Once we'd done Machu Picchu there wasn't much else to stick around for in Cusco, the place was getting a bit tedious with the constant hounding from touts trying to drag us into bars or sell us massages. Colin and I did find a great little place to have a sauna, jacuzzi and massage for a total of about 60 Soles each (under a tenner). After a heavy night on the town, you can't beat this for a hangover cure; it was perfect. While waiting for the massage, we went and waited in the TV room. There was a rather Asian looking boy watching a documentary on Fidel Castro in the room already. We sat back on the reclining seats and he came and sat with us. I asked where he was from and his name and eventually if he could get any 'pura' meaning pure coke. I told him we had tried some in Lima and Cusco but so far it had been shit and my friends had high hopes for Peru. He said his name was Luis and he could help, and we arranged to meet after the massage.
The massage was amazing and after we both felt completely inebriated. Sure enough Luis was outside waiting for us. We all jumped in a cab and headed out of town. First he decided that he would show us some other accommodation options, starting with an unfurnished flat, which cost $100 per month. Thanks but no thanks I told him, trying not to sound rude. We then drove to his student dorm where we found a small messy room with posters of John Lennon, Che, Jim Morrison and Fidel on the walls. The place was very small. He then proudly showed us his student card proving him to be a student of architecture. We soon left and went round the corner where we bought 1 Sole burgers from a stool. I asked about the pura but he kinda said we would have to wait. He then told me that we could meet his friend; a girl who was easy were his words as far as I could translate, I repeated 'Chica facile?' He replied 'claro.' I cracked up at this random offer of a girl! We got back in a cab which he insisted on being 3 Soles the cab said 3.50 so we got out again. Another came by, who agreed on the rate and we drove back to the square. We went back to the hostel and where the other boys were waiting for us and were excited by the prospect of pura. Arthur expressed some concern at us bringing a stranger back to where were living. He then told us of a story told to him by a friend. Apparently his mate (lets call him Fred) had befriended a Peruvian guy (ratty) and they'd hung out together for a week or so. Fred then arranged for Ratty to pick him up a load of coke. Ratty did this and all seemed fine. Although, a day later Fred got a knock on his door. He opened it to find a load of armed police. They rushed in and knew exactly where the blow was hidden. He basically got fucked by Ratty. This story kinda made us feel a bit stupid but I assured Arthur that I thought it'd be fine. Louis then told us he knew where to get good chicken for very cheap so we followed him to a restaurant. It was probably the worst grease-filled, cholesterol-ridden, excuse for fried chicken I ever ate.
Afterwards, he informed us that he wouldn't be able to get the shit until 2am due to the police being everywhere. Our confidence was waining. We ended up in Mama Africas - a local gringo hangout where the doorman sell expensive but shit coke. Luis asked Nefs if he could buy him a drink, Nefs then gave him some coins which he hand to me. I bought the beer and gave it to him. Just then the barmaid called me back and said I'd given her a Bolivian Pesso. Nefs said he was certain it was a 5 Soles coin. I argued with the barmaid and eventually she gave in. She then realised that Luis was involved and restarted the dispute demanding the money again. At that point it became clear what had happened. Cheeky little swine had switched the the 5 Soles coin for a Boliviano when Nefs had handed them to him. He knew I wouldn't notice and that he himself wouldn't get away with it. I then paid not realising. I was not happy and could not be fucked with Luis anymore, but he wouldn't go. He just followed us everywhere and I not being a cunt, didn't have the heart to tell him to fuck off, nor did anyone else. I guess there was still some doubt as to what he had done.
2pm came, low and behold the pura didn't. He then went to the toilet and tried to buy some shit off the bouncer! At this point I knew he was a shit-talker so we left him in the toilet.
Next day we're preparing for our trip to Nasca. I walk out to watch the parades of children and men in balaclavas to the sound of trumpets; this sounds surreal and it was, but it was beautiful and jolly. I'm standing there watching and guess who rocks up? Our Peruvian friend. I ask him if he knows where the Inca Museum is and he shows me. All along the way he's giving me commentary on what we're seeing. I understand almost nothing but nod all the same. When we get to Museum I realise it's 20 Soles for entry and he looks at me all helpless and needy-like. I tell him I haven't enough money and we make like a tree.
I then go back with my companion and find the boys in the square. We all go for some breakfast and Luis asks if we want any shit. I knew what was coming. He asked me for 10 which I hesitated on giving him. Nefs then remarked "Just do it, mate, it's like 1.50!" I thought fuck it, I'll pay 10 Soles to get rid of the cunt and sent him on his way, arranging to meet him in the afternoon at the hostel. He never came.
Sunday 19 August 2007
Sunday 29 July 2007
Real Moto
We woke at the cold hour of 6am, had breakfast and saddled up for our journey back to Cusco following the exact route in reverse trying and beat our record of 11 pathetic hours on the way in. First off was to get to Santa Maria and rendezvous with the people picking up Colin and Gaz's bikes. This was sweet and we really gave it some welly. I recall swapping between my sunglasses and Gaz's spectacles, unable to decided which was benefiting me more. We passed back over the mountains and through some small villages absolutely hacking it. It was such a rush. The computer game fantasy turned into reality.
It was not long before we reached a downward dusty rocky road; at this point I was behind Arthur and Nathaniel trying to keep up despite the trail of dust blinding me. There was not much distance between Arthur and me, and I was just about to pass him. Just then, I felt my front wheel slide; this caused the whole front forks to shake and I lost control. Blood started rushing to my head; my heart was racing and I thought I was done for. Considering we were travelling at about 40Kph downhill and on the side of a mountain, with a drop of about 1 million feet, I thought I was about to become the third and likely most severe casualty of the trip. Thankfully, after my handlebars snaking and the whole bike rattling like a spazing epileptic, I managed to gain control. The whole event lasted about 3 seconds, and during that time all types of horrific thoughts flew through my head. Thank fuck. After this I lagged behind like a nervous child riding his tricycle for the first time, every turn freaked me out and was sweating hard in the morning sun. When we reached Santa Maria to rendezvous with the pickup, I was most relieved.
The guy from the bike rental company was waiting with his mate in the village square. We showed them the bikes and topped up on pety before getting back onnit. The guy and his mate told us we had to wait for them to ride together, but I was keen to get off and I remarked "Fuck that we've paid for today" and we three shot off. This was enough time for me to pull myself together again and we were soon tearing up through the mud roads. Nefs and I took the lead in turns pretty much full throttle all the way. I remember stopping with Nefs and him wondering where Arthur had got to. The roads were perfect for these bikes and flying through jungle surrounded villages was amazing fun. The guys from the bike shop soon caught us after Nefs and I slowed to let Arthur catch up and from then on, it was racing all the way. Eventually we reached the pass but there was a slight complication, the road didn't open until 12 noon and where we had been hacking it so hard, it was only 10:15! We attempted to blag the guard but he was having none of it so we waited. More vehicles showed up and eventually there was a big queue. There would be no way of getting preferential treatment now. A couple of old ladies had a small venture capitalising on the obviously frequent waiting game; they were selling almuerzos of typical soup with chicken and rice. This made the waiting far easier despite the now sweltering midday sun.
We were not so soon on our way again smashing through the unmade roads until we reached the various ladies with their stop/go signs. Some guy in a white, old-skool VW Beetle was leading, power sliding around corners and through the wet mud. I did my best to keep up with him and a couple of times was warned by workmen to slow down. Although, this was tough as my thirst for adrenaline forbade me from letting off. The journey across the mountain peaks did not seem nearly as cold and we cleared it in no time. I had been well in the lead up until this point but then the roads turned to asphalt and Nefs' 400cc's started to kick in. He shot past me and I couldn't keep up with all my efforts. I wished I had my Ducati to cain it down the smooth new roads but alas. Going round some of the hair-pin turns I was still able to get my knee down but the bike lacked any real power. Nefs stopped at the bottom of the mountain and counted about a minute and a half before I finally rocked up. We both waited for the others one guy took about 2 more minutes and Arthur and the bike shop man took a further four odd minutes. Arthur complained he had no experience on these types of roads and the man complained at having to wait for him.
We soon were at the cobbled village of Urubamba and managed to find a small cantina above a mercado vending almuerzo for 3.5 Soles. It were none too shabby neeva. The bike guys didn't join us for food and were keen for us to hurry.
The roads back were long and stretched for miles. This is when the bike really started to show it's inadequacies on the road. My hand got sore from having to constantly hold the throttle as far back as it went. Nefs had to keep slowing to allow me stay with him. No sign of Arthur and the others, even after stopping for about 5 minutes. We finally arrived back and low and behold Arthur was there already having taken a bloody shortcut! Even still, we made it back in just over 5 hours.
It was not long before we reached a downward dusty rocky road; at this point I was behind Arthur and Nathaniel trying to keep up despite the trail of dust blinding me. There was not much distance between Arthur and me, and I was just about to pass him. Just then, I felt my front wheel slide; this caused the whole front forks to shake and I lost control. Blood started rushing to my head; my heart was racing and I thought I was done for. Considering we were travelling at about 40Kph downhill and on the side of a mountain, with a drop of about 1 million feet, I thought I was about to become the third and likely most severe casualty of the trip. Thankfully, after my handlebars snaking and the whole bike rattling like a spazing epileptic, I managed to gain control. The whole event lasted about 3 seconds, and during that time all types of horrific thoughts flew through my head. Thank fuck. After this I lagged behind like a nervous child riding his tricycle for the first time, every turn freaked me out and was sweating hard in the morning sun. When we reached Santa Maria to rendezvous with the pickup, I was most relieved.
The guy from the bike rental company was waiting with his mate in the village square. We showed them the bikes and topped up on pety before getting back onnit. The guy and his mate told us we had to wait for them to ride together, but I was keen to get off and I remarked "Fuck that we've paid for today" and we three shot off. This was enough time for me to pull myself together again and we were soon tearing up through the mud roads. Nefs and I took the lead in turns pretty much full throttle all the way. I remember stopping with Nefs and him wondering where Arthur had got to. The roads were perfect for these bikes and flying through jungle surrounded villages was amazing fun. The guys from the bike shop soon caught us after Nefs and I slowed to let Arthur catch up and from then on, it was racing all the way. Eventually we reached the pass but there was a slight complication, the road didn't open until 12 noon and where we had been hacking it so hard, it was only 10:15! We attempted to blag the guard but he was having none of it so we waited. More vehicles showed up and eventually there was a big queue. There would be no way of getting preferential treatment now. A couple of old ladies had a small venture capitalising on the obviously frequent waiting game; they were selling almuerzos of typical soup with chicken and rice. This made the waiting far easier despite the now sweltering midday sun.
