Wednesday, December 15, 2010
Pre-flight announcement
I just bought a Toronto-Lima ticket. I'll be leaving on January 11 and returning on July 11, at least that's the plan. I expect to spend the first few days in Lima and then check out Ayacucho (a possible candidate for my new home away from home, or perhaps it will turn out to be an armpit--who knows?) It will be the rainy season in the sierra, but I've gotten differing reports on just how rainy that is. The most detailed information I've found makes it out to not be too intolerably wet. In any case, I've already booked a hotel in Ayacucho during Semana Santa (Easter Week--April 15-25) since it's supposed to have some of the most spectacular celebrations in South America. This also means that I'll be spending my 50th birthday there.
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Technology and travel, considered again
In an earlier post I commented that it felt a little strange to have such good technological connections to home whilst travelling in South America. I certainly came to appreciate technology's value during my father's recent illness, and subsequent passing away. I can't imagine how difficult an already emotionally fraught situation would have been without being able to call my family via Skype to discuss everything from treatment options to funeral arrangements. Not without its slightly amusing moments, as when I had to buy a drink at a bar in the Santiago airport in order to get their wifi password. It makes me nostalgic to think back to going to the post office in Vienna to make my first call home from Europe, 20-odd years ago.
(This post made possible by Bell Aliant's free wifi at St. John's airport.)
(This post made possible by Bell Aliant's free wifi at St. John's airport.)
Monday, November 8, 2010
A slice of Lima
My flight from Cusco arrived in Lima at about 3.30 this afternoon and I had about 9 hours to wait before my flight to Santiago, so I took a cab to the Plaza Mayor (which I incorrectly referred to as Plaza de Armas since every other Peruvian town/city seems to have one) to have a look around. The ride took about 45 minutes in fairly heavy traffic, and cost 45 soles ($16).
My impression is that the taxi drivers are not as aggressive as in Arequipa, but the pedestrians are daredevils. To some extent, so is everyone who walks the streets of a Peruvian city: you just don't have as many rights (or lights) as back home and you can't just step off the curb without being very aware of what the cars in your vicinity are doing. That being said, I never saw any accidents. You do learn to adapt fairly quickly. One thing in your favour is that the streets tend of be narrow (in Arequipa and Cusco anyway) so you don't have as far to run.
Back to Lima. Once I got let off at the Plaza Mayor, I headed for the safety of the Cathedral. not physical safety so much as it being a familiar kind of stopping place. Though not religious myself, I do enjoy the artistry of Roman Catholic churches in Latin America. Those in Cusco were particularly impressive--it's a pity that no photography is allowed. Lima's cathedral was not as spectacular as those, but has a number of interesting chapels, including one that holds the remains of Francisco Pisarro. I didn't get there until 4.30 and the place closes to tourists at 5.00 so I had to motor and make the most of my 10 soles entrance fee.
After that I just walked around for a while. The main street emanating from the Plaza is Jiron de la Union, which is a pedestrian street for about 8 blocks, containing mostly uninteresting shops. There are also weren't particularly inviting restaurants, with an emphasis on bland eatery chains. I finally picked a place that seemed to have the most local traffic. The waiter copped a bit of an attitude when I asked for the "menu del dia" (the less expensive option) rather than ordering from "la carta". Nonetheless, I had a very tasty antecucho (beef heart) starter and then tallerin saltado criollo (chicken cooked with tomato and onion and embedded in a mass of noodles) and fresh papaya juice.
I don't think I saw enough to really form an opinion of Lima, but I will add it to my list of cities visited.
My impression is that the taxi drivers are not as aggressive as in Arequipa, but the pedestrians are daredevils. To some extent, so is everyone who walks the streets of a Peruvian city: you just don't have as many rights (or lights) as back home and you can't just step off the curb without being very aware of what the cars in your vicinity are doing. That being said, I never saw any accidents. You do learn to adapt fairly quickly. One thing in your favour is that the streets tend of be narrow (in Arequipa and Cusco anyway) so you don't have as far to run.
Back to Lima. Once I got let off at the Plaza Mayor, I headed for the safety of the Cathedral. not physical safety so much as it being a familiar kind of stopping place. Though not religious myself, I do enjoy the artistry of Roman Catholic churches in Latin America. Those in Cusco were particularly impressive--it's a pity that no photography is allowed. Lima's cathedral was not as spectacular as those, but has a number of interesting chapels, including one that holds the remains of Francisco Pisarro. I didn't get there until 4.30 and the place closes to tourists at 5.00 so I had to motor and make the most of my 10 soles entrance fee.
After that I just walked around for a while. The main street emanating from the Plaza is Jiron de la Union, which is a pedestrian street for about 8 blocks, containing mostly uninteresting shops. There are also weren't particularly inviting restaurants, with an emphasis on bland eatery chains. I finally picked a place that seemed to have the most local traffic. The waiter copped a bit of an attitude when I asked for the "menu del dia" (the less expensive option) rather than ordering from "la carta". Nonetheless, I had a very tasty antecucho (beef heart) starter and then tallerin saltado criollo (chicken cooked with tomato and onion and embedded in a mass of noodles) and fresh papaya juice.
I don't think I saw enough to really form an opinion of Lima, but I will add it to my list of cities visited.
Sunday, November 7, 2010
Update: Neil Boyd (1932-2010)
My father, Neil Boyd, passed away peacefully this afternoon at the age of 77. He had been ill for several years, and suffered a probable stroke about two weeks ago. His condition worsened late last week, which is when I made the decision to return to Canada. My mother and other relatives and friends were with him at the end.
Saturday, November 6, 2010
El Gallo grounded for a while
On account of a family emergency, I have to end this trip and come back to Canada. I'll actually be in Peru for a couple more days, because that's the earliest I could make the Cusco-Lima-Santiago-Toronto connection. I still haven't sorted out how I'm getting back to Newfoundland.
I'll update further as events unfold. I could have some more interesting things to write about Peru, since I intend to take advantage of the rest of my time in Cusco. I might as well, right? I may be posting some more pictures and such sometime after I get back to Canada, so you can check back if you like. Or I could always use this blog for social and political rants, should I find myself with anything worth saying (unlikely).
The great adventure is just suspended, not ended. It was always my intention to return to Latin America early in the new year, and I'd like to stick to that. Now I feel like picking up where I will be leaving off in Peru (seasonal weather patterns permitting). Despite my attempts to plan my life by checklist, my travel destinations have often felt like a matter of revelation rather than rationale.
I'll let you know when El Gallo flies again.
I'll update further as events unfold. I could have some more interesting things to write about Peru, since I intend to take advantage of the rest of my time in Cusco. I might as well, right? I may be posting some more pictures and such sometime after I get back to Canada, so you can check back if you like. Or I could always use this blog for social and political rants, should I find myself with anything worth saying (unlikely).
The great adventure is just suspended, not ended. It was always my intention to return to Latin America early in the new year, and I'd like to stick to that. Now I feel like picking up where I will be leaving off in Peru (seasonal weather patterns permitting). Despite my attempts to plan my life by checklist, my travel destinations have often felt like a matter of revelation rather than rationale.
I'll let you know when El Gallo flies again.
Thursday, November 4, 2010
Parinacota, Chile
I've uploaded some pictures to flickr that I took in Parque Nacional Lauca, which is about an hour's drive east of Arica, Chile, and borders on Bolivia. You can view them here (along with some other pictures from this trip). The pueblito of Parinacota is one of the standard stops on the tour, I guess because it's considered kind of quaint, but mainly because of its church. Unfortunately whoever had the key to the church was away the day we were there, so you'll have to read this Wikipedia article. Here's the door, at least.
This appears to be the main square:
It was still an interesting stop. The town has 12 residents (the Wiki article says 29, but I asked a woman living there and she said 12--when your town is that small, you probably know the exact number, though perhaps there are some who live there seasonally). That includes five kids. They have their own school, which actually has seven students: two come from other towns, and I wonder how big those are? There are several tourism-related shops, selling crafts and the like, near the square. I don't know if everyone works in tourism or if some do farming. There's even a small hostal. I briefly considered whether I'd like to come and stay there for a day or two. Given that tourists come every day, it wouldn't really be the ultimate in getting away from it all, but once the buses leave, you'd have only a dozen people, plus llamas, vicuñas, and vizcachas for company.
This appears to be the main square:
It was still an interesting stop. The town has 12 residents (the Wiki article says 29, but I asked a woman living there and she said 12--when your town is that small, you probably know the exact number, though perhaps there are some who live there seasonally). That includes five kids. They have their own school, which actually has seven students: two come from other towns, and I wonder how big those are? There are several tourism-related shops, selling crafts and the like, near the square. I don't know if everyone works in tourism or if some do farming. There's even a small hostal. I briefly considered whether I'd like to come and stay there for a day or two. Given that tourists come every day, it wouldn't really be the ultimate in getting away from it all, but once the buses leave, you'd have only a dozen people, plus llamas, vicuñas, and vizcachas for company.
Coca - the Real Thing
I just said no to drugs the other day but I've been drinking coca tea like it's going out of style, which of course it will once I get back to Canada. It's perfectly legal here, and has no psychoactive effects. It tastes something like green tea and I like to add sugar to it. A bowl of leaves was on the breakfast table at my hostal this morning.
It's said to help with the effects of altitude. Since Cusco is at 3300m, that can't be a bad thing, even though I haven't had any problems other than feeling a bit winded walking up the steep hill to where I'm staying.
