a bird's eye view...

"he's a great player! -
it's just that he's never yet
played his normal game"...

(the 'bird' in question being the loyal girlfriend, of course)

passing ships in the night...

the open face and
sparkling eyes - the touch, the look
and the sad goodbyes...

- sometimes you can't help but wonder "what if?'...

********************************************

The best-laid plans of mice and men, and all that...
I've gone and put my back out - it happens about once a year, has done all my life. So I now find myself in Hostel Lao, just voted Hostelworld's No. 1 hostel (hospital?) in Latin America. Don't know what swung it for them - the free wine (from 8:00pm, Tuesday - Saturday), the a/c in the bedrooms, the comparative lack of size - or...and the clue's in 'swung it'...the hammocks (and swimming pool) in the garden. There are far worse places to recuperate - and a hammock's about the only place in Mendoza I can be totally pain-free right now. Whether it's actually doing my back any good, well, that's another matter. But lazing in a hammock, glass of wine in one hand and Monsignor Quixote in the other, is the best form of alternative medicine/adventure tourism I can think of right now (Graham Greene's 'Monsignor Quixote', I hasten to add).
Touch wood, 'the back thing' tends to go away of its own accord within a few days. So here's hoping...
Unusually, Hostel Lao's one of four hostels I've stayed in in Mendoza on my two visits to the city. A bad back in any of the others would have been far more problematic. (I was in a top bunk in hostel No. 3 when it happened - it's all dorms in Argentina, sadly - and it took me a good half-hour (nothing 'good' about it), and God knows how many attempts, just to climb out of it).
Life-threatening? Well, yes - if I'd been able to reach my sympathetic companions who I really don't think were trying that hard not to laugh...

PS: Typical. What do you want to win when you can hardly walk? Free tango lessons! I just won the raffle at the local tango club - great amusement as, bent double, I made to pick up my prize (slight poetic license, there - Herman, one of Hostel Lao's receptionists, was with me, and he did the honours, to be honest).
Still in love with the whole tango-culture thing...and, as I write, a sudden huge improvement in the back. So, with a bit of luck, it'll be all systems go in a day or so and on with the show, 'the greatest show on earth' (well, that and 'Phantom', of course): the very earth itself - the South American bit of it, at least.
Sorry...probably a bit over the top - put it down to the euphoria of a speedy recovery...

mirror, mirror on the wall...

the camera never
lies - just beauty, in the eye
of the beholder...


- hey, you see what you want to see...

**********************************************

I'm in Mendoza, after Buenos Aires probably my favourite Argentinian city.
No 'probably' about it, really - awash with luxuriant trees and continental-style outdoor cafes, it's a pleasure to walk round. I was here for a few days before taking a detour to 'La Reserva Payunia' (Feb 2 blog). But, golly-gosh, it ain't half hot, mum. Stifling, in fact - till the last day or so, at least. The bus back here from Malargüe (the gateway to Payunia) was nothing short of a mobile sauna.
The only thing I plan to do here, apart from loafing/absorbing/taking my leave of the tango is to take a bicyle wine tour - calling in on 4 vineyards, apparently (for quality control purposes). What 'health & safety' wallahs would have to say about that, God only knows. But this is the very heart and soul of Argentina's wine-growing region, so when in Rome...(and there are, indeed, more than a few similarities - even without my daily intravenous fix of gnocchi).
This is my last stop in Argentina, so I'm making the most of it - and why not: who knows if or when we'll ever meet again...'appreciate everything, take nothing for granted,' isn't that the way?

it's cheesecake v apple pie in the final of The Plate...

slice & serve, slice &
serve, slice & serve - seems this match
could go either way...


if this is a tennis analogy, who's the cheesecake?...

greater love hath no man...

our relationship's
doomed, apparently - should I
notice her new zit...


