P9290229
Originally uploaded by paddydaley.
Tuesday, October 03, 2006
Monday, October 02, 2006
Sunday, September 24, 2006
River King
5 days later I have made it to Iquitos.
The boat was a worthwhile experience, but you know, I have to say that I think I will be flying back to Lima.
Henry V, as my vessel was named served faithfully and truly - aside from breaking down for a whole day and getting stuck on a sandbank for another, the voyage was relatively trouble free. I would have much preferred her to be named Henry VI - so I could have made all sorts of bad jokes about ´Keeping your HEAD above water´and ´Hey, how about that divorce-thing´ but you can´t have everything.
I felt very Huck Finn-ish as we made our way down the river. Visting little communities and sitting on the bow, watching the banks wax and wane. I do realise that Huck was on the Missisipi and that I was lacking an African American slave, but as always I strive to be politically correct.
Oh and the hardest thing about sleeping in a hammock is finding a place to put your head. And not putting your foot in the face of the person next to you while disembarking from aforementioned hammock.
But no matter how I got here, I have made it to the banks of the Amazon. Which looks very river-like. Iquitos is a fairly funky town. Oh and I going on a four day jungle adventure as of Tuesday... which will be exciting. Yay for me!
Rock and Roll.
Paddy
The boat was a worthwhile experience, but you know, I have to say that I think I will be flying back to Lima.
Henry V, as my vessel was named served faithfully and truly - aside from breaking down for a whole day and getting stuck on a sandbank for another, the voyage was relatively trouble free. I would have much preferred her to be named Henry VI - so I could have made all sorts of bad jokes about ´Keeping your HEAD above water´and ´Hey, how about that divorce-thing´ but you can´t have everything.
I felt very Huck Finn-ish as we made our way down the river. Visting little communities and sitting on the bow, watching the banks wax and wane. I do realise that Huck was on the Missisipi and that I was lacking an African American slave, but as always I strive to be politically correct.
Oh and the hardest thing about sleeping in a hammock is finding a place to put your head. And not putting your foot in the face of the person next to you while disembarking from aforementioned hammock.
But no matter how I got here, I have made it to the banks of the Amazon. Which looks very river-like. Iquitos is a fairly funky town. Oh and I going on a four day jungle adventure as of Tuesday... which will be exciting. Yay for me!
Rock and Roll.
Paddy
Sunday, September 17, 2006
Saturday, September 16, 2006
Hot August to early September Nights.
As I have been told - oh so many times... get a new interesting tidbit to share with foreigners, people! - in the last few months, Peru has 3 major constituant regions. La Costa (the coast), La Sierra (the mountains) and La Selva (the Jungle). And if you want to know Peru, really really know Peru, to the extent that you would feel comfortable to play no holds barred truth or dare with it, then you have to visit each of these 3 regions.
So here I am, in the river town of Pucallpa, sitting in a pool of my own sweat, all bright eyed and bushy tailed ready to take a 4 day river boat up to the frontier town of Iquitos, which is by the way, the largest human settlement that is not accessible by road. (C´mon, you know you are impressed). Yahoo! Except of course, in classic Paddyesque timing, I arrive early on a Saturday morning( with, I might add, absolutely no concrete concept of the actual day of the week) only to be informed that boats do not leave on the weekend and that I would have to stay in town until the coming Monday. And Pucallpa, let me say, is not what you would call a party town, unless you consider comparing personal brands of body odour with the populace your idea of a good time.
Ah well, at least it gives me time to buy a hammock (Yes! Hammock!) and stock up on super duper insect repellent. And sweat some more. Did I mention it was quite hot?
Hmm, what else to tell you? That the Peruvian attitude to time is not flexible, but rather inexplicable. It appears to be that to be held waiting at a bus terminal 3 and a half hours after the stated time without any form of explanation is entirely acceptable, however to be stoped at road construction for over 21 seconds is sufficient grounds to declare a coup d´etat, dress the bus driver in drag, hang him from the ceiling and use him as an impromptu pinata.
Oh and I have now seen Machu Pichu, knocking another item off my list of important things to do before the onset of senility. One of the more interesting aspects of the site was the small group of young boys dressed in what appeared to be modified table clothes. They are actually imitating the Chispees, who were apparently the Inca´s empire messanger network. These boys make their living by racing the buses from the heights of Machu Pichu down to the train station back to Cusco. No mean feat I can tell you. Especially when you have to stop everytime the foot track crosses the road and do a tribal dance while screaming ´Inti Inti Inti Inti´ I wanted to give it a go, but the table cloth wouldn´t fit me.
