pastprimetravelers

Ted's continuing trip to hell, Chapter 2

2009-09-13T18:38:00.000-07:00

Ted's continuing trip to Hell. September 12, 2009

Ted returned to the Assisted Living Home and seemed to be doing better. For a week, I brought him home everyday to use the computer and talk on Skype to his family. On Saturday, August 29, he checked out of the Assisted Living Home and moved back home. Sunday, he began to feel worse and by noon, he was in bad shape; cold, clammy, shaking, and feeling nausea. I called the doctors at the Home and they recommended taking him back to the Regional Hospital. All the way there, a good forty-five minutes, he shook. By the time we arrived, he was perspiring so much his clothes were soaked.

Arriving at the hospital, I tried to get a wheelchair. First, I beat on the door to the Emergency Room, but they sent me to the front desk. There was a line many people deep, and slower than molasses in the winter, and Ted was sitting in the hot car. Finally, one man came to my aid and yelled over the line to some mysterious person in the back. We got a wheelchair and several people helped get Ted into it. He was pushed into the waiting room while I parked the car. Then, wait, wait, wait. He was perspiring so much, he was afraid he would slip out of the chair. Finally, when it seemed every other person in the crowded room had been seen, Ted was called. He was too tall to fit on the table, but managed long enough for them to get in an IV.

After about an hour they moved him onto a bed next to the ICU, while two liters of fluid dripped in. I asked if he were going to spend the night, and was told yes. By now I needed to eat, and there was no cafeteria at the hospital, and since it was Sunday, there were no little restaurants open. I prepared to leave and was told I could not leave. I must spend the night with him. (I had dragged a plastic chair in from the hall to sit upon.) Another patient's wife spoke English and she told me I was expected to spend the night in the chair, or sleep on the hard tile floor. I explained that neither of these options was acceptable and, as I am the same age as Ted, I needed to eat and sleep at home. I had started home when another nurse chased me down the hall trying to get me to spend the night. Finally, I just walked out thinking I would see him in the morning.

Shortly after going to bed, and right after I had fallen asleep, I thought I heard Ted call my name. I woke up thinking that this must be one of those experiences where you hear your partner calling out to you just as they were dying. Then I heard him again at the front gate. Both he and the man in the bed next to him had been kicked out of the hospital about 11:00 pm. The man and his English speaking wife had driven him home, as they lived only a few blocks away. Glad to be home, and hungry, we stayed up late, talking and eating.

Monday, he awoke feeling as good as his old self. After showering, without the aid of a chair or me to dry him off, he decided to make a pot of chicken soup. All through the day he was feeling strong and able, but Tuesday, he awoke feeling terrible. The doctor from the Home came and gave him another liter of fluid, but it didn't shake the terrible feeling. His appetite was gone, replaced by nausea, and his hands were shaking so hard he could not hold a glass to drink. Unable to walk, I pushed him from bed to the table and back, using the office chair. Panicked, I called his daughter and said we must get him back to the States tomorrow. I also called his old friend and doctor in San Francisco and told him what was happening. He replied that Ted should have as many IVs as possible before he flew home. The daughter called back and said that the earliest we could fly to San Francisco was on Thursday.

The next two days were spent getting IVs into Ted, and making arrangements for someone to come in to feed the dog and kitten. We didn't have any more suitcases, since the ones we had purchased in China years before (for the hefty price of $10.00 each), had literally fallen apart by the time we reached Puerto Vallarta. A trip to several stores, and finally to Costco, solved that problem.

Each night I would climb into bed wondering if Ted would make it through until the morning. Finally, Thursday arrived, Ted got his IV, showered, and started to dress. Loosing forty-five pounds meant that we could have put two of Ted into his jeans. A pair of my elastic banded pants was found, and we were ready to go. I warned him, no retching, no moaning, at the airport. He could do anything after we were in the air, but nothing must keep us off that plane.

At the airport a wheelchair and attendant were found, and they were beneficial in getting us to the front of a long line. Boarding the plane with a small wheelchair, we were seated in the last row, closest to the toilets. Ted sat, with a bit of a yellow look, unable to even drink from a cup. The flight attendant found two small water bottles, which he could hold to his lips without spilling.

The three and one-half hour flight was almost more than he could bear. Finally, wheeled off the plane, into a regular sized wheelchair, we waited while his daughter got the car. The trip from the airport into San Francisco and the California Pacific Medical Center took about forty-five minutes. There, we wheeled him into the Emergency Room where they took blood and started another IV. As soon as the lab results came back, he was admitted. His magnesium and calcium levels were so low one nurse told us he should have been dead. Another two days in Mexico, and he would have been. (For the next six days, he had up to eight different bags of minerals and electrolytes dripping into his arm. At one point he had one in each arm.)

The next morning his color was pink again, his hands had stopped shaking, and his appetite was back. He had been slowly starving because his intestine is unable to absorb food or liquid. No one, in Mexico, had checked any levels of minerals, just kidney functions.

Now, he has been moved into another building in the same hospital group, where he will be given nutrients by IV. Eating as much as he can, they are hoping some little bits will be absorbed. When he has gained twenty pounds and gotten his strength back, they can operate and reverse the iliostomy. Meanwhile, life goes on, and I am back home in Puerto Vallarta, Friends can only be imposed upon for so long. and the food in the refrigerator could spoil and rot. The kitten is missing, and I was not here to pay the water bill, so I'm hoping that on Monday, when I go to the main office, there won't be a problem. I talk to Ted three or four times a day, and can't wait until he's fixed: well and strong.

Ted's two months of hell

2009-08-20T14:03:00.000-07:00

Puerto Vallarta August 2009

We found the down side of paradise. June 19th when Ted complained of a stomach ache. After a miserable night he checked into a private hospital that accepts our insurance. They tried several options to open the blockage in the intestinal track unsuccessfully. Finally they wheeled him into surgery. There they removed about 10 inches of small intestine and closed him up. The small intestine is large. If you could flatten it out it would cover a football field so a few inches usually don’t cause any problem. Most of the absorption of nutrients and liquids take place in the small intestine

We were told he could go home on Friday. Thursday afternoon he began to complain again of pain and on Fri. afternoon they wheeled him back to surgery. Somehow the connection had been done on dying intestine and more should have been cut out. I waited in the empty room for hours. Every couple of hours I would go and ask at the nurses station and was told he was still in surgery. Finally about 6:00 pm I was told he was in recovery and would be in his room later during the night. Early the next morning I arrived at the hospital and headed toward his room only to be stopped by a nurse and redirected to the ICU unit. There I found Ted in an induced coma, hooked up to a breathing machine, tubes in every part of his body looking close to death. One of the doctors who spoke English said he had a 50-50 chance of making it. His kidneys had failed. I made sure they had my phone number and left in a fog of uncertainty. My mind was bouncing, not able to clearly focus on any one thought. My partner of 30 years was lying in a bed hooked up to machines and no one could tell me if he would recover. They had performed an iliostomy. The small intestine had been cut and connected to a bag on the outside of his body. Basically his intestine stopped at the bag.

When I returned home the US Consul, Kelly Trainor call to see if I needed anything. No, just a miracle or two. No one from the hospital called and every morning I would return during the restricted visiting hours for ICU to find him still hooked up and comatose. Finally on Wednesday the nurses assured me that he was doing better and might be off the coma on Friday.

Friday came and I returned, expecting to find Ted awake. Instead I found him sedated and unaware of anything. I tried to talk to him, hoping somehow he would know I was there. He suddenly began to shake, eyes open in some type of fear or lost place. No one else seemed to think this was unusual so I tried to stop worrying.

Again on Saturday I visited, finding him still sedated. I again asked the nurses to call me and please let me now when he would really be awake. His surgeon came in and speaks English so I asked why and what was going on. His answer was that after the first surgery Ted had sucked on ice (given to him by the nurses) and some had gone down his intestines. Now because of that, he had an iliostomy bag but that it could be reversed in 2-4 months. According to him it was all Ted’s fault.

Baloney!!

Finally Ted was awake and trying to deal with the situation. He was, of course confused and depressed. They were feeding him and encouraging him to walk. The expensive hospital didn’t have any walkers so I rushed out and bought one, $150 dollars and now used maybe six times.

So far the only visitor we had was David, Ted’s chess partner. I wondered why no one from the writer’s group had come to visit Ted.. We found out later that a woman we had befriended had told everyone that Ted could not have visitors.

After a week where everything he ate or drank just ran through the stomach and out the bag, they released him to my care with the visiting nurse (thanks to Ted’s family) coming over to dress his 10 inch long, 1 ½ inch wide incision which was left open so infection wouldn’t set in, and change the iliostomy bag. He also had a large bed sore due to the fact that no one moved him while he was in ICU.

Four weeks after the surgery and several post-operative visits to the surgeon and Ted’s primary doctor, everyone was noticing that everything he ate or drank was still pouring out of him. We were told that he should gulp 1-1.5 litters of Gatorade a day, drink 3 Ensures and anything else he wanted with eight Imodium’s every day. With everything still pouring out of him he became increasingly weak and dehydrated, finally unable to get out of bed without falling to the floor. I took him to the surgeon and talked to the primary doctor. Both said he was doing fine. I began to think that his depression was winning and his body was failing.

Frustration set in and I began to yell at him. He retched constantly, he would not walk and had to be pushed around in a wheeled office chair. Finally he fell and I couldn’t get him up. After calling the fire dept. for help and then another fall where the paramedics came, I called Ted’s doctor and was told to take him to another private hospital Medassist. Here, another private room with TV, IVs and round the clock nurses, while everything continued to pour out of him causing severe dehydration and kidney failure. He was still not absorbing the liquid or food. They released him Friday evening and his daughter and I moved Ted into an Assisted Living home where two doctors have set up a lovely hacienda to take care of the elderly. We were told that Ted was well enough to fly to the U.S. with a medical assistant. We thought that was strange but the doctor assured us that this was done every day.

Friday night passed without incident and Sat. his daughter who had been visiting said goodbye and returned to San Francisco. I stopped by on the way home to see Ted and all seemed well. Sunday I stopped over after breakfast and watched him eat. Then I had to run a few errands . Returning an hour later I found Ted, the two doctors and another doctor examining him. Everything he ate or drank was still pouring out through the bag and he was in danger of renal failure yet again. This time he would go to the government hospital where costs are low and can be adjusted or discounted.

The hospital is many miles away on the edge of a poor Mexican town called Pittillal which butts up to Puerto Vallarta. After what seemed like hours, Ted was placed in a ward with five other patients on a bed that was at least 12 inches too short. I had to buy pillows to place on the metal bed to support his legs. The air conditioning worked and what seemed like a pleasant temperature was freezing to Ted who by now weights a little more than I. The nursing staff is limited, training doctors visit, patient families sleep on the floor by the beds. The beds are manually controlled and there are no buttons to push for help or a nurse. But with the continuing life around, mentally it is more stimulating than private rooms. I had to buy medicines and anything else he needed but the doctor seemed to know more and explained more to me than any of the previous and expensive so called “good doctors.” Where we had been told so many times, it will just be a couple of days until his body adjusts, now we knew that for five weeks his body hadn’t adjusted. Gulping gallons’ of Gatorade was just washing away any nutrients he might have gotten, sipping a very low cost drink would have been better. The Ensure he had been drinking is not designed for people with iliostomies or shortened small intestines, another was better suited. No fat, no chocolate, no milk products, many small meals a day and with the IV he slowly began to improve. Finally after 6 days there he was released. The hospital may be public but the information we received was better than any we had so far gotten.

We had been given so much bad information from so many people, including doctors, that now we are both very skeptical.

Ted is back at the Assisted Living Vallarta, improving, walking, playing chess and reading. Slowly both his strength and weight are improving. With a little luck he may be able to go to the states in a couple of months to have the iliostomy reversed.

P.S. So far neither of the fancy doctors have called to see how Ted is doing.

Ted's new book.

2009-08-18T06:59:00.000-07:00

Ted's first book about our adventures in Mexico and Central America is available through Amazon.com and BookSurge. "Footprints on a Small Planet." It isn't a travel guide (lots of them available) but memories, stories and experiences two older people had when they ran away from home in 1998 at age 58. We hope you enjoy it as much as we enjoyed gathering the information.

JULY 2009 PUERTO VALLARTA, MEXICO

2009-07-20T09:22:00.000-07:00

We’re still here and love it more. Life here runs at a pace not seen in 40 or 50 years in the U.S. Daily the bottled water truck, the ice cream man, the bottled gas trucks, and various farmers go down our little street. Pineapples, tomatoes, mangos and papayas for sale outside our gate. On the cobblestone streets littered with holes and jutting manhole covers, traffic moves at a slow pace. Weekly health workers come and inspect the property for standing water (mosquito farms) and biweekly the trucks spray all front yards. A flock of parrots land in a mango tree in the school yard and chatter loudly to announce their presence. We pay our utilities at the Supermarket or the local version of 7/11, the OXXO (oh ho). Life runs at a slow pace and we love it.

Five weeks ago Ted experienced a stomach ache that wouldn’t pass. A quick visit to the emergency room led to one operation, a few days of recovery before another more serious operation with 4 days in an induced coma with a 60% make it odds and a week in intensive care. After a total of 23 days he was released to recover very slowly at home complete with an iliostomy bag. Age makes the healing process very slow. The worst part beside the operations, was that the insurance we carry refused to pay. They weren’t about to keep him indefinitely so as it stands, he got excellent treatment and somehow, the hospital will have to write off the bill.

During his hospital stay a small kitten fell onto our roof. Hours later it managed to get down and spent a rainy night crying on a car tire in the neighborhood. Finally at 7:00 A.M. I brought it in. Now we are a complete family again, Ted, myself, one dog and one kitten. Life is getting better every day.

Today his proof copy of his first book arrived, Footprints on a Small Planet. I will let everyone know when it is available for purchase. For now we’ll sit and heal, living a life long forgotten or never known to most people.

P.S. A couple of tips we’ve discovered on our travels. For years our salt has turned to cement from the moisture in the air. Adding rice kernels just made cement with rice. In Buenos Aires we saw all the salt shakers with a couple of black beans in them. I tried it and in a couple of days, the salt was loose and poured. Works also with other powdered spices.

Leaf lettuce would wilt in a couple of days after going in the refrigerator. Now using a fabric towel bought in the automotive section of the store, very lightly dampened around the lettuce or cilantro or other vegetables and placed in a plastic bag, the lettuce stays fresh for up to two weeks. Saves a lot of shopping time and money.

Lake Chapala and Ajijic

2009-05-21T05:22:00.001-07:00

Lake Chapala and Ajijic April 2009

About 20 miles from Guadalajara is Lake Chapala. Long used as a dumping ground for Guadalajara, the once beautiful lake slowly turned toxic. Diverted water caused the lake level to drop and by 1999, when we first visited the area, it was a disaster. With the help of the UN (one of its very few successes) water has been channeled back into the lake, toxicity has been contained at the lowest level and today the lake is coming back to life, at a cost. The water has been diverted from the region of Mexico City with its 35 million people and vast agricultural fields causing tremendous water shortages but raising the lake back to a 1950s level. Trees that had grown in the wide sandy shoreline are now underwater, drowned, dead limbs testimony to the past.

The towns of Chapala, San Antonio and Ajijic are perfect examples of how Disney would have created a Mexican town. Clean streets, freshly painted buildings, lots of gourmet restaurants, one or two truly Mexican shops, art galleries, hi-end tourist shops and lots of expensive cars on the narrow but clean streets. It is truly a joy to walk around, window shopping and eating.

There is a wonderful old house donated to the community which is the center point for expats – particularly the older ones. Visiting doctors check blood pressure and give eye exams. There are numerous small fish ponds where people can sit and drink coffee, a lending library, and another area where art classes and woodworking shops exist for young Mexican children, and areas for other voluntary work by the community at large.

We had a delightful time seeing old friends we had met ten years ago when we started our adventure.

