Potosi, Bolivia

Early the following day, Juan P picked us up from our hostal and we began our 3 our ride to Portosi. It was a long stretch as we wound our way up the barren hills to 4000m once again. Tom brought out the cards half way through the trip and Dad, Tom Juan P and I played everything from Liar to something called Sluts and Masters (I think it could do with a new name). Juan P also taught us a new game called Dirty Underwear. Great fun with satisfying results if you´re not the loser, which I usually was. Juan P was also playing courier this trip, bringing some clothes from his place in Sucre to his grandmother, so he was looking forward to seeing his family there.

We settled into our hostal, a cute little with spanish influence in its courtyards. Once settled, we had a quick lunch and wandered through the streets. Once again being at 4000m we found ourselves out of breath, so we didn´t wander too far. We were collected by Juan P at 3pm for a tour of the city´s mint.

Portesi is a mining city. For a long time now it has been mining minerals such as silver and tin from a nearby mountain. On the tour we were told that when the spanish invaded, they exploited the natives terribly desipite orders from Spain to pay the workers. Often times groups of miners would be send hundreds of metres into the mines with only one candle for their 20 hour shift. Over 8 million people have died in these mines.

During the Spanish rule, so much silver, tin and copper was mined that Portesi established its city mint and was responsible for the processing of all currency for Bolivia, Argentina and Peru as well as Spain. Coins were measured based on weight for a long time, although the spanish set moulds in the late 1700s. The machinery in the mint was original and incredible. Huge wheels pulled by donkeys were used to flatten and process the silver and many coins were branded by hand with a hammer. In its hayday, over 1000 coins were produces per day. The working conditions must have been horrific... and these guys weren´t even in the mines. After the tour, we had a quick meal and headed to bed. The altitude had taken its toll.

The next morning we were picked up early for our tour of the working mine today. In addition to Juan P we had Issac, a local and former miner as guide. Before heading to the mine we stopped at the miners markets. Its traditional to bring the miners gifts, as well as gifts of offering for pecha muma. Tradtitional gift include coca leaves which the miners chew. It releases a toxin which surpressed appetite, allowing the miners to work for longer. The are dried green leaves, but the longer and more of then you chew, the blacker they and your teeth get. Issac was a fan. We left him to it.

Other common gifts included cigarettes (without filters), 95% alcohol stored in small plastic bottles, frescas (giant bottles of soft drink) and dynamite and fuses. Yes, dynamite. Without these things, you can be forbidden entry into the mines, plus it helps the miners tolerate interruption (not that many people get deeps enough to run into them).

Once we had our goods, we headed to a house to get adorned with the requisite waterproofs, gumboots, helmates and light packs. I have to say, we were all looking quite spiffy.

One the way to the mines we were told that despite the incredible dangerous conditions in which the miners work, their pay was not fantastic. Cave-ins were quite frequent, hours were ridiculously long but they usually had large families (5 children plus). However, if a miner is killed at his work, there is no compenstion for the family. Wives and children are left on their own, although sometimes other work mates do what they can to help. But given that the pay is so bad, it´s not usually much. As a result, we were told to expect to see women and children at the mines. They scrounge through the leftover mining deposits, looking for bits of silver, tin and copper that they can sell. When we arrived at the mine, we saw the state of things. Issac had brought a bag of coca leaves and a small bottle of alcohol for one of the widows. She was old, thin and must have been living around this mine for many, many years. It was heart-breaking. Other kids came running up to us trying to sell a few rocks and things.


We made our way down to the mines entrance. To be honest, it didn´t look like anywhere I wanted to be going. Oxygent and electricity pipes stretched into the hole in the wall and the entrance really didn´t look big enough to accommodate us. We handed out a few bags of coca leaves and bottles of soft drink to some of the tooth-less minders outside. Too many years of coca leaves and sweet drinks had certainly taken their toll. Finally Issac led us into the mine followed by Tom, Mum, Dad and myself with Juan P bringing up the rear.