Now if you´ll excuse me, I am off to have my 6th shower of the day .
Rock and Roll.
Paddy.
So here I am, in the river town of Pucallpa, sitting in a pool of my own sweat, all bright eyed and bushy tailed ready to take a 4 day river boat up to the frontier town of Iquitos, which is by the way, the largest human settlement that is not accessible by road. (C´mon, you know you are impressed). Yahoo! Except of course, in classic Paddyesque timing, I arrive early on a Saturday morning( with, I might add, absolutely no concrete concept of the actual day of the week) only to be informed that boats do not leave on the weekend and that I would have to stay in town until the coming Monday. And Pucallpa, let me say, is not what you would call a party town, unless you consider comparing personal brands of body odour with the populace your idea of a good time.
Ah well, at least it gives me time to buy a hammock (Yes! Hammock!) and stock up on super duper insect repellent. And sweat some more. Did I mention it was quite hot?
Hmm, what else to tell you? That the Peruvian attitude to time is not flexible, but rather inexplicable. It appears to be that to be held waiting at a bus terminal 3 and a half hours after the stated time without any form of explanation is entirely acceptable, however to be stoped at road construction for over 21 seconds is sufficient grounds to declare a coup d´etat, dress the bus driver in drag, hang him from the ceiling and use him as an impromptu pinata.
Oh and I have now seen Machu Pichu, knocking another item off my list of important things to do before the onset of senility. One of the more interesting aspects of the site was the small group of young boys dressed in what appeared to be modified table clothes. They are actually imitating the Chispees, who were apparently the Inca´s empire messanger network. These boys make their living by racing the buses from the heights of Machu Pichu down to the train station back to Cusco. No mean feat I can tell you. Especially when you have to stop everytime the foot track crosses the road and do a tribal dance while screaming ´Inti Inti Inti Inti´ I wanted to give it a go, but the table cloth wouldn´t fit me.
Now if you´ll excuse me, I am off to have my 6th shower of the day .
Rock and Roll.
Paddy.
Thursday, September 14, 2006
Saturday, September 09, 2006
Sunday, September 03, 2006
Stranger Danger.
Ahh... Cajamarca.
I am back in Peru... and like any steadfast and reliable friend, Peru has provided for me where others have dismally failed. (*cough* Ecuador *cough* *cough*) I write to you now with a twinkle in my eye and a spring in my step that was not to be seen before. (Well, that would be so if I were actually stepping, since I am sitting down, maybe it should be a bounce in my... posture)
Yes, I have found my thermal bath. And not just any old thermal bath. No I am a bit more special than that. A bit more regal, shall we say. So it was off down to the Baños del Inca where good old Atahualpa, the last Incan Emperor used to come to have his back scrubbed, his hair washed and perhaps the odd game of Marco Polo with his concubines.
I tell you, I have not found water this hot in all of my travels to date. Now this is probably not that difficult an achievement considering the general water temperature in South America tends to range from tepid to ´Excuse me sir, may I borrow your spatula, my head seems to have been frozen to my shoulder´. But despite this I assure that these baths were hot. Steamy. Scalding. Chock full of celciusly derived goodness. HOT.
Then of course, following my theraputic bath there was nothing else to be done except sign in for an all over body massage. Mmmm, body massage.
I was one very relaxed ex-paralegal, I tell you. And I can only assume that Mr Atahualpa was accustomed to feeling the same. Perhaps this was the problem.
You see, Cajamarca is also the site where Incan Empire really began to go to pieces. Perhaps the arrival of the Spanish, all 180 of them, was to Atahualpa just another potential group of massuers. Swedish, Spanish - you can see where the confusion could arise. Because despite having an army of 80,000 at his immediate disposal, he deemed the most appropriate course of action was to leave this army resting while he enter into an relatively enclosed area with a small retinue. The motivation for this action was the desire to learn more about Christianity. Too trusting by half. The Spanish then preceded to beat the living daylights out of his retinue and lock the Incan Emperor up in a small building in the centre of the city.
But Mr Atahualpa was not the sharpest tool in the box- he did not learn from this experience anything about the nature of his new illegal arrivals. So when the Spanish said ´Sorry, this has all been a bit of a mistake, tell you what, you fill a sizable room up with gold, and we will let you go´ rather than responding ´Yeah right, like I believe that you pale faced goons, watch now as my empire of 10-15 million people grinds your puny force into an oily pulp!!´, Mr Atahualpa said ´Sure!! You seem like honourable enough guys, what could go wrong´ The message was sent out to his people, the room was filled with gold, Atahualpa was promptly executed and the Incan empire composed as it was of a lot of different peoples who didn´t much like each other, began a fairly rapid disintegration.
