South America at last. I refer not so much my arrival there after nearly six months of travel but the fact that I'm finally writing my first installment regarding this fabulous continent some 2 and a half months following my arrival. And what an arrival...
The beautiful Plaza de Armas of the ancient Incan capital, Cusco.
The thing is, after such a long time of travelling comfortably in the practical and knowledgeable company of Pat and Tim, I viewed South America as the opportunity I had craved to step out on my own, a time to see how I handled myself when left to my own devices, a chance to rely on my own initiative, basically I wanted to discover just how well Matt Jackson could handle himself on his own in the world.
First up, Rio de Janiero.
Now I would love to tell you all about the famous golden beaches, the spectacular city setting, the bossa-novan music and samba beats permeating from the pulsating clubs populated by gorgeous bronzed women wearing next to nothing... but the fact is, I can't. What I can tell you is that Rio International Airport is extremely inefficient when dealing with arrivals, has grey linoleum floors, is slighty damp and extremely intolerant of stupid, disorganised Australians who fail to prearrange a very necessary visa prior to their arrival. Despite the best persuasive efforts of my little green friends, Grant, Jackson, even Franklin for crying out loud, I was informed with little delicacy and scant regard for my foolish innocence that I was in fact not welcome within the country and following several hours waiting in the dunce's corner, would need to take the early plane back to London. The man in the mac told me I'd have to go back, you know he didn't even give me a chance. Christo Blanco, you know it ain't easy, you know how hard it can be. The way things were going, they were going to crucify me.
Well at least I got to see Ipanema (top beach) and Cococabana (left beach) and Sugarloaf from the plane. And there were some pretty attractive girls wandering about the airport as well.
Completely irrelevant and unnecessary paraphrasing of Beatles songs aside, the above example of warm Brazilian charm and hospitality was about the extent of my Rio experience. Thank God I had a round the world ticket and I was able to convince those charitable souls at Rio International, of the merits of simply bringing my onward flight to Lima forward a few days to which they begrudgingly accepted. Despite this allowance, suffice to say I hope Ronaldhino trips on his stupid ponytail, breaks both his legs and has to rely on a modelling career after Australia destroy Brazil in the first round of Germany '06.
The entirely first world suburb of Miraflores, Lima, complete with beautiful Spanish architecture.
So suddenly I found myself in Lima at 2:00am, not ideal circumstances if reputations are to be believed. As is evident by the above little episode, I had done very little research, particularly regarding a city I hadn't anticipated arriving in for another few days. I was fortunate however, in that by simply following the directions of the many touts milling about the airport hunting dumb prey such as myself, I ended up in a suburb called Miraflores. I'm not sure what I had been expecting of Lima, but Miraflores was not it. No floods of humanity, no corregated iron shanty towns, just trendy department stores, fancy restaurants and schmick boulevards running along the impressive coastal cliffs. Clearly Miraflores was the touristy well-to-do part of town but it proved to be the first of many ignorant pre-concieved ideas I had of South America that were dashed upon closer inspection (second if you count the cheery, casual and friendly nature of Brazillians...)
More Miraflores, striking coastal cliffs popular obiously with the wealthy elite and paragliders.
Lima itself was a little more abuzz with frantic activity and teeming masses but still I was surprised at just how first-world the place was, and stunning to boot, incredible Spanish architecture dominated the streetscapes around central Lima and provide some beautiful scenes when lit up at night (unfortunately I have no shots of this as I was correct for once in believing that Lima has a nasty rep for crime, hence no camera whilst downtown...). Anyways, I had few days decompressing my brain trying to figure out just what I'd do in this continent and hanging out with, of all people an old mate from primary school. (i.e. Keith! What's it been, 8? 9 years? Fancy catching up over a beer at the R.E.? Regatta? No? How about downtown Lima...)
Not Keith, but my Guatamalan American buddy/interpreter/guitar protege Elijio.
