|  One
of my lasting memories of year 7 geography was being told
that the world was not in fact round. Far from being some
reactionary Anglican school doctrine, it was based on the
sound science that due to the Earth's rotation, the centrifugal
force causes the planet to bulge on its lateral axis, and
therefore it is wider at the equator than around the poles.
The
peak of Volcano Chimborazo, being Ecuador's highest at 6,310m
(or just over 20,000 feet in the old speak) and being only
a few degrees south of the equator, therefore has the honour
of being the point furthest from the Earth's centre and
closest to the sun (the equatorial bulge gives it a few
kilometres advantage over Everest). So, having reached the
summit a week ago, through snow, ice and steep night time
ascent, I now feel I've squared the ledger with the Andes,
with a few successful recent ascents of volcanoes in Chile,
Peru and Ecuador, following the disappointment of Aconcagua.
And
so, with the South American mountains behind me, an imminent
'Brideshead Revisited' return to Oxford, and having found
an English language copy of Walt Whitman's 'Leaves of Grass,'
here's 'A Backward Glance o'er Travel'd Roads' since Santiago,
and a few brief episodes which were 'Lost in Translation.'
On
an overnight bus north from Santiago, I sat down next to
an overly friendly local bloke, and whether it was something
I said unwittingly, I'll never know, but he proceeded with
some fairly forward remarks, including a complement about
my 'bear suit' and chest hair in particular. Perhaps I should
have realised sooner that his constant touching of my leg
was more than inadvertent, but when he finally took the
'Yellow Pages approach' (let your fingers do the walking),
Australian ' Chilean relations soured considerably, my assailant
cowered in his seat fearing further violence and remained
that way for the rest of a tense 10 hour bus trip.
 As
if local dialects weren't going to be difficult enough and
prone to misunderstanding, by far the greatest single group
of travellers that I have encountered, particularly in the
south, have been Israeli. It seems that after their compulsory
military service, there is an equally compulsory trip to
Patagonia for the restless Zionist youth. And much as my
Jewish sensibilities were awoken last year when catching
the Rose Bay ferry (Sydney allusion ' the Rose Bay ferry
is renowned for those good 'South African Jewish banking'
folk), I often found I could understand more of the Spanish
language that flowed outside of the South American youth
hostels, than the Hebrew that resonated within their 'walls.'
And
just a few days ago, while innocently searching for an ice
cream one night in Ecuador's capital, Quitos, I was swept
up in a crowd of over one hundred thousand protesters, marching
on parliament to overthrow the president, Lucio Gutierrez,
who had dismissed the Supreme Court and declared a state
of emergency the previous week.
A
lack of understanding of Spanish may have restricted my
ability to understand and join in the chorus of disapproval
as I marched with the masses, however nothing was lost
in translation when the authorities responded with tear
gas and riot police. As the noxious fumes of burning effigies
and tear gas canisters became overpowering and fellow
protestors started to fall around me, this 'would'be war
correspondent' decided to return to the original brief
of seeking out an ice'cream, rather than overthrowing
South American presidents.
 As
the tear gas cleared from the hostilities the following
morning
(Wednesday 20 April), I flew to Venezuela (for a Carribean
wedding) with a patriotic Ecuadorian flag in hand as a
reminder of my vigilante involvement in South American
democracy, the president had been toppled, one Chilean
journalist had been killed and over 200 protestors had
been treated for asphyxiation following the clashes with
police.
So
now in Venezuela, famous for its oil and enhanced beauty
queens (another great set of 'rigs' you might say) and
leaving for Europe shortly after Anzac Day, hopefully
my paths will roll through the Pyrenees and the Alps in
the months ahead.
 Therefore,
a final offering of Spanish language tips from Latin America
...
CAFE CON PIERNAS (coffee with legs). In the otherwise
austere business centre of Santiago, there are a number
of coffee shops that are hosted by scantily clad women
(think Kalgoorlie 'Skimpy Bars'). These fine establishments
seem to be popularly frequented by respectable well'dressed
businessmen for their morning break and this traveller,
intrigued about being served caffeine by an attractive
woman in her underwear.
So
to complete the 'Lost in Translation' theme, a warning
of literal translations ... you may receive more than
expected in Santiago cafes when ordering 'a skinny flat
white' or more so, a 'short black.'
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