Thursday, 5 April 2012

Las Venas Abiertas de América Latina – A Eulogy to South America

“Without stories, we wouldn’t be human at all” – Phillip Pullman

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So the question is… what is the story behind two cups of coffee?  Can a cup of coffee tell you a story that will adjust the lens in which you view the world and your place within it?

Yes.  It can, it has done and it will continue to do so. 

This particular story is told in the masterpiece of South American literature, Las Venas Abiertas de America Latina (translation: The Open Veins of Latin America), written by the Uruguayan master Eduardo Galeano.  It’s modus operandi, is to plunge deep into the history of the land mass that includes South & Central America and the Caribbean islands, and to lay bare the horrors of it’s past: from the destruction Hernan Cortez, Pizarro and the Catholic church wreaked upon the Incas and other indigenous tribes (mass genocide and the burning of all their buildings, art and artefacts in the name of God and greed), to United Fruits™ and the wastelands created by this North American company with their avarice and myopic monoculture farming strategies (Mmm we love those Ecuadorian bananas, the Colombian coffee and Brazilian sugar no?).  The book is painfully well-researched, sparing us none of the gruesome truths about how the western world profited from the capitulation, rape, enslavement and exploitation of these (previously) abundant lands.  Perhaps this passage affords a clearer picture…

“Our defeat was always implicit in the victory of others; our wealth has always generated our poverty by nourishing the prosperity of others— the empires and their native overseers. In the colonial and neo-colonial alchemy, gold changes into scrap metal and food into poison” – Eduardo Galeano

For centuries, Latin America has been the teat at which the western world has suckled.  The gold and silver of Zacatecas and Potosi, hand in hand with the aforementioned alien crops of coffee, sugar and bananas have fed both the bellies and aspirations of these western countries and their exponential physical and economic growth.

‘Jeez Jack, why the downer?  Why not tell us how utterly amazing everything is?’  Well friends, because I feel the dialogue of this 1978 publication must continue to be discussed.  I can’t tell you how alarmed and ashamed I was to visit the Museum of Human Rights in Santiago, Chile and learn about General Pinochet, (a man given political asylum by my country) and of the atrocities administered during his hellish and illegal reign (Torture of dissidents? Check.  Murder? Of course! Disappearances? Say the word baby!).  Or that the Capoeira acrobatic dance we so enjoyed watching in Itacaré, was actually designed by the Angolan slaves in Brazil to disguise a fighting technique they were honing, in which to rebel against their merciless Portuguese enslavers.  The story of Latin America is a history of violence.

Galeano continues:

“Latin America is the region of open veins. Everything, from the discovery until our times, has always been transmuted into European— or later United States— capital, and as such has accumulated in distant centers of power. Everything: the soil, its fruits and its mineral-rich depths, the people and their capacity to work and to consume, natural resources and human resources.”

The above cup of coffee is a rarity.  Despite Columbia, Ecuador and Costa Rica growing some of the finest coffee on the planet, finding a cup of the local fare is difficult.  Really difficult.  Why? Because it is all exported to the west, just as the above quote illustrates.  The Latino nations actually import the cheaper (maybe inferior, I have not tried it) Vietnamese coffee, rather than enjoy its own.  Utter economic madness! 

This story, however, has not yet concluded.  You see, we are now the authors; Galeano handed us the torch.  Our choices define the world in which we inhabit, whether through the governments we elect, or the products we consume.  Choices matter.  The manic, raving, street-preacher within me wants to hand a copy of this book to every excited, travel drunk gringo and gringa who boards a plane for Latin America, imploring, “READ IT! IT IS AN OBLIGATION!”  (N.B. The current Venezuelan President, Hugo Chavez, handed a copy to Barack Obama during a diplomatic visit – cunning, daring and astute, may I say). Reading this book has had the most profound effect upon us and how we have conducted ourselves on this magnificent continent.  We understand that these newly liberated countries have finally found the infrastructure to self-govern and, despite a violent past, have woven stronger social fabric for its citizens and visitors.  A simple example: President Morales of Bolivia has resisted western corporate pressure for mining contracts aimed at the salt flats of Salar de Uyuni – dissidents of the right of his own country say that this is slowing economic growth.  I don’t care: the victory here is that Bolivia has the liberty and means to have this level of diplomatic and economic dialogue. 

