Wednesday 21 April 2010

Deported

Now I know that a lot of you think of me as a good girl. Most of my close friends, up until recent years, would have thought I was a picture of perfection. I never swore, drunk much, spoke only nicely of others...I had one friend tell me once that there was no one I didn't get on with, because I was so nice to everyone. It kind of makes me feel sick thinking about it now. Times have definitely changed! Not saying that I am a horrible person now, I am just a bit more real and don't feel the same extreme need to please everyone! Anyway, I thought I would share with you all a story of a very eventful time during one of my many travels through South America, which involves some people who very much disliked me, and my brother and husband.

Let me give you a little bit of background to this story so that you understand some of our reactions to the situation I am about to mention. Central and South America is nothing like New Zealand or even London for that matter. Back home, generally you will find that people on the whole have your best interest at heart. They do not set out to take advantage of you. During our travels, we discovered that this cannot be said for all countries of the world. Central and South American have the attitude that if you are white, you are wealthy, (in comparison to them we are), and therefore are worthy of being scammed out of as much of your money as possible. Time and time again we were overtly ripped off, and probably more often than we were actually aware of also.

As I mentioned in a previous blog, we travelled by sail boat through the San Blas Islands from Panama to Columbia. Now being that none of us spoke Spanish, and the boys attempts at it were hideously worse than mine, which were also rather pathetic, we were often reliant on the help of others to find our way around etc. As in every country, you obviously need to get an entry and exit stamp when you arrive and leave. As we were leaving Panama, Stephan, our sail boat Captain, put us in the right direction to get our exit stamp. That being done, he then, after much communication with the locals, put us in the direction of getting our entry stamp into Columbia. Now at the time, despite the fact we were aware it was unusual to be able to get an entry stamp into a country when you are not actually in that country, after having spent a week with our captain, drugs aside, we did trust Stephan as being a man of his word, and not being one to rip us off. After all, he had made this voyage many times before. So we gave our details to the lovely lady behind the desk at the immigration office, she stamped our passports, and we were set!

During our visit in Columbia, many a time were we stopped by the police, our passports checked, and sent back on our way. At this point, nothing was suspicious. Our problem arose as we tried to leave Leticia, a city at the bottom of Columbia, on the boarder of Peru and Brazil. We had flown in to Leticia from Bogata, the capital city of Columbia. Innocently we got our bags at the arrivals area of the airport and showed our passport to the immigration officer there. He immediately looked at our passports, screwed up his face, told us “No”, and shooed us away. We wondered what he was going on about as we made our way to the immigration office at the airport to get our exit stamps. Here was where the trouble began. Through much translation, we managed to pick up that the stamps in our passport were not legitimate Columbian entry stamps, and therefore we were in the country illegally. This being the case, the officers refused to give us an exit stamp. The moment it got suspicious, was about the time that they told us they would give us exit stamps for $100 American each. Now to put this into perspective, we had been living on about $30 American per day per person, and therefore this was a ridiculously large amount of money on our shoe-string budget. We started trying to tell them this was not reasonable as it had not been our fault. We had been told the stamps we had in our passports were correct, and if they were not entry stamps, why had the immigration office we got them at put them in our passports in the first place? Unfortunately this logic was lost on them, and the fee was then increased to $150 American each.

It was at this point that it all turned to custard! I had been sick for the last two days, and was not in good spirits. Ben and Aaron had both been in the runny club, (I will leave that to your imaginations), for over a week, leaving them in low spirits also, and we had all had about had our maximum share of rip-offs. So rather than politely dealing with the situation, as is always best when dealing with authority, we made our disapproval of the dishonest situation loudly and clearly known to not only the immigration officers, and most of the shop workers in the airport but many walkers-by also. This should have been where it ended, until Ben decided that he would take a photo of one of the dishonest immigration officers as evidence to use when we rang our embassy to sort the matter out, (which we planned to do). They would not let us ring the embassy, and reacted VERY strongly to the photo. I was at this point we were removed from the airport.

Deciding that we would take our chances in Peru without an exit stamp, we booked into our hostel for the night and were about to go out for dinner when six men turned up asking to see our passports. Obviously word spreads quickly in Leticia. We were then hauled off in the back of a truck to another immigration office to be 'dealt with'. They apparantly did not want us to try our luck in Peru and as we found out, had we tried our luck in Peru, we also would have had to pay a 'bribe'. Thanks to our English/Spanish speaking hostel owner, we were able to get ourselves deported, in preference to paying the large sum of money originally stated.