We were not so soon on our way again smashing through the unmade roads until we reached the various ladies with their stop/go signs. Some guy in a white, old-skool VW Beetle was leading, power sliding around corners and through the wet mud. I did my best to keep up with him and a couple of times was warned by workmen to slow down. Although, this was tough as my thirst for adrenaline forbade me from letting off. The journey across the mountain peaks did not seem nearly as cold and we cleared it in no time. I had been well in the lead up until this point but then the roads turned to asphalt and Nefs' 400cc's started to kick in. He shot past me and I couldn't keep up with all my efforts. I wished I had my Ducati to cain it down the smooth new roads but alas. Going round some of the hair-pin turns I was still able to get my knee down but the bike lacked any real power. Nefs stopped at the bottom of the mountain and counted about a minute and a half before I finally rocked up. We both waited for the others one guy took about 2 more minutes and Arthur and the bike shop man took a further four odd minutes. Arthur complained he had no experience on these types of roads and the man complained at having to wait for him.
We soon were at the cobbled village of Urubamba and managed to find a small cantina above a mercado vending almuerzo for 3.5 Soles. It were none too shabby neeva. The bike guys didn't join us for food and were keen for us to hurry.
The roads back were long and stretched for miles. This is when the bike really started to show it's inadequacies on the road. My hand got sore from having to constantly hold the throttle as far back as it went. Nefs had to keep slowing to allow me stay with him. No sign of Arthur and the others, even after stopping for about 5 minutes. We finally arrived back and low and behold Arthur was there already having taken a bloody shortcut! Even still, we made it back in just over 5 hours.
Wednesday 25 July 2007
Machu Picchu
After their decision to nit off the second day of extreme moto, Gaz and Colin had arranged to take an early bus to meet us at Santa Teresa; this meant them waking up at about 5am. I was awoken by Arthur turning my light on at about 6am. There was no aguas calientes in the hostel so we skipped the shower and set off at about 7. Now we could get down to some serious riding!
The route, again, was pretty simple: go straight. It took about twenty or so minutes to get comfortable on the bikes again but we were soon hacking it through the rough, off-road terrain. Gaz had kindly lent me his spectacles so I was able to see with precise clarity; although Gaz suffers from astigmatism and wearing the glasses made me feel slightly nauseous; I decided the increased vision outweighed the nausea, in addition, whenever I removed them it felt like I was even more blind than before.
We asked some local earlybirds if we were heading the right way to Santa Teresa and in typical Latin American style the directed us with flailing arms which seemed to guide us to outer space, to be fair when we pointed for them, they would either nod or shake their head. The road led us along a river and up a completely rocky and unmade road which led nowhere. Luckily, an old man and his boy were out early carrying logs or something and the old man angrily flailed his arms directing us in the other direction; we U-turned and found a fork in the road allowing us to ascend.
The road curled round and round the mountains carrying us higher and higher and the dawn views were magnificent; as the sun veered it's head, the mountains turned from a cool blue ice into a glowing solid gold. I had spent most of the day before standing on my foot pegs which, due to the slow pace, meant that I could manoeuvre more freely and could pretend I was a professional motocross star in a computer game! Furthermore, it prevented me from getting saddle-sore. However, due to the increase of pace this became impossible.
Again we took turns in taking the lead, I hated being behind; it felt unsafe and also I could see fuck all due to the dust people in front would create. The only way to avoid the dust would be to slow down meaning you ended up quite a way behind and feeling like a loser in the computer game. On the other hand when you were in the lead, you could really power and break way ahead from the pack.
Nefs and I used to go riding when we were back in the UK and he, being the far more experienced rider, would always egg me on encouraging me to go faster "you ride like a girl" he used to say. Now bearing in mind I was a novice riding a Ducati or effectively a rocket on two wheels after just a month of passing my test, at first I would shit myself trying to keep up. And me being the competitive swine that I am, found this very difficult to deal with. So, to hear Nefs advise me that "We should really go so fast" was like music to my ears! I remember cracking up when I heard this. "I can't believe you're telling me to slow down for once!" HAHA!
As we snaked up the mountain we passed through numerous waterfalls flowing over the road; one in particular had created a pool about half a meter deep. At this point, Arthur decided to find out if his bike was waterproof. He seemed to drop in slow motion. I was in front and had already passed through the pool and there was no way I was getting wet. I shouted at Jon to get off the back of Nefs' bike and rescue him- he hesitated but I was later told that Nefs also gave his encouragement and so Jon went to his rescue! Nefs and I both cracked up at this sight. The bike wouldn't even start after her swim but eventually came to life- those Japanese sure make reliable bikes. On we went and soon arrived in Santa Teresa. It took us a little over an hour in total.
As soon as we arrived, we bumped into Colin and Gaz who were negotiating a bus ride to Aguas Calientes. We parked and ate a simple breakfast of bread, marmalade, Mate de Coca and our new invention of Coffee de Coca. Jon and Arthur bought some socks to replace their drenched ones and off we went again. We could ride only so far until we were stopped at a hydroelectric plant. At the plant lay a guarded checkpoint, the guard took a little financial persuasion before eventually letting us store our bikes for the day and the rest had to be undertaken on foot. Colin and Gaz were waiting to meet us on a nearby bridge.
The journey after, consisted of following a train track all the way to Aguas Calientes. Colin was limping from the hole in his leg but did well to keep up. Along the way we came to a bridge crossing a white water river, it was completely rusty and made funny noises as we walked across. Someone should really renovate that bridge. The walk wasn't particularly pleasant to be honest, there was no proper path next to the track which meant for most part we had to walk on the rock covered tracks which was most awkward and painful on the old ankles. As we draw close I noticed a redundant train stationed next to some huts on an old unused track, this area smelt absolutely disgusting. As I passed the train and looked back to see a massive of mountain of refuse hidden behind it! Interesting technique for waste disposal, I thought.
The town of Aguas Calientes was probably the most modern I had seen in all of South America. It was clear that it was a cash-rich area and not surprising after we discovered that since our copy of the Lonely Planet had been published, the price to visit Machu Picchu had quadrupled to 120 Soles per person. Plus the coach was 30. Fucking liberty. We ate lunch at one of the hundreds of touristy restaurants. Mine was meat and rice and was okay but Arthur ordered Spag Bol which turned out to be overcooked spaghetti with tomato ketchup and slices of beef - mmmm
I didn't enjoy the bus journey, the road was narrow and the drop fierce. I decided a sleep would be in order. When we got their however none of us were disappointed. Machu Picchu was set in the most amazing spot I think I have ever had the privilege of experiencing. The sun seemed to be close enough to touch from the highest peak. Words really will not do the views justice. The misty mountains completely encircled this 550 year old and 2000 metre high city were truly astonishing. Thankfully the Spanish never discovered it and so it largly remains unscathed. One of the first sites we visited was the sacrificial stone; a huge flat-topped table with small stairs leading up. We all admired it trying to imagine times passed of virgins being sacrificed to the mountain gods. Incas believed the mountains were gods and the earth 'Pacchu Mama' was there lord. If the gods were angry, sometimes in the form of erupting volcanoes, they would need offerings in the forms of young and pure girls.
We then walked to highest point where the classic postcards are taken. The group split up at this point and I bumped into Colin and Jon sitting near the top of the site. We just sat contemplating and staring in awe of the beauty. I jokingly decided to make a ceremonial pentacle in an effort to talk to the gods as the weather became very windy. I called upon the sun god to calm the weather and just as I did so, the wind amusingly stopped! I then tested the reverse and requested wind, sure enough the gods spoke and the winds once again became high; I tried this again and it ridiculously worked. The views were really out of this world and the scene made one feel totally euphoric; maybe it partially due to the altitude. The three of us including Colin sporting a walking stick and a unusual newly procured pink child's bonnet (see photos, they pretty much show these events in order, although you'll have to be my friend on facebook.) walked towards the North side where the residential quarters lay. On the way we passed a middle aged women sitting in a half lotus position meditating (obviously could manage the full lotus). This made me laugh. I mean please. I'm sorry, but I can't stand shit like that; yeah, each to their own and 'n' all that shit but some fat lesbian sitting as if she had found Nirvana in Machu Picchu just seemed ridiculous; call me a cynical bastard, I don't care, I just wanted to throw a bucket of water over her. Plus, she had her eyes shut and I swear I turned around and caught her off guard catching them open; then she shut them again quickly.
We continued through the main town area to find a garden of Lamas. I broke off a branch of leaves and approached them; most fled at the sight of me but one didn't seem bothered by my presence and ate from my hand allowing me to pet him/her. Nefs apparently had tried to coax one off the side of a cliff! Qualitly. One black and white one was not so friendly and growled at me when I approached him attempted to spit at me. As I left the garden area a dumb Barby looking American woman asked me if they were friendly. I pointed at the black and white one and said "Yeah sure, he is." I walked off chuckling. The sight of a stupid blonde running around trying to catch the lamas was classic. Even the friendly one hated her. We climbed up some stairs and decided we'd had enough of the Machu Picchu experience. Colin was really suffering at this point; a mixture of the altitude and his leg hole had caused him to become incredibly weak and he and I though he was gonna faint. I helped pull him up some steps and we made our way back to the bus stop.