Coca has been a part of everyday Andean life for millennia. Chewing the leaves is said to produce a pleasant sensation in the mouth, and if you chew it with the burnt bark of a lime tree in paste form (so my Peru expert tells me) you get a buzz.
I'd like to bring some back to Canada with me (you can also get it in teabag form) but I'm sure that's illegal and Mr Harper's goondas would have no mercy if I were caught. Guess I'll have to come back to the Andes.
It's said to help with the effects of altitude. Since Cusco is at 3300m, that can't be a bad thing, even though I haven't had any problems other than feeling a bit winded walking up the steep hill to where I'm staying.
Coca has been a part of everyday Andean life for millennia. Chewing the leaves is said to produce a pleasant sensation in the mouth, and if you chew it with the burnt bark of a lime tree in paste form (so my Peru expert tells me) you get a buzz.
I'd like to bring some back to Canada with me (you can also get it in teabag form) but I'm sure that's illegal and Mr Harper's goondas would have no mercy if I were caught. Guess I'll have to come back to the Andes.
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Colca Canyon (who has the best buns) -- Part 2
(Note: some updates--and photos added--to part 1)
Day two of the Colca Canyon trek started with a bang. That was Sandro knocking on my door at 4.30am. For a few seconds I had no idea where I was, then I realized I was in a cabana in the middle of nowhere. But a good nowhere.
I spent the first two minutes trying to turn on the flashlight. The tour operator said to bring, among other things, a flashlight and a towel. As the saying goes, a good traveller always knows where his towel is. I thought the towel was for showering. Wrong. There were no showers, not much in the way of washing facilities, and so I had pretty much eschewed hygiene. Since that was only one day of personal squalor, my trek-mates could deal with it, just like I deal with their smoking (and not just the funny cigarettes--though one guy had 'Che Guevara' cigarettes, which was funny without being illegal).
So the towel was for swimming, and the flashlight was because the lodge has no electricity (meals were made with gas). Anyway, I hadn't brought a flashlight on my trip (apparently this is almost as bad as not knowing where your towel is) and couldn't locate one in Arequipa, so I would have been stumbling in the dark had Sandro not wisely packed a second one for nimrods like me. My head must have been fuzzy since it took me a while to push the only button there was in the right way. I stumbled out for breakfast at 4.40: a fried egg, coffee, and two buns with jam. Melinda appeared a few minutes later. The kids, however, were obviously not on mountain time. They hadn't finished eating and packing by our 5.00 starting time, or by our 5.30 starting time, and Sandro was getting kind of antsy--the later we started, the longer the part of our hike that would be spent in the sun. Besides, the rest of us were on vacation, but Sandro was on the job, and probably didn't want to arrive home an hour late. There was also some bitterness about the size of the breakfast.
We started at 5.45. Melinda and I went ahead, and Sandro stayed behind with the others. Eventually I went ahead (it wasn't a competition, it just worked out that way). Instead of being gruelling and setting fire to my feet and lungs, the trek up turned out to pretty much be a piece of cake.
I thought an ascent of 1100m, starting at 2200, wasn't bad for someone not in the first flush of youth. Speaking of which, where were the others? I don't kid myself that I'm in any better shape than they are, so I was wondering why they hadn't passed me. I was waiting at the top of the hill and had found some Canadians from another tour group to talk to. Melinda arrived 15 minutes later. Then one of the other guides from the same company but with the other group told us that Sandro was delayed and we should walk into town--Cabanaconde, about 15 minutes away--where we would be picked up by bus to go back to Arequipa. Cabanaconde is a small farming town with a few hostals around the main square that seems like it might be a nice place to relax. The guide told us we had an hour before the pickup, so Melinda and I went for a second breakfast. Mine turned out to be two eggs and four--count 'em and weep--buns.
As for what delayed the rest of the pack...that is unclear. One story was that a couple of the girls were suffering from some intestinal bug (one had been ailing the day before). The other story was that everyone was fine, but that things were "complicado". The kids seemed pissed off at Sandro and one said he had "abandoned" them. Evidently a bad fit between trekkers and guide. That being said, I had a good time, and I'd recommend Sandro and the agency, Inti Yaku Tours, which is run out of my hostal in Arequipa, pleasantly named Home Sweet Home. I give the hostal a mostly good rating: the rooms are a bit rough-hewn, but the staff are friendly and helpful, the price is right (40 soles--$14 for a private room with bath, 20 soles for a dorm room) and a good breakfast is included and is served on a very nice third floor terrace. Like most hostals, they are quite all right with people using their facilities--Internet, washrooms, luggage storage--after they've checked out and are waiting for their bus, even if this turns out to be all day.
I liked them well enough that I'm now staying at their hostal of the same name in Cusco.
Day two of the Colca Canyon trek started with a bang. That was Sandro knocking on my door at 4.30am. For a few seconds I had no idea where I was, then I realized I was in a cabana in the middle of nowhere. But a good nowhere.
I spent the first two minutes trying to turn on the flashlight. The tour operator said to bring, among other things, a flashlight and a towel. As the saying goes, a good traveller always knows where his towel is. I thought the towel was for showering. Wrong. There were no showers, not much in the way of washing facilities, and so I had pretty much eschewed hygiene. Since that was only one day of personal squalor, my trek-mates could deal with it, just like I deal with their smoking (and not just the funny cigarettes--though one guy had 'Che Guevara' cigarettes, which was funny without being illegal).
So the towel was for swimming, and the flashlight was because the lodge has no electricity (meals were made with gas). Anyway, I hadn't brought a flashlight on my trip (apparently this is almost as bad as not knowing where your towel is) and couldn't locate one in Arequipa, so I would have been stumbling in the dark had Sandro not wisely packed a second one for nimrods like me. My head must have been fuzzy since it took me a while to push the only button there was in the right way. I stumbled out for breakfast at 4.40: a fried egg, coffee, and two buns with jam. Melinda appeared a few minutes later. The kids, however, were obviously not on mountain time. They hadn't finished eating and packing by our 5.00 starting time, or by our 5.30 starting time, and Sandro was getting kind of antsy--the later we started, the longer the part of our hike that would be spent in the sun. Besides, the rest of us were on vacation, but Sandro was on the job, and probably didn't want to arrive home an hour late. There was also some bitterness about the size of the breakfast.
We started at 5.45. Melinda and I went ahead, and Sandro stayed behind with the others. Eventually I went ahead (it wasn't a competition, it just worked out that way). Instead of being gruelling and setting fire to my feet and lungs, the trek up turned out to pretty much be a piece of cake.
I thought an ascent of 1100m, starting at 2200, wasn't bad for someone not in the first flush of youth. Speaking of which, where were the others? I don't kid myself that I'm in any better shape than they are, so I was wondering why they hadn't passed me. I was waiting at the top of the hill and had found some Canadians from another tour group to talk to. Melinda arrived 15 minutes later. Then one of the other guides from the same company but with the other group told us that Sandro was delayed and we should walk into town--Cabanaconde, about 15 minutes away--where we would be picked up by bus to go back to Arequipa. Cabanaconde is a small farming town with a few hostals around the main square that seems like it might be a nice place to relax. The guide told us we had an hour before the pickup, so Melinda and I went for a second breakfast. Mine turned out to be two eggs and four--count 'em and weep--buns.
As for what delayed the rest of the pack...that is unclear. One story was that a couple of the girls were suffering from some intestinal bug (one had been ailing the day before). The other story was that everyone was fine, but that things were "complicado". The kids seemed pissed off at Sandro and one said he had "abandoned" them. Evidently a bad fit between trekkers and guide. That being said, I had a good time, and I'd recommend Sandro and the agency, Inti Yaku Tours, which is run out of my hostal in Arequipa, pleasantly named Home Sweet Home. I give the hostal a mostly good rating: the rooms are a bit rough-hewn, but the staff are friendly and helpful, the price is right (40 soles--$14 for a private room with bath, 20 soles for a dorm room) and a good breakfast is included and is served on a very nice third floor terrace. Like most hostals, they are quite all right with people using their facilities--Internet, washrooms, luggage storage--after they've checked out and are waiting for their bus, even if this turns out to be all day.
I liked them well enough that I'm now staying at their hostal of the same name in Cusco.
Monday, November 1, 2010
Colca Canyon (and how much bread do we get?) -- Part 1
The Colca Canyon is a deep canyon about two hours drive from Arequipa. I signed up for a two-day / one-night trekking tour via the travel agency at my hostal (note that hostal is not equivalent to "hostel" in the European sense--it denotes the size of the place rather than the type of rooms--typically there will be a combination of dormitory and private rooms). The cost was 125 soles (around $45) and included transport, two hikes, an overnight stay, lunch and supper on the first day and breakfast on the second day. A good deal, I think.
I got up at the abominable hour of 2.45am to be picked up at my hostal sometime between 3.00 and 3.30. Turned out to be closer to the latter time. The reason for all this early-birdiness was early birds. The first part of the tour consisted of hanging out at the lip of the canyon waiting for condors to fly by. Actually, the very first thing, after our two-hour ride, was breakfast, in the pueblo of Chivay. Then a short drive to the condor lookout. Shortly after arriving I saw one condor reasonably close up, then nothing for over half an hour. Then one turned up and decided to show off for a while, making a couple of swooping turns before going offstage, no encore. A couple more decided to get in on the after that. They are a bit hard to photograph...here is my best effort.
