Posted 8:01 PM by Gobbler
The Mines of Bloggia

Ever been in a mine? Ive been down a few over the years, theyve often been quite a treat. Actually, now that i coem to think of it i can only remember being down one and that was in france,and it was fake. But anyway, nothing really compares to Potosi mine Bolivia.

The government shut it down a few decades back because it wasnt making enough money, but the local potosians thought they ould still make a bob or twso out of it and so theyve started their own cooperatives. Mining methods are basic, one major advancement seems to be that they use nitro-glycerine with ammonium dynamite which is a safety improvemnt at least on the old stuff. Apart from that its picks, shovels, hammers and wheelbarrows, with the odd electric winch and pneumatic drill. And theyve got kids working down there. It all reminded me a bit of the pictures i saw in my history books of the appalling mining practices in place in england in the mid 19th century. Grim grim grim.

Now, picture in your mind what a mine looks like. The underground part i mean. And I'm talking kind of old fashioned ones without huge machines in them. You're probably thinkinhg of, if you have any idea at all, long dimly lit tunnels with railway tracks on which wagons are pulled by horses or people that end at a lift shaft on one end and the pit face at the other. With a few other passages going this way and that.

not so potosi miine. Firstly, they dont go in for lights much. the lights the miners use are fueled by calcium carbonate. Get some rocks of calcium carbonate, add water, and a flammable gas is given off. pipe this to the nozzle on your helmet, strike a match and hey presto light you have. cheaper than batteries. There are long tunnels going from the winch shaft to the pit face, but there are hundreds of 'pit faces'. Very often on our three hour crawl about we would get to a junction with about five possible routes. left right forward, up down, any conceivable direction. Often you would look above you to find not the tunnel roof but a combination of wooden beams and lumps of rock betraying the presence of a pathway above. Often you'd be making your way merrily along a tunnel (walking, crouching, crawling) when there would be a hole in the ground, to the left, the right and sometimes right across. This is the entrance to another tunnel. Sometimes we skipped across it, sometimes we went down, sometimes we climbed up. You could barely go five metres without coming across another passage. And remember, this is a working, fully functional mine. If you stopped to take a breath, chances were you could hear tapping from somewhere around you, or had to make way for a kid pushing a barrow full of ore. Occasionally we came across actual miners (the kids dont mine i.e. work at the faces, they just barrow stuff about) digging, setting dynamite, manually winching 40 kg bags of rubble from the level below. Thats the other important factor here. In the cooperative mine that we were in (and there are many seperate ones all in the same mountain) there were 15 levels. At one poitn i think we got down to level 7 and the last tunnel was 100 metres below us. This place is big. A little tip. Do not wonder off on your ownon this tour. You will never get out. You will wander around the innumerable tunnels til you snuff it. There may well be 420 odd entrances to the mine but i'm buggered if you'll find one. After 8 hours your calcium carbonate lamp will die (or after two hours in my case, that was fun.) and you'll stumble along tunnels with a worrying number of holes in the floor. Then you to will die. Dotn hget lost. And there are no maps.

Its a wonder that potosi hill or mountain hasnt imploded. There cant be much of it left. the minig seems indiscriminate ( i know, lets try that way) and its incredible that there arent many more accidents. People down there sometimes work 24hr shifts. Be glad of your office job. Mind you, you cant let of dynamite in your office.

Blog, Blog Like the wind.

That was the day before yesterday. Yesterday i travelled to Tupiza, jump off point for tours to see the last resting place of Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, the last place they robbed someone, the last place they shot someone. You can do a three day horse trek, but i dont have time. Instead i today went on a (private) 6 hour trek with Diego my 15 year old guide. It was a treat.

Cruising through cacti ridden plains, big rocks and stuff was very esplenidido. I would even say fantastic, for that is what it was ;) but i will go no further as im bored of trying to explain scenery.

The horse had some funny name that i did not try to memorise. Instead i renamed him for the dy and called him. 'Loco'. This is because Loco went like a train and was as mad as a hatter. Due to the strikes in bolivia the few weeks past, there havent been many tourists and so the horses were fresh. Loco was keen. He was also scared by anything made out of plastic or metal that he came across on the path (thankfully not too much) and bucked and reared when he did usually quite out of the blue. That side, galloping through the countryside (no exaggeration, i did gallop and everything) was a real treat. Until I lost my left stirrup and fell off.

Let me clarify this. I did not lose the stirrup in the normal sense. When i picked my bruised self off the ground the stirrup was still attached to my foot. The buckle had bent and when i tried to slow down for some oncoming people it gave way leaving me putting half my weight on thin air. Never try this at home, unless in a controlled environment. You will see that putting weight of any measure on air is a practice doomed to unsatisfactory results. And so all of a sudden i slipped over to my left and after a couple of desperate seconds hanging on to the saddle with my hand i leapt off.

