Gringo Starr

¡Hola! ¿Que pasa? Los caballos estan al lado de la cocina. Talking bollocks ... my favourite hobby, and one practiced the world over in a rich tapestry of idiotic situations. Corporate strategy meetings, academic seminars, me and Dan in the pub, or indeed anywhere else - the list of conversational buffoonery is endless. I can now add a new category to this wonderous exercise - backpacker dormrooms. How wonderful it is listening to a group of idiots trying to act cool whilst simultaneously straining to impress each other. Perhaps banging on about the healing power of hexagons or some other such horseshit. Inevitably the first subject for discussion is what sort of trip everyone is on. Over the last seven months I have observed the desperate game of Backpacker Top Trumps ™ being played. The premise is simple. Each player seemingly has a set of cards in their minds, which correspond to each country they intend to visit, and each in turn has a score for things such as value for money (most of South East Asia wins on this one), popularity and most importantly, perceived kudos. This last part in turn is defined in a number ways but not limited to ease of travel in such a place (the harder it is, the cooler you are - India would win over Australia for example), with the most points won with how dangerous or 'hardcore' it's perceived to be (high scoring destinations would be Colombia, Afghanistan or Windsor). South America seems to be a sub-continent that generates a good amount of hyperbole, one-upmanship and generally inaccurate descriptions from the mouths of those that have not even set foot on the continent.

Santiago was to be the start of our four months in South America - flying in over the scene of the Andes, where the tops of the mountains greet you before the cloud cover and landing to the sound of applause from the other passengers ... a few hours before setting off due to flying over the international date line and the associated time zone trickery. First off, a big 'Thank You !' to our mate Roberto, who was generous enough to show us around despite a mammoth workload at University. He even went so far as to pick us up from the airport, what a gent ! He was as 'embarrassed' as us when we blundered into a café called Coffee With Legs. There's nothing lost in translation here ... I'm not sure what was more stimulating, the coffee or the barristas. Morals schmorals, not since Tokyo have the streets of a city been rubbed smooth by the tongues of two easily impressed young men - it's political incorrectness gone rad. A ten minute stroll around Santiago revealed scores of armed carabineros, brigades of street drummers and a whole lot of perros locos (indeed, some of them being chased around by the drummers). Roberto was also good enough to take us to see a band called Espia that his mate Jaime knew - there's a suitably fiery shot of their drummer.



A good proportion of our time in Santiago was spent trying to learn Spanish, leaving little opportunity for going further afield, though we did manage a day trip out to Valparaiso, a coastal town a few hours down the road. The Spanish lessons were invaluable, and were all the more enjoyable for a few impromptu air guitar sessions with our teacher, Francisco. It's always nice to be able to discuss the relative merits of Sepultura versus Napalm Death between conjugating verbs. In addition to this, we've been expanding our skills in the area of 'Jazz Cooking', as self catering saves tons of money on eating out (and obviously avoids any lurking meat for Dan). More to the point, normal cooking is boring and for nerds. The basic approach is buy a whole load of the veg that takes your fancy, sling it in a big pan and smother in herbs and spices (brilliantly these can be found for free in many kitchens). Notable successes include a form of minestrone soup without meat but with half a ton of curry powder in it and variations on familiar recipes donated by my mum. Hunt the garlic always was an Asker family favourite ("How many cloves today, Mother ?" ... "Four, dear !"). All washed down with the self descriptive Chilean drink 'Pap'. I'm happy to report that we fooled the lot of 'em - the bloke who runs Hostel Bellavista even went so far to ask "are you chefs ?". Ha ha ha ! Yes, yes we are and available for all corporate functions and weddings. Other excitement involved a visit to one of the houses of top Chilean poet Pablo Neruda (1904-73). He was a compulsive collector and hoarder, and filled his abode with all manner of wonderful crap ... I feel a strong sense of kinship with this, as I have cupboards full of rotting and useless technology that I've collected over the years. He also designed his houses to look like ships, even though he was afraid of actually sailing. The idea being that you could get the feeling of being at sea by getting arseholed on wine. Truly an inspiration.

A pertinent news story at the moment is that Augusto Pinochet, dictator of Chile from 1973-90, has just been placed under house arrest, after accepting full responsibility (not the same as an admission of guilt) for that which happened during his reign. Pinochet came to power as head of a military junta on September 11th, 1973 after ousting Salvador Allende, who had thus far led Chile through the 'Chilean Path To Socialism', with close personal ties to Cuba's Fidel Castro. Allende had implemented many radical economical reforms, nationalising major industries and leading programs for the seizure and redistribution of land of significant size. Mechanisms were set in place for helping the poorest of Chilean citizens, mostly through employment programs in the new nationalised industries. However, by 1973 the economy was suffering badly with hyperinflation and decimated exports. After the September coup, Pinochet effectively ruled in contradiction to Allende's policies, deregulization and privatization being the order of the day - to make Chile 'a nation of proprietors'. While his policies contributed to vast economic growth (dubbed by supporters as 'The Miracle Of Chile'), his rule was also characterized by sometimes brutal suppression of politcal detractors and opposition. Different numbers are cited, but the general opinion is that between two and three thousand people died under his and the military's orders in the 17 years he was in power.

