and therefore preserving them is a constant battle. They are also trying to restore many of the fallen Moai, as over the years many have either been pushed over by local warring factions (there was acivil war at some stage) or the platform has been eroded by weather. When they fall, they smash into various pieces and it takes huge work to restore, and the island doesn't have the money or resources to cope. As a result, they warn you on the plane with leaflets and movies, plus with signs all over the island not to touch the stones or walk over the platforms. Despite this, we were amazed to find people wilfully ignoring these warnings in the interests of the perfect photograph - absolutely unbelievable.

Ironically, the biggest enemy of the Moai now is the horse population. They rub up against the stones, of course not knowing the significance, and this is causing erosion too.

On Christmas day, we sat by the pool in 30 degree heat, swimming, reading and eating our makeshift Christmas dinner of bread rolls and cheese (stolen at breakfast), crackers and avocado, cheap sparkling wine, chocolate liqueurs we had bought at the airport and some Isla De Pascua Pan, a kind of local Christmas Bread. In the distance, the church bells alternated between Silent Night and Oh Come All Ye Faithful in perfect harmony, giving us some real Christmas feeling. In the evening we sat and had dinner looking out onto the sea - a very different day to any christmas either of us had ever experienced.

Boxing day, and we walked the 20km round trip to the volcano which has been the source of Easter Island's existence. It is a stunning place, a huge crater with all kinds of greenery and plants growing in it now. We walked around Orongo, the tiny village that existed at the island's tip and marvelled at our luck to be able to see such places. In the evening, my luck ran out - we went to the Kari Kari dancing show (all drums and shaking muscled bodies) and when the section for bringing people from the audience to join in came, I was picked out for the last dance. My horror was complete as my top was whipped off and my t-shirt-tan (very brown arms, lily-white torso) was revealed to all. The glare caused some serious damage for those without sunglasses...

It's been a paradise-like stay and we are so incredibly lucky to be leaving here and flying on to 6 nights in Tahiti.

Colonia to Easter Island

(sorry, web-connection here too slow to upload pics...)

After 2 weeks of sunshine we were surprised to get a muggy, rainy day in Colonia del Sacramento on our last day in Uruguay. We sheltered in our nice airco'd hotel room and checked the Facebook posts, describing a different surprise of the imminent White Christmas back home in Holland and England.

One last day in Argentina took us to San Telmo once more, our favourite part when we in Buenos Aires before, and I went to find the writer of the little book “Tango – The Truth” which I had bought a week ago. Since then, inspired by seeing somebody's ambition turning into reality in such a concrete way, I have been writing most days and feel much clearer about how my dream of having a book published may come true. I've got a plan and a subject which is much less unwieldy than my first idea and I can see to the end of the project now.

Sally Roddy, the writer, is Irish and it was an odd thing to stand there in a Buenos Aires street, an Irish woman and an English guy, talking about books written or to be written about Argentina and Amsterdam. Now “all” I have to do is get on and get the pieces written. For the first time, I truly know I can do it.

We went on to Santiago after a 4am wake up call – not great after a few buckets of white wine the night before. We loved Buenos Aires and celebrated that a little too much, and I got carried away with the street drum band's beat, ending up dancing along with the procession as well as having a few bangs on the bongos (which they kindly let me do when they had a rest...)

As we arrived in Chile, the Lonely Planet South America book told us that it was the first South American country to be considered “1st World”. It's economy and infrastructure is more developed than all others, it said and we could see as we arrived. Nice-looking housing estates, well-kept roads and a city centre that was bustling with people in endless shops made it clear that this is a different level of living standard than Peru (where a significant percentage of population are still living on just a few dollars a day), Argentina and Uruguay.

The shopping culture is incredible – it was a Monday afternoon and the places were heaving. Perfume counters were fortified with an army of presenters, ready to squirt any fragrance at will. Other staff manned microphones and yelled out promotions to the masses – shopping in Santiago is clearly an interactive process. Equally, it was odd to buy anything. You decide what you want, go to the end of the shop, pay for it, then go back to the counter and pick it up. It seems this is part of a drive which I've seen in Uruguay too, to force traders to present customers with a clearly itemised receipt, something we take for granted in the west.

We felt quite drained after the shopping experience and looked at the map for interesting places to go. Seeing a river on the map gave us the idea to head there – most capital cities have rivers and do something nice with them, so we thought it may be a relaxing place to have a drink and a rest. We were wrong. The river was brown and slushy, flowing through a channel carving through the city, untended and lined with rubbish. It was probably the most ugly river either of us had ever seen!

An early night followed a fruitless attempt to get Facebook to upload pictures (why do things work perfectly with computers and then suddenly just not?!?) and we started up at 6am again. We are on the way to Easter Island and are intrigued to find out what lies ahead for us. It's an incredible piece of luck to be able to do this trip and feels almost surreal that we are now on this leg of the trip after 3 weeks in USA and 5 weeks in South America.