I'd like to say i did it with considerable style and panache but it is not in my nature to lie. But I'm fine, and didn't need all that skin on my left knee anyway. Diego repaired as best he could and the remaining journey was somewhat slower. Due to the nature of the activity my arse has taken a thorough beating and you should all be appreciative of my dedication to sit here on this hard chair to blog on for britain. My thighs also kill as does my back. I dont remember getting a sore back from riding a horse before but i guess 6 hours of vigourously bouncing up and down doesnt do the back any favours. Now, Ive had people tell me that it actually doesnt take six hours of bouncing up and down to get a sore back but i thought they were just bragging.

Tonight at three thirty in the morning i'm off to Argentina. Thats a convenient time isnt it? The big fat a-holes.

Evil Uncle: I believe you are wrong. I think it was something about onanists being indestructable. Laura: Well yes, i vaguely remember the tank essay. Its all about the tanks (its also all about the trains, never forget that) People dont know enough about tanks! Mr T. was secretly impressed. And i really think that now that you are a professional and all your days of exceesive drinking and memory loss should be drawing toa close and not just beginning. That said, good work. Kat: pink flaminos do really exist dont they? it says in my book that they do. as i sit in this pub in Bognor England making all this rot up over a couple fo pints of Fosters. And i did read the Bundt cake stuff, and was disconcerted. In my book if its not Battenburg cake it isnt cricket. And there are millions of methods of preparation. The Anonymous Cheesemonger: not a bad idea. tinderstick: Escaped form the possibly dangerous clutches of Bob. And Miss Guatemala never stood a chance...

Posted 8:23 PM by Gobbler
Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Blog

Will come later...

Yeah, so we were on bubbling geysers and red lagoons. It all sounds a bit fantastic and if i were you I'd be suspecting Mr. Nicholas James Goulden, author of Goulden Moments (a name he did not create. It and the site were the product of the generosity and imagination of Rachel and Dan (who now appears to have accepted the disturbing appellation of 'Babba', a disturbing and perturbing state of affairs.) Hello you two, you still havent seen a postcard but i am grateful.) to be wholly guilty of telling hideous numbers of heinous porky pies. But oi tell you thats the way it was, it really was fantastic.

The numerous rock formations and the pre-inca ruins "No one knows what the hell these ruins are doing here or when they were built or by whom or what purpose they served, but heres a bull-excrement story that usually keeps the tourists happy" (thats whet he meant to say but it somehow got lostr in the translation...) that were quite interesting. The scenery as a whole (very big) made the whole experience unique. I was the only guy with tapes (im a luddite) bar the driver, and bolivian music never has made it big on the world scene (anyone heard of those pan-pipe geniuses 'Hawaii'?) and so it was my music for a few days until tom pulled some tapes out of his rucksack.(not a luddite but a northerner, a subtle difference which is all to do with spending all his spare money on pies and pints of bitter rather than electronic goods (oh and by the way the pie factory in uruguay is called Fray Bentos)) This meant we rumbled through the fantastic bolivian altiplano rocking to such classics as 'Queen Greatest Hits 2', 'The Ultimate Collection', 'Under Milk Wood', 'Good Evening Ladies and Gentlemen', 'Old Times New Starts' and 'The Final Treat' among others. Thankyou fellas, you know who you are. Theres nothing quite so surreal as charging through the altiplano listening to 'Pretty Woman' by whoever it was (no pretty woman, the kind i'd like to meet. no blinking street either. Just a load of llamas. now theyre cute but things have not got that desperate) or 'Mrs Robinson' (Bob pipes up: "oh, this is great. A great slice of America. You guys listen to this stuff?") or the theme tune to Where Eagles Dare (Tom: "I know this!" "It's bloody wicked innit mate" I return "Err, yeah, real good..." I think i was more impressed than anyone else at that one. Filipo seemed to like it tho.) and so on. Hours and hours while rolling through some of the worlds most extraordinary scenery. As i believe i have mentioned.

Then we arrived at the main salt flat, salar de uyuni. Big, white and salty. it got a hotle on it made out of blocks of sand, and an island near the middle from where you can take pictures. We were all hungover fromt he night before, (details coming necxt) and in quite a silly mood, so took lots of pensive pictures of each of us. if theres anywhere in the world you wnat to take a picture of you being pensive, the island on the salar de uyuni isnt a bad bet. its hard not to look thoughtful when youre on a rocky island covered in 20 foot cacti with a shimmering white salt flat behind you and rollocking mountains on the distant horizon. it was a good day.

