I took an overnight bus from Santiago to Valdivia. They only had seats left in the Classico (economy) price level and it was less comfortable than the other bus rides I have had recently, but somehow, I managed to dream for the first time on a bus! Tommy Lee was there and so was Francesca Fenner. We were hanging out. It was awesome. I woke up feeling less tired than I expected and was happy to see mist rising off the rivers and lakes we passed by in the early morning light. I was thrilled at the sight of trees and bodies of water...I had finally beat the desert.
I set off to find my hostel in Valdivia, a town largely influenced by its history of German settlement. So influenced I would learn after finding my hostel, that I had arrived on the first night of the Chilean interpretation of Germany`s Octoberfest. Kunstmann Bierfest. Philly Beer Week, take that!
The hostel I am staying at is really homey feeling and the people who are running it are really friendly, helpful, and welcoming, qualities that are surprisingly hard to come by at many hostels I have stayed at.
I wandered around yesterday though the laid back town, got lost (purposefully and happily) and then found my way eventually to the main square and to the local market along the river side. There I found men and women selling all kinds of fresh, local goods. I stopped for quite a while next to a man cutting fish that was probably scooped out of the river that morning. A shopper picked out their chosen fish and then this man cleaned it, chopped it, and did whatever else it is that you do to a fish before wrapping it in newspaper and passing it to a woman who completed the transaction. At the end of all this, the man lifted a handful of fish `waste` and tossed it over his shoulder to the birds and sealions patiently waiting.
I wandered down through the market which sold all kinds of seafood on one side and fresh fruits and veggies on the other. I bought some nectarines, chard, onions, and a lot of carrots since the woman would only sell me one kilo and no less. Then I spotted the cheese. Real cheese, made by real hands. I was so happy. I asked the man selling it to taste a piece and he happily obliged. Though the cheese was nothing spectacular I still bought it because it was better than the shit I had been eating from the grocery stores. I was pretty happy with my purchases and then I saw the blueberry lady. Perfect plump blueberries. They were expensive but looked too good to resist. After passing over my 500 pesos for no more than a handful I began walking back toward my hostel, sampling a blueberry along the way. My goodness, it was the juiciest, sweetest, most delicious blueberry I think I have ever had it my life. Kim Wing, you would have pissed your pants in pleasure. It tasted like the muffin was in the blueberry. Wow.
I returned to the hostel and made some carrot/chard curry with the veggies I bought and added in some crushed peanuts (peanut butter is outragously priced), cilantro, and dried coconut since I couldn`t find coconut milk. I ladled this over some rice seasoned with garlic and clove and had myself a dinner envied by all.
After my breakfast of whole wheat toast and blueberries tossed with nectarines and cereal I began dealing with some current stress in my life. To get to my next farm I have to take a ferry that only runs every once in a while from the town of Quellon (located on an island that also requires taking a ferry to reach) to Raul Marin Balmaceda which is a 12-18 hour ride depending on weather. My contact at the farm contacted me and let me know that there was a ferry running on February 3rd or February 5th and that it would not be possible to arrive any earlier because they were completely full with a group of whale researchers. She said I must get a ticket on that ferry soon because they frequently sell out and provided me with the phone numbers.
I went to an internet cafe and used Skype to make a call to the ferry company to try to buy my ticket. My Spanish is pretty good as far as completing daily tasks but communicating in Spanish by phone is a completely different story. I asked for my ticket and the quick speaking man on the other end of the line told me something I did not understand. Eventually I gathered that he wanted me to purchase my ticket online since I was in a town where they did not have an office. Great, I thought. I can read Spanish better than I can speak it, this will be easy. Too bad the website said that they didn`t have any tickets available for the 3rd and the next ferry wasn`t until the 10th!
Frustrated I returned to the hostel. As I mentioned earlier there was a beer festival going on. I decided to drown my troubles away instead. I had met several friendly travelers the night before and starting talking to a few of them again today, making plans to go to the beer fest, but also relaying my frustrating experience with the ferry company. One of the people I was talking to, Jocelyn had been living in Peru for 3 years as a Peace Corps volunteer, the other was a guy from Quebec who spent his winters leading dog sled wilderness expeditions. I recruited Jocelyn to help me contact these ferry people as she was fluent in Spanish. On our way to the beer fest we stopped to make the call but there was no answer, we figured they were on lunch break and continued on.
The beer fest was taking place across the bridge in another part of town and took a decent 30 minute walk to reach. Upon arrival we were told that the festival didn`t actually start until 8pm. It was only 3pm. We decided to walk to the brewery instead. We had beer on our brains and nothing was going to stop us. We crossed another bridge (Valdivia is located at the crossing of three rivers) and walked another 45 minutes or so, picking fresh blackberries from the side of the road until we reached the brewery. We walked through a small beer museum where they had old beer bottles from different brewing regions around the world. The examples from the US were embarrasing, Bud, Coors, Miller.... After the museum we ordered a Columna of Torobayo Ale, which amounted to 2.5 liters of beer served out of a large tube with it`s own tap attached. The taste of real beer, compared to the carbonated piss they have in the rest of South America was long overdue.
We took a bus back from the brewery and stopped once again at a call center to try to reach the ferry company. This time they actually answered but were diconnected twice before we got any information. Finally, we were told that we should buy our ticket online! We explained that online showed no availability and asked if there were many seats left. He said that there were, which was good enough for me, so, we returned to the hostel to wait until 8pm for the beer to begin.
Tomorrow I will take a bus and head straight to the town with the ferry office and get my ticket. Hopefully. Tonight I will drink beer and hope to quelch this headache that has now been chasing me for days.
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Headaches and Wine.
It`s back again. I think it`s definitely from the hostel. It is too clean, too chemically. It`s the kind of headache that doesn`t so much make your head ache but messes with your senses and equilibrium. I could feel it in my sinuses and forehead and ears and it made me want to puke a little at times. I had a boyfriend in high school whose father claimed that he couldn`t work because he was too sensitive to smells from candles and deodorant and fabric softener. He stayed at home and collected disability. My family and I thought he was full of shit or just crazy, but now I am starting to think he`s on to something. Maybe I can get the government on board and that is how I will financially supplement myself as I pursue my dreams of farming.and opting out of the system.
This afternoon I was picked up at the hostel by Sergio Reyes, Managing Director of Geo Wines. (http://www.geowines.cl/ ) He had a friendly face and looked very presentable though he was only dressed in jeans, polo shirt, and sneakers. We got into his white pickup and drove about 40 minutes out of Santiago to Isla de Maipo where they source some of the grapes. As we drove Sergio explained that I in fact visited Santiago at just the right time. I came during a window of about 2 weeks when most of the residents here go on holiday, leaving behind a quiet, low-traffic, low pollution city. I also got a geography lesson.
The Central Valley of Chile is bordered by two mountain ranges, thus creating said Valley. To the west is the Nahuelbuta Range and to the East are the Andes. These two ranges provide two distinct and very different climates and soils. The Nahuelbuta Range range has rich granitic soil which is very fertile and a cool ocean breeze as a result of the Humbolt Current. Anything can be grown here without limitation (anything except tropical fruits because it will frost here, though no snow). The soil at the foot of the Andes is clay and sand and rocks and is horrible for growing almost everything, except wine. Poor soil is a benefit to wine growers who want a low yield because if the soil is too rich, the grapes would grow too big and have too much juice. With the poor soil the grapes remain fairly small (because they are basically malnurished), thus concentrating the sugars and the essence of the grape which will then get fermented out and into alcohol.