After the charming bustle of Santiago, first stop in Perú was the tourist enclave of Miraflores - a nicely pruned and polished oasis for nervous foreigners to feel at ease. Our government approved taxi driver took great pains to warn us off wandering around anywhere other than Miraflores, or if we were feeling particularly adventurous, the town centre in daylight. Personal safety of course comes pretty high on the list of priorities in a strange, new town, but how well can you really say you know a place if you only stick to the parts that you're 'allowed' to go to ? While Santiago seemed to be relaxed, easy going and culturally similar to a lot of European cities, Lima by contrast seemed smog ridden and imposing. No matter, as Pisco was a few hours down the Panamerican Highway ... which is where I got a bit of a wake up call as to what the geography of Perú is actually like. I think most people would know that the country is bisected by the Andes with the coast on one side and the Amazon basin on the other. What came as a surprise is the fact that from the coast to the mountains is mostly desert, and I mean that in a very real sense. Pisco is famous for being the namesake of the Peruvian spirit, and a favourite for gringos and locals alike is the Pisco Sour. A drink which I can best describe as having two accurate syllables. The main reasons to visit Pisco, however, are the Paracas National Park and Ballestas Islands - described by some as the poor man's Gallapogas. That's good, we're skint. The town itself has it's own charms, and a good introduction as to what life is like in this region outside major cities. Similarities to parts of India, or to a lesser extent Cambodia leap to mind - kids kicking footballs along dusty roads that trail off into half finished housing areas, an old man selling melons from the back of a truck and searing mid afternoon sun, braved only by los perros locos and gringos stupidos. Come evening, the town people of all ages meet around the Plaza Di Armas, with no atmosphere of menace as the sun goes down. It seems like a good place to have a few short chats with some locals as well, who just come up and say hello without any sort of agenda other than to see who you are. Having said that, our linguistic pride was sorely bruised in Nazca as a four year old street urchin out matched us conversationally, whilst prowling for crisps. Quite frankly it was crushing having to repeatedly mutter 'no entiendo' whilst someone twenty three years my junior rolled their eyes. At least he condescended to refer to us as compadres.

If our route so far has been along a standard 'Gringo Trail', then I can at least say that it exists for some pretty good reasons. Left and above are some scenes from our jaunt around the Paracas National Park. The pelicans are one of several 'dung birds', who with the Guanay and Piquero generate significant amounts of Guano (bird crap). Due to it's nitrogen and phosphorous content it makes an excellent fertilizer, and was a main export for years. Needless to say I made sure I brought a hat on the boat. Overall an splendid way to see scores of sealions, pelicans and penguins in their natural habitat. Not flamingos though ... they never bothered to show up. Wankers.









The desert oasis of Huacachina provided the opportunity to go sandboarding, predictably enough, a few acrophobic flounderings proved enough for me. Curse this fear of heights, it bollockses everything up ... surfing is better anyway :( Best part in my opinion was charging about the dunes in some stripped out buggies. I like my vehicles like my music ... loud and fast, and our driver didn't seem to have much regard for his own safety, much less ours. I think he subscribed to the "Drive It Like You Stole It" philosophy. Well, if it's got a roll cage you may as well try to roll it. Rotational momentum, eh ? Makes the world go round.



The Inca culture of Perú deservedly gets a lot of attention from the outside world, but perhaps lesser known is that of the Nazca culture - which flourished through parts of the south west coast from 300BC to 800AD. I'm sure a few people reading this will be aware of their most famous legacy, the Nazca Lines. I was first made aware of this a few years back from my friend Clare, who thought I might be interested in this article. Theories abound as to how they may have been constructed, or what they mean, let alone why they were constructed in a way that was only visible from the air (covering an area of about 200 sq. miles). The lines themselves are constructed by removing iron oxide coated stones from the surface of the pampa, leaving the light coloured earth behind, and still visible thousands of years later due to the bone-dry climate of the area. They were re-discovered in the 1920s by pilots making passes over the pampa. Related cultures in the area engaged in shamanic rituals, taking peyote-like substances to 'cross over' into the 'real world' of spirits. In this way the animals and pointers could be viewed in the mind's eye. Another idea is that they were used in procession rituals that involved walking in perfectly ordered lines, usually as an end to rainfall or some other source of water (anyone who got it wrong might have been held responsible for the following draught). The whole subject is permeated by the theme of water, or a shortage thereof, and some academics are of the opinion that some of the lines coincided with a drought. Quite simply, without water there is no life, and nowhere is this more starkly illustrated than in a desert. It's a concern that continues to this day, and is a staple source of conflict and wars throughout history. In any case, one theory states that walking in exact patterns in this way could act as an aid to imagining them as viewed from above - I had to resort to flying in a light aircraft with a pilot who I suspect was quite hungover. The near vertical banking almost resulted in pebbledashed underwear.

Most of what is understood of the lines came about from research undertaken by Maria Reiche. The main part of her theory is that the lines and trapezoids were used as huge astronomical calendar, pointing to where the sun would be during the solstices. Dan and I wandered into a lecture by her close friend Viktoria Nikitzki. Viktoria gives the lectures from her own house, just off the main drag of Nazca, by a single bulb on benches made of small boulders and sand sacks, and while I got a bit irked at her dismissive attitude towards theories that were not wholly Reiche's (without, in my opinion, proper justification), there is no mistaking her commitment towards the conservation of them. And to no lesser extent the anger she feels towards the inability / unwillingness / corruption of Peruvian and UN officials in doing nothing to help this. The lines are technically a UNESCO protected site, though in reality this means bugger-all. Allegedly most donated funds go straight into the pockets of corrupt officials. You can see one of the clearest examples of large scale vandalism above - the Panamerican Highway slashed straight across two of the directional trapezoids.