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Five favourite travel books: South America

I rarely read up about a place in a travel book as preparation for a holiday, but I do love to read about travel. South America, as regular readers will know, is my favourite part of the world and so I thought I’d begin here as I share my best loved travel reads. If you’ve any recommendations for must-read books on any of the South American countries, then do share – I’d love to know. And watch out for more on this theme at a later date: my bookshelves are stuffed full of addictive page-turners not only for the rest of the Americas, but destinations spanning the rest of the world’s continents.

Inca Kola by Matthew Parris

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If my house was burning down and I only had time to grab one travel book, it would be this one.  I’ve read Matthew Parris’ absorbing account countless times and it’s a delight from the first page to the very last.  From his introduction to Limeño traffic to accounts of hostile bandits and remote mountain villages, this is a fabulous insight into how Peru used to be.  In the opening chapter, Parris writes:

“Go to any scrapyard in Europe and command the wrecks to rise like Lazarus from the slab: you will have launched a fleet of the finest and newest Lima has to offer!”

I’m reminded of my first visit, in 1995, when my friend announced that, in order to find a cheap ride, you had to flag down the least roadworthy taxi that passed.  The dilapidated Beetle that would take me back to airport at the end of that trip had as many rusted holes as it did square inches of metal and the doors were held in place by ordinary kitchen string.  That we made it at all was a miracle, but it was indeed cheap.

Eight Feet in the Andes by Dervla Murphy

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Few mothers would take their nine year old daughter on a long distance Andean trek with only a mule as transport, but then few people would look to Dervla Murphy for parenting advice.  What results is a wonderful adventure and a lesson to everyone that you should never make excuses to avoid fulfilling your needs, especially where travel is concerned.  I’ve never had children, but I like to think that had I done so, he or she would have accompanied me on my travels.

Often, Dervla’s experiences are far from mine, but I did identify with this:

“She…provided two litres of watery chicha fascinatingly diversified by scraps of floating vegetation.  (“Better than insects” commented Rachel, peering into my glass.)”

I only tried chicha once, this home-fermented maize beer not to my taste. Rumours that those who made it spat their own saliva into it didn’t help to convince me otherwise.

Travels in a Thin Country by Sara Wheeler

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Peru’s neighbour Chile is the subject of this well-written and engaging work.  The author spent six months travelling in the country and writes as confidently as you’d expect.  Some of my favourite parts of the book are her interactions with those she meets, including this episode in the Torres del Paine National Park:

“I asked if they could sum up the difference between Chilean Patagonia and Argentinian Patagonia in one sentence.  “Absolutely none at all except the Chilean bit has mountains,” said the Argentinian.  “Quite,” said Fabien (her Chilean guide) and that was that.”

That brief exchange sums up the difference in temperament between the chatty Argentinians and the more reserved Chileans.  And in terms of comparing scenery, I can report that both are spectacular and equally beautiful.

The Old Patagonian Express by Paul Theroux

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While I’m not disputing that Paul Theroux is a great travel writer, he’s a grumpy old man much of the time and as a consequence, I often find his work doesn’t quite hit the spot.  This is an exception and the combination of trains and the Americas is a happy combination as far as I’m concerned.

However, towards the end of the book, Theroux reverts to type as he writes about La Boca, a colourful working class neighbourhood of Buenos Aires:

“I roamed the city on my own.  It now depressed me.  It was partly the effect of La Boca, the Italian district near the harbour… some of the squalor was affectation, the rest was real dirt.”

He was writing in the late 1970s.  I visited three decades later and the vibrant colours and equally colourful characters who inhabited the place made it one of the areas I remember most fondly.  But who am I to disagree?

Bad Times in Buenos Aires by Miranda France

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Somehow Miranda France manages to point out Buenos Aires’ flaws with more charm and seems to be affectionately ribbing her adopted home rather than moaning about it.  This, I love:

“There was a word I kept hearing: bronca.  An Italo-Spanish fusion, like most Argentines themselves, the word implied a fury so dangerously contained as to end in ulcers.  People felt bronca when they waited for an hour to be served at a bank, and then the service was bad because the cashiers all had bronca too.  Bronca crackled down the crossed telephone lines and stalked the checkout queues in supermarkets with hopeful names like Hawaii and Disco.”

