Where, O' Where is My Taco Bell?! Valparaíso

Massive fail. We've searched the city high and low to no avail. I've come to believe our drunken Google search back in Santiago may have slightly betrayed us. We had had quite the anti-climax of a night...after all, hadn't we?? And I do have a tendency of resolute confusion. There is definitely one in Indiana, now that's for sure. Yet, what was that bullshit our temperamental taxi driver was obviously on about?? Where the fuck is this dambed Taco Bell?! I can't take it no more!! Only two days ago, I lost my blessed burrito virginity. Since then I can't get the godly stain out of my brain. We walked, talked, trained & stalked all our way from the aesthetically pleasing pastures of Valparaiso, to the ghastly mediocre sky rise resort town of Viña del Mar, solely to bathe our taste buds with this more than worthy appetiser. Now I find myself distraught. I'm so terribly confused. MaccyD's, Kentukey, BK & Subber's...they're all here. What is wrong with this country!! A double dose of Dirtyol'Doggi's might just have to do for now. Huh?? No salsa de fuego?? En serio?? WTF?!?

Looking out over Valparaiso

Life for me as a general rule, hasn't always been so desperate. Back home I would never even consider the wrath of franchised fast-food chains, even if I was stumbling on down to Red Chapel Ave after another heavy dose of Friday-Night-Fever. Yet, it seems the weeks of gnawing through stale tuna sandwiches have taken their toll. Leaving Cafayate was a disaster. After successfully hitching from Cachi earlier, I thought I'd have little trouble picking up a ride from a much more populated town. The plan was to make for Tafi del Valle, another small village where I could possibly camp to stretch the funds & continue 'the great detox.' As it turned out, it simply wasn't meant to be. I waited on the side of that highway for a good three hours. I even resorted to making up a cardboard sign, with the hope it may entice some spontaneous car-pooling, from people off holidaying in that certain direction. I received many waves from locals in pick-ups signalling "I'm only heading down the road a little..." - yet still more commonly, mostly only flags from grumpy old, disdain faced codgers which fashioned in my mind as "I payed for this car. I payed for this petrol. Get a job you dirty twat!" At least they pretended to want to pick me up. No actually in hindsight, giving me the finger would have been preferable.

My first ever Taco Bell!!

So for now, I was stuck in Cafayate. Should I try again tomorrow?? No way - bugger that. I had to get out of here, pronto. As I've found out the hard way, Argentinian transport is expensive!! But if I wanted out today, realistically I had no other choice. I reluctantly handed over the cash for Tafi, and in due time, bailed. The craic of that trip was a young breast-feeding mother sitting in the seat next to me, who kept on wanting to chat. In limited Español I spluttered out my best, but soon it just got awkward, and I'm pretty sure she had it in her head after a while that I was dubiously trying to sneak a peek at her tits. Over the course of the next few days, I made a quick succession of bus journeys that led me from Cafayate to Tafi, then onwards to Tucuman; before finally biting the bullet and taking the long haul south all the way to Mendoza. Individually they were all fine enough places, but none of them truly stands out above anywhere else I've already been. In Tafi it was raining for the most part, and the only real memory I have is standing under a wobbly gazebo, as I munched through a bunch of steaming hot empanadas. Tucuman had a bit of life about it; but there was little in little time to actually do. I got drunk & terribly stoned with a mob of binging Argentinians, who were celebrating the upcoming marriage of one of their entourage. I myself received a drunken invite during all the developing ruckus - yet as the groom made promptly clear; I'd be in no way not required to go out and find some slightly more respectable, freshly pressed attire. Agreed??...well, of course. He told me he'd be back the following evening for more diabolicals. I didn't intend to stick around. After some afternoon ping-pong, I had already wandered off & cleared out.

By the time the sun had poked its brow back over the plains, I had already made it to Mendoza. I welcomed in the new day with a crummy breakfast consisting of strawberry yogurt, bread & apricots. By this point I already felt I had seen the city. With a flat spread, low buildings & wide streets, Mendoza is nice - but that is about it. There was many an urban park, and dozens of local wines; neither which I could fully appreciate with such a limited attention span & minimal comprehension. I checked into a hostel, and fell asleep. When I woke, Goldilocks had himself perched at a dining room table, punching away at his laptop. About time. I was sick of the lonely road. We'd always planned to meet back up at some stage to venture south into Patagonia; and as it was, that time had finally come. I hadn't seen him since La Paz, so we spent a good part of the night catching up on all kinds of shenanigans. He had some pretty rad stories to tell, I must say. The mother of them all was an account of his final showdown in Buenos Aires; where all in one great drunken mess, he managed to get held up at knife point...as he punched flat one of his assailants...all before hitching a ride on (before leaping off) the back of a garbage truck...and in doing so, ended up scraping a large chunk of flesh from his elbow...then it seemed he decided to jump a fence or two to find his way home??...only then at least until he was nearly arrested by a cop (for god only knows what)...and decided it was a better option to do the dash & piss bolt. I loved it. He'd more than earned all this attention he was now  receiving as a result of that gouged arm.