It ended in uyuni and a bus to Potosi. Another grim bus ride. This time i have but myself to blame. I ahve been told numerous times to bring a blanket on night buses as it gets very cold in the nights. Ive had this in england, thailand, vietnam, the states, guatemala, peru, etc and a host of opther countries not to metion the same advice for flights. Normally these advsories are delivered by lilly-livered pussy-footed batties and i have shunned their advice. Being hard as nails and indestructable and immune to pain and a bloke and all i have paid no attention, and normally i find that a good deal of gritting of teeth and point blank denial of the ambient temperature usually gets me through ok, but on this journey i was cold. There was noone next to me to keep me cold and i was wearing my sandles. Without socks of course (as i am not a monk or over 60 or german i have no legitimate reason to adopt such a practice) which meant that after a while i had to adopt a buddah like position to defrost my toes. i blame noone but myself. and the pillock who forgot to turn the heating on. it was supposed to take 6 hours i think but went on for about 9 and by the time we were shacked up in the rundown hoitel central i was a mess of shivers and quivers. That takes us to yesterday morning at 4 am, but i will leave that to tomorrows blog time. i will regress a little, if i may, and return to the night before last. _It was the last ight ofd the salt flat tour, in the agency hotel on the edge of the salt flats. as chance had it we had quite a good group, and something of a party ensued.

We sat around playing cards for some time Bob had enterprisingly brought a bottle of whiskey and the bar had planty of 1 litre beers. proceedings got under way. After a while the idea of playing drinking games came up. It is to remember that in our jeep there were four english and one american. and what english person do you know who does not relish a good drinking game? Bob went along, but became distinctly suspicious or rather non-committed when i said that the best idea in the world would be to play 'Vegetables'. No one had a clue what i was on about and other ideas were bandied around, but i persisted. Promising that it was the funniest game in the world, i eventually got my way. It was an entertaioning evening.

I first encountered 'Vegetables' during the week long 21st birthday celebrations of the regular contributor to this blog, Hockey Rich. It was a week of unparalleled Bacchanalian (that, kat, is i belive the correct word) debauchery and raucous hoit. It was the week of contortionist crawlings through toilet windows (just how small was that windoe rich? measure it while youre back. and how far off the ground?) and the infamous usual. Of international drinking rules, 21 and Bunnies. Of that bird from Brookside, the impossibly polite footman and a couple of games of snooker (full size tables mind), of, failing he usual usual, "A COUPLE OF BOTTLES OF BEAUJOLAIS!!!" And of Vegetables. The rest deserves a blog of its own and will get one before i die. Vegetables occured the other day and i'll briefly go through it now.

Rule 1: Someone is the Chairman. he tells the rules and has trhe last word on them. Thats me to begin with.

Rule 2: Everyone assumes the name of a vegetable. For example "Potato" or if you so wish "Potato of the King Edward variety." They declare out loud what there vegetable is so that everyone in the circle can hear it.

Rule 3: Starting with the person to the left of the chairman, (or whoever the chairman asks) the person says first their vegetable then the vegetable of someone else in the circle. For example "Carrot, Spinach". "Spinach" then says his/her vegetable then that of some other e.g. "Spinach, Broccoli". And so on.

Rule 4: when everyone gets the hang of that, people select a method of preparation for their vegetable, for example Sun-Dried Pak Choi. The game then continues as before with players including method of preparation e.g. Fricoseed broad bean, slow roasted cucumber.

Rule 5: When players have the hang of this, other rules concerning the vegetable may be introduced, such as the number of times the players have to say their vegetable.

Rule 6: any undue hesitation or mistake incurs a drinking fine.

Rule 7: No-one may show any teeth at any time. They may not cover their mouth with their hands. If at any time any pearly whites are spotted, a drinking fine will be incurred.

Thats it

Now,. if i were you id be sceptical abnout this game becaus eit doenst sound all that hard or entertaining. Its best played when already on teh way to being blotto, and i guarantee that the first time someone speaks without showing their teeth, people will urinate themselves. Proverbially at least. Certainly the two dutchies in our group did. We had about 12 people palying in the end and carried on een after the electricity went out. eventually the alcohol went out too and we stumbled to bed. not too far for our group as the illicit party had been in our room. That was a top night. And, handily, i drank about two liters of water beofer going to sleep so felt almost perky int the morning. that was that night, and now i believe i should end this one. one day the talk backs will be dealt with, iuntil then i hope that all you punkazoids out there are keeping safe.

Posted 6:52 PM by Gobbler
I hate to leave you but i really must go, goodnight sweet Blog good night

I did my best but my innate punkishness has got the better of me. i sacked off my bus and everything to do this blog, and now here i am in the last internet cafe in town and it closes in five minutes. for one reason and another i couldnt get here soon. i'll blog what i can.

Leaving the unfinished blog of yesterday aside for tonight, lets start on the trip. Three days 4x4ing it to Uyuni, the Bolivian town on the edge of the Salar de Uyuni, the worlds largest salt flat at 12000 sq. km, from San Pedro de Atacama, the chilean town in the Atacama desert near the border with Bolivia. The road was to begin with a real genuine tarmac road. Silly old me to think that it might, it was not to last.

We turned off the road onto a vaguely defined dirt track after about half an hour. Given the tours that i had been on the preious day, i was of the opinion that we were making a quick diversion to see some rare plant or interesting stone or grain of sand or other geographical feature. It was not the case. What we had turned off onto was the highway to Bolivia. The border post was a mud brick building on the edge of a lake. The Bolivian flag fluttered bravely away demarkating this particular stretch of barren plain. The bored military officials stamped our passports without any fuss and climbing back into the bus we continued on our way.

