PD 016
Originally uploaded by paddydaley.
Thursday, June 29, 2006
Wednesday, June 28, 2006
Lakeside living...
Titicaca.
Say it with me now...
TI-TI-CA-CA
Now apparently it is a mix of the Amarya and Quecha language which translatesto mean ´Puma-stone´, but personally I am convinced that there was some Inca wise man out there in the 13th century, pissing his pants over the knowledge that some 700 years hence there would be a bunch of english speaking tourists pissing themselves laughing at water´s edge.
Regardless of what it is called, it is an impressive body of water. The world´s highest navigable lake or so they tell us. It has many an interesting feature too, the most faskinating of which are the Uros, or floating Islands.
Floating what now?
Ok, so you may have guessed that I have finally made my move from Arequipa - with much sadness, I must admit- and am now on the road again. I made my peace with the lake´s gods from the pleasant port town of Puno. It was in Puno as well that I had the pleasure of meeting up with Ms Rebecca Roberts, who as chance had it, was also dallying in the region. Two enjoyable nights on the town with a variable cast of other travellers were had - much crap was talked and the world´s problems, while probably not solved, were at the very least beaten around the head with a dead fish.
I am now in Lima, where there is some civil unrest at the prospect of the creation of a free trade agreement with the USA(apparently like all good things, there are just no original protest issues anymore). Then I move onto a small town outside of Trujillo to teach english to the locals, both kiddies and adults.
Education has not seen anything like this since that gay teletubbie...
The thing is that this town does not have internet connection, so my postings to site may become somwhat more sporadic. Than it already is, I mean.
Rest assured I love you all still and do little choreographed dances of joy whenever I receive word from you. So make me practice my dancing.
Rock and Roll.
Paddy.
Say it with me now...
TI-TI-CA-CA
Now apparently it is a mix of the Amarya and Quecha language which translatesto mean ´Puma-stone´, but personally I am convinced that there was some Inca wise man out there in the 13th century, pissing his pants over the knowledge that some 700 years hence there would be a bunch of english speaking tourists pissing themselves laughing at water´s edge.
Regardless of what it is called, it is an impressive body of water. The world´s highest navigable lake or so they tell us. It has many an interesting feature too, the most faskinating of which are the Uros, or floating Islands.
Floating what now?
Ok, so you may have guessed that I have finally made my move from Arequipa - with much sadness, I must admit- and am now on the road again. I made my peace with the lake´s gods from the pleasant port town of Puno. It was in Puno as well that I had the pleasure of meeting up with Ms Rebecca Roberts, who as chance had it, was also dallying in the region. Two enjoyable nights on the town with a variable cast of other travellers were had - much crap was talked and the world´s problems, while probably not solved, were at the very least beaten around the head with a dead fish.
I am now in Lima, where there is some civil unrest at the prospect of the creation of a free trade agreement with the USA(apparently like all good things, there are just no original protest issues anymore). Then I move onto a small town outside of Trujillo to teach english to the locals, both kiddies and adults.
Education has not seen anything like this since that gay teletubbie...
The thing is that this town does not have internet connection, so my postings to site may become somwhat more sporadic. Than it already is, I mean.
Rest assured I love you all still and do little choreographed dances of joy whenever I receive word from you. So make me practice my dancing.
Rock and Roll.
Paddy.
Monday, June 26, 2006
My Arequipeñan family...
Patrick 229
Originally uploaded by paddydaley.
Say hello to Henri, Ronalto, Juana and (missing) Regina.
Sunday, June 25, 2006
Wednesday, June 21, 2006
Life´s a rollercoaster...
I am of course not only a man of the world. I am also a man of the people. If there is a hand to be shook, I will shake it. A baby to be kissed, I am there. I even help little old ladies across the road! By force if necessary!
Being this as it is, I can hardly refuse the request of a much loved... well, liked sister to explain the story behind the picture with the somewhat alarmist title that depicts my lovely self wearing a slightly panicked expression. (Joking Jess, love ya heaps)
This story begins the morning after having scrabbled my way out of the precipice known as the Colca Cañon. It goes without saying I was somewhat buggered. I do not believe that I have perspired as much in the last ten years. Not even before an exam in Real Property.
But there is no rest for the wicked. Neither is there rest for the slightly lazy or temporally illiterate. Instead, we intrepid... tourists... needed to rise at sparrowsfart (slightly after five for the laypeople among you) to board a bus and be whisked off to La Cruz de Condor to see condors. Which was fine. Except for the fact that it did not work exactly as planned.