April 22 marked the one year anniversary of our return to Mexico. In the past year we have met many new people, Ted is a weekly contributor to the Puerto Vallarta Tribune and has finished his first book about our travels, now just waiting for it to be published by Amazon Books. We moved into a cute but small apartment overlooking the 5th of December area with a view to the ocean on the west and the jungle covered mountains to the north and east. We adopted a small black poodle and settled in. Now at the one year mark, the steps up to the cute apartment, four flights, have gotten just too much so we found a ground level house, much bigger with an interior garden, two bedrooms, freshly tiled and painted but no furniture. For the next few months we will be adding a table, chairs, TV, sofa, etc. but not climbing steps.

Moving was not easy but we did it. Now we had to find a place for everything. The large kitchen came with a large stove. Over the last ten years we had learned to cook whole meals on a single electric hotplate, movingd up to a two burner propane stove top and now we have a six burner range. I’m not sure I can handle six burners with only two hands. More adventure.

We had made arrangements to have a sofa set delivered on Saturday but it was delivered on Thursday. The TV and internet was to be installed on Saturday and some rustic bedside tables and dresser were scheduled also on Saturday. The furniture came, the cable didn’t.

The kitchen is large and tiled with lovely new tile but like most kitchens in the world, no cabinets. Everything is stashed under the sink and island on two cement shelves with curtains covering the openings. So on Monday, along with contacting the cable company, we purchased a five door cabinet. The doors below will have to wait.

A large outdoor area has a hook up for a washing machine but the water drain was plugged causing a small flood. The landlord’s plumber couldn’t be reached so it took a few days to find another plumber.

The street is filled with children who pass our gate and stop to pet the dog. Nights so far have been peaceful as the street is only one block long and not conducive to any speed. Children playing have been the loudest noise around. That is until 3:00 am today when a Mariachi band set up at the end of the block and played loudly for 15 minutes this morning.

So far, retirement has not been boring.

St. Patrick's Celebration

2009-03-22T08:24:00.000-07:00

March 2009 Melaque

We continue to live in and love Mexico. There have been some changes in the last ten years. More and more American products are available on the shelves, many new cars are on the roads, and the change I dislike most, modern clothing. Not too many years ago women wore boxy tops with colorful skirts swishing along the streets. Today the skirts have been replaced by the tightest pants in the world. It must take several people to help guide the wearer into them and more to zip them up. Cool blouses have been replaced by stretchy shirts which mold and accentuate the rolls of fat. Seems a shame that the desire to dress like everyone else has caused women to dress in the most unattractive way possible. Men also have succumbed to tight shirts, which are hot, and pull them up as far as their armpits thus showing their fat bellies for all to see and wish they didn’t.
But enough of the fashion changes. We had wandered down Mexico’s pacific coast nine years ago and stopped in a very small town, San Patricio Melaque, the day after their big St. Patrick’s Day festival honoring the town’s namesake and patron saint. We parked our RV in the Playa Trailer Park right along the beach and walked into the center of town. Trying to find a place to eat we passed a very small restaurant with maybe six wooden tables filled with eaters and a line outside waiting. The aromas from the small kitchen at the back wafted out. Not wanting to wait in line we continued walking and checking out all the other little restaurants around the zocalo, the town square, all of them empty. So reasoning that there must be a good reason for the waiting hungry, we returned and stood in line at the Restaurant Flor Morena. To our delight the food was not only very cheap, it was delicious. Now nine years later we were eager to see if it was still there. This time, we arrived for the last three days of the ten-day St. Patrick’s fiesta.
Melaque is 130 miles (215 km) south of Puerto Vallarta on highway 200, a good road with some curvy stretches through rolling hills and three gas stations within a few miles of each other about half way down. It should have taken us four hours to reach Melaque and would have if the mysterious demon in our car engine had stayed asleep. As it was, with a few stops of at least half-an-hour to satisfy the demon, who loved killing our engine for no apparent reason, we made it in five hours. After reaching town and a couple of more stops while the demon cooled we finally found the hotel where we had made reservations a month in advance and confirmed a couple of days before. Sure enough our name was on the list but no rooms were available. And being the weekend of a big party, there were no rooms available in the next few hotels/bungalows where we inquired. Finally we found a wonderful place with two bedrooms, four double beds, a kitchen, a big bathroom with hot water, TV, swimming pool and close enough to the beach to hear the surf. All for about $35 US per day.
After checking in we went into town to see what was happening. When we had been there nine years ago the streets had been torn up and new dog bone shaped blocks were being laid. Today the streets were finished and driving was smooth, at least on them. The trailer park still sits on the beach and is filled with RV’s, big and small. Shops selling beach-wear and colorful plastic toys line the streets, and the zocalo has been re-paved with irregularly shaped blocks of stone, separating raised planter areas edged with wide concrete benches upon which to sit; very clean and nice, and this time we remembered to bring our foam seat cushions along. To our delight, the Flor Morena is still open and serving inexpensive and delicious food. They have been there for the last sixteen years, diners being seated and served by owner Bety Torres Briseno and again, we had to wait for a table.

Today there were many more places to eat and along the side streets tables and chairs were set up to serve the crowds that come for the festival. Large numbers of people milled around while an uncountable number of children ran and played among the crowds. We watched as a group of boys spent several hours playing with an empty plastic bottle. Others threw objects into the air and scrambled to catch them. In front of the old church a group of assorted women, children and men dressed in red pants, red capes and white hats danced back and forth in some manner which may have been an Indian dance at one time. After seven o’clock, and every fifteen minutes, the church bells rang, followed by rockets shooting off next to the zocalo, and a bandstand was erected for the official evening’s musical entertainment.
St. Patrick’s Day is a celebration in Catholic Mexico. But unlike in the U.S. or U.K., there doesn’t seem to be any connection at all with Ireland, and there isn’t any emphasis on the color green. The only green in town was a few green banners in the church. The Indian dancers dressed in red, and the only time we saw anyone wearing green was on a handful of U.S. tourists decked out in green shirts. We asked them if they were Irish and they laughingly said No.
While searching for a toilet I went into a courtyard next to the church. There, men were preparing a large frame called a Castillo with wicker wheels and strings of fireworks. The Castillo must have been twenty feet long and topped with more wicker contraptions. About 9:00 pm it was pulled into the center of the zocalo, stood up on end, and secured by ropes to light poles. About 10:00 pm yellow tape was stretched from pole to pole, forcing the crowd back from the display. All this was done while brass bands and mariachis played at top volume all around the square, trying to outdo the band on the main stage. We saw and wondered at all the children carrying flattened cardboard boxes around.
On every night of the festival, at 10:30 the music stops and the fireworks begin. The crowd, knowing the routine, oohs and aahs in anticipation and, as on every night of the festival, with minor variations, the Castillo is set afire. The wheels spin in different whirling designs shooting sparks everywhere. The children with the boxes on their heads scurry to stand under the falling sparks, though many more seem oblivious to any danger and race around sans cardboard. As each progressively higher wheel is sent spinning, zigzagging rockets are sent into the crowd which pushes backwards with screams of joy and mock fear. Finally the top of the Castillo is lighted, releasing arms of sparking color and more rockets into the air and the crowds, and a big ball of smoking color is thrown up high into the sky with more fireworks blasting away. When the Castillo’s burden of fire is finally extinguished, kids with wickerwork bulls rigged with more fireworks race through the zocalo. Sparks fly into the crowd which runs in all directions, yelling and shrieking.
Unhappy bystanders like myself reel as young people push every which way as they follow the bulls around the square. Happy bystanders like Ted are busy trying to capture the mayhem on film. Finally, the show over, we make our way back to the hotel and a good night’s sleep. This happens every night through St. Patrick’s Day, when it is all over for another year.
We wandered around town during the days, visiting the beach a few times. At one place we stopped to eat an ice cream dish. One little boy brought his chair as close as he could to Muneca our little poodle. He kept petting her while trying to move in closer. I think he would have loved for us to have given her to him, but I don’t think his mother would have been as pleased.
As all along Mexico’s Pacific coast there are numerous bays of clean sand, sunbathers, and a few swimmers willing to brave the still chilly waters. The only things missing are seashells. Also, there aren’t any clumps of seaweed as in California, just clean sand and surf.
Along the highway the stately Primavera trees with their magnificent sprays of bright yellow flowers dot the valleys.Bougainvillea in purple, red and orange adorn many of the houses and yards. Pink flowers on smaller trees and a few yucca flowers made the whole trip a joy to the eyes. On the way out of Puerto Vallarta we stopped to take pictures of the rocks known as Los Arcos, the arches. As always, travel in Mexico brings fun and adventure.

Puerto Vallarta Day of the Dead

2008-11-04T09:10:00.000-08:00

Oct. 2008 Puerto Vallarta

We’ve settled down in Puerto Vallarta for a much needed rest, the end of ten years of wandering around the world. We have a small apartment in a typical Mexican neighborhood with cobblestone streets, little shops, a market and a cemetery. Ted has been busy writing a book about our travels and joined a writer’s group that meets every Saturday. Several published authors are also regulars at the meetings.

One of the first things we did after moving in was to adopt a small dog, a black poodle named Muneca (Spanish for ‘doll’). A cute but not too bright little bundle of excitement.

For awhile we were working with a charitable group that is in the business of teaching underprivileged children math, computer and English. We learned that like all charities, the priority of the charity is to provide money for the organizers and any left over is to provide photo ops for the charity. Unfortunately, the poorest children of the neighborhood aren’t included in the program.

The Day of the Dead celebration is one of Mexico’s most loved celebrations beginning on Oct. 31 and ends on Nov. 2. Several areas of Mexico have become so famous for the celebration that tourists outnumber locals and the celebration is more show than old tradition. Traditional candy skeletons and grotesque masks sell everywhere.

Living across the street from a cemetery we were eagerly awaiting the event. In October the walls around the cemetery were painted bright white trimmed with dark green, providing a new canvas for the graffiti painters. Shrubs in the cemetery were trimmed and paths were raked clean. The cobblestone streets around the cemetery were repaired, and as Oct. 31 approached, crews from the city cleaned up any garbage and litter (the only time we’d ever seen that done in Mexico!)

Inside the cemetery, people wandered solemnly up and down the paths. Others painted the stones and the whole place burst alive with colorful round plastic hangings and paper flowers. Mariachis played from different areas, each trying to out sound the other. One group of quiet chamber musicians played near the back gate, unbothered by the Mariachis or the canned music from the front gate.

Outside the main gate, street shops sold colorful plastic hangings, paper flowers, pots of marigolds and leis. Street vendors set up juice and tamale stands. Nowhere to be found was the skeleton candy or the masks associated with the Day of the Dead in other parts of Mexico. This was a real local celebration without all the glamour of a tourist attraction, cleaning up the stone crosses, the cement slabs, laying pastel remembrances to loved ones and turning the cemetery into a lovely bouquet of life.

Puerto Vallarta

2008-09-03T05:42:00.000-07:00

Puerto Vallarta April to Aug, 2008

After over 28 hours of travel time we arrived at the Puerto Vallarta airport at 9:00 P.M. on Tuesday night. First thing we found out was that there are no carts at the airport. A friendly porter with a large hand cart directed us to the baggage area, told us to wait and he would return after delivering another man to his taxi. Sure enough he did, loaded all our bags and took us to a taxi. The weather when we left Cusco had been cold, in Lima it was moderate but here, it was hot. We were by now carrying heavy winter coats and our heavy shoes, having changed into sandals in the Mexico City airport.

Reservations had been made via e-mail at the Posada Roger, a small hotel were we had stayed some 22 years earlier. As our taxi drove toward the old, old part of the city, now known as the Zona Romantica, we saw new hotels, resorts and buildings where there had been old hotels 10 years before. At the marina, four huge floating cities called cruise ships were docked. We didn’t recognize most of the area along the highway and not until we reached the Central part of the city did we begin to see old familiar sights. The streets are still cobblestone, the cathedral still dominates centro, all the houses are whitewashed with black wrought iron balconies, red and pink geraniums in pots with brilliant bougainvilleas climb over roofs, and the same bad sidewalks can break your leg if you’re not careful. We were beginning to feel comfortable. After dropping off the bags we went in search of food. Most of the tourist spots were open but some were beginning to close. We found substance, then returned to the Posada, fell into bed and slept like the dead.

The next morning we made arrangements to see a couple of apartments owned by the owner of the Posada Roger. One apartment was suitable for a month while we looked for a permanent place. We quickly discovered that the prices for everything had more than doubled in the ten years since we had left.

Ever since Richard Burton and Elizabeth Taylor had made Puerto Vallarta a tourist mecca in the 1960’s by carrying on their steamy affair, the city has grown. Today there is a large population of both Americans and Canadians living here, a Sam’s Club, Costco and Wal-Mart. Good medical care is available and of course, the beach dominates all. The town is lively with hundreds of sun-burned and half clad tourists walking the streets. The old part of the city has retained its charm and only a few new hi-rise condos have crept in but the hills and the new part have become filled with new and modern building. Condos surround the city, built on the hills rising in back of the old town. Brilliant bougainvillea flowers drip from everything, flame trees with fire red flowers line the streets and the little food stalls still provide tasty food at reasonable prices. Tile roofs top houses and open rooms provide ventilation. Little streets run up and down some very steep hills; parking can be a problem. The Malecon beach walk is still lined with strange sculptures and local artisans display their wares on the sidewalks. Sand sculptures sit on the sand and the air is filled with little, bright colored plastic parachutes dangling little dolls, a child’s version of paragliding.

The one bedroom apartment we rented for the month had a refrigerator and stove, a couple of pans, two plastic dishes with a scattering of spoons and forks. The first things we needed were, obviously, a fry pan, a couple of dishes and some food. We finally found the closest grocery store and stocked up for at least a few days. However, the grocery store doesn’t carry anything but food. Now our quest had to be for a few items to cook the food in and plates to eat from. Across from the Posada a sign taped to a door advertised an “estate sale, Friday and Saturday.” Good place to start. There, we picked up a coffee maker, a blender, and an indoor electric barbecue grill.

While Ted was visiting an internet, I stepped outside and began a conversation with a gentleman who lived permanently in PV (as Puerto Vallarta is known by all expats.) We were interrupted by a passing woman who began to offer lots of advice and information. We exchanged cards and began a friendship. She offered to drive us to visit Costco and Wal-Mart in order to purchase a microwave and assorted pots and pans. She and her roommate also donated towels, plastic containers and assorted kitchen items.

Riding the buses back and forth is still an adventure. Competing buses race down cobblestone streets, weaving back and forth between traffic like sport cars, trying to beat out the other buses and reach the corners first in order to snatch waiting riders. But we noticed, where before the buses had been adorned with red velvet, statues of the virgin and St. Christopher’s medals on the dashboard, dangling rosaries and pictures of the crucifixion, today there is very little of that. A few of the really old buses still have the decorations and religious items which must protect bus, driver and passengers because they look as if they’d been here since before Liz and Dick.

A lovely bridge over a meandering river bed separates the old old town from centro. At one end of the bridge is a restaurant with statues of a barely recognizable Liz and Dick in stone, homage to the people who brought PV to the attention of the world.

As we began to re-explore our new home, we found most of the city as we had left it 9 years before. We walked along the cobblestones, up the high curbs built for the rainy season and found the places of interest. On Fridays, the Mano a Mano, the local classified ads come out and we began looking for a car. We finally found VW Golf, perfect for our needs and gas savvy. Next we started looking for an apartment, always frustrating. The places we would like to have cost more than we can afford and the very cheap ones are usually not fit for living. But finally we found one, a half block from a local market with fresh fruit and vegetables, meat and fish, fresh hot tortillas and pleasant salespeople. Across from the apartment is an old cemetery with typical Mexican funerary houses, crosses and best of all, quiet residents. The main reason we took this place is the magnificent view our 3rd floor apartment affords out over the city and the distant mountains with the seashore to the left and the jungle covered hills on the right.

