Pour ceux et celles qui ont aimé nous lire, il y aura bientôt une suite (dans quelques mois), puisque je rédige présentement un site web sur les voyages autour du monde.
À bientôt!
lundi 21 septembre 2009
Pour la suite du monde
Y a-t-il encore quelqu'un qui vient sur le blog? Au cas où, j'ai ajouté quelques photos de nos pyramides prises en cours de route, mais que nous n'avions pas affichées pour des raisons techniques. Celles-ci complètent la série.
samedi 8 août 2009
Patricia's Homework, Late as Usual
Now that Jean-François, Evelyne and Noémi are back in Montreal and Julien has moved back in with my sister, I don't have to fight with anyone to get access to the computer. So I am finally sitting down to add a few more anecdotes about the last portion of our trip. I realize I'm messing up the chronology, but the teacher in me just won't feel satisfied until I've finished the job properly. Any of you who have heard these stories, please disregard.
After boating down and back up Rio San Juan, we took a ten hour ferry to Isla de Ometepe, in the middle of Lago de Nicaragua. The island is basically made up of two volcanoes stuck together, Volcan Maderas and Volcan Concepcion. We spent a couple of nights in a beautiful old farmhouse-turned-hostel on a coffee cooperative called Finca Magdalena at the foot of Volcan Maderas. Everyone (but me) hiked to the top, a challenge indeed since it was hot, humid, muddy and extremely slippery. Why didn't I hike? Well, while we were in Halifax, I sprained my ankle walking along a paved path. As usual, I was not paying attention to where I was putting my feet, and I stepped off the edge of the path. Yes, I made it around the world unscathed, and while safely home in Canada, managed to cripple myself quite severely. I guess I wasn't used to walking on pavement anymore! I spent the first month limping around Nicaragua like an old lady, and unfortunately could not do the hike - but I consoled myself with fabulous fresh coffee, the amazing view, my book, and the hammocks strung across the verandah. In Altagracia, also on the island, we hooked up with a group of student volunteers from Liaisonneuve - the same program that Jean-François volunteered for three years ago. C'était bien amusant de passer quelques jours avec des Québécois, d'autant plus que nous avons pu fêter la Saint-Jean avec eux!
Neat Stuff We Did That We Can't Do At Home
One day, after a swim in lovely warm Lake Nicaragua, we saw several groups of local fisherman climbing into their boats. As the last pair prepared to leave, Jeremy and Julien said wouldn't it be neat to go along. And before they knew it, they were climbing into the boat and heading off for a genuine fishing experience. When they got back, two hours later, Jeremy had counted the number of fish they caught, estimated how much they could sell them for, and calculated roughly how much each fisherman had earned per hour! A great math exercise, but an even better economics lesson.
In Leon we attended a cock fight, a popular Sunday afternoon activity throughout much of the country. This is not a "tourist" activity, but truly a part of the culture (albeit mostly male), and so I felt that it was important to witness, despite my general dislike for violence. Evelyne preferred not to come, but the boys were very enthusiastic. Indeed, it was bloody, but we stayed the whole afternoon, somehow caught between fascination and disgust. I was partially consoled when I learned that the cocks who died would end up in the soup the next day (which they would eventually anyways)!
In Granada, Jeremy, Noemi and I attended the final baseball game in the national series. We arrived just before the game started, and since they sold way more tickets than there were seats, we spent the first fifteen minutes squished up against the wall, trying to peer over the ever increasing crowd. It seemed we would be standing for the whole thing, and I was starting to think that it was going to be a very long afternoon. And then, by some miracle, we managed to wangle our way into a fenced off section where we could sit (in the blazing sun, but no matter). What a relief! Although the game was not particularly exciting (is baseball ever?) ending with a score of 1-0, I was perfectly happy watching the crowd (we were just behind a group of rambunctious fans who sang and danced through nine innings) and the food vendors squeezing through the aisles, selling everything from fried plantains to ceviche. Admission: 2 dollars each.
Finally, in San Juan del Sur, on the Pacific coast, we all took a surf lesson in the morning and spent the rest of the day trying to get up on the darn board! It's really not as easy as it looks. Luckily the water was so warm that it didn't matter if we spent most of the time beside the board, or even under it! Evelyne got the prize for perseverance.
Most certainly, the highlight of our travels through Nicaragua was the opportunity to live with a family for a week in El Chaguite, a remote community in the mountains. The houses are accessible only on foot, and have neither electricity nor running water. But they do have wells, outhouses and an outdoor "showers"! Jean-Francois had stayed with Maria-Luisa, Tonio and their daughter Marling three years ago when he accompanied a group of students from Cegep de Maisonneuve, but this time we just showed up, not being able to notify them in advance. Spontaneously, they offered to put us up and within an hour had rounded up enough beds and hammocks for the six of us. What we didn't realize until later is that they had actually given us their bed and were sleeping on the concrete floor! I was constantly amazed by their generosity.
Every day Maria-Luisa would get up at sunrise (5 0'clock) to start the fire, and then spend the whole day preparing meals, mostly rice and frijoles (beans). We spent lots of time learning how to make tortillas, playing with the local kids and trying to teach them new games with our broken Spanish. And enjoying the breathtaking scenery: coffee plantations, corn and bean fields covered the mountains, everything was lush and green. El Chaguite is not in the top ten of any guide book, and yet this was certainly one of the simplest, most peaceful and enriching experiences of our entire trip.
Nicaragua was so inexpensive and interesting that in the end, we spent just a week in Costa Rica, primarily hiking in the cloud forest near Monte Verde and discovering the many species of indigenous frogs, butterflies, insects (mostly in enclosures) as well as birds and monkeys that inhabit this environment. From far away we also saw (miniscule) red hot lava rocks tumbling down the side of an active volcano. And just before we left San Jose to fly back to Halifax, we had supper with Julien's grade five teacher who was passing through - now he's convinced his teachers are following him!
After boating down and back up Rio San Juan, we took a ten hour ferry to Isla de Ometepe, in the middle of Lago de Nicaragua. The island is basically made up of two volcanoes stuck together, Volcan Maderas and Volcan Concepcion. We spent a couple of nights in a beautiful old farmhouse-turned-hostel on a coffee cooperative called Finca Magdalena at the foot of Volcan Maderas. Everyone (but me) hiked to the top, a challenge indeed since it was hot, humid, muddy and extremely slippery. Why didn't I hike? Well, while we were in Halifax, I sprained my ankle walking along a paved path. As usual, I was not paying attention to where I was putting my feet, and I stepped off the edge of the path. Yes, I made it around the world unscathed, and while safely home in Canada, managed to cripple myself quite severely. I guess I wasn't used to walking on pavement anymore! I spent the first month limping around Nicaragua like an old lady, and unfortunately could not do the hike - but I consoled myself with fabulous fresh coffee, the amazing view, my book, and the hammocks strung across the verandah. In Altagracia, also on the island, we hooked up with a group of student volunteers from Liaisonneuve - the same program that Jean-François volunteered for three years ago. C'était bien amusant de passer quelques jours avec des Québécois, d'autant plus que nous avons pu fêter la Saint-Jean avec eux!
Neat Stuff We Did That We Can't Do At Home
One day, after a swim in lovely warm Lake Nicaragua, we saw several groups of local fisherman climbing into their boats. As the last pair prepared to leave, Jeremy and Julien said wouldn't it be neat to go along. And before they knew it, they were climbing into the boat and heading off for a genuine fishing experience. When they got back, two hours later, Jeremy had counted the number of fish they caught, estimated how much they could sell them for, and calculated roughly how much each fisherman had earned per hour! A great math exercise, but an even better economics lesson.
In Leon we attended a cock fight, a popular Sunday afternoon activity throughout much of the country. This is not a "tourist" activity, but truly a part of the culture (albeit mostly male), and so I felt that it was important to witness, despite my general dislike for violence. Evelyne preferred not to come, but the boys were very enthusiastic. Indeed, it was bloody, but we stayed the whole afternoon, somehow caught between fascination and disgust. I was partially consoled when I learned that the cocks who died would end up in the soup the next day (which they would eventually anyways)!
In Granada, Jeremy, Noemi and I attended the final baseball game in the national series. We arrived just before the game started, and since they sold way more tickets than there were seats, we spent the first fifteen minutes squished up against the wall, trying to peer over the ever increasing crowd. It seemed we would be standing for the whole thing, and I was starting to think that it was going to be a very long afternoon. And then, by some miracle, we managed to wangle our way into a fenced off section where we could sit (in the blazing sun, but no matter). What a relief! Although the game was not particularly exciting (is baseball ever?) ending with a score of 1-0, I was perfectly happy watching the crowd (we were just behind a group of rambunctious fans who sang and danced through nine innings) and the food vendors squeezing through the aisles, selling everything from fried plantains to ceviche. Admission: 2 dollars each.
Finally, in San Juan del Sur, on the Pacific coast, we all took a surf lesson in the morning and spent the rest of the day trying to get up on the darn board! It's really not as easy as it looks. Luckily the water was so warm that it didn't matter if we spent most of the time beside the board, or even under it! Evelyne got the prize for perseverance.
Most certainly, the highlight of our travels through Nicaragua was the opportunity to live with a family for a week in El Chaguite, a remote community in the mountains. The houses are accessible only on foot, and have neither electricity nor running water. But they do have wells, outhouses and an outdoor "showers"! Jean-Francois had stayed with Maria-Luisa, Tonio and their daughter Marling three years ago when he accompanied a group of students from Cegep de Maisonneuve, but this time we just showed up, not being able to notify them in advance. Spontaneously, they offered to put us up and within an hour had rounded up enough beds and hammocks for the six of us. What we didn't realize until later is that they had actually given us their bed and were sleeping on the concrete floor! I was constantly amazed by their generosity.
Every day Maria-Luisa would get up at sunrise (5 0'clock) to start the fire, and then spend the whole day preparing meals, mostly rice and frijoles (beans). We spent lots of time learning how to make tortillas, playing with the local kids and trying to teach them new games with our broken Spanish. And enjoying the breathtaking scenery: coffee plantations, corn and bean fields covered the mountains, everything was lush and green. El Chaguite is not in the top ten of any guide book, and yet this was certainly one of the simplest, most peaceful and enriching experiences of our entire trip.
Nicaragua was so inexpensive and interesting that in the end, we spent just a week in Costa Rica, primarily hiking in the cloud forest near Monte Verde and discovering the many species of indigenous frogs, butterflies, insects (mostly in enclosures) as well as birds and monkeys that inhabit this environment. From far away we also saw (miniscule) red hot lava rocks tumbling down the side of an active volcano. And just before we left San Jose to fly back to Halifax, we had supper with Julien's grade five teacher who was passing through - now he's convinced his teachers are following him!
Envoye à maison!
Salut chers lecteurs,
Jean-François, Evelyne et Noémi sont de retour à Montréal. Nous sommes revenus par la route de Halifax, en Nouvelle-Écosse, et nous avons passé notre 383e nuit à Saint-André de Kamouraska dans camping situé sur un site magnifique au bord du majestueux fleuve Saint-Laurent. L'odeur des sapins, mêlée à celles des rosiers sauvages, des algues et des feux de camps, créait un parfum unique au monde. Ça sentait le Québec! Et quel paysage extraordinaire! Vraiment parmi les plus beaux du monde.
Au restaurant où on a partagé une grosse poutine, on a été surpris par l'accent québécois! C'était étrange d'entendre parler français partout autour de nous, dans notre accent. C'était un peu comme retrouver au fond d'une boîte un vieil objet qui a une valeur sentimentale et qu'on avait oublié. On a bien ri, aussi, en lisant sur le menu qu'on pouvait choisir entre un spagnetti ou un clud sandwich. Il n'y a pas qu'ailleurs où il y a des fautes (c.f. Indian menu publié le 30 octobre)!
Patricia et Julien seront de retour vendredi prochain. Tranquillement, nous nous réinstalleront.
vendredi 24 juillet 2009
La fin approche
Non. Le titre n'est pas une référence au film Le voyage d'une vie (qui porte sur le suicide en racontant l'histoire d'un homme qui s'est enlevé la vie après avoir fait un voyage autour du monde avec sa famille). Vous ne pouvez pas savoir combien de personnes m'ont dit : "J'espère que tu ne vas pas te suicider après ton voyage." On me l'a dit souvent avant mon départ et plusieurs fois au cours du voyage. Et je suis certains qu'on va me la reservir à mon retour. Tellement souvent, que j'ai envie de vous en parler. Les voyages autour du monde ne sont pas une cause de suicide. Ce n'est pas ce qu'établit le film. Mais beaucoup de gens ont pris un raccourci, ont manqué le propos essentiel du film et ont associé "voyage autour du monde" à "suicide". Si ça peut vous rassurer, je ne suis pas suicidaire, ni même dépressif. Au contraire, cette année de découverte m'a permis d'élaborer de nouveaux projets avec une énergie renouvelé...
La fin approche. Dans trois jours, nous serons de retour à Halifax. Ce n'est pas tout à fait Montréal, mais comme ça fait 21 ans que j'y vais une ou deux fois par année, c'est un peu chez moi. Halifax est pour moi le lieu de ma résidence secondaire plus qu'une destination de voyage. Et puis le retour à Montréal ne tardera pas.
Je sens qu'il est temps de rentrer pour gagner la perspective nécessaire pour faire un bilan. Mais je sens aussi que ce bilan nous permettra de préparer le prochain voyage. Récemment, nous avons partagé la route avec un "jeune retraité" canadien qui voyage depuis trois ans et demi. Quand celui-ci était à Managua, il a rencontré un "vieux retraité" hollandais qui voyage depuis 17 ans! En Inde, en septembre dernier, nous avions discuté avec un Américain de 80 ans qui voyageait depuis quatre mois. Au cours de sa vie, il avait visité 76 pays. Cette fois, il avait fait l'Afrique du Sud, Madagascar, les Seychelles, l'Île Maurice et l'Inde.
Mais nous n'avons pas croisé que des "vieux" sur notre chemin. Partout des jeunes dans la vingtaine ou au début de la trentaine voyagent seuls, en couple ou avec des amis. Certains viennent de terminer leurs études et d'autres prennent une pause. Mais plusieurs ont décidé de quitter leur travail parce que celui-ci ne donnait pas de sens à leur vie. De toute façon, avec la crise, ce sont les jeunes qui se font mettre à pied. Même s'ils avaient encore un emploi, ils sentaient qu'ils avaient bien peu de valeur pour leur employeur alors ils ont préféré partir. Aussi dur que cela puisse paraître, il faut bien noter que ce sont les jeunes des pays industrialisés qui ont les moyens de tout quitter pour voyager pendant plusieurs mois. Les jeunes des pays qu'ils visitent, en Afrique, en Asie et en Amérique latine, ne pourraient jamais se le permettre, même quand l'économie se porte bien.
Enfin, nous avons rencontré au fil des continents trois autres familles qui faisaient un voyage d'un an autour du monde ou, dans un des cas, dans toutes les Amériques. L'une venait du Québec, comme la nôtre, et les deux autres de l'Alberta. Curieuses coïncidences. Des Européens de plusieurs pays, notamment de l'Allemagne, de la Suisse et des Pays-Bas, nous ont affirmé qu'ils ne pourraient jamais retirer leurs enfants de l'école pour un an, que même quelques jours ce serait difficile. Est-ce vrai ou est-ce seulement ce qu'ils pensent, conformément à leur propre mentalité? Qu'est-ce que ça leur coûterait de demander? Est-ce que, on fond, ça ne les arrange pas de penser que c'est impossible?