Bit of a shame really.
Rock and Roll.
Paddy.
I am back in Peru... and like any steadfast and reliable friend, Peru has provided for me where others have dismally failed. (*cough* Ecuador *cough* *cough*) I write to you now with a twinkle in my eye and a spring in my step that was not to be seen before. (Well, that would be so if I were actually stepping, since I am sitting down, maybe it should be a bounce in my... posture)
Yes, I have found my thermal bath. And not just any old thermal bath. No I am a bit more special than that. A bit more regal, shall we say. So it was off down to the Baños del Inca where good old Atahualpa, the last Incan Emperor used to come to have his back scrubbed, his hair washed and perhaps the odd game of Marco Polo with his concubines.
I tell you, I have not found water this hot in all of my travels to date. Now this is probably not that difficult an achievement considering the general water temperature in South America tends to range from tepid to ´Excuse me sir, may I borrow your spatula, my head seems to have been frozen to my shoulder´. But despite this I assure that these baths were hot. Steamy. Scalding. Chock full of celciusly derived goodness. HOT.
Then of course, following my theraputic bath there was nothing else to be done except sign in for an all over body massage. Mmmm, body massage.
I was one very relaxed ex-paralegal, I tell you. And I can only assume that Mr Atahualpa was accustomed to feeling the same. Perhaps this was the problem.
You see, Cajamarca is also the site where Incan Empire really began to go to pieces. Perhaps the arrival of the Spanish, all 180 of them, was to Atahualpa just another potential group of massuers. Swedish, Spanish - you can see where the confusion could arise. Because despite having an army of 80,000 at his immediate disposal, he deemed the most appropriate course of action was to leave this army resting while he enter into an relatively enclosed area with a small retinue. The motivation for this action was the desire to learn more about Christianity. Too trusting by half. The Spanish then preceded to beat the living daylights out of his retinue and lock the Incan Emperor up in a small building in the centre of the city.
But Mr Atahualpa was not the sharpest tool in the box- he did not learn from this experience anything about the nature of his new illegal arrivals. So when the Spanish said ´Sorry, this has all been a bit of a mistake, tell you what, you fill a sizable room up with gold, and we will let you go´ rather than responding ´Yeah right, like I believe that you pale faced goons, watch now as my empire of 10-15 million people grinds your puny force into an oily pulp!!´, Mr Atahualpa said ´Sure!! You seem like honourable enough guys, what could go wrong´ The message was sent out to his people, the room was filled with gold, Atahualpa was promptly executed and the Incan empire composed as it was of a lot of different peoples who didn´t much like each other, began a fairly rapid disintegration.
Bit of a shame really.
Rock and Roll.
Paddy.
Thursday, August 31, 2006
Wednesday, August 23, 2006
The pursuit of excellence...
Well, despite the fact that the plugs have changed and I can no longer charge my camera or ipod, Ecuador has redeemed itself in my eyes. Yes, it may have taken me 5 months, but finally I have successfully located a Latin American Pub (well, Pub-like thingee) that offers that guilty pleasure... Trivia.
Mmmm - awww I still have that warm fuzzy feeling that comes from the obnoxious display of useless knowledge. Truly it is the Sydney´s metrosexual´s (or whatever the &%·$"! they are now calling well dressed, intelligent males who have poor hand eye co-ordination...) equivalent of beating his chest, killing a large smelly animal or urinating in a public place. Truly, Quito is now aware that I have ARRIVED!
Oh, by the way-
1. Which is the only South American country to have ever had an emperor?
2. What was the currency of Ecuador prior to dollarisation?
3. From which country does the sport of Lacrosse originate?
Ahh, I am still buzzing
Rock and Roll.
Paddy
Mmmm - awww I still have that warm fuzzy feeling that comes from the obnoxious display of useless knowledge. Truly it is the Sydney´s metrosexual´s (or whatever the &%·$"! they are now calling well dressed, intelligent males who have poor hand eye co-ordination...) equivalent of beating his chest, killing a large smelly animal or urinating in a public place. Truly, Quito is now aware that I have ARRIVED!
Oh, by the way-
1. Which is the only South American country to have ever had an emperor?
2. What was the currency of Ecuador prior to dollarisation?
3. From which country does the sport of Lacrosse originate?
Ahh, I am still buzzing
Rock and Roll.
Paddy
Saturday, August 19, 2006
When the world turns against you...
I am now in Ecuador.
Yes, sunny Ecuador. The only place in the world, as far as I am aware, to be named after an imaginary line.
