Just a few observations people.
Now it might be said that I am a fairly obvious tourist. And it is not the my looks (which are of course, lovely) nor my accent (which by the way is continually taken for British -even by other Australians). No, it is most likely the fact that I insist on wearing a fluro orange beanie, be it rain, hail or shine. The reason for this I am not entirely clear on. When I think of something sufficiently profound I will get back to you. Needless to say this is not something that one could call traditional Peruvian attire.
This has a number of consequences, some good, some not so good and some just plain bizarre. The strange looks from school children of Arequipa I can deal with - and even enjoy. Kids tend to be more tolerant of bad spanish and their interest in who the hell I am and why I insist on looking like a misshapen tangerine is good fun. Laughter from groups of older women ( who I think are nuns...) as they leave morning mass is harmless as well, and having provided good clean fun for a few ´Brides of Christ´ can´t hurt when and if I ever need to give a convincing explanation for my stupid selection of agnosticism as a belief system.
No, it is the cabs that get me. And this city has a lot of them. Thousands. Hundreds. Lots. And for reasons I don´t understand, the powers that be have decided that late model Suzuki Swifts are the most appropriate format in which to present a taxi system. At least they are not Excels... one has to be happy for small mercies.
The drivers seems to think a bit like this
He is a tourist, therefore is rich and most likely lazy.
He is walking through a residencial suburb with no souvenier shop within spitting distance, therefore he is hopelessly lost.
He is wearing a stupid orange hat and therefore could not find his bum with both hands.
The result of this train of thought is that every cab that passes me by toots their horn franatically as they approach, draws beside me, winds down their window and yells at me in indecipherable spanish while making actions somewhat akin to an epiletic fit. This lasts for about 30 seconds after which they drive off slowly, seeming very put out that I have not decided to get into their cab.
It is as if I always want to go somewhere... I just have forgotten to hail the cab. Goddamit I knew I was forgetting something.
Oh... and the horoscopes here are great! They are not based on the normal signs, you know cancer, pisces and all that. No instead we have Inca thingees of some kind. I am of Og... quite appropriate I think.
Rock and Roll.
Paddy.
Wednesday, May 31, 2006
Sunday, May 28, 2006
Travelling for Real Men
Well, I am officially on a trip - I spent a good 8 hours today locked up in my hostel room vomiting into a bucket.
Followed by a staggering journey down to the local store to get some much needed water.
´Agua, Agua!´I said in a half delirious state.
But I am ok now. I feel cleansed. I feel that I have reached a new level of travelling awareness. I am on the path.
Although it might have been nice to have someone to hold my hair.
Rock and Roll.
Paddy
Followed by a staggering journey down to the local store to get some much needed water.
´Agua, Agua!´I said in a half delirious state.
But I am ok now. I feel cleansed. I feel that I have reached a new level of travelling awareness. I am on the path.
Although it might have been nice to have someone to hold my hair.
Rock and Roll.
Paddy
Saturday, May 27, 2006
Friday, May 26, 2006
Thursday, May 25, 2006
Open Wide.
So, welcome to Peru.
The weather is still fine, the roads are a little bumpier and the Peruvians (unlike the Chileans) don't deem it necessary to keep hold of the receipt from every commercial transaction ever embarked upon during your life - presumably this was to show at the gates of heaven for the purposes of GST relief.
It definitely feels a little bit different.
My point of entry is Tacna. And truth be told, it is a fairly non descript town. Nothing much good, nothing much bad. It is a bit like Tijuana - lots of cheap bling for sale, pirated CDs and DVDs a plenty (anybody want the Da Vinci code?) and money changers on every corner.
But add to this a new one- a service I found, just a little bit strange. You see, Tacna is a city of Dentists. And I am not saying that I have noticed one or two more than I would have expected. I mean that I have walked past ENTIRE city blocks with NOTHING except DENTISTS (oh, and the odd orthodontist). Walking out of a hotel to be faced with a veritable constellation of signs in the shape of teeth (molars to be precise) can be an unsettling experience. I actually thought I was about to be mauled by one neo colonial ediface.
I asked one of the Chileans on the train on the way here (who by the way were ALL travelling for the day in order to get a quality fluorine treatment and perhaps the odd bit of cosmetic root canal work) - Why is this so? She wasn't quite sure, she knew it was a bit cheaper, a bit, not a lot cheaper - but she pretty much said that this was just the way things were done here. Peru was the place to show a stranger the insides of your mouth.