Latin America astounds the senses.  I don’t need to write another blog about a particular experience or geographical locus, as I hope we have served you with enough to allow you at least a fleeting glimpse into the wonders of this continent.  No, I wanted to champion history and the stories of this vast and ancient landscape and its populace.  Our learning of these stories have had a deeply profound affect upon the journey and as we now leave South America, boarding a vessel to traverse to other Americas, we thank Galeano and the people here, for the stories.  We hope you have enjoyed the journey; this is not the end of our adventure, as aforesaid, but a reflective entry felt intrinsically ‘right.’  Has the blood flow been staunched and the veins closed?  Perhaps.  What is certain is that History will again serve as our tutor, but it is a powerful and reassuring thing indeed to know that we each possess the potential to add a syllable, a word or even a sentence into this great tome.

America Latina: Gracias, te amamos y nunca te olividaré – Thank you, we love you and will never forget you.

Thursday, 29 March 2012

Life’s a beach.

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In Taganga, Colombia, the many small and intimate beaches offer that often-sought getaway from the hoi polloi.  Much like Itacare in Bahia, Brazil, this fishing town serves also as a portal to smaller beaches and some fantastic dive sites.  Emma and I arrived a week ago and since then have strived to perfect the art of doing nothing (with the welcome exceptions of our dives).  Sometimes busy and loud at the weekends (NB – this is not just a Gringo haunt, Colombian people like to come and enjoy the vistas too), the town diminuendos into a more tranquil space during the week.  Our mornings consist of a very lazy breakfast at Cafe Bonsai, where the señora prepares mouth-watering, freshly baked bread and homemade peanut butter (the peanuts are roasted in front of your very eyes).  We take the pleasant hike over the brow of the cliff to the adjacent bay, and spoil ourselves with a hired deck chair (Caligula would blush at our extravagance).  A ritual of sunbathing and swimming perpetuates, whilst the hours concern themselves with whittling themselves down.  Upon our stroll back to the apartment, we stop to barter with the local fishermen, who trawl the warm waters for tuna.  For the price of a pint of milk, you can leave with zinging-fresh tuna, ready for your skillet.  The diving here has also been a great respite from the heat: Lobsters, squid, lionfish and our friends the green turtles have met us on the ocean floor, allowing us candid glimpses into their daily business.  The days roll on, we contentedly repeat our physical mantra and the surrounding life, both above and below the depths of the ocean, continues on.

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Wednesday, 21 March 2012

Innervisions: Travel within.

Perhaps it is prudent to first set the context of this blog.  Despite being raised as a Catholic, I am of no faith and neither is Emma.  In actual fact, we are both deeply committed to the precepts of science, reason and logic.  That said, we both feel a resonance with ‘spirituality’ despite having no faith-based tenets in which to bind us.

Our long and arduous journey to the cloud forests of Tsunki, Ecuador and the shamanic tribe of the Shuar people was motivated by anthropology, in particular the tremendous books of the esteemed anthropologist Jeremy Narby, author of ‘The Cosmic Serpent’ and ‘Intelligence in Nature.’ Narby wrote of ancient (and still practiced) shamanic rituals, which formed the bedrock of knowledge, understanding and healing of the indigenous tribes of the Amazon.  Indeed, should you read his books (and I sincerely urge you to), he logs hours of conversations with Shamans about how their highly sophisticated knowledge of plants and medicine is derived.  The centrifuge of their practice is a plant extract which has many names: the Shuar call it Natem, although it also goes by the names of cipó and yagé (which is the Colombian Amazonian nomclature), but the most widely recognised name for it is Ayahuasca, roughly translated as ‘vine of the soul.’

The Ayahuasca ceremony is an age old tradition where a shaman, through the uses of plants, tobacco (N.B. not the tobacco sold by death merchants such as Benson & Hedges, but actually a pure jungle plant) and music, skilfully guides those present into an alternative state of emotional, physical and sensual conciousness.  Emma and I arrived, greeted by his family (11 sons, 4 daughters and their children) who made us feel  instantly at home.  They insisted on a diet before the ritual, that we could only ingest foods from the jungle, namely plantains (bananas) yucca (like a fibrous potato) avocado and chicha, a fermented drink made from yucca.  We were only allowed 2 meals and fasted for the afternoon and evening.