We decided to give it one more day in Mendoza before heading back across the Chilean border. We'd be catching the bus that night, saving us time and all that all too precious cash. After an immense & wholesome breakfast, we were chanced into an unlikely acquaintance with a jabbering Canadian biker. He'd rode down from somewhere (Lima I think??), and he too was on his way south over the next couple of days. The only hold up was his mate, who had accidentally left Chile previously without an exit stamp, and was in the process of sussing out a way to sneak back across the border as if he'd never even left. Actually, these guys were full of tall tales. The kind of hilarious banter that makes these arduous adventures worthwhile. I'm pretty sure their paper work is dodgy business; so running into police checks can turn into a bit of a slog. Over time they'd come up with ways to bypass the bullshit. "Just act as dumb & clueless as you can possibly seem, without coming across as vile or disrespectful...that is the key to a successful riding experience." They couldn't be serious surely?? He kept reeling off story after story. We were in stitches. "One time Russ was being sussed out by an officer, so he walked into a nearby McDonald's & brought himself a soft-serve ice cream cone. He just stood there without expression licking that ice cream. After a while the copper just grunted with exhaustion, and simply let him go. 'Shit, just let 'em off. This idiot's gonna die soon anyway'..."

That night The Old Smuggler sure went down a treat. I was well buzzed by the time we got to the bus station. I wouldn't shut up for the life of me, and gladly continued to stir up a couple of Chilean girls sitting across from us until I ate through my packet of Doritos & passed out. I've never slept so sound on a bus before. If only we hadn't the need for passport control. That only got me a bit irritated and ever so twitchy. All this late night crap took forever!! I couldn't understand why. We stood in cues for hours, as more than enough additional viable workers stood around doing sweet fuck all. It was impossible to nod-off again once back on the bus. I lay uncomfortably sideways in my chair, staring out at the silhouettes of bulky snow-capped mountains, illuminated softly by the early morning moon light. Aconcagua was there somewhere, hidden behind a myriad of other minor fortifying peaks. The beauty of the natural world however soon disappeared, giving way to towering structures of man & metal. The lights of Santiago stretched as far as the eye could imagine. I was both excited & slightly daunted. This was the biggest city I'd been in for quite some time. I wasn't too sure what it held in store for us.

My doubts were soon put to rest on a quick first inspection of the basic get-up of the city as a whole. The streets were generally clean, the subway super efficient, and the local people remarkably hospitable. What were all those pessimistic Argentinians on about?? After my first morning stint at Dirtyol'Doggi's, we caught the Metro to our hostel in Bella Vista. Somehow, I'd managed to conjure up a pre-arranged yet entirely coincidental rendezvous with a friend from back home; my first in nine months since saying farewell to BigDawg all that time ago in Mexico. All of a sudden I was transported back to the happenings & repetitiveness of my so beloved Hobart Town. It was a utterly strange & mind-munting experience. On one hand it was excellent & relieving to have someone to converse with on all the familiarities of home; yet on the other, I couldn't think of what to say myself - and all at once it vastly hit how much I've changed in this short space of time. How could I go back to that life?? I'm not so sure I'm meant to. I put all this philosophising nonsense aside for the while, and enjoyed my days in Santiago with Goldilocks, BlackTom, & the rest of our newly acquired crew.

MJ is ALIVE & walking the streets of Santiago

That night was a bit of a bit of a rager. The weekend had yet again arrived, or so it seemed. The end of the working week. Time to flog off a bag full of empanadas from a sweet ol' lady & let the hair down at a Chilean screamo metal gig?? Goldilocks woke me up with his rampaging afternoon wave of buzzed up destruction, and it didn't take me long to catch up. We sussed out a few of the bars down the street, but nothing seemed to be really happening. It was back to the hostel for a little more spice. This dank & ditsy sprouter, who was working behind reception, told us about some gig she was keen to check out not too far from here. It seemed all right to us. I hadn't been to a live show for a long time. All gassed up, we hit the road & made for happy days. The place was decked out like the Brisbane Hotel. In the state I was you could have told me I was. The locals were super friendly, and did their best to impress us with some pretty nasty English. I kept asking them to swap back over to Spanish; I was understanding that better!! One guy just would leave us & the two chicks with us alone for a moment to breathe. "Tu chook his dick??" He was asking one of the girls while pointing towards me. "Yo guys ar da shittt!!" I had no idea at this point what he was trying to get at...I could only think up the Canadian BikerBoy's most idiotic acquired response - "No fumar Español!!" 