It was dark, cold and wet inside. After struggling through uneven ground, puddles and over cart tracks we arrived a small inlet. We were perhaps 100 metres inside the mine. Issac couldn´t be more precise as their wasn´t actually any maps of the mines themselves. Things changed all the time, he told us, so they didn´t bother.

In this inlet was a mud carved idol. It was covered in colourful streamers and coca leaves, surrounded by empty grog bottles and holding an old cigarette in its mouth.

The idol represented Pecha Muma and was there in honour of mother earth. Offerings surrounded the idol and Issac took us through the ceramony. At lease once a month and more often during festival times, the miners would offer the leaves, alcohol and colours in thanks for the use of the mountain and to ask for good mineral findings. Everything the miners had/did they shared with the idol, including the coca leaves, alcohol and ciggies. Issac demonstrated by offering coca leaves, sprinkling the 95% grog over the idol and then sipping some himself. It was very important to show satifaction when drinking the alcohol lest you displease pecha muma.

He asked if any of us wanted to offer the alcohol, Tom, Juan P and Dad jumped in. Through the burning in their throats they all pulled convincing if wincing smiles. Issac then lit a cigarette (100m within a mine) and after a few puffs placed the ciggie in the idols mouth. And we watched as it happily sat there smoking.

Isacc led us further into the mine and Juan P told us about a school trip he´d once taken here with his classmates. They had got so deep into the mine (which involved crawling on their stomachs through cracks in the rock at times) that they had run into miners working in their underwear. Although it was cold where we were, the deeper you got, the hotter it was. These guys were also happily smoking that deep within the mine.

As we made our way deeper (possibly at 300 metres now, the blackness of our surroundings and the density of the rock began to have an oppressive feel. It was dead silent. Each step took us further and we passed many bends and interesections and the lack of a map really started to bother me. We were passed by a couple of female miners on their way out after a shift. Isacc was a little suprised to see them as women aren´t generally allowed to work in the mines. Its believed that they will make pecha muma jealous. However, of the women that did work there, they were often widows of other miners, so some believed that this made their presence ok. regardless, the presence of women working in the mines was only a very recent thing.

Further down we were told to quickly move off the path. We stood under a shaky looking structure and waited to find out what was happening. A few moments later four miners appeared pushing a cart containing a tonne of rock and dirt. They stopped briefly to accept some fresca and coca leaves and told us they were coming off a 16 hour shift. The all looked stuffed. A moment later another miner appeared behind us hauling a hugs wheelbarrow full of rock. Head looked haggard and hot. We offloaded the last of our frescas with him.

Further on we took a path to the left, then one to the right, then another to the left (yep... no map). We ducked left into a small alcove and there was yet another offering area. We saat down on the ground and Issac told us about the history of the mine, the oppression of the natives and about the real life of a miner. He told us about being struck in the mines without light. The light pack only last about 12 hours. If its an older pack, it can last for just 8. The rule is that if you run out of light, you must wait for another miner to find you. At this point Issac turned off all our lights. And it was black. It was silent, and despite sitting right next to both Mum and Dad, it was terrifying. There was nothingness. Closing my eyes seemed to help, but when Issac mentioned that some miners had been stuck by themselves for 48 hours, I began to feel really uncomfortable.

Fortunately for us 5 minutes was enough and we headed out of our alcove with light blarring and down some other tunnel. I was really being led blind by this time. I had no idea which was was out or which way we´d come from. I can safely say that this would never be preferred career choice.

Somehow we made our way out of the black hole into the sunlight once more. I love the sky. Dad was a little slower out the hole with one boot leaking. It was an incredible expereince but one I´m happy not to repeat.

We dossed down and jumped back on the bus to head back to Sucre.

