Thursday, June 29, 2006

 

In the ghetto

Today we have been to visit a favela. These are more commonly known at home as shanty towns and in Rio and all over South America there are lots. The one we visited is called Rochinha and is, apparently, the largest in South America with a population of 200,000 people.

Brave you might think of us to hop on a bus and enter a Favela when the local Police don´t even go that often. No, we didn´t do that. We´re not stupid. (Ok, maybe buying drinks for a ´student´whose ´birthday´it is does qualify us as stupid.) We obviously went on a guided tour and thankfully it was a massive improvement on the last guided tour we attended!

I thought we´d left the extreme sports in New Zealand. I was wrong. Our guide Luiz parked the bus at the bottom of the favela and told us that we were going to get a motorbike taxi up to the top. I have never been on the back of a motorbike and visions of Sunday afternoons watching (against my will) Valentino Rossi etc hairing round corners with their knees scraping the tarmac came flooding back to me. Pathetic, I know. The 8 of us were suddenly faced with a line of taxi drivers all beckoning us over to them. Which one do I choose? None looked particularly safe so I just chose the fattest bloke in the hope that we wouldn´t go up the hill too fast! Unlike the riders who had full leathers, helmets and gloves, I was relying on my jeans, a t-shirt and my hair to protect me. The fat bloke theory didn´t work. We raced up the hills twisting and turning whilst trying to avoid holes, lorries and the other bikes in the road. The added bonus was that it was raining so on every corner we took I was preparing myself for the pain that would be my leg clamped under 140 kilos of metal! The journey lasted about 10 minutes and I was relieved to eventually get off with all my limbs intact at the top.

We started our tour at the top of the Favela which is set on a hillside. The guide pointed out the ammenities of the Favela such as the post office and the medical centre where there are 2 doctors to support the 200,000 people! He also pointed out the graffiti of the ruling drug gang for that Favela. He explained that we would be allowed to take a picture of anything we wanted in the Favela but if he asked us to put our cameras away it was important that we did so immediately. From talking to other people in the hostel who had already done the tour this had happened to them when one of the drug dealers walked past them with his face masked and openly carrying a machine gun. Fortunately or unfortunately, depending on your point of view, we didn´t see anything of the like and at no point did we have to put our cameras away.

We walked from the top down to the bottom. In many places the path we followed was no wider than a doorway and as it had been raining the drains had overflowed and dirty water was running down it. We stopped for refreshments in a local bakery and we also stopped to purchase home made goods such as bracelets and paintings from the local kids. The guide explained that this was all part of the tour. He asked us to not give any money to anyone who was begging as they want to encourage the kids to earn the money through making and selling stuff. It´s very cheap and they obviously work hard on what they do.

I may have left the teaching profession 5 months ago but when I heard we were to visit a local day care centre and creche I couldn´t help but feel excited. It was easy to tell where it was as you could hear the noise from a mile away! It was like having permanent wet play as there was no space for a playground. We got to go in and play with the kids aged between 3 and 6 who were so sweet. I couldn´t believe that they weren´t sitting in a Literacy hour learning about split digraphs and homophones though! How will they cope in life?! They were actually allowed to play and they had better social skills than most adults! It was heart-warming to see these kids with nothing enjoying life so much. It´s nice to know that most of the money we paid to go on the tour goes towards providing necessary equipment for this centre.

It was an enlightening trip and it´s hard to believe that behind the glitz and glamour of Copacabana lies thousands of people living in such poverty just 10 minutes away.

http://www.bealocal.com


# posted by Rhodri @ 10:13 pm

Tuesday, June 27, 2006

 

Celebrating Brazilian style

Today is a public holiday in Rio de Janeiro where everything shuts down and little work is done. The reason? Football! Every time Brazil play a World Cup game the country literally comes to a standstill. Come kick-off, the whole country is glued to the nearest TV.

Everyone is in yellow. The buildings have flags and streamers hanging from them. The staff in all the shops are wearing yellow uniforms. Even the taxis and the buses are yellow today! Ok the taxis and the buses are yellow everyday but I´m sure you get the general theme.