As that ad for a product I can´t remember says - the world is an amazing place.
Oh, and last night was the 75th anniversy of primary education in Tacna... there was a street parade and talent quest! Party on! No, don't just party...
Rock and Roll.
Paddy.
The weather is still fine, the roads are a little bumpier and the Peruvians (unlike the Chileans) don't deem it necessary to keep hold of the receipt from every commercial transaction ever embarked upon during your life - presumably this was to show at the gates of heaven for the purposes of GST relief.
It definitely feels a little bit different.
My point of entry is Tacna. And truth be told, it is a fairly non descript town. Nothing much good, nothing much bad. It is a bit like Tijuana - lots of cheap bling for sale, pirated CDs and DVDs a plenty (anybody want the Da Vinci code?) and money changers on every corner.
But add to this a new one- a service I found, just a little bit strange. You see, Tacna is a city of Dentists. And I am not saying that I have noticed one or two more than I would have expected. I mean that I have walked past ENTIRE city blocks with NOTHING except DENTISTS (oh, and the odd orthodontist). Walking out of a hotel to be faced with a veritable constellation of signs in the shape of teeth (molars to be precise) can be an unsettling experience. I actually thought I was about to be mauled by one neo colonial ediface.
I asked one of the Chileans on the train on the way here (who by the way were ALL travelling for the day in order to get a quality fluorine treatment and perhaps the odd bit of cosmetic root canal work) - Why is this so? She wasn't quite sure, she knew it was a bit cheaper, a bit, not a lot cheaper - but she pretty much said that this was just the way things were done here. Peru was the place to show a stranger the insides of your mouth.
As that ad for a product I can´t remember says - the world is an amazing place.
Oh, and last night was the 75th anniversy of primary education in Tacna... there was a street parade and talent quest! Party on! No, don't just party...
Rock and Roll.
Paddy.
Wednesday, May 24, 2006
Tuesday, May 23, 2006
A farewell.
Ah, Chile, you have served me well.
Taught me the joys of an empanada.
Shown me that oxygen is optional and that smog can carry its own idea of beauty.
Treated me to a gamit of environmental experiences. Up, down, dry, wet, hot and frick´n freezing - you´ve allowed me to be inappropriately dressed for all kinds of weather.
Chile, I love thee.
But for now, this dream, this partnership if you will, must end. (I was going to say marriage, but apparently that can only occur between a man and a woman... Thank you Mr Howard.) For there is more to learn, more to see and more people to expose to poor fashion sense.
Today, I am in Arica. A town that is famous for a battle around 1880 in which the Chileans absolutely trounced the Peruvians on a big hill called the Morro. Tomorrow I take the train to Tacna in Peru. Where I will remain very quiet about this self same battle and the fact that the Peruvians had their arses handed to them wrapped up with a red bow.
But do not fret, oh ye, the most developed Nation in South America. Do not pine, peoples of the Western Coast. I swear to you I shall return. Not today, maybe not tomorrow, but probably in September.
Chile, I will miss you.
But for now, stay strong, drink more than you should and continue to engage in the most bizarre supermarket payment process that I have ever encountered.
Viva Chile!
Si´po
Rock and Roll
Paddy.
Taught me the joys of an empanada.
Shown me that oxygen is optional and that smog can carry its own idea of beauty.
Treated me to a gamit of environmental experiences. Up, down, dry, wet, hot and frick´n freezing - you´ve allowed me to be inappropriately dressed for all kinds of weather.
Chile, I love thee.
But for now, this dream, this partnership if you will, must end. (I was going to say marriage, but apparently that can only occur between a man and a woman... Thank you Mr Howard.) For there is more to learn, more to see and more people to expose to poor fashion sense.
Today, I am in Arica. A town that is famous for a battle around 1880 in which the Chileans absolutely trounced the Peruvians on a big hill called the Morro. Tomorrow I take the train to Tacna in Peru. Where I will remain very quiet about this self same battle and the fact that the Peruvians had their arses handed to them wrapped up with a red bow.
But do not fret, oh ye, the most developed Nation in South America. Do not pine, peoples of the Western Coast. I swear to you I shall return. Not today, maybe not tomorrow, but probably in September.
Chile, I will miss you.
But for now, stay strong, drink more than you should and continue to engage in the most bizarre supermarket payment process that I have ever encountered.