Sucre, Bolivia

Had a sensationally quick, but a rather hairy flight into Sucre. Sucre airport sits on a short, straight flat atop some huge mountains. You descend between them in a sort of franzied sweep and somehow the piolet find the bumpy runway. If its cloudy, flights are cancellend. If its rainy, flights are cancelled. If its too windy, flights are cancelled. This would have to be one of the more difficult flights to take I imagine.

At first glimpse, Sucre is dusty, hot and smoggy. ItThe fires again we´re told. We´re picked up by our young tour guide, Juan Pablo (named for the Pope who visited Sucre in 1988) and taken 15 minutes into the centre of town. The dusty first glimpses were the outter suburbs. Sucre is actually known as the White City, and once in town its easy to see why. We descend into the city and find our way through the one way streets to our hostal. Its a gorgeous place with an inner courtyard and 3 floors. True Spanish style, the rooms have been maintained to reflect what was true of the 1800s.

We settled and had a wander around this great city. It´s a student town with it´s first univeristy (the second for South America) established in 1594. It has a small town feel, but the city limits span for kilometres, it´s much less hilly than La Paz.

The next morning we head out for a city tour. Having dropped to a health 2800m, we have no problems walking the streets. We head with Juan Pablo to the parliment museum. Sucre has a colourful history. Before the executive power was taken to Laz Paz, all policital sessions were held in the spectacular courts here. Gold leaf adorns most of the seats, doors and walls along with OLD painting and mosaics. In the adjoining rooms, there are paintings of war-time generals (including the female officers) and a number of swords and other trinkets. There are also a few drawings of Sucre from the 1600s, the city has not really changed, just grown.

From here we head to the textile museum. Sucre is surrounded by some interesting communities who live much the same way now as they did in the 1600s. Stone ovens, mud brick houses and an incrredible textile tradition. The Jáqua and Terrabucco tribes are among the most famous for their unusual weaves. Although living quicte close, their styles are quite different. The Bolivian Government has been quite active in assisting these tribes to establish their textile trade for tourism.



Their work is incredible. So intricate with months being spent on each piece. Despite the fair trade agreements, the textiles are still very reasonable, so we all purchase a small weaving.

Following this fabulous museum, we head to the top of the city. There´s a school that sits at the top of the city, on a flat between 2 mountains. It gives us a great view of the city. Here we stop for lunch and Juan Pablo tells us more about his city and our plans for next few days. Tommo and Juan P get stuck into a seriously interesting breadless hamburger and we all kick back to enjoy some sun.
Our tour brings us back to the main squarte in town. Juan R suggest we use the afternoon to check out the dinosaur footprints in the north of the town. Not knowing much about it, I´m surprised to learn that Sucre has teh largest continuous wall of footprints in the world. There are hundreds. We jump onto a bus and head out of town to the site.

It was discovered about 25 years ago by the nearby concrete company who sliced through the mountain, discovered it wasn´t rich with the right stuff, then called a scientist or two to looks at these strange marks on the wall. Erosion has seens the loss of some of the footprints, but there are still clear marks from carnivores, herbivores and
other lizards. The park they´ve developed around the footprints is a bit of fun. It contains life size dinosaur models (36 metres long). Its more than a little surreal.


























We head home for an early night, we´re off to Portesi, a mining town 3 hours north, the next morning.
Rob opts to stay in Sucre and explore a little more.

That night, Tom discovered ´Le Ley y el Orden´ (Law and Order) on tellie. It´s now become a trip catch phrase. It´s sort of along the same vein as Dad´s misuse of the word ´bolarios´ in place of bolivianos. hehe good times.

La Paz, Bolivia

In preparation for our elevation, we began taking altitude tablets the day before our flight to La Paz. Rising from near sea level metres to 4000 has been known to take its toll on some folk. The flight was 4 hours with a quick stop over at a town on the waters edge. Despite being surrounded by mountains, the landing was quite smooth and upon exiting, we were all short of breath with slight pressure headaches. No problems.

We were also extra excited as we were meeting my uncle Robert here too.