You see, despite the fact that our guide Pepe had warned us that the bus-boarding process was a bit, how did he put it? Oh yes, ´abso-frickin-lutely manic´, I and my two Canadian friends still managed to dally over that last cup of mate (nothing like a hot herbal tea dervived from the same plant as cocaine...). Hey, we were tired, ok!
Anyway when we did finally reach the bus, the scene was like something out of Aliens. People were scrambling over the top of each other, clawing, kicking fighting. Some people were carrying bags of rice, others two or three kiddies, who in turn were fighting fairly dirty. The bus itself had people hanging from every mechanical orifice... a surging, sprawling mass of humanity. Pepe was standing beside the bus, almost having kittens-
´Where have you been? C´mon, we have seats reserved!´
´Seats reserved!?!?´I said ´I would be surprised if we had oxygen reserved on that thing´
´No no no no, Trust me´ he replied and promptly grabbed my hand, before disappearing into the seething ball of flesh. I tell you it was horrible. The sights, the sounds, the smells - I was in my own personal wrestlemania, only with less spandex and more llamas.
But stranger than that, was the fact that it was the first time that I had been privy to the clear divide between Westerners and Peruvians that seems to exist here. Because I am almost sure that there is no way that there could have been reserved seats on that bus... but despite this, the crowd of Peruvians parted like the Red Sea, to allow the stupid tourists to have a seat. I am certain that were I to attempt the same feat in Australia, a overweight man in a wifebeater would tell me oh so politely to ´Shove it´ And rightly so.
At any rate, the bus was, shall we say, full. I spent the rest of the trip nursing a 4 yr old boy on my lap, while two elderly native american woman sat on each of my knees. This is while the vehicle was tranversing terrifying roads with blind corners, wide rivers and the occasional pothole that could swallow the latter era Elvis without chewing. Oh and all the while the Canon de Colca (which as you will remember, is very deep!) followed one side of the road. In the event of a crash I would have had to untangle a young child from around one of my kidneys before even considering the problem of how to get out of the overcrowded environment which would by that time by full of injured clothes merchants.
And this is when I took the photo. Which, I must say, I think is quite arty.
Rock and Roll.
Paddy.
Being this as it is, I can hardly refuse the request of a much loved... well, liked sister to explain the story behind the picture with the somewhat alarmist title that depicts my lovely self wearing a slightly panicked expression. (Joking Jess, love ya heaps)
This story begins the morning after having scrabbled my way out of the precipice known as the Colca Cañon. It goes without saying I was somewhat buggered. I do not believe that I have perspired as much in the last ten years. Not even before an exam in Real Property.
But there is no rest for the wicked. Neither is there rest for the slightly lazy or temporally illiterate. Instead, we intrepid... tourists... needed to rise at sparrowsfart (slightly after five for the laypeople among you) to board a bus and be whisked off to La Cruz de Condor to see condors. Which was fine. Except for the fact that it did not work exactly as planned.
You see, despite the fact that our guide Pepe had warned us that the bus-boarding process was a bit, how did he put it? Oh yes, ´abso-frickin-lutely manic´, I and my two Canadian friends still managed to dally over that last cup of mate (nothing like a hot herbal tea dervived from the same plant as cocaine...). Hey, we were tired, ok!
Anyway when we did finally reach the bus, the scene was like something out of Aliens. People were scrambling over the top of each other, clawing, kicking fighting. Some people were carrying bags of rice, others two or three kiddies, who in turn were fighting fairly dirty. The bus itself had people hanging from every mechanical orifice... a surging, sprawling mass of humanity. Pepe was standing beside the bus, almost having kittens-
´Where have you been? C´mon, we have seats reserved!´
´Seats reserved!?!?´I said ´I would be surprised if we had oxygen reserved on that thing´
´No no no no, Trust me´ he replied and promptly grabbed my hand, before disappearing into the seething ball of flesh. I tell you it was horrible. The sights, the sounds, the smells - I was in my own personal wrestlemania, only with less spandex and more llamas.
But stranger than that, was the fact that it was the first time that I had been privy to the clear divide between Westerners and Peruvians that seems to exist here. Because I am almost sure that there is no way that there could have been reserved seats on that bus... but despite this, the crowd of Peruvians parted like the Red Sea, to allow the stupid tourists to have a seat. I am certain that were I to attempt the same feat in Australia, a overweight man in a wifebeater would tell me oh so politely to ´Shove it´ And rightly so.