- hey, we've all been there...

this pedestal I've put you on's scarily high, though...(sorry)

us? we'd all die if
we jumped off the top of our
egos - not you, though...

you show us the way, but we're unable to follow...

I'll name that loon in one...

Princess Anne was named
after me. How long after,
I'm really not sure...

Carlos Tevez: a nose by any other name...

If your nose never
stopped running, would you pick it?
For your team? (I would)

might as well get all the football-related pieces out of the way while I'm at it - and might as well make it Tevez, as I´m currently a guest in his country...

went to a great match last weekend - I think...

sad, but how many
of this Saturday's matches
will end in divorce?...


- the perfect match?...let's hope so. Let's also hope that it's only in sport that a perfect match still invariably involves heartache for someone...

Men United...

forget marriage - a
match made in heaven's between
two great elevens...

...what's more, if a match is made in heaven, there probably is no 'better half'...

(please note: the views expressed in '17 syllables plus' are for entertainment purposes only and do not necessarily represent my real opinions, which, when it comes to football culture, are pretty well unprintable - 'kiss my badge'? - kiss my ar*e...just how many clubs can a player be loyal to in one career?)

it's a football thing...

taking from the rich (Man City) - and he did - and giving to the poor (Brazil): 'ROBINHO OD & His Merry Band of Men' is now 'Santos'...

- still a folk hero back home, despite so many underwhelming performances for City. Od, indeed...

(nonmalignant) growth...

I keep on searching -
but it's hard when you don't know
what you're looking for...


...if the answer lies anywhere, was it right there in front of me at 'La Reserva Payunia', a truly vast otherwordly volcanic landscape (the world's highest concentration of volcanic cones, apparently - different estimates, but the lowest seems to be 300) that probably holds all the secrets of the universe to anyone who knows even the slightest bit about geology. Which ain't me, sadly.
Why isn't this place well-known? Even the group of Argentinians I was with said they had no idea such a unique area existed right here on their doorstep. And I was certainly the only Westerner in our particular group (there were about 15 of us). I just happened to have read in an out-of-date guidebook about this 'ride of a lifetime'. Little mention of it since - maybe it disgraced itself. Hyperbole or no, suffice it to say it would certainly get to the televised stages of any Simon Cowell show. Wouldn't necessarily win.
Inaccessibility probably comes into it. Why else, for instance, should Niagara (relative crap) be a household word, whilst Iguazu Falls (a true wonder of nature) remains relatively unknown?
But it's late - I shall proceed to ponder this over a cerveza negra. And doubtless more bloody 'noquis' (gnocchi - can't resist it at the moment)...

Malargüe, Argentina.

thank you, Mr Hefter - we'll let you know...

"Do as you would be
done by," you say?...Great! - I like
to be done by 4:00...

turn up, cough up and shut up...

"my digs?...like a home
from home, mate - my mum never
speaks to me, either"...


- nighttime on the road's not always a (bunk)bed of roses...

a confirmed bachelor...

"you'd follow me to
the ends of the earth? - pah! I'd
lose you at the lights"...

cordon (sacre) bleu...

when 'boil in bag's the
content - and not the cooking
method - eat elsewhere...

hear that? - I could have sworn I heard something...

"This is how the old
feel," read the graffiti. In
invisible ink...

hell on earth - with chips: a traveller's guide on where to sleep...

4-bed dorm - fine...
6-bed dorm - at a pinch...
8-bed dorm - struggling...
10-bed dorm - why am I travelling?...
12-bed dorm - purgatory...
Beni-dorm - (you're way ahead of me)

they say the last thing to go is your sense of humour...

"my God, is there no
escape?" quipped the deaf-mute - in
invisible ink...

but no-one else saw the joke - obviously...

**************************************************

"good things come to those
who wait," he continued, "like
death, for example"...

(in all honesty, it hadn't been a great day)

a relationship based on trust (funds)

my wife and I've a
lot in common - she's got a
lot, and I'm common...

hey! I'm as sane as the next octopus...