By this point it was about 4pm. Jon had decided he would join Colin and Gaz in their bus journey home which meant that Nefs, Arthur and me could smash it all the way back. Oh yes. But first, we had to get back to the bikes, which meant returning along that 2 hour train track journey on foot. It would be dark soon and we had no torches. Off we trotted. I initiated a jog and we were soon cruising along back along the awkward track. It reminded us of that film Stand by Me and we started singing "lollypop lollypop oooo lolly lollypop do do do do!" No one new any of the other words so we just repeated until we got bored. On the way to Aguas Calientes we had passed through a tunnel which was about a half way point. The tunnel still hadn't arrived. We got worried. It was now dark. No sign of the tunnel. Shit. After talking about how harsh it would be to be doing this in pitch black darkness, we eventually came to the rusty bridge, eh? Where was the tunnel? Turns out we had completely missed the tunnel by getting dropped off early on the bus back from Machu Picchu. Thank fuck. We were safe; almost. We reached the end of the track and bumped into a couple of stranded Israelis. He he heee. Part of me wanted to leave them there but I - unlike their nation - consider myself a humanitarian. I jest of course they aren't all rude pricks. And one cannot condem a whole nation just by the actions of their government. Anyway, we took them back. I pillioned a girl of about 22 on my bike. I felt very unsafe. I did luckily have Gaz's glasses so I could see, but having the life of another as my responsibility made me uncomfortable, especially as we were covering highly dangerous roads at night and next to the roads lay certain death in the form of us plummeting thousands of feet. Anyhow, to make myself feel better I spoke to her about her travels; where she'd been and where she'd be heading next. This worked and we chatted for the whole way back. She was nice and promised to buy me a drink when we got back. We got back to Aguas Calientes and to be fair she was very thankful, in fact she said absolutely love it and wanted more! I offered her a trip back to Cusco (obviously joking) she uncomfortably said no, not understanding my superior humour. We said our goodbyes and assured them we'd hold them to that drink.
The three of us then went took a dinner of alpaca steak, which was ok but a little tough, and treated ourselves to a nice bottle of red. The Israelis turned up in the restaurant and at first actually blanked us. They then saw us and pretended it was for the first time. They came over and shook our hands although no grtuatous drink manifested. We of course didn't mention it. It was then bed time.
Saturday 7 July 2007
Extreme Andean Moto
We arrived in Cusco and all felt instantly relieved. It was as though we were finally in Peru. We checked into a basic cheap hostel in Placa da Armas, pleasant green square of grass and flowers, with two Spanish colonial churches either side. Cusco was the capital of the Inca Empire and is located at about 3500 metres above sea-level. The altitude made us all feel weird and sleepy, although I personally didn't feel sick.
After spending a couple of nights checking out the local gringo bars, we decided we would hire motorbikes to get to Machu Picchu. The only complication with this was that Colin and Gaz had never ridden motorbikes before and weren't too sure how they would manage. Arthur had ridden but only a couple of years ago and didn't have a licence. Jon had recently completed his CBT but did not feel confident enough and so Nefs offered to pillion him. It took a bit of persuasion but eventually Gaz and Colin bit the bullet and agreed on the premise that we took them for lessons first.
The following afternoon we hired three 250cc bikes for the day and drove to a deserted road for a few hours of lessons. They both seemed to pick it up pretty quickly and by the end of the session had gained enough confidence to venture into the Andes. While I write this I realise it sounds slightly insane although at the time it seemed perfectly reasonable.
We arrived at the bike rental shop for about 8:30 am to pick up the bikes. To be honest by this point I was feeling slightly nervous on behalf of our newly learned companions. The guy in the rental shop was saying it was a tough ride and only for experienced riders although we did not let this deter us. Nefs and I assured the boys that we'd take it slow for them and give them all the support they needed. After faffing about for an hour we set off following the dude from the shop I went last as to keep an eye on the boys upfront. About 50 metres away from the shop we were met with our first right turn which led onto a steep hill. I watched closely cringing as Gareth attempted to manoeuvre round the corner. As he did their were a number of pedestrians crossing the road. Gaz looked as though he panicked and had not really been trained on the important of the horn. I tried to shout "USE YOUR HORN GAZZZZZ!" but he didn't hear me through our helmets. I don't know for sure but I think he just slammed on his front brake because the next thing I knew, Gaz lying in the road with his bike next to him. He still had hold of the throttle and it was fully pulled back. This made quite a scene. As I passed and stopped I noticed Colin just a little way ahead, he was still on his bike but had driven straight onto the pavement! This sight made me chuckle but concerned. I parked and ran down to Gaz. He was unhurt but flustered by the event cursing the stupid pedestrians. I picked his bike up and parked it. There were police either side of the road, guiding the busy rush-hour traffic, although, instead of attending the accident and checking details, they seemed more amused "Ha haaaa, gringos stupidos." Next problem: Colin's bike wouldn't start. This didn't exactly instill Colin with much faith and he doubted his chances of successfully completing the long journey which lay ahead. I went back to the bike shop and we eventually got it replaced. This took a big hunk out of our day and left us pressed for time. We had to get to a mountain pass by 2pm latest. Basically, part of the road was under development and was only open between 12 and 2pm everyday, if we didn't make that, it would mean renting the bikes for an extra day.
After the initial hiccups we managed to get out of town fairly smoothly and in convoy. From out of the town, the route was simple: just drive forward. The journey from Cusco to Aquas Calientes (the town nearest Machu Picchu) consisted of just one long road. Once out of Cusco the country just seemed to open up and scenery was breathtaking. The road cut straight though huge stretches of green hills, lined with a border of snow capped mountains. It was hard to focus on the actual road with so much beauty surrounding it. Me, Nefs and Arthur took turns in taking the lead and going at the back. About an hour passed before we stopped at a roadside clearing to admire the view and have a drink, we were all happy and back on track. There was a huge snowy mountain in the distance and I laughed about this being our destination; it seemed so far away and an impossibility. Nefs was concerned we were going too slow and that Gaz didn't want to get out of second gear, although to be fair to Gaz it was his first proper day's riding any mechanically driven machine and he had already had one accident. Poor Gaz. The main problem he was experiencing was clutch control, he was letting the clutch slip causing the bike to jump and this freaked him out a bit. I told him he had to treat the clutch like a pussy and be more gentle with it. After about 10 minutes we were back on our way.
The road eventually met the foot of a hill and we began climbing. The hill was not too high and we soon crossed over it where we were met with our first town. We stopped off to fill with petrol at the first place we found. I was last to set off again and again trailed behind Gaz. The town was filled with tuctucs and the traffic was moderate. One tuctuc stopped to give way to us but seemed to grow impatient after the first three as when it came to Gaz's turn to get back on the road he ploughed straight into him. Crash 2. This was slightly more severe and Gaz somehow landed painfully on his hand. Which soon swelled like a balloon. The bike must have dropped on it. He was not happy and the tuctuc just bolted off- probably driven by a small Peruvian in fear of his life as this large western man started jumping and shouting in the middle of the road, seemingly more angry than hurt!
We were now lagging. It was about 12:30 and we only had another hour and a half to make the pass. The road turned into cobble and was becoming far more narrow. At this point Colin decided it was his turn. Crash 3. Luckily it was not serious and although he damaged the bike slightly by snapping the break lever, he got back on and off we went again. The cobble led to Urubamba an ancient Inca village and the largest in the Sacred Valley of the Incas. I asked at a tourist information point how far it was to La Paz and the guy looked at me as if I were mad "Que? La Paz, Bolivia?" He then told me that we couldn't ride any further on bikes but he luckily had tickets for the train! Great bloody help. It amazes me how lying is such an intrinsic part of the Latin American tourist industry. It seems Peruvians have absolutely no ethical problem with lying. He didn't seem to know about the closed road or even if he did, he didn't want to tell me. I asked another girl how long it would take to reach Santa Teresa and she told it was approximately 5 hours. It was now passed one o' clock and we needed to get a move on. The landscape changed dramatically as we climbed the mountain, we started to separate. I think partially out of impatience although there was never too much distance between us. We often stopped to band together and admire the stunning scenery. The mountains were so beautiful and again changed colour from grassy green to a kinda of murky, more muddy complexion. I really started to start enjoying the ride and relish pushing myself to lean and get my knee down when going round the hair-pin corners of the mountain road. We reached the top and began our descent. This was just a tastier and we soon were met with an even larger mountain. There was still no sign of the pass and it was now gone 2 o' clock. Th group had now disbanded. I was in the middle for most part making sure I kept everyone in sight. Nefs and Jon were way ahead and Colin was way behind. We began to climb the snow-capped mountain of Chicon, which peaks at about 6km and it was getting colder by the second. Finally we reached the check point and stopped in the freezing clouds. Colin was not happy. Along the way, he had had a near death experience almost resulting in him falling thousands of feet off the side of a mountain. He was more distraught at the fact that we had left him behind "to die" as he put it. He mainly aimed his aggression at Nefs who had "completely nitted him off!" We promised to all remain in closer proximity going forward. Their were three young boys playing who came to investigate, they were of indigenous decent and must have lived in the small houses nearby. They kept their hands in their pockets at all times and all sported rosy-red, frost bitten cheeks; the effects of living in such a harsh climate. Arthur quizzed them about the distance remaining and they told us it would take two hours to reach the next town. Off we went again. My hands were sooo cold but all I could think about was comparing them to my first and failed motor cycle examination which I took in the middle of winter. During the test my hands were so cold that it took about an hour of running them under a hot tap to thore them out. These mountain conditions were hardcore but didn't match that test and this thought kept me positive. The climb had been dark and the mountains had shielded the sun which added to the cold; it was completely different on the way down and remember lifting my hands up in an attempt to warm them in the sun. It worked and I soon began to feel more comfortable. The roads became clearly unfinished which for me was good fun but it meant we slowed even more. The terrain once again changed dramatically as we passed over the mountain and the sacred valley became visible; we stopped again to admire the beauty: two immense, hazy-blue coloured mountains sliced open with a snaking river. I remember wondering whether this was the sacred valley. Never have I experienced such sharp changes of scenery, literally like passing through four seasons within four hours. By this time we were all pretty famished and so stopped at a strange little group of houses amongst the road works; a small community with a population of about 10, which blatantly emerged to supply the workers with their lunch. Unfortunately, the two restaurants were both closed, so we were forced to make do with a flamboyant lunch of crackers and water. After lunch became a little disjointed once again and ended up splitting up. Eventually, Arthur, Nefs and me stopped at another restaurant to wait for Colin and Gaz. We waited. No sign. Oops. After 20 odd minutes we decided something must have happened. Nathaniel volunteered to go scouting. Arthur and I sat chatting over a coke about what could have happened. The suspense was killing me so I went in search myself. The traffic was being controlled by women with CB radios and stop 'n' go signs every 200 yards. I was halted for a good 10 minutes before seeing Gaz and Colin following Nathaniel down the hill. I turned back and waited with Arthur. When they pulled up it was clear that Colin was distressed. He came over and showed me a big hole in his claret covered leg. Crash 4. He had apparently lost control going down a gravelly hill and come off landing on a rock which had somehow punctured his kneecap. Nefs (being the sympathetic guy he is!) had found him and told him to stop being a girl and get back on. After about 5 minutes - probably due to his nerves and stress - he hit another rock and went flying over his handle bars. Crash 5. Poor Colin. Looking back I'm sure he will laugh at this but he really shaken up. I bandaged him up with my handy medikit and we continued with our journey. At least we weren't having to rush for the pass anymore but time was drawing on and the sun was setting. The plan was to heads to get to Santa Teresa, a town neighbouring Aguas Calientes were we would stop for night however we were going far too slow. Once the sun had set, the riding got even more challenging, even for me due to my lack of glasses. We stopped for the night at quaint little village named Santa Maria. Accommodation was 5 Soles each for the night (about 75p) and we took a meal of meat, rice, chips and salad for 4 Soles each. Chips and rice seem wrong but the meal was delicious although not enough to fill us so we ordered a couple of chickens and chips. This was perfect and altogether with beers we each paid a total of about 1.50! After dinner we went across the road to get some ice-cream, where a family were watching Bruce Lee's Game of Death dubbed in Spanish; this made me chuckle. Back at the hostel Colin and Gaz made the decision that they were never getting back on motorbikes again and would opt for the bus to Santa Teresa the next morning. Arthur called the bike company who informed him that it would cost $100 each for the bikes to be collected. It was then time for bed. After this roller coaster of a journey, we all unconscious within seconds.