We were picked up by our guide, Pepe, a proud local who promised to have us falling in love with La Paz by the time we left. It was rushh our, so our trip into the city centre took about 50 minutes, minus the time when the van broke down. :) The airport is actually at 4000 metres and in another small town. We had to descend to 3600m into La Paz, and it was incredible how just a few hundred metres eased the headache. La Paz itself is nestled in, around and over mountains and valleys. Our view was incredibly hazy though, but this was due to farmers in the north and south burning off their last seasons crops. The smoke travelled for hundreds of miles coating the city. We stopped briefly for some photos heading into the city before continuing to a lovely little hostal called Rosario. Once we were settled, we were met again by Pepe for a tour around the city. Roasario was actually on the main drag about a block from the Witches markets.

The difference in tradition was so immediately apparent. Traditional dress is still really observed here. The women are particularily distinctive with long dark braids, petticoated skirts, tall top hats and usually a colourful bundle of baby or other goods on their backs. Dental treatment is also clearly absent, but it sort of adds to the charm. We were told by Pepe that the locals are very adverse to their photos being taken, believing it steals part of their soul. Bolivia is a rather superstitious and religious nation. Catholicism is still strong here, but the local religions are also followed, the two seem to work together. Many makeshift stalls will contain and offering to Pecha Muma (Mother Earth) as well as a crucifix, and their are countless customs observed in day-to-day life.

We wandered down to the witches markets and Pepe pointed out all sorts of herbs and potions for purchase to cure ill health, poor love lives and much more. We headed further into the markets and stalls began to stock bowls of sugar lollies in the shapes of money, houses, couples. These are to be burnt as an offering to Pecha Muma. Further on we had llama fetus´and dried armadillos along with stone carvings for protection, love, health. We explored the stores and tried the local fashion, lit incense for good travels and purchased a couple of small trinkets.



The llama fetus´are used as offerings to Pecha Muma in different ways. When building a new house, a fetus´will be laid in the foundations as a way of thanking Mother Earth for this space and to ask that it be solid and true. During festival times, the fetus´are burned in faith & to ask for a fruitful year, in thanks, in grief and for any other number of reasons.

In addition to dead creatures, there were also incredible textiles on offer. Local communities weave incredible textiles from llama, alpaca and sheep wool. It gets pretty cold up here, so there is a real need for heavy, warm goods. Our trip into the witches markets had been downhill until this time. The uphill stint was incredibly taxing. We reached the top of a 20m strip with hearts thumping while gasping for breath. I don´t know how the locals do it, especially the women carrying their 20kg loads. We weren´t quite settled with the altitude just yet.

Fortunately, we were picked up from there and taken further into the city to look at the banking/businss area. The population of La Paz is around 800,000. Observing the city from the inner business areas you could believe it. Crazy traffic, people everywhere, totally unobserved street signs, street vendors, general dirt and grime helps to pain the picture. From here, we made our way to a viewing platform over the whole valley. Great views of both sides of the valley.

We made our way out of the city to the half moon valley. Its an incredible area with very unusual rock formations. Erosion in this and the general La Paz area is cause for some concern. There are many areas which have been ruled uninhabitable or unsafe, but they´re full of small houses and families. Too many people, not enough space. La Paz is the political capital of Bolivia although the official capital is Sucre. Another civil war separated the power a hundred years earlier.

It was getting warm, so we opted to head back for some chill out time, but stopped on the way for a quick snack that Pepe recommended. Known as a Salteña, these tasty pasties were full of a delicious meat, some veges and a tasty sauce. There´s a technique to eating these things. Nibble the edge, drink the sauce, then eat the pasty. YUM.

That night, we hunted out a show known as peña. Its a local folkloric tradition with live music and dancing from many different regions across Bolivia. Mum and I had llama meat (delicious) while Tom tried Guinea Pig (also very tasty). Dad and Rob opted for the safer vege and beef options :)

The show was good fun and more than once Tom, Dad and I were pulled up on stage to join in the dancing. Altitude and dancing... we were stuffed.