S'il y a une chose que j'ai retenue de mon expérience (c'est déjà le début du bilan), c'est qu'on peut se donner les moyens de ses rêves. Des difficultés, on en rencontre tous les jours de toute façon et probablement plus quand on décide de ne rien faire (car ça reste une décision) que lorsqu'on relève des défis. À chacun de trouver les siens.
La fin approche. Dans trois jours, nous serons de retour à Halifax. Ce n'est pas tout à fait Montréal, mais comme ça fait 21 ans que j'y vais une ou deux fois par année, c'est un peu chez moi. Halifax est pour moi le lieu de ma résidence secondaire plus qu'une destination de voyage. Et puis le retour à Montréal ne tardera pas.
Je sens qu'il est temps de rentrer pour gagner la perspective nécessaire pour faire un bilan. Mais je sens aussi que ce bilan nous permettra de préparer le prochain voyage. Récemment, nous avons partagé la route avec un "jeune retraité" canadien qui voyage depuis trois ans et demi. Quand celui-ci était à Managua, il a rencontré un "vieux retraité" hollandais qui voyage depuis 17 ans! En Inde, en septembre dernier, nous avions discuté avec un Américain de 80 ans qui voyageait depuis quatre mois. Au cours de sa vie, il avait visité 76 pays. Cette fois, il avait fait l'Afrique du Sud, Madagascar, les Seychelles, l'Île Maurice et l'Inde.
Mais nous n'avons pas croisé que des "vieux" sur notre chemin. Partout des jeunes dans la vingtaine ou au début de la trentaine voyagent seuls, en couple ou avec des amis. Certains viennent de terminer leurs études et d'autres prennent une pause. Mais plusieurs ont décidé de quitter leur travail parce que celui-ci ne donnait pas de sens à leur vie. De toute façon, avec la crise, ce sont les jeunes qui se font mettre à pied. Même s'ils avaient encore un emploi, ils sentaient qu'ils avaient bien peu de valeur pour leur employeur alors ils ont préféré partir. Aussi dur que cela puisse paraître, il faut bien noter que ce sont les jeunes des pays industrialisés qui ont les moyens de tout quitter pour voyager pendant plusieurs mois. Les jeunes des pays qu'ils visitent, en Afrique, en Asie et en Amérique latine, ne pourraient jamais se le permettre, même quand l'économie se porte bien.
Enfin, nous avons rencontré au fil des continents trois autres familles qui faisaient un voyage d'un an autour du monde ou, dans un des cas, dans toutes les Amériques. L'une venait du Québec, comme la nôtre, et les deux autres de l'Alberta. Curieuses coïncidences. Des Européens de plusieurs pays, notamment de l'Allemagne, de la Suisse et des Pays-Bas, nous ont affirmé qu'ils ne pourraient jamais retirer leurs enfants de l'école pour un an, que même quelques jours ce serait difficile. Est-ce vrai ou est-ce seulement ce qu'ils pensent, conformément à leur propre mentalité? Qu'est-ce que ça leur coûterait de demander? Est-ce que, on fond, ça ne les arrange pas de penser que c'est impossible?
S'il y a une chose que j'ai retenue de mon expérience (c'est déjà le début du bilan), c'est qu'on peut se donner les moyens de ses rêves. Des difficultés, on en rencontre tous les jours de toute façon et probablement plus quand on décide de ne rien faire (car ça reste une décision) que lorsqu'on relève des défis. À chacun de trouver les siens.
dimanche 12 juillet 2009
Photos du Nicaragua
Voici quelques-unes des 1148 photos que nous avons à ce jour pour le Nicaragua seulement...
vendredi 10 juillet 2009
El Chaguite
Il y a trois ans, j'ai accompagné un groupe d'étudiants dans un projet de solidarité et de coopération internationale au Nicaragua. Nous avons s'éjourné dans la communauté de El Chaguite, située dans les montagnes près du Honduras, quelque part entre Totogalpa et Palacaguina. J'y suis retourné avec Patricia, les trois enfants et le neveu.
Tonio, Maria-Luisa et leur fille Marling, qui m'avaient hébergé il y a trois ans, nous ont offert à nouveau l'hospitalité. D'emblée, ils ont refusé l'argent que je leur proposais. Ils nous ont prêté leur unique lit, un lit simple fait de planches, sans matelas. Ils ont emprunté le lit double de la fille du pasteur (Eveling), sans matelas non plus, un lit de camp et deux hamacs à d'autres membres de la communauté. Ils ont installé tout ça dans la grande pièce de leur maison à deux pièces, et pendant une semaine ils ont dormi sur le plancher de ciment de la petite pièce qui sert de remise.
Il n'y avait pas suffusemment de nourriture dans la communauté pour nourrir six nouvelles bouches. Nous avons marché jusqu'à la pulperia la plus proche pour acheter du riz, des fèves, de l'ail et du bouillon de poulet. C'est tout ce qu'il y avait. Le lendemain, je suis allé à Palacaguina avec Tonio : une heure de marche et une demi-heure d'autobus. J'y ai acheté des oeufs, des fruits et des légumes, et des matelas en mousse de mauvaise qualité mais qui se roulent et qui se tranportent facilement sur un chemin de montagne. J'ai demandé à Tonio s'il voulait acheter quelque chose pour lui-même, sa femme ou sa fille. Timidement, il m'a demandé si on pouvait acheter du parfum pour Maria-Luisa. Je n'y aurais jamais pensé, mais pourquoi pas faire un "cadeau inutile", comme dit ma mère, quelque chose qu'il ne pourrait jamais offrir. À 3,50$ la bouteille, ce n'était même pas du faux Channel et ça n'a pas crevé mon budget. Mais pour lui et Maria-Luisa, c'était vraiment une occasion spéciale.
Tonio, comme tous les hommes d'El Chaguite, travaille à la saison des semences et des récoltes, quand il peut se faire engager par un propriétaire terrien, pour 2,50$ par jour. Son dîner lui coûte 1$, à moins qu'il ne puisse apporter du riz, des fèves et deux tortillas dans un sac de plastic. En une semaine, il gagne 12,50$ s'il apporte son lunch, ce que la majorité des Québécois gagnent en une heure. Et il n'a évidemment pas de paye de vacances, d'assurance maladie et d'assurance médicament, ni d'autres avantages.
Nous avons passé une semaine extraordinaire avec eux, apprenant le secret du gallo pinto et à faire des tortillas, apprenant à apprécier le moment présent quand il n'y a rien à faire (sans électricité, pas de télévision, pas d'Internet ni de jeux vidéo, mais pas plus de jeux de société ou de sorties en ville). Nos enfants ont enseigné plein de nouveaux jeux aux enfants d'El Chaguite. Leur jeu préféré? Camouflage, une variation sur le jeu de la cachète qu'ils ne connaissaient pas non plus. La chaise musicale a aussi été un grand succès.
Cette semaine à El Chaguite nous a non seulement permis de découvrir un mode de vie à mille lieues du nôtre, mais aussi de porter un regard neuf sur nous-même. Vivant à quelques dizaines de kilomètres du Honduras, la comunauté d'El Chaguite n'est pas au courant du coup d'Etat qui y a eu lieu. Elle n'a jamais connu Michael Jakson, alors les causes de son décès...
Tonio, Maria-Luisa et leur fille Marling, qui m'avaient hébergé il y a trois ans, nous ont offert à nouveau l'hospitalité. D'emblée, ils ont refusé l'argent que je leur proposais. Ils nous ont prêté leur unique lit, un lit simple fait de planches, sans matelas. Ils ont emprunté le lit double de la fille du pasteur (Eveling), sans matelas non plus, un lit de camp et deux hamacs à d'autres membres de la communauté. Ils ont installé tout ça dans la grande pièce de leur maison à deux pièces, et pendant une semaine ils ont dormi sur le plancher de ciment de la petite pièce qui sert de remise.
Il n'y avait pas suffusemment de nourriture dans la communauté pour nourrir six nouvelles bouches. Nous avons marché jusqu'à la pulperia la plus proche pour acheter du riz, des fèves, de l'ail et du bouillon de poulet. C'est tout ce qu'il y avait. Le lendemain, je suis allé à Palacaguina avec Tonio : une heure de marche et une demi-heure d'autobus. J'y ai acheté des oeufs, des fruits et des légumes, et des matelas en mousse de mauvaise qualité mais qui se roulent et qui se tranportent facilement sur un chemin de montagne. J'ai demandé à Tonio s'il voulait acheter quelque chose pour lui-même, sa femme ou sa fille. Timidement, il m'a demandé si on pouvait acheter du parfum pour Maria-Luisa. Je n'y aurais jamais pensé, mais pourquoi pas faire un "cadeau inutile", comme dit ma mère, quelque chose qu'il ne pourrait jamais offrir. À 3,50$ la bouteille, ce n'était même pas du faux Channel et ça n'a pas crevé mon budget. Mais pour lui et Maria-Luisa, c'était vraiment une occasion spéciale.
Tonio, comme tous les hommes d'El Chaguite, travaille à la saison des semences et des récoltes, quand il peut se faire engager par un propriétaire terrien, pour 2,50$ par jour. Son dîner lui coûte 1$, à moins qu'il ne puisse apporter du riz, des fèves et deux tortillas dans un sac de plastic. En une semaine, il gagne 12,50$ s'il apporte son lunch, ce que la majorité des Québécois gagnent en une heure. Et il n'a évidemment pas de paye de vacances, d'assurance maladie et d'assurance médicament, ni d'autres avantages.
Nous avons passé une semaine extraordinaire avec eux, apprenant le secret du gallo pinto et à faire des tortillas, apprenant à apprécier le moment présent quand il n'y a rien à faire (sans électricité, pas de télévision, pas d'Internet ni de jeux vidéo, mais pas plus de jeux de société ou de sorties en ville). Nos enfants ont enseigné plein de nouveaux jeux aux enfants d'El Chaguite. Leur jeu préféré? Camouflage, une variation sur le jeu de la cachète qu'ils ne connaissaient pas non plus. La chaise musicale a aussi été un grand succès.
Cette semaine à El Chaguite nous a non seulement permis de découvrir un mode de vie à mille lieues du nôtre, mais aussi de porter un regard neuf sur nous-même. Vivant à quelques dizaines de kilomètres du Honduras, la comunauté d'El Chaguite n'est pas au courant du coup d'Etat qui y a eu lieu. Elle n'a jamais connu Michael Jakson, alors les causes de son décès...
lundi 29 juin 2009
Nicaragua: aventures et mésaventures
Nous voici en Amerique Centrale depuis déjà presque trois semaines. Que le temps passe vite! Après deux jours à San Juan, au Costa Rica (relativement cher), nous avons décidé de filer directement vers le Nicaragua. Nous nous gardons deux semaines à la fin pour le Costa Rica, on verra à ce moment-là combien de sous il nous reste!
Ce qui nous a frappés le plus en arrivant, c'est la chaleur. Le contraste avec la Bolivie, où nous avons acheté, et porté, des tuques et des mitaines, est enorme. Au début, je me suis demandée pourquoi les femmes ne tricotaient pas ici, mais j'ai vite compris. Il fait vraiment chaud, et terriblement humide. En ce moment, c'est la saison des pluies, donc il y des orages (des torrents impressionnants, avec des éclairs magnifiques qui sont de vrais feux d'artifices) presque tous les jours, et les routes en terre (et les vêtements) ne sèchent jamais complètement. Nous sommes dans un sauna perpetuel. Je crois que c'est Jeremy qui trouve ça le plus difficile, car il ne fait jamais aussi chaud en Nouvelle Écosse. Enfin, ça fait partie du voyage.
Autrement, tout va bien, personne n'a été malade, tel que prevu les garçons s'entendent à merveille, et nous n'avons eu aucun probleme jusqu'ici. Ah oui, un petit. En arrivant au Nicaragua, apres 2 heures d'attente sur le quai, Jeremy (pas encore habitué aux horaires nicaraguayens!) a demandé, What time is this boat supposed to leave? Answer: When the captain feels like it) et une heure de bâteau sur le Rio Frio, où nous avons vu des singes, des tortues, et toute une variété d'oiseaux, nous sommes arrivés à San Carlos, petite ville de 30,000 habitants au bord du lac Nicaragua. Partout dans le monde nous avons reussi à retirer de l'argent dans les guichets automatiques. Eh bien, il n'y a pas de guichet à San Carlos. Et la banque n'a pas voulu échanger nos cheques de voyage. Alors le lendemain, Jean-Francois a dû faire demi-tour, reprendre le bateau en sens inverse, et retourner à Los Chiles au Costa Rica pour aller à la banque. Meme si ce n'est qu'une heure de bateau, ça lui a pris toute la journée!! Voila, même après 10 mois de voyage, on se fait parfois avoir... Enfin, ça fait des histoires à raconter. Entre temps, Jeremy et Julien ont fait fureur avec leurs raquettes de badminton, tous les garçons du village sont venus s'essayer: même s'ils n'avaient jamais joué auparavant, en quelques minutes ils se debrouillaient très bien. Et il y a eu quelques tentatives pour se parler. Ces moments-là valent n'importe quel monument.
Ce qui nous a frappés le plus en arrivant, c'est la chaleur. Le contraste avec la Bolivie, où nous avons acheté, et porté, des tuques et des mitaines, est enorme. Au début, je me suis demandée pourquoi les femmes ne tricotaient pas ici, mais j'ai vite compris. Il fait vraiment chaud, et terriblement humide. En ce moment, c'est la saison des pluies, donc il y des orages (des torrents impressionnants, avec des éclairs magnifiques qui sont de vrais feux d'artifices) presque tous les jours, et les routes en terre (et les vêtements) ne sèchent jamais complètement. Nous sommes dans un sauna perpetuel. Je crois que c'est Jeremy qui trouve ça le plus difficile, car il ne fait jamais aussi chaud en Nouvelle Écosse. Enfin, ça fait partie du voyage.
Autrement, tout va bien, personne n'a été malade, tel que prevu les garçons s'entendent à merveille, et nous n'avons eu aucun probleme jusqu'ici. Ah oui, un petit. En arrivant au Nicaragua, apres 2 heures d'attente sur le quai, Jeremy (pas encore habitué aux horaires nicaraguayens!) a demandé, What time is this boat supposed to leave? Answer: When the captain feels like it) et une heure de bâteau sur le Rio Frio, où nous avons vu des singes, des tortues, et toute une variété d'oiseaux, nous sommes arrivés à San Carlos, petite ville de 30,000 habitants au bord du lac Nicaragua. Partout dans le monde nous avons reussi à retirer de l'argent dans les guichets automatiques. Eh bien, il n'y a pas de guichet à San Carlos. Et la banque n'a pas voulu échanger nos cheques de voyage. Alors le lendemain, Jean-Francois a dû faire demi-tour, reprendre le bateau en sens inverse, et retourner à Los Chiles au Costa Rica pour aller à la banque. Meme si ce n'est qu'une heure de bateau, ça lui a pris toute la journée!! Voila, même après 10 mois de voyage, on se fait parfois avoir... Enfin, ça fait des histoires à raconter. Entre temps, Jeremy et Julien ont fait fureur avec leurs raquettes de badminton, tous les garçons du village sont venus s'essayer: même s'ils n'avaient jamais joué auparavant, en quelques minutes ils se debrouillaient très bien. Et il y a eu quelques tentatives pour se parler. Ces moments-là valent n'importe quel monument.
