Her name is not Bernadette.... it´s Ralph

Ok, so full marks to whoever gets the film reference stated above. The motivation for such an extremely un-Chilean title to this entry comes from a distinctly un-Chilean source. Ralph is the name of the dog that lives in the place I am currently staying. Y´know, when I travel half way around the world I expect my pets to be suitably exotic. I think it should be mandatory by law to have a patagonian parrot called Frederico or at the very least a poodle named Boris. I mean, sure, wrong culture and all, but lets try and at least be interesting, people.

But I digress.

My first few days have been good. I spent most of today doing the usual traveller sthick and followed the walking tour as set out in the lonely planet. Or tried to because either I am a dyslexic illiterate (which is not outside the realms of possibility) or the lonely planet´s map is, how should I put it. Oh yes, crap. And do you know you are expected to carry your own toilet paper here everywhere you go. I mean, I am all up for being prepared, but it was a bit of a shock.

The city is very livable. Parts of it are beautiful, a lot of it is coated in a 60 foot thick layer of smog. The markets are pumping, the churches full (I spent a half hour today watching a very elderly woman crawl on her hands and knees up the entire aisle of a very large church. Now that is a kind of devotion that I don´t understand, nor do I get a God who would ask it. Just think of that poor woman´s stockings! The hosiery people, would someone please think of the hosiery!) and the people lovely.

I have found my language school and start there on Monday. I move in with Pedro and Lydia on Saturday. The few photos I have taken so far are, you guessed it, forthcoming.

May you all receive much of the world´s bounty.

Rock and Roll.

Paddy

I´m here

Or there, or your there and I´m here.

Don´t ask me I´m very jetlagged.

Rock and Roll.

Paddy

Burn Baby Burn

A quick note, just a tidbit, merely a trifling.

My much loved friend, Rebecca Roberts -



has started her own blog.

It is located here:

Bec's Stories from around the Campfire

Support her peoples, as she is a bit trepidatious about the blogging experience.

Rock and Roll.

Paddy

Photos from Paarti!

www.flickr.com

So tell me again how much you love me?

Going Away Parties are the best thing in the world. No really, I mean it. They are the eighth wonder of the world. In thirty three years time, the Queen, who will still be alive - although the crown jewels will have been melted down to adorn the Crown Smokey Dawson automated chair- will come out to Sydney to open a new exhibition dedicated to Going Away Parties. Yes, Going Away Parties are even better than a 40 hour West Wing marathon, (although isn't Mr Seabourne just the wittiest thing on two legs? He's so dreamy) .

A Going Away Party is the event that ticks all the right boxes. Let's go through the list of joy shall we?

• All your closest and mostest gathered together in close quarters. ( You guys and gals - you are the best).
• Free reign to spout your most pretentious drivel and outlandish theories, all the while standing with your arms splayed over that guy you haven't seen since the latter years of high school. (Hi Chris!)
• Freedom to be loud and obnoxious. Yes, that is essentially the same as the point above, but it is so important that it deserves to be stated twice.
• No need to feel self concious about taking lots of photos- a itchy trigger finger is your God-given right. (photos will be forthcoming people)
• Your drinks bought for you throughout the entire evening.

Now, some of you may be thinking that birthday parties give you all the same rights. And to a degree I can see where you are coming from. However there is one aspect that birthdays can't replicate. You see, with a going away party, the important thing is that you are going away and therefore, it doesn't take too much effort for everyone to pretend they really like you. If you leave the country tomorrow (or next Wednesday as the case may be) it doesn't how matter how much of a prat you really are.

To all those who couldn't make it, I love you still and will miss you just as much as those that did. To all those who could make it, I love you more, you are just much nicer people than those who couldn't come and will be getting a far larger slice of any lost Incan gold which I may discover- but don't tell them that. To all of you, thanks for being my mates. You truly do rock.

To the Australian Youth Hotel, thank you for your lovely outside space.

To the wonderful Miss Alison Packham, thank you for sharing this historical event with me. We put on a party to remember.

To anyone I spilt beer on during the course of the evening. Whoops!

And to Sam Seabourne. Here's looking at you, kid.

Rock and Roll, peoples.

Paddy.