Ah, Buenos Aires, what a screwed up and yet utterly captivating place!  See you next year, I can’t wait!

Just back from – a day trip to Belfast

Strictly speaking, I’m not “just back” from this one, but having recently visited Budapest for the day, I realised that some of my earlier days out by plane haven’t yet made it to the blog, so watch out for Berlin hot on the heels of this one.

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Although I’ve been to the Republic of Ireland a couple of times, I’d never been to Northern Ireland and given how many countries I have travelled in, that seemed to be an omission I really needed to put right.  With two dogs to consider and a husband not up for multiple day dog sitting, we met in the middle at a day out and I booked my flights.  At the time, my closest airport was London Southend and I scored a cheap outbound flight with easyJet at 0715 arriving 0830, returning on the 2055 which landed at 2215.  This route isn’t offered anymore, but you can still take advantage of multiple flights from London Gatwick, for instance, if you’re hoping to do this trip yourself.

With 12 hours to make use of, I decided to rent a car and tour the province.  A sub-compact doesn’t break the bank and it gave me the opportunity to see some of Northern Ireland’s most well-known sights.  First stop was Dunluce Castle.  I’m no Game of Thrones fan but it is one of the filming locations.  The picture gives you an idea of the drama of its setting and despite being a warm day in late May, the place was deserted.

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Next up, a short drive along the coast, was the famous Giant’s Causeway.  One of the major beefs with this is the exorbitant cost of entry.  Adult admission costs a whopping £9 and I do think the National Trust are pushing their luck.  However, as basalt scenery goes, it is impressive, though perhaps less so if you’ve seen some of Iceland’s towering columns.  In any case, pre-booking tickets can save you £1.50pp and there are also deals to be had if you do Park and Ride or just take the regular bus.  Anyway, I had a very pleasant few hours there strolling around the beach, clambering up nature’s natural staircases and even watching a lone piper play.

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The other National Trust must-see in this part of the world is Carrick-a-Rede, about nine miles along the coast.  It’s a bit cheaper than the Giant’s Causeway at £5.90 but for that you get the chance to traverse a rope bridge over the water – a scary but unmissable experience.

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On the day I visited, the wind was negligible, but when the wind picks up…  I figured there was a reason you bought your ticket before you caught sight of the bridge – just imagine the revenue they’d miss out on!  I’m not too keen on heights if I don’t feel my feet are firmly on the ground, so this would have been a terrifying place if there had been more than just a slight breeze.  The scenery, as with the first two locations, was fabulous, leaving me to wonder why I’d left it so long to visit this beautiful part of the United Kingdom.

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All this coastal exploring was making me hungry and so I drove down to Ballintoy Harbour (another G of T location) for a late lunch at Roark’s Kitchen.  The stone cottage which it occupies looks like it’s been there for many centuries and the place offered the chance for me to try out some of the local specialities.  In the end, though, I was tempted with the Ulster Fry, like a full English but with potato bread.

Back on the road, I enjoyed the pretty scenery in the sunshine, the blue sky giving me a chance to see the coastline at its best.  Cushendun was very quaint – that’s the village in the first picture of this blog.  Glenarm was also charming, straddling the water.  It has a stately home in the shape of Glenarm Castle which I didn’t visit, but I might have been tempted with its tearooms had I not overdosed on good hearty food at lunch.

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Instead, I decided to head back to the city.  Now, by then it was late afternoon, so I didn’t have a huge amount of time.  I decided to visit the docks area, seeing the massive yellow Harland and Wolff cranes before parking up at Titanic Belfast.  Even the building itself was a stunner, but the exhibits really brought to life that ill-fated voyage.  That was my last stop of the day and a very interesting one; the museum was well worth a visit.

That was May 2013 and I promised myself a return visit to this enchanting province and of course, to explore more of Belfast.  I haven’t yet, but I do intend to one day.

Just back from – a day in Budapest

If you’re a regular reader of this blog then you’ll know it’s perfectly possible to have a day out in Europe, so long as you don’t live too far away from the airport and the flight schedules permit an early out, late back pairing.  Following on from my days out in Amsterdam, Belfast, Bremen and Lisbon, the latest trip saw me heading to the Hungarian capital Budapest.  The links to those previous day trips can be found at the end of this post.  As with the others, I’ve been to Budapest before, but well over a decade ago, so I was keen to revisit what had been an enjoyable destination.

