I was looking at some of the pile of photos I gathered from South America the other day. Yes, it has been 2 years and I haven’t done anything meaningful with them. If there is anything meaningful to be done.

Some of them made it onto the desktop. This one is there currently:

The gunmen

I did add the black/white effect. But it doesn’t really need it.

This was an interesting moment. Want the story? Too bad, you’re going to get it.

I was quite deep in the mountains of Peru, on the way to Ayacucho (at a place called Astobamba). I was crossing the highest road pass in South America (5,000m!). At least I thought I was – it turned out just to be a high pass, the highest is in Bolivia or Argentina somewhere. The altitude was 4,400m (I know that because I had camped at 4,093m in a disused railway tunnel, the hammock laid out on the ground, the night before, and climbed up a few hundred meters to this place in the morning, and the map says so). I was half a days ride from the nearest large settlement – a day and a half from the nearest town of any size. It was 9am, I had passed nothing but llama (or vicuna) all morning, and only abandoned buildings. Breathing was kind of tough – although you get somewhat acclimatised, it is still hard at 4,000m+. A pickup drove past. Nothing exceptional. This one was full of men in balaclavas. Full. Interesting. There was a guy on the back holding a machine gun. I think it was an AK47, but it would have had the same effect if it was a WW1 rifle. It’s fine to be academic about guns in the safety of civilisation; It was a gun. If his mates had a toothpick, I was still out-gunned.

Mind suddenly focuses on the reason you are way out here alone, on a bike, going from one place you’ve never heard of to another. Suddenly lacking a reasonable explanation, I stopped and my jaw hung open as they drove past. I gathered my courage (rapidly returning since they didn’t look like stopping… or shooting) and snapped a photo before they rounded the bend. I wont lie, they were a fair way away when I took this. I wasn’t giving them to many excuses to turn around.

I wasn’t much of a target, and they were obviously organised (I think I would have been in more danger if it was a guy alone who decide to cause trouble). I guess the balaclavas were because it was cold. The guns as a show of force to dissuade people attacking the mines (some precious metal mines around the area).

All’s well that ends well, but this certainly focussed the mind. I wonder what Afghanistan is like this time of year…

After almost 5 weeks of no running (work, sickness and wisdom teeth have conspired against my best intentions), and having a desert tonight with dinner that was described as a “calorie bomb” by the waitress (which it was), I decided to finally slap down the entry fee and enter the marathon in Barcelona in March.

thatwasalongsentence. I’ve been told my target time is too ambitious. I think I just need to train more. Ever heard something like that coming from me before? That’s the sounds of me heading toward a(nother) blown up achilles.

Perfect, that means I can justify this: Another calorie bomb please.

Tonight I go back to work. 1400km North of here, in Antwerp. Today there are blue skies and 18°C in Barcelona, 8°C in Antwerp. Rain expected this week. This is far more mild than the -30°C they see in Canada or the -10°C Jurg and Rahel signed up for this winter. Crazy, the lot of them. So I’ll not complain.

I’ll do that in a few days.

So now I am wise. Or I was. Or I am was. At any rate, the annoying teeth are gone.

I was quite stressed going into the surgery, I don’t like pain delivered via scalpel. But the operation (in the dentists chair) was brilliant. You see: I can’t remember any of it. The anaesthetist had me under “conscious sedation”, which apparently means I was conscious for the whole thing, responded to simple instructions, but I don’t remember a single thing. As soon as I woke I had a brief memory of some part of the procedure, but now I can’t remember a thing (only that I remember remembering something – if that makes any sense).

As my father said: Oh, so why do you need the anaesthetist? That sounds pretty normal to me.

Well. Yes, I guess it does really. Sometimes I keep vague fragments of memory though. At least for a few hours.

And thank goodness Kinda, my flat mate, came to collect me from the surgery. She ran out and bought half the pharmacy that the surgeon requested, and bundled me into a cab. I was fully awake, but clearly not too steady on my feet. 12 hours later and the story is the same.

Awake that is. In my drug induced haze I took all the tablets presented to me.
An antibiotic (A Spanish version – good thing these things are almost in Latin). Fair enough.
Some Paracetamol/blah blah hidrochoruro. Guess that’s for pain. Sounds strong. Lonts of warning labels. Better get that into me!
A huge box of Ibuprofeno – that’ll last the rest of my life.
Various mouth-wash and toothpastey things for the next few days.
And something called Zamene. I had to ask the internets for help. Apparently it’s an immuno suppressent. Why? Is my immune system going to reject the absence of teeth? Or did he put something else in there? I guess it is to reduce the swelling, but I kind of like my immune system, and until I get cancer I’d prefer it continued operating.
Anyway, one of the listed side effects is insomnia.

Yep. That parts correct. It’s now 10am, and despite being promised a good nights sleep by the anaesthetist, didn’t sleep a wink last night. Plus I haven’t slept much the last few days working and being stressed about how horrible this was going to be, and I’m not tired. I guess it’ll hit eventually.

Anytime now would be good.

Stupid drugs. I knew they wouldn’t help (but don’t take away the pain killers just yet).