Dans le bâteau du retour (la deuxième fois en deux jours!) Jean-Francois a rencontré un jeune couple américain (d'origine sud-africaine) qui vit maintenant au Costa Rica, et ils nous ont invité a passer quelques jours chez eux en juillet. Comme quoi il ya du bon même dans les mésaventures.
Le lendemain nous avons pris le bâteau pour El Castillo, et avons rencontré un "vieux" canadien de 57 ans qui voyage, comme nous, le sac au dos, depuis trois ans. Il n'a meme plus d'adresse fixe, "only a locker in Calgary"!! Il y a de l'espoir pour moi... Nous avons passé deux jours avec lui et un groupe de jeunes de la Suisse et des Pays Bas, dans ce petit village charmant au bord de l'eau, où il n'y a aucune voiture ni moto, que des bateaux. Nous avons logé dans une toute petite auberge avec une terrasse par dessus la rivière, c'etait le paradis! Julien, Jeremy et moi nous sommes baignés dans le Rio San Juan avec les garçons du village, je crois qu'ils etaient plutôt étonnés de voir des blancs dans l'eau, et surtout une femme, mais c'est une façon comme une autre de montrer qu'on s'intéresse à eux.
Le jour où nous avons remonté le San Juan pour retourner à San Carlos, nos amis gringos allaient entamer un voyage en canot jusqu'à la mer! Nous etions bien tentés de partir avec eux, mais ce n'etait vraiment pas la bonne direction. Ça sera pour un autre voyage.
Le jour où nous avons remonté le San Juan pour retourner à San Carlos, nos amis gringos allaient entamer un voyage en canot jusqu'à la mer! Nous etions bien tentés de partir avec eux, mais ce n'etait vraiment pas la bonne direction. Ça sera pour un autre voyage.
vendredi 12 juin 2009
La grande séduction
Chaque fois que nous posons les pieds sur un nouveau continent, que nous abordons un nouveau pays, nous tombons sous le charme de ses paysages, de ses traditions et de sa cuisine. Nous adorons faire de nouvelles rencontre et recherchons les échanges avec les habitants. Il suffit de connaître quelques mots dans la langue de nos hôtes pour "briser la glace" et poursuivre la conversation en anglais en faisant attention de ne pas utiliser d'expressions trop régionales. "Breaking the ice" n'est pas une expression très connue en Afrique, même s'il y a de la glace au sommet du mont Kenya!
Au Kenya, justement, nous avons appris a dire "jambo" pour dire "bonjour" et "acouna matata", leur expression préférée, pour dire "pas de problème". Nous avons aussi appris les noms des animaux, à compter jusqu'à dix, à demander "Comment ça va?" et à répondre "Ça va bien". Evidement, c'est intéressant - et charmant - d'essayer de parler aux gens dans leur langue plutôt que d'utiliser l'anglais, mais ouf! ce n'est pas facile. En Inde, en Thaïlande et au Laos, nous avons aussi appris quelques mots, mais alors là, moins qu'en swahili. Seulement "bonjour", "s'il vous plait" et "merci". D'autant plus qu'en laotien, la langue change selon que le locuteur est un homme ou une femme.
C'est vrai qu'en Australie et en Nouvelle-Zélande on communiquait dans la langue du pays, ce qui nous permettait de rencontrer facilement les gens. Mais comme c'était en anglais, ce n'était pas très exotique. C'était un peu comme voyager en Ontario (mais seulement pour la langue!).
Depuis que nous sommes arrivés en Amerique du Sud, il se passe quelque chose... Il y a cette langue qui nous fait de l'oeil. Nous la fréquentons depuis un certain temps déjà et avons développé avec elle une belle complicité. Tout ne doit pas être pris pour acquis cependant. C'est que chaque fois que nous changeons de région ou même de ville, comme pour se laisser désirer davantage, elle change d'accent. Nous peinons même parfois à la reconnaître! Mais elle nous a séduits et nous ne lésinerons pas sur les moyens pour l'apprivoiser. Car c'est une chose de savoir commander un café en espagnol et s'en est une autre de comprendre le cynisme d'une mère qui baptise sa fille Dolores. A La Paz, nous avons eu la chance d'être invités à dîner dans une famille. C'était un grand plaisir de partager un repas avec eux et de pouvoir écouter Beatriz, Fabian et leurs enfants nous décrire leur vie quotidienne et nous confier leurs rêves.
Tout ça pour dire que j'adore voyager en Amérique du Sud et en Amérique centrale parce que l'espagnol ajoute une nouvelle dimenssion au voyage. Langue étrangère sans l'être tout à fait, elle est à la fois familière et exotique. Ses sonorités s'amusent dans notre bouche et se jouent de notre langue (celle qui est rose). Elle est plus qu'un sixième sens qui s'ajoute aux cinq autres pour saisir le monde qui nous entoure. Elle est la clé qui en ouvre la porte.
Au Kenya, justement, nous avons appris a dire "jambo" pour dire "bonjour" et "acouna matata", leur expression préférée, pour dire "pas de problème". Nous avons aussi appris les noms des animaux, à compter jusqu'à dix, à demander "Comment ça va?" et à répondre "Ça va bien". Evidement, c'est intéressant - et charmant - d'essayer de parler aux gens dans leur langue plutôt que d'utiliser l'anglais, mais ouf! ce n'est pas facile. En Inde, en Thaïlande et au Laos, nous avons aussi appris quelques mots, mais alors là, moins qu'en swahili. Seulement "bonjour", "s'il vous plait" et "merci". D'autant plus qu'en laotien, la langue change selon que le locuteur est un homme ou une femme.
C'est vrai qu'en Australie et en Nouvelle-Zélande on communiquait dans la langue du pays, ce qui nous permettait de rencontrer facilement les gens. Mais comme c'était en anglais, ce n'était pas très exotique. C'était un peu comme voyager en Ontario (mais seulement pour la langue!).
Depuis que nous sommes arrivés en Amerique du Sud, il se passe quelque chose... Il y a cette langue qui nous fait de l'oeil. Nous la fréquentons depuis un certain temps déjà et avons développé avec elle une belle complicité. Tout ne doit pas être pris pour acquis cependant. C'est que chaque fois que nous changeons de région ou même de ville, comme pour se laisser désirer davantage, elle change d'accent. Nous peinons même parfois à la reconnaître! Mais elle nous a séduits et nous ne lésinerons pas sur les moyens pour l'apprivoiser. Car c'est une chose de savoir commander un café en espagnol et s'en est une autre de comprendre le cynisme d'une mère qui baptise sa fille Dolores. A La Paz, nous avons eu la chance d'être invités à dîner dans une famille. C'était un grand plaisir de partager un repas avec eux et de pouvoir écouter Beatriz, Fabian et leurs enfants nous décrire leur vie quotidienne et nous confier leurs rêves.
Tout ça pour dire que j'adore voyager en Amérique du Sud et en Amérique centrale parce que l'espagnol ajoute une nouvelle dimenssion au voyage. Langue étrangère sans l'être tout à fait, elle est à la fois familière et exotique. Ses sonorités s'amusent dans notre bouche et se jouent de notre langue (celle qui est rose). Elle est plus qu'un sixième sens qui s'ajoute aux cinq autres pour saisir le monde qui nous entoure. Elle est la clé qui en ouvre la porte.
samedi 6 juin 2009
*** ça vaut le detour
Dear friends,
Our trip around the world has taken an unexpected detour through one of the most beautiful corners of the world (now I can honestly say that, having seen several corners), a rugged and unique destination, somewhat off the beaten path, and yet one that I have seen many times before... I am writing to you from Nova Scotia, where, in fact, we have been for the past three weeks now.
About a month ago my mother was diagnosed with kidney cancer. Everyone was in shock, including herself, and we decided on the spot that we wanted to be with her, since we had not seen my family since Christmas 2007. We were in Cusco, about to head up to Machu Pichu when we got the news. But we figured the Inca ruins had been around for hundreds of years, and would probably still be there for the next thousand. (And besides, we have to save something for the next trip!)
I must admit, the transition was a bit abrupt, but having been "on the road" for ten months, we had already seen and experienced many things: the decision was unanimous. We weren't sure how long we would stay, or how things would evolve, and so we just bought a one way ticket to Halifax. Julien promptly moved in with my sister, who has a son the same age, and we've barely seen him since! Well, actually, she only lives five houses away, so we "visit" regularly. We are slowly getting more information and my mum has started treatment.
Now being here in the spring has had its advantages: we've been able to attend several end-of-year concerts, I planted my mum's garden - the radishes have already sprouted! - Julien did a Power Point presentation of our trip in his cousin's class, and we've spent lots of time with my sister's munchkins (Sasha, 2, and Isaac, 1, ever so cute, see photos), especially Evelyne and Noemi, who have become quite the expert babysitters.
After we had been here for two weeks, my mum said. O.K., you've seen me now, you can continue travelling! So, we looked at the options, checked the bank account, Jean-Francois spent hours looking up prices for flights, and finally we decided to "finish our trip", considering this is probably the last time we will travel together as a family. At this point Julien was so thrilled to have a boy his own age to play with, he was starting to come up with schemes so that he could stay in Halifax. So, what did we do? We decided to take Jeremy with us! (psychology 101: happy kids = happy parents) So we are flying to Costa Rica on Wednesday with an extra passenger, a cute blond boy who will no doubt appear in the next set of pictures. A new element for our pyramides! We will go from there to Nicaragua, 7 weeks in all, and then back to Halifax at the end of July.
My mum is incredibly strong, and despite the circumstances, is still concerned about others more than herself. As she says, life goes on, you just have to live one day at a time. I think this whole experience will make the last leg of our trip all the more meaningful.
Our trip around the world has taken an unexpected detour through one of the most beautiful corners of the world (now I can honestly say that, having seen several corners), a rugged and unique destination, somewhat off the beaten path, and yet one that I have seen many times before... I am writing to you from Nova Scotia, where, in fact, we have been for the past three weeks now.
About a month ago my mother was diagnosed with kidney cancer. Everyone was in shock, including herself, and we decided on the spot that we wanted to be with her, since we had not seen my family since Christmas 2007. We were in Cusco, about to head up to Machu Pichu when we got the news. But we figured the Inca ruins had been around for hundreds of years, and would probably still be there for the next thousand. (And besides, we have to save something for the next trip!)
I must admit, the transition was a bit abrupt, but having been "on the road" for ten months, we had already seen and experienced many things: the decision was unanimous. We weren't sure how long we would stay, or how things would evolve, and so we just bought a one way ticket to Halifax. Julien promptly moved in with my sister, who has a son the same age, and we've barely seen him since! Well, actually, she only lives five houses away, so we "visit" regularly. We are slowly getting more information and my mum has started treatment.
Now being here in the spring has had its advantages: we've been able to attend several end-of-year concerts, I planted my mum's garden - the radishes have already sprouted! - Julien did a Power Point presentation of our trip in his cousin's class, and we've spent lots of time with my sister's munchkins (Sasha, 2, and Isaac, 1, ever so cute, see photos), especially Evelyne and Noemi, who have become quite the expert babysitters.
After we had been here for two weeks, my mum said. O.K., you've seen me now, you can continue travelling! So, we looked at the options, checked the bank account, Jean-Francois spent hours looking up prices for flights, and finally we decided to "finish our trip", considering this is probably the last time we will travel together as a family. At this point Julien was so thrilled to have a boy his own age to play with, he was starting to come up with schemes so that he could stay in Halifax. So, what did we do? We decided to take Jeremy with us! (psychology 101: happy kids = happy parents) So we are flying to Costa Rica on Wednesday with an extra passenger, a cute blond boy who will no doubt appear in the next set of pictures. A new element for our pyramides! We will go from there to Nicaragua, 7 weeks in all, and then back to Halifax at the end of July.
My mum is incredibly strong, and despite the circumstances, is still concerned about others more than herself. As she says, life goes on, you just have to live one day at a time. I think this whole experience will make the last leg of our trip all the more meaningful.
jeudi 4 juin 2009
Bolivia Big and Small
After the first night in a sketchy hotel, we moved to a much cosier hostel a few blocks away, smack in the middle of the Witch Doctor's Market: this is the place to go if you're running out of healing potions and dried llama foetuses! (apparently used as offerings to Pachamama) La Paz is a city of three million, surrounded by mountains. The old city is in the valley, with suburbs fanning out up onto the adjacent hills. Now in most big cities, tourists tend to stay within the five square blocks described in the guide book. However, as I mentioned in my last message, we were invited to have lunch with a family, and so we got to take a local bus up to one of these suburbs with our host Fabien and see the living conditions close up. They are a family of five living in a tiny two story brick house with no insulation and no heating, even though it can get pretty cold in the winter - we even saw a few snowflakes that afternoon! The bathroom is a small building in the courtyard - I suspect there is no hot water for the shower - and an outdoor sink for washing the dishes. Fabien has a small sewing business on the ground floor of his house, making work clothes, and we had to carry the chairs from his workshop up to the living/dining/bed? room so that we could all sit. His wife Beatriz also has a full-time job and they can't afford anything else. We spent all afternoon eating a lovely homecooked meal, talking in broken Spanish about our travels, and the possibility of Fabien finding work in Canada. When you realize that just saving enough money for one plane fare is almost impossible for someone like Fabien, you sure feel guilty about telling people that you have stopped working for a year and have enough money to travel around the world! The fact that it's even possible for North Americans to do this confirms, again, just how lucky we are. And as we left, they thanked us for coming to their house!
The next day we got to see a soccer game between two local teams from La Paz, the "blue team" and the "yellow team" - Club Bolivar -vs- The Strongest. We arrived early to get "lomitos", steak sandwiches from the street vendors, and a good seat. The stadium was packed with people of all ages, from small boys proudly wearing their team colors to teenagers with trendy spiked-up hair and grandmothers wearing traditional skirts and "bowler hats". At each end of the stadium the die-hard fans unrolled banners, threw confetti onto the field, chanted, sang, clapped their hands and waved their arms nonstop throughout the entire game! The atmosphere was unbelievable, never violent, but always very enthusiastic. In the row ahead of us was a couple cheering for opposite teams - it was quite amusing to watch them heckle each other. The game was great, ending with a score of 2-2: everyone was happy. Personally, I was very impressed by the player's stamina and agility, and in particular their ability to kick the ball sideways and make it go exactly where they wanted!
For those of you who love hand-made stuff like me, Bolivia is knitter's paradise: scarves, hats, mittens, bags, all made from local sheep's wool or alpaca. Women shopkeepers are almost always knitting something, usually while watching a couple of kids. I finally learned how to say "Yo tejo tambien" = "I knit too", so that they would know how much I appreciated their work.
From La Paz we took a bumpy bus ride to a small town on the shores of Lake Titicaca called Copacabana (not the one in the song, it's in Brazil). This journey involved several stops on the side of the road for fetching water (either to cool the motor down or flush the toilet, we're not sure), and a boat crossing: all the passengers had to get off the bus and onto a tiny motor boat while the bus got onto a barge! (see photo) On our first night in Copacabana we stayed in probably the all-time cheapest accomodations of our entire trip: 10 bolivianos per person = $2.00. This got us a bed and not much else, but hey, what can you expect? And on the second night, one of the nicest: for 20 bolivianos per person, we had hot showers (which worked), and a television in each room! And what did we watch? We did like the locals and watched reruns of "Friends" subtitled in Spanish - very educational.