But you know, something tells me that Ecuador is none to happy too have me bustling about the place. Yes, indeed I get the distinct feeling that I am far from welcome.
Perhaps it was the fact that I have had my passport checked more than 7 times in the duration of my stay here. (24 hours and counting). Or perhaps it was the charming fist fight that I was privy to on the bus ride up to Quito from the border with Peru
(and I tell you, those women knew how to throw a punch!). Or it could be the near torrential thunder storm that suceeded in scaring the living daylights out of me as we careened across the less than wonderful roads. (At least it destabilised the women enough to make them stop fighting)
No... it was none of these things, instead the height of rudeness, the deepest depth to which this small country has descended to ensure that I am aware of my less than welcome status was to organise to have a major volcanic eruption as soon as, and I mean as soon as, I crossed the border into the country.
Good old Tungurahua. It has been building up to an eruption for a good year now, but apparently this is the best time of year to pull out all the stops. I was going to head down to Baños, one of three places I intended to visit in this rather unexciting nation (personal opinion only people... do not let me discourage you... and apparently the Galapolos are stupendous). However this is now in the process of being covered with a rather large amount of ash.
None of this however will stop me from my goal. I will spend a good five minutes jumping from one side of the equator to the other ranting ´Northern Hemisphere... Southern Hemisphere... Northern Hemisphere... Southern Hemisphere...
An addendum: I am of course aware of the fact that this volcanic eruption is causing immeasurate suffering for a large number of people. And I sincerely hope that any damage to life, limb or property can be limited as much as possible.
But I did so want that thermal bath...
Rock and Roll.
Paddy.
Yes, sunny Ecuador. The only place in the world, as far as I am aware, to be named after an imaginary line.
But you know, something tells me that Ecuador is none to happy too have me bustling about the place. Yes, indeed I get the distinct feeling that I am far from welcome.
Perhaps it was the fact that I have had my passport checked more than 7 times in the duration of my stay here. (24 hours and counting). Or perhaps it was the charming fist fight that I was privy to on the bus ride up to Quito from the border with Peru
(and I tell you, those women knew how to throw a punch!). Or it could be the near torrential thunder storm that suceeded in scaring the living daylights out of me as we careened across the less than wonderful roads. (At least it destabilised the women enough to make them stop fighting)
No... it was none of these things, instead the height of rudeness, the deepest depth to which this small country has descended to ensure that I am aware of my less than welcome status was to organise to have a major volcanic eruption as soon as, and I mean as soon as, I crossed the border into the country.
Good old Tungurahua. It has been building up to an eruption for a good year now, but apparently this is the best time of year to pull out all the stops. I was going to head down to Baños, one of three places I intended to visit in this rather unexciting nation (personal opinion only people... do not let me discourage you... and apparently the Galapolos are stupendous). However this is now in the process of being covered with a rather large amount of ash.
None of this however will stop me from my goal. I will spend a good five minutes jumping from one side of the equator to the other ranting ´Northern Hemisphere... Southern Hemisphere... Northern Hemisphere... Southern Hemisphere...
An addendum: I am of course aware of the fact that this volcanic eruption is causing immeasurate suffering for a large number of people. And I sincerely hope that any damage to life, limb or property can be limited as much as possible.
But I did so want that thermal bath...
Rock and Roll.
Paddy.
Monday, August 14, 2006
Friday, August 11, 2006
I fought the law...
and the law won.
But more on that later.
Firstly, one´s travels cannot be complete without an open air concert. It is the definitive mark of one´s experience, one´s hallmark. It represents a challenge, a struggle, a slight tussle. Yes, Caeser had his Rubicon, the allies had their Normandy, Humpty, well he had his wall. And I, I have my Grupo Cinco concert.
Grupo Cinco, I hear you cry? Grupo Cinco? Arn´t those the five prats who rant on about how they have just arrived or returned or some such?
You Fools!
How can you not know the joy, the rapture, the hip wiggling, that is Grupo Cinco. They are the geniuses of the anthems that are
Te vas (Te Vas, TE VAS, TE VAS!!!!!!!)
Sabor a Miel (que me gusta)
and...
Cuanto por el tubo!!!
If you are yet to aquaint yourself with these gems of musical brillance, I insist that you catapault yourself out of your chair and rush down to the local fish records to annoy that pimply faced youth who you had a crush on in the late 1990´s until he orders a copy in for you.
The dancing, well maybe we will talk of that later, because the real excitement of the night was actually before the concert when I was lucky enough to have my first close up encounter with the law enforcement of personnel of Peru...