We started the day by purchasing 2 Brazil t-shirts for the obscene amount of 3 pounds. I managed to resist the thong with the Brazil flag emblazoned on the front. This had a 2nd purpose as we had just handed over all of our laundry to the laundrette that looked more interested in preparing and watching the football than it did about whose clothes were who? The new yellow T shirts could be the only item of clothing we have by the end of the day!

The current weather in Rio is a little bit rainy. I know we have it tough don´t we. But don´t worry about us we are soldiering on! We decided it might be best to watch the football in or just outside a bar where we could shelter from the rain if required. We weren´t disappointed and found an ideal venue just near the hostel. The next 90 mins consisted of screaming, cheering, shouting, singing, fireworks, ticker tape, an offside goal and obviously ended with a Brazil victory to celebrate!

We were advised that the real party would be in Leblon where the fans would take over the main cross roads and sing and dance and set off fireworks. Wow! You would think they had won the World Cup. We arrived near the cross roads to see a sea of yellow and green. Music was blaring, people were dancing and singing. People were walking around selling beer, food, shots of tequilla and everything you could imagine in the colour of Brazil It was quite strange to see such a huge celebration after the 2nd round game! I guess in England once the final whistle has gone we are too worried about what formation Sven will play for the next game and where the WAGS will be spotted. Perhaps we should relax and celebrate a little more.

The locals see winning their 6th World Cup as a forgone conclusion. So much so that you can already buy t-shirts with 6 stars on them to indicate the 6 wins! There was also a man selling plastic world cups in Leblon today so when the day comes on the 9th July you can all lift the World Cup together. Personally I´m not sure it is a done deal. But then again they didn´t have today´s game all their own way and still won 3-0. Whatever happens we will be back in Rio for the final. I´d like to see how they will top today´s celebrations.

# posted by Rhodri @ 11:41 pm

Saturday, June 24, 2006

 

The Wrong Tour



After our tour to the south we had a few days left in Santiago before our flight to Rio de Janeiro. So we decided to venture further out of the city to 2 places called Valparaiso and Vina del Mar. We pondered going there ourselves but then after asking the advice of the hostel staff we decide to take a cheap day trip with a tour company.

On the morning of our trip we get picked up from the door by a shuttle bus. We are told that we will be picking up a few more people from their "accommodation" then we will meet the other shuttle buses doing the same thing at the Sheraton hotel and get sorted into our groups. As soon as the bus pulls into the first "accommodation" we realise we may have made a huge mistake choosing this company. It pulls into a grand hotel in the city and on climbs a mixture of posh and old people. They don't acknowledge hostel scum (which is probably why the bus picked us up first.) Still, we hold out hope that when the other buses meet at the Sheraton we will get a better mix of poeple. However, it is actually in the car park that we meet the other buses and there is no real change on the group front.

Christian, our guide, passes round a register on which we have to put our name, date of birth, nationality etc. As we are the last to sign (having hidden at the back of the bus) we frantically scan the dates of birth of our ten fellow tour companions. The oldest person, though not by far, is ...71(!) and the youngest person is...ME! We realise that we´re on the wrong bus and that we have 10 hours of this to endure.

Anyhow, our companions are spanish, australian, brazilian, puerto rican and us brits. Apart from the old couples and the ample bottomed Puerto Rican lady (photographed above) who needed helping off the bus each time, my favourite people had to be the Brazilian couple. They had come matching. The husband sported a chocolate brown leather jacket, (probably not purchased from Matalan) tailored trousers and beige leather shoes. The wife wore an equally expensive beige leather coat, beige leather boots complete with cuban heel and to top off the whole outfit a black suede hat with a beige stripe running through it. We can't think why they didn't acknowledge us when we got on the bus resplendent in our slightly stained/off coloured clothes that clash.