Uruguay's coast

We drove across country towards Montevideo on an amazing straight road.

Here we saw that people are living a simple life, but the basics are there. Small homes are surrounded by space, with plants and trees. The rickety TV aerials on houses even down side-streets suggest that electricity is widely available. The road conditions were great and the surroundings very calm and attractive.

Coming out of Colonia, we were in an amazing avenue of Palm Trees – we'd never seen a road like it and reminded ourselves how lucky we are to be able to do this.

We've been bitten like hell in the last days. Bizarrely, one night in Buenos Aires Nicki got around 20 bites overnight while I had got none. But the balance has been re-dressed in Colonia, where the mosquitoes have been rampant. A good strong spray called OFF (and the second word was “off” as we scratched in agony...) was bought a little too late and when on our way to Montevideo, we stopped off at a riverside spot to have lunch – big mistake! Those mossies had been on steroids, they attacked us immediately and each of us got an extra half dozen serious bites in seconds before we scooted back to the car.

The water has been odd in Uruguay so far. It seems that we are by the sea, but the River Del Plate between Argentina and Uruguay doesn't stop until Punta Del Este, 300 km round the coast. It means the water is brown instead of blue. The same was the case in Montevideo, which had miles of carefully pedestrianised walkways all round the coast and beach – so strange to see brown water by a seaside city.

Montevideo itself, Uruguay's capital, was quite uninspiring and our main task there was to get our clothes posted home to lighten the load of rucksacks. Then we drove onto Punta Del Este, which seems to be the Riviera of Uruguay. It is a fantastic peninsula with fancy apartments and high rise blocks without being a mess of shabby tourism. The beaches – sunny, sandy and very windy! – were immaculately kept, and the lack of “beach-business” was a big surprise. No food stands, no café's or hotels overlooking the beach directly, no amusement arcades or shops selling all kinds of beach stuff. Our guess is that it's the place where Uruguayans (and Portenos from Buenos Aires), buy holiday and weekend apartments. It's more like a “home from home” place than a tourist centre.

We were lucky to leave on 19th December – our hotel's prices went from 45 dollars per night to 110 Dollars on the 21st. The peak “summer” season goes on until February and then dies, a waiter told us. In general we have been surprised by the prices in Uruguay because they've been much higher than Argentina, but we have been only in tourist spots so it's hard to compare accurately.

After a couple of relaxed and happy days in Punta, sunbathing (maybe a little too much...) and enjoying the warm breeze, we're back in Colonia for one night. Our flight schedules changed so we have a night here, Sunday night in Buenos Aires, Monday night in Santiago (Chile) and reach Easter Island for our Christmas stay on Tuesday.

A Traveller's Experience - Posting Clothes Home from Uruguay

This is a genuine description of what it has been like to try to send clothes home from Uruguay.

We are on to the warm-weather part of the trip now, so we decided it was time to post home some of our heavy load and make way for a few extras we might buy along the way. With two carrier bags of stuff ready, Nicki went to the Post Office.

The first post office said she could not send them from there, so she went to another one. There, she was informed that because we were sending used clothes, we had to get a certificate in Montevideo (the capital) to be able to send them.

So we went to the main post office at Montevideo the next day -unfortunately they were closing so yet another day later, we went to the address Nicki had been given.

When we arrived and explained in Nicki's best Spanish what we needed, a man explained that we had to get our clothes checked before we could send them. He took us to a back-office with a group of guys hanging around in blue work-clothes, clearly part of the Uruguayan civil-service (they seemed to be hanging around doing nothing most of the time). Eduardo was introduced to us, and he sullenly sorted through our clothes and noted each item as their friendly dog nibbled away at my toes. He weighed the clothes and took us to another part of the block.

There, he opened a door, laid the clothes out and explained that he was going to fumigate them. Nicki looked a little perturbed by this and asked if they would smell bad (her sense of smell is like Jip in Doctor Dolittle). He re-assured us not, sent us back to the first man, and he walked us to another office.

He explained that we needed to pay 65 Pesos (2 Euros) to have a document to be able to send the clothes. We paid it and returned to the office. Our friendly man sent us to Eduardo who met us with a smile as the dog took a couple of bites at my leg this time. I found it hilarious that a place that seemed to have been designated to sanitise clothing for export had a street-dog wandering around and spreading whatever germs he had on him.

Eduardo opened the fumigation room and then put on a gas-mask (really). He entered the room, bagged up our stuff and carried it back to his little office. He stamped each of our documents and said "nada mas" - nothing more to do. Wow! After a number of hours, many offices, various payments and forms and about a dozen people being involved, we were ready to send our clothes back! All we had to do was go to the post office and send them. We were assured we could send them from any post office with this important documentation

This morning, I went round the corner to the very helpful ladies in Punta Del Este. I explained that we had these documents and could we send the package from here. Amazingly, she said "why do you need those documents? I didn't know about that..."

