A thought, just before we go.

Last days, slowly rolling by, mind and body unwilling to move, waiting for the inevitable. All roads lead back home.

Trying to think back, to put it all in little memory boxes, and store them in my mind forever. I'm rubbish at remembering specific events, and instead I remember blurry feelings, remember feeling good at the side of the road in Argentina waiting for someone to pick us up, it felt good next to that river, next to the train tracks, in our friends' house. It also felt sad, lonely, and confusing quite often. It was confusing watching the world go by in Bolivia, trying to understand why the world is the way it is, how much is each and everyone's fault, trying to not feel guilty, to make myself feel more guilty, to just try and enjoy it. Trying to feel less like a tourist, and also less like a ponce who likes the word "traveler" too much.

Wow.

I hate goodbyes.

Colombianadas

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We left Cusco, to head to the coast of Peru, the capital, Lima. Lima is a weird mix of London and Nicosia, but not necessarily in any of the good ways. Massively westernised, a McDonald's at about every five steps, but completely and utterly unorganised, with one of the worst public transport systems of South America. Lima is built on a desert, next to the Pacific ocean. Although you wouldn't be able to tell it's a desert if you just saw the center, it's given away when you enter the city by bus, where you witness the hundreds upon thousands of people living in ramshackle houses, much like, if not worse than, the famous brasilian favelas. The contrast of extreme riches and extreme poverty is shocking, although it's intensified by the fact that the rich areas are straight out of hollywood hell. To be short, I didn't much enjoy Lima, I got strange urges of constantly wanting to consume starbucks coffees and Big macs and to buy buy buy. The fancy shops and many Starbucks and crouded streets, made it very hard to feel in any way at peace with the place, and I wanted to get out fast.

Northern coastal Peru is still pretty much all desert, but the towns are smaller and usually more pleasent. Trujillo was a nice suprise, with a pretty colonial center, and a much more "Peruvian" rather than Californian vibe to it, although all in all, Peru was not what I expected, especially after a month in Bolivia. Apart from Cusco that is, which despite being very touristy, still has a more genuine feel to it. Without meaning to sound like a dick.

After that straight into Ecuador and its capital Quito, which is rightfully a UNESCO world heritage sight, with one of the best perserved historical centers in South America. It's a shame we didn't have enough time to see Ecuador, since while crossing most of it in a day by bus, it seemed charming. And hot, very hot.

After a few days in Quito we headed into Colombia. The last stop in my trip, I've been told by many that Colombia is great, and so far, yes it is. The people are so friendly it's sometimes creepy (but in a good way), and so far the scenery is lush. There's constant rumba, salsa and cumbia in the air, and there's a vibe of good times ahead. Popayan in the south was our first stop, a good choice, as it's a lovely little sunny university town, with friendly people lazing around on sunny hilltops. From there we went to the desert of Tatacoa, where we went to an astronomical observatory for a bit of stargazing. Getting there and back was a mission and a half, although highly worth it, just for the experience, and for the many colombianadas we witnessed. A colombianada is something extremely kitch and colombian, just type colombianadas into youtube and you'll see what I mean. They are something I, and I believe most cypriots, can highly relate to, as Cyprus is pretty strong in the area of Colombianadas. Although of course there they have to be called Cypriotadas. On the way to the desert of Tatacoa we sat at the back of an open truck, with great views of the countryside, and a friendly Colombian telling us about recent political happenings. On the way back our truck broke down, and the driver had to tie it to another truck, which pulled us up the hill, while the sun was setting. The driver then untied our truck and said "don't worry, it's all downhill from now". Great. Slight note: the lights didn'twork, which meant we were rolling down the hill in pitch black, a cliff on one side, the driver with his head sticking out of the window, and the woman sitting at the front constantly crossing herself, in the name of Jesus Christ, hoping beyond hope that we wouldn't all die. I was in the back playing pirates with a cute 5 year old colombian girl, with way too much energy. At the back of a truck, a man with half his teeth in place, silently moved in and out of the picture. Of course the other problem was that it wasn't all downhill, so we kept getting stuck, and having to wait for a car or truck to drive past to tug us again. Colombianadas! When we finally made it back to Popayan we all felt like survivors of a shipreck or something, and it was sad to say goodbye.

We're now in Cali, the city of constant rumba. After spending the day just outside town next to a the river Pance, we're now back at Javi's friend's house, with a beer and some good movies downloading. Sometimes one misses ones' creature comforts.

