Dogs in Buenos Aires

One of the things I’ve noticed since arriving in South America has been the sheer numbers of dogs here. Everyone seems to have a dog, and when I say dog, I mean WOLF! I mean, these dogs are huge… One of the first things that I saw my first morning in Buenos Aires was a professional dog walker… Since then I’ve been walking every morning since I’ve been here and at least once a day I see a person draped in leashes and surrounded by dogs. The most I’ve seen attached to a single person was between 12 to 15 dogs, but I kept losing count as the dogs moved around so I’m not sure exactly how many there were. Every family seems to own a dog, and the bigger the better.

I used to think this was charming... something distinctive to this place, that makes it unique and different… But that was until I found myself attacked by two of these ferocious monsters! I seriously do not know how I get myself into such situations, but if there is trouble to be found, I somehow manage to find it…

On the weekend went on a day trip to a town called Tigre. It is a beautiful town, almost a suburb of Buenos Aires I think, but built on the river. It is just gorgeous, with old colonial houses and a whole section of the town on the riverina where there are no cars, no streets, the only way to get around is by boat. The feel of the place is laid back and peaceful, in sharp contrast to the hustle and bustle of the city.

I took a boat out to a little island and the lovely lady at the information office showed me a circular path that would take me around the island in a couple of hours. Fantastic, I thought, and set off. After wandering for about an hour, often lost in thought, my head full of Spanish past tense, I suddenly realised that I had lost the track. I was almost knee-deep in mud along a trail that had spider webs all over it…

Spider webs are always a bad sign! Not so much because of the spiders, as I’m a country girl and totally fine with all manner of insects, but more because it means that humans do not often traverse that particular area of town! So I turned around and tried to backtrack through the forest back to civilisation. I’m not exactly sure how it happened, but through this process I somehow ended up in the back yard of someone’s holiday house and face to face with two of the biggest dogs I’ve ever seen protecting their territory.

Of course, I was well and truly in the middle of the garden before I noticed the dogs, and had nowhere to go. So I backed up, keeping my eye on the dogs the whole time but they started barking like crazy. One bit me on the ankle, the other went for a softer target and bit me on the bum!

The owner yelled sharply at the dogs, which made them calm down, so I kept on my way, all the while trying to work out when my last rabies shots were, and whether I should go to a doctor to get antibiotics… I imagined presenting the doctor with my bottom, and couldn’t help but cringe at the embarrassment of the thought! As soon as I got back home, I inspected my wounds, and to my surprise… I couldn't even work out where I had been bitten! There was no blood, nothing! I put on some antiseptic essential oil mix, and no sting… It turned out that I was wearing jeans, henceforth to be known as 'wonderpants', and consequently, the teeth hadn’t even broken my skin! I was extremely relieved to find no risk of rabies or bacterial infection, but a little disappointed to find such little evidence of my adventure… But now, a few days later, I have a discovered a very sexy teeth-shaped bruise on my right buttock that I carry as a war scar from my travels, and I must confess, that I am a little bit proud of!

In which Tracy has a little rant about decency... and falls in love again!

One thing that has always annoyed me, consistently around the world is the lack of consideration people have for elderly, and for disabled people on the streets. It is more than a pet hate, it is a very serious wild-animal kind of hate that I have for people that stay seated when there are frail or elderly people standing on a bus… I keep track in each country that I visit, and I have to say that people all over the world are the same. It has been no different here…

On a train to Tigre (a river town about an hour from Buenos Aires) I stood and offered my seat to an old woman who was standing, and looked around at my companions on the train, expecting someone else to follow suit and give their seat to the lady’s husband, but people instead looked down at their books or out the window, pretending not to notice. I felt so annoyed, and wanted to publicly admonish them all, but my Spanish is nowhere near that good yet, and so I ended up doing nothing, and felt an odd sort of disappointment in the Argentinean locals… I guess after the flattery and kindness I had received from the people on the streets I expected more gallantry in that aspect too…

But thankfully, after I got off the train, not twenty minutes had passed before my faith was restored. I witnessed a truly beautiful interaction between a blind man and a stranger on the street. I was sitting on a street corner in Tigre just trying to get my bearings and work out where I was, when I saw a blind man walking along the street and approach the set of traffic lights. He waited at the lights for a long time, perhaps a bit confused by when to walk safely and which way to go next. I was across the road watching, and I saw at least ten people walk passed him, without even noticing than he was even there. I had no idea what to say to him in Spanish, but I was about to go and offer him my services with crossing the road anyway.