I forced a smile, paid the 1000 pesos (35 Euros) to send them home, walked away and hoped like hell the damn things would get there!

From Argentina to Uruguay

A change of plan saw us shift from flying Buenos Aires to Patagonia (crazy money) to getting a boat across the River del Plate to Colonia in Uruguay. On our last night before leaving, though, we went on our final quest for Tango and a new district in Buenos Aires.

Since arriving, we have read books, been told about and been in search of Tango, but in vain. In theory, there are lots of "tanguerias" (places where locals go to dance) in San Telmo where we were staying, but despite asking Taxi drivers, restaurant owners and the Hostel staff, nobody seemed to know where they were. Our Hostel staff (bear in mind the Hostel is called "Tango City"...) professed to know nothing about Tango, looked up a few things on the Internet and sent us to a place called El Arranque.

This was a faintly charming but mostly bad recommendation - like a working man's club for Tango. The place was very old-fashioned, with huge fans keeping the dancefloor cool and an audience which left us the youngest in the place by around 15 years. Watching the dancers propping each other up was not the hot smooch we had expected to see.

One last throw of the Tango dice - La Boca, an area that has a rough reputation except for a small pocket of colourful streets with dancing shows. And yes, we finally found it there! The first street show we saw was charming in its shabbiness as the dancers wore worn out dresses and shoes and skidded across the roughly carpeted little stage in front of the cafe tables. The loveliest part was the enthusiasm they showed when, at the end, some of the audience asked for photographs. A lady in her 50's, clearly enamoured by one 20-something beau, was whisked up to the stage in a gale of giggles. The dancer thrust her leg across his, put on his best macho-tango-look and the moment was captured perfectly to make her day.

A second show just down the road was far more professional and smart. A lead singer, immaculately dressed in suit, pocket handkerchief and cufflinks, crooned alluringly in front of a classic Shure microphone. The music was provided by a bass and a bandoneon, the classic accordion-like instrument known as "the heart of Tango". The dancers in stylish black suit for the man and ed dress for the woman gave us a taste of the passion that is behind the dance.

We also found La Boca a bit more tuned into getting their money's worth from tourists. One great aspect for travellers in Buenos Aires is that tourism is very low-key. In La Boca, they know how to get you - such as charging 3 Euros for a small pot of olives and 3-times the standard rate for glasses of wine. Fair enough - it's a poor area with a rough history and reputation and it was the only time we felt we had been exploited a little as tourists.

The following morning, we took the very swish BuqueBus, a boat that whizzed us across the water in an hour to Colonia Del Sacramento. This turned out to be perhaps our best stop yet.

Colonia is a small town surrounded by sea which has kept an incredible amount of charm from past days. Buildings are old, side-street roads and squares are cobbled haphazardly, ancient classic cars are dotted around the town (including one with a tree growing out of it) and most of all, the atmosphere is just charming. It's a bizarre feeling to be in a town in mid-December, sitting by the sea and looking along the beach at palm-trees.

Christmas is going to be a strange thing - we have no real sense of it being a week away, despite the small attempts by locals to have little christmas trees and flashing lights. It seems incongruous in 30 degrees of bright sunshine.

In the evening, the town suddenly transformed for a short period. A drum band was walking through the town with a small following, and this co-incided with a parade of cars hooting and full of shouting football fans in blue shirts, plus replica cups attached to the top of vans - surely the locally supported team had won the league or cup today?

The commotion lasted an hour or so - Uruguayans are like all South Americans and like to celebrate, but it seems in Colonia, it's done in a more sobre way...

We spent a couple of lovely days in the town, including perhaps the most beautiful sunset I have ever seen in my life. Then on Tuesday, it was on to Montevideo, Uruguay's capital.

Football Argentina style

(This whole piece is unashamedly about football - skip it if you don't like the game...:-)

One of my ambitions for coming to Argentina was to see a football match.

In the past, River Plate and Racing Club were two strong teams, but both have fallen on hard times. I got a ticket to see these two play a derby of basically fading giants, and the football itself was unremarkable. I was even surprised at the low quality – like the 2nd division in UK. But the atmosphere was amazing.

The stadium was less than two thirds full, but at each end there was a section of River and Racing fans who made incredible noise through the whole game. I have been to games in England and Holland where the crowd wait until the team does something before cheering or shouting in support. Not so in Argentina. From ages before the starting whistle to long after the final moment, there were drums, shouting, clapping and chanting. I took a couple of movies just to capture the amazing noise.

