After having endured an interrogation by the Migra inquiring in to exactly what I do (they don't dig professional bum), I started pondering what options were open to me to further my legal career. Being in Texas the answer was almost immediately revealed to me by God (aka television) when the following ad appeared. Clearly it is my calling ....
Now for the ja ja ja !!!
A travel blog for the thinking clown who has drunk a little too much of the local tap water
Don't confuse the esfreezer and the locker
The other day I heard a radio program which basically pointed the finger at linguistic patriotism of the French and President Mitterand for the Rwanda genocide. Apparently the Frogs were concerned that the Tutsi lead Rwandan Patriotic Front , based in nearby Anglophone Uganda were likely to topple to Hutu dominated Rwanda regime and that this would be the first Francophone domino of many to fall. If the Frogs couldn't hold on to Rwanda, then they would be a laughing stock, and before you could say Merde! the whole continent would be speaking English, so thought Mitterand. So the Frogs sent military personnel and equipment to Rwanda to show the Hutus how to become effective killing machines using only basic farm implements like machetes. A couple of million dead hacked bodies later, and even as the Tutsi forces are advancing on the country trying to stop the genocide the Frogs allowed the Hutu elite to escape the country and even testified in favour of those Hutu who were later put on trial for crimes against humanity. The Frogs of course deny all this, no doubt with one of those Gallic shrug of the shoulder, who me? looks.
(All these allegations are backed up by detailed evidence in a report released by the Rwandan government last week.)
On a little more light hearted , I can't but help notice how widespread Spanglish is across Central America, (Spanglish is a combination of English and Spanish - mainly involving the use in original or modified form of English words or expression in Spanish) The dual the influences of the imperialist US media pouring its cultural schlock down the throats of Latinos and the influence of the millions of Latinos who have lived in the US and subsequently returned make Spanglish more and more prevalent. There are plenty examples, the particularly entertaining are when people start appropriating English words as if they were Spanish, even when there are clear alternatives in Spanish. There are the classics like parkear for park (as in a car), cathcear for catch, blokes for blocks, ticket for receipt
Without a doubt El Salvador is the country most effected, you can hardly walk down the street without somebody saying, What up white boy ?
My current favourite is cora - this is how El Salvadoreños pronounce quarter (US 25 cents) - now they use the US dollar as their currency. (It took me quite a while to work this on out)
I get the most laughs however when people go to the effort of actually writing these workds down in public signs. My favourite two examples of this phenomena are two signs that I saw in La Libertad:
1. A sign on the pier above some freezers read
2. A sign in a supermarket attached to the lockers for storing bags whilst in the store
(All these allegations are backed up by detailed evidence in a report released by the Rwandan government last week.)
On a little more light hearted , I can't but help notice how widespread Spanglish is across Central America, (Spanglish is a combination of English and Spanish - mainly involving the use in original or modified form of English words or expression in Spanish) The dual the influences of the imperialist US media pouring its cultural schlock down the throats of Latinos and the influence of the millions of Latinos who have lived in the US and subsequently returned make Spanglish more and more prevalent. There are plenty examples, the particularly entertaining are when people start appropriating English words as if they were Spanish, even when there are clear alternatives in Spanish. There are the classics like parkear for park (as in a car), cathcear for catch, blokes for blocks, ticket for receipt
Without a doubt El Salvador is the country most effected, you can hardly walk down the street without somebody saying, What up white boy ?
My current favourite is cora - this is how El Salvadoreños pronounce quarter (US 25 cents) - now they use the US dollar as their currency. (It took me quite a while to work this on out)
I get the most laughs however when people go to the effort of actually writing these workds down in public signs. My favourite two examples of this phenomena are two signs that I saw in La Libertad:
1. A sign on the pier above some freezers read
Estos esfreezers son propriedad del cooperativo
2. A sign in a supermarket attached to the lockers for storing bags whilst in the store
No dejan cosas de valor en los lockers
What are the chances ? A piscine bullet
The other day I was out in the water, as I seem to be a fair bit these days, sitting about waiting for a wave to come my wave. As a small wave approached I bobbed down before it, losing sight of the horizon. As I bobbed over the wave, directly in front of me I saw three small fish, no larger than the size of a can of sardines, jump out of the water at great speed, in a flat arc slightly above the surface of the water, trying, no doubt, to avoid becoming the prey of something a little larger. I turned my head in an involuntary reflex action as I saw a fish coming straight for my face, and whack, the speeding bullet hit me just below my right eye. In the immediate aftermath I was too shocked to do anything, even feel the stinging pain in my eye. I had seen plenty of jumping fish before but I had never seen them strike anything. After a while I felt the stinging in my eye, but when I finally opened it I was relieved that I seemed to still have my vision. As there was nobody else out at the point, I sat there completely in wonder at the chances of a small fish being in the same place in my face given the expanse of ocean in which it had to roam. After a while the pain died down, a wave came my way, and I paddled on to it, and was soon focusing on making the next section.