At 7pm, we showered and entered the shaman’s hut,where Miguel (our shaman) greeted us at his alter (which was an array of herbs, potions and medicines) as well as his beautiful family who participate in the ceremony, much like a Christian family would go to mass.   He gave the blessing and used shavings of the sacred wood, Palo Santo on the central fire, which had the purpose of cleansing the air with its sweet aroma.  Next he prepared a mixture of tobacco and water, which he strained and then poured a small amount into our palms which , along with the family, we inhaled through the nose (the purpose was to clear the sinus pathways and neural networks). In the presence of his children and grandchildren, he gave another blessing to the earth, the plants and the energies that bind and guide us.  After this we imbibed the plant extract called ayahuasca and sat around the fire.

My writing skills, nor wit,  will not allow me to describe the visions Emma and I saw. In addition, they were of an immensely personal nature and so writing about them would seem contrived.  I will say that I saw every aspect of my life; my fears; my dreams; the past, present and future; anxieties; hopes and dreams; and many, many other visions.  Whilst listening to the beautiful songs and music of the shaman (where otherworldly harmonics bounced around the hut), we sat together in deep contentment, both of us exploring the innervisions, the realities of our mind and the universe beyond.  It was both profound and beautiful.  Time stood still and some way into the ceremony, the shaman beckoned us from our journeys to again inhale the tobacco extract, and also to bath in a mixture of plant extracts (Emma said they had eucalyptus and menthol in it for sure), which cleansed the body and opened the pores.  It felt like being born again – the extract awoke the all the sense and also had the effect of centering our visions and psyche.  This was also the moment where the ceremony ended, and we exited to our living quarters, where we continued to explore the deep visions and power of the extract.

With the effects of the ayahuasca diminishing at around 4am, Emma and I fell into a peaceful slumber. 

The next morning we awoke to an immense sense of contentment, harmony and peace.  We talked for hours about what we had saw and what we had learned about ourselves and its impact.  For many people, this will sound like a load of new-age claptrap.  May I be explicit that it is not.  This experience was a tremendously deep and emotional journey, where we uncovered truths and concepts which in the rational world, would otherwise not be available (to quote Narby we were ‘defocalised’) Putting it into a coherent concept, imagine you are looking at ‘magic eye 3D image ( like the ones full of dots and colours)  If you look at it rationally and in a focused manner, it appears to be nothing more than a serious of unconnected dots and colours.  When you defocalise, the image presents itself.  This is perhaps the best analogy as to how the visions and experience works (shamelessly cribbed from Narby may I add).  This is the central precept of ayahuasca: the images and visions come only when you do not focus; you must literally ‘go with the flow.’

It a strange way, it has brought Emma and I even closer as our understanding of ourselves and our place within this world has heightened qute significantly.  It is a moment neither of us will forget, and we count ourselves as incredibly lucky to have been afforded this deep glimpse into the unrevealed world within.

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The hut of the Shuar, where we participated in the ceremony.

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The Natem or ayahuasca vine growing in the jungle

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The start of the ceremony, at the makeshift alter you can see the different plant extracts and the musical instruments which guided our journey.

Special mention to Joe V and Sam V, Dan L, Olly Y for setting inspiring us and showing us the path. You were with us every step of the way and we love you eternally.

Sunday, 18 March 2012

Scuba Diving in the Pacific – Puerto Lopez, Ecuador

It was our Galapagos. A boat trip to the beautiful Pacific Isla del Plata, off Ecuadorian coast was abundant with wildlife both above and below sea level. We met a fellow traveller, who was an enthusiastic dive instructor, on the bus towards Puerto Lopez and decided it was fate that we should take the plunge and arrange a dive trip.  Needless to say we were both buzzing with excitement at the thought of diving in these rarefied waters.  We have decided to keep the words to a minimum and let the pictures do the talking.

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Pelicans crossing.

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The famous blue-footed boobies chatter whilst waiting for their next meal to present itself in the surf below.

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Time to dive! 

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The turtles were absolutely stunning, sharing their underwater domain with us, whilst we eagerly snapped photos of them.  The photo of me on the right is me asking how to work the underwater camera!