After a bit of a mosh, and a tad of face-rape on behalf of SweetSeventeen, we made for food and bed. My diet at this point was becoming atrocious; and there is only worse to come. We stopped into the empanada house, which is open all night, and ordered each our own batch of goodies. Someone screwed up somewhere, cause Goldilocks ended up with nada. I quickly mauled my way through three of the things, and we were all about to leave, when there was some confusion behind the counter. There was either another NicholAss hiding somewhere, or he'd forgot to come back for his late night tucker. Either way, I'm not sure; but this proved a vital opportunity to score more much needed nutrients. "Si. I'm NicholAss...gracias." - I grabbed the bag & walked out. Once round the first corner I ran. Woohoooo!!! We'd scored a jackpot!! And what was better - I hadn't got caught...or so I thought.

Hangovers suck. Especially when you wake up on a couch when you had paid for a bed. To top it off, we'd missed breakfast. Shit!! Now what?? There was only one thing to do; Taco Bell!! With a more than hefty posse, we left the hostel that afternoon - demolished some beautiful burritos, payed a visit to a famous beverage bar, and searched the entire town for a titty cafe. For some reason it seemed more appealing being served cappuccino's by topless waitresses than it did if she was dishing out tequila sunrises. Innocence. Sadly, we never found any of these notorious hideaways; however during our search we did stumble upon a few dodgy establishments. We had some beers in a biker bar which was busy blasting Slayer & Iron Maiden clips, before being ushered into a seedy joint known as 'The Tap Room.' There was some weird shit going on down there. We left when some guy told us to "get out...this is dangerous place for you." I took his word for it. Mum wouldn't be too happy if I got stabbed in some midday strip joint.

The crew sipping hangover 'Earthquakes'

We were out again later on that night. It wasn't as good as previous, but it had to be done all the same. This would be it for a good while, and I wouldn't be hanging out with BlackTom again any time soon. As seems to be the way (like at the 'Bakehouse' back home), a night out on the town tends to culminate with a hearty pastry-rich feast. We were back at the empanada shop. Aloft with drunken confidence & a misconcepted ideology, I approached the counter like nothing had ever happened the previous evening. "Buenas noches, NicholAss!!" Woahhh...she knew my fucking name!! This wasn't good. I retreated. Actually, I ran out of the shop & back into the street. There would be no snack for me.

Now where Santiago was a bit of drunken fun in an otherwise unflattering city; Valparaiso, two hours away towards the Pacific ocean, is bursting at it's seams with colour, youthfulness, & artistic flair. I hadn't heard so much about the place in all honesty; it was more a fact of somewhere to head for something to do. I'd now say you have to go to Valparaiso. It could be one of the coolest cities in all of Latin America. The only downside...there is no Taco Bell. Goldilocks, SwissTom & I left on the bus the day after my empanada misunderstanding. Unfortunately, we were also pursued by SweetSeventeen in all her teen-minded glory. Now to be fair, up till this point I hadn't actually minded the girl. She was nice enough & seemed easy going. By the time we finally got rid of her I was ready to explode. We spent the better part of two days wandering the labyrinth of streets & alley ways. It was magical. Pastel colours exploded off the walls, while bizarre and whacky graffiti concoctions danced across these templates with vibrant character. We got lost on purpose. It was the best way to see it all. Up & down, around & round. Sometimes a path would come to an abrupt & sudden end - while some other trails weaved & winded in such a way it seemed they had no end. Exhausted from all the walking, our final stop was out front of an old palace which afforded panoramic views of the entire bay. There you could watch the military war ships coming into port, and also see container ships being loaded up with metal crates before their onward journeys. We even saw the hottest woman in the world, hand in hand with the most unlikely of (lucky) suitors. He must have been loaded. That was the ONLY explanation. I nearly blew my load when she got back into the car, was driving off & gave Goldilocks & I the most 'I know I'm fucking sexy, I know you were both checking me out, and you know that I know I'm only banging this dude cause he's got bucket loads of money' kind of a smile I've ever seen. Holy shit, I love this city.

Street art in Valparaiso

We finally got rid of the sprouter, mere seconds before I punched her in the face. I forgot how young, young people can act. I'd been nice to her to the best of my abilities (I let her come with us, let her stay with us, & even lean't her my fucking camera so she could take photos). Then what did the muthafocker go and do?!! Snatches up my cap & runs on out the door. Down the street. Round the corner. She was gone. Bitch!!! What a little thief!! I'd been ignoring her bragging claims at stealing a bunch of shit over her minute uninspiring life earlier on, and now she'd got one over me & ran off with one of the only remains of my Cusco clothing closet. All I could do was scream on out to hear as she wobbled off down the street, "You fucking bitch!! The worst review you can imagine is coming your way on hostel world!!" I forgot to realise I don't actually have an account. If I can make one, it's gonna happen. That little sucker will get hers. For now, I've gotta buy another fucking hat!! More meaningless money, miraculously disappearing on down the drain. Yay...