Viva Chile!
Si´po
Rock and Roll
Paddy.
Monday, May 22, 2006
Sunday, May 21, 2006
Theme Parks have a lot to answer for.
When I was a wee lad, my greatest dream was to go to Disneyland. For me, it represented a dreamlike place where every moment was an adventure. A paradise where each impoverished Uni student in an overheated synthetic fibre suit represented another opportunity to engage in acts of petty violence. It was also a point of contention between my sisters and I, who had of course been to Disneyland, while I was treated to the wonders of the rural town of Bega.
But of course, when I did finally get to the promised land it was a pale imitiation of my dreams. Space Mountain was not as high as I had pictured, the tea cups didn´t spin nearly quickly enough and Mickey Mouse was not as accepting of being crashed tackled from behind as I had hoped. Sure, it was fun - but it was fun in the way a game of Catch ´n´Kiss in the primary school yard is fun - when you really got down to it, it just wasn´t real. (And they didn´t respect you in the morning, either)
San Pedro de Atacama is like Disneyland. It is full of bright bangs, exciting rides and people in costume, but something about it just doesn´t ring true. I have seen Geysers, careered across the desert and swam in pools of boiling water, but dig a bit below the surface and you find a bit of a void. The entire town exists solely for the benefit of visiters. And just like your every other theme park, its streets are full of obnoxious, non-compromising tourists in silly hats. (a group which includes myself, I loathe to admit)
These tourists come in many shades - everyone knows the usual groupings of ´Culture Vultures´, ´Beach Bums´and ´Adrenilin Junkies´- but to these well known fraternities, I would like to add one of my own.
Bear with me now, because this is going to take a while.
This new group is that of the Pretentious Travellers. This term is a bit unwieldy so I am going to shorten this to the PT´s. But hang on a bit, we are in Chile, where they speak Spanish and in Spanish it is usual to put the adjective before the noun, so they would have to be the Travellers Pretentious. This means of course that I get to call them the TPs or the ´Teepees´. And this makes me happy.
Teepee´s are characterised by the following criteria:
i) they have usually been travelling for less than 3 months.
ii) an attitude that states if it is not on a tour or within 3 blocks of the hostel, then it is not worth going to.
iii) An compulsion that requires them to explain to you how incredible their experiences have been and how when it all gets down to it, you have to focus on the important things in life, don´t you?, and money is just dross isn´t it?, and y´know I hope that when I get home I will be able to show my friends how silly they are been, because, y´know life isn´t your job right, because there are people out here who have nothing right? And it´s like, you have to, y´know get everything in perspective. Because otherwise, it´s just like, now I understand what it is all about now. Y´know?
I had the pleasure of running into two spectacular specimens of the Teepee genus just last night. And boy, did they share their revelations. Apparently, the guy (who was a psychologist - which is neither here nor there) is going home to raise orphans. He declared this just before he proceeded to heap bile upon the waiter, because the pub didn´t have his preferred brand of Malboro Lights.
But is always entertaining. Y´know, when it comes down to it, this place makes Disneyland look like a frick´n country fair.
Rock and Roll.
Paddy.
But of course, when I did finally get to the promised land it was a pale imitiation of my dreams. Space Mountain was not as high as I had pictured, the tea cups didn´t spin nearly quickly enough and Mickey Mouse was not as accepting of being crashed tackled from behind as I had hoped. Sure, it was fun - but it was fun in the way a game of Catch ´n´Kiss in the primary school yard is fun - when you really got down to it, it just wasn´t real. (And they didn´t respect you in the morning, either)
San Pedro de Atacama is like Disneyland. It is full of bright bangs, exciting rides and people in costume, but something about it just doesn´t ring true. I have seen Geysers, careered across the desert and swam in pools of boiling water, but dig a bit below the surface and you find a bit of a void. The entire town exists solely for the benefit of visiters. And just like your every other theme park, its streets are full of obnoxious, non-compromising tourists in silly hats. (a group which includes myself, I loathe to admit)
These tourists come in many shades - everyone knows the usual groupings of ´Culture Vultures´, ´Beach Bums´and ´Adrenilin Junkies´- but to these well known fraternities, I would like to add one of my own.
Bear with me now, because this is going to take a while.