Copacabana is the departure point for Isla del Sol, "Sun Island", supposedly the birthplace of the first Inca, Manco Capac. And what an amazing discovery! Lake Titicaca, at almost 4,000 meters, is the highest lake in the world, and the island itself rises to almost 5,000 meters. When the tourists (including ourselves) get off the boat, they huff and puff all the way to the first village at the top of the island (this brings a whole new meaning to the concept of altitude). I'm sure the locals, who race effortlessly up and down, must have a good laugh. We certainly found it quite amusing after we had been there for a few days to watch the "new arrivals".
There are only about 3 thousand inhabitants on this island, divided into three small communities and most of the island has been terrassed for crops. The landscape is like a hilly patchwork, with small fields of corn, quinoa or beans almost everywhere you look. And best of all - no cars!! Only donkeys carrying water jugs or baskets of vegetables up and down the winding paths, passing right in front of our hostel. I could have sat there all day just looking at the scenery, it was so peaceful. We did a lovely two day hike, 18 km, to the north end of the island where we explored some Inca ruins: la mesa de sacrificios, and a maze-like temple called Chinkana, great for playing hide-and-go-seek. And saw some of the most beautiful sunsets (and one sunrise) of our entire trip.
As we were reluctantly preparing to leave the island, I was thinking to myself: I wonder if they could use an English teacher here? (Don't tell my boss!)
The next day we got to see a soccer game between two local teams from La Paz, the "blue team" and the "yellow team" - Club Bolivar -vs- The Strongest. We arrived early to get "lomitos", steak sandwiches from the street vendors, and a good seat. The stadium was packed with people of all ages, from small boys proudly wearing their team colors to teenagers with trendy spiked-up hair and grandmothers wearing traditional skirts and "bowler hats". At each end of the stadium the die-hard fans unrolled banners, threw confetti onto the field, chanted, sang, clapped their hands and waved their arms nonstop throughout the entire game! The atmosphere was unbelievable, never violent, but always very enthusiastic. In the row ahead of us was a couple cheering for opposite teams - it was quite amusing to watch them heckle each other. The game was great, ending with a score of 2-2: everyone was happy. Personally, I was very impressed by the player's stamina and agility, and in particular their ability to kick the ball sideways and make it go exactly where they wanted!
For those of you who love hand-made stuff like me, Bolivia is knitter's paradise: scarves, hats, mittens, bags, all made from local sheep's wool or alpaca. Women shopkeepers are almost always knitting something, usually while watching a couple of kids. I finally learned how to say "Yo tejo tambien" = "I knit too", so that they would know how much I appreciated their work.
From La Paz we took a bumpy bus ride to a small town on the shores of Lake Titicaca called Copacabana (not the one in the song, it's in Brazil). This journey involved several stops on the side of the road for fetching water (either to cool the motor down or flush the toilet, we're not sure), and a boat crossing: all the passengers had to get off the bus and onto a tiny motor boat while the bus got onto a barge! (see photo) On our first night in Copacabana we stayed in probably the all-time cheapest accomodations of our entire trip: 10 bolivianos per person = $2.00. This got us a bed and not much else, but hey, what can you expect? And on the second night, one of the nicest: for 20 bolivianos per person, we had hot showers (which worked), and a television in each room! And what did we watch? We did like the locals and watched reruns of "Friends" subtitled in Spanish - very educational.
Copacabana is the departure point for Isla del Sol, "Sun Island", supposedly the birthplace of the first Inca, Manco Capac. And what an amazing discovery! Lake Titicaca, at almost 4,000 meters, is the highest lake in the world, and the island itself rises to almost 5,000 meters. When the tourists (including ourselves) get off the boat, they huff and puff all the way to the first village at the top of the island (this brings a whole new meaning to the concept of altitude). I'm sure the locals, who race effortlessly up and down, must have a good laugh. We certainly found it quite amusing after we had been there for a few days to watch the "new arrivals".
There are only about 3 thousand inhabitants on this island, divided into three small communities and most of the island has been terrassed for crops. The landscape is like a hilly patchwork, with small fields of corn, quinoa or beans almost everywhere you look. And best of all - no cars!! Only donkeys carrying water jugs or baskets of vegetables up and down the winding paths, passing right in front of our hostel. I could have sat there all day just looking at the scenery, it was so peaceful. We did a lovely two day hike, 18 km, to the north end of the island where we explored some Inca ruins: la mesa de sacrificios, and a maze-like temple called Chinkana, great for playing hide-and-go-seek. And saw some of the most beautiful sunsets (and one sunrise) of our entire trip.
As we were reluctantly preparing to leave the island, I was thinking to myself: I wonder if they could use an English teacher here? (Don't tell my boss!)
jeudi 28 mai 2009
Nouvelles photos
lundi 25 mai 2009
A Birthday to Remember
Sucre is a lovely town where lots of foreigners hang out and study Spanish. At our hostel, Amigo Hostel, not so friendly in fact, but cheap with big rooms and functioning hot showers, we met several travellers who had arrived before us but seemed to have no intention of departing in the near future. More beautiful colonial buildings, home to the oldest university in Bolivia, here we spotted an Alliance francaise and a German Cultural Center, and saw posters for film festivals and dance performances - it seemed like a "happening" place with lots of cultural activity going on. We stayed for about five days and already I was starting to imagine what it would be like to live there... This is where we finally saw Slumdog Millionnaire (original Hindi version) with Spanish subtitles, and loved it, particularly since it brought back some memories of India. Julien and I also saw Monsters -vs- Aliens, in Spanish with no subtitles, not undertanding much but getting the general plot: luckily we knew who the bad guys were right from the start.
And this is where we discovered the typical Bolivian lunchtime meal, almuerzo, which includes soup and a main course, usually chicken or beef with potatoes, and sometimes dessert like jello or fruit, all for about 12 bolivianos, a little over two dollars. This is apparently the biggest meal of the day, and from what I could tell, many students and workers ate their meals in the local restaurants, or at the central market. Sure beats cafeteria food!!
From Sucre we took a night bus to La Paz, arriving completely exhausted on May 1st, Julien's birthday. The hostel recommended to us by another traveller was full, so our taxi driver suggested a hotel, and we said fine. At 7 a.m. you just want a place to put your bags and lie down. It was probably one of the worst accomodations since the beginning of our trip. So, not a good start to the birthday. After a brief rest, we headed out into the market (already in full swing at 8a.m.) in a bit of a daze, when we stumbled upon a vendor selling some kind of a breakfast drink. A Bolivian couple urged us to try it: turns out it was a mixture of low alcohol malt beer and fluffy egg whites!! Interesting alternative to coffee, but not exactly what Julien wanted for his birthday breakfast. We got talking to this couple and ended up going to a small restaurant together where we had saltenas (sort of like small empanas filled with beef) and coffee. Not bad, but still not what Julien was hoping for. Beatriz and Fabien (the couple) spontaneously invited us to their house the next day for lunch. Wow, what an offer from complete strangers! We were amazed by their generosity, although Julien was still concerned about his birthday meal.
We promised him we would go somewhere special for dinner, in fact, we had found a restaurant in the guide called "La Québécoise" with authentic food from home. What could be better? Well, when we got there, it appeared to have been shut down for months. Julien spotted an Italian ice-cream parlour a few blocks away, so we decided to go to a pizza joint for supper (turned out to be pretty bad) and when we came out of the pizza place, the ice-cream parlour was closed!!! Boy, this was turning out to be the worst birthday ever. And just when we were starting to despair, we found THE totally perfect all-american dessert restaurant with a huge menu full of cakes and ice-cream concoctions. We all had monster sundaes and the waiters came over and sang Happy Birthday in Spanish and English!! And then proceeded to demonstrate the Bolivian birthday tradition: sticking a piece of whip-cream covered cake into the birthday person's face!! Luckily, Julien thought this was quite funny. I'm sure it's one birthday he'll never forget!
And this is where we discovered the typical Bolivian lunchtime meal, almuerzo, which includes soup and a main course, usually chicken or beef with potatoes, and sometimes dessert like jello or fruit, all for about 12 bolivianos, a little over two dollars. This is apparently the biggest meal of the day, and from what I could tell, many students and workers ate their meals in the local restaurants, or at the central market. Sure beats cafeteria food!!
From Sucre we took a night bus to La Paz, arriving completely exhausted on May 1st, Julien's birthday. The hostel recommended to us by another traveller was full, so our taxi driver suggested a hotel, and we said fine. At 7 a.m. you just want a place to put your bags and lie down. It was probably one of the worst accomodations since the beginning of our trip. So, not a good start to the birthday. After a brief rest, we headed out into the market (already in full swing at 8a.m.) in a bit of a daze, when we stumbled upon a vendor selling some kind of a breakfast drink. A Bolivian couple urged us to try it: turns out it was a mixture of low alcohol malt beer and fluffy egg whites!! Interesting alternative to coffee, but not exactly what Julien wanted for his birthday breakfast. We got talking to this couple and ended up going to a small restaurant together where we had saltenas (sort of like small empanas filled with beef) and coffee. Not bad, but still not what Julien was hoping for. Beatriz and Fabien (the couple) spontaneously invited us to their house the next day for lunch. Wow, what an offer from complete strangers! We were amazed by their generosity, although Julien was still concerned about his birthday meal.
We promised him we would go somewhere special for dinner, in fact, we had found a restaurant in the guide called "La Québécoise" with authentic food from home. What could be better? Well, when we got there, it appeared to have been shut down for months. Julien spotted an Italian ice-cream parlour a few blocks away, so we decided to go to a pizza joint for supper (turned out to be pretty bad) and when we came out of the pizza place, the ice-cream parlour was closed!!! Boy, this was turning out to be the worst birthday ever. And just when we were starting to despair, we found THE totally perfect all-american dessert restaurant with a huge menu full of cakes and ice-cream concoctions. We all had monster sundaes and the waiters came over and sang Happy Birthday in Spanish and English!! And then proceeded to demonstrate the Bolivian birthday tradition: sticking a piece of whip-cream covered cake into the birthday person's face!! Luckily, Julien thought this was quite funny. I'm sure it's one birthday he'll never forget!
mardi 5 mai 2009
Change of scene
Today I am writing from Sucre, the former capital of Bolivia, roughly in the middle of the country. There is a protest today (not an unusual occurance, I've been told), everything is closed, so I have no excuse not to write!
Before I begin my update, let me just say one thing: anyone who is planning a trip to Paris this summer, change your tickets right now and go to Buenos Aires instead!!! You'll find lovely cobblestone streets, beautiful old buildings (yes, some are kind of grey and run down, all the more authentic), large tree-lined boulevards (for those who like grandeur), world-class museums (like the Museo des Bellas Artes, absolutely free!), art galleries, milongas (dance halls where people go to tango), fruit and vegetable markets, antique markets, craft markets, hundred year old cafes full of brass and wood (but without the annoying waiters) and amazing restaurants, all at a fraction of the price! O.K., it might be more expensive to get there, but once you arrive, it's a bargain. And you get the chance to practice your Spanish - a veritable challenge for all your senses. (Any Parisians reading this, please do not take it personally!) That said, most Argentinians we met said it's a great place to visit, but not so great to live there!
After almost a week in Buenos Aires, we headed north to Cordoba and then to Salta, all of this on night buses, to save on sleeping costs! Despite what people say, you never really get a good night's sleep, especially when they boost the air conditioning and flick the lights on at every stop along the way, or show obnoxious dubbed Americain movies: there's nothing like a good horizontal bed, even if it's a bit lumpy!
At this point Evelyne headed off on her own to meet a friend in Bolivia, so we suddenly became a small family! In Salta we rented a car and spent four days driving through some pretty mind boggling and everchanging scenery: a winding, extremely bumpy unpaved road up through multicoloured mountains and over occasional streams, through Parque Cardones, a desert conservation area full of giant cactii, then through Quebrada de las Flechas, a valley of huge pink stones jutting up from the ground with the small dusty road squeezing its way through these rock formations, and finally, a thousand year old Inca ruins in Quilmes hugging the mountainside, great for hide and seek! I was a bit worried about the car, a small Volkswagon, but then I remembered that the rental agency had provided us with the map and knew exactly what kind of terrain we would be driving through. Along the way, several small villages with impeccably manicured plazas, and even smaller ones, seemingly in the middle of nowhere, where all of the houses are built of mud bricks. In my last message I mentioned that South America did not seem that different: well, this was different. I have come to the conclusion that differences are greater between rural and urban environments in any given country then between cities in two different countries. Indeed, life in Montreal and Meat Cove, Newfoundland is probably quite different.
Another night bus up to the border of Bolivia. When we finally made it to the border crossing (after wandering through the empty streets of La Quaica at 7:00 in the morning, trying to figure out where to go - you have to walk about a kilometer from the bus terminal, and no one tells you which direction!) the whole procedure was very simple: a couple forms to fill out, a couple more stamps in our passports, and off we went. What really struck me here was the people in traditional dress. The indiginous women wear large pleated knee-length skirts with coulourful blouses, wool tights and, what looks to us like bowler hats atop their long black braids! And of course, the indispensable multi-couloured blanket slung over the shoulders, either carrying a baby or wares destined for the market. It really is quite surprising to see the mix of contemporary and traditional attire, even in big cities.
From Tupiza we did a four day jeep trek (with four Australians) ending in Uyuni, through more out-of -this-world scenery, including lagoons of various colours, pink, green, white, depending on the minerals, some filled with several species of flamigos, beautiful mulit-hued mountains that truly looked like paintings (apparently Dali did paint them), aguas calientes (bubbling mud) and a lovely outdoor hot spring that we soaked in, lots and lots of lamas and vicunas, and finally the renowned Uyuni salt flats, 12,000 square kilometers of crytallized salt. At times, I almost did feel like it was snow, especially since, at an altitude of almost 5,000 feet, it got pretty darn cold, especially at night. No sympathy, I know, I know. I have since bought some beautiful hand-knit mittens, which I quite enjoy wearing, in fact!
At this point we received an e-mail from Evelyne who had been on her own for about a week, and was anxious to see us, so we zoomed up to Sucre, an entire day on the bus (a break from night buses) on a lovely smooth paved road (according to our guide book, 4 per cent of roads are paved in Bolivia). After a couple of hours, I think she was ready to head off again, but she's stuck with us now!
Before I begin my update, let me just say one thing: anyone who is planning a trip to Paris this summer, change your tickets right now and go to Buenos Aires instead!!! You'll find lovely cobblestone streets, beautiful old buildings (yes, some are kind of grey and run down, all the more authentic), large tree-lined boulevards (for those who like grandeur), world-class museums (like the Museo des Bellas Artes, absolutely free!), art galleries, milongas (dance halls where people go to tango), fruit and vegetable markets, antique markets, craft markets, hundred year old cafes full of brass and wood (but without the annoying waiters) and amazing restaurants, all at a fraction of the price! O.K., it might be more expensive to get there, but once you arrive, it's a bargain. And you get the chance to practice your Spanish - a veritable challenge for all your senses. (Any Parisians reading this, please do not take it personally!) That said, most Argentinians we met said it's a great place to visit, but not so great to live there!
After almost a week in Buenos Aires, we headed north to Cordoba and then to Salta, all of this on night buses, to save on sleeping costs! Despite what people say, you never really get a good night's sleep, especially when they boost the air conditioning and flick the lights on at every stop along the way, or show obnoxious dubbed Americain movies: there's nothing like a good horizontal bed, even if it's a bit lumpy!