Dancers in the Plaza

So I guess that kind of concludes this itsy segment of mine; I hadn't actually realised how much business had gone down in the past week or more. It sure is hard work out here, that is for sure. Oh boy, oh boy - now what?? SOUTH-bound. That's the only way to go. Patagonia is all that's on the current radar. So maybe now this 'detox' can finally begin?? Though if I get hungry out there, I really do hope there is a tasty tasting Taco Bell. Please.

Another graffed up street

Seeya'll again soon at the end(ish) of the world!!

Yet again, it has been a please-ure...
Much snozzin' 
The empanada haggler
NicholAss.

...and just you remember now: Pug = Seal.

A Hitchhiker's Guide to Fine Food & Wine, Cafayate

Well, here we are. Smack bang in the middle of Argentinian wine country. It's enough to send ones senses into a boorish frenzy, the kind of which that would see my old man flat on his back within a matter of minutes. I must admit, the past week or so has been quite relaxed & uneventful - if you sit it side by side on trial with the rest of my prior shenanigans anyhow; yet I believe this sombre pace, along with the high, dry fresh arid air which does so much to dictate the goings on around these parts, has done my tarnished soul a world of rejuvenation. To look at, I wouldn't exactly appear in tip top condition. My hair has become mattered & wiry with dust, my clothes discoloured & stained from weeks without wash (I can't actually remember the last time...), and I must wreak, since I haven't had the chance to shower in the last four (or more??) hot & sticky sweltering days. Let's just say I'm back on a shoestring; doing the hard yards once again. Every well trodden backpacker has known the feeling at some point. All of a sudden that golden ticket pays you no diffidence - in other words it gets you fuck all...so you spend fuck all; and stare down the barrel of societies long encrusted practicalities & laugh. So be it. I'm feeling swell. I've long ago stopped caring about all such bodiless bullshit. Too many people can be all too serious. Do what'ya gotta do. There is always a way...and I say, if you've got any real balls - reach out and grab it...

Vineyard just outside Cafayate

In saying that, I have forked out for at least one expensive trinket in recent times. This would be my bus ticket out of that godforsaken desert town of San Pedro. To be fair, I kind of liked the place, but I'd been stuck there for the better part of three days trying to sort out my life. It was a strange feeling being on my own again; I can't remember the last time it had been this way, and a whole tangled web of confusion & indecision had hit me all of a sudden like an unwanted rude awakening. To make matters worse, my bank card had finally hit its first major glitch. I couldn't get money out from any of the ATM's in town, and I was strung out with a mere 10,000 pesos (approx. 20 bucks) to my name. This situation sucks. What use is it having money stashed away when you are unable to use it. My lifeline was gone. Over & over I attempted (in vain) various methods in which to withdraw my cash. I must have spent a good hour or so in one single booth alone. I was becoming frantic, and it was doing my head in. Eventually I retreated to the comfort & familiarity of the Internet. Maybe a cry from home would do me some good. As it turned out, I Skyped my family for the first time in nine months, which in itself was a totally surreal experience. I wasn't expecting it to begin with, and completely had no idea what to say. Mix that in part with the fact I was in an Internet cafe to say the least, surrounded by people listening to every heartfelt word I said. It took a while to get used to it. I must say however, it made my day seem much a tad brighter.

The road out of San Pedro

Somehow, I managed to to hit the hot spot on Google. One ATM apparently only accepts international Mastercards, so I pulled out my alternative backup from deep inside my backpack and gave it a wild shot. BINGO!! Back in action. Once again I was invincible. All cashed up and ready to blow. All I had to do know was figure out what I wanted to do next. I had this grand plan that I would be hitching across the border into Argentina. After asking around town for its feasibility (receiving little optimism), and picturing spending 10 hours conversing in dreadful, unintelligible Spanish to some overweight truck driver, I chose to catch the bus. In hindsight, I think you could manage. But that's one hell of a long way between civilisations for me. A whole lott'a heat, & a whole lott'a open sand.

The ride itself was breathtaking. Snow-capped volcanic peaks backed the burnt red seas of saline prone desert. the scaling, & windy road was a treat to venture through. before too long I had reached Argentina, and after three tedious repeats of an atrocious pooch flick, I had arrived in the city of Salta. I'd heard good things, and I needed cheering up. I rose the next day with an air of optimism; I had to get cash to fix up my bills, still I had a whole new city to explore - probably the biggest since La Paz. However, my optimism soon betrayed me. It felt like everything came crashing down upon me in one single swoop. When I checked my bank accounts, something seemed very wrong. Either I'd fucked up somewhere down the line, or someone had seriously fucked me. $600 had disappeared, and I'm still yet to know why. The only explanations could be I'd been ripped off by some card scammer locked into an ATM in Uyuni, or I'd been charged all those times I'd tried to withdraw cash in San Pedro, even though I'd received no money. I emailed my bank. That's all I knew what to do. Still, I couldn't wipe if clear of my mind. To second this, I'd been wind burnt to shit on the salt flats & now had blisters all over my lips. I used to get large cold saws on my face as a kid and I guess have never grown out of my paranoia. All these downers had put me in a right crappy mood. I was now looking upon the city with vulgar eyes, cursing the high prices of this dambed country & dreading being all on my own. It took me the better part of the day to get over it. Salta itself is quite a nice city, I'd just hit it up at the wrong time.