This new group is that of the Pretentious Travellers. This term is a bit unwieldy so I am going to shorten this to the PT´s. But hang on a bit, we are in Chile, where they speak Spanish and in Spanish it is usual to put the adjective before the noun, so they would have to be the Travellers Pretentious. This means of course that I get to call them the TPs or the ´Teepees´. And this makes me happy.
Teepee´s are characterised by the following criteria:
i) they have usually been travelling for less than 3 months.
ii) an attitude that states if it is not on a tour or within 3 blocks of the hostel, then it is not worth going to.
iii) An compulsion that requires them to explain to you how incredible their experiences have been and how when it all gets down to it, you have to focus on the important things in life, don´t you?, and money is just dross isn´t it?, and y´know I hope that when I get home I will be able to show my friends how silly they are been, because, y´know life isn´t your job right, because there are people out here who have nothing right? And it´s like, you have to, y´know get everything in perspective. Because otherwise, it´s just like, now I understand what it is all about now. Y´know?
I had the pleasure of running into two spectacular specimens of the Teepee genus just last night. And boy, did they share their revelations. Apparently, the guy (who was a psychologist - which is neither here nor there) is going home to raise orphans. He declared this just before he proceeded to heap bile upon the waiter, because the pub didn´t have his preferred brand of Malboro Lights.
But is always entertaining. Y´know, when it comes down to it, this place makes Disneyland look like a frick´n country fair.
Rock and Roll.
Paddy.
Friday, May 19, 2006
Spoke too soon.
Due to the lovely intervention of my very intelligent and ocassionally superheroesque sister - Hi Jess!- ditch what I said re: comments in my last entry.
Also you are not going to get a decent entry from me until I move away from San Pedro - the computers here have an unwelcome tendency to a) blow up, b) engage in mind control or c)dance the rumba, at the slightest provacation and as such it is quite difficult to get them to work long enough to write more than 10 lines in one sitting.
I am about to take a bike out into the desert. If you don´t hear from me again you can have my collection of mung beans in the shapes of ex-soviet republics.
Rock and Roll.
Paddy.
Also you are not going to get a decent entry from me until I move away from San Pedro - the computers here have an unwelcome tendency to a) blow up, b) engage in mind control or c)dance the rumba, at the slightest provacation and as such it is quite difficult to get them to work long enough to write more than 10 lines in one sitting.
I am about to take a bike out into the desert. If you don´t hear from me again you can have my collection of mung beans in the shapes of ex-soviet republics.
Rock and Roll.
Paddy.
Wednesday, May 17, 2006
Housekeeping
As I am not feeling particularly witty today. (´Dear God, whatever shall we do without our regular dose of champagne blog comedy to stop our inevitable slide into the doldrums of a Paddy-less life´ is clearly the response that I am looking for here), I write only to give you a heads up as to my location and forthcoming plans.
I am in San Pedro de Atacama, which is described as the backpacker metropolis of Northern Chile. Hence English is spoken pretty much everywhere. This is not something I want. I am therefore investigating the purchase of a polearm with which to clock any person who throws anything resembling a G´day in my direction.
But the next few days will be tour filled with geysers, volcanos and other exploding things.
Also, you may have noticed that this blog has been attacked by a very complimentary webbot type thingy. Grr, %$&·?¿ (I love a keyboard with an upside down question mark.. look- ¿¿¿¿, too much fun). So anyway the upshot of this is that as an added security measure, you need to register to comment now. Comment people. Comment!!!!
Rock and Roll.
Paddy.
I am in San Pedro de Atacama, which is described as the backpacker metropolis of Northern Chile. Hence English is spoken pretty much everywhere. This is not something I want. I am therefore investigating the purchase of a polearm with which to clock any person who throws anything resembling a G´day in my direction.
But the next few days will be tour filled with geysers, volcanos and other exploding things.
Also, you may have noticed that this blog has been attacked by a very complimentary webbot type thingy. Grr, %$&·?¿ (I love a keyboard with an upside down question mark.. look- ¿¿¿¿, too much fun). So anyway the upshot of this is that as an added security measure, you need to register to comment now. Comment people. Comment!!!!
Rock and Roll.
Paddy.
Tuesday, May 16, 2006
Monday, May 15, 2006
A pinch of Pisco
Ah. Pisco. What joy. What rapture. What occasional incitement of nausea.