After much faffing the tour begins in the usual style. Guide stands at the front holding the microphone and begins to speak but nothing comes out...then it does...then it doesn't. Finally he gets the microphone to work (by the highly advanced method that is pulling out the lead then pushing it back in) and the next half an hour is filled with Christian, in Spanish then in English, explaining what the day will involve. He has to repeat this several times for the hard of hearing on the bus. One positive thing is the bus itself. The seats are more like armchairs and when Christian finally finishes ranting we join the oldies and indulge in a bit of snoozing, despite having been asleep only 2 hours earlier. I was asleep before he had finished and found the intermittent commentary about Avocado growing particularly disruptive to good snoozing.

The first stop is Pablo Neruda's house, the Chilean version of Shakespeare. We are allowed 40 minutes here exactly to look around. Having been denied a toilet stop at the Sheraton hotel I race to the ladies but find it is already occupied by someone who has the remnants of a cold and who is making a horrendous hocking noise at the back of her throat. The loo flushes, the door opens and lo and behold out walks the posh hat wearing brazilian! Money clearly doesn't buy you manners. The house was interesting though despite being crammed with school children. (I think Chilean schools have a problem with behaviour management too!) On the fourth floor, one of the old dears turns to me and says "Well that Pablo must have been one hell of a fit guy to climb all these stairs!" I honestly hadn't noticed the amount of stairs but she clearly expected me to agree with her; I am offended.

Next stop is the main square for a 5 minute photo stop. Only those under the age of 40 appeared to get off. Christian then suggests that we take one of the famous funiculars up to a viewing point. Rhod and I nod furiously and give it the thumbs up but there is speculation amongst the oldies. "Is it safe?" "Is there much walking to do at the top?" The majority agrees in the end but the rather large lady refuses and stays at the bottom (no pun intended.) I am quite relieved as the old wooden funicular turns out to be a death trap and the floorboards creaked already without any added pressure.

Then it's time for lunch. The optional lunch turns out to be compulsory. Christian recommended the 3 course menu for 10 pounds. Fine, I hear you say but in a country where you can eat very well for 3 pounds we had some reservations. He tells us that the restaurant is the only one in the area and that it is "dangerous" to go elsewhere. We are fuming. It's a fish restaurant overlooking the port. Very nice but not necessary. We'd be quite happy with a sandwich. So begrudgingly we order the cheapest dish each and one drink and leave, "dangerous" or not. We wander around and find several cafes that would have been fine. We make it back to the coach alive much to Christian's surprise and drive to Vina del Mar a seaside town 8km away.

We're given a generous 25 minutes break this time. The posh brazilians head to the casino. The oldies head to the nearest cafe. We walk to the beach narrowly avoiding some tarot card readers. When we meet back up we have to endure the cheesiest photo opportunity yet. At the entrance to Vina del Mar there is a flower clock and the old dears are all having their picture taken by it. We go to take a token photo and Christian literally grabs the camera from Rhod and tells us to go and pose by it. Hence the photo above. Then we have 15 minutes to take yet more photos, of a statue this time, and visit a lapislazuli stone shop with no intention of buying but lots of pondering looks and fake nodding in admiration. Posh Brazilians of course get the credit card out and make several purchases.

Finally it's time to head back to Santiago and I'm quite relieved as it's all been a little bit stressful and I'm in need of a siesta. However, Christian wants money from us and evaluation forms filled in. I fall asleep inbetween signing for payment and being given back my credit card! We sleep well all the way back and aren't sorry to leave our companions. I'm pretty sure they aren't fussed to see us go either.

All in all we saw and learnt lots but next time we'll be more careful about the tour group we choose.


# posted by Rhodri @ 9:47 pm
 

Chilly Tour

To make the most of our time in Chile we decided to go on a 7 day tour of the Chilean Lake district. Highlights of this tour were to include the surfing beach and surf school at Playa de Lobos and climbing the active volcano in Pucon and sledging back down in the snow.

Unfortunately due to the Chilean weather in the Lake District during winter we did not really get the benefit of any of the activities. When we got to the beach the sun was shining but it was freezing cold and the surf school was closed. 2 days later when we got to Pucon it was so cloudy, windy and rainy that we could not climb the volcano.

