‘’Men have become the Tools of their Tools’ – Technophobe?

I am not a major fan of technology. I certainly will not be holding out for a blackberry any time soon. I just like it when things work; I know I sound like a 70 year old pensioner when I say that. But it is true. I like a mobile phone to send texts, a camera to take photos and a computer for writing emails. You see people with Blackberries and they resemble their life support machine. I would not be surprised if counseling sessions are a necessity if they lose their beloved BB, as it is three times worse than a regular phone appliance when the inevitable (in my case) breakage or loss occurs. Everyone is constantly checking their BB for news and now people update their Facebook status when they are at a bar ‘am at x bar, havin gr8 time’, thanks to the beloved mobile BB . WHY!? Surely socializing in reality is higher up the agenda?

One of the proudest technology days I have had was when I successfully downloaded a podcast onto my Ipod, thus I could listen to ‘women’s hour’ on the go..Revolutionary. Unfortunately when boasting to my peers about this, they told me I was about 5 years too late in working this out. Oh and I have discovered TWITTER too, thanks to twitter I know that Fearn Cotton is hung over today and the polling station where India Knight is voting is busy..Don’t know how I would have continued with my day without these two vital pieces of information…

Is the time where people are no longer required to leave their homes upon us? Half of the expats I seem to meet in Buenos Aires are here because they only need the internet to work so can work from home. When they want: to chat with a friend,facebook can answer their needs.
Food –You can get anything delivered, from sushi, steak and ice cream.
Boyfriend search – Head to an internet dating site.
Exercise – WII fit.

I recently played WII tennis for the first time in a friends flat, I think she was rather worried I was going to break the TV , ‘’it’s not like normal tennis!!!’’, she would bellow at my excessive movements. Is this what kids do these days to keep fit? Well, no wonder the nation is overweight, especially the poor kids with little living rooms to hit the ball in. What happened to, dare I say it, REAL tennis? And if it is raining – play squash.

Could do with a satellite dish for the car though – That would save me multiple lost hours.

Facebook Chat.

Can you imagine life without facebook? I can’t.
“Hi, I’m Laura…”
“What’s your surname..Facebook search!!!” This greeting in 2010 life is hardly uncommon.
Recently my friend informed me that she was leaving the Facebook world as she gets jealous of other peoples photos, (my life is cooler than yours kind of thing).
There are different types of Facebookees with different trends, let us examine:
1. The girl who takes 200 photos of drunken nights out’SOOOO drunk’. This trend is common amongst university Freshers. Obviously there will be some reference to not remembering anything.
2. The girl who takes really posey photos. Cringe at times.
3. The people who use facebook to show off, (I know we all do this but some more than others) for example after a holiday in the Seychelles uploading 200 photos of the five star Hotel. The problem is, even when you see them, you can’t really admit to viewing them so still have to listen to them droning on about their ‘incredible’ holiday. I don’t really know why I need to ask how it was, I have seen on facebook how it was. Literally. Once my friend was a little more honest. After being away for the weekend I was explaining how it snowed a lot and she replied ‘yes I know, saw the facebook photos'. Right then. Who needs to talk when we can simply examine other people’s life on facebook? Silence it is.

Recently, I was told to dance like I thought I was Halle Berry. I did. The next day Facebook reminded me how very wrong I was. That is the thing about facebook, you have to be ready to detag hideous photos that may be tagged of you at any moment. A few months ago, I had no facebook contact for days and a friends sister decided to tag me in hideous photos of years ago. Gosh, it might get to a time where I can’t leave the room due to fear of photos of me being sprawled over facebook resembling an unfashionable dishcloth.

It has its uses. I mean who doesn’t stalk potential boy suitors? But also its downfalls, when you see photos of the same boys with girls who can hardly be classed in the unattractive bin.
Love it or Hate it, Facebook is about as addictive as coke. Diet coke that is.

Whats the rush!?

