I left Arequipa yesterday with Sarah, seen off my Lindsey and Wayra. The first of many farewells I suppose. Wayra, before we left to catch our bus to Cuzco, said to me that while we had only known each other a short time, he could tell we were all good and pure people. He said, as I understood it with my bad spanish, that he knew this from when we first met at Cruz del Condor, as we sat about freezing our balls off waiting for the sun to rise and the condor to fly us by. He said we were different from the other tourists that he meets in Chivay and along the Canyon, and that with my bad spanish, Lindsey`s better spanish and Sarah`s amusing mistakes, we were able to exchange jokes and laughs and eventually email addresses. He said that while we were from different cultures and beliefs, what was important that we felt, pressing his fist to his chest.

We hugged and he kissed me on the cheek saying "hasta luego mi hermano" and we saluted each other, fist to heart, fist to sky.

I think this is my first real connection here in South America, life is about feeling something I guess. I just wish I knew what that something was.

seventy bottles of beer later

I am in Chivay, a small slightly touristy town at the mouth of the Colca Canyon (the world`s second deepest canyon. The first being located somewhere close by) is something of a ghost town as I write this entry in my moleskin slightly hungover, sitting in the shade of what is usually a bustling market. Today, the 21 Octubre 2007 is El Censo Nacional. A day where Peruvians are required to remain in their homes from 6 am to 6pm while Census Officials go door to door counting the people as police parade the streets enforcing the curfew. Tourists are exempt to this of course and I can see a few about taking photos and looking for somewhere to eat and drink while some tourist restaurants that have received excemptions from this enforced closure. Well at least this is my understanding. As I sit here in the shade however, writing, more and more locals appear from closed doors having, I assume been ticked off by officials, and the police themselves seem to have regressed to milling about outside their station chatting.

Later today Lindsay and Sarah (an American and Brit who I met in Lima) are supposed to meet up with some locals we met at Cruz del Condor yesterday, while trying to catch a glimpse of some big fucking bird with a wingspan of 4.3 metres; members of a Peruvian folk band. They invited us back to their place for a fiesta last night, which as it turned out was a small room with only a matress and a TV, out back of a souvineer shop. We drank, smoked and chewed coca leaves as they entertained us with guitar, pan flute and singing. This is one of those experiences I suppose that as a tourist you can only dream of, practicing my spanish and learning (and subsequently forgetting) words in Quechua. This night symbolised if nothing else by our passing through the curtin at the back of their shop.

I would like to claim credit for last night but truely the draw card of the night was the two girls I was with. Lindsey was quite comfortable with what can only be described as Wayra`s (one of the senior members of the band) less than subtle come-ons but Sarah was let´s say, less comfortable with the advances of Edgar, who stuck his arm around her continuously asking me how to say she was beautiful in english. Saying te quiero, te quiero (I love you, I love you). As Sarah spoke no Spanish and Edgar, no English, it was up to me to turn him down, explaining to him that she had a boyfriend.

As the beer passed around, hand to hand, and we became increasingly drunk, talk turned to sex and in particular my sexual preferences. "¿Quieres las mujeres? ¿Te gustan las peruanas?" I stumbled, unsure how to answer this question to a group of drunk men who came from clearly muchismic culture, who were already talking about having sex with beautiful curvacious women. "Sì, yeah, um sì." Fuck, why did I say that? Should I have been honest and said "no me gusta, yo prefiero hombres"? But I suppose there in lies our problem.

Apparently tonight I am to go to some discoteca with two of the younger members of the band, Chi Chi and Eduard who want to find a Peruvian lady to have sex with me... oh my. What I am I to do?

on the toilet in Arequipa

It was those god damn chicken empanadas that I´d ate in one of Arequipa´s main terrapuertos (bus stations). We were hungry and bored waiting for some fellow Australianos who had got the bus from Lima after us. Two hours we had to burn and while preparing a welcome sign had taken all of 2 minutes, we found this dingy cafe at the back of the bus stop. I jumped at that choice on the menu, having had such wonderful experiences with empanadas in Santiago. Those crisp pastries, wrapped over flavoursome insides of meat, tomato, mushrooms and a variety of other choices, only to find a floppy, damp, microwaved imitation slapped down in front of me.

