Wednesday, May 16, 2007

Nice To Pichu, To Pichu....Nice.

Ever been to one of those places so famous, whose pictures youve seen so often that the reality is a tiny bit of a letdown? Well, Machu Picchu isn't one of them. Finally witnessing this archeologist's wet dream sitting prettily and precipitously among steaming Andean peaks can only be described (to borrow a nice expression from the Spanish) as 'the whore mother'. An experience that even the hordes of camera toting yanks cant spoil (although the Peruvian families have a good go).
After some deliberation (and the recent memory of the feeling that every nocturnal trip to the bathroom should be preceeded by Scott's last words) I elected to give The Stinka Trail a miss and got the bus. Seeing the state of those exiting the trail, it proved to be wise choice, allowing me to spend a full sweet-smelling twelve hours roaming the ruins before being reluctantly ejected at closing time. Despite the precipitous nature of it's situation, the Peruvian state fortunately feels no need to clutter up the view with protective barriers, leaving you free to wander up and down slippery, vertical cliff edges with only the meagerest of handrails to cling to. No nannying here. Interestingly the only recent fatality featured, wait for it.... a German!! struck by lightning after ignoring warnings and scaling the mountain in a thunderstorm. Nuff said.

Swamp Thing.

A dream fulfilled, I began to think (with dread) about the (long and poorly maintained) road home, so from Cusco (one of the prettier, more developed cities in South America while still managing to retain that all important, defining smell of wee) it was back across Bolivia and into Brazil for the joys of returning to the linguistic level of a two year old (" me understand no. English you speaking?") and a spot of wildlife bothering. The Pantanal is the worlds largest inland swamp, half the size of France but with much pleasanter residents. Armadillo (crunchy on the outside), alligators, capibara, the worlds biggest rodents and so obviously designed as prey that they might as well have 'eat me' tatooed on their oversized asses, as well as anacondas and diverse winged showoffs.

The Girl From Ipanema.

'Tall and tanned and young and lovely'

After 31 hours on the bus it definitely isn't me that Frank was refering to but even the palest of big-panted (thong=wrong!) gringas are touched by the glamour of caiparinhias on Copacbana in the world's most beautiful city under the gaze of the Big J.C himself. In Rio you can experience it all, nightlife, white sand, colonial architecture, rainforest, and gunpoint robbery whilst admiring it all. Ironically the least likely place to meet with trouble is (properly escorted) inside the favelas themselves. These days no trip to Rio is complete without proving you kept it real on holiday by getting deep in the rat warrens of Rio's slums and showing how street you are by not soiling your pants the sight of A.K toting pre-teens. It seems a little wierd that splashing through an open sewer for the chance of witnessing abject poverty should now be a box to tick alongside a visit to Sugar Loaf but there you have the state of modern tourism. If nothing else it allows you to go away thankful you are not the aforementioned young dealer and have a little more than an average life expectancy of 23 years in which to earn enough cash to impress your girlfriend.

Next and finally; tango and wine in Buenos Aires. Guess which I'll not be doing.

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