After spending a couple of nights checking out the local gringo bars, we decided we would hire motorbikes to get to Machu Picchu. The only complication with this was that Colin and Gaz had never ridden motorbikes before and weren't too sure how they would manage. Arthur had ridden but only a couple of years ago and didn't have a licence. Jon had recently completed his CBT but did not feel confident enough and so Nefs offered to pillion him. It took a bit of persuasion but eventually Gaz and Colin bit the bullet and agreed on the premise that we took them for lessons first.
The following afternoon we hired three 250cc bikes for the day and drove to a deserted road for a few hours of lessons. They both seemed to pick it up pretty quickly and by the end of the session had gained enough confidence to venture into the Andes. While I write this I realise it sounds slightly insane although at the time it seemed perfectly reasonable.
We arrived at the bike rental shop for about 8:30 am to pick up the bikes. To be honest by this point I was feeling slightly nervous on behalf of our newly learned companions. The guy in the rental shop was saying it was a tough ride and only for experienced riders although we did not let this deter us. Nefs and I assured the boys that we'd take it slow for them and give them all the support they needed. After faffing about for an hour we set off following the dude from the shop I went last as to keep an eye on the boys upfront. About 50 metres away from the shop we were met with our first right turn which led onto a steep hill. I watched closely cringing as Gareth attempted to manoeuvre round the corner. As he did their were a number of pedestrians crossing the road. Gaz looked as though he panicked and had not really been trained on the important of the horn. I tried to shout "USE YOUR HORN GAZZZZZ!" but he didn't hear me through our helmets. I don't know for sure but I think he just slammed on his front brake because the next thing I knew, Gaz lying in the road with his bike next to him. He still had hold of the throttle and it was fully pulled back. This made quite a scene. As I passed and stopped I noticed Colin just a little way ahead, he was still on his bike but had driven straight onto the pavement! This sight made me chuckle but concerned. I parked and ran down to Gaz. He was unhurt but flustered by the event cursing the stupid pedestrians. I picked his bike up and parked it. There were police either side of the road, guiding the busy rush-hour traffic, although, instead of attending the accident and checking details, they seemed more amused "Ha haaaa, gringos stupidos." Next problem: Colin's bike wouldn't start. This didn't exactly instill Colin with much faith and he doubted his chances of successfully completing the long journey which lay ahead. I went back to the bike shop and we eventually got it replaced. This took a big hunk out of our day and left us pressed for time. We had to get to a mountain pass by 2pm latest. Basically, part of the road was under development and was only open between 12 and 2pm everyday, if we didn't make that, it would mean renting the bikes for an extra day.
After the initial hiccups we managed to get out of town fairly smoothly and in convoy. From out of the town, the route was simple: just drive forward. The journey from Cusco to Aquas Calientes (the town nearest Machu Picchu) consisted of just one long road. Once out of Cusco the country just seemed to open up and scenery was breathtaking. The road cut straight though huge stretches of green hills, lined with a border of snow capped mountains. It was hard to focus on the actual road with so much beauty surrounding it. Me, Nefs and Arthur took turns in taking the lead and going at the back. About an hour passed before we stopped at a roadside clearing to admire the view and have a drink, we were all happy and back on track. There was a huge snowy mountain in the distance and I laughed about this being our destination; it seemed so far away and an impossibility. Nefs was concerned we were going too slow and that Gaz didn't want to get out of second gear, although to be fair to Gaz it was his first proper day's riding any mechanically driven machine and he had already had one accident. Poor Gaz. The main problem he was experiencing was clutch control, he was letting the clutch slip causing the bike to jump and this freaked him out a bit. I told him he had to treat the clutch like a pussy and be more gentle with it. After about 10 minutes we were back on our way.
The road eventually met the foot of a hill and we began climbing. The hill was not too high and we soon crossed over it where we were met with our first town. We stopped off to fill with petrol at the first place we found. I was last to set off again and again trailed behind Gaz. The town was filled with tuctucs and the traffic was moderate. One tuctuc stopped to give way to us but seemed to grow impatient after the first three as when it came to Gaz's turn to get back on the road he ploughed straight into him. Crash 2. This was slightly more severe and Gaz somehow landed painfully on his hand. Which soon swelled like a balloon. The bike must have dropped on it. He was not happy and the tuctuc just bolted off- probably driven by a small Peruvian in fear of his life as this large western man started jumping and shouting in the middle of the road, seemingly more angry than hurt!
We were now lagging. It was about 12:30 and we only had another hour and a half to make the pass. The road turned into cobble and was becoming far more narrow. At this point Colin decided it was his turn. Crash 3. Luckily it was not serious and although he damaged the bike slightly by snapping the break lever, he got back on and off we went again. The cobble led to Urubamba an ancient Inca village and the largest in the Sacred Valley of the Incas. I asked at a tourist information point how far it was to La Paz and the guy looked at me as if I were mad "Que? La Paz, Bolivia?" He then told me that we couldn't ride any further on bikes but he luckily had tickets for the train! Great bloody help. It amazes me how lying is such an intrinsic part of the Latin American tourist industry. It seems Peruvians have absolutely no ethical problem with lying. He didn't seem to know about the closed road or even if he did, he didn't want to tell me. I asked another girl how long it would take to reach Santa Teresa and she told it was approximately 5 hours. It was now passed one o' clock and we needed to get a move on. The landscape changed dramatically as we climbed the mountain, we started to separate. I think partially out of impatience although there was never too much distance between us. We often stopped to band together and admire the stunning scenery. The mountains were so beautiful and again changed colour from grassy green to a kinda of murky, more muddy complexion. I really started to start enjoying the ride and relish pushing myself to lean and get my knee down when going round the hair-pin corners of the mountain road. We reached the top and began our descent. This was just a tastier and we soon were met with an even larger mountain. There was still no sign of the pass and it was now gone 2 o' clock. Th group had now disbanded. I was in the middle for most part making sure I kept everyone in sight. Nefs and Jon were way ahead and Colin was way behind. We began to climb the snow-capped mountain of Chicon, which peaks at about 6km and it was getting colder by the second. Finally we reached the check point and stopped in the freezing clouds. Colin was not happy. Along the way, he had had a near death experience almost resulting in him falling thousands of feet off the side of a mountain. He was more distraught at the fact that we had left him behind "to die" as he put it. He mainly aimed his aggression at Nefs who had "completely nitted him off!" We promised to all remain in closer proximity going forward. Their were three young boys playing who came to investigate, they were of indigenous decent and must have lived in the small houses nearby. They kept their hands in their pockets at all times and all sported rosy-red, frost bitten cheeks; the effects of living in such a harsh climate. Arthur quizzed them about the distance remaining and they told us it would take two hours to reach the next town. Off we went again. My hands were sooo cold but all I could think about was comparing them to my first and failed motor cycle examination which I took in the middle of winter. During the test my hands were so cold that it took about an hour of running them under a hot tap to thore them out. These mountain conditions were hardcore but didn't match that test and this thought kept me positive. The climb had been dark and the mountains had shielded the sun which added to the cold; it was completely different on the way down and remember lifting my hands up in an attempt to warm them in the sun. It worked and I soon began to feel more comfortable. The roads became clearly unfinished which for me was good fun but it meant we slowed even more. The terrain once again changed dramatically as we passed over the mountain and the sacred valley became visible; we stopped again to admire the beauty: two immense, hazy-blue coloured mountains sliced open with a snaking river. I remember wondering whether this was the sacred valley. Never have I experienced such sharp changes of scenery, literally like passing through four seasons within four hours. By this time we were all pretty famished and so stopped at a strange little group of houses amongst the road works; a small community with a population of about 10, which blatantly emerged to supply the workers with their lunch. Unfortunately, the two restaurants were both closed, so we were forced to make do with a flamboyant lunch of crackers and water. After lunch became a little disjointed once again and ended up splitting up. Eventually, Arthur, Nefs and me stopped at another restaurant to wait for Colin and Gaz. We waited. No sign. Oops. After 20 odd minutes we decided something must have happened. Nathaniel volunteered to go scouting. Arthur and I sat chatting over a coke about what could have happened. The suspense was killing me so I went in search myself. The traffic was being controlled by women with CB radios and stop 'n' go signs every 200 yards. I was halted for a good 10 minutes before seeing Gaz and Colin following Nathaniel down the hill. I turned back and waited with Arthur. When they pulled up it was clear that Colin was distressed. He came over and showed me a big hole in his claret covered leg. Crash 4. He had apparently lost control going down a gravelly hill and come off landing on a rock which had somehow punctured his kneecap. Nefs (being the sympathetic guy he is!) had found him and told him to stop being a girl and get back on. After about 5 minutes - probably due to his nerves and stress - he hit another rock and went flying over his handle bars. Crash 5. Poor Colin. Looking back I'm sure he will laugh at this but he really shaken up. I bandaged him up with my handy medikit and we continued with our journey. At least we weren't having to rush for the pass anymore but time was drawing on and the sun was setting. The plan was to heads to get to Santa Teresa, a town neighbouring Aguas Calientes were we would stop for night however we were going far too slow. Once the sun had set, the riding got even more challenging, even for me due to my lack of glasses. We stopped for the night at quaint little village named Santa Maria. Accommodation was 5 Soles each for the night (about 75p) and we took a meal of meat, rice, chips and salad for 4 Soles each. Chips and rice seem wrong but the meal was delicious although not enough to fill us so we ordered a couple of chickens and chips. This was perfect and altogether with beers we each paid a total of about 1.50! After dinner we went across the road to get some ice-cream, where a family were watching Bruce Lee's Game of Death dubbed in Spanish; this made me chuckle. Back at the hostel Colin and Gaz made the decision that they were never getting back on motorbikes again and would opt for the bus to Santa Teresa the next morning. Arthur called the bike company who informed him that it would cost $100 each for the bikes to be collected. It was then time for bed. After this roller coaster of a journey, we all unconscious within seconds.