The next morning, with tired legs, we flew to Sucre.

Santiago, Chile

After returning to Buenos Aires, we had a couple of days to explore it further. We wandered the streets as you do and found fantastic local spots - including a massive touristy Tango area with many and monumental buildings in surrounding areas. As expected, the churches & cathedrals are magnificent in this Catholic city.
In addition to the purchase of boots and the consumption of mucho helados, it came time to leave our lovely Elevage Hotel (great salads, Dad was happy), and head to Santiago, Chile.

Chile was to be a fab experience as we had a contact their through a family friend. Linda was living in Santigo with her boyfriend, working as an English teacher and picking up the local language very quickly. She met her man while in Italy, he was studying, she was working and it was meant to be :)

We arrived after a very early start, and were transported to the city centre. We settled into our rooms, and had a little scare after realising we´d left our passports on the bus that brought us to the hotel. Fortunately we tracked it down and organised to pick them up the next morning. Loving the excitement, although Mum was a little stressed about it.

Linda came and met us after this and we wandered to the main square in the city. There we had a couple of beers and watched the locals for a few hours. Santago seems poorer than Buenos Aires. Clothes have an 80s twinge, there are many homeless folk and although the buildings are spectacular, they are in need of some serious TLC. Years of pollution, earthquake damage and general use are wearing heavily.

There is a very heavy smog over the city. We´re told this is due solely to car pollution. We took a trip up a hill in the city to see that there is a clear distinction in the horizon. The smog adds a kilometre between the tallest buildings and the blue sky, it´s a strange thing to observe.



After our beers we wandered around the square, which was FULL of people. Its a saturday, so folks are out to play. We had a look inside the mammoth Catedral de Metropolitana - inside it was freezing and dark. It was also uncharacteristically quiet despite the 300 people wandering around. We retreated to the sun and stopped to watch a street show. Being the distinctive red heads in the crowd, we were singled out and dragged into the centre of the 200 strong crowd. Joy. Linda was reluctantly dragged in too, and I could follow a few jokes about sex and verility. Dad, being the natural performer that he is, got right into it, and happily became the butt of the jokes. Apparently foreigners aren´t known for having any sort of sense of humour, so Dad was a hit. Linda and I managed to avoid a sticky snogging situation and escaped the circle, but before leaving the show, Dad got a couple of great shots. Will have to post them soon.

All this excitement made us tired (it might also have been the early morning) and we headed back to the hotel. We agreed to meet linda for dinner with one of her friends that night.

The resturant was in the suburb Bellevista. We opted for the traditional Chilian option and all got into the local drink of choice - Pisco Sour. It´s sort of like tequilla, but mixed with lemon juice, a little sugar and egg white. Seriously strong, but tasty.



It was a lateish night, but tummys full with fish soups, meat cassaroles and salads, we were happy campers. We had a tour of the city organised for the next morning.

We were picked up by a bus at 9am and shuttled around to look at various monuments in all their former glory. There is a massive spanish and french influence here, although a lack of funds means the government relies on private univerisities to purchase and restore the buildings. Many still stand empty.

The political history in Chile has been a volitile one. There have been many coups and civil wars generally in the greater south american region. One particularly interesting disagreement between Chile and Bolivia resulted in Chile claiming the port town giving Bolivia access to the ocean for trade. This claim was made in the early 1900s (I think), but it effectively strangled Bolivia´s means of trade. For Chile, it meant they now controlled the trade on the Western Coast. They developed a strong relationship with England and even sided with them when Argentina had a disagreement with the Queens nation. There are still tensions present.

We visited the political square and had our photos taken with the political guards. These fellas are chosen, not only because of their skill, but because of their looks. The are the best ´stock´Chile has. They stand at 6ft, with a strong build and look intimidating with their batons and guns. Chilians generally are small stocky people. Apparently if you snag one of these guys, it´s a bit of a status thing.