SCENE: Dark night halfway between two towns that I cannot remember the name of. Side of road sitting in a small autorick, with a large police vehicle parked directly behind.
CHARACTERS: 2 policement with big guns and even bigger sticks, Patrick, Jessica and 4 students from the Madge.
Polieman No.1 ´Papers, please´
Patrick: ´Papers?´(confused look indicating quick flash back to the unfinished cryptic crossword of that morning.
Policeman 2:Identity card.´ ´
Patrick: ´Ah, I´m Australian!´(smile, indicating that this should solve everything)
Policeman 2: ´Passport then.´ (expression that indicates he thinks is dealing with a lunatic.)
Patrick: Umm, don´t actually have it with me. Sorry.
Policeman 1: ´You will come with us to the police station then´ (brusquely... as if dealing with a minor infringement is a direct affront to the honour his very shiny badge.)
Patrick: ´Ok... if we have to´
SCENE 2: Police station. Some tasteful shorts of naked women covered with various types of dairy products festoon the walls.
Policeman 2: ´You are a bad man.´
Policeman 1: ´Very bad´
Policeman 2: ´Bad Australian. Bad bad bad bad bad!
Policeman 1: ´Oh so bad´
Policeman 2: ´Badder than Michael Jackson in that song he did in the carpark´
Policeman 1: Baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaad. Ba-ba-ba-ba-ba-ba-ba-ba-ba-ba-ba-ba-bad!BAD!
Patrick: Here is 20 soles.
Both Policeman: ´Thank you. Have a nice evening. Oh and enjoy the concert.
Rock and Roll.
Paddy
But more on that later.
Firstly, one´s travels cannot be complete without an open air concert. It is the definitive mark of one´s experience, one´s hallmark. It represents a challenge, a struggle, a slight tussle. Yes, Caeser had his Rubicon, the allies had their Normandy, Humpty, well he had his wall. And I, I have my Grupo Cinco concert.
Grupo Cinco, I hear you cry? Grupo Cinco? Arn´t those the five prats who rant on about how they have just arrived or returned or some such?
You Fools!
How can you not know the joy, the rapture, the hip wiggling, that is Grupo Cinco. They are the geniuses of the anthems that are
Te vas (Te Vas, TE VAS, TE VAS!!!!!!!)
Sabor a Miel (que me gusta)
and...
Cuanto por el tubo!!!
If you are yet to aquaint yourself with these gems of musical brillance, I insist that you catapault yourself out of your chair and rush down to the local fish records to annoy that pimply faced youth who you had a crush on in the late 1990´s until he orders a copy in for you.
The dancing, well maybe we will talk of that later, because the real excitement of the night was actually before the concert when I was lucky enough to have my first close up encounter with the law enforcement of personnel of Peru...
SCENE: Dark night halfway between two towns that I cannot remember the name of. Side of road sitting in a small autorick, with a large police vehicle parked directly behind.
CHARACTERS: 2 policement with big guns and even bigger sticks, Patrick, Jessica and 4 students from the Madge.
Polieman No.1 ´Papers, please´
Patrick: ´Papers?´(confused look indicating quick flash back to the unfinished cryptic crossword of that morning.
Policeman 2:Identity card.´ ´
Patrick: ´Ah, I´m Australian!´(smile, indicating that this should solve everything)
Policeman 2: ´Passport then.´ (expression that indicates he thinks is dealing with a lunatic.)
Patrick: Umm, don´t actually have it with me. Sorry.
Policeman 1: ´You will come with us to the police station then´ (brusquely... as if dealing with a minor infringement is a direct affront to the honour his very shiny badge.)
Patrick: ´Ok... if we have to´
SCENE 2: Police station. Some tasteful shorts of naked women covered with various types of dairy products festoon the walls.
Policeman 2: ´You are a bad man.´
Policeman 1: ´Very bad´
Policeman 2: ´Bad Australian. Bad bad bad bad bad!
Policeman 1: ´Oh so bad´
Policeman 2: ´Badder than Michael Jackson in that song he did in the carpark´
Policeman 1: Baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaad. Ba-ba-ba-ba-ba-ba-ba-ba-ba-ba-ba-ba-bad!BAD!
Patrick: Here is 20 soles.
Both Policeman: ´Thank you. Have a nice evening. Oh and enjoy the concert.
Rock and Roll.
Paddy
Thursday, August 10, 2006
Tuesday, August 08, 2006
The ties that bind.
I am less than a spectacular uncle at the moment.
Through the simple and easily made oversight of not actually being in the same country as my nephews I have failed to at any time be in the same room as the most recent addition to our family, little Leo.