Pisco is the national drink of Chile of which they have immense pride. Except, when I say ´national´ I should add something of an adendum. Just this... there is a bit of a tug of war between Peru and Chile as to the ownership and origin of this fine beverage. Add to this the fact that these two countries had a fairly biggish war sometime in the last two centuries and at times things can get, well, a bit tetchy.
It is a bit like the contest between Australia and New Zealand as to who owns the Lamington, the Pavlova and Russell Crowe. Though, truth be told I have never understood why we are so intent on claiming that last item. If someone can explain to me the attraction in being able to declare sovereignty over the phone throwing, Souths supporting (and truth be told fairly unattractive) fellah, please take the time to drop me a line.
The drink itself taste like something between rum and brandy - and can be quite nice, when consumed with a mixer. The best of these is a concoction involving lemon juice which is simply called Sour. Straight, Pisco feels a bit like someone has decided to open Helga´s House of Pain in the lower depths of your stomach. The only problem is that Pisco Sour is seen as a bit of girly drink in these parts - something I was not pleased to discover, not after I had spent so much time and effort in aclimatising myself to be able to drink beer like a ´real man´
I discovered this last fact while visiting the Tres Eres (Three R´s) factory in Pisco Elqui, a tiny little hamlet in Valle de Elqui, some 3 hours away from La Serena. Here we were given a very interesting tour of the site followed by an extended Pisco tasting session, with the occasional cheese empanada to draw away the more pronounced effects of tipsiness. We were treated to three grades of Pisco - 35% proof, 40% proof and 45% proof.
Strangely enough, the higher the proof, the smoother the drink went down with the 45% proof giving a pleasant warming feeling in the lower abdonam... abdano... in the lower belly. They recommended that the 35% proof be taken with a mixer, which was cleverly disguised code for ´Don´t drink this straight without taking out life insurance´
So next time you are out on the town, don´t have a beer... get a Pisco Sour, and if you can´t do that, grab a Breezer. And think of me.
Rock and Roll.
Paddy.
Pisco is the national drink of Chile of which they have immense pride. Except, when I say ´national´ I should add something of an adendum. Just this... there is a bit of a tug of war between Peru and Chile as to the ownership and origin of this fine beverage. Add to this the fact that these two countries had a fairly biggish war sometime in the last two centuries and at times things can get, well, a bit tetchy.
It is a bit like the contest between Australia and New Zealand as to who owns the Lamington, the Pavlova and Russell Crowe. Though, truth be told I have never understood why we are so intent on claiming that last item. If someone can explain to me the attraction in being able to declare sovereignty over the phone throwing, Souths supporting (and truth be told fairly unattractive) fellah, please take the time to drop me a line.
The drink itself taste like something between rum and brandy - and can be quite nice, when consumed with a mixer. The best of these is a concoction involving lemon juice which is simply called Sour. Straight, Pisco feels a bit like someone has decided to open Helga´s House of Pain in the lower depths of your stomach. The only problem is that Pisco Sour is seen as a bit of girly drink in these parts - something I was not pleased to discover, not after I had spent so much time and effort in aclimatising myself to be able to drink beer like a ´real man´
I discovered this last fact while visiting the Tres Eres (Three R´s) factory in Pisco Elqui, a tiny little hamlet in Valle de Elqui, some 3 hours away from La Serena. Here we were given a very interesting tour of the site followed by an extended Pisco tasting session, with the occasional cheese empanada to draw away the more pronounced effects of tipsiness. We were treated to three grades of Pisco - 35% proof, 40% proof and 45% proof.
Strangely enough, the higher the proof, the smoother the drink went down with the 45% proof giving a pleasant warming feeling in the lower abdonam... abdano... in the lower belly. They recommended that the 35% proof be taken with a mixer, which was cleverly disguised code for ´Don´t drink this straight without taking out life insurance´
So next time you are out on the town, don´t have a beer... get a Pisco Sour, and if you can´t do that, grab a Breezer. And think of me.
Rock and Roll.
Paddy.
Friday, May 12, 2006
Ohm.
There are 29 churches from the Colonial period in the centre of La Serena. I know because I read it on the back of a shopping docket. Personally, I think they should have put in a bit more effort and made it 30 - but perhaps they were afraid of inspiring a mid life crisis amongst all the town planners in the region.
Whatever the reason, in honour of this fact I have decided (in as much as one can decide something like to have red hair or a superfluous nipple...) to have a religously themed day. Not only did I visit a good number of the aforementioned churches, but I also managed to have extended conversations with two Mormons and a Hari Khrisna. Talk about living in the fast lane!