I was waiting for some semblance of a paved road, but they dont seem to go in for them much in Bolivia. Relationships between Chile and Bolivia have been a little icy ever since Chile invaded a large chunk of Bolivia in their pacific war in the late 19tyh century and never gopt round to giving it back. As far as im aware the only thing the chileans and bolivians trade ona regular basis is insults and you dont need a road for thank kind of repartee. So they never built one.

We soon transfered to 4wd jeeps. There were five in mine, Tom the unfortunate Englishman mentioned yesterday, Natasha and Richard, married by golly and certainly not very old. And a funny American fellow who I have mentioned before and we shall name him Bob. In this case, it is not because i dont know or perhaps care for his real name, but because his real name IS Bob. He's a thoroughly sound fellow and it seems fitting to call him by his name. So we shall do so.

We set off through the bolivian andes and altiplano (the flat bit thats very high up in these parts. Still there now i think) with Filipe our rugged driver. Fifty something, and quiet at first. You cant blame him. he does the job seven days a week with no holidays except in the low season when theres no tourist to occupy his vehicle. We set off as i was saying and motored to the green lagoon. Unsurprisingly not very green. Most landscape features with colours in the name rarely heavily feature the advertised colour. It probably was a bit greener than the other lakes but was hardly flooded with the stuff. The red lagoon was altogether different.

It was red, very red. It didnt need the light to shine in a certain way, it didnt need imagination. Not being colour blind was a plus, but otherwise any fool could have identified the colour as a deep and attractive red. With lots of pink flamingos. In a locale where the surrounding landscape was light brown windswept plain, sandy rocky protuberances, mountains lining the horizon and sky blue skies above. We spent a little time scaring the flamingos and then headed off to another attraction.

Before that we had been to some more dodgy geysers. Bubling mud pools, steaming vents, unusual colours and an interesting place. Thought about pushing someone in for a little bit but couldnt find anyone deservingly annoying enough. I think its time to go, my five minutes has turned into 25. all the computers bar mine, bobs and Ree's are off and i imagine matey wants us to trot off for the evening. That town tomorrow morning so i should be with more spare time soon. Hasta Mañana.

Posted 2:15 PM by Gobbler
"A-Gandalf, we could go through the mines of Moria. My cousin Balin'll give us a royal welcome." "No Gimli, I would not Blog that dark place unless I had no other choice..."

Right now, heres what weve been waiting for. The Potosi mines. Been going for almost 450 years, around 8 million carked it here over the time, and 5,000 mining folk still tapping away with pick axes, sledge-hammers, the odd pneumatic drill and a hefty spot of dynamite. Its great.

But, and this will annoy people, especially in the light of Lauras last coment, i donty have tiume to blog it all now. Its 6:15 and i want to catch a bus to some town near to where butch cassidy and the sundance kid met their final end. i had thought it was in mexico sdomewhere but apparently its in Bolivia. Full of surprises this place.

I'm sorry. I have so much to write, but i just dont have the time now. I probably shouldnt have bothered starting this one, but well i thought i'd give it a go. Hope all are well. I am a punk.

Posted 12:55 PM by Gobbler
The Blog is Back in Town The Blog is Back in Town

Have made it through the desert trek action and arrived safely in Uyuni in Bolivia, one of the worlds crapper places. Oh its not too bad really, it does have an internet cafe and some of the streets are even paved. And there is a bus company that has a bus out of here today. At seven this evening, to potosi, that town i mentioned with the mine. the place where you hire a guide and buy him gifts as a bonus, ideally food, coca leaves and dynamite. He eats the food, eats the coca, and blows up a bit of bolivia, all for your viewing pleasure. that may well be on the menu tomorrow, and thats great. unfortunatrely the bus arrives at the undeniably distasteful hour of 1 am in potosi. on the plus side the bus looks crap and therefore probably wont have a tv playing awful music videos and with luck wont have a music system either tho that seems too much to hope for. on the down side Bolivia isnt the most developed country in the world and the road to potosi may not be the worlds finest. in the last three days ive travelled sevceral hundred miles and havent seen a spot of tarmac since chile. Time will tell. before i go on about the trip, there is something i must get off my chest.