"Don't ignore me, I'm
here!" screamed my graffiti. In
invisible ink...

Off the wall? Clearly not. It's invisible graffiti - the latest craze to sweep the country - only nobody's quite realized it yet.
It can't be seen in some of the very best places...

soul mates...

the exosphere?...that's
the furthest thing from my mind -
but you knew that, right?...

I leave you with this slightly amended version of one of my favourites...

In the meantime, the well appears to have dried up and a jaded old brain seems to be crying out for a break. I hope this is only a temporary situation.
As I don't want this to be just a travelogue - that was never the idea - I'll be taking a break for...well, who knows how long? Alas, not I...

"Hasta no se cuando"...

how hard can writing
seventeen syllables be? -
"suddenly, very"...

take it or leave it...

when it comes to booze,
those who can't leave it often
can't take it, either...

if a thing's worth doing, it's worth doing well...

"So. You say you've got
amnesia? Forget it,
sunshine" - "Forget what?"...

a fan laments...

the whole bloody team's
as daft as a brush - yet none
of them's a sweeper...


I was about to make an impulse buy a couple of days ago. A football match between Independiente & River (Plate). A top match. But then I was told it started at 10:00pm, and in a stadium a fair way out of town, not the one where I was attempting to buy a ticket. I realized then that I wasn't really that motivated. 10:00pm? Who would have guessed?
Also failed in my quest to find the aforementioned 'Tangueria' (see previous blog). Or rather, I found it, but it wasn't going to open till Saturday - and I'm leaving on Friday.
I think I'll drown my sorrows in a carton of cheap local red plonk - I intend to make an impulse buy in about 45 minutes...

obesity - a glimpse into the future...

"a pound of cheese and
a bag of spuds, please" - "to eat
in or to go, sir?"...


In praise of 'Viejo Jack' (the restaurant)...

I'm not a huge steak eater - and this was a huge steak, more than likely the largest I've ever eaten. Thicker even than the thickest of Big Brother contestants. Well - not Calum Best, probably. Twice as tasty, though.
I couldn't remember when I'd last actually truly enjoyed a meal (you don't travel to Chile or Bolivia for the food, certainly not at the budget end).

Joke: I know now why it's called 'Viejo Jack' - to raise the replete old man (viejo) out of his chair after the meal, you need a bloody jack...

*******************************************************************

It took a while, but I finally managed to catch up with the tango yesterday. Sadly, it's still a spectator sport for me - it's a dance you can't just muddle through - but I caught a good two hours' worth last night. It's quite something to see the most unlikely characters take to the floor and be transformed by the passion of the dance - even though it's not as big here as in Buenos Aires (not even the tourist offices could direct me anywhere). But I've located a 'Tangueria', a locals' tango club some distance away, and hope to go there tonight. That's the plan, anyway...

Salta, Argentina.

a tosser's night out...

'heads' we get plastered
in the public bar - 'tails': it's
leathered in the lounge...

bloody cheek! (the left one)

Blood was everywhere.
"You're nicked!" said the cop. Since when
was shaving a crime?...

a penny short of a shilling...

"Same again, barman" -
"But you've not had one yet" - "Make
it a double, then"...

travel...

as a kid, I knew
I'd go far - what I didn't
know was how often...

Salta, how beautiful thou art...

bugger the people -
it's the buildings here that are
the salta the earth... ('haha'...or maybe just 'ha')