The grapes used for Geo wines are all grown organically, which is interesting as Sergio spent over 10 years working for chemical companies who manufacture fertilizers. Now he believes that good wine comes from a good relationship from to the land, mutual respect, and symbiosis.. There is very little rainfall, especially in the summer, and so wells are drilled and the vines are watered with a drip irrigation system once every 15 days. They are fertilized with compost as well as the by-products from the wine making process (the spent grapes are returned to the soil after crushing), and the vines are planted between fruit trees and things like lavender to support a poly-culture system while encouraging bio-diversity. It also acts as a natural deterrent against bugs and other pests who eat the fruits and other things planted for them but leave the vines alone.
Geo Wines is comprised of several different lines and we tasted wines from three of them, the Rayun (their single varietal classic entry level line, all screw cap, no oak), Chono (the Reserva wines produced in small quantities of between 1,000 and 5,000 cases annually), and Ventolera. As Sergio opened the bottles and prepared for our tasting I realized I hadn`t drunk wine in quite some time, let alone wine that should be savored and lingered over. I was out of practice. I found myself in a slight panic searching the depths of my mind to recall the words used to describe the color, body, and taste. Zippy, soft, acidic, rose, berry, clean, fine tannin, smooth, earth, bold, leather, finish, mouth feel, delicate, spicy, creamy, complex, elegant, structure. I didn`t want Sergio to think I was an amateur. I concentrated on making just the right slurpy sound as I sucked in the air and mingled it with the wine. I made sure to use the spittoons (at least a little) as to not appear a lush. But in the end I just focused on the experience of having the Managing Director of some of the best Chilean wines give me a one on one personal tour through his portfolio and vineyard. The wines we tried really were all those adjectives that I had stored in the back of my mind somewhere, and upon putting the glass to my nose and the wine to my lips the words to describe them came back to me with ease.
This afternoon I was picked up at the hostel by Sergio Reyes, Managing Director of Geo Wines. (http://www.geowines.cl/ ) He had a friendly face and looked very presentable though he was only dressed in jeans, polo shirt, and sneakers. We got into his white pickup and drove about 40 minutes out of Santiago to Isla de Maipo where they source some of the grapes. As we drove Sergio explained that I in fact visited Santiago at just the right time. I came during a window of about 2 weeks when most of the residents here go on holiday, leaving behind a quiet, low-traffic, low pollution city. I also got a geography lesson.
The Central Valley of Chile is bordered by two mountain ranges, thus creating said Valley. To the west is the Nahuelbuta Range and to the East are the Andes. These two ranges provide two distinct and very different climates and soils. The Nahuelbuta Range range has rich granitic soil which is very fertile and a cool ocean breeze as a result of the Humbolt Current. Anything can be grown here without limitation (anything except tropical fruits because it will frost here, though no snow). The soil at the foot of the Andes is clay and sand and rocks and is horrible for growing almost everything, except wine. Poor soil is a benefit to wine growers who want a low yield because if the soil is too rich, the grapes would grow too big and have too much juice. With the poor soil the grapes remain fairly small (because they are basically malnurished), thus concentrating the sugars and the essence of the grape which will then get fermented out and into alcohol.
The grapes used for Geo wines are all grown organically, which is interesting as Sergio spent over 10 years working for chemical companies who manufacture fertilizers. Now he believes that good wine comes from a good relationship from to the land, mutual respect, and symbiosis.. There is very little rainfall, especially in the summer, and so wells are drilled and the vines are watered with a drip irrigation system once every 15 days. They are fertilized with compost as well as the by-products from the wine making process (the spent grapes are returned to the soil after crushing), and the vines are planted between fruit trees and things like lavender to support a poly-culture system while encouraging bio-diversity. It also acts as a natural deterrent against bugs and other pests who eat the fruits and other things planted for them but leave the vines alone.
Geo Wines is comprised of several different lines and we tasted wines from three of them, the Rayun (their single varietal classic entry level line, all screw cap, no oak), Chono (the Reserva wines produced in small quantities of between 1,000 and 5,000 cases annually), and Ventolera. As Sergio opened the bottles and prepared for our tasting I realized I hadn`t drunk wine in quite some time, let alone wine that should be savored and lingered over. I was out of practice. I found myself in a slight panic searching the depths of my mind to recall the words used to describe the color, body, and taste. Zippy, soft, acidic, rose, berry, clean, fine tannin, smooth, earth, bold, leather, finish, mouth feel, delicate, spicy, creamy, complex, elegant, structure. I didn`t want Sergio to think I was an amateur. I concentrated on making just the right slurpy sound as I sucked in the air and mingled it with the wine. I made sure to use the spittoons (at least a little) as to not appear a lush. But in the end I just focused on the experience of having the Managing Director of some of the best Chilean wines give me a one on one personal tour through his portfolio and vineyard. The wines we tried really were all those adjectives that I had stored in the back of my mind somewhere, and upon putting the glass to my nose and the wine to my lips the words to describe them came back to me with ease.
Santiago and Headaches
I arrived to Santiago yesterday from Valparaiso. It was a quick little jaunt of just about 2 hours. Public transportation is not as fun and doesn´t feel as friendly when there is only you and one other person on the bus. I might as well have been in a personal car which would likely spit out less toxic exhaust fumes and consume less fuel. I was advised to not visit Santiago this time of year because the climate in the summer made the city oppresively hot and humid and created a cloud cover of smog so thick that the city would all but disappear when viewed from above. I was not looking forward to this and my body was not thrilled about sucking in enough pollution to thicken my lungs. However, due to my revised travel plans, I figured I should go to Santiago now in order to meet with Sergio Reyes from Geo Wines.
When I got off the bus at Pajaritos station I was within city limits but did not immediately feel the shock of being in the country`s capital. It was relatively quiet, lacking the symphony of horns of Lima. I could see greenery and parks. I must be in some sort of suburb I thought. I continued on toward my hostel by boarding the Metro - Line 1, running East to West through the city. It was the cleanest subway system I have been on anywhere in my life. The platform was spotless, no trash or newpapers flew through the air as the train approached. Inside the train I continued to be amazed. The floors nearly glistened. There were maps and recorded voices clearly announcing my whereabouts as I progressed toward my destination.
Salvador was my stop and upon arriving I checked a map (because there was one) and headed up the steps for my first glimpse of the heart of Santiago where nearly half the population of the entire country lives. I saw more green. And fountains. Traffic was light, there were people riding bikes. I was confused. This was supposed to be a horrible place like the rest of the capital cities in Latin America (with the exception of D.F, Mex), but it wasn´t. It was a perfect example of the European influence in Chile, which at that moment, felt more like Spain.
My hostel was only around the corner. After checking in and relaxing for a bit with my book, I took off on a walk down the pedestrian parkway that ran down the middle of one of the main streets. I poked around in another park along the way where I saw couples relaxing as they laid comfortably in some shady grass, a rarity in this part of the world where no one lays on grass. Then I explored Santa Lucia, a large uninteresting handicraft market. I stopped for a bit to use the internet to try to Skype Esteban on his birthday but ended up video chatting with my parents instead. At some point during our conversation I realized what a bad headache I had. The pollution and exhaust fumes didn´t seem to be very bad, so I couldn´t place the blame on them. Instead, I decided it was due to lack of food since I hadn´t eaten since breakfast in Valparaiso that morning. I said goodbye to my parents and found a super mercado on my walk home.
As I mentioned, Chile is one of the least environmentally sustainable places in South America. An easy place to see that is in the produce aisle of the grocery store. Everything comes in packages. The broccoli florets sit in a styrofoam tray, suffocated under plastic wrap. The garlic can only be purchased in packages, as can the avocados, the carrots, the mushrooms. Finding vegetables that were sold individually was a difficult task (a task made very easy at the small neighborhood markets), but since I was just one person I had no need for 12 avocados bundled together. I found a grapefruit, a couple of tomatoes, a zuchhini, and an onion. Everything must then be placed in its own plastic bag and weighed. I have tried on several different occasions various methods to try to avoid this step of individually bagging every vegetable. I have tried asking them to weigh my single banana and place the sticker on the banana peel. They shake their head no and look at me like I have just spontaneously combusted before their eyes. They tell me that it is not possible.