But then I saw a true act of selfless heroism that redeemed the whole nation in my eyes… A man was driving his car through the intersection, noticed the blind man at the lights, so stopped his car at the side of the road, and got out and walked the man across the intersection safely. He then pointed him in the right direction for where he wanted to go, before promptly getting back in his car again and driving off.

I seriously fell a little bit in love, I think, with that anonymous act of kindness! I felt like chasing the man down the street shouting 'Hello! What's your name? Your telephone number? Are you single? Will you marry me???' Seriously, though, it just made me wonder how much we could change the world by opening our eyes to the needs of others, and committing unprompted, anonymous acts of kindness for our fellow beings?

Tracy falls in love with South America! Well, okay, South American men!!!

The people are so friendly and warm, I feel so embraced by their welcome… I have been kissed more times here in South America by strangers than I have anywhere else in the rest of my life! At least a couple of times a day I am approached by a local person who wants to know where I am from (so much for thinking initially that I could blend in!) and they inevitably end up telling me I am beautiful, lovely, pretty, kind… or some other lovely compliment. ‘Such a beautiful girl on her own? No! Impossible! Let me be your boyfriend!’ Or from older men ‘I have a son who is single – he would love you!’ And sure enough, before I know it I am accepting a kiss on the cheek (or elsewhere!) in greeting or farewell from someone I have never met before!

I can’t help but wonder if it is something I am doing that is attracting such attention (because I certainly don’t get it at home) or if this is just the way people are here. Am I smiling at people in some way that is inviting these advances, or are all solo females here receiving such attention? Whatever it is, I can tell you that it feels fantastic! To be complimented, and feel appreciated, and welcomed... I think I am falling a little bit under the spell of the Latin American man (in general, I mean, not one particular man just yet!) They still have the sense of ‘gentleman’ that we seem to have lost in the West over the last decades, maybe since before I was born. I don’t remember that men ever stopped to open doors for me in Australia, or that they offered their seat if I was standing on a train, or that they let me go first onto a bus… Maybe I would object if it did happen, as a woman who believes in a world of equal opportunities for both sexes… But I have to tell you that I find it utterly charming here, and I am totally smitten by this aspect of the Latin culture…

I feel a sense of kinship and family with almost everyone I meet... Logically I understand that it is probably related to the fact that I am treated in a way that is like I would be treated by family back home in Australia, but it doesn't stop me feeling cheered by these interactions...

I think of the way that people are with each other at home, and when I compare it to here I can't help but feeling like we can be a little... well, cold. I remember talking with a British guy in Laos that I travelled with for a few days... His mother had passed away from cancer last year, he was an only child so had no brothers and sisters, and his only remaining family was his father. When I asked him if he missed him, he said,
'Sure, but I would never tell him that.'
So I pushed him a little... 'But he's your only remaining family, your dad, you should just call him and tell him that you love him and you miss him.'
'Oh, I could never do that'
'But why not?' I asked.
'We just don't do that.'
'When was the last time that you hugged him?' I persisted.
He told me that he remembered his dad squeezing his hand when his mum died.
Squeezing his HAND?????
I know most families aren't so reserved, and this is a very extreme example, but still, I can't help but wish that more people in Australia would kiss and embrace strangers like they do here, and treat people on their streets a little more like family!

Thefts, and lost property in SANTIAGO!

My first real interaction in Spanish was at the Santiago airport, with a lovely indigenous man from Peru. I was trying to work out which of the two airport buses went to the place where I was supposed to by staying in Santiago, and he came to my aid. He asked where I was going and it turned out we needed to catch the same bus, so he chatted with me a little, asking where I was from, where I was going, and so on. I could tell he was building up to something, though, so I wasn’t really surprised when he pointed to my money pouch, which was hanging around my neck outside my clothes, and spoke at length about… well, I couldn’t understand anything actually, but he was gesturing zipping, putting something inside his clothes, and so I figured he was lecturing me about pickpockets. He kept shaking his head and looked rather disgusted with me, but in a really considerate way… I could tell he was thinking, ‘Silly foreigner, I’d be surprised if she lasts five minutes without getting robbed, she doesn’t even know to put her money away safely.’ Anyway, I took the advice, and made sure that my money pouch was inside my jacket and safely hidden.

