kingdomtravels-blog

[kingdomtravels-blog]

Dogs

Dogs in Uruguay are enormous. They are also probably the healthiest looking strays I’ve ever seen. That, apparently, is because most of them aren’t strays. The dogs here seem to live more like cats do; wandering the streets as they please and returning home when they feel like it. They’re also incredibly friendly, likely from the fact that here people show a respect and kindness towards them that you don’t see on every continent - I’m looking at you, Asia. There are exceptions though, as I found while eating my dinner on the front porch of my hostel in Punta del Diablo. There were three or four very chilled dogs waiting patiently for leftovers. Lulled into a false sense of security, I let my guard down and a lesser mannered brute leapt out the shadows and with one flick of the tongue claimed what was left of my dinner. Perhaps I’ve seen Jurassic Park too many times but I’m now questioning whether the “nice” dogs were just distracting me.

I’ve since left Uruguay and have been in Buenos Aires for the past few days. I haven’t done a huge amount while I’ve been here but last night there was a reasonable crowd from the hostel all drinking and smoking together. Everyone spoke English but not as well as they spoke Spanish, so I found myself in a familiar, embarrassing position where everybody had to speak English to accommodate me. Inevitably, as people became more inebriated, the English became less fluent and less spoken. Towards the end of the night an Argentinian guy, who sleeps in the bed next to me, pulled out his laptop and treated us all to a slide show of his ongoing photography project; 6 years of exploring the BDSM underworld of Buenos Aires. It was weird and as soon as he’d finished, everyone went to sleep.

I saw a girl walking down the street earlier today reading a book. It takes a brave person to do that in Buenos Aires given the amount of dog shit lining the streets. It’s a miracle I haven’t stepped in any yet and I can only assume she’s responsible for at least a handful of the footprints I’ve already seen. The amount of dog turd on the streets has long been a gauge for which I judge a country and is the main reason I dislike France.

Tomorrow I catch a 17 hour bus to Iguazu falls, where I meet a friend I’ll be travelling with for the duration of December. Honestly I can’t wait to have a conversation with someone that doesn’t begin with, “So, what are you doing here?”. Hostel conversation has become unspeakably tedious after 14 plus months. I’m something of an introvert anyway, which is not ideal as a solo traveller. You have to be good at keeping your own company as you do end up spending a lot of time alone. Not speaking Spanish has not helped and I’ve been involved in many group discussions, like the aforementioned one, that have been in English for my sake only. I find arriving at a hostel is a bit like playing a game of football. If in the first five minutes you poke the ball through a defender’s legs you can guarantee the rest of the game will follow a similar pattern. If, on the other hand, he nails you with tackle more at home in a UFC ring, you’re more likely to have a quiet afternoon. Perhaps that analogy will be lost on most people but basically, if I meet some cool people at a hostel very quickly I’ll be a social butterfly. If no one seems that interested then it’s easy to go within yourself and not bother talking to anyone; probably missing out on some characters well worth talking to. I’m working on it.

Buenos Aires is expensive but meat is cheap. I’m not sure if it’s actually cheap or if it just seems cheap by comparison to everything else but I’ve made the most of it anyway. I built a huge baguette yesterday with an entire french stick, 3 steaks, mozzarella and a veg mix of pepper, onion and garlic. Too much garlic if I’m honest and I feel sorry for anyone that’s been close enough to me in the past 24 hours to experience the repercussions. Apparently it was the most impressive sandwich that’s ever been made in the hostel so the girl who works here insisted on a hundred photos. A few people commented on how huge it was. I think they were looking for a handout but they weren’t going to get anything. Maybe I’d make more friends if I was more generous…

[kingdomtravels-blog]