Upon entering the hostel I became aware of what a smelly place it was. Maybe it was because I already had a headache. I was very conscious of the artificial smell of citrus from the woman cleaning, the Axe body spray wafting out of the dorm rooms of European kids on gap year trips, and the smell of the linens on the beds. It all served to intensify my headache. I prepared my dinner (pasta and sauce made out of my veggies and some garlic I stole from the cupboards at the hostel with some garlic bread on the side) and scarfed it down hoping to alleviate my head. Sadly, food did not help so I called upon a chemical remedy, this too failed. Eventually I decided to just sleep it off. I climbed up onto the rickety top bunk that creaked and groaned every time I tossed and turned under the smelly sheets in the heat of the Santiago night.
When I got off the bus at Pajaritos station I was within city limits but did not immediately feel the shock of being in the country`s capital. It was relatively quiet, lacking the symphony of horns of Lima. I could see greenery and parks. I must be in some sort of suburb I thought. I continued on toward my hostel by boarding the Metro - Line 1, running East to West through the city. It was the cleanest subway system I have been on anywhere in my life. The platform was spotless, no trash or newpapers flew through the air as the train approached. Inside the train I continued to be amazed. The floors nearly glistened. There were maps and recorded voices clearly announcing my whereabouts as I progressed toward my destination.
Salvador was my stop and upon arriving I checked a map (because there was one) and headed up the steps for my first glimpse of the heart of Santiago where nearly half the population of the entire country lives. I saw more green. And fountains. Traffic was light, there were people riding bikes. I was confused. This was supposed to be a horrible place like the rest of the capital cities in Latin America (with the exception of D.F, Mex), but it wasn´t. It was a perfect example of the European influence in Chile, which at that moment, felt more like Spain.
My hostel was only around the corner. After checking in and relaxing for a bit with my book, I took off on a walk down the pedestrian parkway that ran down the middle of one of the main streets. I poked around in another park along the way where I saw couples relaxing as they laid comfortably in some shady grass, a rarity in this part of the world where no one lays on grass. Then I explored Santa Lucia, a large uninteresting handicraft market. I stopped for a bit to use the internet to try to Skype Esteban on his birthday but ended up video chatting with my parents instead. At some point during our conversation I realized what a bad headache I had. The pollution and exhaust fumes didn´t seem to be very bad, so I couldn´t place the blame on them. Instead, I decided it was due to lack of food since I hadn´t eaten since breakfast in Valparaiso that morning. I said goodbye to my parents and found a super mercado on my walk home.
As I mentioned, Chile is one of the least environmentally sustainable places in South America. An easy place to see that is in the produce aisle of the grocery store. Everything comes in packages. The broccoli florets sit in a styrofoam tray, suffocated under plastic wrap. The garlic can only be purchased in packages, as can the avocados, the carrots, the mushrooms. Finding vegetables that were sold individually was a difficult task (a task made very easy at the small neighborhood markets), but since I was just one person I had no need for 12 avocados bundled together. I found a grapefruit, a couple of tomatoes, a zuchhini, and an onion. Everything must then be placed in its own plastic bag and weighed. I have tried on several different occasions various methods to try to avoid this step of individually bagging every vegetable. I have tried asking them to weigh my single banana and place the sticker on the banana peel. They shake their head no and look at me like I have just spontaneously combusted before their eyes. They tell me that it is not possible.
Upon entering the hostel I became aware of what a smelly place it was. Maybe it was because I already had a headache. I was very conscious of the artificial smell of citrus from the woman cleaning, the Axe body spray wafting out of the dorm rooms of European kids on gap year trips, and the smell of the linens on the beds. It all served to intensify my headache. I prepared my dinner (pasta and sauce made out of my veggies and some garlic I stole from the cupboards at the hostel with some garlic bread on the side) and scarfed it down hoping to alleviate my head. Sadly, food did not help so I called upon a chemical remedy, this too failed. Eventually I decided to just sleep it off. I climbed up onto the rickety top bunk that creaked and groaned every time I tossed and turned under the smelly sheets in the heat of the Santiago night.
Monday, January 26, 2009
The Germans, cont.
I have seen some wonderful skies at night, far away from the city lights, but I have never experienced a sky like this before. The stars were so brilliantly shining against the inky black of the night, galaxies and constellations jumped out of the background. Most impresively though, was the way that they sparkled. It was like each star was a piece of glass spinning and twisting in the sun. Since we missed the sunset we decided that sunrise would be just as good. We sat mesmorized by the stars for quite some time before getting snuggled into the car for our first night, Tinka and Philip reclining in the front seats and me scrunched up in the back.
In the morning we tumbled out of the car and for the first time had a look at where we actually were. We still weren`t sure what we were supposed to be looking for, but we found outselves in a valley surrounded by a landscape that appeared to be similar to the surface of the moon. We scampered across the uneven ground - a hard mixture of sand and salt that gave the desert the appearance of a fresh dusting of snow. It crunched and broke slightly beneath our feet and gave off a hollow sound when a piece of it was thrown against itself. We weren`t sure if we should be worried about the possibility of falling through, if there was even anywhere to fall to. We climbed the tallest hill we could find just in time to watch the sun as it crested over the top of the larger hills in the distance. Out lighting may not have been as impressive as it is at sunset, but it was worth the sacrifice to be able to experience the strange lunar landscape without tour groups crowding our space.
We were back in our car heading out of the park when we spotted a perfect sand dune, with smooth tan sand blown up into a perfect peak. We stopped the car and struggled up the sandy slope. From the top we had a fabulous view which we stopped to admire for a bit before haveing som fun jumping and sliding our way back down. After a small stop in the town of San Pedro for a walk around the plaza, we continued on down the road past wild alpacas, goats, and donkeys until we reached Salar de Atacama. At 300,000 hectares, this is the third largest expanse of salt flats in the world. The area of the lake that we visited was part of the Reserva Nacional de los Flamencos. Several flamingos and other birds call this place home and could be seen dancing and digging for brine shrimp among the salty water.
Quebrada de Jere is a small gorge sprouting green vegetation in the middle of this barren land. We decided it would be a good place to stop and have a picnic of cheese and avocado sandwiches followed by a little nap atop park benches. After our rest in the desert oasis we hit the road once more down the same stretch of repetitive yellow and tan neverending dustiness. We stopped in Calama to replenish our cheese, avocado, and bread supply before settling a few hours later at quiet beach where we stopped the car for the night. We ate more sandwiches at sunset sitting on the sand with waves lapping at our feet. The second night in the car was a little less comforable for Tinka and I though Philip, tallest of us all, still rested well.
In the morning we bought more bread for more snadwiches and started up the coast again back toward Iquique to return the car. After returning the car and using the internet, we had dinner at an overpriced Chifa. Chinese food is one of the only semi-reliable options for a vegetarian in Chile. Then, we boarded a 9pm bus to Copiapò and arrived 12 hours later. Spending three consequtive nights without a bed
definitely took its toll on me and I can no longer deny the inextricable link beyween my diet and my state of mind. Chile is not very easy for a vegetarian and so far I have had a diet consisting mostly of bread, cheese (sadly, not good cheese) french fries, and when I am lucky, some avocado. My skin is bad, I am grumpy, my outlook is gloomy, and my energy is low. How anyone exists here with the colorless plates of starches and meats, I will never understand.
We stayed one night in Copiapò amd were thankful for a bed, even if it was in one of the more strange accomodations I have stayed at. At 7:30am the next morning we boarded our bus toward La Serena, then a second bus to Pisco Elqui, a small town in a pretty setting where orchards and vineyards collided with arid mountains. The area is known as a center of mystical energy and is one of the main astronomical centers in the world. Pisco Elqui is also a large producer of its namesake, pisco. In the spirit of being settled for a few days we whipped up some pisco sours before I climbed into my bed illuminated by the white quartz light glowing above my head.
