Take yourself on a journey to new places; explore other cultures; food; places, people - Find out what's gay - and what's not! Uncover the articles, video and photos on this blog by Ryan C Haynes
We chose a dilapidating hostel – Bariloche – another mistake; we should have taken the slightly more expensive but breakfast inclusive 3 star hotel….
Contemplating our next leg was a bit difficult; to Posadas or Resistencia? Reflecting on the journey we realised that perhaps we did the trip backwards – it would have been better doing everything back to front as we had planned; just to avoid stopping in Posadas or Resistencia.
It was true, there was nothing in either of the cities but we had to make the choice and Resistencia it was. Arriving late on the Sunday – greeted by huge frogs and bare streets. We chose a dilapidating hostel – Bariloche – another mistake; we should have taken the slightly more expensive but breakfast inclusive 3 star hotel.
Next day we left with bags on our backs to navigate the city – actually town – no lets just call it a large village with one central square/plaza and nothing but TWO museums. Actually one you couldn’t really call a museum – a place of cultural interest, a memory of Resistencia after the war; a home to local artists – a commemoration of its rich owner. The second museum was more a representation of the guilt of its repressive actions the Argentines had on the indigenous people.
By 2pm – that was it. The town was shut to all. Bars, restaurants, museums (yes the two), were all closed as locals fled from the dead heat of the bare sky as the sun forced its heat into every crack beneath its glare. The siesta ended our relationship with Resistencia – but being way too early to catch our coach we found a hotel with a pool; paid a fee for the room and sunk into the cooler waters to wait for the hours to go by.
The table was draped in cloth that had seen better days – and cutlery that had had more mouths wrapped around them than a rent boys appendage…
Jesuit Missionary Ruins were next. Hopped on a coach – 5 hours – dropped at the side of a bare motorway. Where were we? The bus station seemed abandoned except for a few Argentine ladies babysitting traveller’s bags who were visiting the Missionary Ruins. http://www.welcomeargentina.com/posadas/san-ignacio-ruins.html
On walking the red dirt track to the village under unforgiving sunshine baring an unbelievable heat we sought refuge at the first restaurant (also to restore our stomachs). The empty 1970s restaurant was painted pink and the fridge in the corner running from a generator flickered on and off. A 60-something year old man enthusiastically greeted us. [We choose a table near the entrance for a swift exit should someone appear with a bloodstained apron and meat clever.] The table was draped in cloth that had seen better days – and cutlery that had had more mouths wrapped around them than a rent boys appendage.
I knew my summer holiday was going to be different the moment I made the decision not to follow my partner for a 10 day jungle break in Venezuela but to spend a week with friends in the South of France. It was time to learn french, delve into the language, culture and people - exploring the country in another language.
I headed to Draigignon, flying London City Airport - Toulons - friends picked me up for the one-hour journey to the 1,000 year old historic town in the countryside just in from the coast of Frejus and Saint Rapheal. Arriving on the Sunday afternoon we headed for a beach picnic with several other accomplishes.
The sun set; the sea a warm 26 degrees and the sand still emitting the heat of the day's 37 degree sun rays. Volley ball, swimming with beer, salad and cheese was like being in paradise.
The Monday was the start of my french. My teacher Anne persuaded me to start early, 9am and I had to be ready and raring to go. It was time to put 18 months of basic learning to the test and take this ability one step further - question and sentence forming. Throwing in various verb conjugations, vocabulary caused peculiar sounds to come from my lips creating a somewhat furrowed brow on Anne's fore-head.
I was speaking Franglais! The 90-minute lesson vanished and I was soon back at the flat bashing new words around my head. My hosts, two wonderful ladies, took me shopping and to the beach - it was time to tune into the sound of french. We basked in the sun before heading home for a workout (where I nearly killed them) followed by dinner.
Tuesday - I was more determined. Learning another language is hard especially when being me - I love to talk and discuss. It was the day to start digesting vocabulary and using sentence formations; new challenges of past and future started fooling my brain.
10.30am - and I headed to catch the bus to Frejus to bask in the sun again. I ordered a salad, asked for change and listened to my Learn French by podcast - words were starting to emerge from the noises and I was actually beginning to 'get' what they were saying.
That evening was pizza and french film night. So we indulged in light-comedy washing it down with some local wine.
Wednesday's class was pretty similar to the day before, yet that evening I was taken to some friends for a BBQ, there I was at a dinner table with 12 non-English speaking french. All fine, I can do this! Suddenly words were sprawling from my mouth, maybe slow and considered and well slightly off-key but a new confidence welled inside me.
Thursday I left the class grasping sheets and sheets of new vocabulary. It was as though my personal trainer was trying to beat that extra scoop of ice cream from my body - giving those brain cells a bit more muscle. That day I spent in town and decided to do some shopping; I bought some vegetables from the market, chatted to the manager of the shoe shop and negotiated a deal with the man in the sunglasses shop. That evening, we took Anne for dinner in the Port of Frejus before calling the extensive day's learning to an end.
I was learning a lot about life in a town in the warmth of the South french countryside. This was not London and certainly not England. Friday I challenged myself to ask for a haircut, and 15 minutes later I was left with the barnet of my choice! (Though it could have gone horribly wrong).
Saturday I headed to Paris to meet Francois and head to Evron in the West of France. Deep in the countryside this little farming town is a place I have visited three other times. Introduced to 40th birthday celebrations with 150 french all in exuberent moods - well I struggled, further the accent is somewhat different...hmmmm - challenge number 2!
We danced til daylight before collapsing back at the farm in a deep sleep.
Home was soon forgotten in favour of believing and living in the here and now – nothing breathed like the present. Within nature – the power, the strength, the personality are one of its own…
The confrontation of a mass of water falling 70 – 80 feet across the river; glittering in the sun – emblazoned with vibrant rainbows; and the crashing water bellowing a constant rhythm of peace and harmony among the chirping of happy birds and the irregular chanting of the river’s rapids…
Stopped in Buenos Aires twice during our trip through North-East of Argentina. A big, noisey and a little rough around the edges the capital of Argentina will keep you busy as a shopper, drinker or culturalist. Find out more vimeo.com/ryanhaynes