My opinion of this part of the day is that I would rather have stayed in bed an extra hour and skipped this, the third case of over-promoted South American bird-spotting on this trip. But anyway. Shortly after this we were driven to the starting point of our trek. By now it was around 9.30am.
The group dynamic started to become apparent around this time. We were eight people, plus a guide. Six were Israeli, one French, and me. The Israelis were an interesting bunch: three guys, three girls, all in their early twenties. On one hand they were mature and sympatico, all had been in the Israeli Army (compulsory service), some as officers, some on combat or at least combat-ready roles. They were full of the proverbial piss and vinegar, spending 6 or 7 months away from home in South America, trekking, rafting, horseback-riding, and the like. On the other hand, they still exhibited the self-centeredness and petulance of youth. For most of the trip the spoke exclusively in Hebrew, though they all could speak English, and the French woman and I were insufficiently talkative to induce them to switch that often. I don't really know what to make of this or how I would have behaved in their position, but I think some extra effort could have been made. That was the most annoying, and then there was the kvetching about such things as the size of the meals and other aspects of the tour, the tardiness at getting up in the morning (delaying the group), etc. Here is the group in happier times (from left: Melinda (French), me, Shy, Eran, Grady, Hagar, Dor, Ayelet--some spellings approximate).
But on to the trek. The first part was a downhill hike from a height of about 3300m down to around 2200m. From a distance the hillside trail looks precipitous, and it is, but only if you actually fall off. In reality, it was quite safe: most of the time it was wide enough that two people could walk side by side, and the exposed side was banked up with rocks. One special precaution: if you meet burros or mules on the trail, stand on the inside and let them pass--they can knock you off, not so much because they are unpredictable or malicious, but because they carry wide loads. Besides, they are more competent than we are at navigating these paths.
You'd think this would have been the easiest part, and it started off that way, for me at least. As easy as falling downhill. Here are a couple of views of the downward trek:
Gradually, though, the path became rockier and I found that this caused my feet to rub against the sides of my shoes, threatening blisters. There was also more hard impact with the rocks, unsettling my lower legs. By the time we got to the end of the first stage of the hike, the town of San Juan de Chuccho, I was lagging behind the group by 15-20 minutes and really wondering if my feet would last the trip. Not tired or winded, just the complaints above. This stage took about 3.5 hours. When I told the guide about the impending blisters, he suggested that the next day I could go up by mule--however this was too much for my pride to countenance.
However, after a lunch stop of an hour or so we started up again, but this time the path was gentler and less rocky--some flat parts and some uphill, then another downhill climb but on a similarly friendly path.
This stage was perhaps 2.5 hours. By this time I was slightly tired but my feet were feeling considerably better. At the end we arrived at our lodging for the night, a set of cabanas referred to colloquially as "The Oasis". No town in the vicinity. The lodge was rough but decent, and there was even a swimming pool. This time I overcame my self-consciousness and took a dunk. Though it is a good thing that I don't have to swim for my country or my life.
Afterward we sat on the grass and drank Israeli coffee, and did manage to get the kids to open outward for a bit. It was also the first time I was offered drugs in South America. I declined: I don't do them at home, and even though we were in the middle of nowhere with no narcotics police around I'd rather stick to the principle of just saying no). We had supper around 7 and afterward gradually turned in since we had a 4.30 awakening.
I got up at the abominable hour of 2.45am to be picked up at my hostal sometime between 3.00 and 3.30. Turned out to be closer to the latter time. The reason for all this early-birdiness was early birds. The first part of the tour consisted of hanging out at the lip of the canyon waiting for condors to fly by. Actually, the very first thing, after our two-hour ride, was breakfast, in the pueblo of Chivay. Then a short drive to the condor lookout. Shortly after arriving I saw one condor reasonably close up, then nothing for over half an hour. Then one turned up and decided to show off for a while, making a couple of swooping turns before going offstage, no encore. A couple more decided to get in on the after that. They are a bit hard to photograph...here is my best effort.
My opinion of this part of the day is that I would rather have stayed in bed an extra hour and skipped this, the third case of over-promoted South American bird-spotting on this trip. But anyway. Shortly after this we were driven to the starting point of our trek. By now it was around 9.30am.
The group dynamic started to become apparent around this time. We were eight people, plus a guide. Six were Israeli, one French, and me. The Israelis were an interesting bunch: three guys, three girls, all in their early twenties. On one hand they were mature and sympatico, all had been in the Israeli Army (compulsory service), some as officers, some on combat or at least combat-ready roles. They were full of the proverbial piss and vinegar, spending 6 or 7 months away from home in South America, trekking, rafting, horseback-riding, and the like. On the other hand, they still exhibited the self-centeredness and petulance of youth. For most of the trip the spoke exclusively in Hebrew, though they all could speak English, and the French woman and I were insufficiently talkative to induce them to switch that often. I don't really know what to make of this or how I would have behaved in their position, but I think some extra effort could have been made. That was the most annoying, and then there was the kvetching about such things as the size of the meals and other aspects of the tour, the tardiness at getting up in the morning (delaying the group), etc. Here is the group in happier times (from left: Melinda (French), me, Shy, Eran, Grady, Hagar, Dor, Ayelet--some spellings approximate).
But on to the trek. The first part was a downhill hike from a height of about 3300m down to around 2200m. From a distance the hillside trail looks precipitous, and it is, but only if you actually fall off. In reality, it was quite safe: most of the time it was wide enough that two people could walk side by side, and the exposed side was banked up with rocks. One special precaution: if you meet burros or mules on the trail, stand on the inside and let them pass--they can knock you off, not so much because they are unpredictable or malicious, but because they carry wide loads. Besides, they are more competent than we are at navigating these paths.
You'd think this would have been the easiest part, and it started off that way, for me at least. As easy as falling downhill. Here are a couple of views of the downward trek:
Gradually, though, the path became rockier and I found that this caused my feet to rub against the sides of my shoes, threatening blisters. There was also more hard impact with the rocks, unsettling my lower legs. By the time we got to the end of the first stage of the hike, the town of San Juan de Chuccho, I was lagging behind the group by 15-20 minutes and really wondering if my feet would last the trip. Not tired or winded, just the complaints above. This stage took about 3.5 hours. When I told the guide about the impending blisters, he suggested that the next day I could go up by mule--however this was too much for my pride to countenance.
However, after a lunch stop of an hour or so we started up again, but this time the path was gentler and less rocky--some flat parts and some uphill, then another downhill climb but on a similarly friendly path.
This stage was perhaps 2.5 hours. By this time I was slightly tired but my feet were feeling considerably better. At the end we arrived at our lodging for the night, a set of cabanas referred to colloquially as "The Oasis". No town in the vicinity. The lodge was rough but decent, and there was even a swimming pool. This time I overcame my self-consciousness and took a dunk. Though it is a good thing that I don't have to swim for my country or my life.
Afterward we sat on the grass and drank Israeli coffee, and did manage to get the kids to open outward for a bit. It was also the first time I was offered drugs in South America. I declined: I don't do them at home, and even though we were in the middle of nowhere with no narcotics police around I'd rather stick to the principle of just saying no). We had supper around 7 and afterward gradually turned in since we had a 4.30 awakening.
Saturday, October 30, 2010
A nice place to stay for 400 years
No, I'm not planning to spend the rest of my life and five future lives in Arequipa. Yesterday I visited what is probably Arequipa's most impressive site, the Convent of Santa Catalina, which was founded in 1579 and still exists. The current nuns (who are few in number) live in the new convent; the old one was opened to the public in 1970.
It's a pretty extensive place--about 2 hectares according to my guidebook, and I can believe it. It occupies the equivalent of several city blocks. The nuns who inhabited it lived more or less in seclusion from the outside world. Well, not complete seclusion: they weren't allowed out (ever, as far as I know) allowed visits every now and then, but only through a screen.
The girls who entered the convent were the useless daughters of rich families, who had to pay 100 silver pieces a year (I don't know what that is in today's dollars) to keep them there, and if I understood correctly, 1000 when they took their final vows. The families also had to build the rooms in which the nuns were lodged. Girls entered at age 12; the alternative was getting married at a similar age.
Life in the convent wasn't all bad, though. The beds may have been hard, but the rooms were large--probably three or four times as big as my hotel room in Arequipa.
(This is not my hotel room.)
And each nun had two or three servants (all women), who actually made up the majority of the inhabitants. And they could eat off their best china:
All good things must end, however, and after the First Vatican Council in 1870, the Pope put and end to all this "luxury", and booted out the servants and made the nuns live in dorms.
I haven't yet given you an idea of howtruly impressive this complex is. Have a look:
It costs 35 soles (about $12) to get in (down from 100 pieces of silver I guess) and if you want a guided tour (many languages available) there is an "optional tip" of 20 soles. I found the tour interesting, and have cribbed most of the information in this post from what I remember (I didn't make the same mistake as my guide and call the Vatican Council "the reformation" though :) I wandered around for a while on my own after the tour and took more photos. I've said many times that if I had lived in the Middle Ages I would have entered a monastery, and this place did nothing to change my mind on that. But as for my own middle ages, I think I'll stick with life on the outside.
It's a pretty extensive place--about 2 hectares according to my guidebook, and I can believe it. It occupies the equivalent of several city blocks. The nuns who inhabited it lived more or less in seclusion from the outside world. Well, not complete seclusion: they weren't allowed out (ever, as far as I know) allowed visits every now and then, but only through a screen.