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I hope you appreciate these turtle photos, as I was sick afterwards due to swallowing so much sea water, trying to get a great shot with the newfangled underwater camera – plus I kept shouting to Emma to jump in and enjoy the fun!  She loved it.

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Ems and I sharing a post-dive beverage and a chance to recover from the strong currents below.

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Upon our return to dry land we watched the sun set over the biggest body of water in the world and sipped a well-earned cold beer. While Ems was setting up the camera for a 10sec delay photo a local boy came along and stole her chair, asking ‘can I be in the photo too?’  We couldn’t say no as he was a lovely lad!  A great day out with new experiences and new-found friends.

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Monday, 5 March 2012

Photo Diary: Huacachina, an oasis town just outside Ica, Peru

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Pedalos and rowboats sparsely populate this dinky oasis, whilst the palm trees provide some welcome cover from the 30° above.

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‘…Gold road’s sure a long road.’

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The desert provides fascinating light in which to capture, as well as shaping itself with incredible lines and tones.

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The long legs of Lighty.

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Again, more examples of nature in her role as the ultimate sculptress.

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A moment of contemplation.  It was my first time in a desert.

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Our ride across the dunes.  2 hours of driving and sand boarding down 100m dunes ensued…

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After two months of living at the altitude in the cold altiplanos of Bolivia and Peru, the sun and sand are very welcome as our new travel companions.

Friday, 2 March 2012

Pikamanchu (Macchu Picchu)

This blog is inspired by my Mam, Rose Harman.  Mam, you are the funniest person I have ever known and I love you with all my heart!

(The scene: Barbican Kitchen Restaurant, Plymouth, 2006).  Mam, Jack, Joe, George and Rosie Harman, are finishing a splendid meal and having a conversation about travel and charity work.)

Mam: …anyways, Val is off to Peru to do some charity work.

Joe: Really?  That’s great, why is she going there and what is she doing?

Mam: Well, it’s a sponsored walk.  She’s going to Pikamanchu.

Joe: (leaning a little farther forward as if to hear better) Where did you say Mam?

Mam: She’s going to Pikamanchu.

Joe: Mam, are getting Macchu Picchu and Pikachu from Pokemon mixed up?

(George starts his judder-howl laughter)

Mam: Er, I dunno, I might be, oooh, umm, yeah I think I am – what is that place called again Joe?

 

This (true) story, gets me in fits every time I think of it and so Ems and I took to calling this new 7th wonder of the world, ‘Pikamanchu’ whenever we could.  The Sacred Valley, which is home to this site is an utterly breath-taking place where the Incan empire built their famous ‘Lost City.’  Interestingly, this site is not as ancient as it first appears.  This sprawling micro-metropolis was built without the wheel over a long period during the 15th century, using innovative quarrying, terracing and farming techniques, and abandoned mid-sixteenth century, due to the onslaught of the Spanish. 

We decided against doing the infamous backpacker-passage-of-rites ‘Inca Trail’ as Ems and I have jacked in the hiking days (for now) and instead took the 2 day tour option, happily being ferried around from site to site, without the hardships of trekking.  The photos you see below are only of Macchu Picchu, although we did also visit Pisaq, which is another important archaeological site of the Sacred Valley.

Perhaps the most beguiling and attractive part of Macchu Picchu is not its verdant-green terraces delineating the chalk-grey masonry, but the location.  The city is walled by gargantuan, sheer, green and granite mountains (the large one in the first picture being Huana Picchu) the views of which one never tires.  Our observations also generated a meaningful discussion between Ems, Prebyn (our Norwegian friend and one of the nicest guys I have ever met) about the context of the achievement when compared with the feats of other tribes/countries/races around the world.  Our conclusion seems to be that, as an English citizen, perhaps we should do a little more to champion and appreciate the historical marvels of our own country.  During the period of Macchu Picchu’s construction Sir Francis Drake was circumnavigating the globe, whilst Elizabeth I gave rule to what historians refer to as the golden age of Great Britain.  It dawned on us that Macchu Picchu receives thousands of visitors from all over the world every day, each of them eager to experience this wonderful slice of Incan history and yet, 30 minutes drive from Plymouth (UK) to Dartmoor, and you will find yourself surrounded by the ancient walls of a bronze age hut, which predates Incan history by thousands of years.