Thursday 28 June 2007
You have to grab the pussy
After fucking about for ages and trying to convince the cab driver that we were not complete lunatics, we were escorted to a hotel somewhere else in our new stomping ground of Lima. We purchased a couple of bottles of Vodka on the way; one of which someone smashed while we waited in the lobby to check in, great start. It took a while to settle in and calm the storm that was Ultimate Fighting Lima but we soon KO'd.
At about 2pm the following day Gaz and I were awoken with Nefs, Colin and Jon storming into the room with news. They had met some Peruanos at a local cafe and arranged to buy 1oz of Peruvian Coke. I questioned their motives reminding them that we were not staying in Lima, but they were convinced that it was a good deal and that it was also the smallest quantity available. Still half asleep, Gaz and I were in no mood to argue and let them get on with it. They were all high and had blatantly been plied with some quality shit. Apparently there were four people in this cafe. One with a Marsbar sized scar down his face, another Boliviano who apparently seemed honest (!) and another beady little weird guy with long fingernails and small circular glasses. Perhaps someone could comment after I publish this with more detailing! Colin had been ordered by the scar bearing ring leader to fondle a girl who sat in the corner of the cafe and was instructed as follows: "IN PERU, YOU HAVE TO TOUCH THE PUSSY, IF YOU DON'T, THE GELL SHE WILL THINK YOU ARE FAGGOT." Colin, obviously not wanting to seem like a gay complied after more shots of cocaine, taken from the guy's elongated fingernails. Next was Jon's turn, although with the slight variation of ass not pussy. I can only imagine what this poetic scene looked like: Colin getting off with some small Peruvian bird, eyes closed, with his finger inserted into her vagina, opening his eyes to find Jon behind her also fingering a separate entrance. Nefs on the other had come back to the hotel to obtain more cash for weed.
They later all returned absolutely wired and elated from their little Peruvian adventure. Jon ordered me to have a wake-up shot of their recent acquisition. I Staunchly declined but watched intently as Colin had a knife corner of coke. Jon then dug Nefs a shot; Nefs took a dab first and informed us all that it was, in fact, salt. Yes, an ounce of salt for a clean US$200. Jon then pulled open the packet of weed and looked pleased. "At least we weren't completely skanked, this is definitely weed." I got up and had a look, and replied to Jon "Errr mate, that's grass and mud."
All together an unsuccessful first day. I could not believe they bought without trying. Nefs says he did try to test it but the guy pulled some trick where he tapped the package of coke on the table releasing some powder, he now knows that the guy had a little wrap hidden up his sleave. Oh dear boys, not a good start.
Arthur came to meet us that afternoon and after having a laugh about it, we decided to get the fuck out of Lima quick sharp. Gringos are traditionally skanked left, right and centre. That night we went for some absolutely disgusting chicken, chips that were uncooked and a drink in a few local bars. The general consensus was Lima was a complete shithole, full of cunts that see gringos as dumb, walking cash machines.
The next day was kinda blurry but I recall getting up exceedingly early to check out the breakfast options. I walked round the corner and up the road, noting a huge pink colonial church, I stopped to admire the architecture, which was fairly intricate but nothing astounding. I poked my head through the door but the inside was dull and even less impressive. McDonalds was closed but looked tempting (sorry, I know) The only other place open was a small cafe offering Desajuno Creollo or Americano, I asked what Creollo was but did not understand the response other than tomata, cebola (onion) and coffee. Being a fan of all three and despite the hazy comprehension I went ahead and ordered for myself and my two other roommates Colin, Gaz. It was gonna take a while to cook so I continued my roam. Just two minutes away was a door guarded by a small, noisy man shouting 'INTERNTER' over and over and over again. I ducked in for a 10 minute session; obviously unable to resist his hypnotic charm.
At about 2pm the following day Gaz and I were awoken with Nefs, Colin and Jon storming into the room with news. They had met some Peruanos at a local cafe and arranged to buy 1oz of Peruvian Coke. I questioned their motives reminding them that we were not staying in Lima, but they were convinced that it was a good deal and that it was also the smallest quantity available. Still half asleep, Gaz and I were in no mood to argue and let them get on with it. They were all high and had blatantly been plied with some quality shit. Apparently there were four people in this cafe. One with a Marsbar sized scar down his face, another Boliviano who apparently seemed honest (!) and another beady little weird guy with long fingernails and small circular glasses. Perhaps someone could comment after I publish this with more detailing! Colin had been ordered by the scar bearing ring leader to fondle a girl who sat in the corner of the cafe and was instructed as follows: "IN PERU, YOU HAVE TO TOUCH THE PUSSY, IF YOU DON'T, THE GELL SHE WILL THINK YOU ARE FAGGOT." Colin, obviously not wanting to seem like a gay complied after more shots of cocaine, taken from the guy's elongated fingernails. Next was Jon's turn, although with the slight variation of ass not pussy. I can only imagine what this poetic scene looked like: Colin getting off with some small Peruvian bird, eyes closed, with his finger inserted into her vagina, opening his eyes to find Jon behind her also fingering a separate entrance. Nefs on the other had come back to the hotel to obtain more cash for weed.
They later all returned absolutely wired and elated from their little Peruvian adventure. Jon ordered me to have a wake-up shot of their recent acquisition. I Staunchly declined but watched intently as Colin had a knife corner of coke. Jon then dug Nefs a shot; Nefs took a dab first and informed us all that it was, in fact, salt. Yes, an ounce of salt for a clean US$200. Jon then pulled open the packet of weed and looked pleased. "At least we weren't completely skanked, this is definitely weed." I got up and had a look, and replied to Jon "Errr mate, that's grass and mud."
All together an unsuccessful first day. I could not believe they bought without trying. Nefs says he did try to test it but the guy pulled some trick where he tapped the package of coke on the table releasing some powder, he now knows that the guy had a little wrap hidden up his sleave. Oh dear boys, not a good start.
Arthur came to meet us that afternoon and after having a laugh about it, we decided to get the fuck out of Lima quick sharp. Gringos are traditionally skanked left, right and centre. That night we went for some absolutely disgusting chicken, chips that were uncooked and a drink in a few local bars. The general consensus was Lima was a complete shithole, full of cunts that see gringos as dumb, walking cash machines.
The next day was kinda blurry but I recall getting up exceedingly early to check out the breakfast options. I walked round the corner and up the road, noting a huge pink colonial church, I stopped to admire the architecture, which was fairly intricate but nothing astounding. I poked my head through the door but the inside was dull and even less impressive. McDonalds was closed but looked tempting (sorry, I know) The only other place open was a small cafe offering Desajuno Creollo or Americano, I asked what Creollo was but did not understand the response other than tomata, cebola (onion) and coffee. Being a fan of all three and despite the hazy comprehension I went ahead and ordered for myself and my two other roommates Colin, Gaz. It was gonna take a while to cook so I continued my roam. Just two minutes away was a door guarded by a small, noisy man shouting 'INTERNTER' over and over and over again. I ducked in for a 10 minute session; obviously unable to resist his hypnotic charm.
When I returned to the hotel with the goods, they were both gone, so I sat on the floor to enjoy my breakfast. I opened the black bin liner packaging and was surprised to discover a meal of stir-fried mince and veg with bread. Not my idea of breakfast "fuckit," I thought, "I always enjoy left over curry for breakfast back in England." so ate it anyway, it was delicious!
Gaz and Cole soon returned and joined me, although informed me that they had just had a slightly more 'normal' breakfast downstairs with some delicious marmalade.
Later that morning, after rallying the rest of the troops, we had some lunch downstairs in the restaurant. Nefs arranged to get tickets to Cusco through the hotel and they sent for some fat woman who took about an hour to arrive. She spoke perfect English and sorted it all out for us. Although just before breaking the deal, informed us that two of us would have to fly 'first class' as all the economy seats were taken. We agreed to split the extra cost and let random chance decide who would get luxury seating. While the deal was being done, Colin had been out shopping. He returned from just around the corner boasting a prize in the form of a 'High Quality Fashion Watch' which included 'Move Minutely' feature but best of all actually spoke in Spanish, telling the time at the touch of a button. Gaz and I were more than impressed and had to have one, so followed Cole to the stall around the corner. In addition to the must-have watch, the vendor sold us three Spiderman masks for a few pennies. I sported the standard red mask while Gaz and Cole adorned the Venom-style black ones. What followed was a return to childhood fantasy games of 'Let's pretend'. I - being the leader in red - ran through the streets followed by Colin and Gaz chasing behind me. I stopped turned around and ushered my gang of Spidermen forward shouting "Come aan, LETS GO" in an American accent. The Peruvians, including a couple of police, had a mixed reaction to this; some were amazed by this scene and cheered us on with their clapping and laughing; others looked completely confused and some were totally unfazed as if this were normal. We burst back into the restaurant and almost died of heart attacks, pissing ourselves with laughter, while the quite diners thought they were being jacked!
We eventually got to the airport and checked in for our flight. There was no first class. Skanked again.
Gaz and Cole soon returned and joined me, although informed me that they had just had a slightly more 'normal' breakfast downstairs with some delicious marmalade.
