Oh man, how on earth does this thing work?

Hey hey ladys and lads visiting my page! I don't mean to alarm you but I am a bit of a technical meatsack, hence my ugly colour choice and most likely confusing layout. I apologise but have no real intention of improving. Sorry.

If you were still under the impression that this page was an insight into the life and times of my travels in Chile, that I have to sadly dash your dreams of a hilarious tale of my incompetence- I'm back in NZ baby! However, seeing as I've had such a great response to my blog and since my theripist thinks it's a good way for me to share my thoughts (joke), I am going to continue this blog, most likely in a random fashion, with tales of day to day hilarious misunderstandings, annoyances, and general thoughts from out of the blue.

Enjoy, or don't, its your call.

Thursday, March 24, 2011

Living the dream in Braaaaazil

Well I will tell you this, right now I am confined to my room, as the cleaning ladies are here and I feel too awkward to go outside and socialise with them while they clean up our substantial mess. Especially because yesterday they found my "hidden" stash of stolen teabags from the hotel buffet. And my mini bread rolls. Saddo.

So I find myself having a wee bit of spare time on my hands, and figure it would be a good time to write down some of the Brazil trip experiences.
It started off with a lovely walk down the giant hill to the bus stop with my 1000kg bag on my back. I legged it into town and got into a cab with a fantastic cab driver, we had a wee chat about the merits of Brazil, its hot, it’s not Chile, that sort of thing. We even shared a sort of joke, although im not really sure what we were laughing about, on account of a fact that I didn’t actually understand what he said. However, I managed to bluff my way through and we got to the airport. After a total joke of a flight to Santiago (less than a hour), I chose the taxi driver who looked least like he wanted to kill me and steal my things (oh the dangers of the big city), and headed off to meet Paul. We reached the hotel, a little place located down rapist alley, and I made my way inside. After some over excited hellos, we me delighted to hear not only a New Zealand accent, but a Waikato one at that, Paul and I decided to head off in search of some beer and food. The first three bars we went past were packed to the gills with men. We found one that looked like a possible hit and went in. Less than a second after our arrival, some bloke with a few too many piscos in him jumped up and enthusiastically kicked over a couple of chairs swearing and shouting in Espanol. Although we weren’t sure that we were the reason for this crazed outburst, we decided it was safer to leave the wee man to it and search for our goods else where.

After about 2 hours of sleep, we got up at 3.30am and headed off to the airport. After check in, we decided to get a feed for our troubles, and made tracks to the steak house. I’ve always been under the impression that theres never too early a time for a hamburger, but apparently 4am in the morning is going too far, even for this seasoned junk food eater.

After touchdown in Sao Paulo we had 3 hours to kill, so we loitered around the Mcflurry section of McDonalds a good while. We then went to find our boarding room, where we spent another good few hours. The highlight of this time was 3 old SAm men, one of which being slightly more than rotund, sporting a cowboy hat and a boy scouts scarf. It was he who bust out at the eleventh hour a wee harmonica, and proceeded to play a jaunty tune that had Paulie and I in hysterics, and also lifted our waning spirits. After this event came “the great exodus”, as it seems that our entire plane had been seated in the the wrong boarding lounge. A right debacle took place not long after, as the whole plane load of passengers lifted their weary bums and descended to the correct boarding room. We were then crammed onto a bus, packed in like battery hens, cheek to cheek with the person next to you (in my case it was some woman’s face cheek next to my arse cheek), and once we were off loaded onto the plane we were on our way to Florianopolis. I burst an eardrum on the decent into Flopa, which wasn’t ideal, and also made me feel like an old person “What? You’ve got to speak into my good ear”. Hopefully the damage is not permanent, I guess only time and the number of people who have to repeat what they say to me will be able to tell me that.