Gili Air Breakfast

The fruit, the coffee and the view

The location

New York Round One

My first day in New York was an ulcer-inducing succession of problems, setbacks and ‘very, very unusual’ computer malfunctions, as I went about obtaining my visa for India. In the capital of the world, the internet had somehow not made it down to street level, and on the rare occasion that it was available, cost at least eighteen, eighteen dollars an hour. After an ordeal I’d rather not recall, I submitted my application and began the nervous wait for my passport to be returned. Our flight to London left in two and half weeks, and processing time for an Indian visa was two to three weeks…


Meanwhile, Angie had a wonderful day browsing through expensive shops, making new friends in Central Park and even had a New Yorker buy her a coffee when she ordered before realising she had no cash. !!!

Once we got to eat some of the massive, famous New York Pizza slices, everything was ok.

Oaxaca (wah-hah-kah)

So far, Mexico is great. Traveling is easy, people are nice and there's lots of good coffee about, served in minimalist cafes like this one.

Three Clowns. Wrestling is popular entertainment, and the marketing is pretty nifty

We had to get the last of our Hepatitis A/B shots while in Oaxaca. The price was well over $100 per jab. When the doctor told us this, my face resembled the mask of this penguin suit.

Cartagena Dos

We returned to Cartagena, which would be our jumping off point from South America.

Cartagena used to be a major trading port for precious metals, so the old city is surrounded by walls and fortifications. The new part of the city (in the background) is made up of high-rises shadowing the beach.

Loading docks

Yacht club, where well-heeled boat people from all over the world gather to get drunk.

This is how coffee comes in Cartagena: Thick, dark, a little bit sweet and served in plastic cups the size of shot glasses. It would be far too hot for a full cup anyway.

We Arrive in Colombia

Another border crossing, with a myriad of bus changes and the usual confusion that arises when arriving in a new country. South American borders are rarely a straightforward affair, with immigration offices usually unmarked and often a good walk between one country’s exit and the other’s entry. After a bit of wandering, which never feels like a bit of wandering when you’re carrying around 30kg of belongings, we found the various offices and got our stamps for Colombia. After hopping between Bolivia, Peru and Ecuador for so long, it felt fresh to be in a new country. Another bus (to the bus station) and then another bus after that, and we were on our way into Colombia.

The scene at The Koala Inn, Pasto

By nine o’clock, we were in the non-descript town of Pasto that had completely shut down for the night, and we wandered the streets, very warily (the Lonely Planet infuses all who read the Colombia chapter with an amazing amount of paranoia) looking for food. Eventually we found a place that claimed to be Mexican, but served only drinks and pizzas. The menu also advertised sandwiches (Cuban sandwiches), one of which Angie ordered, but my instructions on how to make a pizza leaving off the chicken and ham pushed the waiter’s order taking abilities past their maximum capacity, and poor Angie didn’t eat that night, save for a packet of chips bought on the way home.


Feeling we had exhausted most of the possibilities of Pasto, we decided to push on the next day. We did manage to find a good breakfast, which was a perfect way to celebrate our nine-month anniversary of travel and the halfway point of our trip. After a large meal involving some delicious Colombian coffee, we checked out one of the town squares, an interestingly sloped and sliced expanse of paving bricks. It was an interesting place, but the old man who walked by muttering ‘be careful, be careful’ put us on edge and we got out of there after a couple of photos.

Inca Trail, Day Three

Once again we were up with El Sol and a steaming cup of in-tent coffee. However, it was to be our last such luxury; either Marc or Bre spilled their beverage leaving a puddle of nescafe in the tent and a ban on further wake-up delights. After a breakfast of pancakes the fameelee set off.

Marc, Bre and Angie in a watchtower

Cloudlakes

Day 3 was the day of Inca sites and cloud enveloped strolls. We hiked through an ever-morphing landscape that ranged from dry grassy hills, orchid infested humid rainforests to mossy, misted highlands. The results of the Incan penchant for building marvelous structures on impossible slopes could be seen everywhere, and we walked on stone paths had had resisted the need for repair or restoration since the time of the great empire. Angie took an apparently spectacular tumble-cum-commando-roll down one carved stone stairway and impressed everyone with her resilience.

This is tea made from coca leaves, the same one used in the manufacture of cocaine. Drinking this tea (or chewing the leaves whole) can reduce the effects of fatigue, altitude and also stop you from feeling hungry (not really a problem on this trip). Plus, it's really tasty.

We reached camp late in the day, our tents hidden in a maze-like campground housing the 200 trekkers and 300 porters that walk this track everyday. 500 people a day on a track like this tends to make things a little crowded, which can sort of dull the sensation of being remove from civilisation (as can the incredible quality of the food and service). But towards the end of the day, the crowd thins out and it is possible to have sections of the track completely to yourself, and these are the moments when you can almost forget that you're in the 21st century and enjoy treading paths over 500 years old.

Crowds

More ruins on a near-vertical slope

Our last ruins before the main event.

Colonia

Bilingual signs for the severely linguistically impaired

Colonia is a small tourist town so brimming with Disney cliche cuteness I almost threw up all over its narrow cobbled streets. The main tourist attractions included a large hunk of wall and a large hunk of history, both of which failed to grasp our attention for more than a couple of minutes. It was a nice place to spend a couple of days before climbing aboard a boat bound for Argentina. The locals were friendly, and the food was good.

View of the wall

View from the wall

The coffee was also good, which is strange. I am now worried that I may have forgotten just what really good coffee tastes like. It was good by South American standards, but compared to Melbourne?...it's been too long for me to tell...

Lost in Colonia

Moon goes up

olararhenteenah!

We caught a coach to Argentina today, leaving a foggy Chilean morn, bussing our way through some spectacular scenery and overtaking way too many fuel tankers around blind corners. Apart from one or two near misses, the trip was fantastic, I'll write more about the Argentino intercity busses soon, but for now I will say what a pleasure it was to be served coffee and snacks by an attendant while sitting in a chair more comfortable than our old green couch back home. LAN Chile could learn much from its earth-bound people-carting competition.

Intensely sweet, served in a tall glass with a straw, but its coffee and its complimentary!! On a bus!

El autobus climbed the hills into clean, clear air, the muy-serious guards stamped our passports while the dogs sniffed around our bags and we were let into Argentina. The ride from the border to Bariloche is a gorgeous introduction to a seriously beautiful country. We passed lakes coloured intense blues, saw white topped mountains, patches of spiky desert; all that stuff you see on postcards, but in real life!

The bus dropped us off 3km outside of town at the terminal, and there we discovered that you should never place too much trust in a money-changer, even when they are being nice. Against our better judgment, we decided to use American dollars in Argentina at first, as the money man suggested. Of course when we arrived, it became apparent that no, you can't use dollars to catch busses and taxis, so we found ourselves stranded in new country with no pesos and no means of getting into town. Enter Matt, fireman from the US of A who lent us the 50 cents or so each for a bus ride to convenience- and to the bank. Bariloche seems to be a hotspot for the plethora of Israeli travelers here, and the town was pretty much booked out, due to Lent and the Argentinean Easter holidays. After a couple of hours hunting, Angie and Matt found us a set of plastic covered mattresses for the night. The place was was a ghost house, and looking at the state of it (non-flushing toilets were the highlight), it wasn't hard to see why.