As our tour around the city continued, we could see glimpses of the Andes surrounding the city. Their snowy caps occassionally peeped through the smoggy haze.
Our tour took us through the newest development are in Santiago. Here the street scaping is pristine, the roads are not cracked or broken, the buildings are distractingly modern and the footpaths are clear of all poor people. Guards activly move them on. It´s expensive, ritzy and reminded me of Surfers Paradise without the beach. But the modern buildings are the pride of the city though as they all withstood the force of the earthquake in February of this year. While in the city centre the older buildings were cracked and stained, these stood strong and maintained their white glow. The cost to Chile following the earthquake stands at 3+ billion dollars (US). Where AUD$1 = 6 pesos, and a cup of bad coffee is 5 pesos, that´s a lot of money.

Following our tour, we were dropped off at the locals fish market. Clutching our bags tightly we wandered through the stalls selling everything from shrimp to abolone, fish to lobsters. We were tempted to try the sea urchin, but thought better of it when we saw where they were prepared. We had lunch in a nice little resturant full of locals and tourists and tucked into some steaming dishes of fish, calamari, octopus, and many other unknown delights. Some locals played some tunes as we drank our pisco sour and filled tummys.

The next morning at 3am, we headed to the airport to catch our flight to La Paz, Bolivia.

Argentina & Brazil

Talk about a whirlwind trip so far! Unfortunately I haven´t had access to internet until arriving in La Paz, Bolivia, so there´s a fair amount to cover!

Buenos Aires, Argentina.

After a very early start to the day on Saturday morning (6am flight 14 August, Melbourne, Australia - thank you so much for taking me to the airport Connie!) I met up with the family in the Sydney International Airport. A sweet but quick reunion had us moving through customs and boarding our Qantas flight to Buenos Aires.

2 films, 3 meals, a great view of the Andes and 13 hours later we touched down in Buenos Aires at 10.30am on the same day.



Our jetlag wasn´t too apparent as we were met by Marcela our Spanish, Portugese & Engligh speaking guide to be. Together with Marcela and our bus driver Juan, we made the 40 minute trip into the city. The drive in had us passing the outter ´villages´ consisting of poor, dusty, handmade shanty houses occupied we were told, by immigrants from Peru, Uraguay and Bolivia. Its difficult to describe just how these labrintine constructions weaved together, abutting walls with rooves and tin balconies with metal scaffolding. If I had to recall a similar image, it would be one of those upside-down and back-to-front 3D posters, or better yet! the goblin Kingdom from the Labrynth with the fair and mulleted David Bowie.

We arrived at our hotel and after settling trouped out to begin exploring downtown. We discovered Aveneda de Florida, a mall strip similar to Queen Street in Brisbane, but far more packed. The Argentinians love to shop! My goodness, do they love it. Between the regular stores there were makeshift stalls running for kilometres down the middle of the street. Laid out on blankets with attentive stall masters, you could purchase anything from tissues to barking toy dogs and scarves to a shoe shine. And people were buying! We wandered and discovered Galleria Pacifico a massive, confusing indoor mall stocked with Argentinian designer goods as well as other more international brands. Nice place, I confess to the purchase of a lovely pair of Argentinian boots.

That night we ducked into a local cafeteria and struggled through our spanish menues to order pizza and empanadas. Suprisingly (or perhaps it was just me that was surprised), there is a massive amount of European influence here in Buenos Aires. Pizza and Pasta are regulars on most menus along with Empanadas and other goodies. For Tommo (the less expereienced traveller) it was a nice gental beginning.

Over the next few days we explored the city, heading to Palermo (the cemetary containing amazing crypts including that of the well loved Evita), Palermo Soho, Ricoletta, San Telmo and Boca. We stopped into a delightful cafe called La Ideal where we sat and watched hours of Tango danced by the locals on their Sunday afternoon. Tango, it was stated proudly, was a massive part of life in Buenos Aires, and if we didn`t see it, we hadn`t really been there.