I think that a visit to the post office in Buenos Aires illustrates perfectly the difference in attitude between South American folk and British folk. I have a package to collect and after hearing from my German friend that collecting a package here is a long and complicated procedure, I have left it for a month and have no choice now. The package must be collected, if not I miss out on belated Christmas presents. Even if they’re bad, it is worth checking I guess.
I arrive with my friend and after showing my passport; I am given a number 678,984 and directed to a new room to wait for my package number to be called. Upon entering the waiting room a little bit of a sense of humour was required as to avoid a silent explosion, since there were about 70 people inside sitting down and they seemed to had settled for the long run judging by the fact they appeared to had made themselves very comfortable with books and all. We sit down, confused. As my friend says ‘we just want the package, i can go and find it!” My friend even gets worried ‘Laura, we didn’t come prepared for this, we will need to go and get snacks for the wait’. The next challenge is understanding the 6 digit number on the loudspeaker in incredibly rapidly spoken argentine Spanish. I must have missed that Spanish lesson; numbers have always been a bit of a challenge for me. I am quite sure it is much easier to get a package of cocaine from a local down at the market than this…. Eventually, we recognise the number vaguely. I am united with my package.

South Americans just tend to have an incredibly slow pace of life, I really don’t see myself as an impatient person but even buying a banana can take 20 minutes as one must wait for the shopkeepers to finish their chit chat, get off msn or do their makeup. In social arrangements my German friend gets exasperated at the argentines lack of organization. ‘Tranquilo’….’Tranquilo’, they say. Maybe this is it, why not take things slow? I guess there are worse places to pass the afternoon than down at the post office with a book, oh and don’t forget the snacks.

You are probably going to get robbed.

´You´re probably going to get robbed´, the bus driver tells me as I fumble about with my three bags attempting to find my misplaced ticket, purse open, passport on show.
Anyway, much to the surprise of the bus driver, I find my ticket and don´t get robbed. I find my seat at the front of the Argentine double decker bus. The buses here are fairly luxurious, reclining seats and all. As I collapse into my seat, the Argentine man besides me begins talking to me.
´The front of the bus is the most dangerous´ he declares.
´The buses are prone to crashes as they drive too fast´. ´Tonight, it is windy making it even more dangerous´. Now I would hardly call myself a nervous traveller but is there any point in telling me these things!?

Nevertheless I get settled into my rather comfortable seat when I see a young couple approach with a very young baby. The other bus companions politely exclaim how sweet the baby is. But let us not lie to ourselves. Really everyone´s heart has sank as we realise that a 25 hour jouney with a young baby within a metre of us is hardly an ideal combination.

And..yes..I was right, within approximately 14 minutes the screaming begins and the whole bus begins to discreetly look for their ipods to block out the noise.

And I am still at Buenos Aires bus station, 2000km and 25 hours left to go.

The Bolivan Death Bus

Awaiting our overnight bus to the south of Bolivia, we became increasingly alarmed as the rest of the bus awaitees seemed to had come equipped for north pole temperatures. Huge rugs, big hats and heavy jumpers alike. As the bus approached, a fellow traveller's comment of 'It looks like something from the first world war', wasn't particularly far from the truth. Also, we had just heard that there had been a bus crash further up north in Bolivia, where 22 people had died, so survival was our main aim for the night.

The windows on the rather dated bus didn't close properly and we soon realised why the savvy bolivians came equipped for sub zero temperatures. My Bolivian socks, which didn't cover my toes so I could wear them with flip flops, seemed like the biggest disaster. Not entirely sure what i thought the point of socks which didn't cover my feet properly would be. Alas, as we got underway, the only comparison I can draw is that it felt like we were in a mobile washing machine with the rather excessive noisy rattling to match. You see, there was no road, it was a mud track. The route is normally only completed by the 'death train', but earlier in the day we had been informed the bridge had collapsed on the railtrack so there were no trains.

As i was being jumbled about with the cold nighttime wind, I remembered I had poddy (my ipod) to help me through the survival test. Now, poddy has always been there for me - when i was an au pair in France, he was my refuge. When i was sharing a room with a crazy girl in Asia, he was there for me. And when i go to the gym, he keeps me going. However, this time, newly charged poddy let me down. He simply refused to switch on. I really did do my upmost best to resucitate poddy, but there was no hope.