At this point Evelyne headed off on her own to meet a friend in Bolivia, so we suddenly became a small family! In Salta we rented a car and spent four days driving through some pretty mind boggling and everchanging scenery: a winding, extremely bumpy unpaved road up through multicoloured mountains and over occasional streams, through Parque Cardones, a desert conservation area full of giant cactii, then through Quebrada de las Flechas, a valley of huge pink stones jutting up from the ground with the small dusty road squeezing its way through these rock formations, and finally, a thousand year old Inca ruins in Quilmes hugging the mountainside, great for hide and seek! I was a bit worried about the car, a small Volkswagon, but then I remembered that the rental agency had provided us with the map and knew exactly what kind of terrain we would be driving through. Along the way, several small villages with impeccably manicured plazas, and even smaller ones, seemingly in the middle of nowhere, where all of the houses are built of mud bricks. In my last message I mentioned that South America did not seem that different: well, this was different. I have come to the conclusion that differences are greater between rural and urban environments in any given country then between cities in two different countries. Indeed, life in Montreal and Meat Cove, Newfoundland is probably quite different.
Another night bus up to the border of Bolivia. When we finally made it to the border crossing (after wandering through the empty streets of La Quaica at 7:00 in the morning, trying to figure out where to go - you have to walk about a kilometer from the bus terminal, and no one tells you which direction!) the whole procedure was very simple: a couple forms to fill out, a couple more stamps in our passports, and off we went. What really struck me here was the people in traditional dress. The indiginous women wear large pleated knee-length skirts with coulourful blouses, wool tights and, what looks to us like bowler hats atop their long black braids! And of course, the indispensable multi-couloured blanket slung over the shoulders, either carrying a baby or wares destined for the market. It really is quite surprising to see the mix of contemporary and traditional attire, even in big cities.
From Tupiza we did a four day jeep trek (with four Australians) ending in Uyuni, through more out-of -this-world scenery, including lagoons of various colours, pink, green, white, depending on the minerals, some filled with several species of flamigos, beautiful mulit-hued mountains that truly looked like paintings (apparently Dali did paint them), aguas calientes (bubbling mud) and a lovely outdoor hot spring that we soaked in, lots and lots of lamas and vicunas, and finally the renowned Uyuni salt flats, 12,000 square kilometers of crytallized salt. At times, I almost did feel like it was snow, especially since, at an altitude of almost 5,000 feet, it got pretty darn cold, especially at night. No sympathy, I know, I know. I have since bought some beautiful hand-knit mittens, which I quite enjoy wearing, in fact!
At this point we received an e-mail from Evelyne who had been on her own for about a week, and was anxious to see us, so we zoomed up to Sucre, an entire day on the bus (a break from night buses) on a lovely smooth paved road (according to our guide book, 4 per cent of roads are paved in Bolivia). After a couple of hours, I think she was ready to head off again, but she's stuck with us now!
lundi 13 avril 2009
Hola Amigos!
Here we are in South America, if you just lean over and look down about 6000 kilometers, you can see the top of our heads! As some of you know, we flew from Auckland to Santiago on March 16th, Noemi's birthday. We left at 5 0'clock in the afternnon, and arrived in Santiago 10 hours later... at 11 0'clock in the morning, on March 16th! Yes, she got to celebrate twice. Unfortunately, the flight attendants and the pilot did not collaborate and sing Happy Birthday as I had planned: you just can´t get good service.
The day we arrived in Santiago we were welcomed by Jean-Francois´ parents who finally succumbed to repeated invitations to meet us in South America. What a treat to see some familiar faces. An entire week of being spoiled rotten: meals in restaurants, amazing Chilean ice-cream (as good as Roberto´s), and, most importantly, lots of attention for the kids. After a few days discovering Santiago, a modern, easy-going city, we rented a huge van (more like a bus) stopping briefly in a small village of potters (where everyone makes the same thing?), and then continuing on to Valparaiso, on the coast. We arrived at dusk, no reservation as usual, and my first impressions were not so great: stray dogs everywhere, sidewalks littered with garbage and poop, buildings in a terrible state of disrepair. This was supposed to be a World Heritage Site? Within an hour we had found rooms for everyone, and were having supper in a funky pizza restaurant, that had a fussball (babyfoot) table for 1 peso (30 cents). Already, things were looking better.
The next morning we set out to discover the town: rising up beyond the port and the flat, perpendicular streets of the city center are dozens of small hills (called cerros) which form a sharp, multicoloured backdrop. To get from one hilltop to the next you have to go down and up stairways and cobblestone paths, through narrow alleyways and under buildings, or take one of the many "acensores" (funiculars) which function when the operator is not having his lunch or a siesta. The houses are covered in brightly painted (or rusting) corrugated iron, small terraces offer views onto the city below, and squeezed into all this mayhem, a few art galleries and cafes, especially in our neighborhood, Cerro Concepcion. One day and my first impressions were already long forgotten. And the best part of all? We ended up staying with a magician, whose house was full of strange equipment: a box with daggers through it, magic rings, scarves and decks of cards everywhere, tophats (but no rabbits). Every night after dinner he did a private show for us in his kitchen: could you plan anything better if you tried?
After J-F's parents left we debated about whether to go north or south (the only two directions you can really go in Chile) and finally headed... east! Over the Andes. A spectacular bus ride with the sun setting on the pink and gold coloured mountains, one the best shows I've ever had for twenty-five dollars. Marred only by the movies they feel obliged to show on every bus in Argentina, and which are very difficult not to watch when the screen is only two feet from your face. We spent five days in Mendoza, and then took a night bus to Buenos Aires where we stayed for a week (see Jean-Francois' article on BsAs below).
At first glance, Chile and Argentina are not as different as I expected. People wear the same clothes, they look like us (varying from dark to very light) or we look like them, depending on the point of view, they drive on the right hand side of the road, and they stand in line for the bus. Of course, there is the obvious difference of language, but you can't "see" it. Initially, I was a bit disappointed, hoping to feel more "depayse", and not like we were back in Europe. But after a few days, some subtle differences started to become apparent.
And finally, for you smokers out there, at last a country where you can smoke inside! Yes, the smoking section is always indoors (children under eighteen prohibited), and the non-smoking section outdoors. Figure that one out.
The day we arrived in Santiago we were welcomed by Jean-Francois´ parents who finally succumbed to repeated invitations to meet us in South America. What a treat to see some familiar faces. An entire week of being spoiled rotten: meals in restaurants, amazing Chilean ice-cream (as good as Roberto´s), and, most importantly, lots of attention for the kids. After a few days discovering Santiago, a modern, easy-going city, we rented a huge van (more like a bus) stopping briefly in a small village of potters (where everyone makes the same thing?), and then continuing on to Valparaiso, on the coast. We arrived at dusk, no reservation as usual, and my first impressions were not so great: stray dogs everywhere, sidewalks littered with garbage and poop, buildings in a terrible state of disrepair. This was supposed to be a World Heritage Site? Within an hour we had found rooms for everyone, and were having supper in a funky pizza restaurant, that had a fussball (babyfoot) table for 1 peso (30 cents). Already, things were looking better.
The next morning we set out to discover the town: rising up beyond the port and the flat, perpendicular streets of the city center are dozens of small hills (called cerros) which form a sharp, multicoloured backdrop. To get from one hilltop to the next you have to go down and up stairways and cobblestone paths, through narrow alleyways and under buildings, or take one of the many "acensores" (funiculars) which function when the operator is not having his lunch or a siesta. The houses are covered in brightly painted (or rusting) corrugated iron, small terraces offer views onto the city below, and squeezed into all this mayhem, a few art galleries and cafes, especially in our neighborhood, Cerro Concepcion. One day and my first impressions were already long forgotten. And the best part of all? We ended up staying with a magician, whose house was full of strange equipment: a box with daggers through it, magic rings, scarves and decks of cards everywhere, tophats (but no rabbits). Every night after dinner he did a private show for us in his kitchen: could you plan anything better if you tried?
After J-F's parents left we debated about whether to go north or south (the only two directions you can really go in Chile) and finally headed... east! Over the Andes. A spectacular bus ride with the sun setting on the pink and gold coloured mountains, one the best shows I've ever had for twenty-five dollars. Marred only by the movies they feel obliged to show on every bus in Argentina, and which are very difficult not to watch when the screen is only two feet from your face. We spent five days in Mendoza, and then took a night bus to Buenos Aires where we stayed for a week (see Jean-Francois' article on BsAs below).
At first glance, Chile and Argentina are not as different as I expected. People wear the same clothes, they look like us (varying from dark to very light) or we look like them, depending on the point of view, they drive on the right hand side of the road, and they stand in line for the bus. Of course, there is the obvious difference of language, but you can't "see" it. Initially, I was a bit disappointed, hoping to feel more "depayse", and not like we were back in Europe. But after a few days, some subtle differences started to become apparent.
South Americans do not have the same internal clock. Basically, they eat and sleep when we don't. Miniscule breakfast (media luna and a coffee) before work, which seems to start around nine o'clock, lunch, between one and three, and then, now this is the part that still baffles me, supper at ten. No kidding. We try to be relaxed and eat around eight thirty (at which time we're famished), but we´re always finished before anyone else even starts. You even see kids in restaurants at midnight on Saturday night, and they seem perfectly normal (so do the parents, by the way). It sheds a whole new light on what qualifies as "good parenting". In our conversations with Dolores, a lovely Argentinian girl we met in Mendoza, she confirmed that a dinner invitation on the week-end starts around eleven. And dancing? Don't show up before two, terribly uncool. The question is, when do these people sleep? I still have not received a satisfactory answer.
And finally, for you smokers out there, at last a country where you can smoke inside! Yes, the smoking section is always indoors (children under eighteen prohibited), and the non-smoking section outdoors. Figure that one out.
dimanche 5 avril 2009
Coup de coeur pour Buenos Aires
Nous sommes arrivés à Buenos Aires par l'autobus de nuit en provenance de Mendoza il y a cinq jours. À huit heures du matin, c'était la cohue de l'heure de pointe. Le taxi nous a emmenés à l'hostel Tango, situé dans le quartier San Telmo dans un dédale de rues encombrées. Après une petite sieste pour poursuivre la nuit trop courte, nous sommes sortis explorer. Et puis, boum! Coup de foudre.
Le quartier La Boca et ses maisons colorées, où loge aussi la célèbre équipe de soccer La Boca Junior, alma mater du non moins célèbre Diego Maradona. Le quartier ultra moderne de Puerto Madero. Les grandes avenues et les petits cafés... Tout le monde le dit, Buenos Aires ressemble à Paris. C'est vrai, mais pas toujours et seulement pour l'architecture. Au 19e siècle, l'Argentine était, paraît-il, un pays très riche et les Porteños (les habitants de Buenos Aires) voyageaient beaucoup, notamment en France. Et l'Argentine a aussi attiré beaucoup d'immigrants européens. Donc, influences.
Mais Buenos Aires est tout ce qu'il y a de plus Argentin. Les gens prennent souvent deux ou trois heures pour dîner et faire la sieste avant de retourner au travail jusqu'à 21h. Ils prennent une collation vers 18h, se font à souper à 22h et se couchent tout de suite après. Alors inutile d'aller au restaurant à 20h, il n'y a personne. À 21h ça commence à arriver et à 22h c'est presque plein. Le vendredi et le samedi, on peut encore trouver une table sans problème à 1h du matin. Pour aller danser, c'est encore "pire". Une boite de nuit à BA (pour les intimes) est littéralement une boite "de nuit". L'une d'elles fait de la publicité en annonçant un prix d'entrée réduit pour ceux qui arrivent avant 1h30 (du matin, oui). Il y a encore une file sur le trottoir à 4h et les gens rentrent chez eux entre 7h et 10h. Certains Porteños nous ont dit que c'est une raison de sécurité, qu'il vaut mieux rentrer chez soi quand il fait clair le matin venu. Ah oui? Et alors ce n'était pas dangereux pour y aller? ...
"Notre" quartier, San Telmo, est fait de rues étroites remplies de galeries d'art contemporain, de cafés, de restaurants et de bars tantôt vieillots et tantôt branchés. L'Argentine étant le pays du boeuf, certains restaurants ont leur propre boucherie à l'intérieur! On vous sert des portions gigantesques de viande tendre et savoureuse pour trois fois rien.
Hier soir (4 avril), nous sommes allés voir une milonga, une soirée de tango dans une salle de bal. Pas un spectacle pour touristes, mais une vraie salle de danse pour les amateurs de tous âges. Quand nous sommes arrivés, vers minuit, il n'y avait pas encore grand monde, mais la salle commençait à se remplir quand nous sommes partis vers 1h30. C'était magnifique de voir tous ces couples, certains âgés et expérimentés, certains jeunes au style déjà assuré et d'autres qui s'initiaient à cet art qu'ils portent en héritage. Avons-nous dansé? Mais non! On ne s'improvise pas danseur de tango à Buenos Aires! Ce serait comme pour un Argentin se joindre à un match de hockey au parc Lafontaine... le désastre!
Aujourd'hui (5 avril), nous avons pris l'autobus pour nous rendre à la feria de Mataderos, un quartier populaire en banlieue de BA. Une authentique foire d'artisanat avec ses kiosques d'articles en cuir très typiquement argentins, de matte (un genre de thé argentin) et de produits du terroir. Sur une grande scène se sont succédés sans interruption des ensembles de musique; et les gens dans la rue, certains en costumes traditionnels, dansaient des danses folkloriques. Derrière la scène, d'autres kiosques vendaient des empanadas, tortillas, panchoros et panqueques con dulce de leche. À une extrémité de la feria, des gauchos (les cowboys argentins) faisaient un jeu d'adresse dans lequel ils s'élançaient à fond de trains sur leur monture et essayaient d'attraper avec une baguette un anneau de 2 cm suspendu au dessus de la rue!
Buenos Aires est une vieille ville qui a connu de meilleurs jours, il faut bien le dire. Mais les Porteños la font vibrer en mélangeant les rythmes du passé à ceux du présent. Elle est en train de vivre une véritable renaissance et je ne serais pas surpris qu'elle rivalise bientôt avec d'autres grandes destinations. J'y resterais bien un peu plus longtemps, mais il y a tant d'autres choses à découvrir. Il faudra revenir!
Le quartier La Boca et ses maisons colorées, où loge aussi la célèbre équipe de soccer La Boca Junior, alma mater du non moins célèbre Diego Maradona. Le quartier ultra moderne de Puerto Madero. Les grandes avenues et les petits cafés... Tout le monde le dit, Buenos Aires ressemble à Paris. C'est vrai, mais pas toujours et seulement pour l'architecture. Au 19e siècle, l'Argentine était, paraît-il, un pays très riche et les Porteños (les habitants de Buenos Aires) voyageaient beaucoup, notamment en France. Et l'Argentine a aussi attiré beaucoup d'immigrants européens. Donc, influences.