Two weeks left now.

The walking trees of Bolivia and Peru.

In the jungles of Bolivia and Peru, there are trees that walk.

They move 4-5 times a year, creating new roots in the direction in which they want to move, while their old roots, the ones they don't need anymore, rot. They're constantly searching for a spot in the sun, or as our jungle guide poeticaly put it "they're constantly looking for freedom."


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Bolivia is a mix of contradictions. Extreme poverty, but amazing riches. Some of the most beautiful landscapes can be found in Bolivia, and some of the saddest stories as well. The people work hard, keep their head down,  treck unimaginable distances carrying tree trunks on their backs. Bolivian people have a reputation of being unfriendly, but who can blame them? "Child care" are two words which do not exist yet. Cholitas, Bolivian women in traditional dress, carry their babies on their backs, while they get on with the daily chores. Women are the true motor force of Bolivia. They do everything, and I'm not just talking child bearing and household chores. They work the fields, construction sites, the markets, they can be seen literally in the middle of nowhere carrying things from one place to another. Always carrying things. I think maybe they carry the world on their backs, looking for their spot in the sun.

Some of Bolivia,

Salar de Uyuni

The bolivians who live in or near the jungle are a whole other story. They contrast vividly with the hard working altiplano people (the altiplano is a high plateau, with heights of over 3000m). They sit around drinking beer most of the day, or driving around on bikes, and are much friendlier. They also reject the bolivian reputation of unfriendliness, while raising their glass and saying "with all respect brother". I guess that's just a normal side effect of an easier life, or maybe it's just that warmer climates make people happier, even if they haven't got much...

Peru is more developed, although probably more so in Lima, due to the rich elite that live in the capital (along with the many poor who live around it), and in Cusco and the surrounding areas, mostly due to the hoards of tourists that flock in to visit Machu Picchu . There's no blaming them (myself included), as Machu Picchu is one of the most amazing sites I've ever seen. Never discovered by the spanish conquistadors, it retains it's original beauty, a true look into the past and to the Inca civilisation. After a two day treck, camping in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by fireflies, stars and dark mountains, a 1 and a half hour climb up 400m at 5am to reach the lost city, our eyes are rewarded with the view of one of the seven wonders of the world. By 11am there are so many tourists it's hard to move around.

Machu Picchu

Handstands around the world highlight

We are back in Cusco again, enjoying the city and getting ready to move on north. Next stop, Lima and then north Peru. Just over a month of south america left. Goodbye is going to be hard.

Ramblings from Bolivia

Crossing borders, saying goodbye's, hello's, where are you from, what's your life like. Getting on trucks, getting off trucks, getting stuck in little villages between mountains and rivers. Seeing the Atlantic ocean, finally reaching the Pacific, waving at it and heading up the Andes.

We've travelled from south to north Chile, gone back into Argentina through Mendoza, travelled north, finally ended up in Bolivia.
We've met more amazing people than we can count, had to say "hasta la proxima" more times than we would like, and have always wanted it to be true.

Santiago, capital of Chile, is a lovely city, huge, cosmopolitan, poluted, lovely. We were lucky to meet probably some of the nicest people on either side of the Atlantic, Stephi and Gustavo, together with the most beautiful little thing you've ever seen, Amelia Leonor, their 11month daughter. We were taken into their home, watched the view from the 30th floor, ate sopaipilla, shared stories, most of all learned about this strip thin country, carrying mountains and volcanoes on its back.

No matter where you go, you find amazing people, though this seems obvious, it isn't. Chileans, argentinians, paraguayans, brazilians, students, truckers, mothers, daughters.

We've slept in houses with girls with blue hair, listened to Franky play the violin, watched Tango and found Flamenco on the other side of the ocean.

The truck driver's life is hard. They have to spend days, weeks, sometimes months away from their house, perhaps passing by the city they live in, without being able to stop and say hello to their wife and kids. Countless stories. Desires of travelling the world "but here it's hard to make a buck" and here I am, 23 years old, and asking them for a free ride. I try to supress the thought, enjoy it while you can, accept that life works different if you're born in a different place. It doesn't really though.