San Francisco Church in Salta

On leaving the city, each day only got better & better. The spice of life soon returned & I did my best to forget most of my financial woes. I was bound for Cachi, a small town in the back end of nowhere. The journey yet again proved magnificent; dramatic natural features dominated the scenery. On the bus I even got the chance to practise my Spanish with the locals, and surprisingly discovered it isn't so bad after all. Cachi was great, if not hot as all hell. The toilets even had sputnik hose squirters. Stoked. I sprayed myself in the face on first fascination trial. I had time by the end of the day to circle the town, grab a cheap lunch & to walk up to the hill top cemetery for a look on down the valley. I fell asleep that night between the trees, to the tranquil sounds of insects chirping & dogs howling into the moon.

Church in Cachi

Now comes the clincher. There was no way possible to get from there in Cachi to anywhere further south along the famous Ruta 40, using public transportation. It was time to jump back on that long lost horse I'd left behind all those years ago. Yet I have to say, to begin with, it was a bit of an anti-climax. Hitching from Cachi to Cafayate sure ain't as easy as I'd hoped, and I think I waited a good two and a half hours before I eventually snagged a ride (the longest I believe I've ever had to wait). But sure enough, in good time, patience prevails. I was back on the road, picked up by three European travellers who had hired a car for a few days back in Salta. I adore the luck of the hitch. Spontaneity & randomness always manages to prevail.. What a joy it is to be alive. One moment I was scraping & sucking apricots out of a can, the next I am sipping & sampling wine in one of Argentina's most famous wineries with a supposedly avid French wine connoisseur. When in Rome. I couldn't resist. The lads had offered to drop me in town of Molinos, where I could have journeyed on, but I instead chose to join them on their wine tasting endeavours, whether they liked it or not. What a treat it was. The Colomé vineyards were astounding. Fine wines were swished, smelt & swigged. By me, all too rapidly as it seemed. I know no finery. The French guy was babbling on for hours about the different scents & flavours, and how it stuck to the side of the glass, all the better! Oh man, I wish my dad was here. At least I could have confined in him...yet I'm sceptical how much he actually knows about the finety of the drink itself.

Colomé Wines

On the drive between the winery & Cafayate, we were chanced my the most remarkable sunset. As we paved through the stunning Calchaquíes Canyon our eyes were drawn to the ochre coloured mountains in the distance & the split of sunlight beading between  the hills & the clouds. The rays of light shot off into the heavens. It was quite a sight to behold. By the time we reached Cafayate it was just about dark, however this was perfect, as the town had once again come alive after the regions obligatory daily siesta. It's a strict business in these parts. EVERYTHING shuts between 1 - 5 in the afternoon during the heat of the day. I never know what to do!! That night I enjoyed my first taste of whisky since leaving home. I'd become so accustomed to the ol' rum that it hit me like a sweet summers Sunday BBQ. I spent the night chatting away to a few American chicks, some Aussie guys who had traversed the Western Arthur's back home in Taz, and one of the guys girlfriends who kept playing 'limp limb' & reminded me a truck load of Lil. 

Desert scenery

I woke the next day to a bunch of black parrots chattering away in the tree tops above, and water splashing over rocks, cascading along a purpose built gutter system through the hostels back yard. I love waking up outside. It's a great way to welcome in the morning. I was camped right by a grove of reeds, and animals of all sizes seemed to share in my accommodation. What caught my attention the most were the frogs (or maybe they were toads??), they looked ghastly similar to the dreaded cane toads from back home on the mainland. I think I actually recall hearing they were originally from around this area. After some corn flakes for breaky, and a quick search across town for a second hand bicycle, I chose to spend the day hiking up into the Rio Colorado Canyon. I'd had a bit of a tip of from the Aussie guys the night before, and it sounded like a great little escapee. The track starts about 5km's out of town, near a campsite just past the Finca Las Nubes. The guys had told me just to follow the power lines (which lead to a small community), cross the rugged football field, swap banks via the bridge & just keep on heading up hill beside the river when ever you can. These pointers proved helpful; there were a few times when many different trails branched off in all sorts of directions. Generally speaking, you just climb up higher when ever there is the option. If this fails, you most likely just have to cross the river back over to the other side. The narrow canyon itself was a gaping chasm of proportion. The walls were tinted a strong red, and huge cactus grew out of all unimaginable places. It was like setting out into natures own obstacle course. I was buzzing.