Even still, I guess I didn’t hear the lesson well enough, because the next day I went walking I took with me all my cash and valuables in my backpack. I guess I felt they were safer with me than at the hostel. But every time I had to pay for something that day, I would open up the money pouch and the cashier’s eyes would boggle when they saw the wad of cash I had in there. A couple of them told me to put money pouch away at the bottom of my bag, somewhere safe. Or I assume that’s what they were saying. They seemed happy when I complied… But I hadn’t really thought much about it, until I got back to the hostel that night, and was chatting with a group of travellers from Budget Expeditions, and heard that 3 out of their group of 30 had had something stolen just that day! 10% of the group! One had a camera yanked out of his hands, only about 100 metres from the door of the hostel, one had her backpack slashed and her purse and camera taken from it, and the last one had her entire backpack stolen as she was sitting waiting for a bus. Since then, almost everyone I have spoken to has shared with me a story of them, or a fellow traveller being robbed. Some were mugged, some pickpocketed, some were even robbed at gunpoint… I even met a poor girl from England who had had her camera stolen THREE times. Every time she replaced it, it was stolen again!

I hate that my first blog entry from south America is about something negative, because my experience so far has been that the Chillean people are so overwhelmingly friendly and helpful… but I have been totally bowled over by how much theft I have heard about in my first week. I believe in signs, and so these were as clear as day to me. I heeded this lesson, and now have a very complicated system, by which I keep the money that I’ll need for the day in pockets of my jeans, some more money in a money pouch inside my handbag, the bulk of my money in a money belt locked inside my backpack… I have my atm cards in three different places… I am as prepared as I can be to be robbed, I think. But so far, (touch wood) I myself have been untouched by this aspect of travel in South America… The only things that I have lost along the way have been thoroughly my own fault, and I have unwillingly donated one towel, one sunhat, one beanie, and one pair of exfoliating gloves to the Hostelling International lost property department. I nearly left my thermal top on the plane today, too! But I rescued it just in time... I have a feeling that I will go through the year and end up needing to replace every item I'm travelling with along the way, so I come home with a completely new bunch of stuff!

The case of the mountain bike accident (not me mum!)

Rotorua is a town built around geysers, and thermal mudpools, with the thermal activity so close to the surface that it literally turns water to steam… The town smells distinctly like boiled eggs, that are a little, but not quite totally rotten. I’m told that it is the sulphur. I didn’t mind it actually. I like eggs. I went for a walk along Rotorua lakeshore on the first day, and somehow by accident I ended up in a suburb of Rotorua that is actually built on top of these geysers. There was steam coming from everywhere! The drains in the road were steaming, puddles of water were steaming, even their lawns were steaming… It was fantastic! I felt like I’d discovered ‘real’ Rotorua… I couldn’t help but wonder, though, why people decide to build their houses in such a place. Surely the ground is unstable? I wonder if the area is cheap. It seemed to be mostly Mauri families living there. At least it wouldn’t cost much to heat in winter, I guess… In this suburb, I wandered into a church, built in 1914 using Mauri designs. It was built on the lakefront, and was lovely and warm inside, very inviting. The highlight for me was a carving of Jesus in the glass at the front of the church; when you are sitting down in the pews, it looks like Jesus is walking on the water of the lake.

The main problem I’ve had since arriving in New Zealand has been finding things to do that are within my quite limited budget… And given how much food and accommodation costs here, that pretty much means that everything I do has to be free. I’ve learnt that there is not much to do here that there is free. But I found a national park in Rotorua that has free hiking. Walking is my favourite form of exploration in a new city, so yesterday I decided to go exploring in that area. Known as the Redwood Forrest, it is a popular hiking spot, and also has some of the best mountain bike tracks in all of New Zealand. I walked to the forrest from town, some 5km, then did a 2 hour hike on track that took me to some beautiful views of the town, the geysers, the lake… I couldn’t believe that people pay $50-$80 to go to the thermal parks, when from the top of the mountain I could see them all!