After locating the apartment, our next job was to travel to the U.S. to retrieve all our belongings that we had sent to our daughter during the ten years of traveling. But before we could go we needed to register the car. That meant that one of us would have to apply for tourist immigration status which takes a month. The tourist immigration we needed is
called an FM3 and in order to get it means at least three trips to the immigration office and can mean many hours standing in line or avoiding the line by arriving at 7:00 a.m.
Finally the FM3 in hand, the car registration done and a spare tire in the back, we were ready to return to the U.S. after our ten years traveling.
As it turned out, by the time we’d spent a month in the U.S. we were more than ready to return to Puerto Vallarta, to cobblestone streets, chickens bringing in the morning and a quieter pace of life. Now settled in our apartment, a new little poodle to share our life, new friends, looking forward to seeing old friends in the coming winter, we are ready to enjoy a quiet life. Neither of us is willing to say we’ll never travel again, but both are ready to stay put for awhile.

Lima, Peru

2008-05-22T20:15:00.001-07:00

April 18, 2008 Lima, Peru

In Cusco we had the choice of a good road bus- 36 hours, or an iffy road- 22 hours (if the road was open,) or third- a 1 hour flight to Lima. We took the flight. Our hotel in Lima had sent us instructions for the person waiting to pick us up. “Make sure and check the I.D. number!” I wondered just how many people would be waiting with our name that would hustle us off to God knows where and rob us. Our flight was met by Edwin, with the proper I.D. and soon our entire luggage went into a taxi for the 20 mile ride to the hotel, “Hostel de los Artes” in Central Lima. This turned out to be a charming old hotel with an indoor patio, TV in a common area and free internet. Added bonuses were the private bathroom and a good mattress. Since Lima Centro is inhabited by poorer people, crime can be a problem. At the corner of the block was the Central Police Station and both sides of the street were filled by police eating, talking on mobile phones or just getting their cars washed; the street was very safe.

One thing we’d noticed about Peru was how food was prepared. It is almost never served hot, just room temperature. Buffets can be breeding grounds for bacteria or worse. As a consequence, Ted (who’ll eat almost anything) developed a bit of traveler’s diarrhea. After two days, a few doses of Bactrim soon had him up and about again but with no desire to eat much of anything. The area around the hotel had at least a dozen Chinese restaurants called Chifa restaurants. None of them served food anything like Chinese elsewhere in the world. Bad! Bad! Bad! But cheap. There was one great seafood place where the food was good but relatively expensive. We found one restaurant that served omelets for breakfast, not typical. Peruvians, like most of the people in the world, eat the same things for breakfast, lunch and dinner, all inedible as far as I am concerned.

Lima is a city of 7.5 million people, an old, dirty place with a few lovely plazas and many old buildings built in the old Spanish mode. Since the city has suffered numerous earthquakes, most of the buildings are about 100 years old. Our hotel and other old buildings have signs posted stating Tremor Safe. All over the city there is road construction going on which compounds and creates traffic jams. On the main or large streets there are four lanes of traffic. Buses only in the center two lanes and all other vehicles in the two outside lanes. Drivers prefer to drive at full speed, sliding to a stop only when the light is fully red not merely orange. As soon as the light turns green for the pedestrians, people run across like crabs on a beach, because very quickly the light turns red and the rows of charging cars and buses spring like greyhounds from the gate at the starting bell, honking at any stragglers in the crosswalk. We watched as one person; helping a blind man cross the street, pulled him the last few feet. As the cars careen around corners they blast their horns at all pedestrians crossing. Old and young alike, learn to run crossings. We didn’t actually see any accidents but I assume they pick the bodies up fast so as not to hinder the traffic.

Miraflores, an upscale beach community that long ago merged into Lima proper, is full of lovely homes, large hotels and numerous shopping malls. Burger King’s, Kentucky Fried Chicken, and numerous fast food places. It is lovely, expensive, and bathed by costal fog; cold at this time of year. Cliffs of land butt up to the shore and it is necessary to take a car or taxi down to the water or climb many steps down. The Pacific Ocean is so calm, with only a few swells, not really waves, lapping the shore. Beach sand isn’t sand, it is gravel. A park like area with several soccer courts and a few grassy places has been built on the shore and we watched as groups of soccer players kicked the ball around and a couple of would be surfers tried to ride the swells, such as they are. After wandering around and buying just “one more souvenir,” we returned to Central Lima, the broken sidewalks, lounging people and dirt.

Like all of South America, they love their statues and monuments to heroes of past wars on charging horses and of course, copies of old Greek or Roman figures. We walked around a beautiful park, completely fenced and closed so no one could enter and were reminded of an old joke. This park is yours, no running, no walking on the grass, no pets, no picnicking. Enjoy!

There is a long pedestrian only street between the two main plazas, filled with shops, lovely old buildings, fast food places and hundreds of Lima’s middle class buying or selling wares. It is a poorer version of Florida Street in Buenos Aires. At one end is a lovely park with the Cathedral, the Bishop’s House, a Government Building, a large arched building with museums and other display areas, coffee shops and several Army Tanks with armed military. It is a strange feeling to walk around a grassy park on a warm and beautiful Sunday, families with babies in strollers, lovers kissing, children skating and a tank with armed military on the ready.

Finally after two weeks in Lima, 6 months in South America, and 10 years on the road, it was time to settle down somewhere and return to a somewhat more traditional way of life. So we decided to head for Mexico and Puerto Vallarta.

Our flight from Lima to Puerto Vallarta ended up being over 28 hours mostly spent sitting in airports. The first airline we took was Taca to Bogotá, Colombia, a 2 ½ hour flight, where, for some unknown reason (maybe we looked old and pitiable) we were bumped up to Business Class. Real luxury with food served with wine, real cloth napkins and large and roomy seats. What a difference! Only problem was that, for customs reasons, we had to collect our luggage at the end and go through the entire rigamarole of Colombian customs inspection. We arrived at 12:15 A.M and found an airport with an army of cleaning crew and workmen. The waiting lounge is on the second floor but there are no public elevators and only one, closed, escalator. Behind glass doors there is an elevator for the handicapped and, by then, I felt we qualified. We talked a guard into letting us and our two carts full of luggage use it. We might have been able to sleep away some of the 8 hours there except for the welding, sawing, hammering, and vacuuming being done at night when the airport is nearly empty. In addition, though the temperature outside in Bogotá was near freezing, the A/C was on full blast as well. A handful of travelers, including us, tried to stretch out on the very uncomfortable wooden benches; the floor was more comfortable, at least until the vacuuming crew got to work. One restaurant where they charged the customary ridiculous price of $3.00 for a small bottle of water (like all airports) was open all night.

Finally it was time for the second leg of our journey on Mexicana Airlines to Mexico City, but at least our luggage would be automatically transferred to Puerto Vallarta and not need to be collected by us. But by now, we were carrying our heavy winter coats along with camera bags, assorted other bags, and finally our heavy winter shoes. Leaving Colombia is a chore in itself. First through immigration, then the customary security check where they saw something in my bag. After pulling my bag apart, they searched my little cosmetic bag and found the dangerous weapon, a two inch, hair thin, eyeglass screwdriver that had slipped through un-noticed by all the other airlines. Also, Ted’s two half-used bottles of water were confiscated. Now maybe, if we were terrorists, I could have overpowered the pilot with my mini-screwdriver and Ted could have mixed up some sort of bomb but it really is insane. Next we had to walk through the “screening room” which is a line up of armed police where we were patted down looking for what? That was only the beginning. Passports are checked as we boarded the plane which is logical. But why must we show the passports on exiting the plane? Could we have sneaked on sometime during the flight? Or maybe changed seats with a terrorist somewhere over Colombia?

Finally, after a flight of 5 hours we arrived at our second stop, Mexico City, which has an airport the size of many small towns, all behind glass and no air-conditioning or even a single fan though the temperature here was in the high 80’s. After going through passport control, we walked the several miles to gate 15 for our connecting flight. No signs, no information in any language and no clue about what was going on. After asking a man sitting at an unmarked desk, he sent us on to area “B”. There, everyone on a connecting flight sits around until the flight is announced over the loudspeaker system. It was already quite warm; some could even say “hot” and of course, we were dressed for cold Andean weather. The altitude was causing Ted’s barely calmed intestinal tract to writhe and coil like a ball of snakes in the sun. The eight hours before our next flight slowly crept by; our departure time was scheduled for 8:10 p.m. for arrival time 9:35 in Puerto Vallarta. Each gate at the airport feels like a mile from the next. We couldn’t find out which would be our departure gate until 7:45! I looked at the miles we would have to run, the pile of hand luggage, including the very heavy so called laptop computer, our coats and shoes and Ted trying not to vomit, and arranged for a wheelchair, if not for Ted, then for the stuff we carried. Finally at 7:45 our gate was announced. Gate 27, the last gate, at least five city blocks away with five minutes to board. Ted climbed into the wheelchair and I piled most of our stuff onto him. A young man pushed him as I followed along to the last flight of the day.

Finally we were airborne for an hour long flight. Arriving in Puerto Vallarta at 9:30 pm we had a grand surprise. Baggage claim was only a 2 minute walk from the gate and we didn’t have to go through any kind of customs at all. Also, Ted’s gut had stopped writhing. A short cab ride later and we were at our hotel the Posada de Roger about 28 hours after we’d left our hotel in Lima; the end of our last and single worst, day of traveling in 10 years.

Peru and Machu Pichu

2008-04-15T11:24:00.000-07:00

April 6, 2008

Our first tour was a 9 hour, butt numbing, motion sickness inducing roll down to the Sacred Valley around Cusco. The first stop was at Pisac, a typical Andean village where a Sunday market, all merchants selling the same items, winds its way through the small town and up the hills. Further up the hillside are the ruins, a defense area where the farmers could take cover. The hills are crisscrossed with the old Inca trails which visitors (not us) can walk up and down. At the top of the mountain are several Inca temples, the sun, the moon and other old buildings. Unfortunately, no one knows what all the buildings were originally used for and the names we have were given by the Spanish and may have little or nothing to do with the actual buildings.

The Sacred Valley of The Incas is a wonderfully pastoral place with fields planted and cared for, with grazing cattle, sheep, pigs and llamas, surrounded by snow capped mountains and watered by numerous rivers. The great Urubamba River begins here, rushes madly down to the Amazon basin and eventually feeds into the Amazon River on its way to the Atlantic Ocean. We stopped here, at the town called Urubamba, for a delicious buffet lunch, eating in a lovely garden, warmed by the sun.

On the way up the mountains toward Machu Pichu is the old town of Ollantaytambo, 2600 meters above sea level, (8500 ft.) one of the main defenses of the Inca Empire. It is impressive because it is built going straight up the side of the mountain. Looking around, houses and temples are built on adjoining mountains, half way up the sides. Visitors (again, not us) climb up a very steep hill on pathways set on the terraces. At the top is the temple of the sun, formed by six rectangular monoliths with a weight of 50 tons each. All the stones were brought from a quarry 3 ½ miles away by humans. A very cold wind was blowing and after climbing through a few streets, we took refuge in a restaurant. The last part of the trip consisted of going back to town and the hotel.

On Wednesday we took the city tour, visiting the cathedral built on the bases of the Inca Palace. Some of the palace rooms were incorporated and used to house the clergy. The Spanish were convinced that Spanish construction methods were better than the Indian, so they built the church, courtyard and other rooms in the European manner. The Inca walls were built to form a 15 degree slant and withstood the constant tremors for at least 600 years. A large earthquake in 1650 demolished the church but left the Inca portions undamaged. A second earthquake in 1950 finished off several other churches in the area -and the Inca palace still stands.

About a mile outside and above Cusco are the ruins of Sacsayhuaman (known affectionately as “sexy woman”). Three massive walls running parallel to each other on ever higher levels were laid in 22 zigzags in such a way that any attacker could be detected immediately. The biggest stone is 25 feet tall and weighs 361 tons. According to archeologists, it took an army of 250,000 men to drag the stones, place them and cut and fit all the adjoining stones during the 75 years of construction. Under some of the stones there is a tunnel that connected the walls to the fortress. The name Sacsayhuaman means “head of the Puma”, and from above, it does look like a Puma head with the zigzagging walls being the teeth.

Local Indian women in traditional dress, with a small herd of Llamas and Alpacas will pose for pictures, hoping to get a few cents from visitors. Of course, I had to pet the animals, take pictures and paid my few Soles for the privilege. Alpacas have fuzzy faces and Llamas have clean faces. Both kinds are not as soft as the cleaned and brushed skins for sale in all the shops. And both kinds will spit in your face if you try to get them to do something they don’t want to do, just like their cousins, the camels.

A few miles away and 3715 meters above sea level (12,260 ft.) is the “red fortress”, Pucapucara, an Inca military fort constructed on red earth, with terraces, stairways and enclosures where travelers and their animals could rest.

The last stop was at Tambomachay where the Inca took advantage of natural caves and rock formations to create a cult place dedicated to water with a fountain bubbling out of the hill into three Inca built falls and stone channels.

Our final trip was to the famous Machu Pichu. The first part of the 4 hour train ride was an engineering marvel, a set of remarkable switchbacks which enabled the train to rise several thousand feet from the station in Cusco to the top of the surrounding mountains before plunging down to the Sacred Valley through a series of narrow gorges and defiles cut by the Urubamba River, with sheer cliffs rising on either side for several thousand feet, and the river itself a swirling mass of white water roiling down the precipitous slope and around massive boulders fallen from the heights above.
From Cusco’s elevation of 3700 meters (12000 feet or so), we dropped down to about 2000 meters (6000 feet) into a cloud forest filled with orchids, bromeliads and ferns. It was a rainy day and clouds hid the tops of the mountains; the lushness of the valley as wonderful as any we’d seen in Costa Rica (or anywhere else for that matter). When we finally disembarked in Aguas Calientes it was raining a fine spray. Hundreds of hawkers met the train, each holding rain ponchos in every color possible. We declined the ponchos and boarded a bus for the final climb to the top of the mountain and Machu Pichu, a 30 minute ride winding up more than 2000 feet above the Urubamba river which flowed around between gigantic, roundish peaks, each thousands of feet high and looking like nothing so much as titanic stalactites (or stalagmites, we can never remember which is which.) These peaks are a biological wonder. Isolated from each other, the smaller fauna of each are developing into separate and distinct species.

Arriving at the top we looked for our guide who quickly passed us over to an English speaking guide. Following her through the entrance gate, we worried that we might have to hike some distance but were delighted when a short walk brought us right into the ruins. Looking around at the ruins, some covered by clouds, and then the surrounding mountain tops, one could only stand in awe at the location.

Built sometime around 1400 AD, in an almost inaccessible location, the city was abandoned only about a hundred years later, possibly to make sure that it was never discovered by the Spanish Conquistadores, which it never was, and for 500 years it lay in ruins, overgrown with vegetation and invisible. It wasn’t until July 24, 1911, when the American historian Hiram Bingham, taking a shortcut to the Inca ruin of Vilcabamba, stumbled upon some building stones rising above the jungle. Intrigued, he started digging around – and the rest is history, not to mention Peru’s single biggest moneymaker, hosting 1500 visitors a day and more than 3000 during the high season at an average cost of some $200 per day per visitor, not including hotels, meals, souvenir sales, etc.

The ruins themselves scale right up the mountain with several large buildings perched on adjoining mountains. We followed our guide as she explained that Machu Pichu was only a religious center where about 500 priests lived. The Inca kings lived in Cusco, probably visiting only for religious ceremonies. Of course, this is all rank speculation. To this day, no one really knows what Machu Pichu was really for.

After climbing up and down the ancient stairways to various parts of the ruins, we were completely exhausted and happy to re-board the bus back down to Aguas Calientes and lunch. . We wandered around the small town which seems to be 50% restaurants and 50% souvenir shops. Every thing is set up for the million visitors; clean and orderly. Lunch, a buffet, was good and, now rested and full, we walked back to the station to wait for the train home which, after having seen the ruins, was an interminable 4 hours through the darkness of night.