On the way to our next destination we stopped at a small organic winery, Cavas de Valle, where I was reminded how wonderful good wine can be, then we went to Coquimbo where we spent the night in a mansion built in 1890.
We headed to Valparaiso the next day which is where Tinka lived during her stay in Chile. Valpo for short, has a more bohemian feel to it than the other places I have been to so far in Chile. Set on a bay with resident sea lions, steep hillsides with narrow twisting roads, neighborhoods with unique personalities, and cable operated asensors (funicular elevators) it reminded me of San Francisco. Add to that its radical past, liberal population, and a reputation as a place where anything goes and I was certain this was the South American SF. The way the streets climb the hills, the way the wind hits your face while sitting in a park, the way the sun shines, and the way the fog rolled all reminded me of SF. Like SF, Valpo was also nearly destroyed by an earthquake in 1906...all these similarities made me long to return to the city by the bay.
But I was also longing to get out of the city. I was starting to go a little crazy from the noise constantly invading my head everywhere I went. I couldn`t breath without smelling car exhaust. I needed to be alone in a place where there was always someone there. My time with the German`s was reaching the end. Ultimately, I don`t play well with others. I found myself enjoying their company less and less and no longer feeling excited by having someone to share some adventures with, but stifled instead. I needed to get out. I was burnt out on the desert and the cities and wanted to get back to my routine where I worry about no one else but me, where I can happily wander around for hours reading every menu until I find a suitable place to eat, where I can stroll through the aisles of foreign supermarkets unrushed, where I can get back to nature and again feel the simple enjoyment of dirt beneath my fingernails instead of city grime.
So this morning I bid my farewells to the Germans and am again off on my own and feel the energy I was lacking returning to my bones. Tomorrow evening I am meeting Sergio from Geo Wines and will go to Isla de Maipo and visit the vineyards and taste some wonderful examples of Chilean vino and then Wednesday I will continue still farther South where the desert will start to give way to water.
In the morning we tumbled out of the car and for the first time had a look at where we actually were. We still weren`t sure what we were supposed to be looking for, but we found outselves in a valley surrounded by a landscape that appeared to be similar to the surface of the moon. We scampered across the uneven ground - a hard mixture of sand and salt that gave the desert the appearance of a fresh dusting of snow. It crunched and broke slightly beneath our feet and gave off a hollow sound when a piece of it was thrown against itself. We weren`t sure if we should be worried about the possibility of falling through, if there was even anywhere to fall to. We climbed the tallest hill we could find just in time to watch the sun as it crested over the top of the larger hills in the distance. Out lighting may not have been as impressive as it is at sunset, but it was worth the sacrifice to be able to experience the strange lunar landscape without tour groups crowding our space.
We were back in our car heading out of the park when we spotted a perfect sand dune, with smooth tan sand blown up into a perfect peak. We stopped the car and struggled up the sandy slope. From the top we had a fabulous view which we stopped to admire for a bit before haveing som fun jumping and sliding our way back down. After a small stop in the town of San Pedro for a walk around the plaza, we continued on down the road past wild alpacas, goats, and donkeys until we reached Salar de Atacama. At 300,000 hectares, this is the third largest expanse of salt flats in the world. The area of the lake that we visited was part of the Reserva Nacional de los Flamencos. Several flamingos and other birds call this place home and could be seen dancing and digging for brine shrimp among the salty water.
Quebrada de Jere is a small gorge sprouting green vegetation in the middle of this barren land. We decided it would be a good place to stop and have a picnic of cheese and avocado sandwiches followed by a little nap atop park benches. After our rest in the desert oasis we hit the road once more down the same stretch of repetitive yellow and tan neverending dustiness. We stopped in Calama to replenish our cheese, avocado, and bread supply before settling a few hours later at quiet beach where we stopped the car for the night. We ate more sandwiches at sunset sitting on the sand with waves lapping at our feet. The second night in the car was a little less comforable for Tinka and I though Philip, tallest of us all, still rested well.
In the morning we bought more bread for more snadwiches and started up the coast again back toward Iquique to return the car. After returning the car and using the internet, we had dinner at an overpriced Chifa. Chinese food is one of the only semi-reliable options for a vegetarian in Chile. Then, we boarded a 9pm bus to Copiapò and arrived 12 hours later. Spending three consequtive nights without a bed
definitely took its toll on me and I can no longer deny the inextricable link beyween my diet and my state of mind. Chile is not very easy for a vegetarian and so far I have had a diet consisting mostly of bread, cheese (sadly, not good cheese) french fries, and when I am lucky, some avocado. My skin is bad, I am grumpy, my outlook is gloomy, and my energy is low. How anyone exists here with the colorless plates of starches and meats, I will never understand.
We stayed one night in Copiapò amd were thankful for a bed, even if it was in one of the more strange accomodations I have stayed at. At 7:30am the next morning we boarded our bus toward La Serena, then a second bus to Pisco Elqui, a small town in a pretty setting where orchards and vineyards collided with arid mountains. The area is known as a center of mystical energy and is one of the main astronomical centers in the world. Pisco Elqui is also a large producer of its namesake, pisco. In the spirit of being settled for a few days we whipped up some pisco sours before I climbed into my bed illuminated by the white quartz light glowing above my head.
On the way to our next destination we stopped at a small organic winery, Cavas de Valle, where I was reminded how wonderful good wine can be, then we went to Coquimbo where we spent the night in a mansion built in 1890.
We headed to Valparaiso the next day which is where Tinka lived during her stay in Chile. Valpo for short, has a more bohemian feel to it than the other places I have been to so far in Chile. Set on a bay with resident sea lions, steep hillsides with narrow twisting roads, neighborhoods with unique personalities, and cable operated asensors (funicular elevators) it reminded me of San Francisco. Add to that its radical past, liberal population, and a reputation as a place where anything goes and I was certain this was the South American SF. The way the streets climb the hills, the way the wind hits your face while sitting in a park, the way the sun shines, and the way the fog rolled all reminded me of SF. Like SF, Valpo was also nearly destroyed by an earthquake in 1906...all these similarities made me long to return to the city by the bay.
But I was also longing to get out of the city. I was starting to go a little crazy from the noise constantly invading my head everywhere I went. I couldn`t breath without smelling car exhaust. I needed to be alone in a place where there was always someone there. My time with the German`s was reaching the end. Ultimately, I don`t play well with others. I found myself enjoying their company less and less and no longer feeling excited by having someone to share some adventures with, but stifled instead. I needed to get out. I was burnt out on the desert and the cities and wanted to get back to my routine where I worry about no one else but me, where I can happily wander around for hours reading every menu until I find a suitable place to eat, where I can stroll through the aisles of foreign supermarkets unrushed, where I can get back to nature and again feel the simple enjoyment of dirt beneath my fingernails instead of city grime.
So this morning I bid my farewells to the Germans and am again off on my own and feel the energy I was lacking returning to my bones. Tomorrow evening I am meeting Sergio from Geo Wines and will go to Isla de Maipo and visit the vineyards and taste some wonderful examples of Chilean vino and then Wednesday I will continue still farther South where the desert will start to give way to water.
Saturday, January 24, 2009
The Germans and the rental car.
My bus from Puno, Peru to the Chilean border was scheduled to depart at 8:45pm, but it was after 9pm and the bus hadn`t even arrived at the station. I eyed a couple of fellow backpackers, also waiting for the same bus and eventually we began talking. These people were Philip and Tinka, a German couple who I would end up spending the next week or so traveling with. We crossed the border at Arica with a crazy Chilean taxi driver named Christian, and then took another bus to Iquique, a port town with big houses made out of wood and a style of architecture that was half New Orleans and half the Wild West.