I had been criss-crossing the mountain bike tracks the entire walk, but hadn’t seen a single bike or rider the entire time, but with only 15 minutes or so to go I saw my first bike racing towards a jump… He flew through the air, only to fall just centimetres short. His bike frame literally snapped in half, and he continued flying through the air to fall on his face. Watching the collision, I ran over to him, certain that I was going to have to perform CPR or something… There was no way you could hit the ground that hard from that height and not be dead, I thought. My head was blank. Despite my first aid training, I could not think of a single thing I was supposed to do. Thankfully, the gentleman was still conscious, and it didn’t appear that CPR was going to be necessary. I didn’t even have a mobile phone, but I yelled out to another rider who was approaching from the other direction, and he had a phone so called for an ambulance. It turned out he was the injured man’s friend, and he happened to be a paramedic. They were both paramedics from the Auckland ambulance service, actually. It made me feel better to watch the paramedic friend almost as helpless as me as to what to do while we waited for the ambulance. Kerry was the name of the man who was injured, and that was just about all he could remember. He had no idea where he was, and kept asking me ‘Where am I?’, and ‘How did I get here?”. He seemed to have a number of head injuries; a broken nose and jaw, as well as memory loss from the bang on the head. He needed to be reminded several times not to try to move his head. While we were waiting, another person stopped to ask if we needed any help. She was a doctor, and her husband worked for the ambulance as a paramedic as well. With three paramedics and one doctor, noone seemed to be able to do any more than me! That seemed to be talking to Kerry, reassuring him, and waiting for the ambulance. I felt MUCH better about being so helpless at first aid. But I was also glad to have them there, because if we did have to do CPR they would certainly be better at it than I would. The doctor called her husband to check on the progress of the ambulance, only to find out that there had been a bus crash on the highway that most of the ambulances in the city had been directed towards. She stayed for a bit, but seeing there was not much she could do, went on her way. Meanwhile, I donated my jumper, jacket, scarf and hat to try and keep Kerry warm, as he was rapidly going into shock. As I feel the cold, and happened to be FREEZING at the time, I felt quite noble giving up my warm layers to an injured man… After about 45 minutes, the ambulance finally arrived, and I got to help assemble the stretcher beneath Kerry, in case of spinal injury, and then lift him into the ambulance. The friend drove his car to the hospital, so the ambulance officer asked if I wouldn’t mind riding in the ambulance with him to make sure that Kerry was okay, and hold onto his bike (in two pieces) in the back. I was happy to, as it would save me money on a bus ride back to town… That sounds callous. I would have been happy to regardless, but as it happened, it also saved me the bus fare back to town. As we rode, Kerry seemed to remember more and more of his life, and he remembered how he got to Rotorua, and even started to remember the jump. When we got to the hospital, the emergency room was chaos due to the bus accident, and I was shunted into the waiting room. I waited until Kerry’s friend arrived, then left. All in all, it was a frightening experience, but kind of exciting too. (Is that wrong?) He did seem to be all right, though, especially as he had gotten his memory back by the time we arrived at the hospital. But I really didn’t seem needed, and it felt strange waiting in the waiting room for… what exactly? So I walked back into town and made use of the hot tub in my hostel… I went back again to the hospital later to check that Kerry was okay, but I didn’t know his surname, and so they wouldn’t give me any information, despite the fact that I actually rode in the ambulance with the guy… Anyhow, I hope he’s okay.

Lessons from New Zealand

I firmly believe that there are lessons to be learnt everywhere we travel… That’s one of the mail reasons that I am continuously moving on to the next destination – in search of the next ‘lesson’… There is so much to be gained through the sharing of ideas, through learning how things are done differently in different places… To often we fall into the trap of thinking that the way things are done at home is ‘best’ without knowing any different. To often we fear people from other cultures and other ways of life without ever experiencing what they have to offer, without learning anything about them.