Now, the chat with the Mormans mainly consisted of me making fun of them for having special underwear and not having the creativity to come up with a better name for a city than one based on the dominant geographical feature of the region. Thus it is quite stupid and does not bear repeating.
The pow wow with the Hari Khrisna man was a bit more fun and went a bit like this:
(in Spanish of course... how clever am I?)
------
HK: The nature of the soul is scientifically understandable.
ME: Right - how do you mean scientifically?
HK: Well it cannot be the same as matter, it has to be something else, something special. Otherwise when someone dies, you would be able to give them a special injection to make them come alive again.
ME: Ah... you mean ´scientific´ in the same way that Mama´s Kitchen makes ´pasta´
HK: Can I give you this book?
ME: No.
HK: Please?
ME: Ok, but only to help my Spanish. Oh and tell me where you supply cheap vegetarian food.
-------
I feel more enlightened already. Try to imagine a bit of a Gregorian chant in the background when I say to you...
Rock and Roll.
Paddy.
Whatever the reason, in honour of this fact I have decided (in as much as one can decide something like to have red hair or a superfluous nipple...) to have a religously themed day. Not only did I visit a good number of the aforementioned churches, but I also managed to have extended conversations with two Mormons and a Hari Khrisna. Talk about living in the fast lane!
Now, the chat with the Mormans mainly consisted of me making fun of them for having special underwear and not having the creativity to come up with a better name for a city than one based on the dominant geographical feature of the region. Thus it is quite stupid and does not bear repeating.
The pow wow with the Hari Khrisna man was a bit more fun and went a bit like this:
(in Spanish of course... how clever am I?)
------
HK: The nature of the soul is scientifically understandable.
ME: Right - how do you mean scientifically?
HK: Well it cannot be the same as matter, it has to be something else, something special. Otherwise when someone dies, you would be able to give them a special injection to make them come alive again.
ME: Ah... you mean ´scientific´ in the same way that Mama´s Kitchen makes ´pasta´
HK: Can I give you this book?
ME: No.
HK: Please?
ME: Ok, but only to help my Spanish. Oh and tell me where you supply cheap vegetarian food.
-------
I feel more enlightened already. Try to imagine a bit of a Gregorian chant in the background when I say to you...
Rock and Roll.
Paddy.
Thursday, May 11, 2006
The Emperor´s New Clothes.
Well they say that a change is as good as a holiday - and a change made whilst on a holiday?!? Phaw... let´s just say I needed a Bex and a good lie down after the slight revamp.
Tonight I move on to La Serena... I have no expectations, so I shall be as surprised as you. Assuming that you are easily suprised.
And do you know it is impossible to find a good coffee in this country? Oh how I yearn for the simple pleasures of a flat white... perhaps followed up by a tomato and cheese melt. A simple thrill, I know - but achieved without all that mucky business involved in jumping out of planes. But no, I asked for a cappucino the other day and was served a luke warm mixture of water and powdered milk smothered in 6 feet of aerated cream.
Sigh... what´s a poor boy to do.
Rock and Roll.
Paddy.
Tonight I move on to La Serena... I have no expectations, so I shall be as surprised as you. Assuming that you are easily suprised.
And do you know it is impossible to find a good coffee in this country? Oh how I yearn for the simple pleasures of a flat white... perhaps followed up by a tomato and cheese melt. A simple thrill, I know - but achieved without all that mucky business involved in jumping out of planes. But no, I asked for a cappucino the other day and was served a luke warm mixture of water and powdered milk smothered in 6 feet of aerated cream.
Sigh... what´s a poor boy to do.
Rock and Roll.
Paddy.
Wednesday, May 10, 2006
Tuesday, May 09, 2006
Jeff may just never wake up...
Now, if you look down a few entries you may notice a picture of an elder gentleman, holding up a piece of paper with some indiscernable writing being hugged by a girl who could easily be his daughter - if she wanted to be. She didn´t, but that is another story.
Under this charming image is a promise of an explanation. So here it is.
You may know that I am a bit of a fiend for children´s television. Particularly programs targeted at the pre-school age group. There is nothing more relaxing than a good shot of the Teletubbies or even better, four ex-kindergarten teachers in brightly coloured skivies, all wearing facial expressions that clearly demonstrate they are still bewildered as to how they are making millions by jumping up and down like prats.