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Budapest straddles the Danube

Arriving at midday local time after a civilised 8.30am flight, it was good to hear the famous Ryanair on time hurrah and even better to find that Hungary’s border police valued speed over anything else.  An easy bus and metro ride got me into the centre of Budapest, giving me about six and a half hours in the city after the commute to and from the airport had been factored in.  Once again, having waited for a flash sale, I paid less for my flight than I would have done for a train ticket into London, with my time equating to less than £5 per hour of sightseeing.  I thought that was good value.  The one day travel card, good for bus, tram and metro, was also excellent value at 1650 forints, about £5.

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Cafe Gerbeaud has been found at its present location in Vörösmarty tér since 1870

First stop was an old haunt: Cafe Gerbeaud.  Located in Pest, this famous coffee house has been a fixture for well over a century and still knows how to put on the style.  A cappuccino and some delicious biscuits topped up the massive breakfast of huevos rancheros I’d wolfed down at Stansted.  The sun was pleasantly warm for October and so I decided to take a stroll along the banks of the Danube and over the city’s famous Chain Bridge.

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On the waterfront

With skies blue and visibility good, it was too tempting to take the funicular up Buda’s Castle Hill.  The ticket wasn’t included in the travel card, more’s the pity, but it was 1200 forints for a single ride – hardly break the bank rates.  The views from the top were as fine as any in Europe, with landmarks like Pest’s parliament building easy to spot.

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View across to Pest as I ascended the funicular

The castle occupies a prominent position, as you might expect.  There are wine tastings to sample and museums to explore, but one of the great pleasures is just to sit in the sunshine and admire that view over Pest.  As luck would have it, the changing of the guard ceremony was about to start in front of the Presidential Palace just as I reached the top.  A forest of cameras, phones, selfie sticks and mobile phones recorded the occasion, but there was plenty of room for everyone to get their shot.

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Changing of the guard, a tradition reinstated in 2003

The weather was just too good to resist and so I continued my stroll through Buda’s castle district to picture postcard Fishermen’s Bastion.  It’s not a place to hurry, unless an out of control Segway rider is heading your way.  There are loads of museums and plenty of cobbled streets, and as access to traffic is limited it’s easy to wander around.

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Castle District

The white domes of Fishermen’s Bastion have a touch of the Sacre Coeur about them.  The place was constructed between 1901 and 1903, designed to complement the Church of Our Lady which dominates the square adjacent to it.  There’s no need to pay to enter for the view, or to have a coffee in the expensive cafe in the ramparts, though, as you can enjoy the same splendid vistas for nothing if you walk a little further along.

Back on the bus, I headed down to the river to search out an old Turkish Bath I’d read about.  Instead, I found what looked like an abandoned sanatorium but what was actually a working thermal baths.  It turned out to be the Lukács baths, whose website provided a bit of background missing from other web posts about Budapest’s baths:

“The Lukács Thermal Bath has a rich historical background: monastery baths were built in this area as early as the 12th century, the first spa hotel was built in the 1880’s, a drinking cure hall was added in 1937, and a daytime hospital was established in 1979. At the end of the 20th century, the thermal bath was thoroughly renovated and all facilities were modernised.”

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A surprise find

Budapest has loads of them dotted about the city, including the swanky baths at the Gellert Hotel and the famous Széchenyi Baths in City Park.  These were less well known, perhaps off the tourist track because it looked like no one had maintained them for an age.  Undeniably atmospheric, I decided against a dip in case the building fell on me and in any case, it was late afternoon and getting a little chilly.  Instead, I decided to go back to Pest instead for a stroll through City Park.  The lake had been drained for cleaning, alas, so I cut my losses and caught a bus to the market.

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Paprika in the market

I could wander around a market all day, and Budapest’s, housed in a glorious building down by the river, is no exception.  Ropes of paprika hung like Christmas decorations from greengrocery stalls and rows of salamis adorned the butchers.  I’d been tipped off about a cheese pastry, a kind of crispy rolled croissant filled with cream cheese and dipped in finely grated cheese.  It was deliciously more-ish.