Overdue update

So predictably I’ve been in Uruguay over a week now and not written a thing about it. Montevideo was unremarkable and 5 nights was way too much there. It was a bit of a surprise, arriving at my hostel, to find so little English. Nothing written in English, staff didn’t speak English and guests all seemed to be conversing in Spanish; I guess I’d better start learning! I’m not complaining, it’s just an observation. In other news, the sea in Montevideo looks like dirty river water; something I did complain about to just about anyone bored enough to listen. I will later learn that’s because it is dirty river water

Punta del Diablo was next. There are no ATMs there; a fact I was smart enough to know but stupid enough to forget. Cue an impromptu bus ride to Chuy, a town on the border with Brazil, where rumour had it there was a bank. Despite the distance, about 50 kilometres, I thought I’d hire a bike from the hostel and cycle there. “Don’t do that”, said the guy who hired it to me. I told him I wouldn’t but really I would. I set off expecting a leisurely ride through the countryside but I can’t explain to you what a piece of shit this bike was. It looks like one of those public city bikes but roads around here comprise largely of dirt and potholes. Any degree of incline would be met with an immediate loss of momentum, it had three gears, no suspension and to brake you had to pedal backwards, a new one on me. Thighs burning and will waining I found myself at the entrance to St. Teresa National Park. Not even close to halfway to Chuy, I reluctantly accepted the guy back at the hostel was right, and decided to reroute through the park. 

Inside I found beautiful beaches, lakes, woodland, a fortress and most notably towards the end of the day a peculiar little zoo. All the animals seemed to be living in some kind of communal wonderland. By the side of a pond I saw a rabbit, a peacock, a bear-sized turkey and about 8 baby tapirs all sat together, seemingly content with one another’s company.

Still in need of cash and ruling out another cycle attempt, I decided to get the bus to Chuy the next morning. Getting there was easy and there was a cash machine as promised, so far so good. I then went back to the bus terminal and asked about 7 or 8 drivers if they were going to Punta del Diablo. None of them were and a few pointed me in the direction of a bus company on the next street. Turns out the next bus wasn’t for about 5 and a half hours, which I thought sounded strange given that there’s only really one road out of Chuy, so you pretty much have to go past Punta del Diablo to go anywhere else in Uruguay. Unfortunately my Spanish hasn’t improved enough to argue the point. I didn’t want to sit around so I decided to start walking to the next town, about 4 hours away, hoping there would be buses from there or even better hitch a ride along the way.

Hitchhiking teaches you a lot about rejection. Mile after mile I walked with my thumb out, into a ridiculously strong headwind and under blazing hot sun. It must have been the straightest road I’ve ever seen, extending to the horizon and beyond, surrounded by flat, green fields as far as the eye could see. It was dull to say the least. The wind was too loud to even listen to music and the water supply was scarce; this may have been a mistake. Compounding my misery was the sight of several buses speeding past me despite telling me they weren’t going my way; something must have been lost in translation.

I was beginning to think maybe you’re not allowed to hitchhike in Uruguay but the three police cars I accidentally thumbed at took as little interest in me as everyone else. Mercifully, after about 2 and a half hours some nice old ladies in a pickup truck pulled over, so I hopped in the back with the groceries and off we went. I guess it’s less threatening for them as I’m still kind of outside the car. I could have stolen their apples though, so thanks for the ride and for the trust nice old ladies.

I’m now in Cabo Polonio, a coastal village situated deep in the national park of the same name, cut off from all roads. It’s basically holiday huts peppered on a little hill between two beaches. Perhaps I’m under selling it, it’s pretty nice. There are big communal bins and brick fire pits dotted around the place and it’s biblically windy. Add to that a complete lack of wifi and a scarcity of electricity, it kind of feels like a glorified campsite back home in England.

The bus station is about 7 kilometres inland from the village and you can get a 4x4 transfer from there, or you can walk like I decided to do. “Shouldn’t take more than 90 minutes and I need the exercise anyway”, I thought. Little did I know, this national park is particularly famous for one thing. Carrying all my stuff (at least 25 Kilos) I had to cross a fucking sand dune.