Mais Buenos Aires est tout ce qu'il y a de plus Argentin. Les gens prennent souvent deux ou trois heures pour dîner et faire la sieste avant de retourner au travail jusqu'à 21h. Ils prennent une collation vers 18h, se font à souper à 22h et se couchent tout de suite après. Alors inutile d'aller au restaurant à 20h, il n'y a personne. À 21h ça commence à arriver et à 22h c'est presque plein. Le vendredi et le samedi, on peut encore trouver une table sans problème à 1h du matin. Pour aller danser, c'est encore "pire". Une boite de nuit à BA (pour les intimes) est littéralement une boite "de nuit". L'une d'elles fait de la publicité en annonçant un prix d'entrée réduit pour ceux qui arrivent avant 1h30 (du matin, oui). Il y a encore une file sur le trottoir à 4h et les gens rentrent chez eux entre 7h et 10h. Certains Porteños nous ont dit que c'est une raison de sécurité, qu'il vaut mieux rentrer chez soi quand il fait clair le matin venu. Ah oui? Et alors ce n'était pas dangereux pour y aller? ...
"Notre" quartier, San Telmo, est fait de rues étroites remplies de galeries d'art contemporain, de cafés, de restaurants et de bars tantôt vieillots et tantôt branchés. L'Argentine étant le pays du boeuf, certains restaurants ont leur propre boucherie à l'intérieur! On vous sert des portions gigantesques de viande tendre et savoureuse pour trois fois rien.
Hier soir (4 avril), nous sommes allés voir une milonga, une soirée de tango dans une salle de bal. Pas un spectacle pour touristes, mais une vraie salle de danse pour les amateurs de tous âges. Quand nous sommes arrivés, vers minuit, il n'y avait pas encore grand monde, mais la salle commençait à se remplir quand nous sommes partis vers 1h30. C'était magnifique de voir tous ces couples, certains âgés et expérimentés, certains jeunes au style déjà assuré et d'autres qui s'initiaient à cet art qu'ils portent en héritage. Avons-nous dansé? Mais non! On ne s'improvise pas danseur de tango à Buenos Aires! Ce serait comme pour un Argentin se joindre à un match de hockey au parc Lafontaine... le désastre!
Aujourd'hui (5 avril), nous avons pris l'autobus pour nous rendre à la feria de Mataderos, un quartier populaire en banlieue de BA. Une authentique foire d'artisanat avec ses kiosques d'articles en cuir très typiquement argentins, de matte (un genre de thé argentin) et de produits du terroir. Sur une grande scène se sont succédés sans interruption des ensembles de musique; et les gens dans la rue, certains en costumes traditionnels, dansaient des danses folkloriques. Derrière la scène, d'autres kiosques vendaient des empanadas, tortillas, panchoros et panqueques con dulce de leche. À une extrémité de la feria, des gauchos (les cowboys argentins) faisaient un jeu d'adresse dans lequel ils s'élançaient à fond de trains sur leur monture et essayaient d'attraper avec une baguette un anneau de 2 cm suspendu au dessus de la rue!
Buenos Aires est une vieille ville qui a connu de meilleurs jours, il faut bien le dire. Mais les Porteños la font vibrer en mélangeant les rythmes du passé à ceux du présent. Elle est en train de vivre une véritable renaissance et je ne serais pas surpris qu'elle rivalise bientôt avec d'autres grandes destinations. J'y resterais bien un peu plus longtemps, mais il y a tant d'autres choses à découvrir. Il faudra revenir!
mercredi 18 mars 2009
New Zealand News
After three very short weeks in Australia (it´s like three weeks in Canada, what can you see in three weeks? all I can do is say I´ve been there) we flew from Sydney to Auckland. As it´s only a three hour flight, we arrived in the afternoon, picked up our rental car, and zoomed straight out of the city. We even camped on our first night, having taken all (1 tent, 5 mats,5 sleeping bags, 1 burner, 5 bowls, 5 forks and 1 knife) of our camping gear with us. Now, unlike most travelers to New Zealand who rent camper vans (every second car on the road was a camper), were determined to keep expenses to a minimum, and rented a station wagon (like we did in Autralia). But this one was just a little smaller, and our stuff was litterally piled up to the roof; Jean-Francois could barely see out the back window (see photo). The whole trip involved a lot of packing, unpacking, and trying to find things in the jumble of stuff! Needless to say, people were quite astonished see five people and so much gear come spilling out of the car. Perhaps we should have splurged on something a little bigger, but just for the record, we are still speaking to each other.
As I said, we zoomed out of Auckland because we were in a bit of a rush to meet up with another family (la famille Cote) we had met in Thailand. When we compared our itineraries back in December, we realized we would both be in N-Z at the same time. So we hooked up for about a week on the South Island, and had a great time camping together. Julien was thrilled to play with Nicolas and Florence, at last, someone his own age (all the locals being in school, of course) and we were thrilled to have some friends our own age : ) from home. Half the fun is being able to share and compare your experiences with other people.
New Zealand is made up of two islands, the North Island and the South Island (and, as they like to joke, the West Island=Australia). Both islands are not that big, and one month seemed like plenty of time to see everything. What we didn´t realize is that the roads (even the main ones) twist and turn, and what seems like a three hour drive inevitably takes six. Which isn´t a bad thing, since the scenery is absolutely breathtaking no matter where you go: most of the time you can see the ocean and the mountains simultaneously! It´s just that four weeks isn´t enough to see everything.
We did get around most of it though, basically going down the west coast of both islands and back up the east coast. The highlights included a hike (partway) up the Tongariro volcano, a farm stay where we awakened to the sound of bleating sheep, a trek through an amazing rainforest ending with a (wet) view on the Franz Joseph Glacier, a boat cruise from Milford Sound through the fjords out to the ocean, an icy cold swim with porpoises on the southern tip of the South Island, seeing a fossilized forest, eating fresh seafood in a tiny "five star" roadside restaurant (they had lovely square plates and beautiful teak chairs and tables!), the ferry crossing from one island to the other (great views of the majestic rugged coastline), discovering the art deco town of Napier (destroyed in an earthquake in 1931 and entirely rebuilt), seeing sheep, sheep and more sheep, and being hosted by some lovely New Zealanders in Gisborne (un gros gros merci a Marie-Pierre and Nik pour un accueil chaleureux) and in Auckland (thank-you to Shayne and Greg for sharing your lovely, unique home and your time).
The weather however was another story. After 7 months of pretty much non-stop sunshine, we were a bit taken aback when it started to rain on our way down the North Island, particularly now that we were camping. On our second night in a lovely DOC campground (= Department of Conservation = no facilities except an outhouse and running water), we met an interesting English/Finnish couple (Andy and Jenni) who were also traveling around the world on a very limited budget, hence, camping in the rain just like us. As we shared our travel stories, Andy remarked that ever since we had arrived in New Zealand, (after travelling through asia) our standard of living had gone way way down. Indeed, we were now reduced to sleeping on the ground and cooking for ourselves! It certainly seems ironic, but I guess that´s what happens when people get paid decent wages for their work. You can no longer afford to pay someone else to cook and clean for you.
After a week of camping in the rain, we were told that it always rains on the west coast, which made me feel a bit better. It wasn´t just bad luck. I realized then why so many people rent camper vans. And just as I started to feel sorry for myself, we met a young Americain couple from Indiana, Torrey and Luc, cycling around New Zealand and camping and eating rice and lentils. And they didn´t complain about the rain once! It sure put things into perspective. The weather did improve significantly on the east coast, although one very windy night got the better of our cheap tent, snapping a pole in two and ripping the fly. Luckily, we only had two more nights to go, and managed repair it sufficiently to make it till the end: yes, you can fix anything with duct tape!
As I said, we zoomed out of Auckland because we were in a bit of a rush to meet up with another family (la famille Cote) we had met in Thailand. When we compared our itineraries back in December, we realized we would both be in N-Z at the same time. So we hooked up for about a week on the South Island, and had a great time camping together. Julien was thrilled to play with Nicolas and Florence, at last, someone his own age (all the locals being in school, of course) and we were thrilled to have some friends our own age : ) from home. Half the fun is being able to share and compare your experiences with other people.
New Zealand is made up of two islands, the North Island and the South Island (and, as they like to joke, the West Island=Australia). Both islands are not that big, and one month seemed like plenty of time to see everything. What we didn´t realize is that the roads (even the main ones) twist and turn, and what seems like a three hour drive inevitably takes six. Which isn´t a bad thing, since the scenery is absolutely breathtaking no matter where you go: most of the time you can see the ocean and the mountains simultaneously! It´s just that four weeks isn´t enough to see everything.
We did get around most of it though, basically going down the west coast of both islands and back up the east coast. The highlights included a hike (partway) up the Tongariro volcano, a farm stay where we awakened to the sound of bleating sheep, a trek through an amazing rainforest ending with a (wet) view on the Franz Joseph Glacier, a boat cruise from Milford Sound through the fjords out to the ocean, an icy cold swim with porpoises on the southern tip of the South Island, seeing a fossilized forest, eating fresh seafood in a tiny "five star" roadside restaurant (they had lovely square plates and beautiful teak chairs and tables!), the ferry crossing from one island to the other (great views of the majestic rugged coastline), discovering the art deco town of Napier (destroyed in an earthquake in 1931 and entirely rebuilt), seeing sheep, sheep and more sheep, and being hosted by some lovely New Zealanders in Gisborne (un gros gros merci a Marie-Pierre and Nik pour un accueil chaleureux) and in Auckland (thank-you to Shayne and Greg for sharing your lovely, unique home and your time).
The weather however was another story. After 7 months of pretty much non-stop sunshine, we were a bit taken aback when it started to rain on our way down the North Island, particularly now that we were camping. On our second night in a lovely DOC campground (= Department of Conservation = no facilities except an outhouse and running water), we met an interesting English/Finnish couple (Andy and Jenni) who were also traveling around the world on a very limited budget, hence, camping in the rain just like us. As we shared our travel stories, Andy remarked that ever since we had arrived in New Zealand, (after travelling through asia) our standard of living had gone way way down. Indeed, we were now reduced to sleeping on the ground and cooking for ourselves! It certainly seems ironic, but I guess that´s what happens when people get paid decent wages for their work. You can no longer afford to pay someone else to cook and clean for you.
After a week of camping in the rain, we were told that it always rains on the west coast, which made me feel a bit better. It wasn´t just bad luck. I realized then why so many people rent camper vans. And just as I started to feel sorry for myself, we met a young Americain couple from Indiana, Torrey and Luc, cycling around New Zealand and camping and eating rice and lentils. And they didn´t complain about the rain once! It sure put things into perspective. The weather did improve significantly on the east coast, although one very windy night got the better of our cheap tent, snapping a pole in two and ripping the fly. Luckily, we only had two more nights to go, and managed repair it sufficiently to make it till the end: yes, you can fix anything with duct tape!
samedi 14 mars 2009
Tales From Down Under
Hello everybody!
Now, at last, it's my turn to write. As our computer access is more limited here in the "developed world", we have to share our precious Internet time, a difficult thing to do. So, here we are, back in the land of big cars, big fridges and big stores full of stuff that the entire population of Africa and Asia seems to survive without. For the past 6 months I had been waiting to be culture shocked, and it never happenend. Now I am shocked by our overconsumption and individualism. Having to choose between 48 kinds of cereal is a dilemma we've managed without just fine.
Upon arrival in Sydney, we spent two days with a lovely family who made us feel right at home and got us acclimatized to the "Ozzie" accent. We spent an afternoon buying a cheap tent and a couple of dishes and then headed off to the beach, where we watched some kids taking an afterschool surf lesson (rough eh?) The next day we took the commuter train downtown and strolled around the waterfront, dutifully admiring and taking obligatory photos of the Sydney Opera House and the Harbour Bridge. And then we headed south.
With only three weeks in Australia, we decided to limit ourselves to the Coastal route between Sydney and Melbourne, which, if you look at a map of Australia is only a very small snippit of the entire country. In fact, I learned that Autralia is about the same size as the United States, a fact that Americans apparently have a hard time acknowledging! So I can hardly attempt to give you a general overview, but the bit we did see was absolute camper heaven (except the first two nights where we ended up in overcrowded private campgrounds squeezed between trailers). After the local kids went back to school (yes, the end of January is the beginning of the school year) we had almost entire campgrounds to ourselves, only having to share with the resident kangaroos (see photos for proof), walabees, parrots, echidnas, possums, goannas, snakes, spiders and bellbirds (yes, they do sound like chimes!). We unfortunately did not see any wombats or koalas, but going to a zoo just seemed like admitting defeat after we had seen all these other exotic animals roaming freely around our tent. The weather was fantastic, allowing us to take full advantage of the vast golden (and surprisingly empty) beaches all along the coast.
We took the scenic route, driving through pretty towns with names such as Wollongong, Ulladulla and Mallacoota. Finally, we spent the last five days in and around Melbourne (pronounced Melbin by the locals), where Julien got to hook up with his friend Melisande, from Montreal (et nous avec nos amis Sylvie et Stephan, avec qui nous avons partage quelques bonnes bouteilles!) Together we wine tasted, we hiked, and we continued to gather data for my comparative beach study. And spent a day in the city, admiring the vary avant-garde architecture. As Stephan pointed out, because of the climate (i.e. no snow, no freezing temperatures), there aren't nearly as many constraints and architects can do a lot more wackier stuff than we do at home. I think I detected a note of jealousy when he explained this to me.
More wonderful people hosted us here (thanks Steve and Tasha, Lou and Yvonne) and even more than the beds and showers and laundry facilities, we appreciated the opportunity to meet people who actually call Australia home. (Not always that easy when you're on the tourist trail).
As you surely heard on the news, there were severe bush fires in southern Australia just when we were there. Although this is a fairly common occurence, this year was much worse than usual because of the intense heat during the preceding weeks. Apparently the flames were moving faster than anyone expected. 200 people died and hundreds lost their homes. We drove through some burnt out areas on our way back to Sydney; it was eerie and somewhat frightening to see all of these blackened trees, homes and vehicles, and experience the overwhelming smell. Just makes you realize that there are risks everywhere, even in a country where you least expect it.
Now, at last, it's my turn to write. As our computer access is more limited here in the "developed world", we have to share our precious Internet time, a difficult thing to do. So, here we are, back in the land of big cars, big fridges and big stores full of stuff that the entire population of Africa and Asia seems to survive without. For the past 6 months I had been waiting to be culture shocked, and it never happenend. Now I am shocked by our overconsumption and individualism. Having to choose between 48 kinds of cereal is a dilemma we've managed without just fine.
Upon arrival in Sydney, we spent two days with a lovely family who made us feel right at home and got us acclimatized to the "Ozzie" accent. We spent an afternoon buying a cheap tent and a couple of dishes and then headed off to the beach, where we watched some kids taking an afterschool surf lesson (rough eh?) The next day we took the commuter train downtown and strolled around the waterfront, dutifully admiring and taking obligatory photos of the Sydney Opera House and the Harbour Bridge. And then we headed south.
With only three weeks in Australia, we decided to limit ourselves to the Coastal route between Sydney and Melbourne, which, if you look at a map of Australia is only a very small snippit of the entire country. In fact, I learned that Autralia is about the same size as the United States, a fact that Americans apparently have a hard time acknowledging! So I can hardly attempt to give you a general overview, but the bit we did see was absolute camper heaven (except the first two nights where we ended up in overcrowded private campgrounds squeezed between trailers). After the local kids went back to school (yes, the end of January is the beginning of the school year) we had almost entire campgrounds to ourselves, only having to share with the resident kangaroos (see photos for proof), walabees, parrots, echidnas, possums, goannas, snakes, spiders and bellbirds (yes, they do sound like chimes!). We unfortunately did not see any wombats or koalas, but going to a zoo just seemed like admitting defeat after we had seen all these other exotic animals roaming freely around our tent. The weather was fantastic, allowing us to take full advantage of the vast golden (and surprisingly empty) beaches all along the coast.