At any rate, the bus was, shall we say, full. I spent the rest of the trip nursing a 4 yr old boy on my lap, while two elderly native american woman sat on each of my knees. This is while the vehicle was tranversing terrifying roads with blind corners, wide rivers and the occasional pothole that could swallow the latter era Elvis without chewing. Oh and all the while the Canon de Colca (which as you will remember, is very deep!) followed one side of the road. In the event of a crash I would have had to untangle a young child from around one of my kidneys before even considering the problem of how to get out of the overcrowded environment which would by that time by full of injured clothes merchants.
And this is when I took the photo. Which, I must say, I think is quite arty.
Rock and Roll.
Paddy.
Tuesday, June 20, 2006
Monday, June 19, 2006
Carving it up...
I am a man of the world. I know that you knew this already and are right now shaking your heads at my apparent need for self aggrandisement, but hey... so what?
I am a man of the world. Oops, I said it again. But, it´s true, I can swipe and swerve with all kinds. I can count to five in what, almost 4 languages now. I can drink a martini without cringing. I can wear scarfs without looking like a pretencious prat. I am a man of the world.
Ok so I can´t do any of these things but these are details people, details. At the very least I am a man of my own special little world and with a bit of effort and a bit less beanie wearing these two - at times very different- realms may collide.
In the hope of hastening this day, I am enlarging my knowledge of the wide and varied culinary universe. I am taking lessons in the gastronomic stylings of the Peruvian peoples. Yes, indeed once a week I hustle down with 2 Germans, Nina and Ralph and one other Australian, Lauren, to learn of rocetos y sango and all good things. The professora is my host mother, so I of course am the teachers pet. (Who wouldn´t love me after living with me?)
The one thing that I have learnt is that no-one, ever, in any circumstances, should let me near a knife. Check that, don´t even let me near an apple peeler. It is not that I am a danger to those around me. (Although that depends on how attached you are to your fingers). No is more the case that as they say, the first bite is with the eye, and anyone who sights a capsicum that has been garroted by me will most likely engage in a close approximation of optical vomiting.
But despite this, the actual flavour of the dishes has been quite pleasing. Although very rich. Traditional Peruvian cooking seems to follow the philosophy that if something tastes good, it can definitely made better by drowning it in half a pig´s buttock worth of cream and cheese. (From now on the pig´s buttock will be the internatonal measurement of food fat content). Rocotos Rellenos is a bit like a very hot capsicum stuffed with a spicy mix of meat, cheese, and vegies. Sango... is weird, but very nice, a mix of wheat, sugar, cheese, eggs, syrup of some kind. Visually very gluggy.
At the behest and request of the lovely Anais, written recipes of these wonders (and more besides) are forthcoming.
Until then, my lovelies.
Rock and Roll.
Paddy.
I am a man of the world. Oops, I said it again. But, it´s true, I can swipe and swerve with all kinds. I can count to five in what, almost 4 languages now. I can drink a martini without cringing. I can wear scarfs without looking like a pretencious prat. I am a man of the world.
Ok so I can´t do any of these things but these are details people, details. At the very least I am a man of my own special little world and with a bit of effort and a bit less beanie wearing these two - at times very different- realms may collide.
In the hope of hastening this day, I am enlarging my knowledge of the wide and varied culinary universe. I am taking lessons in the gastronomic stylings of the Peruvian peoples. Yes, indeed once a week I hustle down with 2 Germans, Nina and Ralph and one other Australian, Lauren, to learn of rocetos y sango and all good things. The professora is my host mother, so I of course am the teachers pet. (Who wouldn´t love me after living with me?)
The one thing that I have learnt is that no-one, ever, in any circumstances, should let me near a knife. Check that, don´t even let me near an apple peeler. It is not that I am a danger to those around me. (Although that depends on how attached you are to your fingers). No is more the case that as they say, the first bite is with the eye, and anyone who sights a capsicum that has been garroted by me will most likely engage in a close approximation of optical vomiting.
But despite this, the actual flavour of the dishes has been quite pleasing. Although very rich. Traditional Peruvian cooking seems to follow the philosophy that if something tastes good, it can definitely made better by drowning it in half a pig´s buttock worth of cream and cheese. (From now on the pig´s buttock will be the internatonal measurement of food fat content). Rocotos Rellenos is a bit like a very hot capsicum stuffed with a spicy mix of meat, cheese, and vegies. Sango... is weird, but very nice, a mix of wheat, sugar, cheese, eggs, syrup of some kind. Visually very gluggy.
At the behest and request of the lovely Anais, written recipes of these wonders (and more besides) are forthcoming.
Until then, my lovelies.
Rock and Roll.
Paddy.
Saturday, June 17, 2006
Thursday, June 15, 2006
Raise your voices!