If you did know this, you may be able to begin to imagine my excitement one midday when Sergio (one of the theatre-boys - the one a few photos down talking to the walrus) turned to me and informed me that we were going to be lunching with a Chilean legend. The infamous Pin-Pon.
Who?
Pin Pon is apparently the greatest children´s TV star that Chile has ever known. He dressed as a raggedy doll with a lot of make up and nauseatingly bright clothing, sang songs danced and played fun games. I think he is the age of Mr Squiggle (and clearly we should organise a reunion between these grand old gentlemen of the arts). He happened to be in town and was a family friend of Patricia - who was the director of the BEC Arts Institute.
So it came to be that we sat and ate lunch, chatting about the cultural state of Chile, the need to improve the standard of television programming as it now existed in Chile and various theories of child pyschology. That is we tried to chat, but kept getting interrupted by waitresses wanting to have their photo taken, children wanting to hug Pin Pon, and elderly ladies wanting an signed napkin to take back to their grandchildren. Pin Pon himself was lovely, asking me about my studies, my country and my plans in Chile.
I told him that I plan to go home and shoot the Wiggles. But only to free up space for more Pin Ponesque programming.
The best thing was that I felt all important and significant. Clearly I need to marry a celebrity. Or maybe just choose one to stalk.
Rock and Roll.
Paddy.
Under this charming image is a promise of an explanation. So here it is.
You may know that I am a bit of a fiend for children´s television. Particularly programs targeted at the pre-school age group. There is nothing more relaxing than a good shot of the Teletubbies or even better, four ex-kindergarten teachers in brightly coloured skivies, all wearing facial expressions that clearly demonstrate they are still bewildered as to how they are making millions by jumping up and down like prats.
If you did know this, you may be able to begin to imagine my excitement one midday when Sergio (one of the theatre-boys - the one a few photos down talking to the walrus) turned to me and informed me that we were going to be lunching with a Chilean legend. The infamous Pin-Pon.
Who?
Pin Pon is apparently the greatest children´s TV star that Chile has ever known. He dressed as a raggedy doll with a lot of make up and nauseatingly bright clothing, sang songs danced and played fun games. I think he is the age of Mr Squiggle (and clearly we should organise a reunion between these grand old gentlemen of the arts). He happened to be in town and was a family friend of Patricia - who was the director of the BEC Arts Institute.
So it came to be that we sat and ate lunch, chatting about the cultural state of Chile, the need to improve the standard of television programming as it now existed in Chile and various theories of child pyschology. That is we tried to chat, but kept getting interrupted by waitresses wanting to have their photo taken, children wanting to hug Pin Pon, and elderly ladies wanting an signed napkin to take back to their grandchildren. Pin Pon himself was lovely, asking me about my studies, my country and my plans in Chile.
I told him that I plan to go home and shoot the Wiggles. But only to free up space for more Pin Ponesque programming.
The best thing was that I felt all important and significant. Clearly I need to marry a celebrity. Or maybe just choose one to stalk.
Rock and Roll.
Paddy.
Monday, May 08, 2006
I don´t want your money, honey, I want your...
...food, drink and board.
Friends, the time has come for me to make a startling revelation. It may not be popular. It may not be pretty. Goddamnit, it may not even be factually correct. But a line must be drawn. So, once and for all, I stand before you today to say...
I think that banks get a bad rap in our society.
Yes, maybe they are diabolic creations leeching the lifeblood from the little battlers of the Australian community. It´s possible that they may be corrupting our youth with brightly coloured pencil cases and monetarily themed extraterrestrials. True, it can´t be denied that they charge fees that would make a private school music teacher blush.
But when it comes down to it one has to only consider the fact that a bank has covered all my expenses for the past 5 days and one begins to understand why I may be looking at them a bit more favourably just at the moment. My holiday has been sponsored by the good people of the State Bank of Chile. Ohh, that felt good - I want to say it again...
The good ole´ Banco de Estado de Chile paid for my beers. Ohh... I still shivered.
So the fine print is this: the venerable BEC has a cultural institute which funds various artistic groups to go on tour in regional areas of Chile that would otherwise not have exposure to such influences. The shows are put on in the Banks of those towns. This, truth be told, It think is a fairly reasonable initiative. So for the past week I have been wearing black, moving tables, taking bows and garnering applause in the regional banks of this skinny little nation. And having the odd Pisco Sour to toast our achievements.