Our final day in Cusco was spent visiting the beautiful plazas and the charming, narrow, cobblestone streets of the center of town, the large churches around the plazas, the high end shops and the many small tourist shops along the side streets. While we were eating lunch, a group of unhappy workers marched through the streets, around the plaza and finally stood on the city hall steps, calling for something or someone. We never did figure out what they were demanding and after about an hour, they melted away.

Cusco is a very charming city and the tourist industry is very well organized, leaving nothing to chance and ensuring that the visitor has seen it all in comfort. (except for the lack of sufficient oxygen.) Happily though, the next day we boarded our flight to Lima and blessed Sea Level.

Bolivia, end

2008-04-15T11:22:00.000-07:00

April 3, 2008

Bolivia is a very interesting country geographically, from the Atacama desert, the endless salt flats, Lake Titicaca and finally La Paz, built in an old volcano crater. It has been raped by its powerful neighbors and outside invasions for centuries and has lost more than a third of its land. Today, completely landlocked except for a small corridor to the sea available only on loan from Chile, is dependent on tourists and the income from the illegal drug trade. Rich in natural gas, for some reason, it has refused to sell it internationally. We watched as a long line of Bolivians waited to fill their propane tanks. Propane gas sells for about 75 cents a gallon in Bolivia but a few miles north, in Peru it sells for 15 dollars a gallon so much of the gas is siphoned off to the black market, leaving less for the Bolivians.

The Bolivian air force has planes left over from the Korean War era and if Bolivia should want to purchase a new plane, Chile would take that as an “act of aggression” and line the borders with military personnel. Same for Brazil, Peru and Venezuela. Coca, the main income producing crop in South America, due to the pressures of the US war on drugs, has been moved into an area that is guarded by well armed guerrillas from Venezuela and Colombia, and large swatches of the population are slowly being armed with guns being smuggled in from Venezuela.

Most of the rural population, and those without skills who have moved to the cities, have not progressed in education or sophistication for hundreds of years. Still paying homage to the ancient gods, fearful of cameras and without modern convienieces, they live much as they have for hundreds of years. Throughout the country, there are very few TV antennas. Whole villages are cut off from the modern world.

Those that have moved to the city and found employment are dissatisfied and in La Paz, at least once a day, sometimes three times in a day, the city is brought to a standstill as protestors block main streets with parades or sit down demonstrations called “manifestaciones”. The government has no history of stability with 175 presidents in 175 years and a reputation of corruption, and seems to be unable to make any changes that affect the people positively.

We talked to an older, educated man who lived in Europe for many years, and he is convinced that there will be a civil war within a couple of months and is prepared to defend his home and family with a gun. As I watched the hundreds of tourists climb the hills and shop in the thousands of handicraft shops, I tried to imagine gun fighting, death and destruction in the streets. I couldn’t! That way of life may be real to the people of Iraq or Pakistan, but not to modern Westerners. He also is convinced that the U.S. will send an army down at the first sign of trouble. I’m not so sure. Bolivia is a Christian country and a democracy, so we can’t bring either “the true God” or democratic deliverance to them. As a god-fearing, drug using nation, I don’t think that many Americans would be in favor of another war in a hopeless situation.

To Cusco:

So, with all this on our minds, we left Bolivia, the most interesting country in South America and the cheapest place so far on this continent, and headed into Peru by bus. At the border, everyone disembarked from the bus, walked into the Bolivian immigration office for an exit stamp, walked a few meters more to the Peruvian immigration office and were issued a 90 day visa in about three minutes. The streets of Desaguadero, the border crossing town, were filled with bicycle driven carts, a sort of tuk-tuk as in Asia and India, transporting all manner of items, as well as passengers, around town. In front of the Peruvian immigration office sat a row of money changers busy changing Bolivianos for Soleis, Peruvian money.

As we drove through the country side for the next nine hours, we noticed that most of the village and farm houses had metal roofs, unlike the thatch roofs of Bolivia. Except for that, the houses looked the same. Large farms cut up the valleys and climb the hills, with thousands of grazing sheep and cattle. As we approached Cusco, the landscape changed from the flat plateau to steep, green and lush mountains with the glaciers of the Andes rising behind. Picturesque villages and farms in the valleys with workers in the fields or herding sheep or cows along the side of the road, made for a lovely sight.

However, the roads so far in Peru were dotted with potholes and in need of repair. All along the roads in Bolivia and in Peru, the houses are little cube like structures of raw brick with all the top floors unfinished. Even in La Paz, the houses climbing up the hills were built the same way. Finally reaching Cusco after a 12 hour bus ride we found it to be a modern city with many single family homes, beautiful flower filled yards, pastel stucco with tile roofs and very few rural ladies or street stalls. There are numerous market streets leading off the main boulevard but the boulevard itself is strangely free from tourist shops.

We had contacted a hotel on the internet and they sent someone to the bus terminal to pick us up. Good thing as the hotel isn’t really a hotel, rather a private home on the second floor with five rooms on ground floor, each with private bath, a small heater, a common area with a mini kitchen and two tables with chairs. There is no sign outside and we would never have found it on our own. There is no reception and the owners upstairs were there to greet us. Because we were so tired, they ordered a delivered Pizza. The next day we discovered that many of the restaurants are closed during the day making it difficult to buy lunch. Early in the morning two men from a tour company showed up, giving us information on the available tours. I had marked 9 different ruins that we might be interested in. We signed up for three tours that would take us to each place, including a day trip to Machu Pichu by train. At one time there was a cheap local train to Machu Pichu but that has been discontinued. Today the “backpackers” train costs $99.00 each and the luxury “Vista Dome” costs $148.00 roundtrip. There is an even more luxurious train, the “Hiram Bingham” named for the discoverer of Mach Pichu, which is made up of nothing but dining cars. It also features live music, hot towels when you board, and any kind of gourmet food you’d care to order, prepared by internationally trained chefs. All this for a mere $625. Not bad for a round trip of 8 hours! Also, the entrance fee to the ruins is $50.00 each. Our total cost for three tours: $540.00, still less than the “Hiram Bingham” and that included several meals, bus transfers, and all the entrance fees. The tour man also arranged for our flight tickets from Cusco to Lima. The three tours did include all the ruins and valleys in the area so we were able to see all that we wanted.

First about tourists in Cusco. Over a million tourists visit Cusco every year. The industry is run very efficiently. Someone from the “Visitor’s Information” office is at the bus station or airport to greet arrivals, help with luggage and go with the visitors to their hotel. After seeing them to their rooms, they set up an appointment with the tour companies. Early the next morning, the tour company makes arrangements for visiting each of the ruins and the city tour. The tours could be done without the tour companies but are more difficult and take more time. The tourist busses line up and leave from the Plaza de Armas every few minutes, each full with their load of passengers and a local guide. When the tour is long, meals are included at very nice restaurants. Finally, the tour company sends a taxi for departure from Cusco and the person who greeted the tourist at the bus station is there to see him off at either the bus station or the airport. Everything is arranged to insure that the visitor is comfortable, sees everything and has had ample opportunity to spend lots of money in the local community.

Climbing the surrounding hills, the city itself is very pretty, clean and charming with cobblestone streets, walls made of old Inca stones, lots of eye catching merchandise, friendly people and every class of restaurant possible, lovely gardens with well kept flower plots, fountains sparkling in the sun, impressive old churches and a history complete with greed, power, rape and ravishment. What more could a visitor want, besides, at 12,000 ft., more oxygen!

There are four classes of visitors. First the “do it themselves” backpackers who go on local buses and arrange lodging on the fly. Most of them end up on the arranged tours anyway. Second are those, like us, who stay in budget hotels and take the Backpackers train and all the tours. Third are those with more cash who take the Vistadome train, and finally those with gobs of money who stay in the 5 star hotels and take the “Hiram Bingham Train” at $625 a day, per person.

The Inca Ruins.

The Incas themselves were late comers in the New World, lasting only a hundred years before the Spanish arrived. Compared with the Aztecs and the Mayans, they were less advanced. They didn’t develop writing or as fine an architecture but had gold and silver in abundance. They had developed a good army and controlled a huge area from Ecuador to Chile, always having to defend themselves from the fierce Indians of the Amazon Basin.

As far as archeologists can determine, they had a religion full of myths, mysticisms and miracles, not too unlike the religion brought over by the Spaniards with a belief in the afterlife. Indian tribes that had been conquered by the Incas were more than willing to join the Spanish and overthrow the hated rulers. But like the Indians to the north, they knew excellent real estate. The locations of the cities are some of the most beautiful in the world, from large food producing plateaus to tropical rainforest valleys to breathtaking heights. A vast network of paths and troops of runners insured fresh fish from the sea and rivers, produce from many different locations, and gold aplenty to decorate themselves and their houses. All these places had been inhabited for centuries by different Indian farming tribes who hadn’t developed armies capable of defending themselves from the Incas. Only the fierce, head hunting Indians in the jungles could or did resist.

The Inca rulers lived in Cusco, in a large valley surrounded by vast growing areas. Since they imported so much, a network of relay stations was developed, each about 6 miles apart, the distance a runner could make easily where another runner would take over. Llamas did most of the transport but unlike donkeys, would not carry heavy loads so necessitated many animals. Llamas also provided food and warm clothing.

The buildings of un-mortared stones, some weighing over 50 tons each, had to be quarried and transported by human effort. These huge stones made up the bases of the walls. The higher up the wall construction went, the smaller the stones and these were worked into more or less square shapes without the use of metal tools. The magnificent walls with huge rocks were built in the valleys taking advantage of natural outcroppings and caves. Most of the defensive walls were built in the Cusco valley, some with three sets of walls as high as 50 feet. The better, square cut stones, were later pillaged and used by the Spanish to construct the churches and homes they built in Cusco and other towns. One marvels at the incredible workmanship which fit the stones together so closely that mortar was not needed; which was a good thing since they never invented it.

What they did invent, though, was a system of building which canted the walls at a 15 degree angle to each other, perfect for preventing collapse during the frequently violent earthquakes which pummel the region regularly. In many places, you can see where the stones have separated, often leaving large gaps between, yet the walls have remained standing.

Lake Titicaca

2008-04-15T11:11:00.001-07:00

Lake Titicaca, March 27, 2008

We finally left for Copacabana, the city on Bolivia’s Lake Titicaca shore on the next Thursday with our guide, Cathy, a thoroughly modern Aymara Indian woman. As our bus climbed up and out of La Paz we passed through El Alto situated on the rim of the crater, the fastest growing city in South America. Filled with ugly square brick houses looking half finished, and dirt streets, this is home to hundred of thousands of people who flock to the city looking for work. Most will find out that the streets are not paved with gold.

After an hour or so, the road cuts across a flat plain of farms and small poor villages with the spectacular, glacier covered volcanos of Illimani and Illampu looming above the horizon. There are two ways of reaching Copacabana, a very long road around the perimeter of the lake, or a much shorter boat crossing of the Strait of Tiquina, a mile wide, which separates the smaller, southern part of the lake from the larger northern section. Most travelers, whether tourists or commercial, take the shorter way. On one side of the strait is the town of San Pedro de Tiquina. Here passengers leave the buses to take small boats across. The buses are driven onto flat boats and ferried across. Four years ago passengers could stay on the buses during the crossing but an accident and sinking of a bus has now meant that no passengers are allowed on the bus while the bus is floating. On the other side of the strait, we re-boarded the bus at San Pablo de Tiquina and continued our journey.

After the crossing is a twisty mountain road with absolutely spectacular views down to the lake below, which reawakened Maria’s motion sickness. With a lot of effort she endured the bus speeding around the turns, and we finally pulled into Copacabana, a hilly town of about 15,000 inhabitants located on a lovely semi-circular bay with a white sandy beach. When the early Portuguese settlers moved to Brazil and founded the City of Rio, they named their beach after the one at Lake Titicaca, Copacabana.

Lake Titicaca straddles the border between Bolivia and Peru with 40 % in Bolivia and 60% in Peru. The lake is the highest navigable body of water in the world, over 2 miles above sea level, about 13,000 ft, with the surrounding hilltops rising some 1000 to 3000 feet higher. It is also huge, some 150 miles long and 60 miles wide, and once away from the mountainous shorelines, the other side is not visible. It seems like an ocean. The lake is fed by 40 small rivers, many of which carry water down from the glacier covered mountains along its flanks. Strangely, it has only one outlet but a high rate of evaporation in the thin atmosphere keeps it from overflowing its banks and, more or less, maintains its size though it has risen somewhat over the centuries. The water is less than 1% saline, remarkably clear, and delicious. Oxygen here is less than 50% of that at sea level. This means that even the fittest of people are panting with every climb. The sun is immensely hot but the air is chilly.

Our first day was spent mostly sleeping. The hotel we stayed at is only a few years old, very nice with clean but chilly rooms, although they did provide us with a propane heater for several hours in the evening. The second night, they forgot to collect the heater, which we had turned off when we went to bed. Suddenly, at 4 am, the staff remembered us and, afraid that we might have been asphyxiated, woke us up to get it. Downstairs was a restaurant which served chicken and local fish. Neither of us was up to hiking so after our nap, we wandered a few streets to the town square. At the local market we saw a few of the 4000 types of potatoes that grow in Peru and Bolivia. (Later we had a chance to taste several types of potatoes when Cathy, our guide invited us to her home for typical Bolivian meals. Some of the potatoes are delicious but others must be an acquired taste as neither of us could swallow them). We had already seen the lovely white corn grown here in the markets of La Paz. Each kernel of corn is very large, almost the size of marbles. On each occasion we tried eating corn we found it chewy and dry. Not at all like the sweet corn we are used to. Next we saw the local version of popcorn, maybe an inch across and sweetened. It isn’t crisp but rather chewy, a type of candy. Locals and a few tourists wandered about eating bags of the popcorn. We tried it but weren’t impressed.

The town square is small but lovely. At one side sits a large and beautiful church. Here is a statue of the Virgin that faces out looking over the lake, supposedly to warn and protect against approaching storms and pirates. During mass, the statue is turned toward the congregation. At one side of the church is a door that leads to a large dark room where hundreds of pilgrims light candles in offering. In front of the church, vendors sell flowers and religious items. On certain days, people park their cars and the cars are blessed. Others bring small models of cars, hoping that the blessings will bring them a real car. Originally, during colonial times, Indians weren’t allowed inside the church and heard mass in the large courtyard. It is a lovely church, filled with statues and elaborate gold niches. By entering another chapel upstairs, the virgin facing the lake can be seen, surrounded by gladiolas which are grown in the surrounding areas.

Early the next morning we boarded a boat for a tour of the lake and the Isla del Sol, largest of some 40 or so islands which dot the lake. We had originally planned to stay on the island for a night. However, the hotel our tourist agency had us booked into is reached by a 45 minute climb to an altitude exceeding 14,000 ft. Though our minimal luggage could be carried up by donkeys, we would still have to hoof it. Our guide Cathy, very perspicacious after observing us old folks on the first day, suggested that we take just the boat tour and return to Copacabana for the night rather than attempt the climb. Both of us agreed without any hesitation. Actually, Cathy proved to be invaluable, both as a source of information and for arranging all kinds perks, perfect for coddling us ancients.

Hundreds, if not thousands, of tourists make this trip every day. Dozens of boats, each carrying at least 50 or 60 people ply the lake between Copacabana and the Isla del Sol, as well as the somewhat smaller Isla de la Luna, either to visit the ancient ruins of the Tiwanaku, a pre-Incan civilization, or simply to climb up and down the hills like mountain goats. God only knows why.

The boat trip of about 3 hours to our landing on the Isla del Sol skirts the shores of the lake along which rise lovely green vegetation covered hills as well as a few rather spectacularly distorted and deformed cliffs; signs of the tremendous upthrust which is still today creating the Andes. Far away, on the horizon, the glacier covered peaks of those mountains could be seen rising above the clouds which occasionally obscured them from our sight. It was the creation of the Andes which also created this magnificent lake. Millions of years ago, this area was covered by an inland sea. When the mountains rose, the sea disappeared leaving behind the lake as well as the Uyuni salt flats we had visited weeks earlier, and the whole of the Bolivian Altiplano, the high plains, the second highest inhabited plateau on earth after Tibet.