There are few things in this world which bring the peoples of this world, with their many races, creeds and prejudices, together in a moment of unity. Paddle Pops, Degrassi Junior High, contempt for Paris Hilton. These things are oh too rare and as such should be treasured as the little nuggets of sweet chocolatey gold that they clearly are.
I would like to suggest a new addition to this list. Something that at times I may have disparaged... at times I may have even suggested that it was the realm of failed Pop Stars and Australian Idol Rejects. Yes, I am talking about Karaoke.
Karaoke... another thing we can thank the Japanese for, just like the seemingly never ending obligation to eat raw fish, and the propensity to choke within the last 4 minutes of a sporting contest. But to really enjoy Karaoke... to hear its song and dance to it tinny beat you have to jettison its cultural origin and place it in its spiritual home in the new world - Peru. My god, they are fiends for the stuff over here. And so it is that in Peru, for the first time in the history of humankind that you are able to truly join together in a global song!(Well, that is if you can describe an Australian, two Canadians and three Peruvians as global)
Oh, and it is mandatory that you sing Shakira.
That last requirement is my addition and nothing to do with Peru. God bless that woman (and her hips). Estoy Aqui is the anthem of this century
But I digress. This is how it came to be that this Monday I engaged in the lovely company of Pepe, Alyse, Lauren and some other bloke whose name I cannot remember, to reveal in the primal joy of song. And despite the fact that Pepe clearly appeared to be on mind enhancing chemicals of some kind, fun was had by all. That is, of course, until Pepe decided that the most appropriate course of action was to engage in a half hour marathon of Guns n Roses Classics.
I cannot understand why he insisted upon the change... there were still at least 5 Shakira classics that we still had to cover (and one Shakira song that I had never seen before... wild horses could not have kept me away). But as they say in all the best kindergartens, sharing is caring.
In other news, guinea pig tastes like chicken. Not much to them though. If you are hungry I would stick with chicken.
Rock and Roll
Paddy.
I would like to suggest a new addition to this list. Something that at times I may have disparaged... at times I may have even suggested that it was the realm of failed Pop Stars and Australian Idol Rejects. Yes, I am talking about Karaoke.
Karaoke... another thing we can thank the Japanese for, just like the seemingly never ending obligation to eat raw fish, and the propensity to choke within the last 4 minutes of a sporting contest. But to really enjoy Karaoke... to hear its song and dance to it tinny beat you have to jettison its cultural origin and place it in its spiritual home in the new world - Peru. My god, they are fiends for the stuff over here. And so it is that in Peru, for the first time in the history of humankind that you are able to truly join together in a global song!(Well, that is if you can describe an Australian, two Canadians and three Peruvians as global)
Oh, and it is mandatory that you sing Shakira.
That last requirement is my addition and nothing to do with Peru. God bless that woman (and her hips). Estoy Aqui is the anthem of this century
But I digress. This is how it came to be that this Monday I engaged in the lovely company of Pepe, Alyse, Lauren and some other bloke whose name I cannot remember, to reveal in the primal joy of song. And despite the fact that Pepe clearly appeared to be on mind enhancing chemicals of some kind, fun was had by all. That is, of course, until Pepe decided that the most appropriate course of action was to engage in a half hour marathon of Guns n Roses Classics.
I cannot understand why he insisted upon the change... there were still at least 5 Shakira classics that we still had to cover (and one Shakira song that I had never seen before... wild horses could not have kept me away). But as they say in all the best kindergartens, sharing is caring.
In other news, guinea pig tastes like chicken. Not much to them though. If you are hungry I would stick with chicken.
Rock and Roll
Paddy.
Wednesday, June 14, 2006
It´s Deal or No Deal... Peruvian Style
P6031012
Originally uploaded by paddydaley.
I wonder if they have to train to imitate Beef O´Keefe´s mannerisms.
Monday, June 12, 2006
Down we go..
I have just got back from Cañon de Colca.
What is that I hear you ask?
Well for one thing it is the deepest canyon in the world, apparently.
And for another... naah, I can´t be bothered pandering to your fickle thirst for knowledge.
So take some initiative... Go improve yourself...
Show us the path to Wisdom, oh Paddy-wan
Oh, and one final note.
GO THE SOCCEROOS!
Rock and Roll
Paddy.
What is that I hear you ask?
Well for one thing it is the deepest canyon in the world, apparently.
And for another... naah, I can´t be bothered pandering to your fickle thirst for knowledge.
So take some initiative... Go improve yourself...
Show us the path to Wisdom, oh Paddy-wan
Oh, and one final note.
GO THE SOCCEROOS!
Rock and Roll
Paddy.