After living a simple rustic life in Ecuador, then experiencing a two week long tourist binge through Peru which felt a little bit like South American Disney World, I found myself in Chile, the 37th most developed country in the world and one of the least environmentally sustainable... a land where fruit flies somehow do not exist and cars stop for pedestrians in the crosswalk. We went for a dip in the ocean straight off. There, I saw lots of jelly fish which worried me a little bit, and lots of stray dogs bathing in the cool waters. Tinka lived in Chile for 6 months and said that the stray dogs in Chile enjoy a certain level of respect that they are not given in other parts of South America, and thus are left to roam the streets in packs. I had some delicious honey dew juice at the local market and realized that the desert is really really hot.
San Pedro de Atacama was where we were all headed next so we decided to make the trip together. In order to visit the natural parks and things we wanted to see there we would have to take a bus and then book organized tours, as there was no public transportation from San Pedro to the sights. That night, Tinka, Philip and I began talking about the possibility of renting a car as we were all headed to the same town and all had similar thoughts on organized tours and being herded around to sights with a big group and being told when to stop and where take pictures and when to breath. We figured that it would be approximately the same price, or maybe less expensive, to rent a car and sleep in it, thus avoiding the tour fees and expensive accomodation in San Pedro.
So after pricing out many different rental car agencies we finally got a car and began our drive through the desert. Lots of desert. Through the desert that claims the title of the `driest place on Earth` I have seen almost nothing else but desert since leaving Ecuador, but it was a different experience driving through it in a car than it is seeing it pass by through the bus window. I felt smaller, and the desert felt so much bigger. It was really nice to be in the car too because we could travel on our own terms, make stops, take pictures, use the bathroom, etc. at our own pace.
Our first destination was Santa Laura, a nitrate mine very active in the 20`s and 30`s. It had been deserted many years ago and was now just shells of old buildings, machinery, and artifacts that had been preserved well in the dry desert air. A few km down the road was Humberstone, a ghost town that had boomed during the time of the nitrate mines but had been abandoned since the 60`s. It was once quite the bustling place with a theater that hosted world acclaimed acts, now it hosts the few tourists who brave the heat and dust.
Following Humberstone we piled back into the car for more desert. It was hot and the car had neither speakers or more importantly air conditioning vents in the back seat where I was sitting and opening the window provided no relief. The road continued monotonously on for miles straight ahead and the sand continued on all sides. Off in the distance small tornadoes would lift the sand from the surface and pull it up into a spiral. Gusts of wind would grab the car periodically and shake us a bit as we moved across its path, but mostly it was just straight driving. So straight that I was even able to read a little bit without getting sick.
We were headed to Valle de la Luna (Vally of the Moon), a place we didn`t know very much about except that it was best viewed at sunset, also the busiest time. In the end we didn´t make it in time and arrived after dark. We didn`t see any signs as we passed what we guessed to be the enterance to the park but found a spot just off the road to park for the night. The air was crisp and windy and when we stepped out of the car and when we looked up we found ourselves under an impossibly starry sky.
After living a simple rustic life in Ecuador, then experiencing a two week long tourist binge through Peru which felt a little bit like South American Disney World, I found myself in Chile, the 37th most developed country in the world and one of the least environmentally sustainable... a land where fruit flies somehow do not exist and cars stop for pedestrians in the crosswalk. We went for a dip in the ocean straight off. There, I saw lots of jelly fish which worried me a little bit, and lots of stray dogs bathing in the cool waters. Tinka lived in Chile for 6 months and said that the stray dogs in Chile enjoy a certain level of respect that they are not given in other parts of South America, and thus are left to roam the streets in packs. I had some delicious honey dew juice at the local market and realized that the desert is really really hot.
San Pedro de Atacama was where we were all headed next so we decided to make the trip together. In order to visit the natural parks and things we wanted to see there we would have to take a bus and then book organized tours, as there was no public transportation from San Pedro to the sights. That night, Tinka, Philip and I began talking about the possibility of renting a car as we were all headed to the same town and all had similar thoughts on organized tours and being herded around to sights with a big group and being told when to stop and where take pictures and when to breath. We figured that it would be approximately the same price, or maybe less expensive, to rent a car and sleep in it, thus avoiding the tour fees and expensive accomodation in San Pedro.
So after pricing out many different rental car agencies we finally got a car and began our drive through the desert. Lots of desert. Through the desert that claims the title of the `driest place on Earth` I have seen almost nothing else but desert since leaving Ecuador, but it was a different experience driving through it in a car than it is seeing it pass by through the bus window. I felt smaller, and the desert felt so much bigger. It was really nice to be in the car too because we could travel on our own terms, make stops, take pictures, use the bathroom, etc. at our own pace.
Our first destination was Santa Laura, a nitrate mine very active in the 20`s and 30`s. It had been deserted many years ago and was now just shells of old buildings, machinery, and artifacts that had been preserved well in the dry desert air. A few km down the road was Humberstone, a ghost town that had boomed during the time of the nitrate mines but had been abandoned since the 60`s. It was once quite the bustling place with a theater that hosted world acclaimed acts, now it hosts the few tourists who brave the heat and dust.
Following Humberstone we piled back into the car for more desert. It was hot and the car had neither speakers or more importantly air conditioning vents in the back seat where I was sitting and opening the window provided no relief. The road continued monotonously on for miles straight ahead and the sand continued on all sides. Off in the distance small tornadoes would lift the sand from the surface and pull it up into a spiral. Gusts of wind would grab the car periodically and shake us a bit as we moved across its path, but mostly it was just straight driving. So straight that I was even able to read a little bit without getting sick.
We were headed to Valle de la Luna (Vally of the Moon), a place we didn`t know very much about except that it was best viewed at sunset, also the busiest time. In the end we didn´t make it in time and arrived after dark. We didn`t see any signs as we passed what we guessed to be the enterance to the park but found a spot just off the road to park for the night. The air was crisp and windy and when we stepped out of the car and when we looked up we found ourselves under an impossibly starry sky.
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
Frontera to Frontera, Pt 5.
I readjusted to traveling solo again and boarded a bus toward Puno to see the floating islands of Lake Titicaca, the highest navigable lake in the world. I arrived in Puno and had some dinner at an overpriced veggie restaurant, but I was really hungry and didn`t care. I booked a tour to the islands through the hostel because I just didn`t have the energy on my own to go to the harbor and haggle with some fisherman.
I woke up at 6:30am and boarded a really really slow boat that wreaked like gasoline. I mean, this boat was slow. I probably could have swam to the first island faster if I had the stamina. I was just thankful that neither being on Lake Titicaca or being in a smelly gas boat made me sick.
Lake Titicaca has several `floating islands` which are man-made islands built on the water out of reed that grows in the lake. The first island I visited was called Uros and was one of these islands of reed. They were impressive and unlike anything I had ever seen before. The islands themselves were kind of silly though because they tried to claim that people still carried out a traditional way of life living solely on these islands, in their little huts with their solar panels for their TV´s and an income supplemented by the crafts they sell through tourist visits to the islands, but it was obvious that no one really lived there anymore and that the islands, now, were all for show. They reminded me of one of those historical towns where everyone dresses up in old clothes and you watch the blacksmith make horseshoes or something, except that they claimed this was real. It kind of bothered me. The second island I visited, Taquile had actual villagers who actually lived on the island. Taquile itself wasn´t that interesting, it was just a town that happened to be on an island. But what a wonderful place to live, on an island surrounded by the wonderfully peaceful and blue waters of the lake.
Was the boat delivered me back to shore I had some dinner and then headed to the bus station to head toward to Peru-Chile border and continue south through the continent.
I woke up at 6:30am and boarded a really really slow boat that wreaked like gasoline. I mean, this boat was slow. I probably could have swam to the first island faster if I had the stamina. I was just thankful that neither being on Lake Titicaca or being in a smelly gas boat made me sick.
