Car-ni-val, Bridgwater

Here are some highlights of the Carnival in Bridgwater, Somerset. I didn't realise what a big event this was going to be until I saw some of the floats - so bright they radiated heat. It takes place on a Friday sometime around 5th November, so there were some floats relating to The Gunpowder Plot and Guy Fawkes, there was also a troop of 17th Century soldiers. However, it is much more than the usual municipal fireworks display.

After several litres of cider, and some fighting between some local teenage girls we got ready for the squibbing - lighting explosive lances (squibs) in a long line down the main street. I'm not sure how the council manage to get this event past health and safety people, and standing where I was, the sparks started burning through my clothes and into my skin. Thankfully I'd drunk enough cider not to mind, but not enough to take off my shirt as is traditional here.


After all this we went back to set off some fireworks of our own, and Robin helpfully let me interpret the instructions and light a Vampire Géant - a firework which someone had thoughtfully smuggled from France for the occasion. A great night was had by all.

Bristol - Art on The Hill

Carrying on with my Bristol themed blog, here are some pictures from this week's 'Art on the Hill' event on Windmill Hill, Bedminster. The suspension bridge is visible in the background above. If you ever come to Bristol by train, then this is one of the hills covered in multi coloured houses that you might see. About 40 houses exhibit art each year one weekend on the hill. Here are some pics.



The upside down house complete with BBC2 Test Screen - riveting. I can see the table cloth is starting to fall off though, but everything else is stuck down firmly. There was even a laundry horse covered in underpants.



Unfortunately there was no time for a pint in the Windmill.

Blackberry Wine

Here are some pictures and instructions from my blackberry wine experiment. Now we have our own flat, I thought I'd get some brewing started. We also live by the river Avon which is lined with fruiting trees this time of year. I stuck to just blackberries and butchered a recipe partly from the internet (http://winemaking.jackkeller.net/blackbr2.asp) and partly from a book I was too tight to buy at the brewing shop Brewer's Droop in Bristol. The plastic bin was borrowed from the Maddawg.


I started with 2kg of blackberries and mashed them up in a gallon (4l) of water. I left this to absorb the blackberries and then sieved the mixture a few days later. Some pectic enzyme and some yeast added with 1kg of sugar and a slow unspectacular fermentation started.

initial pressing divided into foul blackberry compote and barrel full of blood like liquid.


some cleaned kit

After 2 weeks I though this has faltered enough to put in Demijohns. I bought these from a shop in Cornwall for a quid each - although they were full of kelp at the time of purchase. I realised that the mixture was still full of guff, as sieving had only removed the pips and large dregs. So, using a posh bag, made from fibrous material, that Lou had bought an expensive pair of shoes in, I started filtering the mixture. This worked well until the bottom of the barrel.



I put the better part into the first demijohn, and the nastier last part half filled the second one. So if you come round in a year's time and I give you some gritty tasting wine, then you'll know where you sit in the hierarchy of guests.

Champions of Europe

One of the best things about being back in the UK is watching United in Manchester (albeit on TV). Here we are celebrating the European Cup win in Stretford at Amo's BBQ. Afterwards we set off to join everybody out on the streets. Here is a view outside the ground on Sir Matt Busby Way. Many thanks to Amo for the bottle of champagne he donated to my shirt, what a night.

Back in the USSR...

Yes, we don't know how lucky we are, we really don't - people are unexpectedly celebrating us returning!

So, we are back, after a 15 hour flight back from Buenos Aires. We didn't arrive back in terminal 5, so we have all our luggage; despite being met off the plane by a sniffer dog. We now have our old phones back and a car so feel free to give us a ring and hear us moan about the cold in person.

Just for the memory, here is a taste of Flamenco from BA - no tango though I'm afraid.

Here is a peak at a football match in BA we went to. The weather was much like the UK that afternoon though, and the crowd was more worth watching than the football.

Crowd control:

Buen Ayre

Porteños are loud, brash, sentimental, kiss each other and pose a lot - much like Italians. This isn´t surprising given the number of Italians who emmigrated here, especially to La Boca, the Port district. There are currently hordings for Berlusconi and others all over town, so plenty of people obviously retain Italian citizenship too. The origins of Tango are in this misture of immigrants, and in here in Buenos Aires.
Tango in the street in San Telmo, BA.


La Boca, BA. The Port district of town.