Now I am sitting hunched over, shitting my guts out with a mild bout of food poisoning. Perhaps the gods are telling me something with their usual ironic mirth, laughing at my expense, that I should´ve stuck to my guns and stayed a vegetarian. Their joke on me is I suppose that I get food poisoning from eating chicken when all those around me (a total of seven) are all vegetarians (save one other) and my arguments for breaking fall on deaf ears, that vegetarianism was too difficult and restrictive in South America, when some of them have been on the continent for more than six months. None of them have had food poisoning by the way. Bastards!

on the road to Arequipa

It´s all class , pure 100% class riding Peru´s top line Coach service Cruz del Sur on my way to the white city Arequipa. Treated to dinner, including a detailed description of the cultural and geographical origin of each component of our dish. Swanky you say? Yes, well as swanky as any airline food is I suppose: microwaved and a little plasticy in consistency.

As we ate the hostess played a turistico video about the Southern region of Peru, around a city called Tacna, which was presented by a bikini clad Limeña, giggling as she listened to leathery old fishermen hawking tours. As the film wound on she took off more and more clothing, finishing in this g-string number that rode right up between her pert buttocks. Dios mio!

After dinner we were treated to an en route Bingo game. I could barely believe it as our hostess began handing out the game cards. My travelling partner, Lindsay couldn´t help but laughting, yelling out to a friend a few seats back, asking if we were really at a Catholic church fundraiser. The prize was a free (non-transferable) ticket between Lima and Arequipa. When a man finally yelled out BINGO, he was invited to the rear of the bus and asked to say a few words into the microphone: "Thank you señora, for your good service and the fun game." Gracias señor, gracias, she replied.

Stopping about five hours into our journey we picked up a couple elderly nuns in full penguin regalia. By this time we´d finished with the tourist video, which I was relieved about. To be honest I am not sure I could have withstood the collective shame regardless of my own sexuality. It would´ve been comparable to seeing breasts on TV as a teenager when your mum was still in the room.

the trouble with Chilenos

Valparaiso, about an hour-and-a-half out of Santiago, is all bright colours and has an arty/bohemian vibe that makes me feel like I could settle in here quite nicely but then again it also has fifty percent unemployment and packs stray dogs mauling and fucking each other. So I guess it´s not all blue skies and sunshine.

Regardless I am convinced that there is a gay/lesbian etc scene here in Valpo. I can smell it, sense the vibrations, like the rattle of the ancensor Espiritu Santo that I climbed to see Matta´s street mural. On my wanderings through the winding colourful streets I found this small bar near Plaza Ambal Pinto that had had pro abortion poster on the door. Inside behind the bar, were two women hugging and kissing. Now I don´t wish to jump to too many conclusions here as it is infinately difficult to tell in the country the difference between simply affection between friends and romance.

On my first night I hung out with some of Adrian´s Santiago friends. We went to what was supposed to be an after party for some Mexican hip-hop crew called Molitov, with Adrian´s friend Olga, a crazy but very cool Chilena, got our names on the dorr. The club was located in the upstairs of the arthouse Cine Alameda which seemed to be hosting a gay film festival (if I get time I´ll have to go see a film). The music was great! They were playing the clash, Smiths, the Cure, Depeche Mode and heaps of other cool musica both International and South American.

Why I mention all of this is because one of Olga´s friends, I think his name is Mauricio, was very very friendly with me, almost to the point of pushing his crotch into my leg. Thing is I think this is how straight chilenos act when they are drunk. It´s very confusing, yes, as he was rubbing his face against mine and telling me that we were very good friends.

But then if I hoped to see a rainbow sticker or something or the sort I think I am going to be disappointed. If I am going to discern South America´s gay life from the background radiation thrown up the continent´s overpowering muchismo then I am going to have to retune my gaydar.

Anyway folks ciao for now.

*While I am typing this there is a techno beat on the radio repeating the words: "I want to be a cowboy/ no soy gay."