Lake Titicaca has several `floating islands` which are man-made islands built on the water out of reed that grows in the lake. The first island I visited was called Uros and was one of these islands of reed. They were impressive and unlike anything I had ever seen before. The islands themselves were kind of silly though because they tried to claim that people still carried out a traditional way of life living solely on these islands, in their little huts with their solar panels for their TV´s and an income supplemented by the crafts they sell through tourist visits to the islands, but it was obvious that no one really lived there anymore and that the islands, now, were all for show. They reminded me of one of those historical towns where everyone dresses up in old clothes and you watch the blacksmith make horseshoes or something, except that they claimed this was real. It kind of bothered me. The second island I visited, Taquile had actual villagers who actually lived on the island. Taquile itself wasn´t that interesting, it was just a town that happened to be on an island. But what a wonderful place to live, on an island surrounded by the wonderfully peaceful and blue waters of the lake.
Was the boat delivered me back to shore I had some dinner and then headed to the bus station to head toward to Peru-Chile border and continue south through the continent.
Frontera to Frontera, Pt 4.
After our trekking adventure we were exhausted and had to decide whether we wanted to continue rushing and rushing and see all that we could see in the 2 weeks Mike had to visit or if we should take a break, cut some things out, and relax a bit. We decided on the latter and skipped Puno and its floating islands and headed to Arequipa instead.
The first night we stayed in a hostel that was good enough, a clean private room (shared bath) with high ceilings, but not much in the way of charm and we wanted charm. So the next day we sought it out and ended up at a nice little place quite a bit South of the main square. It had a grassy little garden and several roof decks and patios to overlook the city and the volcano that towered over it. It had a friendly dog to greet us whenever we came in from exploring and on our first night we discovered that our room was the favorite of a cat with curious blue eyes who would enter our room through the open window. We enjoyed fruit salads and crossword puzzles on our grassy courtyard and get really sunburned because we ignored the fact that we were still in the desert. We ate at nearly every vegetarian restaurant in town, befriended a local doctor and fellow veg-diner, visited an old convent spookily lit by laterns and fires at night, and thoroughly explored the local food and artisan markets.
Mike decided to fly from Arequipa back to Lima for his return flight home so that we could have extra time to spend with each other in comfort, instead of racing back to the polluted mega-city of Lima and spending our last hours together on a cramped 18 or 22 hour bus ride. We had a poor excuse for a cheese empanada at the airport before parting ways, me back to our cosy little hostel, made less cosy in his absense, and him back to his routine of busses and airports and constant motion.
I am very grateful to have been able to spend two weeks out of my 6.5 month journey traveling with Mike. It was a great experience and although we acted as super tourists while he was here I was happy to be able to show him a taste of my way of life here and my love of Latin America. I hope he was able to slow down enough during our hurried adventure to absorb some of the peace I find here. I hope that Latin America has gotten into his blood and that he is eager to return again someday soon.
The first night we stayed in a hostel that was good enough, a clean private room (shared bath) with high ceilings, but not much in the way of charm and we wanted charm. So the next day we sought it out and ended up at a nice little place quite a bit South of the main square. It had a grassy little garden and several roof decks and patios to overlook the city and the volcano that towered over it. It had a friendly dog to greet us whenever we came in from exploring and on our first night we discovered that our room was the favorite of a cat with curious blue eyes who would enter our room through the open window. We enjoyed fruit salads and crossword puzzles on our grassy courtyard and get really sunburned because we ignored the fact that we were still in the desert. We ate at nearly every vegetarian restaurant in town, befriended a local doctor and fellow veg-diner, visited an old convent spookily lit by laterns and fires at night, and thoroughly explored the local food and artisan markets.
Mike decided to fly from Arequipa back to Lima for his return flight home so that we could have extra time to spend with each other in comfort, instead of racing back to the polluted mega-city of Lima and spending our last hours together on a cramped 18 or 22 hour bus ride. We had a poor excuse for a cheese empanada at the airport before parting ways, me back to our cosy little hostel, made less cosy in his absense, and him back to his routine of busses and airports and constant motion.
I am very grateful to have been able to spend two weeks out of my 6.5 month journey traveling with Mike. It was a great experience and although we acted as super tourists while he was here I was happy to be able to show him a taste of my way of life here and my love of Latin America. I hope he was able to slow down enough during our hurried adventure to absorb some of the peace I find here. I hope that Latin America has gotten into his blood and that he is eager to return again someday soon.
Frontera to Frontera, Pt 3.
We spent New Years day relaxing mostly, drinking fresh juice concoctions, and preparing for our 4-day trek to the ancient ruins of Machu Picchu. We woke up around 7 the next morning and got in a little tourist bus with a big bike rack on top and drove for a few hours.
Eventually they let us out and we had some lunch. The vegetarian lunch consisted of a banana, a fiber cookie, some chocolate, a Sunny Delight type fruit drink, and a ham sandwich on dry white bread with a measly processed cheese slice. After ¨lunch¨ we boarded our rickety bikes of questionable quality and ill-fitting helmets in the misty drizzle and headed down the mountain. We rode for several hours on combinations of paved road and dirt roads, dodging pot holes along the way. We rode through small villages and past fruit trees and several nice vistas. There were several places where the road was a momentary river due to the overflow of water coming off the mountain and running across the road. I developed a method of riding across these rivers very slowly and with my feet nearly on top of the handlebars in order to maintain dry feet. Mike did not request my secret to crossing the rivers until nearly the end, thus, he had wet feet and I did not. 60km (that`s 37 miles!)and many hours later we arrived at our destination. The hostel we arrived at didn`t look very nice and there ended up being too many people to fit in all the rooms. Since we had inquired earlier about a private room we were taken to a second hostel that was much much nicer than the first, had a small garden area with palm trees, and a ceiling in the bedroom at was open to the fresh air. Our vegetarian dinners of french fries, steamed vegetables and rice, were luckily more edible than our breakfasts...especially supplemented by our mangos bought from a little lady with a stand in the street.
We began hiking in the morning and over the next 48 hours trekked around 40km (24 miles) including a portion of the inca trail. The hike varied in difficulty and it was definitely challenging at times. I was very thankful for the mountain life I had in Ecuador and know that I would have been in rough shape had I not had the conditioning from living there. I was very impressed with Mike because he hiked the whole thing carrying the larger backpack with both of our stuff in it mearly the entire way, and he didn`t complain. I had a smalled messenger bag on that held water, my cameras, and our emergency food supply of very expensive granola-type stuff, corn nuts, and peanuts and raisins, and lots and lots of grapes. I got severly bitten on my legs by these tiny little bugs. The caused different reactions in different people. Some of the bites pussed and blistered, mine caused some sort of swelling and inflamation in my legs that caused fire to shoot up to my knees every time I stood or moved after resting for a moment. I was worried about my ability to hike to the ruins in the morning so I went to the pharmacy at Mike`s urging, and got some topical something rather which I am not sure helped at all or not.
The final morning we woke up at about 4:30am and began the final hike to the ruins so that we could arrive at the gates at 6am, just around sunrise when the park opened. To get to the top of the mountain the ruins were built upon it involved climbing up several hundred awkwardly sized stairs some 600 or 800 meters until the top. We made the climb nearly running and completed it in about an hour. It was quite chilly at the top and we could see snow-capped mountains in the distance. The clouds rolled up the mountain for a few moments but then cleared and made way for the sun.
The ruins, though mostly reconstructed, were impressive and the stonework on the Incas is unlike any I have seen at any other ancient site. The cuts and fit of the rocks were incredibly precise. We spent some time visiting the different areas of the city and learning about aspects of Incan life from our guide, but I was so tired I found it hard to concentrate most of the time. We rested for a bit and then decided that we hadn`t put our bodies through enough rigor in the past few days and that we would regret it if we didn´t also climb Wayna Picchu (the big towering rock the dominates the background of most pictures of the ancient city). The climb was a very steep 360 meters above Machu Picchu. Some of the stairs were so narrow that I literally climbed them like a ladder using my hands because giant feet like mine did not exist in the time of the Incas. Our bodies were unhappy with us, but we heard the view from the top was spectacular and we knew we would regret it if we didn`t make it to the top.