Four days really was a great length for a taste, but this is a city I can see myself living in sometime in the future. Fabulous place.

Iguazu, Argentina and Brasil

We took a side trip from Buenos Aires for a couple of days to Iguasu to visit the falls. The flight in over 100s of kilometers of jungle and winding rivers landed us in Puerto Iguazu. Its an interesting little place. One small street of not much. A couple of dogs, a couple of sandwich bars and a couple of people selling trinkets.

After settling into our rooms, we ducked out for some lunch at the local bus depot (the best place in town). With less english spoken here in Iguasu, the ordering was a fun experience. Dad, being the devoted vegetarian that he is, was hankering for a salad, while the rest of us went with the local speciality, hamburgers with cheese (which are literally that). Unfortunately after thinking we requested a sandwich without meat, he received a plain bread roll. After sending that one back, he received a buger with the lot (meat patty, cheese, ham, egg, a piece of tomato and a piece of lettuce)... without a bread roll. Vegetariano ensaladas were not a common site in the Puerto Iguasu area.

Following this little debarcle were picked up from our hotel and escorted to Brazillian border. We passed the semi-makeshift security and customs area, received our Braziallian stamps, and headed to the Iguasu Falls.

The falls separate Brazil and Argentina with about 80% of the falls on the Argentinian side, but on the Brazillian side you have ground level access to one particular fall known as The Devils Throat. This magnificent wall of water helps to shift 2 million litres of water per second over the entire falls. In the rainy season, it´s closer to 19 million per second.


We explored the waters edge for a few kilometers in and out of jungle. Saw some interesting local critters and we were soaked by the end of it. The force with which the water slams over the cliffs creates an incredible spray. It was sort of like having a misting spray hurled through a hairdryer and blown in your. Refreshing, but a slightly frustrating view inhibitor. Our tour ended with a nerve-racking elevator ride which nearly didn´t go and a bumpy bus ride back to the hotel.

The next day we visited the Argentinian side of the falls. We walked kilometre long bridges construced right up to the top edge of the falls. The bridges themselves were washed away once during the rainy season. The new bridges stood perhaps 2 metres off the running water which made for a more a adrenaline-based experience. The final platform went right out to the Devils Throat cliffs. We were standing in line with the 100 metre drop watching tonnes and tonnes of liquid being hurled over the edge; the pounding water was so loud the platform seemed to shake!

It was unbelieveable.

There were a few more view points as we worked our way down the falls. They are soo magnificent, it takes us hours. Iguasu is known for being the longest falls in the world. The locals proudly call it the 8th wonder of the world, and I can´t blame them. When we arrived at the parks waiting area, we had some lunch and played some cards, but I think it was all done with the awe of the Falls sitting happily distractingly in the back of our minds.

The next morning, we returned to Buenos Aires.

Ne'er cast thy coat away, ‘til it be the end of May.

I remember as a kid, Mum and Dad reciting the well-worn and much reliant herders’ truism:

‘A red sky at night is a Shephards’ delight.
A red sky in the morning is a Shepherd’s warning.’

Dad in particular was very fond of the ever-inspiring:

‘There’s no time like the present.’

And:

‘Tomorrow, the day that never comes.’

Though these sayings were repeated like skipping records, I have trouble denying that ‘truer words were ever spoken’. So when I had a new saying come my way today, I thought that it was best not ‘let sleeping dogs lie’, but to rattle that cage and tell the world.

As I was sitting in my stiflingly over-heated, under-insulated office in London it began to snow. I’d been allowing ‘the devil to find work for my idle hands’ through procrastination (‘that thief of time’) while gazing dreamily out our office window. I was just resting.

To my stark surprise small white flakes had begun to descend from London’s stiflingly low, off-white clouds, and as they sauntered southward I thought to myself: “This can’t be right? It was 16 degrees (c) last week! I didn’t bring my waterproof coat today!”

Hmph. ‘Failing to plan is planning to fail’.