The girls who entered the convent were the useless daughters of rich families, who had to pay 100 silver pieces a year (I don't know what that is in today's dollars) to keep them there, and if I understood correctly, 1000 when they took their final vows. The families also had to build the rooms in which the nuns were lodged. Girls entered at age 12; the alternative was getting married at a similar age.
Life in the convent wasn't all bad, though. The beds may have been hard, but the rooms were large--probably three or four times as big as my hotel room in Arequipa.
(This is not my hotel room.)
And each nun had two or three servants (all women), who actually made up the majority of the inhabitants. And they could eat off their best china:
All good things must end, however, and after the First Vatican Council in 1870, the Pope put and end to all this "luxury", and booted out the servants and made the nuns live in dorms.
I haven't yet given you an idea of howtruly impressive this complex is. Have a look:
It costs 35 soles (about $12) to get in (down from 100 pieces of silver I guess) and if you want a guided tour (many languages available) there is an "optional tip" of 20 soles. I found the tour interesting, and have cribbed most of the information in this post from what I remember (I didn't make the same mistake as my guide and call the Vatican Council "the reformation" though :) I wandered around for a while on my own after the tour and took more photos. I've said many times that if I had lived in the Middle Ages I would have entered a monastery, and this place did nothing to change my mind on that. But as for my own middle ages, I think I'll stick with life on the outside.
Friday, October 29, 2010
Some things left behind in the desert
Some leftover business from Chile. When I was in San Pedro I took a couple of trips into the Atacama desert that I don't feel like narrating: I'll just let the pictures tell the story. I've uploaded them to flickr in a set called "Atacama desert" (how bloody prosaic). Here's a sample:
Click the link above for more.
Click the link above for more.
Thursday, October 28, 2010
Another way of getting to Peru
This morning the manager of my hotel in Arica phoned the Customs (Aduana) office again to confirm that they were not on strike. No problem. So I get to the bus station, go to the ticket counter of the company with buses to Arequipa and ask to buy a ticket. No. The Aduana is on strike. This time I argued: "No, we just talked to them. They're not on strike". "Well, they didn't advise us that they weren't on strike." Duh. Somehow it sounded more like the bus company didn't want to know about the strike being over. So I asked if there was another company that went to Arequipa. No. Then I finally got some useful information: if I went to the international station next door, I could get a colectivo (shared taxi) to Tacna, Peru, just over the border, and then get a bus to Arequipa from there. Lest I sound like a total dunce, I had scoped out the international terminal a couple of days before, saw lots of companies going to Tacna, but none to Arequipa, so I assumed the company I had located in the national terminal was the one to go with (and the day I went there, they did claim to be selling tickets to Arequipa!)
I walked over to the international terminal (which is basically a rough parking lot with a bunch of small offices along one side, and a bit of a free-for-all generally) and was approached by a tout asking "Tacna?" Si, Tacna. He led me to a car, where the driver asked for my passport. I didn't feel entirely right about handing over my passport to someone I just met, but sometimes you need to go with the flow. I watched the guy and he didn't sell my passport to secret agents, just kept on shilling for passengers. Eventually he rounded up five people (for a fairly compact vehicle) and then asked us all for 200 pesos. I wasn't sure what that was for, but everyone else was giving him the money. It turned out to be a fee for a Peruvian immigration form.
Off we go in the direction of Peru. We stop at Chilean immigration, and I get my passport stamped for exit. Then a little further to Peruvian customs and immigration, where I get a Peruvian entry stamp and a 90-day visa. Well, I won't be here that long. I put my luggage through the scanner and was good to go. It takes about half an hour to get to Tacna. I thought I was being let off at the national bus terminal but actually it was the international terminal. Fortunately, as in Arica, they're next door to each other.
I must have looked either lost or just foreign, since a pleasant woman who worked at the information desk came up to me and asked if I needed help. When I explained that I needed a bus to Arequipa she directed me to an agent. This agent asked if I wanted a bus now or later, so I said now. She printed out a ticket for me that said 9.30am, which was confusing, since it was by now just after 11. My mistake. I had forgotten for the moment that Peru is in an earlier time zone, and I didn't know that it doesn't use Daylight Time, so actually it's two hours behind Chile, meaning that it suddenly was now only 9-something. Great--I temporarily get two hours of my life back, making up for a couple of boring meetings or some such.
Eventually I got on my bus to Arequipa, which took us through what must be the bleakest landscape I've ever travelled: more desert-like than anything I'd seen in Chile. This was unending grey plains and hills as far as the eye could see, for hours on end.
As we got closer to Arequipa, the road became more winding and mountainous, which at least added some thrills. It was still hard to believe that a city of 1m people was suddenly going to appear, but it did, and here I am. I haven't seen that much yet. The streets were busy tonight since there's some kind of religious procession going on, with a large effigy being carried through the streets, and men in purple robes.
I walked over to the international terminal (which is basically a rough parking lot with a bunch of small offices along one side, and a bit of a free-for-all generally) and was approached by a tout asking "Tacna?" Si, Tacna. He led me to a car, where the driver asked for my passport. I didn't feel entirely right about handing over my passport to someone I just met, but sometimes you need to go with the flow. I watched the guy and he didn't sell my passport to secret agents, just kept on shilling for passengers. Eventually he rounded up five people (for a fairly compact vehicle) and then asked us all for 200 pesos. I wasn't sure what that was for, but everyone else was giving him the money. It turned out to be a fee for a Peruvian immigration form.
Off we go in the direction of Peru. We stop at Chilean immigration, and I get my passport stamped for exit. Then a little further to Peruvian customs and immigration, where I get a Peruvian entry stamp and a 90-day visa. Well, I won't be here that long. I put my luggage through the scanner and was good to go. It takes about half an hour to get to Tacna. I thought I was being let off at the national bus terminal but actually it was the international terminal. Fortunately, as in Arica, they're next door to each other.
I must have looked either lost or just foreign, since a pleasant woman who worked at the information desk came up to me and asked if I needed help. When I explained that I needed a bus to Arequipa she directed me to an agent. This agent asked if I wanted a bus now or later, so I said now. She printed out a ticket for me that said 9.30am, which was confusing, since it was by now just after 11. My mistake. I had forgotten for the moment that Peru is in an earlier time zone, and I didn't know that it doesn't use Daylight Time, so actually it's two hours behind Chile, meaning that it suddenly was now only 9-something. Great--I temporarily get two hours of my life back, making up for a couple of boring meetings or some such.
Eventually I got on my bus to Arequipa, which took us through what must be the bleakest landscape I've ever travelled: more desert-like than anything I'd seen in Chile. This was unending grey plains and hills as far as the eye could see, for hours on end.
As we got closer to Arequipa, the road became more winding and mountainous, which at least added some thrills. It was still hard to believe that a city of 1m people was suddenly going to appear, but it did, and here I am. I haven't seen that much yet. The streets were busy tonight since there's some kind of religious procession going on, with a large effigy being carried through the streets, and men in purple robes.
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
Canadian bank does something right
When I take out money from ATMs in Chile I get dinged with a CH$2500 ($5) transaction fee. Ouch! That's 5% if you take out $100. The less I take out, the higher that percentage becomes, the more I take out, the more money I have waiting for no good to come of it (I'm not seriously concerned about theft, but on principle when travelling one likes to have as little cash lying around as is practical). A German woman told me that she takes out money from Scotiabank in Santiago and doesn't pay any fees, so today when I needed money and noticed there was a branch here in Arica, I thought I'd test that out. Winner! Either they didn't charge a fee or else did and lied about it :-)
Still in Chile
I got to the bus station in Arica this morning only to be told by the bus company (apparently the only one that sells tickets to Arequipa) that because the Aduana (Customs) was on strike, no buses could be processed through to Peru. I didn't think to ask which country's Customs was not working, but high-tailed it back to the hotel I had just left, hoping my room was still available. Turned out it was, hadn't even been touched.
I Googled to find out what was going on and somewhat to my surprise that there was a 24 hour strike yesterday, with the threat of further action if the workers' were not "listened to". Huh. I called the Aduana directly and was told that yes, there was strike yesterday, none today. Seems that the bus ticket agent was full of it. Perhaps I shouldn't have taken her word for it and asked around, but I assumed a bus company would know. Oh well. I guess it wasn't my day to go to Peru. I cancelled my hotel reservation in Arequipa and made a new one at a cheaper (but still ok) place. The manager of my hotel called the Aduana this afternoon and was given the all clear for tomorrow.
Anyway, if I had gone to Peru I would have missed two excellent exhibit that I saw this afternoon instead at the archeology museum in Azapa, just outside Arica. One was on the history of the native peoples who lived in this area. I like these four-pointed hats--the design indicates your social class.
The other was about the Chinchorro mummies, the oldest known examples of mummification in the world, dating back to 7000 BC. The process doesn't involve embalming--basically all the soft bits are scooped out, the limbs reinforced, and the skin refilled with mud and other substances. I expect that the natural dryness of the area helps.
I also would not have found out that the hotel has a pet turtle, Natasha, who is 38 years old. The owner once tried to match her up with a male, but the two didn't get along, and the dude was soup.