Cactus in the Canyon

After an hour or so, I come across a large hill on my left which looked climbable. To my surprise there were goats scaling its slopes. They would jump from rock to rock with incredible ease, and looked upon me with suspicion. It seemed I was faced with no other option than to join these rock hopping goats, as my trail soon simply petered out into the river. Up I went. It was ridiculously hot by this point; it must have been well past mid-day. At the top I was afforded a grand stand view into two different sections of the river valley, separated by a long curve in its flow which wrapped around this very hill that I was now aloft. It was what I imagine much of outback Australia must be like. Untamed wilderness. Beautiful by way of barrenness. The colours and terrain reminded me slightly of the Grampians, only here there was cactus & much more water than I remember. I kept expecting a flash flood to rip through the canyon with torrential force, taking everything that lay in its path along for the wild ride. It would have quite a sight from here up above.

Rio Colorado

I'm glad however nothing of the kind occurred when I lumbered on back down. I chose one of the paths that steeply descended the slopes, eventually returning me to the river banks & not too far from some sensational swimming holes. I cooled off a tad in one, before venturing back up my hill. I still had yet to reach the main waterfall, which I'd seen pictures of the night before; so there had to be another way around to keep on following the water-course. After a bit of a dodgy shimmy around some cliffs, I stumbled back upon a proper path which led me down the other side. I laughed at my own stupidity when I looked back at what I'd just done. I always manage to put my self in the most adrenaline charged situations when ever there is a most obvious & easier way. A few more minutes of walking led me to the grand-slam itself. I couldn't imagine a cascade in a more picturesque setting. This had been one of the best day hikes I'd done for a long time, and it had been totally free (bar some small indigenous community donation; which confused me, as I don't see them doing much else apart from putting out their hands) & completely independent. On my way out I noticed some police scanning the surrounding scrub. It gave me an eerie feeling like I was in the middle of some kind of horror movie skitz. My suspicions were only raised higher when a cop car went flying around a corner, skidding with sirens blaring in that same direction earlier on this morning. I sure hope no serious shit has gone down.

Waterfall on the Rio

Now as for me, right now I'm feeling all too sensational yet again. The empty air of the road has done me at least some good, despite the fact I've been living off practically nothing but banana or tuna sandwiches & canned fruit for the past week. I tried for hours this morning to hitch my way to Tafi del Valle, about 125km's further south, but to no avail. It sure is hard picking up rides in this part of the country. For now I guess I'm back on the bus. I'd really love to pick up a bike. That would be ideal. A couple passed me on the highway earlier on, racks loaded up with all their gear, and only the sun & a dry breeze lapping across their faces. It almost seems fantastical.

So in saying that my friends, I'm off yet again. Ciao, ciao for now!! I'm sure we'll chat again all too soon. I apologise if this entry makes little sense, as the spice of this back country has seemed to have got the better of me & I ended up writing a majority of this post half pissed on cheap Cafayaten vino tinto. 

These things happen...
Adios amigos!! Much lovin' 

Nickoooo xxx

Crossroads, San Pedro de Atacama

I've hit a fork in the road. A black spot obscuring the clarity of my map. For nearly nine months now I've been ever so gradually heading south, always slightly conscious of where I was going, and what I wanted to do. Now comes a definite turning point in my journey. There's no sure direction where to flow. It's as if I've returned to the 'real' world, or at least vaguely that of the world which all those months ago I left behind. The contrasts couldn't be more astounding & baffling. A mere line in the sand dictates & differents between South America's wealthiest economy & its poorest. Bolivia made me a millionaire; Chile shall bleed me dry. After three fun-filled, aw-inspiring days crossing the Uyuni salt flats & the high volcanic Andean Altiplano, I find myself here; smack in the middle of the scorching hot Atacama desert - flat broke, sleeping in the dirt & painstakingly weighing up my realistic options. North? South? East?...or West?!? Any could suffice. Bus? bike?...or hitchin' on the hike?? Right now I'm yet to know. I guess I didn't actually expect to make it down this far. I wish someone would just make my mind up for me. It's no fun being a serious decision making adult who's out living the hard life. But here I am. Take a punt. Roll the dice.

Laguna Colorado

After my little escapee in Sorata, I made the dash back to La Paz refreshed & revving. The views along that stretch of road are spectacular, with the entire Cordillera Real fanning out in a single unbroken line, acting as a contrasting back-drop to the open alpine plateau. Thankfully Bolivia'snatural beauty took my mind off the disgusting fat fuck gnawing his way through an entire fried chicken beside me. My days in the hills, had me ready for one final wild ride at The Rover...this was going to be it. Most of my old crowd had long ago moved on, but it doesn't take much to make a bunch of one-night-worthy friends. It was on. Things got a little out of control yet again, and apparently I'd tried to jump into bed with some classy English chick who'd pissed herself earlier on. Haha, actually she'd pissed all over some poor Israeli guy's passport, and all morning he was spreading out his stuff, trying in vain to get things dry & minty fresh. She sure made a quick exit the next day I must say. Just like that Pom in Bocas...the bloody English, they're all the same.