On the way up north to Bolivia, we stop of to have some dinner. Javi goes outside for a cigarette. I go out to join him and he says "I think these girls are ...you know....." I look round, there's three girls, probably around the age of 13, laughing. "Ofcourse they're not prostitutes! They're too young, look at them!". Cefe comes out, the truck driver that's giving us a lift up north, and without having heard any of our conversation, looks at the girls and says "Sad isn't it?". After the shock wears off, I find myself wondering at my own naiveness; what a minute ago seemed impossible, suddenly becomes obvious. I have a strong urge to shout at them "go home!" I'm angry, although I'm not sure whether it's at the girls, the men (mostly truckers), myself, or just life. Cefe said "tomorrow they'll buy themselves some new shoes or something..."

The border crossing into Bolivia was bad. Probably my lowest point, ironically, on the highest altitude we've been on so far. Altitude sickness, migraine, 4 days of sleeping on trucks, not showering, not much eating, plus the bizarest little town I've ever set eyes on. 4000m above sea level, it's in the middle of nowhere, on top of the world, dusty and confusing. I'm trying to take it all in, but my head is spinning. Everyone smells of coca leaves "chew some, you'll feel better" Javi says. I look at him with an expression that indicates clearly that I do not want to ingest anything, especially not coca leaves (we've spent the last 12 hours in a truck with Daniel, who has kept himself awake for about 48 hours by coqueando, chewing the coca leaves, and the smell, the spitting and the drooling-your mouth goes numb- is the last thing I want right now)

I panic, we go to a farmacy, I buy some pills. The farmacist says I should probably go to the hospital. I'm convinced I'm dying. Javi looks around at the town we're in, and tries to make me see reason, that going to the hospital here is not the best idea, that we should cross the border and make our way to lower altitudes. Finaly I'm convinced. At the border I get rejected, told I need a visa to cross. I've been sobbing for a while now, the pain in my head growing, although the dizzines and confusion are slowly diminishing. They're being replaced however with a strong urge to vomit (don't know what as I hadn't eaten anything all day.)
To cut the drama short, I take some more painkillers, make my way to the consulate, get the visa. We cross the border, get on a bus, and make our way to Tupiza "a favourite on the gringo trail". We've finaly slept in a bed, had some proper food, and have a plan.

After entering Bolivia and witnessing the amazingness that is the traditional andean outfit, I've decided that I'm going to adopt the style, long black plaits and bowler hat.

Un Piltriquitron y un Volcan

After heading down to Bariloche, at the top of Patagonia, we headed further south to Bolson. Known as the hippiest city in Argentina, El Bolson is a charming little town, with an almost daily crafts' market, set between a river and a 2500m mountain, the tongue twisting Piltriquitron.

Piltriquitron from the main square of El Bolson

There we enjoyed the chilled out vibe, while camping in a campsite just outside town, where some of our fellow campers included, chickens, a mama and papa pig and their baby piglets, some horses, two dogs and a kitten.



The first night we were there, we realised we were extremely under equiped for the cold patagonian night time, and had a pretty rough and sleepless night, during which I repeatedly dreamt (might have been visions I'm not quite sure) that Ryan Gosling showed up with a blanket. We managed to arm ourselves with a couple of quilts for the second night, not before agreeing that if we were to go any further south we would require some heavy winter clothes, which we weren't really prepared to pay for; hence the decision to head back up north. But not before going on a hike up mount Piltriquitron. After hiking up to about 1500m, we stayed at the refuge for the night, where we managed to catch an amazing sunset. The next day we made our way further up, where we got some more amazing views of the valley bellow and the surrounding Andes. Then, a 5 hour walk back down the mountain, left us with cramps that lasted all the way into Chile. It was sad saying goodbye to Argentina, but we're comforted by the thought that we will be making our way back there further up north, plus Chile's charms are not to be underestimated.

The refuge

Our first stop in Chile was the student town of Valdivia, which, along with its many chilean students, is populated by fat, terrifying yet kinda cute sea-lions, that laze around the city's river. Although there's nothing extremely remarkable about Valdivia, it was a nice start to the chilean part of the trip, and what made it trully memorable was the discovery of a second hand clothes store, where absolute gems from the 80's and 90's were being sold for 80 cents.

Me and some sea lions

We are now in the small town of Pucon, which is quite touristy due to it's positioning next to a pretty lake, and one of the world's 10 most active volcanos. Tomorrow we will be hiking the ice covered volcano, and hope to live to tell the tale!

No llores por mí, Argentina

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Ay Argentina... How can I even begin to describe the beauty that is Argentina?