I have missed... well, those things that babies do in the first few months of life, you know, cry, eat, sleep. Now that might not sound like a lot to those of you who are decidedly un-clucky - but it is the way that they do it! It is so cute!!!! It takes a particular kind of infantile talent to fart in an adorable fashion.
But I have not been entirely lax in my familiar duties. Not I, no sir! I have just being directing them to a different family. Yup, this weekend I went to my very first Peruvian baptism. Oh and the associated extended party-food fest-general chaos. Oh, yes, little Majori has been introduced into the family of God with style.
The ceromony itself was over in the a flash. Despite the fact that they like to do things in large groups here, the 10 or so kiddies that were getting dunked headfirst into a bucket were processed quicker than you could say ´Ave Maria´. The rather querilous old Spanish Priest was a maestro with the holy water, I tell you! Little Majori looked very pretty in her special white communion dress and quite enjoyed been the centre of attention, even more so than usual.
But it was the party that brought the real fun. Dancing till 6 am with eldery Peruvians is an experience like no other. These women have more stamina than drafthorses. Fuah! Not that I am wanting to compare any woman to a horse. It is a metaphor people!
They also have a rather disconcerting custom here with regards to the consumption of alcohol. Rather than each person having their own glass from which to partake one glass is considered to be sufficient. You but a dash of beer in your own glass and then pass the bottle to the next person in line. This other person is then required to salute you, obviously for the precious gift of alcohol that you have bestowed upon him. You then scull your drink and pass the glass on for the process to begin anew.
Now aside from the fact that my immediate thought at been taught this custom was ´Arrgh girl germs!´, it does create a strong sense of comradery and also aids in accelarating the onset of tipsiness- as you clearly have no way of effectively monitoring how much you are drinking.
This can be a good thing. Especially when you have to share your room with 8 other people of all ages united by the fact that they all snore like troopers.
Say it with me now...
Rock and Roll.
Paddy
Through the simple and easily made oversight of not actually being in the same country as my nephews I have failed to at any time be in the same room as the most recent addition to our family, little Leo.
I have missed... well, those things that babies do in the first few months of life, you know, cry, eat, sleep. Now that might not sound like a lot to those of you who are decidedly un-clucky - but it is the way that they do it! It is so cute!!!! It takes a particular kind of infantile talent to fart in an adorable fashion.
But I have not been entirely lax in my familiar duties. Not I, no sir! I have just being directing them to a different family. Yup, this weekend I went to my very first Peruvian baptism. Oh and the associated extended party-food fest-general chaos. Oh, yes, little Majori has been introduced into the family of God with style.
The ceromony itself was over in the a flash. Despite the fact that they like to do things in large groups here, the 10 or so kiddies that were getting dunked headfirst into a bucket were processed quicker than you could say ´Ave Maria´. The rather querilous old Spanish Priest was a maestro with the holy water, I tell you! Little Majori looked very pretty in her special white communion dress and quite enjoyed been the centre of attention, even more so than usual.
But it was the party that brought the real fun. Dancing till 6 am with eldery Peruvians is an experience like no other. These women have more stamina than drafthorses. Fuah! Not that I am wanting to compare any woman to a horse. It is a metaphor people!
They also have a rather disconcerting custom here with regards to the consumption of alcohol. Rather than each person having their own glass from which to partake one glass is considered to be sufficient. You but a dash of beer in your own glass and then pass the bottle to the next person in line. This other person is then required to salute you, obviously for the precious gift of alcohol that you have bestowed upon him. You then scull your drink and pass the glass on for the process to begin anew.
Now aside from the fact that my immediate thought at been taught this custom was ´Arrgh girl germs!´, it does create a strong sense of comradery and also aids in accelarating the onset of tipsiness- as you clearly have no way of effectively monitoring how much you are drinking.
This can be a good thing. Especially when you have to share your room with 8 other people of all ages united by the fact that they all snore like troopers.
Say it with me now...
Rock and Roll.
Paddy
Friday, August 04, 2006
Saturday, July 29, 2006
Wednesday, July 26, 2006
Update.
They say that no news is good news.
But then I was never the bearer of good news. So you can just consider me your very own Grim Reaper (with a tad bit more flesh to him... just a tad mind you) as I impart to you all the happy and not so happy details of my rollacking jaunt.
So here is the low down. The what´s up. The Where have I left my pants again?
I am still in the Madge. And dear god, I want a hot shower! Please please please can someone find me a hot shower! At this point I am considering getting someone to throw a luke warm cup of tea over my left shoulder to get some small iota of satisfaction.(And those of you who wish to suggest that if I can obtain a hot cup of tea I should be also able to obtain hot water for a shower can kindly be quiet! Logic will not be tolerated here.)