While I'm at it, I can recommend my hotel, Hostal Jardin del Sol, to anyone who comes to Arica. It's probably the best value-for-money hotel that I've stayed at in Latin America. For CH$10000 a night ($20) you get a clean, well-maintained, private room with bathroom. Breakfast (somewhat on the continental side) is included. There's cable TV with English and Spanish stations in each room (I didn't come to Chile to watch TV, but it's there if you want it). The staff are friendly and helpful. There's a kitchen and computer room. My only complaint is that the wifi seems to wink out with some frequency.
I Googled to find out what was going on and somewhat to my surprise that there was a 24 hour strike yesterday, with the threat of further action if the workers' were not "listened to". Huh. I called the Aduana directly and was told that yes, there was strike yesterday, none today. Seems that the bus ticket agent was full of it. Perhaps I shouldn't have taken her word for it and asked around, but I assumed a bus company would know. Oh well. I guess it wasn't my day to go to Peru. I cancelled my hotel reservation in Arequipa and made a new one at a cheaper (but still ok) place. The manager of my hotel called the Aduana this afternoon and was given the all clear for tomorrow.
Anyway, if I had gone to Peru I would have missed two excellent exhibit that I saw this afternoon instead at the archeology museum in Azapa, just outside Arica. One was on the history of the native peoples who lived in this area. I like these four-pointed hats--the design indicates your social class.
The other was about the Chinchorro mummies, the oldest known examples of mummification in the world, dating back to 7000 BC. The process doesn't involve embalming--basically all the soft bits are scooped out, the limbs reinforced, and the skin refilled with mud and other substances. I expect that the natural dryness of the area helps.
I also would not have found out that the hotel has a pet turtle, Natasha, who is 38 years old. The owner once tried to match her up with a male, but the two didn't get along, and the dude was soup.
While I'm at it, I can recommend my hotel, Hostal Jardin del Sol, to anyone who comes to Arica. It's probably the best value-for-money hotel that I've stayed at in Latin America. For CH$10000 a night ($20) you get a clean, well-maintained, private room with bathroom. Breakfast (somewhat on the continental side) is included. There's cable TV with English and Spanish stations in each room (I didn't come to Chile to watch TV, but it's there if you want it). The staff are friendly and helpful. There's a kitchen and computer room. My only complaint is that the wifi seems to wink out with some frequency.
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
Little things that are different
In Chile, a tortilla is not a round flat thingy made of corn or wheat, it's an omelette.
Beans are not frijoles, they're porotos.
A frutilla is not a little fruit, it's a strawberry (elsewhere known as a fresa).
Bread with your meal is served with salsa, not butter.
This is goodbye to Chile for a while--tomorrow I head for Arequipa, Peru.
Beans are not frijoles, they're porotos.
A frutilla is not a little fruit, it's a strawberry (elsewhere known as a fresa).
Bread with your meal is served with salsa, not butter.
This is goodbye to Chile for a while--tomorrow I head for Arequipa, Peru.
Sunday, October 24, 2010
Catarpe is a state of mind
Constant readers of this space will remember that a couple of days ago I tried to walk to a village outside of San Pedro but got waylaid from the true path by the promise of a tunnel and some rocks (had there been magic beans as well, I probably never would have come back).
After a day of rest and blogging, I made the attempt again today. After my previous experience I stocked up on plenty of water and four--count 'em--chocolate bars. Not the best nutrition but light and lots of calories per 100 grams. This time I decided to increase my energy efficiency by renting a bike. Mountain bike rental outlets are ubiquitous here. I had noticed a couple of places the day before that seemed to have decent bikes, but at 10am this morning neither were open (perhaps the owners were at church: in a place this size, there are at least three options--Catholic, Pentecostal, and Jehovah's Witness). Anyway, the first open place I came across was a combined internet cafe and bike rental. Their prices were lower and the bikes not as shiny but there was nothing decidedly dodgy about the joint. I didn't know whether to be comforted or disturbed when in addition to the bike I was issued a spare inner tube, a patching kit, pump, and a flashlight. Either lots of things go wrong or they really care about their clients (or their bikes). A welcome addition was a helmet. This was unexpected as I hadn't seen anyone in San Pedro riding a bike and wearing a helmet.
I told the guy I was going to Catarpe and he drew me a map, the gist of which was that I continue on the same road I took the other day, until I come to a stream, and which point I cross and turn left for Catarpe and right for something else called Quebrada del Diablo. diablo I know, quebrada I wasn't sure of but I thought it meant a brook or river. As for the stream in question, special instructions: don't ride across, take off your shoes and carry the bike. Not sure if this was for my comfort or the health of the bike. He also said it was 20m wide.
I should add that I can't remember the last time I rode a real bike, instead of the stationary ones at the Dunfield Club. Not that I had forgotten how or anything.
So I duly ride out into the desert, for about 4km or so, reach the stream (which was less than 20m wide, at least at the narrow point where any sensible person would cross), ford it magnificently, and take the first left, despite the lack of a sign saying "Catarpe this way". I kept on going, wondering where Catarpe must be, because I had been led to believe that it was 4-5km away. Eventually I reached a second stream, or really, the path crossed the stream again. This time it was wider. Ok, shoes and socks off, roll up pants, sling shoes over neck, and walk across. Bike does not touch water. Nothing but air! Reverse previous steps.
Aside: there's a trick to crossing rocky streams. If your foot hits a rock, it hurts, and your spinal cord says "foot, move" (remember what you learned in science class about what happens when you touch a hot stove--your brain is the last to know). If this happens, you tilt, and if you're not careful, you end up in the stream and you and the bike get wet, as does the saddle bag containing your camera. So, you just have to creep along the bottom so that you don't strike anything in a way that hurts.
So, more road, no village. Eventually a third crossing of the stream. At that point a guy in a 4WD was crossing behind me, so I asked him if I were going to either Catarpe or Quebrada del Diablo. Negative on both, amigo. Plus, the route from about a km on was not doable by bike. The truth of that last statement was that it was about 100m on. So I turned around and ended up back at the first stream, where a bunch of people were picnicking. I asked them and I was told to cross back over the stream and I would find Catarpe. I was dubious (since I hadn't seen Catarpe on the way out), but I did it. After a few more minutes I was more dubious. I saw some guys up to something or other just off the side of the road, so I asked one of them.
Here is where I attained sudden enlightenment. Catarpe is not a village. There is no village. Catarpe is just an area, perhaps with some legal status, but definitely not a place where people live. In defense of my stupidity, I specifically asked the guy working at the Pukara de Quitor if there were a pueblito in that direction, and he told me there was. Perhaps his definition of pueblito encompassed the encampment a few hundred metres off the road surrounded by old vehicles. Sigh. But the good news was that I had been to Catarpe, and the picnickers were full of it, and I had still gotten a nice ride out of it. Lesson: do not believe a man just because he speaks eloquently in Latin. Or any derivative thereof.
This news also meant that if I went back and turned right, I would get to Quebrada del Diablo, whatever that was (the guy who rented me the bike said it was "interesting"). So, I rode back and crossed the first stream for the third time. Exit, stage right. Well, a quebrada, as I later learned, can be a gorge, and that's what I got. Not one with water, but high rock walls and a sandy, winding path.
Sometimes underneath solid rock.
Sometimes with a ledge that means you have to stop and hoist the bike up first. I was getting a little ticked with this bike that I had to carry so many times when it was supposed to be carrying me.
More long and winding road for 20 minutes or so. Then...The Hill. There was no way I was going to ride up that thing. In addition the path being a bit precipitous, my 49-year-old lungs and legs were not up to this job. So I walked the bike up, and it became obvious that them organs were not really up to that either. I was maybe 10m from the top and not feeling hopeful, so I left the bike behind and scaled the mount to see if what was on the other side was going to be any better. Five minutes walking the trail convinced me that just more lung-torture was on the way. But i can handle being bested by a clearly more powerful foe. I sat atop the hill for 20-30 minutes and contemplated various things, not the stuff Pei Mei contemplates, just my stuff.
At around 2.30 I decided to make my way back. Getting the bike back down the hill was non-trivial, since its momentum wanted to make me go faster than I thought proper on a hillside path. I basically rode the brake down. A pleasant surprise was that the way back was slightly inclined downward--so slightly that I hadn't even noticed it on the way in, but enough that I could coast a lot of the way back without at the same time worrying about embedding my head in rock.
Back to stream, cross again. Here is when I have to get philosophical on you. The Sophists will tell you that you can't cross the same river twice. Don't you believe it. Certain adepts have managed four crossings, on the strength of two chocolate bars, even.
I got back to San Pedro at 3.45. I still had 45 minutes left on the bike rental but my butt was sore and I had no place else I really wanted to go. I calculate that at this point my body was no more than 1% bicycle. All things considered, a good day.
(The bike cost me 4000 pesos ($8) for a half day (6 hours). A full day would have been 7000 pesos. The places I saw yesterday were charging 6000 and 8000 per half day. You pays yer money and you takes yer chance.)
After a day of rest and blogging, I made the attempt again today. After my previous experience I stocked up on plenty of water and four--count 'em--chocolate bars. Not the best nutrition but light and lots of calories per 100 grams. This time I decided to increase my energy efficiency by renting a bike. Mountain bike rental outlets are ubiquitous here. I had noticed a couple of places the day before that seemed to have decent bikes, but at 10am this morning neither were open (perhaps the owners were at church: in a place this size, there are at least three options--Catholic, Pentecostal, and Jehovah's Witness). Anyway, the first open place I came across was a combined internet cafe and bike rental. Their prices were lower and the bikes not as shiny but there was nothing decidedly dodgy about the joint. I didn't know whether to be comforted or disturbed when in addition to the bike I was issued a spare inner tube, a patching kit, pump, and a flashlight. Either lots of things go wrong or they really care about their clients (or their bikes). A welcome addition was a helmet. This was unexpected as I hadn't seen anyone in San Pedro riding a bike and wearing a helmet.