Tanks. Now then now then now then, i am fond of a good tank. Once upon a yesteryear i went to Bovington tank museum in england and saw lots of old tanks. thant was quite a treat, but it was wholly eclipsed some years later by another tank museum i went to avec ma famille in France. I cant remember exactly where, but to give you a general idea it was somewhere between Caen in the north and the aveyron valley in the south, where we were going for our holidays (tho some of you splendid people out there may understand them more usually as vacations, you funny people, i dare say youve eitehr been around too many trains or not enough). This museum wasn't the most heavily advertised in history, but it is probably the best. It had, if you'll pardon my french, (but the incident did occur in french france) a mert load of tanks, mostly from WW2 and the early part of the cold war. This wont mean much to a lot of people, but to this day i am so thrilled at the memory of the occasion that i will relay herenow the highlights of the museum. We had, of course, a fine selection of PKWIII's and PKWIV's (PKW = PanzerKampfWagen = Armoured Fighting Vehicle = Tank Mark III's and IV's, germanys most common tanks esp. mark IV) T34's (russian) and Shermans (american) and i seem to remember a churchill as well (english) But not only that, they had a Panther (german) and a Tiger (German), a JSII (Josef Stalin mark II, russian (surprisingly)) and and and a KING TIGER (top quality german kit, best all round tank of the war, the last ones even had night vision equipment and a self contained air supply (immune to gas attack), be afraid, be very afraid, if arnie ever gets hold of one and drives it to the market). I dont remember a Ferdinand being there because you see its really all about the king tiger.

Some people may be of the opinion that this is an unhealthy interest, given that tanks were invented to kill people more efficiently (and at this point, and i know youre all loving this vital tank related info, the tank was invented by the british during the First world war August 3 1914 - November 11 1918 in case you forgot. About 1914, some english chappy, no doubt drinking tea at the time or at least on his way to a tea shop, was in america, the united states of, probably visiting friends in the countryside trying to secure a tea trading deal, and nowhere near boston with its fateful party, and saw agricultural vehicles with caterpillar tracks which didnt sink into the mud. By golly, said the english chap to himself, thats jolly clever. And off he went to think. Because, you see, the western front (where the english were battling away against the dastardly Hun) was a frightfully muddy place. To get an idea of what i mean, you can try a simple experiment in your very own back yard. Follow these simple steps and you'll have a very realistic recreation. Dig two trenches of sufficient depth to stand in without poking your head above the ground about 100 yards apart or as far as your garden will allow. Then bomb it every day with artillery from about 20 miles away. If you dont have any artillery you can just use a few tons of dynamite or craft a bomb from household materials (a recipe for which you will be able to find on the net. it involves vinegar.) Shell, bomb or otherwise explode this piece of ground everyday for about a month. Also, get it to rain at least every three or four days. The end result, as you will surely see, is that vehicles such as the Model T Ford and probably the Ford Escort as well have trouble traversing the terrain, particularly when under fire from a few hundred of the aforementioned dastardly hun, several of which have heavy machine guns. If you try this part of the experiment too, (easier if you resdie in the states as you can buy the ammunition for the enterprise (10,000 rounds should do, but hey why not get 50,000 toi make sure) from walmart. You will certainly find (unless the people you have hired to play the part of the merciless Bosche are very poor shots indeed) that not only will the vehicle you are driving become hopelessly stuck in the quagmire-like muddy terrain, but it will rapidly possess rather more ventilation holes than the manufacturer intended. That is to say it will be riddled with holes and before long wil cease to function as once it did or resemble the design specifications. The same will surely apply to you: your orifice count will go through the roof, things will cease to function (heart, brain, etc) and you'll look as though God really did get mad evil on you with his ugly stick. Youll come to the conclusion that if you were inside a tank instead of a car things would be a lot happier all round. So English chappy had a little think and figured that caterpillar tracks were just the ticket for getting about No Man's Land and that lots of metal on top of it would be jolly handy for keeping out the bullets. Back in England the tank was born. Being new and all, it was all very hush hush at first and Mum was most certainly the word. The first prototype tanks were basically a big steel box on tracks and marginally resembled water tanks. The British Military pretended that that is what they actually were, and in due course the name stuck. Hence 'Tank'. they were first used i believe towards the end of the battle of the somme in 1916. Jerry was a bit taken aback by big boxes of metal trundling towards them and by and large ran away. This was jolly handy for the English. Unfortunately most of the tanks broke down after the first day and most of the captured ground was soon retaken. Well thats the tank for you.) as i say, some people may think my interest in tanks to be somewhat excessive, but they are clearly mad insane crazy mo fo's.

All i had really intended to say here is that, by and large, i know a bit about tanks, but i have a huge and embarrassing consession to make. I was wrong. Quite wrong. The Ferdinands mantle armour was not 200cm. It was not 6 1/2 foot. That was crazy talk. It was 200mm, about 8 inches. My Dad sent me an email pointing out the error. Well, its all better now.

Where was i? Well, lets start with where am I? I'm in Uyuni, Bolivia, on the edge of the worlds biggest salt flat. At 12,000 square km its pretty big. Uyuni isnt as crappy as i had claimed earlier on,as we found a nice enough square where we sat out, had a burger - nice traditional eat then - and a coke - same same but different - and chatted away to the numerous mateys ive met on the tour. Ah, but now youre thinking, how, in the course of writing this blog, have i manaed to find a nice square and have a burger and engage in some friendly banter? Not only that, but how did i, during the same course of time, wander into a public convenience facility, search for the lightswitch to find only a hole in the wall where once upon a yesteryear one may have resided, and give up the attempt at the syphon the python operation and return to my seat un-uncorked? Well... What a story i have to tell about that...