The second largest church surrounding the Plaza de Armas in Cusco.
I eventually decided to head to for arguably the Gringo (tourist) capital of Peru, if not all of South America, the ancient capital of the Incan Empire, Cusco. No other reason really apart from the fact that it had cheap Spanish schools and I figured I'd have to see Machu Pichu at some stage. Great decision as I knew as soon as I stepped off the plane I would love this city.
Christo Blanco (White Jesus) watching over Cusco which is nestled in the valley below him.
Further evidence (if any is actually necessary) of my ill preparation, was I had no idea just how high the city is. I can assure you it is bloody high, 3300m in fact, and hence I nearly died from from exhertion just making it up a flight of stairs with my backpack. Compounding the lung-busting nature of the city, is the fact that it is spectacularly located in a valley surrounded by beautiful craggy green peaks, up which the expansive suburbs sprawl, including unfortunately the one in which my school and eventually my accommodation was situated. End result, a dickload of stairs.
Obviously to get pictures like this one overlooking the Plaza de Armas, one needs to climb a bloody lot of stairs. Notice the incredible proliferation of eucalyptus trees imported from Australian. Just like home...
The place is unashamedly touristy, as was evident when I disembarked my plane to the sounds of panpipes played by folks dressed in traditional Incan gear and Nikes but I actually found it added to its charm. One couldn't walk more than 5m when in the vicinity of the main square, the Plaza de Armas, without being accosted by kids trying to sell finger puppets or postcards, an "artist" trying to hawk some impressionist paintings of Machu Pichu, a squat cannonball-shaped woman dressed in fluoro pink traditional gear touting a llama for photo op, or having a shoe shiner offer to polish your flip-flops. And never have I seen 3 laundromats, 4 hostels, 3 tour agents, 5 restaurants and maybe 17 internet facilities on one block except on just about every street in central Cusco.
Yet another shot of the Plaza. Its just so pretty...
My favourite however was the poor sod who every day had to dress up as the great Incan warrior Pachacuti and look mean in photos taken exclusively it seemed with middled-aged Japanese and American tourists beside the fabled 12-sided stone, supposedly one of the premier sites to see in Cusco. The guy, who quite understandably gave the impression of someone utterly sick of living, was extremely protective of his stone, and forbade anybody to touch it lest irreversable damage was inflicted upon it by stray hands. It was after all, an extremely fragile 10 tonne ROCK which had only stood in exactly the same position for over 500 years. Handle with care...
Admittedly, the craftsmenship involved in placing a perfectly interconnected 12-sided masonry component is noteworthy, but its still just a frickin stone. The premier site to see according to some within downtown Cusco, I give you the aptly named 12-sided stone...
Ah yes, there is certainly a distinct lack of entreprenaurial skills and flagrant disregard for the basic laws of supply and demand in Cusco, but what it lacks in sound business acumen and genuine snapshots of traditional Peruvian life, it more than makes up with its friendly and welcoming atmosphere, beautiful scenery and incredible density of historical hotspots. And of course stairs.
The reason is it so touristy, dodecagons and Machu Pichu aside, is that it really is the heart of the former Incan Empire. Most of the significant Incan structures are within a stone's throw (albeit, a much smaller, less intricately carved one) of the city from where the Incan emperors once ruled their empire stretching over much of the western coast of South America. Mind you the mighty Incan empire as we know it, really only lasted for less than one hundred years. Seems pretty much as soon as Pachacuti's successors were putting their feet up and congratulating themselves on establishing a sizeable empire, they had an entirely boorish and uncouth house guest by the name of one Francisco Pizarro of Spain who rather than bringing a bottle of red, brought the plague, and showed a distinct lack of courtesy when, upon inviting the emperor Atahualpa to his camp, had him executed. This all occurred only some 90 years after Pachacuti began his empire renovations that took the Incas to preeminence in the area but long story short, they built a lot of pretty stuff in a short time and although largely destroyed by the ill-mannered Spanish, there is still much to see.