A man next to us summed it all up. He wore his River Plate shirt and as soon as the game, his poor girlfriend ceased to exist, just like the rest of the world apart from his immediate focus of the game, the players and most of all the referee. He chanted, shouted and swore at every single move made, for better or for worse. My Spanish is not great, but I have picked up a few words – the phrase “Tu Madre” can be used in various offensive ways and he shouted it in different forms at everything that moved. When the referee made a mistake, he and various other fans around shouted what I can only politely explain as “return to the womb of your mother!” (this is a heavily watered-down translation of the reality of his sentiment...)

I did feel sorry for his girlfriend as she seemed to utter a silent prayer when River scored their 2 goals. God only knows what happens when his team lose, as they frequently have done this year.

The game is very different to England in many ways. There were cheap food places all over the stadium, selling burgers, hot dogs and coke for a Euro each (forget being a vegetarian in an Argentinian football stadium - the aroma of frying cheap meat is all-pervasive). I felt that the average person could afford to go to a game here, with tickets at around 6-8 Euros for standing in the upper parts of the stadium. In England, it is an incredibly expensive experience – at least 30 pounds just to get in and a burger would be 6-7 times that of the place I went last night. Seats are probably much more comfortable in UK – these at River Plate's stadium felt like park benches – but for a 2-hour period it's enough. It felt like football is still very much the “common man's sport” here in Argentina.

All around the city, I have seen posters which look like those for a local election in politics. In fact, they were promoting Daniel Passarella as the new Presidente of River Plate football club, and he was voted in last Sunday. He is a familiar figure to me because in 1978, I watched my first World Cup in full. Argentina won and Passarella was a central defender who oozed class and authority and had an unhurried way of dealing with every situation, just the coolest player you could ever imagine. One poster said “Grandes Crises, Grandes Hombres” - for a big crisis you need a big man. I find it fascinating that Argentina trust personality so much.

In the English Premier League, a club needs an Arabic or Russian investor to come and throw 200m at the club to make a difference. Here, just having a man with Passarella's reputation and re-assuring presence is enough. I saw him at the stadium, a small thrill to be close to a World Cup Winning Captain.

Likewise for the National team. Maradona is the coach, and he is absolutely idolised here, to the extent that his image is on many posters with phrases like “Thank God for Diego”, "God Exists" and other similar deifying messages. Since all kinds of drug and personal problems, a resurgent Maradona became the coach of the National Team, despite the fact that his few attempts to coach clubs had failed dismally. It would be like putting Beckham in charge of England in 10 years time, assuming he had no coaching experience, had snorted various crazy amounts of cocaine, broken up with Posh and lost all his money, physique and charm. This is pretty much what Maradona has done, and yet he is such an icon of hope and past success in this country that the risk was taken to put him in place. In the last year, his team (featuring Lionel Messi, the world's best player) lost 6-1 to Bolivia, considered a national humiliation. Argentina qualified for the World Cup finals with a last minute winner in their last qualifier. The hand of God saved his reputation for now, let's see how his team fare in the summer.

I also once saw Maradona, 5 years ago at Lisbon airport on the way to the Euro 2004 final. He seemed small, petulant and lonely. Why on earth give such a character such a huge responsibility? Reality is that most football players come from a poor background where only their ability to kick a ball elevates them to media stars. Yet media is all about communication and these guys have no skills in this. Beckham has shone over the years because he has honed his ability in front of the microphone.

Personally, I find Beckham a magnetic person who has learned genuine humility and for all his superstardom, he never quite forgets that he is an East London lad from humble origins (just my opinion...) The difference is that Maradona has not lived his life like Becks. Our David's response to problems on the football pitch has always been to train harder, work harder at what he does best - run around and kick a ball.

When Beckham announced mid-season that he was moving to USA, he lost his place in the Real Madrid side. His coach at the time, Fabio Capello (now England Manager) said "you will never play for Real Madrid again", because he doubted his player's commitment. Instead of crying or complaining, Beckham said the manager had the last word, and he trained. Harder and harder. He forced his way into the team again and finally won the league with Real. When faced with losing his place in the England team, Becks came back from USA and trained - hard - with AC MIlan. Now as England coach, Capello, picks him regularly. It's all a case of attitude.

I read an article recently by an Italian defender, Franco Baresi, who played against Maradona many times. He was asked "how did you stop him? Just kick him?" Baresi answered "you simply had 2-3 players on him. 1-on-1, you always lost to him. He was unstoppable." Maradona had the talent that no-one else had, abilities Beckham could only dream of.

In 1994, overweight and out of form, Maradona went to the World Cup and out-performed himself. But true fans (including me) had their hearts broken when it turned out that his performances were amphetamine-fuelled and he was sent home in disgrace from the World Cup. He wasn't prepared to do the world that his talent deserved. And since then, his life has gone from disaster to disaster until a couple of years ago, when he seemed to get clean. The power of reputation and personality seems to have carried him through here in Argentina, and the hopes of many fans (and their girlfriends) rest on his shoulders.

The religion of Argentina is catholic, followed closely by football.