Just how many soulless concrete monstrosities, rusting corrugated roofs and exposed steel rods should one man be expected to put up with?
To walk into Salta's main square is to fall instantly in love with it. All the outstanding beauty that nature has had to offer these last two or three months has been in inverse proportion to the rubbish-strewn utilitarian nature of the urban areas. For the towns and villages themselves have been noticeably lacking in visual splendour. Until now. Shut your eyes, and you could be on the Via Veneto in Rome (not too long, mind - you want to live to tell the tale).
I love Argentina - I must have spent the best part of a year here all told - and it's good to be back (though this is my first time in Salta). Gnocchi (good food in general - it's been quite a while), the tango, cafe society, beautiful women - what more could a man ask for (and realistically hope to be given?) Suddenly, I feel very scruffy: my shoes are falling apart and my t-shirt's becoming an unholy mess - or rather, a holey one. But what the heck - I'm off for a wander...and probably a period of silence.
(This'll all soon wear off - I can't spend all my time in the square. But it'll be nice while it lasts. And then I shall be embarrassed by all this initial enthusiasm.)
The journey here from San Pedro de Atacama, Chile, was memorable for two reasons, by the way: the absurd third-world border crossing which took well over three hours, and the absolutely stunning switchback descent of the Andes - a laughably beautiful and dramatic couple of hours or so. The whole journey took the best part of twelve hours, and a good time was had by all.
My time's about up here - in the cyber cafe - so I'm off for a slow something or other in the square (this may be a cyber 'cafe', but there's bugger-all to drink here and I'm absolutely parched).
A bid you both a hasty farewell...

it seems it was ever thus...

I declare neither
excess baggage nor love. I
just carry you round...


do you fancy Argentina tomorrow?...

from 'nearest & dearest' to, well - dearest...

to my dear ex-wife:
at thirty grand a year, you
most certainly are...


It must be the Atacama - my sense of humour's never been so dry...

some love it hot...

"Priscilla, Queen of
the Atacama Sutra":
she came, she saw, she*!*?***...


So dry is it in the Atacama Desert, recognized as the world's driest, that not even Priscilla, the infamous Queen of the Desert, reigns here (haha). She's just here on her hols from down under. From down under whom, she wouldn't say.
It's Chile again (especially at night) after a 3-day 'tour' by Land Cruiser from Uyuni, Bolivia, to here - 'here' being San Pedro de Atacama. And at around 2,500m, this is the 'lowest' I've been for quite a while. I'm not really into tours, but there was no better way of getting back into Chile. There are only dirt tracks on the Bolivian side, and no public transport as such, so it was a 'no-brainer', really. I've repeated what I did many years ago, but the spectacular nature of the trip more than justified going over some old ground (I think the itinerary/route has changed over the years).
The journey started with a hell of a bang: the 'Salar de Uyuni' is the world's largest salt flat (12,106sq km, at an altitude of 3,653m). One of the world's most unique (can you say that?), and certainly flattest, landscapes, and quite surreal when mirages come into play. A real joy. Stopping off at the 100% salt hotel en route. There were six of us (and a cook and driver/guide): 2 Swiss-Germans, 2 Israelis, an Argentine and yours truly. One of whom, oddly enough, was also made entirely of salt. Or might as well have been...

Made of Salt...

"why would you want to
go to Antactica? - there's
nothing to do there"...