So all in all the trip was a little bit chilly and a bit of a washout. When the sun shone the view of the Andes was amazing and another highlight was seeing sealions at the fish market in Valdivia. They wait at the edge of the market for the scraps to be thrown in. The picture was taken without using the zoom. However, I did find out that if you get too close to a sealion whilst trying to take its photo it will burp rancid fish breath at you in order to warn you off. Lesson learnt there.

The low point of the trip was the last night where the hostel room was so cold and damp that we had to sleep wearing full thermals and hats. It was stated that the hostel had a lovely view of a waterfall but we didn't get to appreciate it. We arrived in the dark and left the next morning in the fog. If we will come to these places in winter we should not expect too much. We go to Brazil soon. Apparently the sun is shining!

# posted by Rhodri @ 9:36 pm

Saturday, June 17, 2006

 

Man flu

We are currently on a 7 day tour which takes us south of Santiago and down to the Chile´s Lake District. I am the only girl on this tour! The other guys include Memo our tour guide, Marco our coach driver, Jordi a spaniard, Zak a fellow brit and of course Rhod.

Our first day coincided with the England v Trinidad & Tobago match so Memo kindly agreed to find a cafe for lunch so that we could watch it. The place started off empty but by the end was filled with amused Chileans watching 3 brits glued to the TV screen.

All was going well and we were all getting on great until Zak suddenly announced that the Fanta he had drunk had "chilled his body" and that he would have to lie down at the back of the bus. I feared that he may be suffering from that fatal disease which only men seem to suffer from....man flu! (Women tend to call it a cold.)

Before you begin to panic I'm pleased to say that Zak just pulled through and here is a summary of his symptoms thoughout the week:

Thursday: Slept on bus after Fanta chilling incident; too cold to come for a walk along the clifftop at surfing beach; needed hot lemon at hostel; managed a bit of food at dinner but retired to bed early requesting hot water for his feet from hostel staff.

Friday: Zak made it through the night but still needs hot lemon; declares that he was worried last night that he may have contracted malaria but thinks it´s ok; perks up on bus enough to bore/patronise us about music; after hot dog and chips Zak takes a turn for the worse and feels a lie down on a full stomach will aid the healing process; lots of moaning and Zak is too ill to come out for dinner with us. Bed calls.

Saturday: Zak is feeling fine and thinks he might even be ok to go for a little walk into town; he braves the hot springs with us but doesn´t drink; after 1 hour he is bored and suggests we leave; we ignore him and leave 1 and a half hours later; Zak goes straight to bed in case of chill.

Sunday: Long drive today and Zak's back hurts but it's not from the uncomfortable bus, no it's because of his flu; he manages a starter at the fish restuarant the brave thing.

Monday: Despite being told that lunch is 1 hour away Zak drinks a chocolate milkshake (he says he forgot that lunch was so close) and then complains of stomach ache; obviously unable to eat lunch and sits with head in hands throughout lunch.

Tuesday:Zak leaves us. Hooray. Needless to say, we don´t swap email addresses.

# posted by Rhodri @ 6:49 pm

Thursday, June 15, 2006

 

Pisco gone sour

The other day we met Enzo. He is a sociology (I don't think I know what that is) student in Santiago and he had written us a poem. In return for this poem he wanted us to contribute to the cost of his studies. It is exam time everywhere at the moment and I felt like reminding him that his time could be better spent in the library rather than harassing tourists for money. Unfortunately for him we didn't want to contribute to the cost of his studies so we departed swiftly. We had fallen for this scam before in Beijing and as we had only 30 US dollars to our name at that point in time we certainly weren't going to be giving handouts.

This evening however we re-met Enzo and his friend Michel at a different end of the same street. Enzo recognised us. A common problem when you are always wearing the same coat and it doesn't look like it was purchased in Santiago. They informed us that it was Enzo's birthday. We wished him happy birthday and thought we were done with the formalities. They then invited us for a drink. I boldly said I would get him a drink for his birthday so the 4 of us set off towards a pub. Our view was that we would buy the first round at the bar and disappear after that. But oh no.