Buenos Aires and it's Districts

Yesterday we walked through the main districts of Buenos Aires in boiling heat, and I finished it in the cauldron of a football Derby between two big BA clubs.

We left our local San Telmo district, where we've spent a lot of time hanging around the nice shops, bars and antique stores. It's a quite run-down area with broken paving stones, graffiti and charming roughness, but this is only one aspect of the city.

Taking the long walk through to the more fashionable Recoleta area gives a sense of the change in the city. For the first time, we see boutique shops, nail-polish parlours and more stylish eateries. The streets are smartly paved, the area is cleaner, more people are more smartly dressed (though suits are a rarity) and prices are definitely higher. Recoleta is the place where the cemetery housing Juan and Eva Peron is based and it's an altogether posher location. As we walked on, we found the embassies, and comparing San Telmo and Recoleta it was like comparing London's Lambeth and Notting Hill. An ambassador's life is clearly comfortable in leafy streets with plenty of security.

On to Old Palermo, which seems to be the mid-market – things are just nice, ordinary shops, standard restaurants and carefully kept cobbled streets. These three districts of Buenos Aires are so different and we realised we had walked around this city as much as we had ever taken such walks through London. Amazing how the desire to experience a city's gradations of difference is bigger when it's not your own.

One strange thing is to be in a hot city with sunshine and blue sky, with shops covered in Christmas decorations. The brain gets confused - our idea of a Christmas scene is of course cold, snow and indoor cosiness. When you see "Feliz Novidad" (happy christmas) while sweating away in the streets of a hot city, your mind does a constant double-take.

Once again, we have had mixed experiences with accommodation here. To be fair, it is incredibly cheap - we paid almost the same for 6 nights in this hostel as we did for a night in New York. But we are staying on the 6th floor in a tiny room with an OK bed, a window that doesn't close and an air-conditioning unit that infrequently chucks out cold air and a noise that makes you feel you are sleeping inside a fridge. At 6 am, the buses in the street start screeching around, and despite being so high up it sounds as if they are in the next room. So sleeping any length is a challenge, but it's amazing how a tired body can rise to such a challenge!

Next we decided to head over the water to Uruguay and see Montevideo, the capital, as well as the beach at Punte Del Este - and stay in a nicer place! A new country after a great time in Buenos Aires.

Buenos Aires and Literary Inspiration

We left Peru on Monday and landed in Buenos Aires – what a great city! Immediately we have felt at home and fascinated by the place.

So far we've wandered around and just taken in its charm. Buenos Aires has large, wide streets and busy shopping centres, like any large capital, and has lots of interesting suburbs too. We are staying near San Telmo, which we heard is the centre of the Tango culture in Buenos Aires, and found it is also a centre of art, antiques and music. The back-streets remind you of Paris and the whole area is quite untouched. It's dirty, messy and run-down, and oozing with charm.

At the little market around Dorrego square, we were drawn in by real local-made goods. Many of the market-people had a genuine story about what they were selling – I was given a full 5-minute explanation of the benefits of each of a stand full of wallets, not having realised before there could be so much difference – and Nicki was beguiled by a Ukrainian woman who had great bag-technology. Her story was impossible to ignore and she easily captured our 50 pesos (7 GBP/8 Euros) for her beautifully hand-made bag.

As for me, I was taken in by a writer. The book that caught my attention is called “Tango – The Truth” by Sally Roddy. She had been doing Latin American studies in England and came to Buenos Aires to finish her thesis, fell in love with the city and the story of Tango, and stayed.

Her book says that the history of Tango and the city are interlinked, and she tells something of the story of both in her self-published story, which I read over lunch sitting on the square and drinking Quilmes beer. My knowledge of Argentinian history is almost non-existent and the book helped fill in some important stuff.

We have been wondering why the locals look so incredibly different to Peruvians – much lighter, despite a similar climate. Sally explained that this is because there was huge immigration in the 1800's and early 1900's, as the Argentinian government looked to America as a leading light. Argentina was second only to USA in the levels of immigration in this period, and they had hoped to capture all types of people from across Europe, with offices set up in Wales and Ireland as well as on mainland Europe (which explains why there is a Welsh community in Patagonia.). However, the majority of immigrants were from Italy and Spain, and almost 90% were men. This led to a heightening of an already macho culture and a big development of brothels as well as much more competition for the attentions of women.

Tango is a form of music and dance which is much more structured and formal than Salsa. It's a cool, surly looking form of movement and incredibly macho. It seems to me to be designed for the man to show supremacy and the female to demonstrate submissiveness, an out of date concept at odds with Tango's increasing popularity. Surprisingly, there have been periods when it has been suppressed by governments or song-titles have had to be toned down during the 20th century, when Argentina went through a series of military coups, interrupted by Juan Peron in the middle of the century. Tango's origins in the brothels and bars gave it an edgy side in lyrics and sound, the sort of thing oppressive governments are always against.