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The Whale at dusk

Temptation would have to be resisted though, for almost next door was one of Budapest’s newer architectural efforts.  Known as Bálna or the whale, this modern structure connects several old warehouses with a confection of glass and steel.  It opened, I read, in November 2013 after protracted disputes between the city and the developer, but not all of the units inside had been filled – a mix of shops, bars and restaurants – leading to some commentators renaming it the white elephant.

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Sunset over the Danube

It was getting late.  The sun had cast a pink hue over the Gellert and left the faintest of reflections in the Danube.  There was just time for a light supper before heading back to the airport for my 9.35pm flight back home.

Previous day trips…

Bremen

https://juliamhammond.wordpress.com/2016/06/07/just-back-from-a-day-trip-to-bremen/

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The four budding musicians

Lisbon

https://juliamhammond.wordpress.com/2014/10/20/just-back-from-a-day-trip-to-lisbon/

View from Mirador Portas do Sol

The Alfama district seen from the Mirador at Portas do Sol

Amsterdam

https://juliamhammond.wordpress.com/2015/01/26/just-back-from-a-day-trip-to-amsterdam/

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The Stroopwafel man

Joshua Tree National Park

U2 fans take note: if you rock up to Joshua Tree National Park looking for that tree, you’ll be disappointed. The iconic image that featured on the band’s 1987 album cover was actually taken by the side of the SR190, a couple of hundred miles away up near Darwin, CA. There’s no point in going in search of it as the tree is long gone. In fact, the Joshua Tree National Park wasn’t even a designated national park at the time, though it was a national monument. Its status was upgraded in 1994.

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A visit to the park is a rewarding experience. It’s basically divided into two distinct zones: the Colorado desert to the south and the higher and slightly wetter Mojave Desert to the north.  As with many US national parks, a road cuts through the park. If you’re driving, enter from the south as the scenery will improve as your day goes along rather than the other way round.

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The cholla cactus garden (pronounced choy-a in the Latino way as with most place names in these parts) is one of the highlights of the south side of the park. Much of the road leading to the area is lined with fairly featureless scrub, the barren landscape dotted with creosote bushes and the cactus-like ocotillo trees which despite their appearance aren’t cacti at all. Aside from almost running over a snake, we saw almost no wildlife at all which wasn’t a surprise given the landscape and the high temperatures.

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Cholla cacti almost have the appearance of cuddly bears – if your imagination is wired that way – but are extremely hazardous. Their prickles are incredibly sharp, and they get their nickname of jumping cactus from their propensity to detach.

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Straying from the path could be a disastrous decision. That path is sufficiently wide not to cause a problem, but as with walking the beam in gym class, there’s something about knowing you can’t wobble that makes you wobble. As someone with short sight and thus poor peripheral vision, it was a slightly stressful walk. Back at the hotel later, I found this video on YouTube showing what happens if you’re not so careful – and it’s excruciating viewing:

 

Back in the car without incident, the road climbed steadily, taking us into the Mojave and ramping up the scenic quality to something worthy of National Park status.  Pulling over, we were treated to the sight of Skull Rock, which as its name suggested had been sculpted into something resembling a human skull.

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The geological story of much of rocky Joshua Tree is one of volcanic intrusion – molten monzogranite pushing its way up into the overlying Pinto gneiss. As the magma cooled, the granite cracked. Over time, chemical weathering widened those cracks and rounded off the rock into the huge monzogranite boulders that litter the landscape today.

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After Skull Rock came Jumbo Rocks, which were pretty much what they said they were. If at first we had been in any doubt as to whether this desert deserved to be a national park then those doubts had now evaporated. Some people run America down, but in terms of sheer scale, its majestic scenery cannot be beaten. I know the word is overused, but it is awesome.

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Turning off the main highway, we climbed for a short while to Keys View. Fearing snakes, scorpions and tarantulas, it turned out to be something much more common that caused us the biggest headache in terms of creature discomfort – honeybees. Attracted by moisture, and not caring whether that came from human perspiration, a/c condensate or half-drunk Coke in the car’s cup holder, those pesky insects created quite the nuisance of themselves. Fortunately we were able to get them back out of the car fairly easily and – with much relief – without being stung, leaving us free to appreciate the views across the valley to Palm Springs and even as far as the Salton Sea in the hazy distance.