Sunday, June 11, 2006
Tuesday, June 06, 2006
By the people, for the people and most definitely of the people.
Well, Peru has a new president!
As of Sunday evening, Mr Garcia is the president elect of this fine country, having meet and conquered over Mr Ollanta at the brink of dawn. He took his opponent down with a glancing blow to his weaker right side. There was cheering, there was dancing and I tell you, Mr Garcia was wearing some spanky pants.
So what does this mean for this Inca obsessed nation?
Let me give an honest answer- Buggered if I know.
Let's just say Peruvian political theory and process don't give me a much needed edge whenever I barrel on down to the Point for a round of Pub Trivia. I would say that it would be about on par with my knowledge of the migration patterns of sub saharan pygmy possums.
Instead, let me tell you about the build up. The hype. The t-shirts. Yes, being an eyewitness is something that requires no particular skills and therefore something that feel I completely qualified to comment upon.
Peru knows how to put on an entertaining election. The Australian Electoral Commission could definitely take a leaf out of their book. The last few weeks have seen the normally pleasantly calm city of Arequipa festooned with posters, balloons, badges, stickers and mittens. But it is not just about looks, people. It is also about people giving opinions they are clearly not qualified to hold. You could not buy a bread roll in this town without also buying an political commentary. Every second taxi driver felt compelled to tell you why Mr Garcia would be better for the health system or why Mr Ollanta smelt like pigeon poo. Every fifth taxi was itself carrying a loudspeaker bigger than the car itself, broadcasting dubious political messages while simulaneously trying to plough down unsuspecting Commonwealth citizens.
But my favourite little tidbit in the hodgepodge of ups and downs that has been the last few weeks has to be the tricycle riding mobile greengrocer who, like the taxis, had his own loudspeaker which was jettisoning this little ditty into the ether -
Mandarins, Mandarins, Bananas.
Ollanta will do better things for the poor.
He said he would, so it must be true.
Apples, Bananas, Mandarins.
Catchy, no? When it comes down to it, two middle aged men with unruly eyebrows doesn't really stack up.
Now that I think of it, that little verse gives me an idea. I think it would be a bit better with a bit of a beat. Maybe even some...
Rock and Roll.
Paddy.
As of Sunday evening, Mr Garcia is the president elect of this fine country, having meet and conquered over Mr Ollanta at the brink of dawn. He took his opponent down with a glancing blow to his weaker right side. There was cheering, there was dancing and I tell you, Mr Garcia was wearing some spanky pants.
So what does this mean for this Inca obsessed nation?
Let me give an honest answer- Buggered if I know.
Let's just say Peruvian political theory and process don't give me a much needed edge whenever I barrel on down to the Point for a round of Pub Trivia. I would say that it would be about on par with my knowledge of the migration patterns of sub saharan pygmy possums.
Instead, let me tell you about the build up. The hype. The t-shirts. Yes, being an eyewitness is something that requires no particular skills and therefore something that feel I completely qualified to comment upon.
Peru knows how to put on an entertaining election. The Australian Electoral Commission could definitely take a leaf out of their book. The last few weeks have seen the normally pleasantly calm city of Arequipa festooned with posters, balloons, badges, stickers and mittens. But it is not just about looks, people. It is also about people giving opinions they are clearly not qualified to hold. You could not buy a bread roll in this town without also buying an political commentary. Every second taxi driver felt compelled to tell you why Mr Garcia would be better for the health system or why Mr Ollanta smelt like pigeon poo. Every fifth taxi was itself carrying a loudspeaker bigger than the car itself, broadcasting dubious political messages while simulaneously trying to plough down unsuspecting Commonwealth citizens.
But my favourite little tidbit in the hodgepodge of ups and downs that has been the last few weeks has to be the tricycle riding mobile greengrocer who, like the taxis, had his own loudspeaker which was jettisoning this little ditty into the ether -
Mandarins, Mandarins, Bananas.
Ollanta will do better things for the poor.
He said he would, so it must be true.
Apples, Bananas, Mandarins.
Catchy, no? When it comes down to it, two middle aged men with unruly eyebrows doesn't really stack up.
Now that I think of it, that little verse gives me an idea. I think it would be a bit better with a bit of a beat. Maybe even some...
Rock and Roll.
Paddy.
Monday, June 05, 2006
Sunday, June 04, 2006
Saturday, June 03, 2006
Last Christmas
Australia 033
Originally uploaded by paddydaley.
Well, not really a part of my travels. But sent to me by Maria, a lovely Italian friend - and it is close to home.
Rock and Roll.
Paddy.
Friday, June 02, 2006
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