What I hadn't realised was how recently there had been military rule here. From 1976-1983, there was the “Dirty War” when 1000's of people were killed or disappeared – of course, it was during this time that the Argentinian government decided in late 1981 to play the Nationalist card and claim the Falkland Islands back. Apparently support for the government lasted a week until it became clear that Maggie Thatcher was no wallflower and was ready to fight back. After the loss of that war (described by Marquez as “two bald men fighting over a comb”) the government fell within a year. Today I saw a poster claiming that veterans of the war 27 years ago had been forgotten with no recompense. That period is still something remembered by the people here, although I have felt not one second of animosity towards us as English people.

In the periods when Tango was repressed in Argentina, its reputation grew outside – in Paris in the early 1900's, it was the dance. Since 1983, it has experienced a re-resurgence in Argentina and beyond.

This book, with its evocative photos, solid silky cover and excellently researched text has been an inspiration for me. Sally found something about the city that helped her express her love for the city, its people and its history. I guess that's what I have been searching for regarding Amsterdam. She published the book herself and its presentation is so attractive (who wouldn't want to explore a little red book titled “Tango – the Truth” in Buenos Aires?) and has caught my imagination.

Who knows – maybe coming to Buenos Aires may be the ultimate inspiration to make my dream of a book become reality.

The Hellish Ride to Heavenly Arequipa

Yesterday was what we could honestly call a "Traveller's Experience". We went through a rough ride to be rewarded with a real gem of a Peruvian town.

After paying $45 each for our tourist bus tickets to Puno, we took a local bus for $7 for a similar length journey to Arequipa. We paid the 1 sol (20 pence/25 Euro cents) tax we headed for our bus, and the first thing that struck me about it was the bullet hole in the windscreen. The second was the smell - it was heavy... Strangely, we were almost the only ones on when as it left the bus-station 15 minutes early - until it became clear that, to avoid the tax, the bus allowed people on round the corner. As we drove out of Puno, the door of the bus was open and one of the crew shouted “Arequipa!” to passers-by. A couple of people waved, the bus stopped, let them on and carried on down the road.

The bus half- filled up with locals, carrying anything from boxes of goods to a dead bird in a plastic bag. We settled down into seats at the front with the panoramic view - maybe that was why we had paid 20 soles and locals, I realised, were paying only 10... Fair enough, it was very cheap for us. Unfortunately the panoramic view was partly obscured by the big cracks in the glass on one side of the glass frontage of the bus.

We drove on for an hour and came to Juliaca - and I can only describe it as a hellish experience. The city is rife with illegal trading, due to proximity to the Bolivian border where goods are cheaper. As a result, the bus filled completely with people piling on boxes of cheap coffee and cooking oil. The roads were a complete chaos, and women kept coming onto the bus selling ice cream, bread and "Chucarron" in a plastic bag - a meat and vegetable mix which had been rustled up in a pan just outside the bus in the dusty street. At one stage while we were waiting, a smell of pure sewage filled the air and Nicki and I were left to breathe through her scarf to survive.

Thankfully, the most eventful aspects of the remaining 6 hours journey were incredibly fearless driving as our bus leaned over when careering round tight bends, and an engine that conked out a couple of times. A guy reached down into the bowels of the engine, visible from my seat, and seemed to wiggle some important piece of engineering. This seemed to restore the bus's ability to be put into gear, and all was well again.

As time went on, we were treated to stunning views across the mountains and lakes. There were no towns for over 200km from Juliaca to Arequipa, and we reached our highest altitude yet, 4800m above sea level. The landscape became almost desert-like at times and habitants were no more than a few farm workers and dogs chasing everything that moved. Finally as the trip came to an end, we descended fast for the last hour or so and came to the outskirts of Arequipa - I want to focus on the positive, but one comment about the outskirts - it was another shock to us to see what seemed like townships of tiny mud-houses being built in wave after wave across the hillside.

Then we came to the centre of Arequipa - what a beautiful place! It is known as the "White City" as many of the buildings are made from a very strong white stone. The main square is absolutely charming, food is great everywhere with juice bars, nice restaurants and attractive little alleyways all over. Our bed and breakfast room is pretty huge, just a few steps away from the main square. The city is overshadowed by the dormant volcano, “El Misti”, as well as some other beautiful mountains. Arriving here yesterday in warm sunshine was like finding an oasis.

Today we had a fantastic slow wander around the Monasterio de Santa Catalina and I can honestly say it was one of the best sight-seeing experiences I have ever had. The monastery has been preserved and restored since the 1970's and has endless little streets and hidden alcoves where the nuns used to live, pray and cook. Recent colouring of terra-cotta and light blue gave the whole place a real charm, and the peace and solitude of the place is a great contrast with the bustling verve of the city. The squares and plants dotted all around the place made it so attractive.