Later that morning, after rallying the rest of the troops, we had some lunch downstairs in the restaurant. Nefs arranged to get tickets to Cusco through the hotel and they sent for some fat woman who took about an hour to arrive. She spoke perfect English and sorted it all out for us. Although just before breaking the deal, informed us that two of us would have to fly 'first class' as all the economy seats were taken. We agreed to split the extra cost and let random chance decide who would get luxury seating. While the deal was being done, Colin had been out shopping. He returned from just around the corner boasting a prize in the form of a 'High Quality Fashion Watch' which included 'Move Minutely' feature but best of all actually spoke in Spanish, telling the time at the touch of a button. Gaz and I were more than impressed and had to have one, so followed Cole to the stall around the corner. In addition to the must-have watch, the vendor sold us three Spiderman masks for a few pennies. I sported the standard red mask while Gaz and Cole adorned the Venom-style black ones. What followed was a return to childhood fantasy games of 'Let's pretend'. I - being the leader in red - ran through the streets followed by Colin and Gaz chasing behind me. I stopped turned around and ushered my gang of Spidermen forward shouting "Come aan, LETS GO" in an American accent. The Peruvians, including a couple of police, had a mixed reaction to this; some were amazed by this scene and cheered us on with their clapping and laughing; others looked completely confused and some were totally unfazed as if this were normal. We burst back into the restaurant and almost died of heart attacks, pissing ourselves with laughter, while the quite diners thought they were being jacked!
We eventually got to the airport and checked in for our flight. There was no first class. Skanked again.
Sunday 24 June 2007
Peru - Madonna VS WWF Wrestlng
And so it began; my exploration of the North of South America. It was to start with a ridiculous flight, or rather flights, which consisted of Rio-Sao Paulo, Sao Paulo-Bogota and then Bogota back to Lima, totalling about 13 or so hours. I am not the greatest fan of flying. I don't suffer from panic attacks or anything but I am the type of man who likes to be in control of my own safety, and when one is trapped inside a few tons of metal soaring thousands of feet above the ground, one really has absolutely no say what will happen. Air travel statistically is the safest way to travel, but only because there ain't that many of the fuckers up there the same time. Anyway enough ranting.
The final flight was kept interesting with the aid of a single serving friend in the form of the female Colombian variety. Diane, a 32 year old stylist obviously from a wealthy area of Colombia. She was about 5' and extremely well groomed. She was very forward and one her first questions was "Do you have a wife?"! We had a giggle, flirting until she lent over and snoozed on my shoulder, I reciprocated by putting my arm around her, and slept right back at her. How completely random. By the end of the flight however, I was still not a member of 'The Mile High Club'.
Nefs was there to greet me in the arrival lounge, he led me to a coffee shop where the rest of my motley crew were waiting. It was really weird seeing them all again. Gaz, Colin, Jon and Nathaniel my brothers from other mothers. For the last decade or so, I rarely went a few days without chilling or smashing it with these boys and then no real contact for four months.
We jumped in a minibus which guided us to a hostel. It was full. The driver knew another close by so off we went. Along the way, we obviously exchanged stories of what had been happening over the past four months. The atmosphere was weird. I suppose it was just an initial shock of being with A: English people; something Brazil lacks, and B: My pals who I hadn't been with for so long.
The weather was completely overcast and we all laughed about how similar the coast seemed to resemble the Southern English coast of Seaford. Which I might add - for those who don't know - is a complete shithole!
We then arrived at the recommended hostel just a block away and checked in. The place was not exactly what I had had in mind for our first night in Lima but it was clean and fairly cheap. There were strange Peruvian souvenirs dotted around the walls, an obvious attempt to make the place look traditional, although in actual fact they looked very random and out of place!
We dumped our stuff and went in search of some local action. Unfortunately, it was Sunday and not much seemed to be happening. After eating an average meal in a very tacky North American stlye sports bar, full of fat yanks, we went went looking for a better venue. The cabs which pretty much outnumber private vehicles 100-1, have a really annoying habit of beeping their horns constantly, half the time for no apparent reason. I flagged one down and asked him if he could get any yayo. Peruvian Cocaine: something all the boys had been very excited to sample, being from the land of gack. He said he could sort some out and I arranged to meet he in the the same spot after 20 minutes. I spoke in a Spanish accented Portuguese and he seemed to understand. I could quite easily make out what he was saying. Kinda like when I first travelled Brazil with Arthur who did the opposite.
We went for another drink and withdrew some funds from across the road, then waited on the street corner failing to look inconspicuous in this foreign land of small people and beeping taxis. He soon arrived. Colin and I jumped in and went around the corner with him to check it out. It seemed good but nothing special. We parted with 20 Soles for each wrap (each about .6 of a gram) and jumped out to meet up with the rest of the gang. There are roughly 6 Soles to the pound - you do the maths.
After rallying everyone together we all squeezed in one of the millions of cabs and I requested the driver took us to a bar that would still be open. The Portuguese was slightly confusing to him but he understood and dropped us off at a bar where they charged us 40 Soles for entry, which included three drinks. This seemed fair. When we entered we soon realised that this was no ordinary bar. The waiter led us to our lounge seats and served us drinks. The entry cost included 3 beers and a Pisco Sour - Peru's national drink. Sorry Peru but it tastes more like sour piss, get another national drink. The bar was situated right next to us and propping it up sat a row of about 10 young Peruanas. They just sat there and stared and stared. It was very weird and very uncomfortable. The waiter kept coming over asking if we like any of them to which we all replied "no." They took turns in dancing on stage for us but it was more comical than tantalising. We were all uninterested in any private dances. I called one of the nicer looking girls over for a chat and arranged to meet her tomorrow exclaiming that I do not pay for it. She agreed although I wasn't serious. All of us were keen to get on it but unfortunately in the toilets sat a rat like teenager keeping watch. On the whole the place was a shithole so we finished our drinks and left.
At this stage the night was kicking on. There was a cabbie outside waiting for us. He took us to another bar aptly named Madonna. When we went in we realised it was the same deal. Nathaniel expressed that he was uncomfortable staying in such a venue as his loyalty lied with his beloved Catherine. He also said that he was tired and wanted to go home to sleep anyway. This was fair enough as it was about 3am by this time.
Madonna was fucking crazy. The girls looked worryingly young although quite clearly not illegally so. We sat and drank beers watching their amusing dancing efforts. They were not quite as weird as in the other bar. There was also no little rat boy in the toilets watching us piss, so we were able to liberate our nostrils freely. The night drew on and we became more and more drunk. The bar accepted US Dollars which is standard for Peru although they seemed to have numerical dyslexia as they failed to give us change after every payment. By the end of the night we were all chatting away to the girls sitting at bar. Gaz bought another round of drinks and again was not given change, this time though he questioned the barman who proceeded to run away and hide in the back room! Unbelievable. It was becoming more and more clear that basically gringos are seen as easy pickings and everyone was gonna try and rip us off.
After leaving Madonna, we headed back to our Hostel with a bottle of rum. We yo ho ho'ed for a few hours and chatted shit. The initial feelings of weirdness were completely forgotten and it was as though we hadn't parted company at all. Colin and I passed out but were repeatedly awoken to Jon and Gaz jumping on us. Cunts. I then fled to the other room. What happened next was not witnessed by myself but Colin tells me he left Jon and Gaz to indulge in there own WWF wrestling match! This apparently resulted in Jon punching Gaz twice in the chops. EEEK. Jon & Gaz + cocaine + copious amounts of alcohol + Macho-Man Randy-Savage impressions = complete Chaos. The next I heard of this was the hostel owner barging in my room where Colin and I were comortably snoozing. "You friends, these man is crazy, " she yelled, obviously deeply disturbed by a small Indian, wrestling with an American-Welshman in her house. Needless to say, it was time to go. Successful first night? It was good to have them back.
The final flight was kept interesting with the aid of a single serving friend in the form of the female Colombian variety. Diane, a 32 year old stylist obviously from a wealthy area of Colombia. She was about 5' and extremely well groomed. She was very forward and one her first questions was "Do you have a wife?"! We had a giggle, flirting until she lent over and snoozed on my shoulder, I reciprocated by putting my arm around her, and slept right back at her. How completely random. By the end of the flight however, I was still not a member of 'The Mile High Club'.
Nefs was there to greet me in the arrival lounge, he led me to a coffee shop where the rest of my motley crew were waiting. It was really weird seeing them all again. Gaz, Colin, Jon and Nathaniel my brothers from other mothers. For the last decade or so, I rarely went a few days without chilling or smashing it with these boys and then no real contact for four months.
We jumped in a minibus which guided us to a hostel. It was full. The driver knew another close by so off we went. Along the way, we obviously exchanged stories of what had been happening over the past four months. The atmosphere was weird. I suppose it was just an initial shock of being with A: English people; something Brazil lacks, and B: My pals who I hadn't been with for so long.
The weather was completely overcast and we all laughed about how similar the coast seemed to resemble the Southern English coast of Seaford. Which I might add - for those who don't know - is a complete shithole!
We then arrived at the recommended hostel just a block away and checked in. The place was not exactly what I had had in mind for our first night in Lima but it was clean and fairly cheap. There were strange Peruvian souvenirs dotted around the walls, an obvious attempt to make the place look traditional, although in actual fact they looked very random and out of place!
We dumped our stuff and went in search of some local action. Unfortunately, it was Sunday and not much seemed to be happening. After eating an average meal in a very tacky North American stlye sports bar, full of fat yanks, we went went looking for a better venue. The cabs which pretty much outnumber private vehicles 100-1, have a really annoying habit of beeping their horns constantly, half the time for no apparent reason. I flagged one down and asked him if he could get any yayo. Peruvian Cocaine: something all the boys had been very excited to sample, being from the land of gack. He said he could sort some out and I arranged to meet he in the the same spot after 20 minutes. I spoke in a Spanish accented Portuguese and he seemed to understand. I could quite easily make out what he was saying. Kinda like when I first travelled Brazil with Arthur who did the opposite.
We went for another drink and withdrew some funds from across the road, then waited on the street corner failing to look inconspicuous in this foreign land of small people and beeping taxis. He soon arrived. Colin and I jumped in and went around the corner with him to check it out. It seemed good but nothing special. We parted with 20 Soles for each wrap (each about .6 of a gram) and jumped out to meet up with the rest of the gang. There are roughly 6 Soles to the pound - you do the maths.
After rallying everyone together we all squeezed in one of the millions of cabs and I requested the driver took us to a bar that would still be open. The Portuguese was slightly confusing to him but he understood and dropped us off at a bar where they charged us 40 Soles for entry, which included three drinks. This seemed fair. When we entered we soon realised that this was no ordinary bar. The waiter led us to our lounge seats and served us drinks. The entry cost included 3 beers and a Pisco Sour - Peru's national drink. Sorry Peru but it tastes more like sour piss, get another national drink. The bar was situated right next to us and propping it up sat a row of about 10 young Peruanas. They just sat there and stared and stared. It was very weird and very uncomfortable. The waiter kept coming over asking if we like any of them to which we all replied "no." They took turns in dancing on stage for us but it was more comical than tantalising. We were all uninterested in any private dances. I called one of the nicer looking girls over for a chat and arranged to meet her tomorrow exclaiming that I do not pay for it. She agreed although I wasn't serious. All of us were keen to get on it but unfortunately in the toilets sat a rat like teenager keeping watch. On the whole the place was a shithole so we finished our drinks and left.