So of course I arrived later than anticipated, shoes full of sand and dripping with sweat. In the couple of hours before sundown I’ve been on a wander to find my bearings and eaten a “magic cookie” to lose them. Seems like a strange place this. I saw a horse chasing a pack of dogs and then got attacked by some very territorial birds. Also saw several hundred seals, or possibly sea lions I’m not sure, sat on the rocks. A couple of dead ones too, which I didn’t desperately want to see but I think it’s good to be able to look back and say, “I’ve seen something new today”, so I’ll take it. (Note: The cookie hadn’t set in when I saw the horse chasing the dogs. That definitely happened.)

The stars here are insanely bright, owed to the distinct lack of lightbulbs in the area and in part to the cookie consumed. I’ve come in from the cold now to write this in front of the fire. It’s a really chilled atmosphere here. People are quietly chatting over candle light and there’s a wanker with a guitar and a terrible singing voice in the corner. It all reinforces the camping vibe I got when I first arrived.

“Respect the cookie” said the guy who sold it to me. Must be good for my productivity anyway.

[kingdomtravels-blog]

The Beginning

When I booked this flight to Montevideo a few months ago I guess I wasn’t paying that much attention. I didn’t realise, or maybe I didn’t care, that I’d have a 10 hour stopover in Madrid. I’m too lazy to go into the city, so here I sit, alone in a deep and quiet corner of terminal 1, bored. Facebook refreshing has kept me entertained thus far and a thrifty visit to McDonalds was a real highlight (€3.60 for a cheeseburger, chicken burger, fries, ice cream and drink). But barely 3 hours into my stint, I have no other choice but to be productive. So here it is, the very first post of my inevitably irregular travel blog.

Left from Gatwick this morning, got the obligatory Boots meal deal. I always get a combo of prawn cocktail crisps, Innocent smoothie and chicken ’n’ stuffing sandwich. It’s November though, so Christmas stock is out. Upgraded that sandwich to a turkey, bacon, stuffing and cranberry. They should have that year round but then I guess it wouldn’t be special; A bit like never taking your fairy lights down. Everyone always says how terrible the food is in England but our supermarket sandwiches are pretty good.

About 14 months I’ve been travelling now, peppered with some brief trips back to Plumpton, my little village in the South East of England. After about a month in the Philippines, this most recent homecoming lasted just one day; long enough to get a yellow fever jab and mildly embarrass myself at football training (rusty to say the least). Would have been nice to have a couple more days to recharge and refuel on some proper food (the fish ’n’ chip van only comes to the village on Tuesdays unfortunately) but I’m already off on my next adventure; 3 and a half months in South America.

I’ve seen and experienced an unbelievable amount in the past year and a bit (26 countries across 4 continents by my count). Mountains, jungles, rivers, palaces, temples, waterfalls, paradise islands; I’m sick of them all. Long term travel can do that to you. Your threshold for amazement becomes that much higher and while you don’t want to be one of those “I saw a much better one of those in Nicaragua” wankers, you sometimes can’t help but be underwhelmed. This, coupled with my natural lack of enthusiasm is a terrible recipe for getting nothing done. So what better way to ensure I do stuff, I thought, than to start writing a travel blog? If I’ve got nothing to write about, I’m obviously not doing enough, right?

First stop Uruguay. Sleeping on the plane tonight (luckily not a problem for me) and arriving in Montevideo early tomorrow morning. Know literally nothing about the place and have done little to no research to change that. A quick google search though tells me that, “Uruguay is the least corrupt country in Latin America”. Don’t know if that translates as safest, but it sounds like a good thing nonetheless, especially as I’m a shameful monolingual Brit. Everyone keeps telling me I need to speak Spanish to travel solo around South America. I didn’t think I spoke any but I downloaded Duolingo last week and after about 15 minutes I was already 7% fluent apparently. Should be a doddle.