We are nearly at the end of our 3 weeks in Peru, and we can say we have had mixed experiences. But the beauty of Cuzco, and now Arequipa, are things we will never forget.

The Journey to Puno

Unfortunately I couldn't upload any pics to this blog with the Internet connection we had - sorry!

After a couple of days recovery from the Inca Trail, we left Cuzco and took the bus to Puno on Tuesday. The last evening in Cuzco was lovely, as our favourite San Blas square looked beautiful in the evening light.

The journey to Puno was an experience of contradictions. We had a very comfortable bus for the 10 hour trip, which included a couple of stops at Inca sites and a lunch buffet on the way, and yet the main new thing we saw was how hard it is for the people in the countryside. There were beautiful long landscapes and mountains rising up, yet many settlements along the way had half-finished houses built of mud with no roof. There were middle-aged women chasing after cows and sheep in the fields, and in the small villages we came to, the main street was always quite decrepit and worn out. The sight of an ancient woman begging is something I won't forget quickly.

I didn't take many pictures - it seemed intrusive and rude to do so - but again we were surprised at how insensitive some people could be, snapping away at beggars or street sellers in traditional clothing. It seemed ghoulish and disrespectful to us.

Along the way, we had a scare when it was announced that the locals in one town had put on a strike and blocked the road because they wanted the government to complete a road from their town to another key city. The guide told us "the Peruvian government normally takes notice if such things happen." We were set for a 3-4 hour wait in the bus, but just as we arrived at the queue of trucks and tourist buses, the road was opened again. We drove past the poor crowd of people on the side of the road, again conscious of the contrast between our luxury and their relative poverty.

And yet, we see that the poverty is indeed relative. The street sellers are not malnutritioned - generally the opposite. The towns are brimming with Internet café's, print shops and places to add credit for mobile phones. Our impression is that the basics of food and shelter are relatively easily found but the lack is in terms of infrastructure. This became apparent as we arrived in Puno.

The reason we had come to Puno was because it is on the edge of Lake Titicaca. We had both known the name of that lake since we could remember, but were not sure why. In fact, it's one of the highest navigable lakes in the world, at 3800m above sea level. So we had expected a quite nice town ready to receive the inevitable tourists who would want the same as us. But we were quite shocked when the bus came into the city.

It seems a real mess, with roads in bad shape, houses simply thrown into place with no real plan, everything brown, almost no nice buildings at all. As we have walked around today, we tried to find some nice places in the city of 200,000 people, but almost completely failed. There are a couple of attractive squares, but the market is a total chaos, muddy and smelly (although the vegetables and other good looked very fresh) and the harbour area is the only saving grace. There has been some attempt to make the riverside a nice place to walk along, but unfortunately in places the smell from the dry bank with various rubbish gives a bad odour to the expensive walkway, leaving it almost deserted. The centre itself is really a non-place.

Altitude has continued to be a problem. 500 metres higher than Cuzco, I have often had to stop in the street and concentrate on breathing. After 2 weeks of similar experiences, we are looking forward to heading to Arequipa tomorrow, at a much lower level. Luckily, we didn't suffer as the two Aussie travellers we met last night. They explained how they both raced up one of the main mountains at Macchu Picchu and then simultaneously threw up as they reached the peak! Nevertheless, it is draining and we have felt lacking in energy ever since we came to such high altitude.

The saving grace is our hotel room. After our bad experiences in Cuzco, we have now decided to be a bit more careful with where we stay and a decent bed, non-smelling sheets and towels and hot water are our main requisites. Here in the Camino Real, we have all of these plus very friendly hotel staff, at a price of 22 Euros (20 GBP) per night.

We made the best of it and enjoyed the sunshine, drank wine and listened to music in a nice bar and sat in our hotel room watching freshly downloaded movies "Lost Boys" and "Dead Poets Society" on my little 9-inch screen laptop. On to Arequipa now, in hope of a more enjoyable time and more breath in what should be a nice city.

Rewards on Day 4 of the Inca Trail

Finally, we were rewarded for our efforts in the first 3 days of regular rain. The sun came out on the crucial morning, when we went to see the sacred site of Macchu Picchu.

We awoke at 3:45, and after yet another fantastic breakfast, we set off on the last hike towards our destination. A clear day was all we had hoped for and we got it - thank goodness! The 2 hour trek from the camp to the site was slowed when we faced the eiger-like Inca stairs after an hour or so. This was as steep as anywhere on the whole 4 days - agony for our tired limbs, but we ploughed ever upwards. Certainly this was a continuous test of will to reach the goal. Once again, the group of people gave each other encouragement to keep going.

Suddenly we got our first view of Macchu Picchu in the distance and it was stunning. It made the whole trek, with all the trials of weather, altitude and long grinding uphill walking, absolutely worthwhile.