...the same was said of the 'Isla de Las Pescadores', an incredibly attractive cactus-laden 'island' in the middle of the sea of salt: "why climb to the top? (not that far) - the view's the same as down here...". 'Why travel at all?' I wondered. We were a disparate lot.
After the Salar de Uyuni there followed mile upon mile of stark and soul-stirringly beautiful nothingness ("it's OK," said 'made of salt'), stopping off at variously-coloured lagoons, home to three different types of flamingo and overlooked imperiously by volcanoes, as well as at some other especially noteworthy 'otherworldly' sites and a 4,850m high geyser basin, all 'bubbling mud pots, hellish fumaroles and nauseating sulfur fumes'. And don't forget the hot springs. We overnighted in San Juan, an adobe village boasting an ancient burial site with mummies still in situ, and in some basic National Park accommodation, transferring by bus to Chile.
We had just travelled through what is allegedly one of the world's harshest wilderness areas. And I can well believe it.
Not owning a car, and not often being in one, just being chauffered around such a visual feast for hours on end, with actual food thrown in, was fun in itself. On day two, especially, we had set off at 6:00am and had the whole world to ourselves. Or so it seemed (we hadn't wanted to be part of what would otherwise have been the backpackers' equivalent of the Dakar Rally). It was great.
But that was then, and this is now. For it's all changing - it's becoming increasingly expensive and increasingly busy on the one hand, and the lakes themselves are disappearing at an alarming rate of knots. Uyuni is far busier than it had been all those years ago, and San Pedro, where I now am, and of which I have fond, if rather vague, memories, is all but unrecognizable. My guidebook describes it as a highland adobe-Disneyland. If it hasn't quite sold its soul to the backpacker dollar, it's well on its way. Take away the backpackers and it would be some sort of adobe paradise. But you can't take them away. So I decided to take myself away. I've booked transport for Friday (tomorrow) - the first available to my next destination - which has left me three nights here. There are 1,001 things to do in the area, but I did 3 of them last time and I found I had no great desire to do anything organised this time round. It's just all too commercialised - and, yes - I know I'm a part of it. I'm not saying I've had my fill of beauty, but I mustn't be greedy and I'd rather have a bit of personal space for a couple of days. Having said that, I'm in a 4-bed dorm, my first dormitory accommodation for yonks, as far as I remember. 3 or 4 yonks, probably. Putre, I think it was - and that didn't count. Needs must.
I did take a bus to Tocanoa yesterday, though, a traditional Andean village with (presumably) traditional Andean breeze-blocks, 38 km from here. Not great. Or maybe it's me who's made of salt? But at least it was tourist-free. The best part of my last hour there was spent sitting in the little square on the only bench in the shade - facing the public toilets (Varones $200, Damas $200 - for the record), which about summed it up. But, no - to be honest, the best part was probably watching the few cars getting stuck in the sand. Time flew by, which is more than the cars did. I need counselling.
PS: On the way back, just outside of Tocanoa - and sadly, I hadn't realized how close it indeed was - I caught but a fleeting glimpse of an enchanted forest/garden at the bottom of a miniature canyon/gorge/gash in the altiplano, a magically hidden and incredibly green oasis and the starkest of contrasts to the surrounding miles of greyness. I know now where I could spend the rest of my life...

last seen as a pop song, apparently...

that Atacama
Cama Chameleon - by
George, it's well disguised!...

the staff of life - about the only staff I can afford these days...

I'm a great fan of
spelt bread - (that's 'misspelt', of course,
if you're dyslexic)...

you know how it is with women and shoes...

my brother and I,
we're a right pair of heels - but
hey, the perks are great!...

never say dye ("it's tint, innit?")

my wife has never
forgotten her roots - gets 'em
done four times a year...


(I love shocking her - just to see the colour drain from her hair)

not the lightweights...

when it comes to news
programmes, do stick-in-the-muds
make the best anchors?

half-time: bring on the dancing horses...

half-men, half-time: no
wonder our subs are known as
the 'centaur forwards'...


more on the morrow...

sue me? - you wouldn't have a leg to stand on...

that amputee's as
fit now as he was when he
was on his last legs...

vath - lifestyle guru (by appt.)

if you must cut out
something from 'wine, women and
song', make it the 'and'...

extreme bus travel...

by train or bus? - 'the
hare and the tortuous', by
any other name...