The week of festivities for the foundation has come and gone.. and boy was it fun. Although I am disappointed to report that the lovely lady who I judged to be the most suitable Queen of the Pueblo only managed to achieve second place. The outrageous bias of my fellow judges was so heinous as to be absolutely unforgivable! They seemed to think that it was unreasonable to judge entirely on potential semblance to Shakira. And to answer a well put question from the unsurpassable Fyfe-ster... sadly there was no swimsuit category. There was however a ´How much do I love Peru?´section which I think was unfairly heavily weighted. I would have much preferred the more useful ´Let me explain why Peruvians think it necessary to turn off the fridge each and every night´ or a ´Where in God´s name can I find a decent cup of Red wine?´ sections. But small quibbles, as always, just small quibbles.
The dancing was great fun as well. Oh yes, a drunken night mixing it with the brightest and best of the Madge´s A-list out in the town´s hippest venues.(In this case, the local soccer field). What a highlight! Beer a plenty, good music, beautiful guys and gals and songs with a bass line strong enough for me to manage to keep my feet in time. Up till four then stumbled home accompanied by a veritable crowd of protecters - everyone here is convinced that their sleepy little town is a seething pit of violent crime. We are constantly told not to walk down this street or the other. The fact that everyone knows each other and that no place is more than 45 seconds walk away from the other (at the very least a firm ´HELP´ would suffice) does nothing to dampen this paranoia.
Ah, its the little imperfections that make you love a place.
Rock and Roll
Paddy.
But then I was never the bearer of good news. So you can just consider me your very own Grim Reaper (with a tad bit more flesh to him... just a tad mind you) as I impart to you all the happy and not so happy details of my rollacking jaunt.
So here is the low down. The what´s up. The Where have I left my pants again?
I am still in the Madge. And dear god, I want a hot shower! Please please please can someone find me a hot shower! At this point I am considering getting someone to throw a luke warm cup of tea over my left shoulder to get some small iota of satisfaction.(And those of you who wish to suggest that if I can obtain a hot cup of tea I should be also able to obtain hot water for a shower can kindly be quiet! Logic will not be tolerated here.)
The week of festivities for the foundation has come and gone.. and boy was it fun. Although I am disappointed to report that the lovely lady who I judged to be the most suitable Queen of the Pueblo only managed to achieve second place. The outrageous bias of my fellow judges was so heinous as to be absolutely unforgivable! They seemed to think that it was unreasonable to judge entirely on potential semblance to Shakira. And to answer a well put question from the unsurpassable Fyfe-ster... sadly there was no swimsuit category. There was however a ´How much do I love Peru?´section which I think was unfairly heavily weighted. I would have much preferred the more useful ´Let me explain why Peruvians think it necessary to turn off the fridge each and every night´ or a ´Where in God´s name can I find a decent cup of Red wine?´ sections. But small quibbles, as always, just small quibbles.
The dancing was great fun as well. Oh yes, a drunken night mixing it with the brightest and best of the Madge´s A-list out in the town´s hippest venues.(In this case, the local soccer field). What a highlight! Beer a plenty, good music, beautiful guys and gals and songs with a bass line strong enough for me to manage to keep my feet in time. Up till four then stumbled home accompanied by a veritable crowd of protecters - everyone here is convinced that their sleepy little town is a seething pit of violent crime. We are constantly told not to walk down this street or the other. The fact that everyone knows each other and that no place is more than 45 seconds walk away from the other (at the very least a firm ´HELP´ would suffice) does nothing to dampen this paranoia.
Ah, its the little imperfections that make you love a place.
Rock and Roll
Paddy.
Tuesday, July 25, 2006
Wednesday, July 19, 2006
Sunday, July 16, 2006
Friday, July 14, 2006
Wednesday, July 12, 2006
Dreams can come true...
... look at me babe I´m living proof.
Oh yeah!
Indeed, the most cherished desire of anyone´s dark little heart can be brought to fruitition! This normally occurs through the mechanism of dumb luck. (Smart luck is of course, much rarer).
What in the name of all that is holy am I talking about? Patience, my pretties, patience. All in good time.
Here is the low-down
I now am happily ensconched as the local gringo in the lovely hamlet of Magdelena del Cao. Happily, but perhaps not comfortably. You see, running water is a but a far off vista, and hot water, well, let´s just say that Peru will have an asian lesbian cyborg president before I get a nice steamy shower. No, I get to shower with a cold (and I mean cooooold) bucket of water. And so it is that The Madge (as Magdelena del Cao will henceforth be known)is awoken early each morning to the echoes of my girlish screams . What´s more the electricity is as unreliable as a train to Pennant Hills.