The sun shone during the first part of our trip and, though the air was quite cold, maybe 50 degrees F., about 10 degrees C., it was quite comfortable sitting on the upper, outside deck of our boat. At one point, however, the sun disappeared behind some high cloud cover and the temperature dropped quite precipitously. The weaker sisters (and the less well dressed) among us headed below to the covered cabin. We, however, were well prepared with heavy coats, mufflers, hats, and gloves and remained above. One girl, who had begun the trip in a mini skirt and halter top, eventually donned a sweater and stuck it out, though the goose bumps on her bare legs eventually grew to something like ostrich egg size. Just before we reached the island though, the sun came back out and the weather was lovely.

This area has been settled for over 4000 years and is the birth place of the first Inca ruler. It is also believed to be the birthplace of the sun. At least that is the myth. Archeologists have found lots of pre-Inca items, some under water as the level of the lake has risen over the years. For 3500 years the Indians lived peacefully, terracing all the hills and growing their crops. The Incas, a very war loving group subjugated all the people from Colombia to Chile, building large cities and an empire for about 100 years. The Spanish ended the empire with their quest for gold. For a few years the Incas tried fighting back but finally their empire ended in civil war and defeat. Ruins, named for the Incas, actually belonged to the culture of Tiwanaku, an earlier empire whose capital was not far from La Paz. Among these are the Inca Palace, reached via a high flight of steps which we skipped, and the Inca Steps, an even higher stairway which leads to the Inca Fountain, a natural artesian spring fed by the lake itself. The fountain flows down alongside the stairs in a waterfall, so we didn’t have to climb up to enjoy it. Cathy climbed up with an empty bottle to collect some water from the top of the spring. It was ice cold and delicious.

The island itself is home to a few villages and about 8000 inhabitants. Farming and tourism are the only two sources of income. At one village, on the north side of the island, we got off of the boat in search of a toilet. A woman who was cooking collected our two Bolivianos (less than a dime) for the use of her toilet and a handful of toilet paper. After the three hour trip, there was quite a long line waiting for the one toilet. Her small outdoor kitchen came complete with a small open pit filled with all sizes of Ki, otherwise known to us as Guinea Pigs; dinner for her and her family. These cute little guys were living quite happily in their pen, munching away on the endless supply of leaves being fed to them, totally oblivious of their ultimate and ignoble fate. She gave us a bit of golden potato, a very buttery and delicious taste.

Most of the day the sun shone brightly, and we were quite warm. When clouds hid the sun, it was bitter. Pigs with numerous piglets roam the island with a few cattle and a handful of llamas and donkeys, mostly used for transport.

We ate lunch at a small restaurant and visited the small local museum before re-boarding the boat for the return trip. Several people had left the boat for the four hour hike across the island to catch it on its return to a village on the southern side. Others chose to spend the night on the island.

We ended our day quite happy for the trip. The next morning we woke to rain and cold. Not a good day for a lake trip. Our return to La Paz was uneventful except for the short boat trip back across the strait. Now the water was choppy and the boat rising and falling threatened to upset the steadiest of stomachs. Back in La Paz we felt like we had returned home, glad to be back in the hotel we’ve lived in for three weeks, and our little heater.

Bolivia March 23

2008-04-13T13:37:00.001-07:00

Easter in La Paz March 23, 2008

La Paz March 8, 2008
The whole Easter week, Semana Santa, is a very big occasion in Latin American countries. All week long, people go to their churches and many offices are closed. Flowers are brought in from all over the country and many pilgrims flock to sacred places, some asking for miracles and some for favors. Many take miniatures of items, like cars or houses, asking for a blessing and hoping for the real thing in the coming year. Animals are blessed and services continue.

Buses leave Uyuni every day but the best one, the luxury bus leaves four times per week for La Paz. Trains leave for Oruru twice a week where travelers must then transfer to a bus for La Paz. The books warn travelers that during the transfer many items are stolen. Not a selling point to visiting Oruru at this time. We had arrived in Uyuni on Thursday and the luxury bus leaves on Friday, so we bought tickets for the 10 hour trip leaving at 8 pm. Todo Turisismo buses are clean, toilets are the best we’ve seen and the dinner of fried chicken and French fries was good. During the coldest part of the trip the heaters came on. Since the bus was only half full, we got to use an empty pair of seats and I almost got a full night’s sleep. Ted, however, too large to lie down, didn’t.
On Easter Sunday we wandered around the San Francisco church, the oldest and most beautiful in La Paz. Outside in the huge courtyard, vendors were selling traditional Easter candies, heavy on the chocolate eggs of various sizes from tiny to Ostrich sized. Everyone was dressed in their Easter finest. Inside the church, at the end of the mass, the congregation began to sing “When the Saints go Marching In.”, though the words were not the same as the familiar version from New Orleans. There was even a song sung to the melody of “Michael Row the Boat Ashore”. Even the dogs were dressed up to parade around the large courtyard, and the smallest children were having a good time trying to catch the pigeons. There were also a few beggars, but not as many as we would have thought. There was a general feeling of excitement and the whole spectacle was very colorful.

For the first six hours of the trip, the bus traveled on the typical dirt road, reaching pavement only at Oruru. On the dirt road the bus bounced around so much, coats dropped from the overhead storage. I had taken off my shoes and for a short stop along the way, had to get down on my knees and search for them, eventually finding one about three seats forward and the other four seats back. At Oruru we stopped for about 20 minutes while driver and steward were changed. It was raining and cold.
This year Easter fell on March 23 which is also the anniversary of Bolivia’s defeat by Chile in the War of the Pacific in 1883 which resulted in Bolivia losing her access to the sea. Strangely enough, the defeat is remembered annually as the Dia del Mar with military parades and ceremonies. Just down the street from the San Francisco Church, on La Paz’s main boulevard, is the monument to the unknown soldier, marked by a tall obelisk. Here, crowds gathered to watch several marching bands as well as troops of soldiers marching in the uniform of 1883. There was also a parade of the Bolivian SWAT troops marching in their olive drab camouflage outfits; nowhere near as colorful, but a lot more intimidating. All these parades were ultimately heading up the hill to the city’s main square lined by the Cathedral and various government buildings. We were still suffering from the effects of the high altitude and decided not to follow them up.

Upon arriving in La Paz, which at first glance appears to be all up or down hills, it was raining. On the way to the hostel we saw Indian women setting up stalls, hanging up clothes or setting out shoes and wares for what we discovered was a daily morning market on Illampu Street. Since we had been unable to reserve a room ahead of time, we were anxious about finding one, especially as the bus arrived at 6:30 a.m. still dark. But we were lucky and found one at the first place we stopped.
Bolivia’s most colorful Semana Santa celebration is at Copacabana on the shores of Lake Titicaca. We had planned to go up there for the weekend, but Ted’s Video camera was on the fritz and in the shop, so we decided to simply wait a while to make the trip.

A city of a million and a half people, built in the crater of a volcano, its cobbled streets run up or down with only a handful of more or less level ones. The highest capital in the world, 13,000 feet above sea level, it is cold. Our first hotel was cold with saggy beds, extra charges for everything and not a good place for us to spend three weeks. We planned to stay here for three weeks to explore, get some laundry done and acclimate before heading to Peru. So the next day we looked at six or seven other hotels. We found the Hotel Alem, with a large room on a busy street that would suit our purposes. Unfortunately, the street is nearly vertical and the hotel, like most of the budget accommodations, is also unheated. The next day we bought a small heater and made life so much better, though, still not completely acclimated, we still get easily fatigued doing anything at all, let alone climb up and down the street.
Among some of the interesting sights in La Paz is the Street of Ghosts. The story is that when the Spanish were building homes they used the bones of dead Indians in the foundations. Subsequent residents complained that they were being haunted, so the city counsel ordered the installation of a green cross on one of the walls. It must have worked because today elderly citizens sit in the sun without any celestial visitors.

Luckily, our street, Sagarnaga, is a major tourist area filled with souvenir shops, Alpaca clothing stores, tourist agencies, internets, and restaurants; dozens of them all side by side on both sides of a street not much more than a single vehicle wide. The line of cars, trucks, and busses passes by all day but, also luckily, the cross traffic is so heavy, that they are slow and often stalled so it’s not too hard to cross the street.
Another fun sight is the school children’s pedestrian traffic guards, dressed in zebra suits. They prance their charges across the streets, amusing both walkers and drivers.

Just across the street is our favorite restaurant, called 100% Organic, which serves up delicious soups and great sandwiches as well as huge entrees of steaks, chops, and chicken. They also have Llama steaks, which taste mostly like barbecue sauce.
Another great feature of the restaurant is that it’s heated. Next door to that is a Cuban restaurant, also pretty good, which offers live Cuban music on Thursday nights. Also heated. A couple of Pizza and Pasta joints are also quite close, but they aren’t heated, and with ambient temperatures in the 60’s, eating there can be uncomfortable. There’s also a decent Chinese restaurant in the area, and most incredible of all, an Israeli joint usually packed with kids on their travels after having just gotten out of the Israeli army. There are more Israelis here than we saw even in Buenos Aires and signs in Hebrew are to be seen everywhere in the neighborhood. In fact, every where in South America, we’ve seen many Israeli kids. Hebrew signs are all over in even the smallest towns. One Brazilian lady on seeing a world map for the first time and seeing how small Israel is, exclaimed “No wonder there are so many Israeli travelers. There isn’t enough room for you all to stay there.”

There’s also a Turkish Bath and pool in the area. Ted checked it out today and decided that it would probably be a great place to pick up some kind of infection or other.

Illampu, the main street in the area, only a half a block up the mountainside from our hotel, is the site of a morning market, which extends well into the afternoon. People, mostly women, set up booths along the sidewalks selling everything from fruits and nuts to eggs, clothing, watches, CDs and DVDs, and just about anything else you could possibly think of. It’s an amazingly colorful affair, though the sidewalks are so crowded that it’s easier to walk in the street. Our hotel includes a breakfast of juice, rolls, and coffee, but we found an ancient Indian woman selling eggs on the street, so every few days we buy a dozen and the hotel cook scrambles them up for us in the morning.

Bolivian women adopted wearing Bowler hats sometime ago. I don’t know why but they look so charming, perched on top of their heads, usually 2 sizes too small, much in the manner of vaudeville comedians of nearly a century ago. When it rains, they cover the felt hats with plastic bags. The women all seem to be as wide as they are tall but I think that is because they are wearing everything they own in order to stay warm. Most wear colorful shawls, tied in front and holding bundles of goods or babies, and their voluminous skirts( made with 7 yards of fabric) are color matched to the shawls and embroidered with shiny thread and glitter in the sun, when there is sun, which is very rare. On the other hand, the men dress in western clothes, very drab.

On our tour we had been introduced to coca leaves. Sucking on the folded leaves is said to relieve altitude problems. Also, drinking coca tea. However during the first night here, I suffered paralysis of the left side of my face and left arm. Gladly, that seems to be passing and I don’t have to look like a bad Halloween mask forever; another side effect of altitude. Another is loss of appetite. A real shame where food is plentiful, good and cheap.

While in Africa, we saw a program about the pygmy armadillo, a rare and furry little thing. The show claimed that they only occurred in the desert near Mendoza, Argentina which is known as the wine growing region of Argentina. Since we have seen wine regions around the world, we didn’t stop in Mendoza on our way to Chile. But while in San Pedro de Atacama, we spotted the mummy of a pygmy armadillo in a small grocery store, high on a shelf. Now in La Paz, the hotel across the street has one in the reception area. They were kind enough to show it to us, a cute little thing with lots of fur on its belly and on its back. I did get some pictures and found out it is common around the area, the mummy is supposed to bring good luck.

La Paz has hundreds of shoe shine men and boys, most wearing ski masks and looking a bit scary. For about a dime, they will shine your shoes. One day while visiting the cathedral park, two young boys asked to polish my shoes. Cathy, our guide also got hers polished. Then it was up to Ted to choose one of the boys to polish his. Being an equal opportunity employer; he gave one shoe each to both boys. At first, they were confused but with laughter from some of the onlookers, they bent to the job and were rewarded with a dime for each shoe.

Bolivia March 16

2008-04-13T13:35:00.000-07:00

La Paz March 16, 2008

La Paz March 8, 2008
On Palm Sunday we took a sightseeing bus trip around La Paz. Every church was bustling with activity. In front and on the steps, ladies were selling elaborately braided palm fronds, people were dressed in their very best clothes and everywhere there was a feeling of excitement.

Buses leave Uyuni every day but the best one, the luxury bus leaves four times per week for La Paz. Trains leave for Oruru twice a week where travelers must then transfer to a bus for La Paz. The books warn travelers that during the transfer many items are stolen. Not a selling point to visiting Oruru at this time. We had arrived in Uyuni on Thursday and the luxury bus leaves on Friday, so we bought tickets for the 10 hour trip leaving at 8 pm. Todo Turisismo buses are clean, toilets are the best we’ve seen and the dinner of fried chicken and French fries was good. During the coldest part of the trip the heaters came on. Since the bus was only half full, we got to use an empty pair of seats and I almost got a full night’s sleep. Ted, however, too large to lie down, didn’t.
Our bus guide first described the layout of the city, built in a 5 km. wide volcanic crater with very few level streets, which we had already figured out. The wealthier citizens live at the lower and flatter areas and the poorer ones live on the steep upper streets most of which are cobbled or even dirt.

For the first six hours of the trip, the bus traveled on the typical dirt road, reaching pavement only at Oruru. On the dirt road the bus bounced around so much, coats dropped from the overhead storage. I had taken off my shoes and for a short stop along the way, had to get down on my knees and search for them, eventually finding one about three seats forward and the other four seats back. At Oruru we stopped for about 20 minutes while driver and steward were changed. It was raining and cold.
In the very center of La Paz is a hill at the top of which one can get a panoramic view of the city spread out below and climbing up the sides of the crater. Above the crater rim looms the glacier covered Volcano Illimani, almost 22,000 ft. high, and scattered around the city below are numerous high rises sprouting like tall weeds among the lower buildings which cover the city.

Upon arriving in La Paz, which at first glance appears to be all up or down hills, it was raining. On the way to the hostel we saw Indian women setting up stalls, hanging up clothes or setting out shoes and wares for what we discovered was a daily morning market on Illampu Street. Since we had been unable to reserve a room ahead of time, we were anxious about finding one, especially as the bus arrived at 6:30 a.m. still dark. But we were lucky and found one at the first place we stopped.La Paz has many lovely colonial style buildings characterized by carved facades and painted in bright, gay colors. The central square is surrounded by official buildings, the largest of which is the neo-classical cathedral which we plan to visit on Easter Sunday.

A city of a million and a half people, built in the crater of a volcano, its cobbled streets run up or down with only a handful of more or less level ones. The highest capital in the world, 13,000 feet above sea level, it is cold. Our first hotel was cold with saggy beds, extra charges for everything and not a good place for us to spend three weeks. We planned to stay here for three weeks to explore, get some laundry done and acclimate before heading to Peru. So the next day we looked at six or seven other hotels. We found the Hotel Alem, with a large room on a busy street that would suit our purposes. Unfortunately, the street is nearly vertical and the hotel, like most of the budget accommodations, is also unheated. The next day we bought a small heater and made life so much better, though, still not completely acclimated, we still get easily fatigued doing anything at all, let alone climb up and down the street.
Bolivia had at one time, a sea coast and was about three times bigger than today. But, like Paraguay, its larger neighboring countries had whittled it down. Chile took the sea coast, which had been the route to transporting silver to Spain.