However, sometimes now when I close my eyes I see that steely, cold, dark, black eye of the fish coming my way, fulfilling its date with destiny and my face.
However, sometimes now when I close my eyes I see that steely, cold, dark, black eye of the fish coming my way, fulfilling its date with destiny and my face.
Prostration, prostration, prostration
Anybody who has spent any time in Mexico or Central America would no doubt have come across the collapsed drunk in the street phenomenon. Latinos like to hit the drink hard, and when its Aguadiente or Agua del diablo (fire water) that you are drinking, you tend to end up pretty pissed. (The alcohol is usually made from some toxic substance and most times I can't even smell it let alone stomach the thought of drinking it) And usually at the end of the session the men (it's always men) end up in the same place they started it - in the street and often standing, sitting or at worst lying on the street.
Two classic examples I saw of this lately got me
laughing - the first was in Escuintla in Guatemala, where on the footpath in front of the town's police station there were three, count them, three drunks passed out on the footpath - I guess it cuts down a long and painful ride in the back of the paddy wagon.The second was in San Miguel in El Salvador, driving through the streets at night in a taxi in pouring rain, we saw a guy passed out face down, head on the pavement and legs hanging off the gutter - without even the slightest attempt to make himself in any way comfortable.
Tragically it is always the wives and mothers who the shameful job of going around and collecting the men and trying to get them home. (So they can demand a fry up in the morning to get over there hang over and start the drinking all over again !!!)
Under water adventures in a self contained breathing apparatus (Part 1)
Every once in a while you have one of those experiences which even as you are doing it you know will be unforgettable, and you try to awaken and heighten all of your senses to take in as much as possible, in a vain attempt to preserve every moment as a perfect record. This afternoon, I had such an experience, undertaking my first scuba dive off the island of Utila in the Bay Islands of the Caribbean Coast of Honduras.
After a day of reading the theory book, then an evening of the same theory presented in the cheesy, zany, over the top way Americans excel at, and then a morning of working through the multiple choice tests, I was very keen to get in the water. After being introduced to the smorgasbord of equipment, we finally got on the boat and motored out of the creek in to the bay. Once we had all gear on - wetsuit, flippers, mask, snorkel, BCD jacket, weight belt, tank and so on, I took a step off the back of the boat, and plunged in to the water - and had my first experience of breathing under water. After a session of skills in shoulder deep water, learning to use the regulator, clear the mask, borrow your buddy's regulator in case yours stops working, we got back on the the boat and motored over to another diving spot.
Stepping off the boat the second time, knowing I was about to descend to around 10 metres, I felt a little bit of dread, wondering if not being able to touch the bottom would cause me any concern - those brief thoughts that would shoot up from my unconscious, reminding me about all the ways that humans aren't built to be in deep water. It was however, au contraire, suddenly a door to a whole new world was opened and I was so overwhelmed I didn't have a chance to think about being 10 metres underwater and relying on human technology to keep me alive.
On the instructor's signal, I deflated the air from my BCD and slowly began sinking to the bottom of the ocean, about 10 metres below. As I descended the bright sunlight became more and more defuse, the pressure in my ears built up and was then released, and I felt the weight of all my gear melt away. Suspended in water I felt weightless, able to slowly glide in the water, letting myself relax and drift slowly to the bottom.
Initially it was quite difficult to control my buoyancy, expanding my BCD by pumping air from the tank in to the air pockets in the jacket to rise, and letting it out to descend. But once I had it all under control, off I went, heading towards the sandy bottom, 8 metres away, and beginning to notice the new world that I was surround by. Whilst the reef was not as colourful as Ningaloo in WA, there was still an array of colours - huge brilliant purple leaves of seaweed swaying in the current, large schools of various tropical fresh, with all the colours of the rainbow and more in their most iridescent form. As well as the visual entertainment, the feeling of weightlessness - no more heavy tank and weight belt dragging me down - I was floating weightlessly was incredibly liberating. Without any need to concern myself with the need to return to the surface at some point soon, I realised that I was breathing under air, and could float about like a fish.