After the final descent down into the actual site, I realised how it was a masterpiece of preservation and openness. It is amazing how well-kept the walls, ruins and terraces are and an absolute privelege to be able to walk through the ruins.

The story is that this site was never discovered by the Spanish. When they came and conmquered in 1533, the Incas showed them many things but kept Macchu Picchu (meaning "Old Peak") hidden away. An American called Hiram Bingham discovered it in 1911. He had been told to look in this area by a local and found 3 farmers living on the land. He set off back to America to get sponsorship for excavation and renovation of the site, and got it from, among others, Yale University. National Geographic devoted an entire issue to the place in 1913, and its fame has been growing ever since.

Many treasures and artifacts were discovered by Bingham and his workers in the coming years. However, due to the sponsorship from Yale, all the artifacts were taken back to the USA and are on display there. Around 6-7 years ago, an agreement was made with George W Bush to return these items back to Peru, but Yale stepped in, claiming the investment they made in the first place was the reason Macchu Picchu is famous at all. It is a sad situation and is an ongoing discussion between Peru and USA.

We took group photos and had a 2 hour explanation from Percy about various aspects of the site. One thing that sticks in my mind is that probably there were a million people at work to build the site over a 30-year period. (To read more about Macchu Picchu, click here.) The strange thing about the Inca civilisation is that they developed no written language, so the knowledge about their times and especially Macchu Picchu are often assumptions and speculation. This makes it an even more fascinating time and people to explore further.

Finally, our bodies gave out. It is amazing how psychological physical capability is - as soon as we knew the trek was over, even walking up 20 steps became almost impossible. We were utterly exhasuted by the trials of the last few days, but we had all made it over the summits and down the descents. After a thorough view of the site, we headed into the nearby town, Aguas Calientes, for lunch. The afternoon was whiled away as the rain poured down with beer, jokes and card games and finally we took the train home, during which Nicki talked for an hour in Spanish to two Argentinian tourists - very impressive.

It was an amazing experience - great people, fantastic service from the porters and our guide, amazing hard work on the trek and a sunshine filled goal of the glorious Macchu Picchu.

Steep stairs, An Offering and Misty Mountains - Day Three on the Inca Trail

Day 3 started with Percy describing once more the terrain. He said ¨it´s a bit steep to start off with, but the steps are small¨. What we found was that he is a master of understatement and adjustment of the truth.

We trekked up and up and up, over small steps – what Percy had forgotten to mention was the steps were small as in narrow – the height was definitely not small! I found it incredibly hard, struggling for breath due both to the gradient of the stairs and the high altitude. Despite our descent yesterday evening, we were now back up to 3,900 metres above sea level. The small compensation for the hard work of getting up the steps was knowing that these were original Inca stones, unlike the earlier days where they were restored by the government in the 1970's.

Percy had told us that at the top, we would make an offering of Coca Leaves and a stone each. Coca leaves are a special plant for Peru and are recommended in tea or to chew as a prevention of altitude sickness since they contain many different beneficial nutrients. As we gathered round a large rock, Percy explained that this was an offering in honour of the Inca Religion, and that we may have different religions, but ath this moment, we should have respect for the Inca beliefs. This trail, he went on, was created by the Inca´s as a sacred path towards Macchu Picchu, to be in touch with the elements and face the challenge that they brought with them. He said to us ¨you have left your limitations behind¨. I loved that phrase.

We each took three Coca leaves and quietly laid them under our stone, making a wish as Percy had advised. It was a great moment of the trek.

The next part was just bloody hard work. We walked on to our lunch-stop in mist and rain, and the day went on with frustration as we realised we were missing fantastic views due to the banks of cloud. We tried to concentrate on what we could see and after lunch, we walked through a jungle-like stretch, with heavy vegetation and moss surrounding the path, with a merciful respite of rain. But as we reached the 3rd and last major summit, cloudbanks obscuring the view, rain and wind pushed our patience as far as it could go. I remember thinking ¨is this meant to be fun?¨

The afternoon gave us some reward. After along descent, finally the sun shone a little. Nicki and I walked together behind the rest of the group and enjoyed the gradual revelation that there was a view to be seen behind the clouds. Suddenly, we were at an ideal height - clouds were above us and below us in the valley but there was a window of a view inbetween as the stunning Peru countryside opened out again for us. We sat and had a mini-picnic - water and cereal bars - and considered that at least we were lucky to see this.

An incentive to get to the final camp was the holy grail-like promise of a hot shower. The hygiene had been grim since we left Cuzco with the few toilet facilities being almost unusable and no showers at all. We smelt of trek, tent and dry rain, so we hurried down the last descent to get clean again.

That evening, a cake was brought in (where did they get it from?) congratulating us on completing the trek so far. All that was left now was the 3:45 start in the morning and the 2 hour stretch to our destination, Macchu Picchu.