I told the guy I was going to Catarpe and he drew me a map, the gist of which was that I continue on the same road I took the other day, until I come to a stream, and which point I cross and turn left for Catarpe and right for something else called Quebrada del Diablo. diablo I know, quebrada I wasn't sure of but I thought it meant a brook or river. As for the stream in question, special instructions: don't ride across, take off your shoes and carry the bike. Not sure if this was for my comfort or the health of the bike. He also said it was 20m wide.
I should add that I can't remember the last time I rode a real bike, instead of the stationary ones at the Dunfield Club. Not that I had forgotten how or anything.
So I duly ride out into the desert, for about 4km or so, reach the stream (which was less than 20m wide, at least at the narrow point where any sensible person would cross), ford it magnificently, and take the first left, despite the lack of a sign saying "Catarpe this way". I kept on going, wondering where Catarpe must be, because I had been led to believe that it was 4-5km away. Eventually I reached a second stream, or really, the path crossed the stream again. This time it was wider. Ok, shoes and socks off, roll up pants, sling shoes over neck, and walk across. Bike does not touch water. Nothing but air! Reverse previous steps.
Aside: there's a trick to crossing rocky streams. If your foot hits a rock, it hurts, and your spinal cord says "foot, move" (remember what you learned in science class about what happens when you touch a hot stove--your brain is the last to know). If this happens, you tilt, and if you're not careful, you end up in the stream and you and the bike get wet, as does the saddle bag containing your camera. So, you just have to creep along the bottom so that you don't strike anything in a way that hurts.
So, more road, no village. Eventually a third crossing of the stream. At that point a guy in a 4WD was crossing behind me, so I asked him if I were going to either Catarpe or Quebrada del Diablo. Negative on both, amigo. Plus, the route from about a km on was not doable by bike. The truth of that last statement was that it was about 100m on. So I turned around and ended up back at the first stream, where a bunch of people were picnicking. I asked them and I was told to cross back over the stream and I would find Catarpe. I was dubious (since I hadn't seen Catarpe on the way out), but I did it. After a few more minutes I was more dubious. I saw some guys up to something or other just off the side of the road, so I asked one of them.
Here is where I attained sudden enlightenment. Catarpe is not a village. There is no village. Catarpe is just an area, perhaps with some legal status, but definitely not a place where people live. In defense of my stupidity, I specifically asked the guy working at the Pukara de Quitor if there were a pueblito in that direction, and he told me there was. Perhaps his definition of pueblito encompassed the encampment a few hundred metres off the road surrounded by old vehicles. Sigh. But the good news was that I had been to Catarpe, and the picnickers were full of it, and I had still gotten a nice ride out of it. Lesson: do not believe a man just because he speaks eloquently in Latin. Or any derivative thereof.
This news also meant that if I went back and turned right, I would get to Quebrada del Diablo, whatever that was (the guy who rented me the bike said it was "interesting"). So, I rode back and crossed the first stream for the third time. Exit, stage right. Well, a quebrada, as I later learned, can be a gorge, and that's what I got. Not one with water, but high rock walls and a sandy, winding path.
Sometimes underneath solid rock.
Sometimes with a ledge that means you have to stop and hoist the bike up first. I was getting a little ticked with this bike that I had to carry so many times when it was supposed to be carrying me.
More long and winding road for 20 minutes or so. Then...The Hill. There was no way I was going to ride up that thing. In addition the path being a bit precipitous, my 49-year-old lungs and legs were not up to this job. So I walked the bike up, and it became obvious that them organs were not really up to that either. I was maybe 10m from the top and not feeling hopeful, so I left the bike behind and scaled the mount to see if what was on the other side was going to be any better. Five minutes walking the trail convinced me that just more lung-torture was on the way. But i can handle being bested by a clearly more powerful foe. I sat atop the hill for 20-30 minutes and contemplated various things, not the stuff Pei Mei contemplates, just my stuff.
At around 2.30 I decided to make my way back. Getting the bike back down the hill was non-trivial, since its momentum wanted to make me go faster than I thought proper on a hillside path. I basically rode the brake down. A pleasant surprise was that the way back was slightly inclined downward--so slightly that I hadn't even noticed it on the way in, but enough that I could coast a lot of the way back without at the same time worrying about embedding my head in rock.
Back to stream, cross again. Here is when I have to get philosophical on you. The Sophists will tell you that you can't cross the same river twice. Don't you believe it. Certain adepts have managed four crossings, on the strength of two chocolate bars, even.
I got back to San Pedro at 3.45. I still had 45 minutes left on the bike rental but my butt was sore and I had no place else I really wanted to go. I calculate that at this point my body was no more than 1% bicycle. All things considered, a good day.
(The bike cost me 4000 pesos ($8) for a half day (6 hours). A full day would have been 7000 pesos. The places I saw yesterday were charging 6000 and 8000 per half day. You pays yer money and you takes yer chance.)
Saturday, October 23, 2010
Geezers gazing at geysers
One of the most popular tours from San Pedro is the El Tatio geysers tour. This despite the fact that you have to be outside your hotel by 4am, dressed for below-zero weather (it's nippy at 4am in San Pedro, and nippier in the middle of the desert. I had on a shirt, fleece jacket, hoodie, and gore-tex jacket. Foolishly, I forgot to wear the gloves that I had packed just for occasions like this.
I had booked my tour with Cosmo Andino Expeditions, for which I had received recommendations from a couple of sources. I'll add my own to that, even though the first thing they did was a screw-up--the driver slept in so we spent an extra half-hour in the cold. The tour cost 25,000 pesos ($50) and lasts from your 4am pick-up until you are dropped off back in San Pedro around noon. I was joined on the tour by a couple from Hong Kong who were staying at the same hotel--probably the first HK travellers I've ever met in Latin America.
Anyway the van arrived and apologies were made. Our guide was a very affable and knowledgeable fellow named Oscar who spoke excellent English with a perfect British accent (not the Queen's English--think Coronation Street instead). It turns out there is a good reason for this: he was born in England after his parents moved there to escape the Pinochet dictatorship. He lived there into adulthood, came to Chile to travel for a while, met a Chilean girl, and stayed and became a tour guide.
The route to the geysers is not a smooth one. The road is unpaved and very rutted, not conducive to manufacturing a few lost Zs. Along the way my arse fell off and one kidney may be permanently misplaced. In case you're wondering why all this has to be done at or before daybreak, no, they don't turn off the geysers at 8am or anything, they just look better when the air is colder.
So we--and perhaps a dozen other tour groups--get to Geyser Central, pay our admission (I think it was 5000 pesos--$10) and the first order of business is breakfast, supplied by Cosmo Andino and included in the price. My fears of not getting a cup of coffee ended.
Then we went to the geyser field. If I had read the Wikipedia article on El Tatio that I linked above, I perhaps wouldn't have felt the teensiest bit let down that the geysers were, it has to be said, a bit puny. I guess I was expecting Old Faithful. But, as the old line about boarding house food goes, at least there's lots of it. I shouldn't be too negative here--they are a significant natural phenomenon, just not quite what I expected.
So basically there are a bunch of holes in the ground, up from which comes bubbling boiling water, creating a vapour cloud. The field is about 4200m above sea level, so water boils at somewhat under 100C there. Some clouds are higher than others, as you'll see from the pictures. Some geysers "erupt" on a regular schedule, which of course the guides have knowledge of so that they can wow us when their predictions come true.
After the geysers a hot spring to swim, or "bathe" really, for those who had brought bathing suits and were comfortable in their semi-nakedness. The rest of us took pictures, not so much of the bathers, but of flora, fauna, and geological phenomena in the area. I did take a picture of some bathers, but the Spanish woman I had been hanging around with seems to have deleted it from my camera, on the grounds that she was in it. Oh well. One body's much like another, but it's not everywhere you can find green rocks. Some plant coats them, creating the effect. Our guide said that it was a very good source of fuel.
This one was probably put there by aliens:
The fauna consisted of these bunny-like creatures (but really a kind of rodent) called vizcachas. Somehow they missed having their tails bobbed.
The water bubbling dpown the hill into the swimming hole produced some neat fire-and-brimstone effects. I think you can see the devil's face in this picture.
Our next stop was to see more fauna, with clothes on (us, not the fauna). There were some birds (yawn) but most important, vicuñas. These animals were previously hunted for fur (they only produce about 250g of fur, but it's supposed to be almost as soft as silk) and longer ago for meat. Now they're a protected species.
Our last stop, and for me the best part of the tour, was to see giant (though, it must be said, not gigantic) cacti. So I was a bit put out when my camera battery died just after we got there. This is also a protected species, since it was being used for its wood. The protection afforded is not as strong as it could be, since it's illegal to cut down cacti, but legal to use cacti that have fallen down. And who's to say that cactus wood that someone brings home wasn't from a fallen soldier?