Luckily, our street, Sagarnaga, is a major tourist area filled with souvenir shops, Alpaca clothing stores, tourist agencies, internets, and restaurants; dozens of them all side by side on both sides of a street not much more than a single vehicle wide. The line of cars, trucks, and busses passes by all day but, also luckily, the cross traffic is so heavy, that they are slow and often stalled so it’s not too hard to cross the street.
La Paz had been a major stopping point on the silver route. After gaining independence, 175 years ago, Bolivia has had 175 presidents, all corrupt with one serving 30 years in jail for his creative accounting. Another gave away a large parcel of land to a Chilean general in return for a horse. Finally a few years ago, Chile ceded a small access path to the sea to Bolivia.

Just across the street is our favorite restaurant, called 100% Organic, which serves up delicious soups and great sandwiches as well as huge entrees of steaks, chops, and chicken. They also have Llama steaks, which taste mostly like barbecue sauce.
Another great feature of the restaurant is that it’s heated. Next door to that is a Cuban restaurant, also pretty good, which offers live Cuban music on Thursday nights. Also heated. A couple of Pizza and Pasta joints are also quite close, but they aren’t heated, and with ambient temperatures in the 60’s, eating there can be uncomfortable. There’s also a decent Chinese restaurant in the area, and most incredible of all, an Israeli joint usually packed with kids on their travels after having just gotten out of the Israeli army. There are more Israelis here than we saw even in Buenos Aires and signs in Hebrew are to be seen everywhere in the neighborhood. In fact, every where in South America, we’ve seen many Israeli kids. Hebrew signs are all over in even the smallest towns. One Brazilian lady on seeing a world map for the first time and seeing how small Israel is, exclaimed “No wonder there are so many Israeli travelers. There isn’t enough room for you all to stay there.”
Bolivia remains the poorest nation in South America, though it is rich in oil and natural gas. For whatever misplaced reasons, the government will simply not allow this natural wealth to flow out of the country, though it could make them wealthy. The result is widespread poverty, ignorance, and disease. More than half the population of 9 million claims to be indigenous Indians and the average mother has 5 children. In fact, 42% of the population is under 14 years of age, a time bomb which will explode eventually. Political and social unrest is rife. In the week we have been here, we have seen 4 major demonstrations, the largest of which by the miners, managed to make the city’s already huge traffic problem even worse.

There’s also a Turkish Bath and pool in the area. Ted checked it out today and decided that it would probably be a great place to pick up some kind of infection or other.
Bad as it is, the economic situation is not dire due to the underground economy based on the cultivation of coca, though the US government has been pressuring Bolivia to crack down. For awhile, the government was paying the farmers $2500 per hectare not to grow the crop. What happened was that the government nearly went broke when the farmers added more hectares in order to claim they stopped the growing and collect the bribe. Of course, they continued to grow coca as well, which paid considerably more than $2500 per hectare. The net result is that the coca growing regions have come under the control of drug cartels supported by various armed guerrilla organizations and violence has become a standard practice, a la Colombia. Just another example of the US’s totally stupid drug war.

Illampu, the main street in the area, only a half a block up the mountainside from our hotel, is the site of a morning market, which extends well into the afternoon. People, mostly women, set up booths along the sidewalks selling everything from fruits and nuts to eggs, clothing, watches, CDs and DVDs, and just about anything else you could possibly think of. It’s an amazingly colorful affair, though the sidewalks are so crowded that it’s easier to walk in the street. Our hotel includes a breakfast of juice, rolls, and coffee, but we found an ancient Indian woman selling eggs on the street, so every few days we buy a dozen and the hotel cook scrambles them up for us in the morning.
We also learned about Bolivia’s most interesting fashion. Sometime in the late 1800’s an English hatter imported hundreds of Bowler hats into La Paz. The hats were too small for the gentlemen of La Paz so he convinced the female Spanish aristocracy that wearing Bowler hats was the latest thing in European fashion. And as the Indian women copied the gentry in fashion, the Bowler hat craze took off. Bowler hats, usually two sizes too small, are still a common sight among the Indian women of Bolivia. Today, the hat worn on a slant signifies a single woman or worn straight means a married one. The long full skirts worn by the Spanish ladies and adopted by the Indian women, have over the years, been shortened until they are now mid-calf with over 7 yards of fabric and the shawls of Spain are still seen everywhere usually matching the skirts.

Bolivian women adopted wearing Bowler hats sometime ago. I don’t know why but they look so charming, perched on top of their heads, usually 2 sizes too small, much in the manner of vaudeville comedians of nearly a century ago. When it rains, they cover the felt hats with plastic bags. The women all seem to be as wide as they are tall but I think that is because they are wearing everything they own in order to stay warm. Most wear colorful shawls, tied in front and holding bundles of goods or babies, and their voluminous skirts( made with 7 yards of fabric) are color matched to the shawls and embroidered with shiny thread and glitter in the sun, when there is sun, which is very rare. On the other hand, the men dress in western clothes, very drab.
Women wear their hair in long braids tied together in the back with some sort of tassel that makes the braids about six inches longer. Modern girls are choosing to wear their hair loose or tied in pony tails. Some are even cutting it short. That coupled with blue jeans, IPODs and tennis shoes make them blend in with girls anywhere in the world.

On our tour we had been introduced to coca leaves. Sucking on the folded leaves is said to relieve altitude problems. Also, drinking coca tea. However during the first night here, I suffered paralysis of the left side of my face and left arm. Gladly, that seems to be passing and I don’t have to look like a bad Halloween mask forever; another side effect of altitude. Another is lossAfter touring the major downtown area, our bus then turned to the southern route where the very wealthy have built. The upper part of La Paz is at an average altitude of 12,000 ft., the highest capitol in the world. The southern part of the city is almost 3,000 feet lower, and considerably warmer. Here, the houses are built on very strong and expensive foundations because there is no bed-rock, only clay which has a tendency to slip when wet. Sometimes the cost of appetite. A real shame where food is plentiful, goodthe foundation is many times the cost of the house, which can be several hundred thousand dollars and cheapmore.

While in Africa, we saw a program about the pygmy armadillo, a rare and furry little thing. The show claimed that they only occurred in the desert near Mendoza, Argentina which is known as the wine growing region of Argentina. Since we have seen wine regions around the world, we didn’t stop in Mendoza on our way to Chile. But while in San Pedro de Atacama, we spotted the mummy of a pygmy armadillo in a small grocery store, high on a shelf. Now in La Paz, the hotel across the street has one in the reception area. They were kind enough to show it to us, a cute little thing with lots of fur on its belly and on its back. I did get some pictures and found out it is common around the area, the mummy is supposed to bring good luck.
It is very picturesque with modern subdivisions perched below towering cliffs of multicolored rock. Try to imagine a city built in the Painted Desert of Arizona and you begin to get the picture.

Just outside of this area is the“Moon Valley”, a strange place where the clay has been eroded by rain, leaving a large dry mud pile, characterized by weird stalagmitic shapes, some reaching heights of 20 ft. or more. A few cacti have taken hold on some of the piles. Today the area is a national park with a small entrance fee.

From there, we returned to our starting point at the Plaza Isobel La Catolica, named for the Spanish Queen who funded Columbus’ voyage and was therefore, at least symbolically, responsible for everything that has happened since concerning the New World and the fate of its indigenous people.

We returned to our hotel via taxi. Taxis in La Paz are the cheapest we’ve encountered anywhere in the world. They are not metered, but one can travel for long distances for little more than a dollar. We have continued to be surprised by the low fares which make bargaining superfluous.

On another day we walked the two blocks to the “Witch’s Market” where we found the “rare and elusive” pygmy armadillo for sale. At least a dozen of them. For less than $20. Some had been stuffed but others still had the insides and smelled like decay. Not very pleasant. Hundreds of dried fetal llamas for sale, some with fur, most without. Other potions for love, health, happiness are on display. One woman insisted for 15 cents, that we buy a “travelers” good luck rock. Herbal medicines advertise cures for any human ills. A disturbing sight was the furs of several small wild cats from the Amazon Basin. They may bring good luck to the buyers but they certainly bring bad luck to the wild cats of Bolivia. Once we actually saw a dried Jaguar skin hanging outside a shop.

Bolivia March 8

2008-04-13T13:34:00.000-07:00

La Paz March 8, 2008

Buses leave Uyuni every day but the best one, the luxury bus leaves four times per week for La Paz. Trains leave for Oruru twice a week where travelers must then transfer to a bus for La Paz. The books warn travelers that during the transfer many items are stolen. Not a selling point to visiting Oruru at this time. We had arrived in Uyuni on Thursday and the luxury bus leaves on Friday, so we bought tickets for the 10 hour trip leaving at 8 pm. Todo Turisismo buses are clean, toilets are the best we’ve seen and the dinner of fried chicken and French fries was good. During the coldest part of the trip the heaters came on. Since the bus was only half full, we got to use an empty pair of seats and I almost got a full night’s sleep. Ted, however, too large to lie down, didn’t.

For the first six hours of the trip, the bus traveled on the typical dirt road, reaching pavement only at Oruru. On the dirt road the bus bounced around so much, coats dropped from the overhead storage. I had taken off my shoes and for a short stop along the way, had to get down on my knees and search for them, eventually finding one about three seats forward and the other four seats back. At Oruru we stopped for about 20 minutes while driver and steward were changed. It was raining and cold.

Upon arriving in La Paz, which at first glance appears to be all up or down hills, it was raining. On the way to the hostel we saw Indian women setting up stalls, hanging up clothes or setting out shoes and wares for what we discovered was a daily morning market on Illampu Street. Since we had been unable to reserve a room ahead of time, we were anxious about finding one, especially as the bus arrived at 6:30 a.m. still dark. But we were lucky and found one at the first place we stopped.

A city of a million and a half people, built in the crater of a volcano, its cobbled streets run up or down with only a handful of more or less level ones. The highest capital in the world, 13,000 feet above sea level, it is cold. Our first hotel was cold with saggy beds, extra charges for everything and not a good place for us to spend three weeks. We planned to stay here for three weeks to explore, get some laundry done and acclimate before heading to Peru. So the next day we looked at six or seven other hotels. We found the Hotel Alem, with a large room on a busy street that would suit our purposes. Unfortunately, the street is nearly vertical and the hotel, like most of the budget accommodations, is also unheated. The next day we bought a small heater and made life so much better, though, still not completely acclimated, we still get easily fatigued doing anything at all, let alone climb up and down the street.

Luckily, our street, Sagarnaga, is a major tourist area filled with souvenir shops, Alpaca clothing stores, tourist agencies, internets, and restaurants; dozens of them all side by side on both sides of a street not much more than a single vehicle wide. The line of cars, trucks, and busses passes by all day but, also luckily, the cross traffic is so heavy, that they are slow and often stalled so it’s not too hard to cross the street.

Just across the street is our favorite restaurant, called 100% Organic, which serves up delicious soups and great sandwiches as well as huge entrees of steaks, chops, and chicken. They also have Llama steaks, which taste mostly like barbecue sauce.
Another great feature of the restaurant is that it’s heated. Next door to that is a Cuban restaurant, also pretty good, which offers live Cuban music on Thursday nights. Also heated. A couple of Pizza and Pasta joints are also quite close, but they aren’t heated, and with ambient temperatures in the 60’s, eating there can be uncomfortable. There’s also a decent Chinese restaurant in the area, and most incredible of all, an Israeli joint usually packed with kids on their travels after having just gotten out of the Israeli army. There are more Israelis here than we saw even in Buenos Aires and signs in Hebrew are to be seen everywhere in the neighborhood. In fact, every where in South America, we’ve seen many Israeli kids. Hebrew signs are all over in even the smallest towns. One Brazilian lady on seeing a world map for the first time and seeing how small Israel is, exclaimed “No wonder there are so many Israeli travelers. There isn’t enough room for you all to stay there.”

There’s also a Turkish Bath and pool in the area. Ted checked it out today and decided that it would probably be a great place to pick up some kind of infection or other.

Illampu, the main street in the area, only a half a block up the mountainside from our hotel, is the site of a morning market, which extends well into the afternoon. People, mostly women, set up booths along the sidewalks selling everything from fruits and nuts to eggs, clothing, watches, CDs and DVDs, and just about anything else you could possibly think of. It’s an amazingly colorful affair, though the sidewalks are so crowded that it’s easier to walk in the street. Our hotel includes a breakfast of juice, rolls, and coffee, but we found an ancient Indian woman selling eggs on the street, so every few days we buy a dozen and the hotel cook scrambles them up for us in the morning.

Bolivian women adopted wearing Bowler hats sometime ago. I don’t know why but they look so charming, perched on top of their heads, usually 2 sizes too small, much in the manner of vaudeville comedians of nearly a century ago. When it rains, they cover the felt hats with plastic bags. The women all seem to be as wide as they are tall but I think that is because they are wearing everything they own in order to stay warm. Most wear colorful shawls, tied in front and holding bundles of goods or babies, and their voluminous skirts( made with 7 yards of fabric) are color matched to the shawls and embroidered with shiny thread and glitter in the sun, when there is sun, which is very rare. On the other hand, the men dress in western clothes, very drab.

On our tour we had been introduced to coca leaves. Sucking on the folded leaves is said to relieve altitude problems. Also, drinking coca tea. However during the first night here, I suffered paralysis of the left side of my face and left arm. Gladly, that seems to be passing and I don’t have to look like a bad Halloween mask forever; another side effect of altitude. Another is loss of appetite. A real shame where food is plentiful, good and cheap.

While in Africa, we saw a program about the pygmy armadillo, a rare and furry little thing. The show claimed that they only occurred in the desert near Mendoza, Argentina which is known as the wine growing region of Argentina. Since we have seen wine regions around the world, we didn’t stop in Mendoza on our way to Chile. But while in San Pedro de Atacama, we spotted the mummy of a pygmy armadillo in a small grocery store, high on a shelf. Now in La Paz, the hotel across the street has one in the reception area. They were kind enough to show it to us, a cute little thing with lots of fur on its belly and on its back. I did get some pictures and found out it is common around the area, the mummy is supposed to bring good luck.

Bolivia 2

2008-03-18T09:02:00.000-07:00

Bolivia March 4, 2008
Early on Tuesday morning we waited at the hostel in San Pedro Atacama, Chile for our tour bus to pick us up at 7:30. It was late and Ted went off to see what the problem was. We didn’t worry about being separated since there were only a couple of streets in town. About 8:30 a bus came and picked us up, drove about a mile and dropped us off at the Chile border. There we had our exit stamped into our passports, loaded all our stuff onto one of three jeeps and with 16 other travelers, began our Bolivian adventure.

A few miles into Bolivia we came upon two small buildings set in the middle of nowhere. The Bolivian immigration station. Our party was composed of 17 people, some from Switzerland, from Ireland, Spain and Japan. Our jeep held us, three other Americans and one German man. The immigration man took all American passports, explaining that a police would deliver them to Uyuni, Bolivia waiting for our arrival. Traveling without our passports was a bit un-nerving for us all, but since there was nothing between us and Uyuni but empty space for the next 3 days, we didn’t worry overly.

Our driver then proceeded to start driving across the desert with nothing visible except tracks in the sand. This was our introduction to Bolivian roads, at least in the south. The first stop was at a National Park Reserve where we visited several salt lakes. One of them was green from the dissolved copper, and one was white. Three different species of Flamingos live in the salt lakes of the Atacama desert. The lakes are quite shallow and allow different types of algae and other organisisms to thrive, providing food for the flamingoes. The lakes mirror the mountains and the few scattered clouds with a wonderful brilliance.

The high altitude, the dryness and the blowing cold wind made us quite uncomfortable during most of the first day. As we continued to drive through miles and miles of dry desert, a few dwarf plants grew in patches here and there. Mostly the plants appeared slightly dead, growing a sickly yellow against the light brown of the ground and hills. We arrived at an area of active geysers and thermal pools. In the distance we could see several geysers blowing up but I couldn’t get any good pictures. Nearer to our parking lot there was one blowing smoke from the ground. A pool had been built so people could lounge in the warm waters. But eventually they had to leave the warm water and dry off in the very cold blowing air.