We crossed the border from Paraguay into Posadas, Argentina, on the 5th of March, exactly two weeks ago. Immediately the scenery changes- roads are properly paved, buses haven't been around since the 60's, the people suddenly seem a lot more familiar. There is an extremely European feel in Argentina, and you don't have to get all the way to Buenos Aires to notice it.

After an unsuccesful attempt at hitching a ride down south, we decided to save ourselves the hassle, and get an overnight bus to Buenos Aires.

Buenos Aires, or Baires as the porteños (people from Buenos Aires) often call it, is an absolutely stunning city. It's center is infested with old colonial buildings, and it reeks of history and culture. A mixture of Barcelona, Madrid and Paris, it's got enough to keep you walking around for days. After spending a night at a hostel, we managed to get in touch with Braian on couchsurfing, and so we stayed at his house for the next 4 nights. Braian lives near the centre with his flatmate Santi. They were extremely friendly and welcoming, and Santi even gave up his room for us! In Buenos Aires, we spent most of our time walking around, simply trying to take in as much as we could. We visited the historic centre, the more rustic barrio de la Boca, the Recoleta cementery, where Evita's remains lay, had an eventful night out where we attempted to go into a kind of house party where there was a cumbia band playing, failed, and ended up talking to some young Americans on an exchange program, of which most were lovely, but of which one said "And why are poor people poor? Because they just sit on their asses smoking crack all day!" Ahhh...

We then met up with Lucia, a most lovely specimen of a person, artist, musician, political activist and for a couple of days my math student. With her, we went to La Plata, a student town, most famous for it's thriving art faculty. There, we stayed at Nico's house, were we drank wine until the early hours of the morning, and during which I tried to transmit the beauty of greek music to the argentinians. After La Plata we returned to Buenos Aires, where we spent three lovely days in Lucia's house, lazying around and making bracelets. We have big plans for our bracelets. We also visited Tigre, just to the north, where the river Rio de la Plata spills into the Atlantic ocean, creating myriads of little islands at the mouth of the river, where people live by rowing into town every day, or catching small ferries/boats.

We had planned to go into Uruguay from BA, but were convinced that we could not leave Argentina without first visiting the marvelous south. So, here we are, in Patagonia, where the temperature drops suddenly to a fresh 15 degrees, discovering another face of Argentina.

To get here we took a train, and then hitched a ride with Señor Ruben Franco, known to his friends as simply, Franco. We spent two long calm days with Franco in his truck, covering a distance of 964km, and being flooded with information about the lands through which we were passing. We passed through dinosaur land, where some of the oldest remains have been found, passed about 4 hydroelectric plants, the finger of god, 70km long lakes, but mainly, kilometre upon kilometre of patagonian step.

Argentina is mate, people who stop in their tracks to ask you if you need help when you're looking at your map, people who open up their door to you and offer you their food. Argentina is riches, culturally, historically, geographically. The most simpleton looking truck driver will astound you with his knowledge of geography, history and politics, and the artists of the country are unsatisfied youth who also study music and who are able to fill you in, in detail, on all the political happenings in the last 30 years. Argentina is it's people, it's confounding mix of Italian and Spanish culture, mixed with the indigenous people of the south, the Mapuche, and years of indipendece, yet cruel dictaroships. It is everyone always complaining about how bad the government is, and how unsafe Argentina can be, problems unseen to the eyes of the outsider, who can only see that, more than anything, Argentina is absolutely beautiful. It may lack the loud beauty of its tropical neighbours, but gains in so many other ways. By far my favourite South American country so far.

We've travelled so far to San Carlos de Bariloche, and plan on going down to el Bolsón, where we have been promised hippielandia. After, perhaps the south pole?

the curse of the foreigner

I will never be from here. No matter where 'here' is. If it's not Cyprus, it will never be where I'm from. It's the curse of the foreigner. And what's more, of a foreigner whose language isn't spoken. I will always be half a person, no matter where I go, just because I am Cypriot. The songs that changed my life,

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lwQ0YQko0HQ

that inspired me, that made me who I am,

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LQMsT4lNG2g

who I am today. I am from all the places, England, Cyprus and Spain, of all the people who formed me. But the people that form you, that mean the most to you, will never trully know who you are, unless they know where you are from. They will always forget, or just not know. That's the curse of the foreigner, the curse of the cypriot. To be damned to his own people. His people, who will never understand him, her.