Photos of my kitchen

And our bedroom:

Toronto: a photoessay

Hey ho!

Hey ho! Just thought I'd dash you a quick missive about what's going on. I'm here: on an island in rural Canada living on a commune.

There may be a slight change in content and delivery as a result: principally because the nearest electricity is far away from the van in the woods where I sleep and partly because I'll be cooking and eating fresh, seasonal locally sourced organic food instead of offal, undercooked street food and spontaneously fermented corn/cactus beverages.

But we can still be friends! It will be fun: I'll finish telling you about all the weird things I ate on my holiday and then I'll start telling you all about the weird food I'm making other people eat. Won't that be fun? Won't it?

OK! The library opens again on Tuesday so I'll let you know what's what then.

Kisses.

Chicha time.

Chicha is a spontaneously fermeneted alcoholic beverage made from corn! Wikipedia tells me that sometimes the corn is chewed prior to fermentation as the enzymes in salaiva speed up the process. I didn't tell Kate that as we sat down to a foaming gourd a deux in a metal bar in Bogota's bustling student district.

Chicha has a strong, deeply unpleasant odour (dirty dishes/silage) so I was delighted with its relatively restrained flavour profile: the abundant "funk" and fizz of orange juice left unrefridgerated for an extended period tempered with a fruity mellowness reminiscent of peach stones. Unfortunatley it produced burps which smelt like Metallica B-sides mixed with hot seaweed so we just had the one.

Cunit

Happy Birthday

29 today! As I like to say "age ain't nothin' but a number": a number that determines when you die and whether you are judged a success by society.

I recieved this charming pair of street theatre pants from my wife: look at all those colours! Look closer!

I also treated myself to some raw prawns from a shack down on the waterfront that, whilst very tasty, sadly went through me like an express train.

Due to the Colombian presidential elections all alcohol sales were prohibited for the duration of the weekend so we celebrated in style with a bottle of warm lemon fanta and some pounding psychedelic trance in an Israeli compound on the outskirts of town. Just like last year! Shalom!

El pibe

Carlos Valderrama's cousin tried to sell me a fishing trip today. I declined but he still showed me a photo of "el pibe" wearing an unimaginably tiny pair of denim shorts. Apparantly he is stingy; I do hate that in a cousin.

This statue is 22 feet tall:

Whoops

Apparantly sweetened wasps aren't considered a delicacy in Colombia: they just really like jam. I wish someone had told me that earlier and saved us the emergency air lift out of the national park.

Tayrona national park, viewed from the air.

Hooters, Medellin

"Nobody goes to Hooters for the wings!" and I can see why: they are short on meat, dry, overly crunchy and coated in a thin vinegary sauce.

You also have to pay extra for celery and ranch dressing.

One of the people in this photo may have had breast augmentation surgery.

Medellin is the plastic surgery capital of Colombia.

The gloves are ... on!

This Cartagena bar is popular with prostitutes, con men of every stripe and people who like to eat rotisserrie chicken while wearing diesel-pumpin' gloves.

The chicken was delicously moist and extremely flavourful and as a digestif a kindly old gentlemen offered to lightly electrocute me for 5,000 pesos using a wind up transistor attached to two metal handles. I lasted for 22 revolutions before the cramps in my forearms became too painful and I gave up. Kate lasted for 20, which is "pretty good for a girl". The spicy habanero sauce was very good too and you got 3 small baked potatos.