Driving again through miles and miles of dry land, we arrived at an area where boiling water and mud bubbled in pits, throwing yellow sulfur around some of the pits. In the distance we spotted several Vicunas grazing on the small yellow plants. Even though the landscape was barren and the mountains devoid of any living plants, the ground continually changed. From sand, to sand strewn with small rock, gravel, sand with a thin layer of gravel, back to sand. In most areas where plants did grow it appeared that they were growing around rocks where the rocks might have captured small amounts of morning dew. In other areas, a flat yellow type of plants looking almost like fungi grew in circles around the rocks. The different salt lakes have different colors depending on the concentration of minerals or algae. At the Colorado Lake (red lake) the red algae drifted back and forth with the wind while flamingoes peacefully grazed..

Finally we reached our “hotel” for the first night. The wind continued to blow and very few people ventured out to take a couple of pictures, then ran quickly back to escape the cold. A pet llama (or maybe next year’s meat) was feeding outside. She or he didn’t seem to want to be touched and no one was brave enough to try. Our beds were six to a room, meaning that the occupants of the three jeeps continued to be separated, meeting only at meals and tourist stops. The blanket on each bed was folded such that it was impossible to cover both the shoulders and the feet. The communal bath was down the tile hallway making for cold feet if one should have to use it in the night. Also, electricity was only on for about three hours from seven to ten. Everyone spent a rather sleepless night, each suffering from headaches because we were over 12,000 feet up from sea level.

Day 2 we headed across more flat dry land. Spotting a few vicunas grazing or standing in the lifeless plain. Our driver explained that they feed in the greener areas, and then move up to avoid predation by pumas. In the museum back in Chile we discovered that the llamas are a cross between the vicuna and the alpaca done by the Indians about 14,000 years before when they found that they could capture baby animals and raise them to insure future meat and the animals cross bred naturally.

The wind has carved large rocks into unreal shapes sitting in the middle of miles of sand. One tourist stop was at a rock that resembled a tree. Some of the group climbed on the rocks while most of us were content to stand in front of them and have our pictures taken.

Back in the jeeps we drove miles through the desert, spotting lakes filled with eating flamingoes. Arriving in a small village, devoid of either trees or people, we stopped for a lunch of soup, bread, rice, chopped wieners and coke, a typical meal.

Now the landscape changed again, through small green valleys filled with herds of llamas, up through volcanic rock and barren patches.

Small adobe houses appeared sometimes and lots of short rock walls, the rocks just lay upon one another, no mortar holding them in place. On one hillside it looked like a map had been drawn with short walls forming rectangles or very small territories, matching those in the valleys. Our driver told us they were Incan, but it was a bit hard to believe that unmortared walls have remained in perfect condition for five hundred years. But maybe. Small creeks meandered through the green valleys and large herds of llamas grazed. Most of the llamas had red ribbons wrapped around their ears and some wore ribbons stuck in their backs. There are some black, some white, some white and brown and some brown llamas, giving the whole herd a wonderful variety of the grazing animals.

One stop in a very small town built at the foot of some rock palisades seemed completely empty, as did most of the villages we passed. Our driver explained that the people of the village were either out with the llamas (we saw two) or minding their small crops of Quenoa bushes, gluten free grain that comes in three colors, red, yellow or green. Our jeep stopped to examine some of the low Quenoa plants.

Now we began to see sheep among the herds of lamas. Sheep were introduced a few years back and because they are cheaper to raise, more and more sheep’s wool is replacing the traditional lama and alpaca sweaters and shawls for sale by local women.

Now the areas were greener and on several occasions we had to drive across small streams. One time we drove up the stream until the road again moved onto dry land. Suddenly the landscape changed to an enormous salt flat, the largest in the world.

For Millions of years, this area of South America was covered by a salt sea. As the Andes were pushed up and the climate dried out over successive periods, layers of salt were deposited until the entire sea had finally dried up leaving the world’s largest salt shaker; pure sodium chloride covering an area of almost 5000 sq. mi, and some 400 ft. thick. This is the Salar de Uyuni, merely the largest of several huge salt pans left behind by the receding sea. While the Salar is irregular, it is roughly 50 by 100 miles along its perimeter, giving one some perspective on its huge size.

We drove for miles alongside the flat salt pan, finally arriving at the hotel for the night. This hotel is only three years old, has 27 rooms each having six beds and private baths. A suicide shower provides warm water and the electricity is on for four hours. Big windows face out looking at the back of a small village and mile upon mile of flat, white salt.

After breakfast, we drove out onto the salt. The three jeeps occasionally drove through shallow salt lakes produced by recent rains, reflecting the snow topped mountains along the edges of the salt flat, but. for the most part, the pan was dry and blindingly white. Isolated islands in the salt are home to small hare-like animals, Vizchayas, now beginning to evolve into separate species. At one, we stopped while tourists climbed up for the view of an ocean of white salt. The whole island was covered with large saguaro cactus and the buildings had been built out of ancient coral. The outside tables were salt blocks. On one building the chimney was a tall cactus skeleton. Because of the completely flat and white salt pan, photo perspective shots were amazing and the various groups of travelers spent many minutes posing. In one photo, Jesse. The American girl traveling with us, sits cross legged on the salt while a tiny Bryan and an equally tiny Joe appear to stand on her outstretched hands.

Now our jeeps continued across the Salar until we reached the “Salt Hotel”, a building made entirely out of salt blocks, standing in the middle of miles and miles of salt. Inside, the tables, the beds, the walls and walks were made of salt blocks, clearly showing the layers of salt sandwiched between layers of brown sediment. Sculptures filled the hall ways with even a standing clock, a salty Big Ben, all carved from salt.

Next mounds of white salt appeared, the salt mines of Bolivia. Trucks haul the salt to other small villages where it is loaded onto trains and taken to Ororu for processing. At one village where the train line begins, villagers sell small bowls and other small items made of salt. This was the first village we had seen that had people walking about and selling tourist items. But again, not a single sign of anything green, just brown adobe huts, a few television antennas leaning away from the wind, and brown ground with white mounds of salt with several houses made of salt blocks.

About 12 miles from the mines, Uyuni, 12,000 ft. above sea level, appeared and the end of the tour. It was Thursday and the weekly market with women selling everything from school supplies, clothes, lotions and soap, skirts and fruit, filled the main street. Bolivian women in colorful pleated skirts, aprons, bowler hats, long wool stockings, long braids hanging down their backs sit by their wares or shop for supplies. All the women that sell produce wear blue aprons over their clothes. Young Bolivian women don’t wear the old traditional clothes but have changed to Western clothes.

We were unloaded on a street corner after the driver drove by the immigration office (closed until 2:30) and left to fend for ourselves. While Ted went in one direction to see one Hostel, Joe (another American) went in the other direction to check out another. Finally, we decided on Joe’s hostel and dragged all our belongings a block and a half to the Hostel Marith, a very nice place.

After dumping all our stuff in the rooms, we headed back in a group of five, to hopefully find our passports waiting. All the information that we had gotten off of the internet, the photos without glasses, the copies of credit cards, etc. proved un-necessary. They stamped our passports, and after filling out a small form and paying our $100 each, we had our visas. So easy!

Now we had time to wander around, taking pictures, eating lunch and finding our bus or train schedules. Johann, the German man with us, took a train to Argentina to continue his trip. The three other Americans were going north to work in an Animal Reserve for two weeks before returning to Colorado. We bought our bus tickets to La Paz.

Near the bus terminal there was a street of stalls that sold nothing but used clothes. Shops for the poorer or toiling class.

Everywhere dogs roam, all seemingly in good health with some wearing collars. Big dogs with obvious German Shepherd heritage, little curly poodle like dogs, shaggy small dogs, even a few puppies, all well behaved but follow tourists around hoping for a hand-out. At dinner we watched as a tourist put her coat on the floor by her chair so a small puppy could lie down. After it rearranged the coat it rolled off while trying to lick it’s hind leg, it settled down for a warm and comfortable nap. It was still sleeping when we left at 9:00 p.m.

Friday morning the street was empty of the market people and it was easy to believe the city is home to only 14,000 people. The main industry of Uyuni is the many tourists that walk through the park or find their way to the half dozen internet places. Every tour company that has an office in San Pedro de Atacama has one here. Tours back to Chile or tours around the salt flats of Bolivia keep the industry well and happy. While eating lunch at an outdoor café, we were spotted by two Israeli girls that we had met in Buenos Aires over a month and a half ago. After catching up on the different trips each of us had taken, they left to ready themselves for the 3 day, 2 nights tour that we had just finished. A very interesting tour and one that we are so glad we had the chance to see.

Chile

2008-03-18T08:59:00.000-07:00

Chile Feb 20, 2008

We left Buenos Aires in the middle of a heat wave, and were mighty glad to leave. Our “room” at the Alkimista Hostel wasn’t much more than a glorified closet with a small window opening out into a stifling airwell. The small fan we’d been given was barely adequate to move the air around and for a week we sweltered.

Our 22 hour trip west by bus took us through the Pampas of Argentina, across the Andes and into the capital of Chile, Santiago. The landscape was incredibly beautiful through the Andes, twisted rocks, switch back turns, small valleys all topped by snow capped peaks. Near the Chilean border we caught a glimpse of Mt. Aconcagua, the highest peak of the Andes at 22,800 ft. above sea level. At the border we first lined up for the Argentine exit stamp, then the Chilean entry stamp then back onto the bus. There, we waited until finally customs had room for us. As we lined up the entire luggage was hauled off the bus, loaded onto a conveyer belt and passed through an x-ray machine. Then each of us was called forward to unlock our luggage so the customs people could paw through our underwear, shake each bag, etc. Our ostrich feathers were confiscated, for no clear reason; we repacked our bags and everything was reloaded onto the bus.

Down the other side of the Andes the road was much the same as going up. Some incredible switchbacks down the mountain. Because we went through a new tunnel, we missed seeing the “Christ of the Andes” the world famous statue which stands at the top of the old pass through the mountains. Finally we pulled into Santiago and unloaded our belongings into a taxi to the hostel, the Che Largato Hostel, conveniently located a block from the main street and the metro line, a block and a half from the supermarket, and several block from a large pedestrian street. The Hostel had once been a large single family dwelling with rooms on several floors, multiple bathrooms and a kitchen large enough to serve royalty. The reception desk was placed in what had been the garage for the horse and buggy. We walked around, Ted taking pictures of the park, the old buildings and more of the numerous statues of generals that dot all parks in South America. The most important of the generals was Bernardo O’Higgins, obviously of Irish descent, and the main street of Santiago is named for him. Another thing we’ve noticed about statues in South America is their love of Grecian and Roman statues. Even in very small towns, half clad women or Roman soldiers share space with statues of Romulus and Remus suckling or Generals of every war ever fought on the continent. But some of the names seem strange, General O’Higgins, Lord Cochran, not what I would expect in a South American country.

Though the city contains over 3 million people, it is not a particularly imposing or interesting place, seeming more like a small town. Buenos Aires it ain't.

Here began the mis-information that was to plague us for awhile. First we were told that rent paid in U.S. dollars would save us the 19% tax that Chileans had to pay. So we converted Chilean pesos to dollars. We later found out that was true only in Hostels and 5-star hotels. Then we found out that for budget hotels and guesthouses, Chilean pesos were needed, forcing us to buy pesos. Also, as of Dec 1, 2007, Bolivia requires a visa from U.S. citizens, at $100 U.S. dollars and a passport picture without glasses. All Ted’s photos have him in glasses. So we needed two one hundred dollar bills and a new photo. None of the banks here will change money for foreigners, so we had to rely on the money changers and we lost money on every conversion.

When we had arrived at the bus station we had checked our large suitcases into “Left Baggage” and needed to retrieve them before leaving for Valparaiso. Following the map we rode the metro to the bus terminal only to discover it was the wrong station. Asking directions, we boarded the metro again and backtracked to the second bus terminal in Santiago. Again it was the wrong station. Finally, across the street from bus terminal 2 we found terminal 3 and our luggage. Now we had to return to terminal 2 to catch our bus lugging all our suitcases (2 large ones, 2 small ones, Maria’s backpack, Ted’s camera bag, our laptop computer case, and at least one bag of various kinds of foodstuffs for use when the bus food was inedible.) By now, both of us were ready to abandon the large suitcases except they contain all our cold weather clothes. It was a temptation! Finally we found the correct terminal and platform for the bus to Valparaiso.

Valparaiso, one of the port cities of Chile, is a much smaller and less hurried city than Santiago. Here, rich Chilean families have summer homes built on the hills. In every direction the hills are covered with houses separated by narrow winding streets. There are sixteen “Ascensors” or small cable cars that transport citizens up the hills from the old city built at sea level. Visitors can ride up and back for free. They are quite the engineering marvel. The oldest dates from 1883 and the newest from 1916.

Our stay there was in a “guesthouse”, a lovely home built about 1910. Valparaiso suffered a severe earthquake in 1906 causing similar damage as in San Francisco, CA but didn’t get the press attention. Rebuilding, many of the old homes are similar to those built in San Francisco. The “El Rincon Marino” is one of those homes with the second floor now converted to rooms for rent. Big rooms, high ceilings, wooden floors, large windows looking out over the street and very comfortable beds.

We walked around following the main streets to the main square, the Sotomayor plaza lined by government buildings. One interspersing building of shinning glass was built inside of an old stone one, the multi-story rising above the single stone in a weird mixture of old and new. Again statues of famous generals. The next day we rode the metro a few miles north to Vina del Mar, a wealthy suburb of Valparaiso that reminded us of La Jolla, CA. Many shops, lovely park, good restaurants, lots of tourists, a very lovely little city. There Ted found a passport place and got his photo with no glasses. One large mall built on a spiral design had 17 different beauty parlors side by side. There may have been more but we didn’t feel like walking up the spiral to see. Another funny thing we saw in Chile is the outdoor telephone booths. Tiffany lamp shaped roofs set on poles. No place for Superman to change.

Returning to Valparaiso, we hauled our stuff to the bus terminal for our trip to Calama, high up in the Atacama Desert. A 22 hour ride through a high desert where absolutely nothing grows for hundreds of miles. Rain is measured in millimeters with many places not receiving any for years. Every once in awhile, there is a small patch with low tufts of grass but the whole place is completely devoid of green. Finally at Calama a small river runs through and some trees and grass grow.

Calama is an old city where the trains that transport copper from the mines can still be heard. A few years ago there had been a passenger train to the Bolivian border which ran several times a week but is now gone. Outside of the city, tour companies run tourists to the world’s largest copper mine but the real attraction is getting tourists to San Pedro de Atacama and the salt flats.

On Saturday before school starts we walked around. It seemed that everyone in town was out buying school uniforms and supplies. The pedestrian street was crowded with shoppers. And, as in Argentina, the number of babies in strollers or learning to walk is startling. Children seem to outnumber adults five to one.

We needed to buy some water and toilet paper. No matter how many blocks we walked, no SuperMarket. We did find a huge market similar to the ones in Asia where stalls offered everything from meat to car parts. Clothes, shoes, fruits, vegetables, cold weather clothes and swimming suits, but no water or toilet paper. However, there were at least 15 different pharmacies. The biggest thrill we had was a small earthquake which shook the town for about 2 seconds. Chile is extremely volcano and earthquake prone, but with a bit of luck, we’ll miss the big one.

After resting up for 2 days in Calama, an hour and a half short bus ride through part of Death Valley and the Valley of the Moon finally brought us to San Pedro de Atacama. Here, because of a fast running river, humans have been living for twelve thousand years. The Spaniards came in 1540 and found gold and copper in the surrounding area. By 1557 the small town had been made into a governmental hub for the surrounding area. In 1557 the first church was built and in 1997 it was made into a Historical Monument. The church at the town square is considered to be one of the most beautiful churches in northern Chile. It is interesting because of its age and because the ceiling is covered with cactus wood.