The internet connection was lost and i had to save my unfinished blog to word, then dash of to buy a floppy, then return to the internet place to put the blog onto floppy, then i went to get that burger. What a story.

The three day tour that i have just finished was, as some types in England including myself used to say, brill. I'd go so far as to say that it may well have been mega. Geysers, red lakes, 4800 metres, pink flamingos, pre-inca ruins that suspiciously resembled the sheep pens nearby, rock formations that more or less resembled ´people, condors, lions, sharks etc, Filipe the driver and the music of Queen. Not to mention a big salt flat. Its a story full of ups and downs, and round and rounds, a story of adventure, excitement, trek special sandals, the vegetable game and flat tyres. It is the story i came here to relate, and one that will have to wait. Because we need to discuss one of the most unfortunate travellers on planet E., Tom, matey from Durham, who was in our jeep.

Now, most people know that folks from up in the north of england eat a lot of pies, drink a lot of beer, and enjoy a lot of football. Less well known is sometimes one of them goes travelling. Tom is such a fellow. His principal reason for going to South America, as far as i can see, is to visit the old pie factory in Uraguay. I cant remember the name but theres a place in Uraguay that used to make a lot of pies and ship them to england. I think it all started during ww1, just to tie in todays disperate stories. They dont make pies any more. Not because they werent very nice (i have been assured that they were "Ded nayce leek" ("Dead nice like." Roughly translated as "Very tasty")) and not because the uraguayans got bored of making pies. i dont know why. Maybe i'll find out when i get to uraguay. So Tom pops off to South America. On his tod. Good work. Flying Heathrow (london) - Frankfurt (Germany. as a footnote the Germans on the whole do not appreciate being called 'The Hun', 'The Bosche' 'Fritz' (unless theyre actually called Fritz) or 'Jerry'. 'Nazi B**tard' goes down very badly. You should try a traditional method such as using their names.) - Caracas (Venezuela) - Lima (peru). They lost his bags somewhere in transit. They told him they thought the bags might be in Sao Paulo Brasil. Five days later his bag turned up in Lima. He was understandably glad of this, as his underwear was in need of replacement. He was, however, disturbed to discover that his bag had been slashed. His camera, discman, money, and everything else of value had been taken. He approached the airline for compensation (it was that german airline, whats it called now?) and they laughed him out of the office.

While he was waiting for all this to happen, a couple of other intriguing incidents occured. Firstly, he was 'got' by a shoeshine boy. Shoeshine boys are everywhere in this world, and after a while it is second nature to tell them where to shove their polish and cloth. But this was poor Tom's first encounter, he was ill prepared. Before he could run away his brand new suede boots were plastered in polish. As you probably know, polish does not go well with suede shoes. After he had had his boots ruined he asked for the bill. 49 soles 95 centimos. Per boot. He realised that something was wrong but eventually parted with 60 soles. Shoeshine boy legged it. As he walked away he remembered buying a burger for 4 soles earlier that day. He had just paid 10 pounds to have his shoes ruined. He was about to part with a lot more cash, but time is out ive a bus to catch and you'll have to wait.

Chao amigos.

Posted 4:05 PM by Gobbler
Another little bundle of blog

was all ready to go and get some dinner when i saw riches talk backs and chuckled heartily at the things he said. so much so that i feel obliged to write a little more.

Firstly rich, the armour plating on the mantle (the bit around the cannon) of the ferdinand was 200 centimetres, which is i believe a little over 6 feet. so thats pretty tough. I knew all that knowledge about tanks was going to come in handy. While im on the subject, the ferdinand was designed as a tank buster. Its 88mm gun was capable of destroying every tank model fielded in the war and could poke some serious holes in todays tanks too. As it was designed as a tank buster (Ferdinand technically isnt a tank but a self-propelled gun) it originally didnt have a machine gun mounted in the chassis. When first used in combat, during the battle of Kursk , summer 1943, (which featured the greatest tank battle in history, over 2000 tanks) it faired very poorly. Despite maknig a very big banging noise when it went off and being able to blow things up from a range of over a mile and a half with excellent accuracy, the russians twigged that an enterprising young fellow with a strong bottle of vodka (well petrol really), a rag and a match could run up to the Ferdinand, and either climb on board and shoot the unfortunate fellows inside with his submachine gun or more commonly lob his molotov cocktail at the engine vents, an action which usually resulted in the ferdinand comnig a cropper. After that they stuck a machine gun on it. Incidentally, 200 cm mantle armour is more than most battle tanks have today.