Horayyy for jumping on that bus. I was actually out of there this time. You know it's time to leave when the bar staff are putting vodka in your cornflakes. I was saved. After much debate, I'd left on a night bus with two girls I'd met at the hostel, bound for Sucre. To be honest, this was the best bus I think I'd ever had!! That didn't stop the hoards of beggars & buskers hopping aboard at the obligatory out of town stop. It's a sad image seeing so many people struggling through life day to day; but in the end, you can't help them all. Most of every ones spare change went to the first guy (with no arms) who'd sprung up, the next got the crumbs, & the rest that followed got next to nothing. There was grief and desperation in their eyes as they went from seat to seat, hands extended, repeating the same pleading lines over & over again. I think it's healthy to witness, but it's hard to watch.

I got a decent sleep that night I think. I'm never too sure on those overnight buses. You have some crazy dreams. From the station we caught a cab into town & crashed out upstairs in a hostel. The town seemed nice, however very sterile. Maybe this would be a good place to settle down and get some proper Spanish lessons done finally?? We hit up the weekend markets, and annihilated strawberry thick shakes. After that I found there was little else to do. Everyone else went shopping for Halloween outfits for the party later on; I chose to make a retreat. I felt I was partied out. I should be giving myself a break. It didn't feel like the loosest of party towns after all. I grabbed some cheap food & flicked my way through an autobiography about a Welsh marijuana smuggler. Then I headed back to the room and planned where I wanted to head to next. It was turning into a quiet night. Well it  was...BOOM!! Lia had lost the keys to her lock & had been zipping around town searching frantically for a pair of bolt cutters. "Nick, you coming out?? Yea you are!!" How could I say no. I had no costume, but I've got enough random crap in my bag to make any ordinary sucker look like a freak. The cheap wine was soon on the guzzle, then the $1 cocktails. I ended up with some Dutch chick in a pirate hat. Apparently I'd tried to to take her back to my room in the hostel. It would have been perfect!! The girls were still out. But as my luck seems to roll, the door was locked & I had no way of getting in!! I remember banging pointlessly for a good five or ten minutes...fuck my life!! The chick left. Sure sucks...she was cool. Meera & Lia found me asleep sitting against the wall when they returned some time later. They must have been a little confused. The key had been in my jacket pocket the entire time!! Arrghhh...what a night. What an idiot.

Halloween in Sucre

I was meant to leave the next morning, but that wasn't going to happen. We spent the day sleeping & eating lots of fine food. Sundays in some smaller cities can seem like you've woken up in a ghost town. There was nothing to do. I couldn't stay here. Spanish lessons would have to wait yet again. I was off to Potosi the following afternoon, a large town cemented into South American history due to it's famous silver mines within Cerro Rico, which supplied much of the mint for the colonial New World Spanish Empire. The town itself is quite impressive; narrow streets wind their way up and down the hillsides, there are plenty of intact colonial buildings & churches, and at night the public spaces seem to come alive with an unexpected youthful energy. I actually wish I had a bit more time to hang out here for a few more days. I'd tried to get my visa extended in Sucre, but the official just kept sending me away time after time & telling me her boss wouldn't be back for another hour...every time. I cracked the shits and took off. I had just enough days left to avoid overstaying much like I did before in Peru. Everything in Bolivian law seemed to come with a price. I wanted to avoid these technicalities if at all possible.

The next day I'd organised a tour into the working Potosi mines. I was expecting a bit of a tourist tout; would miners be lined up for photos with pick-axes like the seven dwarfs, 'slaving' away in predictable unison?? I was shockingly surprised. After kitting out in our mine attire, we jumped into a bus and made for one of the 'miners market' stores. There one could buy a whole array of ridiculous crap. Dynamite was offered out to us in a plastic bag, along with the line detonator & some kind of gun powder looking stuff. Apparently it's all legal to buy this. Anyone can. I wonder now why they were so anal about the dynamite we had back in La Paz. Our group chose to buy coca & water for the miners instead. Apparently they get quite disappointed when all the tourists just want to blow shit up. When we arrived at the mines, a lot of workers were hanging around outside. Most were starting to knock off for the day. If we wanted to run into any we'd have to search them out or ask around. The ceilings of the mines were much lower than I expected; most of the time we had to walk in a kind of squat. All of a sudden our guide shouted out for us to jump off the tracks!! Scooting out from the darkness came this wooden cart filled to the brim with rock; behind pushed these two tiny soot covered men. This was legit business. I was excited.