We took the scenic route, driving through pretty towns with names such as Wollongong, Ulladulla and Mallacoota. Finally, we spent the last five days in and around Melbourne (pronounced Melbin by the locals), where Julien got to hook up with his friend Melisande, from Montreal (et nous avec nos amis Sylvie et Stephan, avec qui nous avons partage quelques bonnes bouteilles!) Together we wine tasted, we hiked, and we continued to gather data for my comparative beach study. And spent a day in the city, admiring the vary avant-garde architecture. As Stephan pointed out, because of the climate (i.e. no snow, no freezing temperatures), there aren't nearly as many constraints and architects can do a lot more wackier stuff than we do at home. I think I detected a note of jealousy when he explained this to me.
More wonderful people hosted us here (thanks Steve and Tasha, Lou and Yvonne) and even more than the beds and showers and laundry facilities, we appreciated the opportunity to meet people who actually call Australia home. (Not always that easy when you're on the tourist trail).
As you surely heard on the news, there were severe bush fires in southern Australia just when we were there. Although this is a fairly common occurence, this year was much worse than usual because of the intense heat during the preceding weeks. Apparently the flames were moving faster than anyone expected. 200 people died and hundreds lost their homes. We drove through some burnt out areas on our way back to Sydney; it was eerie and somewhat frightening to see all of these blackened trees, homes and vehicles, and experience the overwhelming smell. Just makes you realize that there are risks everywhere, even in a country where you least expect it.
mardi 10 mars 2009
Coupés du monde
Depuis le 28 janvier, nous sommes revenus en terrain connu. Avions-nous jamais voyagé en Australie et en Nouvelle-Zélande? Non. Ces pays ne sont-ils pas les plus éloignés de Montréal? Oui. Est-ce qu’on ne conduit pas à gauche et non à droite? Oui. Pourtant, dès qu’on y met les pieds, on se trouve en terrain connu : anciennes colonies britanniques, systèmes politiques parlementaires, monnaies avec la tête de la reine d’Angleterre, supermarchés offrant une alimentation occidentale de produits en pots, en conserve, en sacs, et en barquettes de polystyrène emballées dans de la pellicule plastique. « Do you need a bag or have you got your own? », demande la caissière… comme chez nous.
Il y a aussi les gens, pour la plupart des descendants d’immigrants européens, qui parlent anglais (comme tout le monde en Amérique du Nord sauf ce peuple d’irréductibles descendants des Gaulois), et qui conduisent de la même manière que chez nous (sauf à gauche); et les employés des supermarchés qui portent des uniformes, qui classent les items dans les étalages et la caissière qui vous demande si vous accumulez des points avec la carte Supersaver. Il y a aussi des parcs nationaux avec des centres d’interprétation de la nature et des aires de camping… comme chez nous.
Dans ces pays où tout le monde est chez soi branché au cyberespace, les cafés internet sont rares et chers (le record : 10$/heure). Quand on voyage à cinq et que chacun veut passer une heure pour prendre des nouvelles de ses amis et leur écrire un peu, ça fait un moyen trou dans le budget. Donc, on se limite au nécessaire pour organiser notre voyage : louer une voiture, communiquer avec la nièce d’une collègue qui pourrait nous héberger, vérifier s’il faut un visa pour entrer au Chili, etc. Du coup, on ne sait plus du tout ce qui se passe dans le monde (d’autant plus qu’on n’écoute jamais la télévision).
Depuis le 28 janvier, donc, nous voyageons dans des pays qui nous semblent étrangement familiers même s’ils sont très loin de chez nous et même si la faune et la flore sont très différentes. En même temps, ce monde familier ne nous a pas permis de nous « raccrocher » à l’actualité comme on l’aurait fait chez nous en écoutant le téléjournal tous les soirs. Au contraire, nous sommes plus coupés du monde que nous l’étions en Asie où nous pouvions nous connecter à internet presque partout et pour quelques sous. Et alors? Hé bien rien. C’est comme si on avait débranché un malade de son respirateur pour s’apercevoir qu’il respire tout seul.
La dernière fois que j’ai lu les nouvelles, Harper avait convaincu notre gouverneure générale de suspendre la session parlementaire et Mario Dumont avait subi une dégelée aux élections québécoises. Ça vous donne une idée… Où en est-on avec la crise économique et financière, la guerre en Afghanistan et la chasse au phoque? Aucune idée. Et franchement, je ne veux pas le savoir. Ne m’écrivez pas tous en même temps pour me renseigner là-dessus. Racontez-moi plutôt que vous vous êtes mariés, que vous avez eu un enfant ou que vous en attendez un… ou deux, ou encore que ceux que vous avez déjà ont grandi, qu’ils jouent du piano… Voilà des nouvelles intéressantes car, en fin de compte, ce sont celles qui nous touchent le plus.
Il y a aussi les gens, pour la plupart des descendants d’immigrants européens, qui parlent anglais (comme tout le monde en Amérique du Nord sauf ce peuple d’irréductibles descendants des Gaulois), et qui conduisent de la même manière que chez nous (sauf à gauche); et les employés des supermarchés qui portent des uniformes, qui classent les items dans les étalages et la caissière qui vous demande si vous accumulez des points avec la carte Supersaver. Il y a aussi des parcs nationaux avec des centres d’interprétation de la nature et des aires de camping… comme chez nous.
Dans ces pays où tout le monde est chez soi branché au cyberespace, les cafés internet sont rares et chers (le record : 10$/heure). Quand on voyage à cinq et que chacun veut passer une heure pour prendre des nouvelles de ses amis et leur écrire un peu, ça fait un moyen trou dans le budget. Donc, on se limite au nécessaire pour organiser notre voyage : louer une voiture, communiquer avec la nièce d’une collègue qui pourrait nous héberger, vérifier s’il faut un visa pour entrer au Chili, etc. Du coup, on ne sait plus du tout ce qui se passe dans le monde (d’autant plus qu’on n’écoute jamais la télévision).
Depuis le 28 janvier, donc, nous voyageons dans des pays qui nous semblent étrangement familiers même s’ils sont très loin de chez nous et même si la faune et la flore sont très différentes. En même temps, ce monde familier ne nous a pas permis de nous « raccrocher » à l’actualité comme on l’aurait fait chez nous en écoutant le téléjournal tous les soirs. Au contraire, nous sommes plus coupés du monde que nous l’étions en Asie où nous pouvions nous connecter à internet presque partout et pour quelques sous. Et alors? Hé bien rien. C’est comme si on avait débranché un malade de son respirateur pour s’apercevoir qu’il respire tout seul.
La dernière fois que j’ai lu les nouvelles, Harper avait convaincu notre gouverneure générale de suspendre la session parlementaire et Mario Dumont avait subi une dégelée aux élections québécoises. Ça vous donne une idée… Où en est-on avec la crise économique et financière, la guerre en Afghanistan et la chasse au phoque? Aucune idée. Et franchement, je ne veux pas le savoir. Ne m’écrivez pas tous en même temps pour me renseigner là-dessus. Racontez-moi plutôt que vous vous êtes mariés, que vous avez eu un enfant ou que vous en attendez un… ou deux, ou encore que ceux que vous avez déjà ont grandi, qu’ils jouent du piano… Voilà des nouvelles intéressantes car, en fin de compte, ce sont celles qui nous touchent le plus.
jeudi 26 février 2009
Enfin des nouvelles
Si ca fait un petit moment que nous avons ecrit sur le blog, c'est que nous sommes victimes de nous trouver dans l'univers familier de la societe occidentale, meme si on a la tete en bas et qu'on se trouve plus a l'est que la Chine!
Apres la Thailande et le Laos, nous avons passe trois semaines en Australie et nous sommes maintenant en Nouvelle-Zelande. Premiere constatation? Il y a beaucoup moins de cafes internet et la communication coute beaucoup plus cher! D'ou notre silence.
Deuxieme constatation : le monde occidental est hyper structure, hyper organise.
Troisieme constatation : les Australiens sont tres tres tres accueillants et genereux.
Voila tres brievement de nos nouvelles. Nous serons probablement rendus au Chili (16 mars) lorsque nous mettrons des photos de l'Oceanie sur le blog. Soyez patients et n'oubliez pas de revenir nous voir. Ca nous fait vraiment plaisir!
Apres la Thailande et le Laos, nous avons passe trois semaines en Australie et nous sommes maintenant en Nouvelle-Zelande. Premiere constatation? Il y a beaucoup moins de cafes internet et la communication coute beaucoup plus cher! D'ou notre silence.
Deuxieme constatation : le monde occidental est hyper structure, hyper organise.
Troisieme constatation : les Australiens sont tres tres tres accueillants et genereux.
Voila tres brievement de nos nouvelles. Nous serons probablement rendus au Chili (16 mars) lorsque nous mettrons des photos de l'Oceanie sur le blog. Soyez patients et n'oubliez pas de revenir nous voir. Ca nous fait vraiment plaisir!
jeudi 29 janvier 2009
Nouvelles photos
J'ai ajoute une photo au message "Les belles rencontres" un peu plus bas, pour tous ceux qui ont un lien avec l'ecole Elan. J'ai aussi ajoute plusieurs photos aux albums de la Thailande et du Laos.
G'day Mates! from Evelyne
We have now arrived to Australia and are staying with people in Woronora, in the suburbs of Sydney. However, after getting a car at the airport and driving for a few minutes, we almost thought we were back in... Halifax! Except that the beach is right in the city, kids practically learn to surf before they learn to walk, and at the end of January, people walk around in shorts and t-shirts or simply in their bathing suits! During our first 24 hours, we went to a grocery store (we hadn't seen one of those for months), to the beach and we bought a tent for our next month and a half of camping. It feels good not to be identified as tourists all the time, until we open our mouths anyways. The people we met so far are very nice and we had no problem understanding them! Until we discover and can tell you more about this country, the movie Australia is an entertaining introduction to aboriginal culture and issues as well as Australian and Second World War history.
Ma mere a les cheveux mauves!!
Je viens de voler le punch, mais je ne pouvais me retenir. Patricia voulait se teindre les cheveux et Noémi et moi avons insisté pour que ce soit en brun, sa couleur naturelle. Nous avons donc acheté de la teinture à Ubon Ratchathani, mais quand on prend de la teinture pas chère (alors qu'en Thaïlande, c'est déjà pas cher), c'est ce qui arrive! La première journée, ça nous prenait toujours cinq secondes avant de la reconnaître, mais on s'habitue. Jean-François, par contre, n'aime pas trop cette couleur qui n'est ni naturelle ni franchement artificielle. La prochaine fois, on essaiera orange ou vert!
samedi 24 janvier 2009
Les belles rencontres
Je vais ecrire ce dernier message en francais (vous devinez que c'est Patricia qui ecrit), specialement pour Frank et Agnes qui lisent assidument mon compte rendu, et qui m'ecrivent toujours des petits commentaires tant apprecies! Notre dernier arret au Laos etait sur une ile tout au sud, au sein d'un archipel nomme Si Phan Don = Quatre mille iles. Ici, nous allions faire des devoirs, ecrire des cartes postales, lire les romans qu'on trimbale depuis des semaines, et mettre enfin nos journaux a jour car ce sont des iles bien tranquilles, reputees pour la farniente. Il n'y a que quelques chemins qui font le tour le l'ile, aucune voiture (seulement des motos), et quelques petits villages au bord de l'eau. Il n'y a pas encore l'electricite, seulement des generatrices le soir pour les restaurants, ce qui fait que le rythme de vie est tres relaxe. Nous avons loue deux petites huttes au bord du Mekong, avec un hamac sur la terrasse. Helas, il y avait bien trop de choses a faire! Nous avons loue des bicyclettes, nous nous sommes baignes dans le Mekong, nous avons fait une randonnee jusqu'aux chutes, un tour de bateau pour observer des dauphins d'eau douce, du "tubing" et nous avons passe plusieurs soirees avec un jeune couple de francais bien sympathiques, rencontres dans le Sawngthaew (genre de camionnette avec deux bancs a l'arriere qui sert d'autobus), et notre voisine de bungalow, Rebecca. (C'est toujours dans les plus petits endroits qu'on rencontre le plus de monde!) Bref, il y avait amplement de quoi remplir nos journees. Un jour, Julien et moi etions en train de faire une balade a bicyclette, et Julien entend son nom. Il se retourne pour voir qui l'appelle : c'est Chantal, sa prof de 3e et 4e annee!!! Je suis presque tombee en bas de mon siege (de velo), je n'en croyais pas mes yeux. Vraiment, on peut dire que nous nous sommes rencontres a l'autre bout du monde! Et ce, totalement par hasard, car nous ne savions pas du tout que l'autre etait dans ce coin! Nous avons passe une belle soiree ensemble, et le lendemain, c'etait de nouveau le depart. Quelle coincidence!
Apres cinq jours de plein air, nous sommes rentres en Thailande, et nous voici de retour a Bangkok. Maintenant, on essaie de faire tout ce qu'on n'a pas fait - en plus d'organiser la suite. Dans quelques jours, nous nous envolons pour l'Australie!!
Je vous souhaite a tous une belle annee, un peu en retard, mais sachez que je pense a vous, et que j'aimerais bien avoir de vos nouvelles, ne serait-ce qu'un tout petit mot! A bientot.
Apres cinq jours de plein air, nous sommes rentres en Thailande, et nous voici de retour a Bangkok. Maintenant, on essaie de faire tout ce qu'on n'a pas fait - en plus d'organiser la suite. Dans quelques jours, nous nous envolons pour l'Australie!!Je vous souhaite a tous une belle annee, un peu en retard, mais sachez que je pense a vous, et que j'aimerais bien avoir de vos nouvelles, ne serait-ce qu'un tout petit mot! A bientot.
mercredi 21 janvier 2009
Laos, the Real Thing
Two days in Vientiane was sufficient to see that that there wasn't much to see. It's the current capital, but not nearly as beautiful as Luang Prabang, and much quieter (perhaps because we were there on Jan 1st!). Luckily, we found Le centre culturel francais stocked with Asterix, 'Tit Oeuf and Tintin, and ahem, some current affairs magazines and newspapers. Julien was in absolute heaven, they had to throw him out at closing time. He would have stayed an entire week, suddenly, this was the best city Laos! How wonderful to see him so excited about having the chance to read.
The second half of our trip took us from Vientiane all the way to south, and allowed us to discover the rural side of the country (which does, after all, represent the majority, since 80% of the population still lives in villages) In Phu Kao Khuay Park we did a three day trek, which included one night sleeping in a watch tower (desperately) waiting for wild elephants to come to the salt lick (they never showed up) and one night sleeping (in our mosquito nets) on a dried up riverbed, where our guide assured us the elephants would not come, since they only go where there is water. We did however see lots of elephant tracks, trampled bamboo plants, and poop, so we know they do actually live in this park. We also spent two days in Ban Na, a a beautiful village on stilts just next to the park, where we did a homestay. This means you sleep in a family's home and they provide you with meals, similar to what they would eat, although they never actually ate with us. They would serve us first, and then eat after we had finished. After four days of sticky rice and vegetables for breakfast, lunch and supper, with an occasional omelet, the reality of life in rural Loas was starting to hit us. (And to think we complain when we have to eat the same thing two nights in a row!) The village of Ban Na is entirely dedicated to the production of bamboo baskets for steaming sticky rice, apparently supplying baskets to most of the country. One afternoon we just plunked ourselves down beside a group of women and got an impromptu lesson in basketweaving, Julien and the girls got the hang of it quite quickly, but we never got as fast as the locals.