I’m aware that ‘that which doesn’t kill us makes us stronger’ but this thing was fast becoming a serious snow storm! Heavy rice-like confetti was soon plummeting toward the earth, only to be scooped, separated and chased around the sky like a hover of trout by the menacing, icy winds.

“Ne’er cast thy coat away, ‘til it be the end of May,” chanted Barbara, my well-versed English boss.

Stop! That’s a new one, I thought. But not so new to the UK as it was for me. Apparently this good advice has been circulating since the 1800s. Having said that, how come I didn’t know that? I’m sure I’d heard some variation or the likes somewhere in my travels. But perhaps I’m just an unusual case. It would have been good to know earlier.

These thoughts led me to question how ingrained these proverbial sayings were in our common cultures. I know I tend to pull a few out occasionally, but do I really use them in the right contexts? Should I be taking many of them as literally as I do? Of course, I’d never asked because it was ‘better to remain silent and be thought a fool that to speak and remove all doubt’. Or was it?

I guess it’s an interesting query given our vastly changing languages. Will the old sayings evolve with the technology and time?

Could we soon be saying:

A text at night means the weather’s alright.

Or:

Use and Apple each day, it keeps the virus’s at bay.

I s’pose we can only ‘roll with the punches’ and know that ‘if you can’t beat em, join em.’ ‘It’s no use stressing over spilt milk’ (slight adaptation there).

Just remember: ‘Speak softly and carry a big stick.’

What the hell does that mean!?

When enough is enough?

It's one thing to ask someone to turn down their music because it’s invasively loud, but at what point does it become inappropriate for you to defend your sensibilities and speak your mind? A couple of classic situations afflicted me during the second leg of my trip to London, during which time I spent the 12 hours pondering this very question.

Situation 1: The flight was with Korean Airlines from Seoul and passengers were predominantly of Asian origin, so to begin with I was a minority voice. I was lucky enough to be seated in the same row as a middle-aged Korean man with a loud and somewhat concerning cough. This gentleman was generous enough to share his exposure and its flemmy existence with all those around him by not covering his mouth at all when coughing. And let me tell you, that thing could have deafened a small child. Between hocks and gurgles I didn’t do much to hide my uncomfortable disgust which I’m sure hit home a number of times, but should I have taken that extra step and said ‘please cover your mouth, I don’t want to see down that gaping hole in your head.’ Or perhaps ‘Dude, seriously, cover your mouth, your infecting us all.’

I was actually much more civil and simply turned my back, stuck in the earplugs and went to sleep, but was it my right to say something? What would you have done?

Situation 2: It my attempts to escape the wheezing bagpipe beside me I was forced to direct my glances straight ahead. However this caused me yet another ponderable quandary. The couple in front appeared to be engaged in some sort of avian-like courtship complete with endless pecking, preening and the ever-aesthetic beak-meeting-meal-transference. Yummy! I was sure their little ramba had to conclude with her shaking her maracas for the last time in a frustrated shimmy, but no! They had a dance for every occasion and every single solitary hour. From samba to waltz to foxtrot, these kids had a move for all occasions. I became more than frustrated when trying to watch the in-flight movie over their bobbing, bopping, giggling apparently uncontrollably, wobbly craniums and even allowed myself the pleasure of a kick or two on the backs of their seats, all to no effect.

I think the thing that also really bothered me in addition to the close proximity of our seats was their complete and oblivious disregard for the cultures they were travelling with. I wasn’t the only person made uncomfortable by their hapless foreplay; the folks in rows beside and in front of them were trading uneasy glances and the airhostesses were lost for words when offering meals and drinks.

Should I perhaps have bypassed those satisfying seat kicks and portrayed my disapproval with a cup-full of cold water, or maybe a gentle talk about the birds and bees and the distinct lack of flowers and trees to approve such actions on the plane?

Despite these exciting activities, I made it to London and back to good old Clapham without further incident. Until the next instalment!