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Descending to the valley, the road took us to the start of the Barker Dam loop trail. It wasn’t far, along a well marked and graded gravel path, though in the intense heat (by British standards anyway) it was far enough. The dam was constructed around 1900 to store water for the cattle which were grazed here as well as for the local mines. It’s rain-fed, but visiting in the autumn meant that the reservoir was bone dry, leaving visitors to ponder the wisdom of trying to rear livestock in such an inhospitable location in the first place.

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Not far from Barker Dam lies Hidden Valley, one of the park’s landmark attractions and the only place we saw a tour bus. Once the hideout of cattle rustlers, now it’s aesthetic qualities that draw humans. Steps wind up through the rocks to a clearing crammed with vegetation: cacti, yucca and several species of trees have colonised the area naturally protected from the wildest weather. Overhearing a guide, I learnt that even a seemingly spine-free cactus was actually a hazard. Touch what seemed like a smooth surface and microscopic spines would embed themselves into the skin – almost impossible to remove without the aid of duct tape. Ouch!

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My verdict? Visit Joshua Tree for sure, but remember it comes with a health warning!

On a mission in San Juan Cap, California

With so many names and signs in Spanish, let alone the number of voices you’ll hear speaking the language, it’s hard to ignore that this part of the USA was once Spanish. In the heart of Orange County, midway between Los Angeles and San Diego, I visited the little town of San Juan Capistrano, drawn by the mission of the same name. (And a really good Mexican restaurant, but that’s another story…)

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Originally founded in 1775, Mission San Juan Capistrano was the seventh of twenty one such missions in what was them known as Alta California. Spain wished to expand its territory and at the same time, convert the native Americans to Catholicism. The missions were designed to be a place of learning and training, though of course, once converted to upright Spanish citizens, the native population would also be paying tax. The Spanish brought their own animals, food and technology, all of which piqued the curiosity of the locals. Once sucked in, however, there was no going back: converts could not leave the mission grounds without permission. By 1806, Mission San Juan Capistrano had a population of more than 1000 people.

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At its heart was the delightful Great Stone Church. Today, this church stands as a ruin, destroyed in an earthquake in 1812. The two bells that sit in front of the structure are actually originals, named San Vicente and San Juan, the latter damaged in the quake, though the four that swing from the bell tower are newer.

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The mission collapsed too, let down by the Spanish government so failed to send essential supplies, its residents plagued by outbreaks of disease. The final nail in the mission’s coffin came in 1821. Mexico became independent of Spain and with that, Alta California was no longer a Spanish possession. The Mexican government officially ended the mission system in 1834 and the MSJC’s land was parcelled up and sold to twenty prominent local families. In 1845, the mission itself was sold by the then governor to John Forster, who used it as the family ranch. He paid just $710 for it though its value was over $54000. Did I mention he also just so happened to be the governor’s brother in law?

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Things changed again in 1848. Mexico lost the Mexican-American War and under the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo, California was ceded to the Americans and became a state in 1850. President Abraham Lincoln was petitioned to return the missions to the Catholic church and like many, Mission San Juan Capistrano was the recipient of much needed attention and funds from well-heeled philanthropists. Today, such work continues, and visitors and benefactors continue to ensure the mission survives, adding their own flourishes to the existing structures. The fountain in the main courtyard, full of water lilies, is one such embellishment. It’s a tranquil place despite the sightseers, its courtyards full of cacti and hibiscus, framed by brick arches and adobe walls.

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The Serra Chapel that stands alongside the ruined Great Stone Church is a still a working church. Its adobe walls are left partially uncovered enabling you to see how it was constructed. Inside, its simple figurines and carvings stand alongside intricate wooden carvings overlaid in gold leaf, allowing to be both rustic and ornate at the same time. The altar, imported from Barcelona, is about 400 years old.

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Many visitors come to witness what the mission calls the “miracle of the swallows”. On March 19, the town celebrates the return of swallows from the south. I’m guessing there are some people out there who are gullible enough to believe this is the actual date, but anyway, March is the general time to expect them. The migrating swallows build nests in the nooks and crannies of the church walls where they stay until October. It would be another month before they would return to Argentina. I didn’t see any, but was assured they were there. It said so in the leaflet.