Having said that, I never really expected New Zealand to be a place of learning for me. I kind of thought that my round the world trip would begin in China, and the New Zealand was a ‘warm up’ that would feel just like home, but despite the similarities, I have also discovered so many differences that were so much more interesting and exciting to me, perhaps because I didn’t expect them…

When I first arrived I was immediately struck by the similarities to Australia. The streets are wide and open. Auckland felt airy and light. They drive on the same side of the road. There are the same fast food outlets, the same convenience stores, the same coffee shops and chains all over the place and they look JUST THE SAME as in Australia. The feel of Auckland is quite similar to Melbourne, especially with the many ethnicities that I noticed walking the streets and working in the shops and restaurants. Chinese, Vietnamese, Indian, African… I felt somewhat at home. I changed money with a Chinese lady because I saw a sign in Chinese that reported ‘the best exchange rate in Auckland’. I believed it, I think because it was in Chinese, so didn’t think to check the rates, and I later discovered that I was horribly taken advantage of, just like I imagine the Chinese-speaking tourists are. But they can’t read the other English signs around, so they have an excuse…

But the more things I noticed that were similar, the more I began to notice small differences that I found quirky and endearing. Shopping trolleys are called ‘trundles’ here. Hiking is known as ‘tramping’. Milk bars are called ‘Dairy shops’. If I kept a log I imagine I could fill a notebook with the different vocabulary alone. Also, there are no ‘Coles’ or ‘Safeway’ supermarkets, which became an issue the first time I went hunting for groceries. In fact, it took me a long time to even identify which of the big concrete structures WERE supermarkets and which were hardware stores because of the large number of unfamiliar names. I discovered that there is a very cheap place called ‘Pak ‘n’ Save’; as well as ‘Foodtown’, ‘Farmers’ and ‘Countdown’.

I learnt that Mauri people are very different to the Australian Aboriginal people. I always thought of the Mauri as the equivalent of Aboriginals in New Zealand, the indigenous people that had been here since history begun. In fact, the Mauri descend from Polynesian islanders, who landed here about 800 years ago, and decided to stay. They are so impressive. And they can spin poi with such skill it made me envious and inspired at the same time. The Mauri have connections to people as far reaching as Rapa Nui (Easter Island) off the coast of South America, Madagascar of the coast of Africa, as well as New Guinea, Indonesia, even as far north as Taiwan. There are connections in language, customs and genetic patterns. Another weird thing I learnt was that because the Polynesian settlers came from a tropical climate, none of their imported crops did very well in temperate NZ. So something positive that came with the arrival of the English, was that they brought with them foods like potato, and other stuff more suited to the climate. Who would have thought?

I also learnt that the city of Auckland is on a hot bed of 58 volcanoes, that could erupt at any time. At the Auckland Museum there is a simulation of what it would be like if a volcano were to erupt in the city… I went into the room thinking it was just going to be a video, and the whole room started shaking! It should have come with a warning label like the ones that say ‘This programme contains medical procedures’.

I’ve learnt that New Zealand is very green. This appears to be because it rains… a lot… I’ve used my umbrella more here in five days than I did in two months I was in Melbourne! Also, the gardens are pretty. And yes, there ARE lots of sheep. But there are lots of cows, too. No mentions the cows.

And I also discovered that it’s fun to giggle at the New Zealand accent. It really is very cute. I found myself imitating it without meaning to today, and I think I passed as local! (Or I passed as an idiot, who knows?) They do this weird thing with the vowel sounds, and it reminds me a little of that man in ‘Allo ‘Allo who is an undercover British agent and supposed to be speaking French. I think there are at least two vowel sounds in Australian English that don’t exist here. The ‘e’ from ‘pen’ and the ‘i’ from ‘pin’… What I haven’t worked out is if the way that these sounds are said sounds different to the local people, that is, if they are able to differentiate between these two words by sound alone, or if they have to use context. They both sound the same to me, but maybe there’s a subtle difference I haven’t quite worked out yet. But it’s been fun to try!

So that’s just a few of the things I’ve learnt in my adventures in New Zealand… Oh, I also learnt that it is dangerous to attempt jumps on a mountain bike, but I’ll write that story in my next blog entry.