How different are things outside of Western Society! All in all, I am proud to say, my good-girl status can be officially scratched in favour of a rebellious Columbian deportee! Although I could have spiced the story up by adding some dodgy drug deal in there somewhere!!

Thursday 15 April 2010

Sail boat

How I love the sun!! Even more, is being near water when in the sun!! A sunny day lacks completion without a river, ocean, beach towel, picnic, friends or family, wine, and a barbecue to finish! I am missing the sun even more so these days, after having been truly spoilt with a 2 month holiday through Central and South America...now that is what I call sun!! I don't think I have been as tanned as I was on that holiday since I was a child, and miraculously turned into an Islander the moment summer hit, due to having the careless freedom of youth to waste away hours outside. Tans aside, the holiday itself was incredible. One of my favourite parts was a week sail boat cruise around the San Blas Islands, in the Caribbean. Now I do realise that the minute I mention the words sail boat cruise certain images are brought to one's mind. A large glamorous yacht, glorious fresh seafood, sail boat staff to wait on one, hand and foot, lazing hammocks...these images however, need not be conjured up in relation to our sail boat adventure. Picture, if you will, a very tiny, shouldn't-be-more-than-a-two-man, yacht. It 's weathered wooden frame is partly disguised by a half finished, home-made paint job. The sails themselves look tired and sagging. Everything about this boat, from the cutlery in the kitchen, to the thin, foam mattresses, is old, and re-done, again and again. This boat has been attacked by the most enthusiastic of self-made handymen...and it shows!

The cruise began, for my husband, my brother, and myself during dinner the night before our sea departure, when we met our German Sea-captain for the first time. Stephan. Tall, tanned, and all leg's and arms, he seemed friendly enough. His biggest concern, when discussing with us the impending voyage, was that we bought as much alcohol as possible before the only shop, in the small village we were staying, shut. We were to disappoint him with our alcohol purchases, as dinner, being of much more importance to us at the time, meant we didn't quite get to the shop before closing. Arriving early the next morning, as agreed upon, we sat on the shoreline for 20 minutes awaiting the arrival of our Sea-captain, who had slept in. Now admittedly, we should have recognised, the moment we saw Stephan paddle out to us, in the smallest, most dingy looking dingy we had ever seen, and try to convince us it would hold all four of us and our two months worth of luggage in one trip, that the cruise was not going to be the luxury affair we had dreamed of. But our imaginations, at this point, had been given much more time to conjure luxury, than reality had been given to hit. Thankfully, for the sake of our dry selves, and our luggage, a couple, who I am assuming, owned the larger, luxurious yacht next to the one we ourselves were about to embark, lent us their deluxe model, motor powered dingy, and we arrived at our sail boat not the least bit waterlogged. We were later to discover, that our suspicions about the overestimated weight in the small dingy, were correct, as we found ourselves very wet, and with a ruined camera, which apparently does not like sea water, when trying to paddle back from one of the islands, and this journey having been done baggage -free.

Once aboard, we met Stephan's lovely girlfriend, Mika, also German, and also, all legs and arms. After a cup of tea, we set sail. The next eight hours of this day were spent leaning over the side of the tiny yacht emptying the previously drunk tea from my stomach, as a gift to the ocean. And all I can remember about the day is being offered some marijuana to cure my sea-sickness. At this point, I realised we were in good hands with our stoned Sea-captain Stephan, in full control!

Our voyage over the next week, was most certainly eventful. We saw the most beautiful, deserted, islands which literally took one's breath away due to their picturesque divinity. We laughed at many a conversation had with our consistently stoned Captain, who loved to share his life theories, as only one thinking through a cloud of drugs can do. Our bodies became hideously eaten, as never before, by the invisible blood suckers hiding on the beaches at night. Discovering Stephan had quite a temper, the boys exercised their best negotiating skills, to ensure we would be able to have our money's worth of snorkelling and spear-gun-fishing fun. We caught fish. We ate fish. Of both the smallest and largest variety. Some fish, melting in our mouths like honey, some, mostly of the smaller variety, hard to find amongst the mouthful of bones. Not being prepared for one particular night's meal, Stephan bartered with a local from one island we stopped at, to buy and cook us a dry root, which tasted something akin to tree-bark, covered in sauce, telling us it was a cultural experience. We politely obliged his theory, and agreed, it most certainly was. We enjoyed cupful's of Mika's tea. And we lazed about on the beach or boat, sunning ourselves, and competing to be the most brown.