The seductively titled Sacsahuaman (aka "sexy woman"), some of the most significant ruins within close proximity of Cusco. The Incans have particularly good imaginations, supposedly what you see above are the teeth of a giant puma. Meanwhile the head is some 100m away. Hmmm.
My main priority of course was to learn Spanish and hence communicate with people through more than just wild hand gestures. I chose the San Blas Spanish School, located funnily enough in the San Blas district and run by certainly not the first nor the last Dutch man to have fallen for a Peruvian, by the name of Manfred. He certainly seemed to have the Dutch market cornered and hence the first word in the title of this entry. I swear from my experience at least, there are more Dutch people living in Cusco then there are in the Netherlands and I can say with utmost conviction that I'm glad I was there to learn the Spanish language and not Dutch, which most of the time gives one the impression of speaking to a cat with a sizeable hairball problem. Great people though.
Devin, my all-american, all-english speaking friend who saved my sanity countless times when the all spanish/dutch situations became too much for me. At one of the many very nice and very cheap restaurants we regularly frequented. Notice the my beanie which might as well have been welded to my head as the following pictures support...
Cusco by virtue of having a large population of foreign tourists studying spanish and volunteering, provides a quite a welcoming expatriate community (mostly Dutch it seems) and I was fortunate enough to meet a great group of people, on the whole females (hence the second subject of my title), who put up with me for far longer than was politely necessary. This started almost as soon as I arrived and moved into a wonderful host family's house in my first week when I met another Aussie, Jodie who was also residing in the same house, and was quite the social magnet, introducing me to a great many other females.
Above, some of the many fantastic girls who were kind enough to put up with me at match between Cusco (WORLD champions in 2003) and Caracas. Helena, the most Brazillian looking one in both photos went some way to restoring my shattered impression of Brazillians...
Living with the family was great (particularly if you liked watery soup with EVERY meal, which incidentally I didn't) but unfortunately I did everything in the reverse order to what was logical, in that I couldn't speak a word of spanish when I first arrived and just as I was starting to learn something and could have made use of the practise with the family, I moved out to an apartment with Jodie to save my dwindling cash. Not to indicate that Cusco was all that expensive but its amazing how your perspectives can change. Only a few weeks prior, I had been in London and performed a jaunty jig in the street if I managed to spot a meal for 5 quid. Here you could eat a 3 course meal for 5 soles, which is around the $2 mark, or well under £1. Geez, for £5 you could eat for a week at the best restarant in Cusco, which on most occasions was determined to be the oh-so-tasty and just-like-my-momma-makes-it Jack's Cafe. Mmmm....
My delightful house family with whom I had many horrible exchanges that could barely constitute conversation, and Aussie girl Jodie who had the unfortunate task of trying to decipher them...
Now before all of you who know me back home start wondering what is going on with me referring to all these women who were somehow putting up with me, an absurd proposition for me back in Oz, rest assured, the famed Jackson anti-charm, although slightly delayed in its effect, was still in good working order. It may have taken Jodie nearly 5 hours after moving out together to realise that she couldn't live with me in the same apartment, but she still came to the same conclusion that most would only take five minutes.
Jodie and boyfriend Josh in the delightfully compact apartment we shared for all of say 5 hours... she said having an imminently arriving boyfriend made her feel uncomfortable sharing a one-bedroom apartment. I tell you, women just can't control themselves around me...
Fortunately for me Jodie took the extreme measure of leaving Cusco for nearly two weeks (she tried to ease my feelings by saying it was a pre-planned holiday to see southern Peru...) leaving me alone in the sweet apartment with its magnificent views over Cusco and overly inquisitive dogs to boot. (to boot as in, in addition to, although I did occasionally kick them, they were bloody annoying, followed me everywhere....)
The awesome view at night from our apartment overlooking pretty much all of Cusco.