The even more exhilarating experiences came as I grew more comfortable, and started to paying more attention to my surroundings, rather than worrying about my depth or what the instructor was trying to tell me. Diving through other people's bubbles, as they glimmer a silver colour, there meniscus bending as they make their way towards the surface, fading in to the light of the sun. At one point I was completely surrounded by bubbles, unable to see anything but bubbles bouncing off me and tingling my skin on their inevitable path to the surface and disappearance.
Turning over and paddling around on my back, watching the gentle light filtering down from the surface, with the only sound being the rhythmic breathing - on the inhale as pressurised air rushes in through the regulator, and then the sound of the air forming bubbles on the exhale. Floating in the abyss, feeling weightless, with the colours diffused as light passes through the water, it made me think of being in the womb, an incredibly soothing experience.
So tomorrow, it's back to theory in the morning then a further confined water session, followed by another dive.
After a day of reading the theory book, then an evening of the same theory presented in the cheesy, zany, over the top way Americans excel at, and then a morning of working through the multiple choice tests, I was very keen to get in the water. After being introduced to the smorgasbord of equipment, we finally got on the boat and motored out of the creek in to the bay. Once we had all gear on - wetsuit, flippers, mask, snorkel, BCD jacket, weight belt, tank and so on, I took a step off the back of the boat, and plunged in to the water - and had my first experience of breathing under water. After a session of skills in shoulder deep water, learning to use the regulator, clear the mask, borrow your buddy's regulator in case yours stops working, we got back on the the boat and motored over to another diving spot.
Stepping off the boat the second time, knowing I was about to descend to around 10 metres, I felt a little bit of dread, wondering if not being able to touch the bottom would cause me any concern - those brief thoughts that would shoot up from my unconscious, reminding me about all the ways that humans aren't built to be in deep water. It was however, au contraire, suddenly a door to a whole new world was opened and I was so overwhelmed I didn't have a chance to think about being 10 metres underwater and relying on human technology to keep me alive.
On the instructor's signal, I deflated the air from my BCD and slowly began sinking to the bottom of the ocean, about 10 metres below. As I descended the bright sunlight became more and more defuse, the pressure in my ears built up and was then released, and I felt the weight of all my gear melt away. Suspended in water I felt weightless, able to slowly glide in the water, letting myself relax and drift slowly to the bottom.
Initially it was quite difficult to control my buoyancy, expanding my BCD by pumping air from the tank in to the air pockets in the jacket to rise, and letting it out to descend. But once I had it all under control, off I went, heading towards the sandy bottom, 8 metres away, and beginning to notice the new world that I was surround by. Whilst the reef was not as colourful as Ningaloo in WA, there was still an array of colours - huge brilliant purple leaves of seaweed swaying in the current, large schools of various tropical fresh, with all the colours of the rainbow and more in their most iridescent form. As well as the visual entertainment, the feeling of weightlessness - no more heavy tank and weight belt dragging me down - I was floating weightlessly was incredibly liberating. Without any need to concern myself with the need to return to the surface at some point soon, I realised that I was breathing under air, and could float about like a fish.
The even more exhilarating experiences came as I grew more comfortable, and started to paying more attention to my surroundings, rather than worrying about my depth or what the instructor was trying to tell me. Diving through other people's bubbles, as they glimmer a silver colour, there meniscus bending as they make their way towards the surface, fading in to the light of the sun. At one point I was completely surrounded by bubbles, unable to see anything but bubbles bouncing off me and tingling my skin on their inevitable path to the surface and disappearance.
Turning over and paddling around on my back, watching the gentle light filtering down from the surface, with the only sound being the rhythmic breathing - on the inhale as pressurised air rushes in through the regulator, and then the sound of the air forming bubbles on the exhale. Floating in the abyss, feeling weightless, with the colours diffused as light passes through the water, it made me think of being in the womb, an incredibly soothing experience.
So tomorrow, it's back to theory in the morning then a further confined water session, followed by another dive.
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