Rock and Roll.
Paddy.
Friends, the time has come for me to make a startling revelation. It may not be popular. It may not be pretty. Goddamnit, it may not even be factually correct. But a line must be drawn. So, once and for all, I stand before you today to say...
I think that banks get a bad rap in our society.
Yes, maybe they are diabolic creations leeching the lifeblood from the little battlers of the Australian community. It´s possible that they may be corrupting our youth with brightly coloured pencil cases and monetarily themed extraterrestrials. True, it can´t be denied that they charge fees that would make a private school music teacher blush.
But when it comes down to it one has to only consider the fact that a bank has covered all my expenses for the past 5 days and one begins to understand why I may be looking at them a bit more favourably just at the moment. My holiday has been sponsored by the good people of the State Bank of Chile. Ohh, that felt good - I want to say it again...
The good ole´ Banco de Estado de Chile paid for my beers. Ohh... I still shivered.
So the fine print is this: the venerable BEC has a cultural institute which funds various artistic groups to go on tour in regional areas of Chile that would otherwise not have exposure to such influences. The shows are put on in the Banks of those towns. This, truth be told, It think is a fairly reasonable initiative. So for the past week I have been wearing black, moving tables, taking bows and garnering applause in the regional banks of this skinny little nation. And having the odd Pisco Sour to toast our achievements.
Rock and Roll.
Paddy.
Tuesday, May 02, 2006
I´m gonna be a star!
Well. Not quite. But I am going on tour.
Yes indeed, the plan was to head north. Go north, young man, like an intrepid artic explorer with a degree of distaste for the prospect of frostbite and a preference for the equatorial regions. That is what I would have said to myself if I was someone else. Someone else who was a moron.
But no, needs must and plans change. And accordingly I have done a startling pirouette (with a tuck) and now I am to head south. For a few days at least. Why, y`all scream? Because I am now part of a Chilean theatre troupe.
Please stop laughing.
The show is called `Not without my toothbrush`. I think. I know it is definitely something about dental hygiene. I have now seen two dress rehearsals and I still have absolutely no idea what ín the devil the show is about. But the visual comedy is quite effective and the actors very good. Hopefully by the end of this week I will be able to relate to you the basics of the plot.
This, shall we say, `unexpected` turn of events has eventuated because a teacher from the school, Carla, who has also become quite a good friend is a member of this theatre company and asked me if I would like to travel with them for the week because they were in need of a theatrehand and general dogsbody. Who am I to refuse a friend in need?
So here I am, still in Santiago, about to take an overnight bus to God knows where and do the Thespian thing. I spent last night helping move props around the roof of some apartment building in the centre of the city. What is it with my friends and theatre!?
Oh, and sitting at the dinner table last night and trying to keep up with the conversation was a very humbling experience. As always the real world is a very different place.
Think about it.
Rock and Roll
Paddy.
Yes indeed, the plan was to head north. Go north, young man, like an intrepid artic explorer with a degree of distaste for the prospect of frostbite and a preference for the equatorial regions. That is what I would have said to myself if I was someone else. Someone else who was a moron.
But no, needs must and plans change. And accordingly I have done a startling pirouette (with a tuck) and now I am to head south. For a few days at least. Why, y`all scream? Because I am now part of a Chilean theatre troupe.
Please stop laughing.
The show is called `Not without my toothbrush`. I think. I know it is definitely something about dental hygiene. I have now seen two dress rehearsals and I still have absolutely no idea what ín the devil the show is about. But the visual comedy is quite effective and the actors very good. Hopefully by the end of this week I will be able to relate to you the basics of the plot.
This, shall we say, `unexpected` turn of events has eventuated because a teacher from the school, Carla, who has also become quite a good friend is a member of this theatre company and asked me if I would like to travel with them for the week because they were in need of a theatrehand and general dogsbody. Who am I to refuse a friend in need?
So here I am, still in Santiago, about to take an overnight bus to God knows where and do the Thespian thing. I spent last night helping move props around the roof of some apartment building in the centre of the city. What is it with my friends and theatre!?
Oh, and sitting at the dinner table last night and trying to keep up with the conversation was a very humbling experience. As always the real world is a very different place.
Think about it.
Rock and Roll
Paddy.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)