Music

Well, old chaps, I'm going to commence my British Blogging in a decidedly, well, English way: by moaning about the weather. It seems that every person I've ever met in my life, who's been to England, was 100% right: the weather really is s$%# here. And no, that garbled 4-letter sequence does not translate to "spantabulous"; guess again. Today's weather in London is about as English as any weather I could imagine: cold, overcast, drizzly, and unbelievably gloomy. I guess that's why the Chili Peppers sing about London in the summer time; because now that it's Autumn, there's nothing to sing about at all. Nevertheless, it's still good to be here.

This evening, our friends and amazing hosts Tara and Ashki took off north, for a semi-weekend getaway in leafy Vermont. So as of now, my dad and myself are all alone in the big house. It's party time! Call the band, call the DJ, call the caterers (parve please — this is a kosher house :P) — and tell all your friends to get down to Newton Center. Doritos and tomato salsa also welcome.

You get all sorts of people on the buses, up here in Ecuador (as in Peru and Bolivia). They'll jump on, they'll do anything for a buck, and then they'll jump off a few minutes' ride down the highway. They'll sing in Quechua (please, could you not!). They'll sell you paperback books. They'll hawk the herbal remedy solution that could revitalise your sex life, boost your confidence, and increase your lifespan by 15 years. Usually, they're loud and painful, and you pay them just to shut up and to move on to terrorising the next bus. But today, on the bus back from Otavalo to Quito, the busker on the bus was quite professional. He had a guitar.

Baños may be a tiny little town, but it's party time down here, 7 nights a week. And of all the places to party on "bar street" (the street that we're staying in), the Leprechaun Bar has gotta be the most kicking. Patrick and I came here for the first time last night (after our Tungurahua tour), and we scored the customary free shots of Flaming Bob Marleys. Tonight, there were so many hopeless gringos trying to dance salsa, that we ended up virtually having a salsa class right there on the dance floor!

As I already wrote regarding Mexico, you can tell a lot about a country from its music. I was mainly in the highlands of Peru for my time there thus far — almost 90% of my time was spent in Cusco — so what I have to say is probably somewhat particular to that region; although I don't imagine that the music is that different in other regions. Essentially, the music of Peru is a mix of the old, ancient folk traditions; the influence of traditional and modern Latin music in general; and of course, modern Western music. As with its people, Peru's music is exposed to the big, wide world, but still holding proudly and stubbornly to its cultural roots.

Chris and I were wandering around Puno after dinner this evening, when we encountered a big festivity taking place in the middle of the street, just round the corner from our hostel. Not sure exactly what the locals were celebrating; but they had a good old bonfire going in the middle of the (dirt) road; there was a most impressive brass band playing; and an impressive number of locals (with surprisingly few gringos) were standing around the fire in a big circle, with a few dancing in the middle. Good fun to watch, and everyone seemed friendly enough about letting us in to the circle of spectators.

The Cohens are the family that I'm staying with during my 5 days up in Vancouver, and in Canada. They live in Richmond, which is (technically) an island south of the main part of the city, and which is also where the airport can be found. The Cohens are: Nanci (mom); Stuart (dad); Genna (sister senior, who I met last year in Sydney, through the AUJS Revue); Andy (younger bro 1); and David (younger bro 2). There is also Grandma (from Montreal), who's staying there at the moment (she came primarily for David's barmitzvah, which was 2 weeks ago).

You know, Mexicans really are a funny lot. At first glance, they seem very similar to their neighbours up north. They do (now and then) eat McDonald's, watch The Simpsons, and listen to 50 Cent. But after a while, you realise that they actually prefer their own stuff, and in their own lovable way. This couldn't be evident in anything more than in Mexican music.

Two crazy Danish girls grabbed three unsuspecting guys from the hostel (one of whom was me), and took us to the crazy bar called Cabaré Tito, in Mexico City's Zona Rosa district.

Only in Cabaré Tito can you watch a transsexual singer performing live. It's that kind of place. The performance was disturbing, to say the least.

A group of 8 of us from the hostel went out to see a Mariachi band tonight. Entry was free: they were counting on making up for this by selling us plenty of Corona, and that they did do!

The Mariachi is the quintessential, stereotypical Mexican entertainment. A bunch of señores, all wearing their fancy suits (with their metal-adorned pants) and big sombreros. Playing guitars, trumpets, and violins, and singing old-skool Spanish love songs in operatic voices.