A scottish tale

The scottish tale involving bunnies and 'usuals' and small windows, tennis courts, drunken revelries and a spot of jiggery pokery will be told another time. sorry to get your hopes up

Posted 1:59 PM by Gobbler
And in the desert Blog them
Or: Blogs from a dry country
Or: And the blog goes on da dum da dum da da
Or: Whatever you damn well blog
Or: i dunno really i cant think of another name and i deont know why i'm trying to think of another as ive already got four perfectly satisfactory titles, i dont have all day and it really is about time i started my blog
Or: Oh shut up and blog

1800hours local time,

Dodgy geysers with some dodgy geezers who are sketchy punters

The day before yesterday i decided that it would be a lovely idea to get up at half three in the morning and go and see some geysers in the desert. this was partly because the lad i was sharing a room with was going and he seemed to think that it was a good idea. i figured that i would be able to sleep for at least some of the two and a half hour journey. i was mistaken.

we left at four because the tour arrives at the geysers before dawn as the dawn is a sight to behold. it was a treat but you'll never see the evidence because i left my camera behind. A bog standard minibus took us to the site, across the sort of landscape and on tyhe sort of tracks that conventional wisdom suggests a 4x4 Land Rover or Hum Vee would be more practical. Ricardo, our jolly guide who tended to nod a lot and say "you know" when his english failed him as it did often, was no fan of conventional wisdom and ripped up the desert tracks at alarming speed. A potential member of the future Colin Macrae Rally Car school, we zoomed and skidded to the geysers and back again, Ricardo all the time tapping the wheel to the raqdios latest offering and probably smiling and singing to himself all the while (i couldnt see). Once we got to the site it soon became evident that we had a flat tyre, although it was easily changed. basically, at the site there were lots of geysers spitting out steaming hot water around the place. It was at 4300 meters which is as im sure ive mentioned before, quite high. the ground, where not caked in salt and other mineral deposits from the geysers, or covered by sandstone (at least in colour) boulders, was speckled with yellow tufts of grass. The surrounding mountains were a miriad of yellows and light browns, and purple incomprehensibly popped up too. The sunrise brought with it delightful colours and welcome warmth. It had been minus five celcius before that and i was mighty chilly. most of my clothes were in the wash and i had brought my sleeping bag with me in case of imminent freezing to death. i did not need it in the end. A few nice geysers. Excellent.

Afterwards there was an opportunity to 'swim' in the 'hot springs'. After some deliberation i took up the offer. As this place is 4300 meters up, far away from the nearest train, and basically in the arse end of nowhere accessible only via a long and bumpy track, it isnt developed much. Most hot springs one goes to (and one has gone to a fair few) are concrete swimming pools, the only factor that gives away their geothermal heating being the off putting rotten egg sulphur smell. this one had a wall to keep in the water but was otherwise just a pool in the middle of the plain. It wasnt deep enough or big enough to swim, and it wasnt the hottest hot spring ever conceived. Very hot water does trickle in from one end, but whether or not it will still be hot when it gts to you is a matter for chance to decide. sometimes i was hit by a hot blast but it quickly went away leaving me colder. i cant really complain, it was overall fairly pleasant, but it did receive the new title of the 'Not Quite Frozen Springs' before we had left. Next stop was a pueblo of only twenty people, and one of the happiest old geezers in the world.

As we stopped off at this 300 year old twenty inhabitant a slightly unnerving question arose in our minds, which revolved around two pieces of information and one point of conjecture: 300 years. 20 people. Gene Pool. the possibility of being kidnapped for the potential purposes of the pueblos propàgation entered our minds, but in the end all was well. it did however bring a certain story to light. a friend of a friend, lets call him Giles, was once travelling up around Canada. He chanced across a Mennonite community. (a bit like the amnish) The mennonites are on the whole an inward looking enclosed lot who shun the outside world and technology and so on. This provides problems for the gene pool as inbreeding can become popular. but the clever chaps in charge have a solution that in short involves bringing in fresh blood every now and again. Giles, being young, tall, blonde and blue eyed was asked to, if he didnt mind awfully and would appreciate the money, stick an oar in, take one of the mennonites nice virgin daughters up stairs for a bit, perform the act of procreation, pick up his pay check and be on his way. Giles, being a generous minded and selfless sort of guy, agreed to help if he could, and duly did so. While this sounds like a fairly excellent way to earn a few quid, it was apparently a fairly unpleasant affair involving lots of sheets and spectators. Nothing of the sort happened at this pueblo that we went to, and the only money that exchanged hands was for the empanadas and fried bread that some lady was cooking, and some old guy was marketing. we bought quite a lot and the old guy was overjoyed, vigourously shook hands with people and even had a quick dance with rob, the american fellow with whom i am going to bolivia tomorrow, of which more later. that was the pueblo. after that we went home and i got some sleep.

For an hour or so, because at a quarter to four i got up to go on another tour with Rob to death valley and moon valley and take in a sunset. This time i brought my camera, and a couple of litres of beer. no point in taking any chances in death valley you know. The scenery was absolutely fantastic but it seems a futile maneuvere to attempt to explain the sights, it is hard to paint with words. Lots of big yellowy mountains and desert, a bit like the rockies. the odd cactus, the odd canyon, the odd sand dune. that was a bit of a shock, didnt expect sand dunes. but then i suppose i should have done becuase i had been told a while ago that you can go sand skiing here; something i would do but will not now have time. Sunset was memorably beautiful, after which we went home and out for a few beers and a little music. A very pleasant evening. It appears however that eventually tiredness got the better of me because i awoke at some unspecified time of the morning in the hammock chair in the courtyard of the hostel. such is life. ive just paid for my room and have been assured that the management will not be giving me a discount for the temporarily altered sleeping arrangements.

