Saturday, 24 December 2011

I don't like Alpaca

In case you're interested, it's tough and chewy. No fun at all. I wasn't brave enough to try cuy (guinea pig), but though those who were have told me it's disgusting and smells really strong and bad! And yes, guinea pig is quite the trendy thing to eat over this way. It arrives on the table with fried paws, head, teeth and all.
     More on Peru. The ceviche is delicious, as is the pisco sour. Peruvian wine can be really good but is expensive to buy so it's safer to go for the Argy Bargy. 
     We started in Lima, where a clever little duo decided to rob me in the bus station. Oh how they underestimated the Foley! One of the scoundrels knocked on the window when Oscar went to the loo asking for the time. I told him I didn't have it, but he kept knocking on the window and was mumbling away, holding my attention, as I'm sure you're now guessing. I turned around and scoundrel number 2 is walking away with my bag. I screamed 'LADRON! QUE TIENE MI BOLSO!' (THIEF! HE HAS MY BAG!) Anyone who has heard me get a fright or squeal in general can only imagine. I jumped up and ran after him, and everyone else jumped up and ran after him, too (Thank you Limeños). He dashed out the door, throwing a rucksack down on the floor. A man picked up the bag and said 'here's your bag,' but I said, 'that's not my bag. This is my bag.' Scoundrel number 2 had dropped my bag right near where he had picked it up, but I hadn't seen that. Because he was being followed, he dropped his bag too! The thief who lost his bag. Ha.
     Now, don't mistakenly associate Peru with thieves because those scoundrels were the only rotten eggs we've come across so far and we're almost leaving (touch wood - about the scoundrels not leaving). Much more detail on the beautiful Peru next. To wet your senses (don't be naughty), did you know Peru has desert? Good wine? Alpaca and Guinea pig? The deepest canyon in the world and the largest lake at high altitude?     

Grinding my way to 29

Cartagena, the most expensive place in Colombia, is a wonderful bubble of wealth. Undoubtedly beautiful within the stone walls, this is where the cruisers stop to let the tourists have their peek at Colombia. On the other side of the walls is where the real life is. We happened to go to a carnival in that area and celebrated my birthday there! Music pumping and vibrating its way from car boots, flour being thrown into people’s faces, foam being sprayed everywhere, car body paint being rubbed into your skin, and bodies, everywhere, grinding, slowly, in ways I have never seen before. And let me not forget the fireworks being thrown on the ground, burning whoever was near their landing point. Oscar was on one side of the street with people showing him how to dance, and I was on the other side with my own group of teachers. Mine were 13 and 14 years old, and spoke with a wisdom and knowledge that made me feel like the child. They moved my hips, my waist, my legs like I was their doll-that-didn’t-know-how-to-dance. I don’t know if it’s coming across but it was SO much fun. Everyone stopped to talk to us with such an openness and interest. My dance teacher told me that music is the food for the soul, that on a bad day, she walks onto the street, finds her friends, listens to the music, and dances. And she told me never to forget.
     A huge Colombian asked me to dance. Nothing strange about that, you think, but you don’t know how the bodies move here on the coast of Colombia! As we danced, I nervously told him that my boyfriend was “over there”, which, of course, had two knock-on effects: 1. He thought I was crazy and 2. He made best friends with Oscar. Dancing with everyone is the way it is, and I knew that, but my modest European self couldn’t handle it.
     With a hangover we made it to Taganga. (This has mixed reviews in the Lonely Planet so it’s just as well we don’t take much notice of it. I’ve decided some typical Gringo wrote it, who likes to eat burgers and pizza and vegetarian lasagna.) Taganga is a fishing village, where normal life goes on and where tourists come to hang out and live for a while. I can see why people stop here. It has another rhythm, the fishermen fish and come to shore at 6pm where the village congregates to buy fresh fish off the boat. The people are lovely. Our hostel was called Happy Hostel, which says it all. If you go to Taganga, stay there. We met the following characters: 1. An English girl who had been there 3 months and had a puppy and a Tagangan  fiancé. 2. An Irish guy with springy curly hair and a mad laugh, who had been there for a month and was, let’s say, taking it easy. 3. A Colombian 37 year old who had been travelling for 13 years around Colombia, and next year is starting with the rest of South America. We spent our days on a tiny cove with a beautiful view called “Big Beach”, eating the regional fish called cojinoa. Yum. No pups or engagement for us.
      We left our rucksacks in Happy and headed to Tayrona National Park, only with Danielle’s small rucksack (thanks Danielle). Let’s say we were travelling very light, and very dirty, for 5 days. We got to the park and walked to a beach called Arrecifes. Here is when it became official that Colombian timing is about a third of (my) reality. Either they make huge estimates or they run everywhere. Going by what I’ve seen, I’d say it’s the former. We stayed at Don Pedro’s campsite. Mr Pedro is 78 years old and only leaves the park when he has to, about once a year. The next day we went to the beach.
     Tayrona National Park is famous for “The Lost City” ruins left by its indigenous people. What isn’t so well known is that these indigenous peoples’ descendents are still alive (Kogi people), and they lived in the park until they were made to leave to make room for tourism. The park is owned and run by a French company. If I had known this I wouldn't have paid the expensive fee to get in. One thing I will say is that we went to Pueblito, a smaller version of The Lost City, and it was the physically hardest thing I’ve ever done, and one of the most amazing.
     Palomino is a small village nearby, where you see the Kogi's throughout the day, walking around in complete families (they always go everywhere together). It had a mystic, magical feel and there we slept in hammocks on the beach and woke up to the crash of the waves (but couldn't go in because the crash was too strong!). From there we went to Uribia, which is right up near Venezuela, and it feels like you've left Colombia. Here, goats are still used in trade, marriage and disagreements. Uribia is a small, crazy town where I was scared to cross the road, where lame dogs are hopping everywhere and where taxis are beeping their way through to show that they're available. It was an amazing place to see, and the food was not good. We got a shared jeep to Cabo de la Vela, one of the most amazing beaches I've seen, where you can walk 300 metres into the sea and it's still up to your tummy: perfect for me and the abuelos! It was amazing, and very quiet, the only bad thing was that money was taken from our wallet in our room, probably from the family (I think it was the son) which is a shame. It was also the only money we had left so we couldn't eat for a day and a half in order to pay for the transport on the way back (no cash machines here...)
     We travelled south, stopping in San Gil on the way, popping into Bogota again to see Angelina and David and visiting Andres Carne de Res, an AMAZING place worth a stop and some cash to see.

Next stop, El Peru.