I had booked my tour with Cosmo Andino Expeditions, for which I had received recommendations from a couple of sources. I'll add my own to that, even though the first thing they did was a screw-up--the driver slept in so we spent an extra half-hour in the cold. The tour cost 25,000 pesos ($50) and lasts from your 4am pick-up until you are dropped off back in San Pedro around noon. I was joined on the tour by a couple from Hong Kong who were staying at the same hotel--probably the first HK travellers I've ever met in Latin America.
Anyway the van arrived and apologies were made. Our guide was a very affable and knowledgeable fellow named Oscar who spoke excellent English with a perfect British accent (not the Queen's English--think Coronation Street instead). It turns out there is a good reason for this: he was born in England after his parents moved there to escape the Pinochet dictatorship. He lived there into adulthood, came to Chile to travel for a while, met a Chilean girl, and stayed and became a tour guide.
The route to the geysers is not a smooth one. The road is unpaved and very rutted, not conducive to manufacturing a few lost Zs. Along the way my arse fell off and one kidney may be permanently misplaced. In case you're wondering why all this has to be done at or before daybreak, no, they don't turn off the geysers at 8am or anything, they just look better when the air is colder.
So we--and perhaps a dozen other tour groups--get to Geyser Central, pay our admission (I think it was 5000 pesos--$10) and the first order of business is breakfast, supplied by Cosmo Andino and included in the price. My fears of not getting a cup of coffee ended.
Then we went to the geyser field. If I had read the Wikipedia article on El Tatio that I linked above, I perhaps wouldn't have felt the teensiest bit let down that the geysers were, it has to be said, a bit puny. I guess I was expecting Old Faithful. But, as the old line about boarding house food goes, at least there's lots of it. I shouldn't be too negative here--they are a significant natural phenomenon, just not quite what I expected.
So basically there are a bunch of holes in the ground, up from which comes bubbling boiling water, creating a vapour cloud. The field is about 4200m above sea level, so water boils at somewhat under 100C there. Some clouds are higher than others, as you'll see from the pictures. Some geysers "erupt" on a regular schedule, which of course the guides have knowledge of so that they can wow us when their predictions come true.
After the geysers a hot spring to swim, or "bathe" really, for those who had brought bathing suits and were comfortable in their semi-nakedness. The rest of us took pictures, not so much of the bathers, but of flora, fauna, and geological phenomena in the area. I did take a picture of some bathers, but the Spanish woman I had been hanging around with seems to have deleted it from my camera, on the grounds that she was in it. Oh well. One body's much like another, but it's not everywhere you can find green rocks. Some plant coats them, creating the effect. Our guide said that it was a very good source of fuel.
This one was probably put there by aliens:
The fauna consisted of these bunny-like creatures (but really a kind of rodent) called vizcachas. Somehow they missed having their tails bobbed.
The water bubbling dpown the hill into the swimming hole produced some neat fire-and-brimstone effects. I think you can see the devil's face in this picture.
Our next stop was to see more fauna, with clothes on (us, not the fauna). There were some birds (yawn) but most important, vicuñas. These animals were previously hunted for fur (they only produce about 250g of fur, but it's supposed to be almost as soft as silk) and longer ago for meat. Now they're a protected species.
Our last stop, and for me the best part of the tour, was to see giant (though, it must be said, not gigantic) cacti. So I was a bit put out when my camera battery died just after we got there. This is also a protected species, since it was being used for its wood. The protection afforded is not as strong as it could be, since it's illegal to cut down cacti, but legal to use cacti that have fallen down. And who's to say that cactus wood that someone brings home wasn't from a fallen soldier?
Friday, October 22, 2010
Today's news today, yesterday's news tomorrow
After two days of taking guided tours here in San Pedro de Atacama, today I set out on my own, with no-one to pay for my passage. I'm not a big fan of tours, but there are places that there is no local transport to, so tours are the way to go. They have the added advantage that you meet other travellers, such as the lovely Colombian woman that I had a drink with after yesterday's tour.
Let's back up a bit: San Pedro is kind of an oasis (or maybe outpost) in the Atacama desert (the world's driest) that seems to exist mainly for the purpose of selling tourist services--hostels, meals, tours, handcrafts--to people like me who want to see geysers in the desert at 6 a.m. or pink flamingos on the salt flats. But you'll hear about all that in another posting.
Today I just walked in the desert--but since it's all desert around here, you can't help it. First to Pukara de Quitor, about 3km from San Pedro, which is a kind of fortress that the Atacaman people used to defend against their enemies around the middle of the last millennium, something that was put to an end when the Spanish arrived and chopped off a few hundred heads.
The ruins are terraced up the side of a hill. You can walk up to the top in about 10 minutes. It looks like a place whose inhabitants must have been impressed with at the time, until the Europeans came by with their guns, germs, and steel. My peace was disturbed somewhat by a large school group that I knew were on their way up after me, so I didn't tarry long at the top.
Back at the bottom again, I noticed there was a path up to a mirador (look-out point). I can never resist a mirador. This trek wound its way up the side of a hill and took a bit longer to complete, maybe 20-25 minutes, but I wasn't really trying to motor. There were a couple of stopping points along the way, one with a monument in which was inscribed a poem by Gabriela Mistral, another that looked like it might have been intended to be a fountain. Perhaps a fountain in the desert wasn't going to work out, though I assume there are ways of conserving the water. At the very top there were four large yellow concrete crosses positioned in a square, with the line "My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?" in Spanish, Portuguese, and two other languages that I either forget or didn't recognize. Behind the crosses there was a shaded place where you can sit, so I did, perhaps to contemplate forsakenness. I descended at around noon. Here is what San Pedro looks like from the top:
I knew there was at least one village beyond the Pukara, about 4km away, so I walked in that direction. Here is some interesting grass from along the road:
About 1km along I came to a fork in the road promising, to the left, a tunnel, some rocks, and another thing I didn't understand. How could I resist? I took the road less taken. After a half hour or so I started wondering if there was anything up there. A passing cyclist on the way down confirmed the existence of the tunnel, so I plowed on, and duly arrived. Unlike the other tunnel I walked through on this trip, I could see the other end from the opening. An engraving in the keystone indicated that it had been built in 1930, presumably to get from one side of the hill to the other. It took maybe four minutes to traverse. About halfway through there was a large boulder almost blocking the way. My guess is that it had simply fallen there, but I didn't check the roof for a gap of similar size. The tunnel wasn't bright like in this picture: my camera must be doing some kind of "correction".
On the other end of the tunnel there were more hills and a vague kind of trail but no signs or you-are-heres or Usted-esta-aqui even, just a vague kind of trail formed by bike and tire tracks (and the odd bit of horse dung) that led...somewhere. Up for a small amount of adventure and uncertainty, I kept going, and going, and going. I took a lot of pictures, but I was getting more and more skeptical that the path actually led anywhere (ideally, to the village that I originally set out for).
The lack of wisdom in setting out with only a relatively small amount of water and a chocolate bar also became apparent. I was either stunned or else expected to arrive at the town, where more could be procured. The sun was hot but not scorching, but still, the body has needs.
By 3.45 I gave up on the idea of reaching anywhere except sweet bugger-all by continuing on this route. I also wanted to get back to San Pedro before it became either dark or cold. So by this time I was hungry, thirsty, and my hips ached. But, as they say, worse things happen at sea. If whole armies (to mix military metaphors) marched on empty stomachs, I could manage it too. The way back was a bit of a pain but I made it back to San Pedro three hours later. If I had paid closer attention to the map that had been posted just beyond the Pukara, I would have realized that I wasn't going to get to any damn town (in fact, according to the map, if I continued the trail would have looped around at the end.
When I got back to San Pedro my first stop was to get water. I would have gone to a restaurant and murdered something but I and some others on the tour I took yesterday had been invited to meet for supper by an Australian girl who was on the trip. When she didn't turn up I went to her hostel and was told she had left for Bolivia. Life on the trail I guess.
Let's back up a bit: San Pedro is kind of an oasis (or maybe outpost) in the Atacama desert (the world's driest) that seems to exist mainly for the purpose of selling tourist services--hostels, meals, tours, handcrafts--to people like me who want to see geysers in the desert at 6 a.m. or pink flamingos on the salt flats. But you'll hear about all that in another posting.
Today I just walked in the desert--but since it's all desert around here, you can't help it. First to Pukara de Quitor, about 3km from San Pedro, which is a kind of fortress that the Atacaman people used to defend against their enemies around the middle of the last millennium, something that was put to an end when the Spanish arrived and chopped off a few hundred heads.
The ruins are terraced up the side of a hill. You can walk up to the top in about 10 minutes. It looks like a place whose inhabitants must have been impressed with at the time, until the Europeans came by with their guns, germs, and steel. My peace was disturbed somewhat by a large school group that I knew were on their way up after me, so I didn't tarry long at the top.