I am here with a lovely French girl by the name of Jessica and the both of us are bringing the joys of English to the good people of the Madge. We are very busy. Classes for ninos, adolescentes, adultos and senoras each day keeps us too busy to give ourself more than a cursory scratch. We also do lessons in the local primary and secondary schools. I am quite enjoying the teaching experience - although I think I am more suited to adult education than the kiddy kind. I am too reliant on a little thing called logic which does not seem to apply to the under 10s. Still, it has provided me with a good opportunity to revisit some of the classics - ´What´s the time Mr Wolf?´(which for some reason has become ´What´s the time Mr Dinosaur?´and it is no longer ´Dinner-time!´ oh no, it is ´DINOSAUR!´). Other classics like ´The Hokey Pokey´, ´If you´re happy and you know it´ and ´Heads and Shoulders Knees and Toes´ have also had a long awaited re-release. Too much fun.
But the best thing is, the really fun thing is, that we are absolute celebrities. We cannot walk through the street without attracting a Pied Piper of Hamilenesque train of locals staring at our every move and hanging on our every word. Any event, be it birthday, anniversary, marriage or desexing cannot take place with out the two pet foreigners being dragged in for a photo opportunity.
But here is the punch-line, the cherished dream referred to oh so long ago at the beginning of this entry. Later this month the Madge has its founding celebrations. Three days and nights of partying drinking and craziness await us with talent comps, music battles, groups marriages (I kid you not!) and all sorts of fun things. Among these celebrations there is the highlight-
Miss Magdelena del Cao.
And I am to be the Judge in Chief!
Oh yes, despite my reservations about the intrinscically sexist nature of such competitions, I have had to... oh with such a heavy heart, accept this honoured position.
Rock and Roll
Paddy.
Oh yeah!
Indeed, the most cherished desire of anyone´s dark little heart can be brought to fruitition! This normally occurs through the mechanism of dumb luck. (Smart luck is of course, much rarer).
What in the name of all that is holy am I talking about? Patience, my pretties, patience. All in good time.
Here is the low-down
I now am happily ensconched as the local gringo in the lovely hamlet of Magdelena del Cao. Happily, but perhaps not comfortably. You see, running water is a but a far off vista, and hot water, well, let´s just say that Peru will have an asian lesbian cyborg president before I get a nice steamy shower. No, I get to shower with a cold (and I mean cooooold) bucket of water. And so it is that The Madge (as Magdelena del Cao will henceforth be known)is awoken early each morning to the echoes of my girlish screams . What´s more the electricity is as unreliable as a train to Pennant Hills.
I am here with a lovely French girl by the name of Jessica and the both of us are bringing the joys of English to the good people of the Madge. We are very busy. Classes for ninos, adolescentes, adultos and senoras each day keeps us too busy to give ourself more than a cursory scratch. We also do lessons in the local primary and secondary schools. I am quite enjoying the teaching experience - although I think I am more suited to adult education than the kiddy kind. I am too reliant on a little thing called logic which does not seem to apply to the under 10s. Still, it has provided me with a good opportunity to revisit some of the classics - ´What´s the time Mr Wolf?´(which for some reason has become ´What´s the time Mr Dinosaur?´and it is no longer ´Dinner-time!´ oh no, it is ´DINOSAUR!´). Other classics like ´The Hokey Pokey´, ´If you´re happy and you know it´ and ´Heads and Shoulders Knees and Toes´ have also had a long awaited re-release. Too much fun.
But the best thing is, the really fun thing is, that we are absolute celebrities. We cannot walk through the street without attracting a Pied Piper of Hamilenesque train of locals staring at our every move and hanging on our every word. Any event, be it birthday, anniversary, marriage or desexing cannot take place with out the two pet foreigners being dragged in for a photo opportunity.
But here is the punch-line, the cherished dream referred to oh so long ago at the beginning of this entry. Later this month the Madge has its founding celebrations. Three days and nights of partying drinking and craziness await us with talent comps, music battles, groups marriages (I kid you not!) and all sorts of fun things. Among these celebrations there is the highlight-
Miss Magdelena del Cao.
And I am to be the Judge in Chief!
Oh yes, despite my reservations about the intrinscically sexist nature of such competitions, I have had to... oh with such a heavy heart, accept this honoured position.
Rock and Roll
Paddy.
Sunday, July 09, 2006
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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