Is life not also like this sail boat journey. Full of times when the journey is rough and we are being chucked around seemingly unsure of where we are going, or if we are even heading in the right direction, vomiting over the side, praying for it to be over. Time's when we are unsure, not confident in our sail boat captain. When sometimes his theories on life make no sense at all, and he is seemingly speaking out of a cloud. Times when we feel we have been eaten alive and the pain, is unbearable, it is all we can see or feel. It is all we can think about. Yet there are also those other times, when the beauty of life simply takes your breath away. When there is nowhere else you would rather be. When everything around you seems perfect and you wouldn't change it for anything.

The thing that made my journey on the sail boat the joy that it was, was not only the experience itself, but those I was able to share it with, my husband and my brother. Life, and any journey, whether horrific or divine, is made what it is, by those who walk it with you.

Wednesday 14 April 2010

Night-time Drama's

So, I figured that I have done a lot of heavy, serious stuff for the last few posts. And considering I like to write about all the stuff that runs through my head, that is no surprise! However, I figured I would mix it up a little bit today, and talk about the night-time drama's of being married to one Mr Benjamin James Holmes. And for those of you, whose minds automatically go there...you know who you are...I am not talking about THOSE night-time drama's!

Now I don't know if you will all know, but my husband is a chronic sleep talker/walker/one-manned-motion-picture, during the night! Now to be honest, I truly love his early morning antics, as it is most definitely the cause of much laughter each morning as we recount the nightly events! Although it can cut into my sleep, meaning that in the last 2 1/2 years of marriage, I would have been lucky to get a dozen full nights sleep! No, this is an exaggeration, but you get the idea! When we were first married, I was often confused by the events that took place in our bed, as I was not used to this extremity of activity. I remember that at one point Ben, thinking I was a big black bull, was leaning over me, trying to decide how I got there. And when I awoke to his face directly above mine, got a fright, and promptly tried to question him as to what he was doing, he was very quick to turn over in bed and tell me nothing...as though his actions should not cause any confusion and he had been behaving perfectly normally. Over the last 2 years, Ben has saved me from falling rocks by attempting to push me out of the bed, encouraged me and the large audience in our bedroom, by clapping and cheering, given the thumbs up to my brother and his friends while on holiday, and had many many conversations with Stevo... apparently a very good friend of ours, whom I have never met!

I usually wake earlier than Ben for work, and on one morning in particular, I had got out of the shower and was by the bed turning on my hair-straighteners...I had not dressed at this point, and due to the fact that we have just returned from a holiday in South America, have quite obvious tan-lines...when I find Ben staring at me oddly. This was one of the only time's when I have not been able to tell straight away that he was still asleep, as his eyes usually give him away. He started saying to me, "No thank-you", (a polite boy, even in his sleep). I asked him what he meant but he simply kept repeating himself. At this point I realised I was talking to him in his sleep and asked him what he was talking about, to which he responded by pointing to my body and repeating, "No thank-you", (Luckily I am not easily offended, or I might have assumed that he thought I was hitting on him, and was rejecting my offer of wake-up sex), instead I started laughing and asked him why he didn't like me standing there naked, to which he looked me up and down with a very confused expression on his face, then realising I was telling the truth, he rolled over looking very silly, and pretended he had said nothing. As it turns out, he had thought I was standing in front of him covered in brown powder, and had offered to cover him with the powder also, to which he very politely replied, "No thank-you!"

But recently he has taken to rearranging the ornaments around our bedroom. I first noticed it a couple of weeks ago while we were Skyping friends of ours from home. Sitting next to the computer, on the desk in our room, were all the items from Ben's bedside table. Now being the neat freak that I am, I should congratulate myself in training him so well to the point of tidying in his sleep, although I doubt very much, that this was the cause of the movement. Usually Ben's night-time antics involve him rescuing or saving someone, being in some adventure in some jungle, or flying some plane. But the common theme is that he is the hero in each event. So to be honest it would not surprise me in the least if these items were actually some poor, helpless citizens he had saved from certain death, or possibly a litter of kittens he had rescued from a burning tree?

Ben has however, gone from moving the items from the bedside table and placing them at other locations in the room, to taking them into the bed with him. He awoke this morning, after dreaming that the bedside table was in fact an overhead luggage compartment in a plane, that he was given the duty of unpacking, to find all the various items from the table, in the bed with him. Being the sneaky man that he is, he then removed them from the bed before I awoke and noticed his odd behaviour, and placed them on the window sill...much less suspicious if you ask me!

Well, all in all, I do feel just a little bit smug that I am privilege to so much entertainment during the night, as not all women could boast such adventure while they sleep!