Mine carts

Soon we found ourselves squeezing through itsy holes, and climbing up and down rickety step ladders. I'm glad I brought my face mask, as the fumes & dust at times were overwhelming. We paid a visit to the miners devil god Tio, who was draped in colourful streamers and had a spent cigarette dangling from his mouth. Our guide lit him up another & we took shots of some kind of 97% alcohol. Tio is more like the devil, as god doesn't watch over the realms of the underground. Miners pray to him for protection against cave-ins, and also to provide them with plentiful minerals. I'd be praying all I could too. Cerro Rico is known as 'the mountain that eats men alive.'  During the colonial times of approximately three centuries, it is estimated that more than eight million indigenous & Africanpeople died working in the mines. Most miners these days still only have a life expectancy of around 55 years. The most recent death was only two months ago prior. After a few hours, we eventually ran into a some of the workers. At the bottom of a six meter deep pit, in which we had to abseil down into with no more than a knotted rope, we met Leo. He'd been working in the mines for a good 25 years. He was only in his forties so he claimed, yet appeared much older. I couldn't imagine spending every hour of daylight, practically every day per week, huddled down here, slaving away in this dusty confined, claustrophobic area.

Leo working deep down in the mines

It was a welcoming relief to see the bright sun light at the end of the tunnel on our way out. After leaving the mines, we visited the refinery plant. Huge machines crushed & filtered through all the chunks of raw rock. Apparently all the run off goes directly into a river which feeds the Rio de la Plata, the same one which flows into the Atlantic besides Buenos Aires in Argentina. Later that night in the hostel, a bunch of us decided to watch a documentary called 'The Devil's Miner,' about a 14 year old boy who was working in the mines trying to support his family. It was quite a moving tale, especially since we'd just seen the conditions ourselves first hand. There are supposedly still dozens of young boys working illegally in the mines.

Outside the Cerro Rico Mine

I left Potosi the following day, continuing my rapid spiralling stampede out of Bolivia. The bus was crammed again, and it was bloody hot. The starkness of the terrain began to take over every aspect of the environment. Red towering walls of rock, rose sky high out of the grass-less hills around us. The final stretch descending down into the obscure town of Uyuni proved spectacular. In the distance you could make out the flat saline plains, spreading out into the mirage like distance. GermanGeorg and I took our time exploring the town & finding a cheap place to crash, before searching out a decent tour for the following day. What a strange place. We were in the middle of no where. I kept expecting the tumbleweeds to roll on by & trip me over. That night I treated myself to the slowest Internet I've ever used, and three of the greasiest yet cheapest beef burgers I'm yet to devour.

Uyuni

So thankfully, the oddness of Uyuni pays no resemblance what so ever to the absolute beauty of the surrounding salt flats. I was aw-struck. I have never seen anything so other worldly or mesmerising. With a total of six of us loaded up in our Landcruiser, we took off into the horizon. We visited a train cemetery, resonating the former reason for this small desert towns existence. There were swings, seesaws and all kinds of rusty machinery. I felt like a little kid again, messing around for hours down at Tynwald Park.

Chillen on a train

Then came the real cool shit. We stopped for lunch in the middle of the salt flats. All around us for miles stretched an endless white crust. There was no way you could handle the glare without a pair of shades. Tiny salt mounds piled up in lines formed eerily perfect hexagons. Taking photos was fun...but hard!! I had seen so many hilarious photos from friends that had passed by this way, and I had this perception that it mustn't be to difficult. We'd brought toy dinosaurs, Barbie & a Rubik's cube. Getting Barbie to give me a blow job was near impossible!! We spent an hour or so mucking around after we ate. GermanGeorg thought it'd be a great idea to get a photo jumping off the truck...not so...his heel hit the hard surface in a nasty way and he was practically hobbling for the entire following three days.

Standing on a massive Rubik's cube

The Uyuni salt flats & the surrounding environment turned out to be three days spent witnessing the ultimate whackness of mother nature. The world is a twisted & temperamental place. We bumped into giant cactus, volcanoes, geysers, acidic lakes, flamingos, thermal springs and tangled rock formations. The skies at night were crystal clear. If it hadn't been so damb cold I could have slept under that plethora of stars till day break. The company was also terrific. I think this can make or break a group excursion. Saying goodbye at the border on the third day, is something I'm growing tired of doing. I keep meeting these amazing people, and then they disappear. Most likely I'll never see many of them ever again.

Geysers

But that's the way it goes my friends. Now I'm stuck here in San Pedro de Atacama, trying to get my bank cards to work!! I arrived on the Saturday, smack in the middle of some Chilean long weekend. The camp grounds were packed, and there were people everywhere!! Now it's decision time. I've still gotta figure out what to do and where to go. I think I'll hang out for a few more days & sort out my mind, eat cheap & bask in the harsh desert sun.

Flamingos!!

From Isla de Incahuasi

Backstreets Back!!

Until next time...happy livin'!!!
Nicko. xxxxx