I could have cried. It was just me in the cold being thrown about in a bus version of a washing machine and the faint sound of my friend's electro music beating for 11 hours. Plus, I couldn't drink any water, as the smell of the toilet would be enough for me to upheave the day's food.

Not being able to see through the night's sky might have been a godsend, as at times the bus was at a rather concerning angle but even me who sleeps through ANYTHING, including an altitude change of 5000metres (which is unusual i am told), sat there counting the seconds. Not to mention clinging onto my bag after just witnessing someone get robbed.

When we arrived after a long, extremely cold, rollercoaster of an eleven hour ride, the chaotic immigration from Bolivia to Argentina took 3 hours. One man must check everyone's bag manually for drugs, whereas the illegal immigrants smuggle in by walking in the river nearby. Somewhat easier and quicker it seems.

Fancy a fun day out?? Go Rafting!!

Upon arrival at the rafting cabin, we came across some decidedly irritating australians who judging by their posing seemed to believe they belonged in laguna beach. As a result, my friend and I decided to join the spanish group, as to avoid them. This included a one hour safety talk in spanish about how to face and deal with the white water rapids. Understanding was worringly limited. Dangerously, some could day. Especially after i had just signed a contract 'incase of death', as in Argentina there is no insurance for such things.

Unfortunately, the plan completely and utterly backfired on me. Not only did i not have much of an idea about the rafting but alse we ended up in a boat with the laguna beach wannabies.

The event reminded me of a 'fun family day out this summer in France':

'WHERE THE BLOODY HELL ARE WE!?', mother barked. 'PASS THE RUDDY MAP TO YOUR SISTER!!' (I would just like to add that she is 12 years old). The day trip had already taken a rather severe nose dive. Lost in Italy on some dangerously bendy coastal road when we should have indeed been in France. A road apparently only made for one car, an oncoming italian sports car caused rather stressed mother to head for the cliff wall. Anyway, after a 3 and a half hour journey, we arrived at Breil Sur Roya and the river where we would embark on the 'raft de kayak'.

Stupidly, I had said earlier that i was good at kayaking which turned out to be embarassingly far from the truth. Nevertheless, everyone else was in a double kayak and i was in the single:

I was in this thing alone; the rapids, the kayak and me.

As the last of the group to embark on the trip, it made the fact i had apparently got into the wrong side of the boat more embarassing. Ten frenchies staring at me as i attemped to battle the first of the rapids sitting the wrong way. Now, of course everyone is entitled to their opinion but for me 3 hours of tackling river rapids in freezing cold water, getting stuck on rocks and wearing a wetsuit which Kate Moss would struggle to look good in, is not exactly ideal.

However, i battled on, towards the end i even managed to be one of the groups first.
'Hold on to the rope on top till i say go', the teached shouted at me so we could go down the rapids one at a time. So, i held and held, however the kayak had other ideas, infact i held the rope so much the rapids took the kayak from beneath me.

Now, just me and the rapids.

On the way back, i offered to drive, Victoria's level of confidence in me illustrated in her comment 'well, don't think i will be reading in thir journey'..and mother acting as if i was a blind driver 'move to the left','he's breaking..SLOW DOWN'..'get into 5th'.

Awkward Chat in Bolivia

In the tour of the Bolivian Salt flats, there are many jeeps all stopping at similiar places to admire the stunning scenery.

In another group, there was a Welsh couple which i had befriended in the previous hostel in Chile. They had recently become engaged. Although, I must admit, it sounds awfully unromantic: the woman pretty much ordered him to and even suggested ways in which he could propose. So, i asked them:
'What kind of wedding do you want?'
'How many people?'
'What kind of dress?'
'Where are you going for the honeymoon?'
And i am quite sure they thought i was mad. Although, clearly they were th odd ones, how can you not have been planning these things since your 12th birthday?!

So, in every stop we kept bumping into eachother and both parties felt the need for boring smalltalk.'So how's your tour going?' i asked. Even though i know perfectly well how their tour is going as i am doing exactly the same ruddy thing. The piece de resistance was when we were queing for the ATM together and he said 'so...need some money?'.


'>No, actually, I just like a bit of a queue you see'.