Spaniards trying to reconquer BA.

The memorial to the Guerra de las Malvinas (Falklands War).


Centro Cultural Borges.


Unfortunately, Argentina seems to have been run by some despotic lunatics during the 20th Century. Although, unlike some others, Juan Perón is still a popular figure and has lots of streets named after him, you might argue that him and his on/off wife fitted this mould. Eva is buried in the Recolecta cemetary, along with all the other famous porteños from history. A lot of money has been spent on the dead and people still come to gush over Eva Perón´s tomb.




The local brand of Spanish has got more tricky as we head south. People have started changing their consonants and people are constantly telling me that I obviously learnt my Spanish back on the peninsular. Let´s hope it becomes less lispy before we leave.

Spot the Olympic Torch Competition

Take part in today´s spot the Olympic Torch competetion, along with Christina Kirchner, President of the Republic of Argentina. She has an advantage over you though, having a balcony view from the Casa Rosada, the presidential palace in Buenos Aires.

A few Free Tibet protests were lodged, but nothing like the quantity you would have expected given the number of police and torch minders around. The main show of strength was from BA´s Chinese community who scuffled with a handful of protesting students. Their Chinese flags were big enough to stifle any dissent.

So can you see the torch here?

the grape harvest

¡Hola de Argentina!

After escaping from the border marketplaces of Bolivia and then enjoying comfortable buses driving on roads that exist both on paper and in asphalt, instead of just river beds, we arrived in Salta. Salta might be more expensive than Bolivia, but the food more than made up for this. We could still pretend to be upmarket and eat at the best restaurants while trying to use the right cutlery. An excellent bottle of wine could be obtained for less than 2 quid, which would make anywhere rank highly on our list. Here are some humitas in the market - steamed parcels of vegtables/cereal.



Che Guevara´s Motorbike (or rather a much more reliable replica) at his house in Alta Gracia.

Argentina is enormous, and bus journeys take whole days and nights. To limit the number of them we prioritised Mendoza and its vinyards. We arrived for Wednesday with Lou thirsty for shopping but the town seemed strangely quiet. After cursing the laziness of the locals for opening up late we discovered that 2nd April is national holiday (perhaps only since last year) for the ´Malvinas´, which means everyone gets a day off to remember the Falklands war. This seems to be done by drinking wine or playing football in the park, so we followed suit and lazed around.


After a spot of haggling for a local bike and we started to tour around. Most Vinyards are quite small; the grape harvest was underway and here is a lorry load of them being forked into a giant press. Traditionally though, this event only starts after someone finds an extension lead long enough to reach the press. After a good tasting we cycled back, which was hard after a 3 course lunch with a bottle of Malbec, further degustation at vinyards, and the 35 degree heat.

Now we are in Buenos Aires and the shoe shops beckon. I am wondering if we will now get through the 'weigh in' for the flight back.

Salar de Uyuni

Here are some pictures from the 3 day trek across the Salar de Uyuni and into the High Andes in this white jeep. One driver, one cook and 6 sardines/tourists bounded across the mud tracks towards the Andean watershed. The flat white Salar (Dry Salt Lake) was the most comfortable piece of driving; over 100 km across the flats visting the Isla de Pescado in the middle (there were no fish incidentally, only cacti). The rest of the trip was more painful and eventually the shock absorbers gave up on the last day.

Nights in the high Andes can be passed shivering in your bed, harassing llamas or playing card games with your sardine-comrades, who you have got to know intimately by this point. We managed to aquire enough wine to make this enjoyable, even in villages in the high Andes. Although even in this remote area we were still forced to listen to some children playing the pan pipes over dinner. We were forced to pay them off.

At 4800m the atmosphere is too thin to chase flamingos around a lake, so my pictures of them do not warrent uploading. I am very fit now though. Back in Uyuni, the only food available is Pizza, so we escaped at 6am the next day on a bus that travels down a river bed towards the South. The journey took us into a long canyon of red sandstone, to the town of Tupiza.

Forgetting the horrors of off road jeep travel, we found some living transport in Tupiza. The host told us that this would be like riding a bike, but my horse kept trying to eat things; I have never had this problem on a bike. Occasionally it tried to bite Lou, or Lou´s horse, which I eventually learnt how to control. After 5 hours of this and trotting back into town, I found that horses have painful drawbacks too.