Enzo suggested we drink Pisco Sour (white wine I think with lemon juice, sugar and egg white) a traditional chilean drink. (No doubt Edwina Curry would have had an issue with the raw egg white part.) We sat down and Michel disappeared outside somewhere to spend his hard earned grant money on a short term indulgence in recreational narcotics. We remained with Enzo drinking the pisco and talking football, life, London, family. He asked us if he could "open his heart" to us(!?!) and of course being all heart ourselves and not at all thinking of what a good blog this might make we listened avidly. It all got a bit weird though. He told a rather disturbing story of his mother being assulted by her brother and having a child. He became tearful and we became slightly scared. Michel returned (slightly dazed) to inform us how many cells there were in the human body and the population density of the USA and Europe.

When the bill came I was expecting some sort of split with us picking up the majority. The total bill was 13,200 pesos (13 pounds 20p) of which I had 10,000. I announced that I could afford 10,000 and did they have 3,200 to finish it off. Cue lots of face pulling and shoulder shrugging and no money coming forward.

Suddenly the whole "birthday," "poor mama," "you are my best friends" talk fell into place. We'd been done. I tell Anna to get her coat at which point the waitress and manager appear. I explain in fairly loud english (always best when you can't speak the language) that I have 10,000 and the other guys have nothing. I have no more money on me. Enzo and the stoner are un-moved. Funny how Michel can afford to fund an expensive drugs habit yet can't quite cough up a measly 3 pounds 20p. The manger says "Are these your friends?" "Not any more!" is my reply. He seems to understand and takes our 10,000 and doesn't make chase as we hastily exit the bar and run back to the hostel leaving Enzo and Pete Doherty to sort out 3 pounds 20.


# posted by Rhodri @ 4:07 am

Wednesday, June 14, 2006

 

Spanglish

It's a real skill to be able to speak another language. Luckily I am one of those skilful people. Within a few days of being in South America I am fluent in Spanglish. I've surprised myself at how quickly I've picked it up. It also involves some clever intonation and the use of elaborate hand and facial gestures.

Lesson 1 = Try leaving a restaurant you have been in all evening and turning to the chef and waitress at the other end by the counter and shouting confidently over all the other diners "Hola!".

Lesson 2 = If you have not learnt your lesson from the previous night you could try the reverse, walking into a laundrette and happily greeting the guy with "Adios!"

Lesson 3 = If you are really good but your numbers only go up as far as 3 you can try ordering the equivalent of a McDonalds value meal in the Taco Bell: "Uno 'Big Fill' dos and uno 'Big Fill' nine".


# posted by Rhodri @ 2:49 am

Tuesday, June 13, 2006

 

The Longest Day

We used to have jobs. It was a while ago but we can remember the pain that goes with a Monday. I personally used to hate it when Monday would seem to drag on for hours and the day would look like it was never over.

Well I think today we have beaten the longest Monday by probably about 17 hours!

I mentioned Monday could be a struggle and any one major event would make it memorable. Here is a quick run down of our 41 hour day!

We got on the plane at 5pm in Auckland on Monday 12th June. After 12 hours we got off the plane at 12pm on Monday 12th June in Santiago. As I write this our Monday is still not quite over. There's another 4 hours to go. Great! Roll on Tuesday.


# posted by Rhodri @ 12:32 am

Sunday, June 11, 2006

 

The final challenge

I've done some pretty scary stuff over the last 6 weeks. I've thrown myself off the side of a mountain, I've been propelled down a hill in a giant ball and I've crawled through holes that look as if my arm wouldn't fit through. But I saved the scariest thing till last...getting my hair cut.