My (rather clumsy) point is that Macchu Picchu is a mysterious and wonderful place, one that people fly thousands of mile to see and yet we British are privy to the most wonderful heritage sites of our own; great examples being Tintagel, Windsor Castle, the city of York or the tower of London - the shores and lands of dear Albion thrum with the echoes of the past.  Let us enjoy them.

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Sunrise at the misty mountain top.

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Llamas show their indifference to the tourist droves.

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The Temple of the Sun.  The two large windows were stratigically aligned to allow the suns of the summer and winter solstices to shire through.

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Another little ray of sunlight shines throught (ok, that was cringeworthy)

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Partially obscured Huayna Picchu gazes upon its neighbour, ‘The Lost City’

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Emma works the angles.

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Me and my girl - tuckered out, but happy and enjoying the great views.

PS – special mention to Joe H and Dan Leahy, who were looking forward to our report – we hope you enjoyed it! And also to Mike S, who solved a referencing dilemma I had – love you dude!

Saturday, 25 February 2012

Colca Canyon, Nr. Arequipa, Peru

It hurt. 

The grin etched across my face in the first picture, was before our gruelling two day undertaking down the slope of the world’s deepest canyon, and then back up again.  For those of you who have been following our capers, you may recall an entry we wrote about painful-yet-rewarding  ‘W Trek’ in Chile.  Well this was similar; like a ‘mini-W’ (or 'V' if you like). 

Colca Canyon is a canyon of the Colca River in southern Peru. Peru's third most-visited tourist destination with about 160,000 visitors annually, it's located about 100 miles (160 kilometres) northwest of Arequipa. It is more than twice as deep as the Grand Canyon in the United States at 13,650' (4,160 m.) depth, and it is promoted as the "world's deepest canyon," although the canyon's walls are not as vertical as those of the Grand Canyon. 

Along with our German friend Katarin , we woke at 3:00am to take a transfer to the canyon, which is famous for its Condors and Incan period terracing.  The mirador at the pinnacle of the canyon was a little disappointing, only because of the thin cloud cover which obscured any potential condor sightings.  Thankfully, these clouds soon dissipated and we were graced with fabulous views of the gorge as we began our descent.  It was an hour into this descent that Emma interestingly pointed out that steep descent can sometimes be as taxing on the body as the opposed ascent (especially on the knees).  7 hours later we found ourselves on the other side of Colca, at a lovely riverside oasis, complete with palm trees and small bamboo shack which, for one night, we would call our home.

The next morning meant another early start, although this time we were graced with an extra two hours in bed.  Nevertheless, at 05:00am, we began what would come to be, a watershed moment in Emma’s short hiking career. 

It was murder. 

8 kilometres walking straight up, ascending an extra 1500m over 3 hours.  As you can see below, the views were truly spectacular, as some of the Incan-period routes were still clearly visible.  This however, was no salve for the deep burn felt in every muscle, joint and crevice!  The altitude (an elevation of approximately 3200m) was also a major factor in making this 3 hour trek a real hard and harsh climb.  As we reached the top, Emma uttered the immortal words… ‘That’s it.  I’m done. That is my last hike ever – from hereon it’s high heels and dresses’ So ended the hiking chapter in Emma’s life…

Enjoy the pics guys and our next post will be about… Macchu Picchu!

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I had no idea what was coming

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The metaphor ‘strong as an ox’ should also be extedned to mules as well – they are the lifeblood of this canyon.

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The Andean Condor (Vultur gryphus) an endangered species with the largest wing-span of any land bird -3.2m (the Albatross has a larger span but is classed as a marine bird)

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Now she's smiling! (N.B you can see in the bottom right, clear examples of Incan period terracing)

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HEY YO ADRIAN!

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We ate prickly pears for breakfast, the fruit of some of the canyon’s cacti, although the pictured species do not yield this particular fruit.

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A baby alpaca poses for soles.

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Peruvian finery.  The different designs are akin to the medieval coats of arms.

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A rather splendid eagle sits unhooded at his masters arms

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Emma is really starting to experiment with her camera – I love this pic.

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Night-night Arequipa.