Bolivia lays claim to having, "officially", the road's most dangerous road. And no, it's not the road from Tupiza to Uyuni, though that might well appear right up there in the charts, too. The Tupiza to Uyuni road, however, might well lay claim to being one of the most extreme bus routes in the world, especially in the wet. For the state of the roads and the state of the buses. It's 'only' a journey of 130 miles, but it took us 20 hours. That's 20 hours. Which probably works out at an average speed of minus 5 mph. I might have appreciated the fun a bit more had I not been way too worried about the possibility of my imodium not working: having the runs on this journey, in a bog-standard rust-bucket but without the bog, would have truly turned the whole thing into a nightmare. And I hadn't exactly reckoned on 20 hours' worth of travel...
The journey, all on narrow rough-and-ready dirt roads (a journey I was having to take because the alternative train service had been suspended, see previous blog) started off fine - miles of spectacular and often weird-and-wonderful scenery, plenty of awe-inspiring views looking down precipitous slopes onto isolated pockets of civilization in their wonderfully attractive adobe outposts, wandering llamas and other camelids (I still get confused between them all) and a no-nonsense driver who seemed to really be an a mission. Or at least on a promise. We were making good time. He begrudged us even toilet breaks...but maybe he knew what was in store. For suddenly - bang! Full-stop. We were trapped by rampaging floodwaters. It had been raining a while, but not excessively, I'd thought. But there was no way through. Or back. So, from 6:00pm till 6:00am the following morning, we just stayed put. This is the altiplano, mind - and I was dressed in a t-shirt and shorts. Boy, was it cold. The body heat from 35 passengers provides a certain amount of warmth, but sleep was nigh-on impossible. And I was still worrying about my 'complaint'. The other passengers were all dressed for Antarctica (and had been able to get to their baggage - I hadn't). Anyway, we survived the night and eventually made the 'crossing' once the waters had subsided somewhat. Deep sighs of relief. Then, bugger me, the same again. Another rampaging torrent. Another long delay - and this time I really thought we'd be spending the rest of the day there. But, to cut a long story short, we eventually changed buses and the second, more compact, bus then charged full-pelt at the water and, to cheers all round, managed to climb the bank on the other side. We were home and dry-ish.
And the imodium worked.
We arrived at Uyuni at 9:00 am, and I am now writing this as I wait for my hotel room to become free. Tired, dirty, in love with imodium and looking forward to my next 'adventure', tomorrow or the day after, which will probably be a doddle after all this.
Silence till then, as promised...

the forecast: relatively wet...

The sun has got its hat on,
And it's buggered off to Spain -
So it's passed the bloody baton
To its second cousin - rain...

***************************************************

Did I say something about unforeseen circumstances, the state of the railway here and the amount of time spent just.....waiting? (Jan 5 blog.) Well, bugger me if old Nostradamus here didn't get it spot on for once as all three of the aforementioned conspired to come together for a spectacular grand finale.
As I had mentioned previously, I'd already had to queue twice for a train ticket back to Uyuni. Well, it turned out I then had to board the train twice, too. (Doing things at the double, so to speak - but the slow version.) The first time we took our seats - a bit of a scramble in the pouring rain - we dutifully waited...and waited...and waited...and after a good two hours the announcement came that due to problems caused by said rain, could we please come back tomorrow morning at 8:00...and hey, be sure to have a nice evening, now.
So back to the 'residencial' it was - in what by now was mere drizzle - where my faithful old room was luckily still free (and at less than two pounds a night it almost was free, anyway). How much had it rained? Let's just say I had the choice of the deep end or the shallow end in my room. (Though, in all honesty, I hadn't thought the downpour that excessive. But what the heck...)
At the crack of dawn this morning (it pays to be early) it was back to the station. And back onto the train. And then - bang! Some dozing passengers informed me there would be no train, and there wouldn't be one for at least another three days...and hey, be sure to have a nice day, now.
I can't say I was at all surprised, and, not having a tight schedule, I was pretty relaxed about it all. 'Developing country mode,' and all that.
So it's going to be the bus - about 12 hours, I believe: tortuous and picturesque, by all accounts, and more than twice the price, which I hadn't realized. And, you guessed it, another 5 hour wait - an hour of which was spent getting a refund. The concept of having a 'kitty' doesn't seem to exist here, so you can imagine the length of time it's going to take to repay the masses - that, combined with a lack of ability when it comes to mental arithmetic. It seems I was the only Westerner due to travel on the train today (I certainly hadn't seen any the day before, just Argentinian backpackers) and I had to forfeit some of my precious change just to help keep the queue moving. Luckily, I was near the front.
Not much else to do at the moment - no eating establishments were open when my business, at least, had been sorted out, so I came to this internet place to while away some time. Writing this all down has served at least one good purpose - I can now leave and have a relaxed 'desayuno' (breakfast).
And now - barring any further misfortunes - it will be radio silence for a few days. Hasta luego, amigos y amigas...tengo hambre (I'm hungry).