Maurice + Miranda and the front/side/corner/dingsbumbs of their (huge!) house. plenty of room for the Australian. And some sheep

Well, that was fun. 24 hours with Maurice and Miranda. Talking South America, talking bikes, talking bike trips, talking places to live, talking religion, talking politics, talking, talking, talking. Lucky they speak such good English. We could also talk while they showed me around where they live. Pretty views and lots of mud. Need boots next time.

I can’t tell you all of what we talked about. That’s a secret. An Iceland secret. But this has been talked about for 10 years apparently… It may also be a Norwegian secret. That could also be fun.

Kneel Maurice! you can do it!

Good, honest people. I like them. Hope to see them again some day. I’ll try harder to get Maurice to kneel in front of his own statue of the Virgin Mary.

That’s it. I will soon have to take off my shoes to count all these kids. I am full on one hand, and well into the second.

Steve + Kim gave birth to Thomas in September (my word, that is almost 2 months ago already!)
And Stu and Bec have just had Caitlin.

Actually the women gave birth, and the men stood around doing whatever it is that men do on these occasions (although Bec hardly gave Stu time to turn on the TV!). I’m going to have to get ready to cuddle lots of kids over Christmas! Before at least one of them zips off to Japan. Starting the frequent flyer account early.

Stuck on a train, 20 minutes from my destination. Some problem on the track. Whatever.

Featureless Altiplano expanse, Somewhere, Bolivia.

I have roughly 9000 photos from South America (not all mine, but some of me). I thought I should take out a hundred or so that I can show people, especially those in Aus. Problem is, I can’t remove very many… Almost all still remind me of something. Even if it is featureless expanse, it’s featureless expanse at 3000m, and I remember how it was hard to breathe. And do cartwheels on the road.

Warning: If you ask about the trip, be prepared for 30seconds * 9000photos ~ 75hours of listening to me talk about how great I am. I really have to make a smaller set…

That is the first good laugh I’ve had in weeks.
I am on the train now (behind bicycle, my preferred method of transport). Just.

I finished a (rather tiring) few weeks in Antwerp. I found the city utterly uninspiring. That could be partly because I was working night shift and only managed to grab a glance of the city on a drab, grey morning I wasn’t working. That and the refinery, which although interesting, is hardly a tourist destination. Miranda and Maurice have resigned to me turning up one day, neither of us knowing which day it was going to be (for those back home, I met Maurice and Miranda twice, randomly, in South America. Yes, more cyclists). They said come and visit. They’re great people. I got close, so I am.

Best way to get there: train (I don’t have my bike, and I do have my work clothes). So I got dropped at the train station. Buying a ticket, the seller tells me I’m super lucky, a train is just leaving, and has a tight connection in Brussels giving me a fast journey. But I have to leave. Now.
So I did. I rather sprinted to the platform, suitcase wheels sliding on the corners. Got to the train and the doors wouldn’t open. I could hardly notice the train was actually leaving (since I was still moving when I was pressing the open door button). Turns out I’m not so lucky after all
Oh, but I was. A new timetable suggested that I would have about 45 minutes in Brussels. Boring… But the train station is in the city centre, I’ll just go for a wander (suitcase and all). I saw a spire, figured there’d be a cathedral underneath it and headed that way. Lucky for me, and my appreciation of Belgium. To be honest, I don’t know if I’ve visited Brussels before, but it takes a lot for a city to make me say “wow” out loud. Ok, not that much, but the old square is impressive, anything but uninspiring. Old, large stately buildings, intricate stonework, gold leaf, statues. A castle visible above the roofs. A palace on a hill… What an old city should contain. No wonder the politicians of Europe like it here.

So that was good. If I’d thought about it, I should have planned a longer stop over, even the central section could take a few hours of exploring. I snapped a few photos, marvelled at the buildings. Heard French again. Made a mental note to come back. But ~30mins later I thought I should head back and try to find my platform, I don’t want to cut it too fine. Still ten minutes ahead of the time I was given when I got the ticket in Antwerp and just as I enter the station, I hear announced the train I want to catch. A glance at the sign and I realise the time of the train is… Err, now?. More sprinting. Stairs. Train pulling up as I get there. Didn’t want to cut it too fine? How about 20 seconds? For some reason I found that hilarious (not sure what people thought of the laughing running Australian with suitcase sliding around the corners)

Lucky once. Lucky twice. Now if Miranda remembers that I’ll be at the station, I think I can call it a [good] day.

Update: 10mins from the station, and the clouds are lifting. The sun is, while not shining, at least trying to break through. That may be three. I’ve got buckleys of meeting Miranda at the station now.

Eek. Ergh. Blurghf. About the best I could come up with after spending several nights awake.

Going to visit Maurice (good name!) and Miranda in Belgium tomorrow. Or they could be in the Netherlands. Somewhere around here. Hopefully somewhere out of the rain.

Good thing I have friends everywhere (actually I don’t but Europe is so relatively small…)

[insert your own topic]

I had doubts.

I read pages on the internet.

I am again a believer.