Eventually, we slowly and painfully made our way all the way back down the tiny tiny steep steps of Wayna Picchu and all the way back through the ancient city of Macchu Picchu, and all the way back down the big awkward steps of the mountain, and all the way back to the town to Aguas Caliente and ultimately caught the train back to Cusco.
Eventually they let us out and we had some lunch. The vegetarian lunch consisted of a banana, a fiber cookie, some chocolate, a Sunny Delight type fruit drink, and a ham sandwich on dry white bread with a measly processed cheese slice. After ¨lunch¨ we boarded our rickety bikes of questionable quality and ill-fitting helmets in the misty drizzle and headed down the mountain. We rode for several hours on combinations of paved road and dirt roads, dodging pot holes along the way. We rode through small villages and past fruit trees and several nice vistas. There were several places where the road was a momentary river due to the overflow of water coming off the mountain and running across the road. I developed a method of riding across these rivers very slowly and with my feet nearly on top of the handlebars in order to maintain dry feet. Mike did not request my secret to crossing the rivers until nearly the end, thus, he had wet feet and I did not. 60km (that`s 37 miles!)and many hours later we arrived at our destination. The hostel we arrived at didn`t look very nice and there ended up being too many people to fit in all the rooms. Since we had inquired earlier about a private room we were taken to a second hostel that was much much nicer than the first, had a small garden area with palm trees, and a ceiling in the bedroom at was open to the fresh air. Our vegetarian dinners of french fries, steamed vegetables and rice, were luckily more edible than our breakfasts...especially supplemented by our mangos bought from a little lady with a stand in the street.
We began hiking in the morning and over the next 48 hours trekked around 40km (24 miles) including a portion of the inca trail. The hike varied in difficulty and it was definitely challenging at times. I was very thankful for the mountain life I had in Ecuador and know that I would have been in rough shape had I not had the conditioning from living there. I was very impressed with Mike because he hiked the whole thing carrying the larger backpack with both of our stuff in it mearly the entire way, and he didn`t complain. I had a smalled messenger bag on that held water, my cameras, and our emergency food supply of very expensive granola-type stuff, corn nuts, and peanuts and raisins, and lots and lots of grapes. I got severly bitten on my legs by these tiny little bugs. The caused different reactions in different people. Some of the bites pussed and blistered, mine caused some sort of swelling and inflamation in my legs that caused fire to shoot up to my knees every time I stood or moved after resting for a moment. I was worried about my ability to hike to the ruins in the morning so I went to the pharmacy at Mike`s urging, and got some topical something rather which I am not sure helped at all or not.
The final morning we woke up at about 4:30am and began the final hike to the ruins so that we could arrive at the gates at 6am, just around sunrise when the park opened. To get to the top of the mountain the ruins were built upon it involved climbing up several hundred awkwardly sized stairs some 600 or 800 meters until the top. We made the climb nearly running and completed it in about an hour. It was quite chilly at the top and we could see snow-capped mountains in the distance. The clouds rolled up the mountain for a few moments but then cleared and made way for the sun.
The ruins, though mostly reconstructed, were impressive and the stonework on the Incas is unlike any I have seen at any other ancient site. The cuts and fit of the rocks were incredibly precise. We spent some time visiting the different areas of the city and learning about aspects of Incan life from our guide, but I was so tired I found it hard to concentrate most of the time. We rested for a bit and then decided that we hadn`t put our bodies through enough rigor in the past few days and that we would regret it if we didn´t also climb Wayna Picchu (the big towering rock the dominates the background of most pictures of the ancient city). The climb was a very steep 360 meters above Machu Picchu. Some of the stairs were so narrow that I literally climbed them like a ladder using my hands because giant feet like mine did not exist in the time of the Incas. Our bodies were unhappy with us, but we heard the view from the top was spectacular and we knew we would regret it if we didn`t make it to the top.
Eventually, we slowly and painfully made our way all the way back down the tiny tiny steep steps of Wayna Picchu and all the way back through the ancient city of Macchu Picchu, and all the way back down the big awkward steps of the mountain, and all the way back to the town to Aguas Caliente and ultimately caught the train back to Cusco.
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Frontera to Frontera, Pt 2. Año Nuevo
Cusco, Cuzco, or Qosqo in the ancient Quechua language of the Inca´s, was once a bustling capital of Incan life. After the Spanish conquest many of the Incan structures were destroyed to build churches and the Incans were forced into Catholocism. Today the city is a major tourist destination, acting as the main starting point for treks to Machu Picchu. The streets were packed before the new year and everywhere we walked it seemed like people were hasseling us to get massages or eat at their overpriced restaurant, local women and children dressed up in traditional ceremony clothes and walked around the streets leading baby alpacas and wanting you to photograph them and then give them tips. It all seemed very manufactured and in your face and drove me a little crazy. I guess I hadn`t been acting as a tourist so much up until this point and I wasn`t used to playing the part.
The hostel Mike had reserved didn`t have our reservation (they often overbook) so Nico, the man the reservation and our trek was arranged through, took us to a hotel in a less touristy part of town, though we were still near the center. It seemed no one else was staying in this hotel except for possibly some family members of Nico`s, but the room was suitable and we ended up with a private bathroom for the same price we would have paid at the hostel with a shared bath, so we took it. We explored Cusco a bit, hunting down veggies restaurants that again were often closed, and dodging people touting tours and all kinds of things on the street. New Years Eve was spent with Nico who made us and a bunch of Brazilian kids Pisco Sours, the regional drink. Pisco Sour is a drink made from distilled grapes, limes, and egg whites. It`s kind of margarita-ish, but thicker. After that we headed with the Brazilians to the main square where the festivities were ensuing. The celebration consisted of hundreds of people donning ponchos hanging out in the square in the rain and lots of fireworks and fire crackers set off with seemingly no regard to who was around. I think we got hit a few times with some small ones, but I can`t say for sure. We counted down in Spanish, popped some warm, nasty, sparkling something, and then joined everyone as we ran several times around the perimeter of the square. I don`t know why they do this, but they do, presumably for good luck.
We wandered around aimlessly for a while looking for food which we never managed to find before heading back to our hotel.
The hostel Mike had reserved didn`t have our reservation (they often overbook) so Nico, the man the reservation and our trek was arranged through, took us to a hotel in a less touristy part of town, though we were still near the center. It seemed no one else was staying in this hotel except for possibly some family members of Nico`s, but the room was suitable and we ended up with a private bathroom for the same price we would have paid at the hostel with a shared bath, so we took it. We explored Cusco a bit, hunting down veggies restaurants that again were often closed, and dodging people touting tours and all kinds of things on the street. New Years Eve was spent with Nico who made us and a bunch of Brazilian kids Pisco Sours, the regional drink. Pisco Sour is a drink made from distilled grapes, limes, and egg whites. It`s kind of margarita-ish, but thicker. After that we headed with the Brazilians to the main square where the festivities were ensuing. The celebration consisted of hundreds of people donning ponchos hanging out in the square in the rain and lots of fireworks and fire crackers set off with seemingly no regard to who was around. I think we got hit a few times with some small ones, but I can`t say for sure. We counted down in Spanish, popped some warm, nasty, sparkling something, and then joined everyone as we ran several times around the perimeter of the square. I don`t know why they do this, but they do, presumably for good luck.
We wandered around aimlessly for a while looking for food which we never managed to find before heading back to our hotel.