Now onto dogs, my third topic and arguably the most tenuous link in my attempt at an alliterative title, and a completely different and in no way related matter to my previous topic of dames. Not much to say, basically, there were an incredible number of dogs in Cusco. Everywhere there were all sorts of wierd and wonderful mongrel breeds roaming the cobbled streets seemingly without masters and generally running amok. The dogs from my apartment "complex" were no exception, they would without fail bust through the gate every morning I left and follow me to all parts of town.
One of the few very cute examples of the omnipresent mutts and mongrels infesting Cusco, I looked to forward to seeing him every day at my Spanish classes.
Finally, drizzle. It rains all the bloody time, at least in March and April when I was there, it does. Credit however must be given for the highly effective drainage system in place, the steep narrow cobblestone streets which run through the entire city and are finely polished by the ubiquitous taxis which incidentally can take you anywhere in the city (except ironically the area of my apartment) for about 80 cents, become deathtraps during a downpour, a veritable health and safety nightmare. Five minutes later however, they're dry and back to normal as if nothing has happened.
An impending shower descending on Cusco. Shame...
Drizzle could also refer to the pathetic amount of water pressure experienced when having a shower in Cusco. You were basically assured of enjoying more consistent pressure and warmer temperatures by just standing outside in the daily squall. The idea of a gas or solar-heated water supply is quite a foreign concept in all of Peru it seems and most establishments come equipped only with an electric system which heats the water as it passes through the solenoid within the plastic head. As a result, it can only properly heat a finite amount of water, resulting in a mere trickle should one desire even mildly lukewarm/tepid water which is usually conducting an electrical current which is zapped straight into your skull (it was advisable not to leave the sponge on your head...) An altogether unpleasant experience.
Music in Peru I find to be only marginally better than say Hindi or Canto-pop. Whilst enjoying a picnic, my friend Rosa and I were interrupted by these natural born entertainers as they filmed their no-doubt big budget video on a handy cam for their upcoming smash hit. I dare say the film clip will be as bad as the song was...
Incidentally, for all those who enjoyed my overly descriptive umm... descriptions of gastro intestinal malfunctions in Asia, well you'll be glad to know they were back with a vengeance in South America. Not quite as extreme but in keeping with my earlier Holland theme, dutch ovens were the order of most nights considering the amount of noxcious gases I was producing. Pretty cold in Cusco so the extra warmth under the blankets was not entirely unwelcome but apart from seeing my beloved lions get thrashed every week in the AFL, a settled stomach is arguably what I miss most about being back in Australia.
The peaceful scene before the musical interlude, me and Rosa (Dutch incidentally) enjoying the fine views over Cusco.
Apart from the showers and stomach problems, living in Cusco was fantastic. The ex-pat style community from my school provided great company, good restaurants were cheaper than cooking your own meals, the gringo infested nightclubs provided free drinks and all the stairs actually helped me burn off some of the christmas kilos I'd piled on. After a few weeks of this however and with a greater confidence in my spanish ability (i.e. I was confident that it was still absolutely shithouse) I decided it was time to give back something to those less fortunate among us, time to invest in our future, time to find somewhere else to stay considering Jodie was coming back and I no longer had accommodation....
Me and Jodie, a great help and friend to me during my time in Cusco, her knowledge and networks allowed to me to get so much more out of my stay than I would have managed by myself and I thank her for it.
It was time to do something for the kids...Til next time, from the tiny village of Cai Cay.
Why not... one of more shot of the illuminated Plaza. I love Cusco.
Above is the house where eventually "our Mary" will live with ol mate Freddy. Below is the main square of Copenhagen.
My mate Janne and below, the house that Janne built. Ridiculously good.
Fire on ice... Obviously the sausages tasted better than any fish would anyway.
The frozen lake was only marginally cooler than the Baltic sea outside the sauna below, I can guarantee you. 