PS. (an hour or so later, still a bit of time to kill, and this internet place is as good a place as any - also forgot to check on something): forget 'relaxed' - my stomach's still not A1, I suddenly realize/am reminded, so I've just bought some imodium, counterfeit or not (it's too cheap) and am crossing my fingers madly.

And maybe I'll stop off at the church after this and say a few prayers...

it's just another mass market now...

I drove to the niche
market this morning - but they'd
already sold out...

*************************************

Unless something unforeseen occurs, I shall be maintaining radio silence for a few days - for the best part of four of those days I'll anyway have no access to a computer.

See you anon...

I lost 7 pounds yesterday...

I tip the scales at
14 stone. When I do tip
the scales, though - it's less...


- just a gentle leaning back on the balls of the feet does it...

"Rotavator," he added - once he'd calmed down...

"We'll call it..."MONTY
PYTHON!" - "Pip-pip" and "Wow!" roared
Michael Palindrome...


Thus was born, in 1969, 'Monty Python's Flying Circus' - a head of its time (the one with the flip-top lid, right?)

***********************************************

Talking of 'The Life of Brian'...

...listening to the radio this morning, it's so sad how so many branches of Western religion pray on the gullible, the naive, the ill-educated and ill-informed: the third world, basically (and North America - oops) - a charlatan's paradise...

(Have you seen the size of the arenas these so-called evangelists can fill in the States? Hallelujah!)

it's so you, darling...

if you really want
to look tough, wear a little
ruff round the edges...

***********************************************

This is becoming a bit like Twitter: "for breakfast today I had 2 salteñas & a licuado de platano con leche (pastie-type-things and a banana milkshake-type-thing) and this evening I take the choo-choo train back to Uyuni".
It's hard not to write at least something about your travels when you have the means at your disposal. Despite my best intentions, this blog is fast becoming the written equivalent of verbal diarrhoea - which is pretty appropriate, given my recent travails. Nothing lasts forever, however...

...though I have to say, in my somewhat circuitous defence, when it comes to twittering, you can use up to 140 characters - now that, surely, is the equivalent of verbal diarrhoea when compared to '17 syllables' where precision really is key. One is an art form, the other's, well - crap. I mastered 'crap' years ago, the other I'm still learning. To be fair, twittering could be an art form, it just doesn't seem to be used that way. (Here endeth the lesson.)

"Objection! None of the above excuses the travel waffle"...

"Objection sustained".

I told you the defence was more than a little ropey...

chasing pussies, no doubt...

"Herpes! Here, boy!" (Damned
dog - always disappearing.
Keeps coming back, though)

no wonder I had an upset stomach...

"I'll have 'toasts of palm,
with cookie and golf sauce and
strund of apple', please"...

- taken from the menu of 'Restaurant Pastipizza', Tupiza (not made up). Tupiza has 5 or 6 tourist restaurants, all of them pizza parlours. A deliberate play on words? I don't know. I tend not to go to them, though - they're twice the price and half as interesting as the regular eating places, but sometimes needs must. Mustn't get too precious about these things. And as for the 'golf sauce', do you think they mean 'beanut putter'? Unless you've got a better idea...

los mercados (the markets)

"change? keep it, pet - it's
as good as a rest, and it
looks like you need it"...


- too many stalls and not enough punters - it's a tough old life...