People may not realise it but i'm running a bit short on time. After spending nearly a month in peru, much of it largely inactive, i now have a mad dash to get round the sights i want to see before its all over. In fifteen days i have to be iin Puerto Montt, about a couple of thousand miles south of here, to catch the ferry to puerto Natales, a thousand or so miles further south. In order to facilitate this i'm taking the unusual step of heading north. I did say north. I also said it was an unusual step. Bear with me and all will become clear.

I have since the planning of this trip, oh years ago now, and long before you were born, intended to go to bolivia and see the salt flats and see Potosi, the town that has what used to be the biggest silver mine in the world. The old spaniards, back in their conquistador phase, were quite keen on silver and put a lot of people to work there. at its height there were an estimated 2 million people living at Potosi making it the bigggest city in all of the americas. The miners werent paid all that well and furthermore the pension scheme offered by the spanish crown was derisory. this didnt matter too much however because, as a worker, you were quite likely to die down the mine before your working days were over. An estimated 8 million people died in the mine during the 300 or so years of spanish management, which is a rather alarming 26,666 and 2/3rds a year or about 73 a day. still, on the plus side they did make a lot of silver. With some of this money the tricksy old spaniards built a whopping big navy, an armada no less, and decided to invade England with it, who they didnt like very much. Unfortunately the english sank the fleet which pissed spain off something rotten. mind you, the english were quite pleased.

Ive got to go quickly to organise this tour, but i'll be back.

Im back, and its now 7:40 pm local time.

So im booked on the tour to bolivia tomorrow. in three days i'll be in potosi having crossed the andes again, visited the salt flats (a very big flat area with salt as far as the eye can see. Big, white and salty. some splendid pictures will be taken. if you want to know what it looks like, either find a nice s.american pictuer book or moby's album '18'. im pretty sure thats the salar de uyuni on the front with moby in a blue shellsuit/spacesuit. I'll also see some nice lakes and a few other bits and bobs. Seventy of the presidents dollars have been coughed up for the pleasure, and i leave at 8 tomorrow morning. i must however check this joyous news that everyone is no doubt just thrilled about by the admission that i'm missing out on one of the most beautiful train journeys in the world. Train journeys, as i may have mentioned before, are damn funny, and in many respects its all about the train. THe line was built to allow silver to be taken from potosi to the coast. Why then, in the name of all things train related, am i not going on the train?

It is a sad day for train lovers everywhere, but the train doesnt leave on the right day. It takes 25-30 hours which is considerable tho still quicker than the tour, but i'd then have to organise another tour to the flats from uyuni, which may take time. And time is something i dont have. 15 days to get to puerto montt including today. as it stands ive got:

day 1: write blog, eat food, pack, possibly have a lager, go to sleep.

Days 2-4: tour it, see nice things, meet nice people, have a nice time. Arrive in Uyuni and hopefully pick up the TRAIN to Potosi the same day. schedules are tight and i may missw the train and have to get the bus instead.

Days 5-6: go to potosi mines and organise onward trip. investigate the possibility of getting a train to argentina

Day 7: leave for argentina, arrive in Mendoza Argentina

Days 8-9: sit in Mendoza. Chug fine wine and gobble large steaks

Days 10-12: Go to santiago. Buy lots of wooly clothing to prevent buttocks from freezing off among the glaciers.

Days 13-14: go to puerto montt, possibly stop off for a night in some scenic spot.

Day 15: get on boat, pretend im on a train, and do things that are damn funny.

Thats the rough schedule for the next few days. It is a cunning plan im sure you will agree. I put it down here because im not sure how much time i will have to blog in the next few days, and because i had to work out the plan in my own head. Its a long old way but it is a feasible plan. And it does involve at least one train. That'll be anotehr couple of countries ticked off the list...

Tulsa Hilton: Remarkably and regrettably ive not been on a train for some days. And do you know why these crazy american types in the world pronounce arkansas 'arkansaw'? it confused me for years as i couldn find a place called 'arkansaw' anywhere on the map. Me: thats a lovely nerd costume youve got there. why do you name kat after a cricket? does she jump about a lot and make funny noises at night? Kat: perhaps you can answer that one. And you certainly seem to be special. Oh and just a thought: youre not a mormon are you? that would be great. although you do sound far too liberal for a mormon. As for hogwarts, theres definitely something seedy going on in the chamber of secrets. perhaps its a subtle message by miss bowling. And i do know shes called rowling but i quite like the name bowling. Sianodel: i clearly havent got a clue how to do it but if you wish to do so go right ahead. made any other films lately? Evil Unc: i heard the samoa game was a bit worrying. whos next? All the rest: today you are bums.