At this stage the night was kicking on. There was a cabbie outside waiting for us. He took us to another bar aptly named Madonna. When we went in we realised it was the same deal. Nathaniel expressed that he was uncomfortable staying in such a venue as his loyalty lied with his beloved Catherine. He also said that he was tired and wanted to go home to sleep anyway. This was fair enough as it was about 3am by this time.
Madonna was fucking crazy. The girls looked worryingly young although quite clearly not illegally so. We sat and drank beers watching their amusing dancing efforts. They were not quite as weird as in the other bar. There was also no little rat boy in the toilets watching us piss, so we were able to liberate our nostrils freely. The night drew on and we became more and more drunk. The bar accepted US Dollars which is standard for Peru although they seemed to have numerical dyslexia as they failed to give us change after every payment. By the end of the night we were all chatting away to the girls sitting at bar. Gaz bought another round of drinks and again was not given change, this time though he questioned the barman who proceeded to run away and hide in the back room! Unbelievable. It was becoming more and more clear that basically gringos are seen as easy pickings and everyone was gonna try and rip us off.
After leaving Madonna, we headed back to our Hostel with a bottle of rum. We yo ho ho'ed for a few hours and chatted shit. The initial feelings of weirdness were completely forgotten and it was as though we hadn't parted company at all. Colin and I passed out but were repeatedly awoken to Jon and Gaz jumping on us. Cunts. I then fled to the other room. What happened next was not witnessed by myself but Colin tells me he left Jon and Gaz to indulge in there own WWF wrestling match! This apparently resulted in Jon punching Gaz twice in the chops. EEEK. Jon & Gaz + cocaine + copious amounts of alcohol + Macho-Man Randy-Savage impressions = complete Chaos. The next I heard of this was the hostel owner barging in my room where Colin and I were comortably snoozing. "You friends, these man is crazy, " she yelled, obviously deeply disturbed by a small Indian, wrestling with an American-Welshman in her house. Needless to say, it was time to go. Successful first night? It was good to have them back.
Saturday 26 May 2007
Joseph Ernest Martin
Everyone was really excited. It was the night before Joe's 30th birthday and he, Zac and me were chilling in the Kilo restaurant just round the corner discussing plans for our opening night. It was to be a joint celebration.
The sound system had been installed by Elvis and it was sounding sick. The noise could be heard all over the neighbourhood. Everyone was really excited. Everyone was really excited.
Two days previous to this Thursday night, Elvis and Joe had fallen out over the matter of Joe taking his girlfriend upstairs, numerous times, to sleep in hostel without checking her in. This was forbidden by Elvis and to be fair, Joe should have respected this. However, until this time it was a rule that had never been enforced. This disagreement had resulted in Elvis losing his temper and throwing a chair at Joe which broke over his arm. Elvis had aimed it at his head. This may sound extreme but in Elvis' defence Joe had been winding him up profusely over this matter by denying that it had happened, despite Elvis having it on camera. After this disagreement, Joe decided he no longer wanted to involved in the bar, which was understandable; the problem was, Joe had already signed the tenancy agreement and paid part of his non-refundable 3rd share for the lease. Elvis expressed that the only way Joe could be out was to find a new third party to by him out. Subsequently, this created problems for Zac and I, who didn't - and still don't - want a new partner. Joe ended up turning to alcohol for the answer. For the following two days I didn't see Joe without a drink in his hand day or night.
Once night had fallen on this Thursday night, Joe went to Beco do Rato - a samba cafe just round the corner from the Hostel, still in Lapa. It usually gets busy around midnight and I had arranged to meet Joe there. Joe loved that place, he was there every week, without fail.
Me, João and Elvis had arranged to go to a new strip joint around just up the road. When we got there, they let us enter with our beers and it cost 2 Reais to get in. We walked in and it was full of prostitutes. They swarmed us. We each got a complimentary lap dance to the sounds of some grimey funk music, which was amusing; these girls were experts and shaking their Brazilian batties. We soon got bored and fled before being pestered for more drinks.
After this, we piled over to Beco da Rato where Elvis bought himself an X-Tudo burger before shooting off. I bumped into Joe as soon as I got there, although, he took a few seconds to recognise me; this was unusual for Joe. I noticed instantly there was some white residual powder below his right nostril, he'd had been getting on it all night and was extremely drunk by this point, as well as sniffed up. When talking to him, his attention kept turning to his girlfriend, who was talking to some guy. "I'm gonna fucking kill this guy, Nik," he growled.
"Why? What the fuck has he done, mate?" I replied.
"Nothin' really, he's just talking to Leila, I don't like guys talkin' to my girl."
"You're not gonna touch him, Joe. That girl fucking worships you, man. Don't be such I prick, come on let's go over there, I need to talk to you,"
"No wait, first, let's go get a shot of Fogo Paulista," Joe demanded.
"Claro," I nodded, he then grabbed my head and gave a me a big kiss on the cheek.
"I fucking love you, my brother, give me a kiss!" He cried. I laughed at him. "What you can't give your brother a kiss now?" He said.
"Course I can," I shouted, before obliging and following up with a big hug for his approaching birthday.
I led him to the bar where we each downed a huge shot of this vile Goldschlager-like spirit; it burned as it went down almost inducing vomitus. I then grabbed a couple of beers for us and we walked off to a quiet area to discuss plans for his birthday celebration. Along the way, as we waded through the crowds, Joe stopped to chat to a couple of Americans from New York. He was completely hammered by this point and proceeded to insult them both "Wait, you guys aint from Manhattan are ya?" He jeered, with a sick chuckle behind his voice. "So your Jewish asses like tha Yankis?"
"Sure we do," the short, stumpy, mole-like Jew replied.
"Just know, when you die, Joe Martin thought you were an asshole," Joe cackled before giving him a big kiss on the cheek.
"Who the fuck is Joe Martin anyway?" The other Jew tried to retaliate.
"Me motherfucker," Joe shouted.
I excused Joe's rudeness, invited them both to the party then dragged Joe away. He was in a wild mood. As we walked off, I remember him yelling at the top of his voice, no words, just a loud scream which made everyone on the street turn and stare.
"I gotta tell ya somtin," he said.
"I already know. You haven't got the money for tomorrow" I said.
"Yeah but no, err yeah but I fucked you and Zac over as well. I bought all Elvis' stock off him on credit." He continued.
Now, this consisted of a case of Cachaça and various other bottles of spirits. His idea was that this would be his contribution for the party and that Zac and I would provide the beer. "
What about the rest of the lease money, have you got it yet?" I asked.
"That's coming, my mum's sending me that next week, you can speak to he and ask her if you don't believe me" He replied.
"Joe, mate, we're not in school, if you say you got it, you got it, I trust you man, we'll speak about all this tomorrow when you're not off your nut."
"Agreed." He then grabbed me kissed me once again and told me once more how much he loved Zac and I. I reciprocated with a big smacker on his cheek. "likewise." We had one final man-hug before I went home to bed.
At about 4am my phone rang and woke me up. It was Elvis. "Nik, hi, sorry, were you asleep?" He said calmly.
"That's alright, whatsup?" I retorted, in a weary slumber.
"Are you with Joe? He asked.
"No man I'm at home in bed, why?"
Well, Joe was shot in the belly by an off duty cop and I just wanted to check whether you were with him."
"What the fuck, are you serious? Where is he?" My eyes opened.
"He's in the hospital, mate." Elvis continued calmly.
"Fuck, what the fuck happened?" I shouted.
"I don't know exactly," he said. I thanked him for calling but wasn't sure this was real, I soon fell back asleep not knowing if I was dreaming.
At 8:00am my phone rang again, this time it was Alan on the phone. Alan is 23, Brazilian and from Petropolis, he works as a kind of handyman for Elvis. Alan told me again that Joe was in the hospital and I told him to wait 15 minutes for me.
When I arrived at the hostel I asked where Zac was. I then asked what had happened and this is what I was told:
Elouis and Cassandra, two friends of ours who used to stay at Samba Villa had been drinking just round the corner, when some kid snatched Elouis' bag and ran down the road. A random guy off the street had then accosted the kid and pinned him up against the wall. Joe meanwhile, was walking past cheering about reaching 30. He walked up to Elouis and Cassandra, who told him to be quiet and updated him on the situation. Joe had continued drinking and sniffing since I left him, 3 or so hours earlier. He must have been fucked up by this point. He was not happy with the events and ran down to the man and the thief. He then pushed the man off the thief before planting a headbutt on the thief's face. The thief dropped the bag and ran away. "Why did you do that?" The man shouted at Joe, in English.
Joe replied something in Portuguese along the lines of "No one steals around here, especially from my people."
The man was not happy with his answer and pulled out a pistol aiming it at Joe's bare chest. "What are you gonna do now?" The man shouted, again in English.
"What are you gonna do? Shoot me? Go ahead, everyone is watching!" He challenged.
"The man then shot twice at the ground in an attempt warn Joe off.
This didn't seem to faze Joe, who apparently replied "Shoot me then, come on you haven't got the balls."
Holding his hands out in either side of him seeming to imitate Jesus on the cross and clutching a beer in one, and a fag in the other. The man then shot twice in the air and the arguing continued, now in Portuguese. The man then shot twice more missing the first but hitting with the second shot. This was not an attempt to incapacitate Joe, no, the bullet hit Joe in the abdomen not a leg or a foot. Just try and imagine what that lump of metal flying at hundreds of miles per hour would do to a stomach full of vital organs. Joe fell to the floor clutching his belly as João, Leone, Allan and Elouis watched in terror. The man was calm and casually walked off to stand on the corner. The Policia Milita soon arrived and paid no attention to Joe. They spoke almost casually to the gunman before another unmarked car turned up. The gunman got in the car with a PM and people started screaming "murderer," and throwing rocks at the car.
