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.)
Thursday, November 11, 2010
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