Monday, January 12, 2009
Frontera to Frontera, Pt. 1
I am way behind on my blogging. I haven`t written since my 3:30am border crossing from Ecuador into Peru. Waking in Peru to the expansive and unexpected desert landscape was surprising after the lush green mountains and valleys of Ecuador. Even more surprising was the amount of trash burning or buried beneath the sand. When the bus rolled past a populated area, the homes were in various states of construction or destruction, and it was hard to tell whether this was a result of poverty or possible earthquakes, or both. (I later learned that taxes are not collected on buildings in construction so many are left unfinished, which could account for some of this).
Busses in Peru are harder to navigate than busses elsewhere. Most cities do not have a central terminal where you can walk down the aisle and judge prices and bus quality. Busses here are mostly located in different places so you need a taxi between them and are then taken to which ever one the taxi driver has buddies at. Busses are also more secure, or they at least have more security. On the first bus I took in Peru from the border town of Piura to Chiclayo, a beach town where I expected to spend Christmas, they passed the wand over you as you entered the bus, then walked down the aisles with a camcorder and video-taped everyone´s faces after they were seated. I didn`t end up staying in Chiclayo because it sounded like all accomodation would be booked up since the beach is a popular destination on the holiday and it didn`t look so nice anyway, so I moved on to Trujillo, a town with a small colonial center but not much else to offer.
I spent the night in Trujillo in overpriced accommodation and then boarded a bus to Lima. This bus was more expensive than anywhere else I had seen in South America and I wasn`t sure why. In addition to waving you with a wand and videotaping you, they also fingerprinted everyone before boarding which I didn`t like at all. I wasn`t sure whether to be comforted by all this extra security or freaked out. Once on the bus I received service unlike any bus I had been on yet. A stewardess type lady came around and offered beverage service and then came around with a hot meal that I couldn`t eat, but I picked around the meat for the untainted mashed potatoes and enjoyed a traditional dish of Peru, Papas a la Huancaina, boiled potatoes with a mild chili sauce, a sliced hardboiled egg, and a black olive, and avoided the nasty gelatinous dessert. Before arriving in Lima I was served some crackers and tea. very strange. I arrived in Lima and got a dorm bed at the hostel Mike had reserved space at for the following night.
I spent the next day anticipating Mike`s arrival and exploring (but not too much) the neighborhood our hostel was in and showering. I picked up Mike at the airport in Lima and then spent the next few days traversing Peru`s capital, the 17th most populous city in the world. We scoped out vegetarian restaurants that all seemed to be closed, saw the one of the oldest barrios in the city on the way to the top of Cerro San Cristobal, and reluctantly inhaled all the burning smog the city had to offer. The only other time my throat felt raw like that was after I had smoked too many cigarettes in a single night. It´s sad that such a reaction can come simply by breathing air. In addition to horrible air pollution, there is also noise pollution. People use their horns like they are part of a symphony.
From Lima we traveled to Nazca, home of the Nazca lines, giant geoglyphs that stretch more than 50 miles. The lines feature shapes of several different animals and geometric shapes and are thought to have been made somewhere between 200BC and700AD. No one can say definitively why there are there. Some researchers think they represent the spirtual journeys of shamans, enhanced by the hallucinagenic San Pedro cactus. Other believe it was a form of calendar, a plea to the gods for water, irregation plans, or a means of communication with extraterrestial life forms.
Mike had a crash course in the way things work (or often don`t work) in South America as we waited six hours to board our plane over the lines (the entire trip was sold to us as taking about 2 hours start to finish). Eventually we packed into a small 4 person plane (5 if you squeeze a person next the pilot in the cockpit, which we did). After our plane was lifted into the air by a single propeller and our first bit of turbulance jostled us and threw my stomach for a loop I had a momentary feeling of panic and was afraid we´d made a horrible mistake and might not make it safely back to ground. Fortunately the only thing that went wrong was Mike getting a little nauseous during the ride, which is to be expected when you take Dramamine 6 hours before departure because you had no idea that they would give you the runaround for so long. I maintained my composure well enough to be able to take pictures of all the lines that Mike might have missed. They were pretty unusual and I have no idea why they are there...maybe it really is the work of aliens.
We moved on from Nazca across more desert until we arrived in Cusco where we planned to station ourselves to ring in the New Year.
Busses in Peru are harder to navigate than busses elsewhere. Most cities do not have a central terminal where you can walk down the aisle and judge prices and bus quality. Busses here are mostly located in different places so you need a taxi between them and are then taken to which ever one the taxi driver has buddies at. Busses are also more secure, or they at least have more security. On the first bus I took in Peru from the border town of Piura to Chiclayo, a beach town where I expected to spend Christmas, they passed the wand over you as you entered the bus, then walked down the aisles with a camcorder and video-taped everyone´s faces after they were seated. I didn`t end up staying in Chiclayo because it sounded like all accomodation would be booked up since the beach is a popular destination on the holiday and it didn`t look so nice anyway, so I moved on to Trujillo, a town with a small colonial center but not much else to offer.
I spent the night in Trujillo in overpriced accommodation and then boarded a bus to Lima. This bus was more expensive than anywhere else I had seen in South America and I wasn`t sure why. In addition to waving you with a wand and videotaping you, they also fingerprinted everyone before boarding which I didn`t like at all. I wasn`t sure whether to be comforted by all this extra security or freaked out. Once on the bus I received service unlike any bus I had been on yet. A stewardess type lady came around and offered beverage service and then came around with a hot meal that I couldn`t eat, but I picked around the meat for the untainted mashed potatoes and enjoyed a traditional dish of Peru, Papas a la Huancaina, boiled potatoes with a mild chili sauce, a sliced hardboiled egg, and a black olive, and avoided the nasty gelatinous dessert. Before arriving in Lima I was served some crackers and tea. very strange. I arrived in Lima and got a dorm bed at the hostel Mike had reserved space at for the following night.
I spent the next day anticipating Mike`s arrival and exploring (but not too much) the neighborhood our hostel was in and showering. I picked up Mike at the airport in Lima and then spent the next few days traversing Peru`s capital, the 17th most populous city in the world. We scoped out vegetarian restaurants that all seemed to be closed, saw the one of the oldest barrios in the city on the way to the top of Cerro San Cristobal, and reluctantly inhaled all the burning smog the city had to offer. The only other time my throat felt raw like that was after I had smoked too many cigarettes in a single night. It´s sad that such a reaction can come simply by breathing air. In addition to horrible air pollution, there is also noise pollution. People use their horns like they are part of a symphony.
From Lima we traveled to Nazca, home of the Nazca lines, giant geoglyphs that stretch more than 50 miles. The lines feature shapes of several different animals and geometric shapes and are thought to have been made somewhere between 200BC and700AD. No one can say definitively why there are there. Some researchers think they represent the spirtual journeys of shamans, enhanced by the hallucinagenic San Pedro cactus. Other believe it was a form of calendar, a plea to the gods for water, irregation plans, or a means of communication with extraterrestial life forms.
Mike had a crash course in the way things work (or often don`t work) in South America as we waited six hours to board our plane over the lines (the entire trip was sold to us as taking about 2 hours start to finish). Eventually we packed into a small 4 person plane (5 if you squeeze a person next the pilot in the cockpit, which we did). After our plane was lifted into the air by a single propeller and our first bit of turbulance jostled us and threw my stomach for a loop I had a momentary feeling of panic and was afraid we´d made a horrible mistake and might not make it safely back to ground. Fortunately the only thing that went wrong was Mike getting a little nauseous during the ride, which is to be expected when you take Dramamine 6 hours before departure because you had no idea that they would give you the runaround for so long. I maintained my composure well enough to be able to take pictures of all the lines that Mike might have missed. They were pretty unusual and I have no idea why they are there...maybe it really is the work of aliens.
We moved on from Nazca across more desert until we arrived in Cusco where we planned to station ourselves to ring in the New Year.
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