Back at the bottom again, I noticed there was a path up to a mirador (look-out point). I can never resist a mirador. This trek wound its way up the side of a hill and took a bit longer to complete, maybe 20-25 minutes, but I wasn't really trying to motor. There were a couple of stopping points along the way, one with a monument in which was inscribed a poem by Gabriela Mistral, another that looked like it might have been intended to be a fountain. Perhaps a fountain in the desert wasn't going to work out, though I assume there are ways of conserving the water. At the very top there were four large yellow concrete crosses positioned in a square, with the line "My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?" in Spanish, Portuguese, and two other languages that I either forget or didn't recognize. Behind the crosses there was a shaded place where you can sit, so I did, perhaps to contemplate forsakenness. I descended at around noon. Here is what San Pedro looks like from the top:
I knew there was at least one village beyond the Pukara, about 4km away, so I walked in that direction. Here is some interesting grass from along the road:
About 1km along I came to a fork in the road promising, to the left, a tunnel, some rocks, and another thing I didn't understand. How could I resist? I took the road less taken. After a half hour or so I started wondering if there was anything up there. A passing cyclist on the way down confirmed the existence of the tunnel, so I plowed on, and duly arrived. Unlike the other tunnel I walked through on this trip, I could see the other end from the opening. An engraving in the keystone indicated that it had been built in 1930, presumably to get from one side of the hill to the other. It took maybe four minutes to traverse. About halfway through there was a large boulder almost blocking the way. My guess is that it had simply fallen there, but I didn't check the roof for a gap of similar size. The tunnel wasn't bright like in this picture: my camera must be doing some kind of "correction".
On the other end of the tunnel there were more hills and a vague kind of trail but no signs or you-are-heres or Usted-esta-aqui even, just a vague kind of trail formed by bike and tire tracks (and the odd bit of horse dung) that led...somewhere. Up for a small amount of adventure and uncertainty, I kept going, and going, and going. I took a lot of pictures, but I was getting more and more skeptical that the path actually led anywhere (ideally, to the village that I originally set out for).
The lack of wisdom in setting out with only a relatively small amount of water and a chocolate bar also became apparent. I was either stunned or else expected to arrive at the town, where more could be procured. The sun was hot but not scorching, but still, the body has needs.
By 3.45 I gave up on the idea of reaching anywhere except sweet bugger-all by continuing on this route. I also wanted to get back to San Pedro before it became either dark or cold. So by this time I was hungry, thirsty, and my hips ached. But, as they say, worse things happen at sea. If whole armies (to mix military metaphors) marched on empty stomachs, I could manage it too. The way back was a bit of a pain but I made it back to San Pedro three hours later. If I had paid closer attention to the map that had been posted just beyond the Pukara, I would have realized that I wasn't going to get to any damn town (in fact, according to the map, if I continued the trail would have looped around at the end.
When I got back to San Pedro my first stop was to get water. I would have gone to a restaurant and murdered something but I and some others on the tour I took yesterday had been invited to meet for supper by an Australian girl who was on the trip. When she didn't turn up I went to her hostel and was told she had left for Bolivia. Life on the trail I guess.
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
A peripatetic in search of a stopping point
Despite my current peripatetic lifestyle, what I really want to do now isn't travelling. I want to find a place in Latin America where I can settle down for about a year and become part of the scenery and have the scenery become part of me; to become a creature of habit again, but with new habits in a new place. After quitting my job I might have done that in Toronto were it not for the fact that it's expensive to live there without an income. But I think I can afford to live anywhere I want in Latin America--not in all the poshest neighbourhoods, but somewhere in any town or city. I should add that a cheaper place to live is not the only reason to move to Latin America: I've been studying Spanish in a desultory way for years and would like to achieve some semblance of fluency; and living (not just being a tourist) in another country is something I've wanted to do for some time--among other things, it would be good for me, and not in the same way that a smack upside the head would be good for me.
One thing I'm hoping to do on this trip is find a place to send out shoots, if not actually put down roots. I'm kind of demanding, though (see point one below). Hard to please. Always feel that something's missing. Maybe it's the organelle in my cranium that enables one to say, at least some of the time, "nothing's missing--this is just right" or "something is missing, but it doesn't matter".
Here are some of the things I'd like to find, in no particular order. I don't expect to find all of them, and some may be contradictory.
One thing I'm hoping to do on this trip is find a place to send out shoots, if not actually put down roots. I'm kind of demanding, though (see point one below). Hard to please. Always feel that something's missing. Maybe it's the organelle in my cranium that enables one to say, at least some of the time, "nothing's missing--this is just right" or "something is missing, but it doesn't matter".
Here are some of the things I'd like to find, in no particular order. I don't expect to find all of them, and some may be contradictory.
- Just walking down the street should be like going to an art gallery (such places do exist, and in Latin America too, so I'm not completely out to lunch on this one). This could be satisfied by either manufactured or natural beauty (though I was mostly thinking of the former).
- It should be possible to live on about $1000 Canadian per month, not counting trips back to Canada.
- It must be a Spanish-speaking location.
- The place shouldn't be overrun by people like me (expats) though some would be ok.
- I need to be able to find a place (such as a café) where I can go and read and relax for a few hours on the strength of buying a coffee or two.
- There should be convenient access to nature: places to hike or at least a good park. Convenient could mean taking a bus for an hour or so.
- I shouldn't have to be concerned about my physical safety on a regular basis. It would be even better if this were largely true of the country as a whole.
- It should be warm-to-hot (including night-time) for almost all of the year.
- Some kind of "cultural life" should be possible, as evidenced perhaps by the presence of a university, cinemas, theatres, and the like.
- I'm thinking around 100,000 as a minimum population
- If the city/country has a significant indigenous population, that would be a plus
Monday, October 18, 2010
Elqui Valley
La Serena is a nice enough place but there isn't a lot to do in the city itself except go to the beach. Most people I've met here come here to do some combination of the following three tours: Humboldt penguins, Elqui Valley, and Observatory (this part of Chile is prime territory for astronomy). Well, I went with the first two (Bill, if you're reading this, I know, shame on me).
The Elqui Valley is an agricultural area east if La Serena. I took the tour with the same company that took me to see the penguins, thus getting a 2000 peso discount. My tour group consisted of me and eight others, six from Chile and two from Peru. So most of the explanations again were in Spanish, but our guide, Marcelino, was a Chilean who had lived in Alberta for 13 years and worked as a Greyhound bus driver, and hence spoke excellent English, so I got recaps. This time the van and guide belonged to the tour company itself instead of being subcontracted, and the problems of the previous tour (including the lack of seat belts) weren't an issue.
All along the way we got commentary on the crops growing along the road (90% of which were grapes) and some interesting tidbits of information such as how to tell whether vines are growing table grapes or pisco grapes (the latter are higher since they need sun, not humidity).
(These look like table grapes to me.)
Another disheartening fact is that almost all of the agricultural land in the valley is owned by multinationals such as United Fruit Company and Del Monte.
There were a number of stops along the way, including the towns of Vicuña and Pisco Elqui. We also got a free 15 minute stop at the Gabriela Mistral (Chilean Nobel Literature Prize Winner) museum. The most notable display there was a tree in the back yard that introduced me to a fruit I had never heard of before, the nispero (loquat in English). It's about the size of a large grape and has 3-4 large seeds that comprise about half of its volume.
In other fruity news, at one point we stopped in front of someone's house to admire a fruit tree growing there and suddenly a woman (a confederate of the guide?) came up to us and gave us a box of these:
They're called lúcumas. This article in Wikipedia has a picture of a somewhat bigger fruit (these are about the size of eggs) but otherwise describes accurately the taste and appearance. As suggested, I think it would make a good flavouring for ice cream. Perhaps I'll find it in Peru.
For lunch we were taken to a restaurant that cooks its food using the sun's energy--not solar cells, but ovens such as shown below. Apparently they can cook everything except French fries this way.
Here's another one showing how to boil water using the sun's rays.
The final stop on our tour was a pisco distillery. Here's our guide demonstrating one of the machines (used to separate the grapes from the stems and other gunk) that is no longer in use:
The Elqui Valley is an agricultural area east if La Serena. I took the tour with the same company that took me to see the penguins, thus getting a 2000 peso discount. My tour group consisted of me and eight others, six from Chile and two from Peru. So most of the explanations again were in Spanish, but our guide, Marcelino, was a Chilean who had lived in Alberta for 13 years and worked as a Greyhound bus driver, and hence spoke excellent English, so I got recaps. This time the van and guide belonged to the tour company itself instead of being subcontracted, and the problems of the previous tour (including the lack of seat belts) weren't an issue.
All along the way we got commentary on the crops growing along the road (90% of which were grapes) and some interesting tidbits of information such as how to tell whether vines are growing table grapes or pisco grapes (the latter are higher since they need sun, not humidity).
(These look like table grapes to me.)
Another disheartening fact is that almost all of the agricultural land in the valley is owned by multinationals such as United Fruit Company and Del Monte.
There were a number of stops along the way, including the towns of Vicuña and Pisco Elqui. We also got a free 15 minute stop at the Gabriela Mistral (Chilean Nobel Literature Prize Winner) museum. The most notable display there was a tree in the back yard that introduced me to a fruit I had never heard of before, the nispero (loquat in English). It's about the size of a large grape and has 3-4 large seeds that comprise about half of its volume.
In other fruity news, at one point we stopped in front of someone's house to admire a fruit tree growing there and suddenly a woman (a confederate of the guide?) came up to us and gave us a box of these:
They're called lúcumas. This article in Wikipedia has a picture of a somewhat bigger fruit (these are about the size of eggs) but otherwise describes accurately the taste and appearance. As suggested, I think it would make a good flavouring for ice cream. Perhaps I'll find it in Peru.
For lunch we were taken to a restaurant that cooks its food using the sun's energy--not solar cells, but ovens such as shown below. Apparently they can cook everything except French fries this way.
Here's another one showing how to boil water using the sun's rays.
The final stop on our tour was a pisco distillery. Here's our guide demonstrating one of the machines (used to separate the grapes from the stems and other gunk) that is no longer in use:
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