|
British Mensa Travel Special Interest Group |
|
Home Copyright
© |
End
of the Road Date:
17 July 2001 It all went too fast. We spent three months in South America, and loved every minute of it. It’s beautiful, astonishing, laid-back, friendly, cheap, and not over-run by tourists (yet). We’ll have to go back. Having toured through Ecuador, Peru and Bolivia we briefly headed south, to Argentina, Chile and Uruguay. They’re very different from the northern countries. The first thing we noticed was that, back at sea level after nearly 6 weeks over 2500m, it wasn’t cold any more. (Although further south, being winter, it got colder again, and we came across strange and unusual things like clouds and rain.) The other thing was how European everything looks, including the people. This caused a few problems in streets and restaurants, because people would speak to us in full-on Spanish (in Bolivia and Peru, where the majority of locals are indigenous, they could tell we were stupid just by looking at us). The language problems were furthered by the fact that, in Argentina, they change the sounds of some of the letters and the order of the words and, in Chile, they seem to miss some of them out altogether. The cities are modern and sophisticated. Buenos Aires is a cultural feast, like being in Paris. Santiago is very clean and peaceful, and it’s impossible to imagine it was home to a brutal dictatorship only a few years ago. (I was only reminded of it at the top of a hill in the city centre, a popular lookout point for tourists. There were a group of Brits there, one of whom seemed to have spent some time in Chile. Pointing at some bright lights across the city, they asked him if it was a stadium. “Yes,” he answered. “That’s where the General used to do his work”.) Montevideo is the oldest-looking, with many original colonial buildings, some of them falling apart, and it exactly fits the description “charming”. And the food - the food is incredible, and the wine, everywhere. One night in Montevideo I had a “Tenedor Libre” menu, which meant that (for £6) you could have anything you like from the grill, so I took them at their word and had steak, pork and chicken. As the waiter took away the plate, I rued the fact that I hadn’t been greedy and asked for more. Then he put down a fresh knife and fork, and asked what I wanted for my next course. So I had kidneys and black pudding too. (As you can imagine, if you’re a vegetarian, the options are more limited.) There isn’t
a great deal to add about the other places we went. The Lake District
of Chile is absolutely beautiful. In the winter it’s cold and wet,
but there are fewer people there, so it’s even better. Are all Lake
Districts like this? There’s an island called Chiloë, which
is also beautiful, and from another time altogether. The people there
go on about how rushed and hectic and unfriendly Santiago is. We tried
to explain that, to us, it was as rushed etc. as Stratford-upon-Avon,
but they wouldn’t have it. Most of the houses and churches on Chiloë
are made of wood. We saw a picture of a villager, moving house a few years
ago. They tied twenty bullocks to the house and dragged it. On our last night, we were back in Buenos Aires. Our hostel only had double rooms free in its brand new annex around the corner. There was nobody else there. It was a work in progress really, paint and tools everywhere, but the room was finished and there was hot water, so it was fine. Actually, it was quite fun - like having our own apartment. Or at least it was, until we heard footsteps downstairs. “What’s that noise?” Cath said. There weren’t even any staff in the annex. “Maybe they’ve come in to do some more decorating,” I said. She looked at the clock. “It’s 4.49 on a Sunday morning.” Ah. But no matter, there would be plenty of other plausible explanations I could think of. “-” So we lay there, listening for sounds, clues. It was pitch black in our room, except for four huge eyeballs, a bit like Scooby and Shaggy in a haunted cellar. What could they be looking for? There was nothing to steal. Did they think the place was empty? Or would they realise we were there? Which was worse? What should we do if they tried our door? I considered our defence options - two small Swiss-Army knives, some duct tape and a souvenir cow-hoof ashtray. Often it would be silent for minutes on end, but then the noises would start again, voices too. But they didn’t come upstairs and, as far as we could tell, they didn’t do much at all. By morning we’d managed to get some sleep. We woke to beautiful breakfast smells which, combined with the daylight, gave us the courage to leave the room. Nothing had been touched. I went up to the roof, to see if there was a way in or out across the top. From there I had a view of the landing and, on the floor below, the source of the smells, a bakery… They’d been baking bread. So we left South America feeling glad to be alive. Even though the feeling was a bit too literal on this occasion, it couldn’t have been more appropriate. We’ll have to go back First published in VISA issue 58 (December 2004) |