The car sharply reversed straight into the crowd causing them to disperse. The car then stopped and the man got out again. Meanwhile Joe sat crying in on the side of the road. Leila, Joe's girlfriend soon arrived pm the scene and sat next to Joe crying. About 30 minutes passed before the Ambulance finally arrived. They put Joe in the back and another 20 passed before they finally shot off. They took Joe to some lame hospital just 10 minutes around the corner. Leone apparently went with the PM's to check that he was detained.
I called Zac's mobile and told him what I knew. He at first didn't believe me but eventually said he'd be there in 5 minutes. When he arrived we left immediately and jumped in a cab. It only took 10 fucking minutes to get there, 10 fucking minutes.
When we arrived at the hospital, they would only let one person in Allan went. Zac and I sat outside waiting. In my mind, Joe was sitting with a bandage wrapped around his chest sitting up in bed.
I had planned to call him a prick and say "What the fuck have you done this time, ya nutta?"
Allan came out, his eyes were wide and he looked shaken; I will never forget his words "Cara morreu" or "dude died."
Me, Zac and Allan went back into the hospital and Allan led us to waiting room where we found Leila and Joãn sitting in tears. I couldn't cry. I just felt numb and confused. Everyone else was in tears and I just sat there in a bewildered daze. Eventually, I took Leila out and sat holding her tight while she cried and cried. I tried to comfort her and told her I would be here for her.
Joe died at approximately 4am, during surgery. It was his 30th birthday.
The sound system had been installed by Elvis and it was sounding sick. The noise could be heard all over the neighbourhood. Everyone was really excited. Everyone was really excited.
Two days previous to this Thursday night, Elvis and Joe had fallen out over the matter of Joe taking his girlfriend upstairs, numerous times, to sleep in hostel without checking her in. This was forbidden by Elvis and to be fair, Joe should have respected this. However, until this time it was a rule that had never been enforced. This disagreement had resulted in Elvis losing his temper and throwing a chair at Joe which broke over his arm. Elvis had aimed it at his head. This may sound extreme but in Elvis' defence Joe had been winding him up profusely over this matter by denying that it had happened, despite Elvis having it on camera. After this disagreement, Joe decided he no longer wanted to involved in the bar, which was understandable; the problem was, Joe had already signed the tenancy agreement and paid part of his non-refundable 3rd share for the lease. Elvis expressed that the only way Joe could be out was to find a new third party to by him out. Subsequently, this created problems for Zac and I, who didn't - and still don't - want a new partner. Joe ended up turning to alcohol for the answer. For the following two days I didn't see Joe without a drink in his hand day or night.
Once night had fallen on this Thursday night, Joe went to Beco do Rato - a samba cafe just round the corner from the Hostel, still in Lapa. It usually gets busy around midnight and I had arranged to meet Joe there. Joe loved that place, he was there every week, without fail.
Me, João and Elvis had arranged to go to a new strip joint around just up the road. When we got there, they let us enter with our beers and it cost 2 Reais to get in. We walked in and it was full of prostitutes. They swarmed us. We each got a complimentary lap dance to the sounds of some grimey funk music, which was amusing; these girls were experts and shaking their Brazilian batties. We soon got bored and fled before being pestered for more drinks.
After this, we piled over to Beco da Rato where Elvis bought himself an X-Tudo burger before shooting off. I bumped into Joe as soon as I got there, although, he took a few seconds to recognise me; this was unusual for Joe. I noticed instantly there was some white residual powder below his right nostril, he'd had been getting on it all night and was extremely drunk by this point, as well as sniffed up. When talking to him, his attention kept turning to his girlfriend, who was talking to some guy. "I'm gonna fucking kill this guy, Nik," he growled.
"Why? What the fuck has he done, mate?" I replied.
"Nothin' really, he's just talking to Leila, I don't like guys talkin' to my girl."
"You're not gonna touch him, Joe. That girl fucking worships you, man. Don't be such I prick, come on let's go over there, I need to talk to you,"
"No wait, first, let's go get a shot of Fogo Paulista," Joe demanded.
"Claro," I nodded, he then grabbed my head and gave a me a big kiss on the cheek.
"I fucking love you, my brother, give me a kiss!" He cried. I laughed at him. "What you can't give your brother a kiss now?" He said.
"Course I can," I shouted, before obliging and following up with a big hug for his approaching birthday.
I led him to the bar where we each downed a huge shot of this vile Goldschlager-like spirit; it burned as it went down almost inducing vomitus. I then grabbed a couple of beers for us and we walked off to a quiet area to discuss plans for his birthday celebration. Along the way, as we waded through the crowds, Joe stopped to chat to a couple of Americans from New York. He was completely hammered by this point and proceeded to insult them both "Wait, you guys aint from Manhattan are ya?" He jeered, with a sick chuckle behind his voice. "So your Jewish asses like tha Yankis?"
"Sure we do," the short, stumpy, mole-like Jew replied.
"Just know, when you die, Joe Martin thought you were an asshole," Joe cackled before giving him a big kiss on the cheek.
"Who the fuck is Joe Martin anyway?" The other Jew tried to retaliate.
"Me motherfucker," Joe shouted.
I excused Joe's rudeness, invited them both to the party then dragged Joe away. He was in a wild mood. As we walked off, I remember him yelling at the top of his voice, no words, just a loud scream which made everyone on the street turn and stare.
"I gotta tell ya somtin," he said.
"I already know. You haven't got the money for tomorrow" I said.
"Yeah but no, err yeah but I fucked you and Zac over as well. I bought all Elvis' stock off him on credit." He continued.
Now, this consisted of a case of Cachaça and various other bottles of spirits. His idea was that this would be his contribution for the party and that Zac and I would provide the beer. "
What about the rest of the lease money, have you got it yet?" I asked.
"That's coming, my mum's sending me that next week, you can speak to he and ask her if you don't believe me" He replied.
"Joe, mate, we're not in school, if you say you got it, you got it, I trust you man, we'll speak about all this tomorrow when you're not off your nut."
"Agreed." He then grabbed me kissed me once again and told me once more how much he loved Zac and I. I reciprocated with a big smacker on his cheek. "likewise." We had one final man-hug before I went home to bed.
At about 4am my phone rang and woke me up. It was Elvis. "Nik, hi, sorry, were you asleep?" He said calmly.
"That's alright, whatsup?" I retorted, in a weary slumber.
"Are you with Joe? He asked.
"No man I'm at home in bed, why?"
Well, Joe was shot in the belly by an off duty cop and I just wanted to check whether you were with him."
"What the fuck, are you serious? Where is he?" My eyes opened.
"He's in the hospital, mate." Elvis continued calmly.
"Fuck, what the fuck happened?" I shouted.
"I don't know exactly," he said. I thanked him for calling but wasn't sure this was real, I soon fell back asleep not knowing if I was dreaming.
At 8:00am my phone rang again, this time it was Alan on the phone. Alan is 23, Brazilian and from Petropolis, he works as a kind of handyman for Elvis. Alan told me again that Joe was in the hospital and I told him to wait 15 minutes for me.
When I arrived at the hostel I asked where Zac was. I then asked what had happened and this is what I was told:
Elouis and Cassandra, two friends of ours who used to stay at Samba Villa had been drinking just round the corner, when some kid snatched Elouis' bag and ran down the road. A random guy off the street had then accosted the kid and pinned him up against the wall. Joe meanwhile, was walking past cheering about reaching 30. He walked up to Elouis and Cassandra, who told him to be quiet and updated him on the situation. Joe had continued drinking and sniffing since I left him, 3 or so hours earlier. He must have been fucked up by this point. He was not happy with the events and ran down to the man and the thief. He then pushed the man off the thief before planting a headbutt on the thief's face. The thief dropped the bag and ran away. "Why did you do that?" The man shouted at Joe, in English.
Joe replied something in Portuguese along the lines of "No one steals around here, especially from my people."
The man was not happy with his answer and pulled out a pistol aiming it at Joe's bare chest. "What are you gonna do now?" The man shouted, again in English.
"What are you gonna do? Shoot me? Go ahead, everyone is watching!" He challenged.
"The man then shot twice at the ground in an attempt warn Joe off.
This didn't seem to faze Joe, who apparently replied "Shoot me then, come on you haven't got the balls."
Holding his hands out in either side of him seeming to imitate Jesus on the cross and clutching a beer in one, and a fag in the other. The man then shot twice in the air and the arguing continued, now in Portuguese. The man then shot twice more missing the first but hitting with the second shot. This was not an attempt to incapacitate Joe, no, the bullet hit Joe in the abdomen not a leg or a foot. Just try and imagine what that lump of metal flying at hundreds of miles per hour would do to a stomach full of vital organs. Joe fell to the floor clutching his belly as João, Leone, Allan and Elouis watched in terror. The man was calm and casually walked off to stand on the corner. The Policia Milita soon arrived and paid no attention to Joe. They spoke almost casually to the gunman before another unmarked car turned up. The gunman got in the car with a PM and people started screaming "murderer," and throwing rocks at the car.
The car sharply reversed straight into the crowd causing them to disperse. The car then stopped and the man got out again. Meanwhile Joe sat crying in on the side of the road. Leila, Joe's girlfriend soon arrived pm the scene and sat next to Joe crying. About 30 minutes passed before the Ambulance finally arrived. They put Joe in the back and another 20 passed before they finally shot off. They took Joe to some lame hospital just 10 minutes around the corner. Leone apparently went with the PM's to check that he was detained.
I called Zac's mobile and told him what I knew. He at first didn't believe me but eventually said he'd be there in 5 minutes. When he arrived we left immediately and jumped in a cab. It only took 10 fucking minutes to get there, 10 fucking minutes.
When we arrived at the hospital, they would only let one person in Allan went. Zac and I sat outside waiting. In my mind, Joe was sitting with a bandage wrapped around his chest sitting up in bed.
I had planned to call him a prick and say "What the fuck have you done this time, ya nutta?"
Allan came out, his eyes were wide and he looked shaken; I will never forget his words "Cara morreu" or "dude died."
Me, Zac and Allan went back into the hospital and Allan led us to waiting room where we found Leila and Joãn sitting in tears. I couldn't cry. I just felt numb and confused. Everyone else was in tears and I just sat there in a bewildered daze. Eventually, I took Leila out and sat holding her tight while she cried and cried. I tried to comfort her and told her I would be here for her.
Joe died at approximately 4am, during surgery. It was his 30th birthday.
Joseph Ernest Martin
25th May 1977 - 25th May 2007
Died for his people - Morreu para a gente
RIP
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