The second half of our trip took us from Vientiane all the way to south, and allowed us to discover the rural side of the country (which does, after all, represent the majority, since 80% of the population still lives in villages) In Phu Kao Khuay Park we did a three day trek, which included one night sleeping in a watch tower (desperately) waiting for wild elephants to come to the salt lick (they never showed up) and one night sleeping (in our mosquito nets) on a dried up riverbed, where our guide assured us the elephants would not come, since they only go where there is water. We did however see lots of elephant tracks, trampled bamboo plants, and poop, so we know they do actually live in this park. We also spent two days in Ban Na, a a beautiful village on stilts just next to the park, where we did a homestay. This means you sleep in a family's home and they provide you with meals, similar to what they would eat, although they never actually ate with us. They would serve us first, and then eat after we had finished. After four days of sticky rice and vegetables for breakfast, lunch and supper, with an occasional omelet, the reality of life in rural Loas was starting to hit us. (And to think we complain when we have to eat the same thing two nights in a row!) The village of Ban Na is entirely dedicated to the production of bamboo baskets for steaming sticky rice, apparently supplying baskets to most of the country. One afternoon we just plunked ourselves down beside a group of women and got an impromptu lesson in basketweaving, Julien and the girls got the hang of it quite quickly, but we never got as fast as the locals.
Next stop, Ban Kam Lo where we took a boat through a 7 km long cave, getting in and out of the boat in the shallow spots and wading through the water. The tunnel is entirely unlit (except for one spot with incredible stalagtites and stalagmites), so it's kind of spooky, you can barely see the roof in some places, it is so high. We did another homestay in this village with a highschool history teacher and his wife. Unfortunately, their English was quite limited and my Lao extremely limited, so the conversation was very basic. Still, we managed to talk about our families, and share a bit about our respective cultures. The night we slept there was extremely cold, the wind was howling, I thought for sure the house, a bamboo hut on stilts, full of gaps, was going to collapse, but it stayed up despite the elements. I guess it was more solid than it looked!
It is here we met another family traveling around the world, and yes, more Canadians! A family of six - wow, was I impressed. (A special hello to the McConnery family if you are reading this) We spent an afternoon together sharing travel stories, and hooked up again a few days later in a small town a bit further south called Pakse, where we spent another day visiting What Phu Champasak, an ancient Kmer religious complex, kind of a mini Ankhor Wat. Meeting this family (with a teenage girl Noemi's age and three boys, 8, 10 and 13) was a true blessing, since Julien got to spend the day amidst a bunch of boring old ruins playing with boys his own age, instead of walking around a bunch of boring old ruins with his family! An entirely different experience! The next day our paths again went separate ways, and we were quite sad to say good bye to our new friends.
Finally, we stayed a few nights on the Bolaven Plateau, where they grow Lao coffee. And boy is it good. After months of Nescafe and chai, we were thrilled to taste the freshest coffee in the country. We actually stayed in a guesthouse run by a family who has a coffee plantation, so we got help out with some picking. Of course, all of it is done by hand, mostly by young girls, and from my personal experience (a whole two hours), I can assure you it is hard work! After picking, the beans are spread out on the ground to dry for a month and a half, raked regularly, and then roasted in a small fire heated, hand turned roasting oven. This was very exciting for me, as I had never seen coffee plants before (what a sheltered life I have led). Now I will really appreciate my coffee (as well as my rice!).
jeudi 15 janvier 2009
New Year's Eve in Laos
As you may know from the article recently published in Le Devoir (merci Agnes!), Luang Prabang is an absolutely beautiful, former capital city, in the north of Laos. It is a peninsula, at the junction of the Mekong and the Nam Kam rivers, and our "Christmas" breakfast, after getting off the boat, was in a lovely riverside restaurant, and included pancakes, fruitshakes, delicious real Lao coffee, and exotic fruit salad. A real treat after our night on the beach! Classified a Unesco heritage site in 2001, the architecture is a combination of traditional Lao and French colonial, all freshly renovated over the past few years. Although it is quite small, Luang Prabang has art galleries, museums, bookstores, many little boutiques, the most amazing handcraft market I have ever seen (I know, I say that every time), food markets, and delicious, inexpensive street food. I would even go so far as to say it might be "hipper" than the Plateau Mont Royal! It has a very French feel to it, many signs are in French (and Laos, but not English), some of the older people still speak a bit of French, and you can find baguettes, La vache qui rit, nutella and pastis! And the men still play Petang (petanque).
It also has dozens of beautiful temples, and lots of monks walking around the town, which gives it a very serene atmosphere: one morning I got up at six o'clock, believe it or not, to see them receiving alms (food) from locals sitting on the sidewalk with baskets of fruit and sticky rice. They do this every morning, but I only witnessed it once! (Just too early for me)
Despite the numerous tourists, I was amazed at how "untouristy" it felt, not a plastic temple keyring to be found anwhere! One day we rented bicycles and cycled out to a small village on the edge of the Mekong, where we had a picnic and spent the entire afternoon swimming and playing (mostly Julien) with a group of local boys. Even though we only know about fifteen words in Laos, we managed to communicate by drawing in the sand and using hand gestures. It was a lovely experience, the kind you just can't plan in advance.
From there we took a bus over the mountains (very windy and slow but stunning scenery, sharp mountain peaks covered in vegetation) down to Vientiane, the current capital, arriving at eight o'clock on New Year's eve, with, as usual, no reservation. As we started wandering around, only to discover that everything was full, I was starting to think that our last minute planning was perhaps not the best way to do things after all. And then we heard a friendly fellow who said : "Are you from Canada, you are a walking advertisement for Mountain Equipment Coop!" We had a good laugh, a nice little chat, (thanks Trevor and Erin, from Alberta) and he recommended we head away from the city center: ten minutes later we had a room. Twenty minutes later we had supper in the main square, where a Lao rock band was doing a New Year's countdown concert, and fifty minutes later we hooked up with our new Canadian friend and his gang, (including an English fellow we had done a trek with in Thailand!) and, voila, we had an instant bunch of friends for New Years. We headed off to a bar where we did the countdown, and watched the fireworks from the terrasse (yes, the kids were all with us, not a problem whatsoever, Julien even bought the beer, but only drank coke, of course - just in case any of you Villa girls are reading this!) I suppose you could say it was a pretty universal way to spend New Years Eve. And the next morning, like most people, we slept in!
It also has dozens of beautiful temples, and lots of monks walking around the town, which gives it a very serene atmosphere: one morning I got up at six o'clock, believe it or not, to see them receiving alms (food) from locals sitting on the sidewalk with baskets of fruit and sticky rice. They do this every morning, but I only witnessed it once! (Just too early for me)
Despite the numerous tourists, I was amazed at how "untouristy" it felt, not a plastic temple keyring to be found anwhere! One day we rented bicycles and cycled out to a small village on the edge of the Mekong, where we had a picnic and spent the entire afternoon swimming and playing (mostly Julien) with a group of local boys. Even though we only know about fifteen words in Laos, we managed to communicate by drawing in the sand and using hand gestures. It was a lovely experience, the kind you just can't plan in advance.
From there we took a bus over the mountains (very windy and slow but stunning scenery, sharp mountain peaks covered in vegetation) down to Vientiane, the current capital, arriving at eight o'clock on New Year's eve, with, as usual, no reservation. As we started wandering around, only to discover that everything was full, I was starting to think that our last minute planning was perhaps not the best way to do things after all. And then we heard a friendly fellow who said : "Are you from Canada, you are a walking advertisement for Mountain Equipment Coop!" We had a good laugh, a nice little chat, (thanks Trevor and Erin, from Alberta) and he recommended we head away from the city center: ten minutes later we had a room. Twenty minutes later we had supper in the main square, where a Lao rock band was doing a New Year's countdown concert, and fifty minutes later we hooked up with our new Canadian friend and his gang, (including an English fellow we had done a trek with in Thailand!) and, voila, we had an instant bunch of friends for New Years. We headed off to a bar where we did the countdown, and watched the fireworks from the terrasse (yes, the kids were all with us, not a problem whatsoever, Julien even bought the beer, but only drank coke, of course - just in case any of you Villa girls are reading this!) I suppose you could say it was a pretty universal way to spend New Years Eve. And the next morning, like most people, we slept in!
samedi 10 janvier 2009
Christmas on the Mekong
Mea Culpa - I'm backtracking again, and there's no hiding it this time, Christmas was indeed over two weeks ago! When I last wrote, we were in Chiang Mai, in the north of Thailand. The night before we left, by pure chance as we were wandering around the night food market, we bumped into another family who heard our accents and said, "Mais c'est du Quebecois!" So, we started talking and ended up having supper together - it turns out they are from Saint Bruno (salut Michele, Charles, Nicolas et Florence!) and are also travelling around the world! Julien was thrilled to finally have someone his own age to share his stories with (and us too : ) of course ) What a lovely unexpected surprise. The next morning we had breakfast together and then went off in opposite directions, however we may meet up again in New Zealand.
From Chiang Mai we went to Chiang Rai, a few hours further north, where the highlight was renting mopeds! As you can see, it doesn't take much to make me excited, but this was actually the first time I ever tried, and within fifteen minutes, I got the hang of it, and was quite proud of myself. In typical Thai fashion, we piled five people on two mopeds (noone batted an eye), and insisted on having helmets, which seems to be somewhat optional here. We toured through the countryside, following the Mae Nam Kok river, out to a small tribal village where we had lunch. The next day we went to a "modern" temple, Wat Rong Khun, all white with glittery mirror mosaic, described in the LonelyPlanet as a frosted birthaday cake on fire! Quite different from your run of the mill Wat.
We then took the bus up to Chiang Khong where we crossed the Thai-Lao border. This has to be the absolute most casual border I have ever seen. On the Thai side, you get your passport stamped confirming your departure date in a small kiosk on the side of the dirt road, walk down to the river where a small motorboat takes you across the Mekong, and then, on the Lao side, in Huay Xai, you fill out a couple of forms, pay for the visa, and voila, you can stay for 30 days.
N.B. Avis aux interesses: si vous avez deja lu la version francaise de notre Noel sur le Mekong, ceci est ma version en anglais.
We spent the night in Huay Xai before heading off on our two day "cruise" down the Mekong to Luang Prabang. Now before you think we decided to splurge on a luxury boat trip, let me give you a few details: the boat is a long wooden boat jam packed with wooden benches, just wide enough for two people, and a cushion wide enough for one and a half people! There were about eighty people on board, mostly tourists, but a few monks and locals as well. Despite being rather squished, it was quite charming, and the scenery was beautiful: lush vegetation covering mountains on both sides of the river, small villages on stilts here and there, and gardens all along the sandy riverbanks. It's amazing what they can grow, from what I could tell, corn, leafy lettuce-type stuff, and peanuts! Julien had a good book and was incredibly patient, it was sunny and peaceful, the day was lovely.
We stayed overnight in Pak Beng, about halfway along the route and got back on the boat in the morning, Christmas Day. Only this time, the boat was even smaller, with just as many people, smaller benches and no cushions. Several times we stopped along the way to pick up locals, bags of rice and baskets of chickens (which were hoisted onto the roof). The second day was not as sunny, and the wind was quite nippy, so after 8 hours, we were looking forward to getting off the boat and having a nice hot shower. Well, about an hour before reaching Luang Prabang, the boat broke down and the captain managed to bring it safely to the riverbank, where a local fisherman tied us to a rock. We all got off the boat to stretch our legs while waiting for another boat to come, and then were informed that, in fact, it was too late, the boats couldn't navigate at night, so we would just have to stay there! There was no village in sight (not that they would have room for a hundred people) so a couple of guys (of course) with Julien happily helping out, built a fire on the riverbank. We pulled out our sleeping bags and spent the night on the beach, singing by the fire, sharing stories with other travellers and sharing the instant noodles and beer the captain managed to scrounge up for us. Some people slept on the boat, but I don't think they had quite as much fun. As Jean Francois said in his message, Christmas on the Mekong was really Christmas on the Mekong! Not what we expected, but one we'll certainly remember!
From Chiang Mai we went to Chiang Rai, a few hours further north, where the highlight was renting mopeds! As you can see, it doesn't take much to make me excited, but this was actually the first time I ever tried, and within fifteen minutes, I got the hang of it, and was quite proud of myself. In typical Thai fashion, we piled five people on two mopeds (noone batted an eye), and insisted on having helmets, which seems to be somewhat optional here. We toured through the countryside, following the Mae Nam Kok river, out to a small tribal village where we had lunch. The next day we went to a "modern" temple, Wat Rong Khun, all white with glittery mirror mosaic, described in the LonelyPlanet as a frosted birthaday cake on fire! Quite different from your run of the mill Wat.
We then took the bus up to Chiang Khong where we crossed the Thai-Lao border. This has to be the absolute most casual border I have ever seen. On the Thai side, you get your passport stamped confirming your departure date in a small kiosk on the side of the dirt road, walk down to the river where a small motorboat takes you across the Mekong, and then, on the Lao side, in Huay Xai, you fill out a couple of forms, pay for the visa, and voila, you can stay for 30 days.
N.B. Avis aux interesses: si vous avez deja lu la version francaise de notre Noel sur le Mekong, ceci est ma version en anglais.
We spent the night in Huay Xai before heading off on our two day "cruise" down the Mekong to Luang Prabang. Now before you think we decided to splurge on a luxury boat trip, let me give you a few details: the boat is a long wooden boat jam packed with wooden benches, just wide enough for two people, and a cushion wide enough for one and a half people! There were about eighty people on board, mostly tourists, but a few monks and locals as well. Despite being rather squished, it was quite charming, and the scenery was beautiful: lush vegetation covering mountains on both sides of the river, small villages on stilts here and there, and gardens all along the sandy riverbanks. It's amazing what they can grow, from what I could tell, corn, leafy lettuce-type stuff, and peanuts! Julien had a good book and was incredibly patient, it was sunny and peaceful, the day was lovely.
We stayed overnight in Pak Beng, about halfway along the route and got back on the boat in the morning, Christmas Day. Only this time, the boat was even smaller, with just as many people, smaller benches and no cushions. Several times we stopped along the way to pick up locals, bags of rice and baskets of chickens (which were hoisted onto the roof). The second day was not as sunny, and the wind was quite nippy, so after 8 hours, we were looking forward to getting off the boat and having a nice hot shower. Well, about an hour before reaching Luang Prabang, the boat broke down and the captain managed to bring it safely to the riverbank, where a local fisherman tied us to a rock. We all got off the boat to stretch our legs while waiting for another boat to come, and then were informed that, in fact, it was too late, the boats couldn't navigate at night, so we would just have to stay there! There was no village in sight (not that they would have room for a hundred people) so a couple of guys (of course) with Julien happily helping out, built a fire on the riverbank. We pulled out our sleeping bags and spent the night on the beach, singing by the fire, sharing stories with other travellers and sharing the instant noodles and beer the captain managed to scrounge up for us. Some people slept on the boat, but I don't think they had quite as much fun. As Jean Francois said in his message, Christmas on the Mekong was really Christmas on the Mekong! Not what we expected, but one we'll certainly remember!
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