Hairdressers and I have never got on. We can't seem to communicate with each other despite speaking the same language. My fear of the hairdressers began when at the innocent age of 9 I asked to have my hair cut like Gayle Robinson from 'Neighbours'. My dad will always hark back to the good old days when I had short hair - maybe he always wanted another boy in the family. I looked horrendous and ever since then I have never found anyone who will actually listen to what I want done.

I thought I'd timed it perfectly. Get my hair cut in England the day before we leave then it will last me through Japan and China until I get to Australia or New Zealand. I waited until we got to Auckland where I knew I'd have a choice of places with english-speaking hairdressers. I was mistaken. Somehow I ended up in a japanese-run salon, with japanese-speaking hairdressers surrounded by a japanese clientele.

The only words I had in common with the hairdresser was 'hair', 'cut' and 'wash'. Cue frantic hand gestures from me and much nodding and smiling from the hairdresser. For the next half an hour I sat nervously gripping the seat watching her every cut of the scissors dreading what hairdon't I would end up with...

You know what? It was one of the best cuts I've ever had. She knew exactly what I wanted. So I've learnt that you don't have to speak the same language to be able to communicate. Sometimes I used to wonder if my hairdresser in Billericay spoke the same language as me.

And Rhod? Simple: Straight to the meathead at the $10 barbers (3 pounds 5o!) for a grade 1 all over please. Blokes have it so much easier!


# posted by Rhodri @ 12:43 am

Saturday, June 03, 2006

 

Wash cycle


The break was short. There are still more ways to test the validity of the holiday insurance and we managed to find another one. The white-ish blob rolling down the hill to the left is a Zorb. The people inside are known as Zorbanauts and the whole process is known as Zorbing!

Bouncy castles are fun! Water slides are fun! Rolling down a hill is fun! Imagine how good all three in one is.

We arrived at the Zorb site and paid our money for a 2 person 'Hydro Zorb'. We were handed a receipt and a pair of shorts and a T-shirt each to change in to. We changed into our clothes and left all things valuable and important safely at the bottom of the hill as we boarded the 4x4 that would take us to the top. At the top we met our Zorb, a large inflatable ball big enough for 3 people. There would only be 2 of us so we would have loads of space. The loading process is as follows. Run and dive head first through a whole in the side. When you are both in a few litres of hot water is added to the ball for good measure. The gate opens and after you have started the zorb rolling the aim is to stand up for as long as possible.

It took about 2 steps to get the thing going and we had both fallen over, unable to stand after 3 steps. From that point on we slid down the hill feet first followed by head first bouncing our way over the grass at speeds up to 35kph. And all the time you are sitting in a puddle of hot water.

It is so funny. We laughed all the way down and even harder when it came to falling out of the zorb in to a muddy puddle at the bottom. It might sound a strange way to spend your day but it is so funny and absolutely painless. The only problem is that it's all over so quickly.

# posted by Rhodri @ 9:08 am
 

On a mission!

Having had several incidences recently of trying to injure ourselves in all manner of adventure sports, we felt it was time for a break. We had arrived in Rotorua and I was on a mission. Ever since finding out that we were going to New Zealand my family were interested in tracing my great uncle, Father Rice. My grandma (his sister) recalls that he was a member of the catholic missionary group the Mill Hill Fathers who came to New Zealand to try to convert Maori people to catholicism. He had been a priest at St Michael's Catholic Church in Rotorua from 1939-1942 so we set off in search of it and here is the photographic evidence.

I met the current priest Father Aherne and he invited me to the presbetary to see if he could find out any further information. We looked through a book which listed all the Mill Hill fathers and Father Rice's name appeared several times. This book was like a diary of what the priests got up to - nothing bad of course! After we had read about his life, we looked through a record book from 1939 that listed all the masses Father Rice gave, eg. christenings and weddings. It was strange seeing his original handwriting from so long ago.

All in all, I took up about 45 minutes of this poor priest's time. I'm so glad I went though. It's pretty surreal standing in the church imagining what it would have been like in 1939. It's made me want to find out more about my family history. Even better if it takes me to places like New Zealand!

# posted by Rhodri @ 8:59 am

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