Basically San Pedro de Atacama is a very small town with several dirt roads, adobe houses, some maybe centuries old, that have been converted into restaurants, hotels, shops and tour agencies. Tourists roam back and forth along the main street and sometimes down one or two of the few side streets. Hotels, hostels and camping places dot side streets. There are about four mini-markets and two ATM’s. Looking around we found one pharmacy but he doesn’t carry any drugs. Hope no one gets sick. Hotels range from 5 star type establishments to basic dormitory facilities and they are all over priced, but we had met some girls from London who turned us on to the Hostel Miskanty, a brand new place where we got a double room with a queen sized bed and private bath for only about $32. This was luxury; the first private bathroom we’d had in over a month.

The sole purpose of the town today is to separate tourists from their money. Tours take visitors to salt lakes, hot thermal pools, geysers, several windswept rock formations and a star gazing tour. These are all very expensive and, after checking them out, we decided to see all those same things in Bolivia on the way to Uyuni, a much cheaper option offering 3 day 2 night trips for only $100 USD per person, all inclusive.

Stay tuned.

Hunhuamaca, Jujuy, Salta, Cordoba and Rosario, Argentina

2008-02-16T03:19:00.000-08:00

Jujuy, Feb 2, 2008

Two hours north of Salta along the road to Bolivia is the small town of San Salvador de Jujuy. The book rated it as a place to visit. It isn’t! We met a very nice couple from Alaska and traveled with them on the bus to Jujuy where we found room in the Chung King (yes, you read that right) Hotel.

The basilica church was built in 1546 and a few other old buildings date around that time. Today a small pedestrian street lined with shops offers goods for sale. A small park with the church and the old city hall are the only two old colonial buildings that are worth seeing.

Our plan was to visit Jujuy, then Huamahuaca in the north, returning south to visit Tilcara and finally return to Salta. Plans do change. The bus north was to Huamahuaca; however it stopped in Tilcara where it emptied all the passengers out.A bus to Humahuaca will be here in 20 minutes. After 2 hours it finally arrived not at the terminal where we were all waiting but a bit out of the way. We dragged our luggage (no taxis in town) down dirt and rock roads and boarded the bus which was full so we were forced to stand (another word for being thrown about) for the rest of the trip to Huamahuaca. Finally arriving during the biggest weekend of the year for tourists (“Carnival”) and almost dark, Ted set off to book hotel rooms. None available in town! Kids with backpacks wandered up and down looking for a room. There is a tent camping site which was full. Finally a friendly woman sent Ted a bit out of town, about half a mile or so, where a new hotel is under construction. They had rooms but the bathrooms aren’t finished. Shared bathrooms outside. Being high in the mountains, 9000 feet above sea level, it was quite cold. Going outside in the middle of the night to find a bathroom in freezing cold was not in my original plan, but plans do change.

After we dropped our luggage off, we strolled back to town to find food. Canned snow is the big seller during “Carnival”. Kids run through the streets squirting each other and sometimes the unwary tourist. The streets were littered with empty cans and every shop and vendor had stacks of cans to sell. The town square, with a very picturesque stone church, was filled with visitors. Next to the square are steps leading up to the Monument of Heros of Independence with many people sitting on the steps waiting for some fun to start. Several jugglers were practicing while kids ran and played. A small alcove with local crafts offered “Lama sweaters”, pots, Mate cups and other items.

On the little streets leading from the square, shops catering to tourists or restaurants sit between homes. Many of the houses have been painted and cleaned up but as with all small poor towns, many are in need of repair. We hung around for awhile, but nothing much was happening and it was getting colder and colder, so we went back to the hotel.

From Huamahuaca we took the bus back to Jujuy (had a flat tire on the way) and then another to Salta. The area around Salta lies in the foothills which are just east of the Andes. The area is high desert with canyons of incredible beauty. Rocks are pushed up, bent and fractured. Millions of years of water and wind have carved the rock into wonderful shapes. Layers of iron rich rock, sulfur, copper and other chemicals have created a painted panorama of red, brown, green, white and yellow. The landscape is very much like the Painted Desert of Arizona.

Back in Salta we took a day trip to Cachi through another set of canyons. Since it had been raining for two weeks, large streams crossed the road and in several places, washed part of the road away. This in itself isn’t bad except we were on a very winding road with deep gorges on the sides. Quite often, we were forced to stop while bulldozers, which operate 24 hours a day, cleared debris from the road in order to make it passable. The road switched back and forth, climbing up and up. At the highest point on the road we were at 12,000 feet. For some 45 miles, the road is dirt and gravel. Known as the Cuesta de la Obispo, the Bishop’s Trail, this road has got to be one of the most beautiful and exciting roller coaster rides on the planet. Once at the top, we found ourselves on a high plateau, flat for miles and miles around; high desert full of saguaros. Here the road was again paved and we drove for about an hour until we descended into the valley in which the town of Cachi lies. On the other side and looming above the town are the first mountains of the Andes, with the snow covered peaks of Nevado del Cachi rising to almost 21,000 ft. Very impressive!

We spent 4 hours wandering about Cachi, taking in the scenery and eating lunch at an outdoor café, until our return bus arrived. Then we returned back through the gorgeous scenery getting a slightly different view of the mountains covered in lush green vegetation and the Calchiques river, a silvery ribbon in the valley far below.

The next day we went by bus to Cafayate and after checking into the hostel, took a tour in a landrover through yet more canyons, bumping up into dry river beds strewn with green copper rocks, more layered rocks, dry waterfalls and more cactus. A trying day but not to be missed. Parts of this valley of the Calchiques River are very reminiscent of the Grand Canyon, Zion National Park, Monument Valley, and, again, The Painted Desert; all on a much smaller scale, though grand enough for anyone.

From Cafayate we took a bus to San Miguel de Tucuman which climbed up through the desert into the clouds at 10,000 feet. Then down through thick jungle where the trees were covered with vines, bromeliads and orchids. It was more jungly than even Costa Rica. Finally the bus drove through miles of pasture land, the start of the Argentine Pampas, where the weather was warmer. In three days we had traveled from Arizona, to Costa Rica, and now we were in Kansas.

Tucuman is a very big city but didn’t offer much besides a lovely central square with some fine old colonial buildings.

From Tucuman we traveled to Cordoba which again didn’t offer anything new or interesting. On to Rosario, a very pleasant city about 4 hours from Buenos Aires. We arrived on Sunday and spent several hours walking along the pedestrian street where all the shops were closed. The city is an important port on the Parana River for shipping produce from the many farms and factories. Along the river a park stretches almost as long as the city itself. At one place they have erected a large modern monument with Greek-like statues and an eternal flame to honor the first raising of the Argentina flag. Rosario is in many ways a smaller, quieter version of Buenos Aires with its parks, its monuments and the old colonial buildings. Finally we finished by walking the pedestrian street when the shops were open and dined at the exclusive restaurant “Mc Donald’s” after enjoying Rosario.

The area north of Rosario was once home to the Jewish Gauchos of the Pampas. At the end of the 19th century, hundreds of Jews from Russia and Poland, escaping pogroms, managed to find themselves in Central Argentina. With the help of Baron de Hirsch, a Jewish Philanthropist, they received enough money to start their own farms and ranches. Just imagine it, a bunch of Chassidic “Christ Killers” plopped down in the midst of the Catholic Indio Pampas. After a somewhat difficult start, the 2 communities actually got along quite well, with the Jews learning Spanish, and the natives speaking Yiddish. Today, all their descendants are doctors and lawyers in Buenos Aires and Rosario and all that remains are a few old decrepit synagogues overgrown with weeds. There was nothing left for us to go visit.

The whole area from Cafayate to Buenos Aires is in the “Pampas”, the agricultural center of Argentina. About as large as the center of the U.S; cows, sheep and horses share land with corn, soy beans, haystacks, silos, small towns, farm equipment and factories. Surprisingly, we saw no wheat growing. As we drove through, for 3 days, we thought that we could be driving through Kansas, Iowa, or Nebraska; just as flat and just as big.

Finally, after almost a month of traveling, we returned to Buenos Aires and the Alkimista Hostel, where the vast bulk of our luggage was waiting for us. We expect to remain here for a week or so, catching our breath, and then on to Chile.

Asuncion, Paraguay to Salta, Argencina

2008-02-16T03:17:00.000-08:00

Paraguay Jan 28, 2008

Leaving Rio on a Crucerro del Norte bus, we had to book for Puerto Iguazu on the Argentina side. From there, local buses cross back into Brazil and then Paraguay. The bus itself stops in Foz on the Brazilian side but we weren’t allowed off. We then had to go through the Brazil immigration, then the Argentina immigration, and arrived at the terminal during a downpour. After waiting for over 2 hours for the local bus which runs every 20 minutes and night falling, we decided that we’d spend the night on the Argentina side and cross in the morning.

Early the next morning, Monday Jan 28, we caught the local bus which took us back to Argentina immigration for the second time in two days and then to Brazil immigration, finally entering Paraguay at Cuidad del Este. Our plan was to visit the world’s second largest dam just outside Cuidad del Este. The bus drove straight through, leaving us to backtrack in the rain to find the Paraguayan immigration. We had purchased our visas in Buenos Aires but needed our entry stamp. That done, we walked a few blocks into Cuidad del Este which is nothing more than a huge disorganized shopping bazaar that caters to 30,000 visitors from Brazil and Argentina every day for “duty free” shopping. Needing to find an ATM machine, it took several minutes and a group of taxi drivers to finally understand us. The ATM machine is located in a bank hidden among a few office buildings with no names. After getting Paraguayan Guaranis (money) we bought our bus tickets to Asunción.

Asunción has 1 million in population, several shopping malls, old colonial houses and not much more. We stayed in a private home, the Pension de Silva where they have converted about 8 bedrooms into rooms for rent. The ceilings are at least 20 feet high and the patio has 3 sofas and 6 chairs plus several other tables with 4 chairs each. A large 12 seat table plus china cabinets and large TV occupy a corner and still provide plenty of room for more.

Paraguay is a lovely country caught by crippling economic corruption and a political party that has been in control for 75 years.
It was four times as large as it is today 150 years ago. A major war with Brazil and Argentina resulted in all males over the age of three being slaughtered and Brazil together with Argentina carving and claiming most of Paraguay. The U.S. is pouring money into the country to form a wedge between leftist governments in South America and is making the politicians very very rich while the sidewalks, building, schools, roads, etc. continue to decay. So what’s new?

The next morning we went in search of the fabled boat, the Cacique II for a trip up the Rio Paraguay into the Pantanal. After asking many people, we finally found it being loaded with all sorts of food and beverages. All 3 cabins were booked for the week. We could sleep on deck in hammocks, but if we waited around a week until next Wednesday, we might get a cabin to take us up to Conception. There we would have to wait 4 or 5 days and hope a boat was leaving to go north. No guarantee! After talking with several travelers who had attempted to go upriver, we decided that it was best to head back to Argentina and visit the painted deserts and canyons around Salta.

Back in Argentina Jan 30, 2008

Entering back into Argentina we passed through immigration but didn’t get our passports returned until all our luggage had been taken off the bus and run through an x-ray machine. As they didn’t seem to mind that I had fruit in my bag, a no no, I don’t know what they were looking for. The bus from Asuncion took us to Resistencia where we booked an overnight bus to Salta, a Flecha bus. Not one of the very good ones but okay. On trips of less than 8 hours, the busses have 4 seats across instead of only 2 and 1, so they are narrower.

The landscape changed from lush green to brown rolling hills and finally into high desert. The hills were covered with low desert shrubs and hundreds of Saguaro cactus and a very low, flat growing type of Prickly Pear. We had always heard that Saguaro cactus only grows in the area outside of Tucson, Arizona and the Sonora Desert and that they are more or less endangered. Not in Argentina, there must be several million growing in the high desert. Many of the tourist items and small tables are made from the wood.

Salta is a really beautiful old colonial Spanish town with streets a mix of asphalt and old cobblestone. The large central plaza opens out into a pedestrian street with many shops of all types. The difference in the population from Buenos Aires is very apparent, many people of Indian heritage which gives a different flavor to Salta. We thought about renting a car but found out that the insurance isn’t really cheap; it comes with a deductible of $1300 USD.

Most of the hotels were booked because of the local “Carnival” but we found a newly refurbished and clean room with private bath for only $16 USD, but it was a ways from downtown so we spent a bit more on taxi fares.

We had neglected to change our Paraguayan money back into Argentinean pesos and found that no bank would change it, forcing us to wait until Buenos Aires and hope for the best.

Most of the town action occurs at the lovely town square. There couples and families congregate evenings. Restaurants and sidewalk cafes are full and parades, dances and the local “Carnival” brings Indians in traditional dress out. A couple of “Gauchos” walked around drumming up business for a restaurant but were more than happy to pose for the tourists.

A cable car runs from one the many parks up to the top of a mountain with fantastic views. Ted took the cable car while I visited all the tourist shops. After, we wandered through the main plaza, arriving just in time to witness a children’s parade. Some children wore costumes while the majority marched in street clothes. Many mothers accompanied the children.
The parade ended by the park gazebo where music blasted out; older kids mixed, danced and enjoyed. Suddenly Indians in brightly colored dress with elaborate headdresses began to congregate at one corner. Placing their feathered headdresses on a rack, they encouraged the children to touch and examine, some children trying the headdresses on. The biggest headdress had a stuffed Capybara mounted while several of the smaller ones had Armadillo shells mounted. After awhile, the Indians performed a dance back and forth in the plaza.

Walking around one of the city’s several parks, we spotted a small wooden boat shaped like one Christopher Columbus might have sailed in. An Ice Cream Boat, complete with ice cream cones and an assortment of flavors. Many stalls were set up selling all sorts of tourist delights. The ever present stalls selling a wide assortment of “mate” cups. These cups are made from horn, silver, gourds or rock. In each cup a silver straw with a filter rests. “Mate” is a sort of herbal tea that is stuffed into the “cups”, hot water from thermoses that almost all Argentineans seem to carry with them, is poured over the herbs and the drink is sucked up the straw. I tried a “Mate” tea bag but have yet to try the cup full of packed herbs. It tasted like Green Tea.

Several small malls are entered from the Plaza walking street. One had a large display of painted Saguaro Cactus, painted in fanciful colors and adorned with humorous or imaginary colors.

Salta has a museum where three mummies from high in the Andes have been brought, one on display and two in the freezer. The mummies, all children, were sacrifices of the Incas and were all royal children. With the children were small dolls, bowls and other items needed for the journey to the Gods. Because they were basically “freeze dried”, the children’s bodies and their clothes are in very good condition.

Next: north on the Bolivian trail to Jujuy.

Iguazu Falls through Rio

2008-02-16T03:10:00.000-08:00

Iguazu Falls, Argentina Jan 17, 2008

At one time Argentina had a good rail system but through the years with the political problems, the rail system has degenerated into a few tourist trains that aren’t connected and run through local areas only. Buses have taken over, running throughout South America.

There are literally hundreds of bus companies in Argentina. Local, long distance and international. Buses from Buenos Aires daily cross into Chile, Bolivia, Brazil and as far away as Peru. Of course, there is no central information with any type of schedule which means that the traveler must walk up and down the terminals looking for signs posted among posters, advertising destinations. Bus companies can have two or three locations in each terminal but each location sells tickets only to certain cities. You can’t buy a “Flecha Bus” ticket to Salta from location 23 or 46, you must walk down to location 98. Choice in buses range from the “coche” to “Cama Suite.” “Coches” are the local buses with boxes and luggage strapped to the top. “Camas” can have 3 or 4 seats across(3 seats across being larger and more comfortable for the larger traveler), double deckers with toilets, seats that lay back almost flat and big front windows. The “Semi Camas” serve food and drinks, and the “Cama Suites” or “Cama Executivo” have seats that flatten into beds, serve food with wine or beer and are very luxurious. Bus terminals in big cities are like small towns, usually clean with restaurants, banks, shops and in Cordoba, a supermarket. The Retiro bus station in Buenos Aires may well be the largest bus terminal in the world covering almost 5 city blocks with spaces for 75 busses at a time. Terminals decrease in splendor in proportion to the size of the town until only a shop front selling tickets.

The trip from Buenos Aires to Puerto Iguazu, Argentina took 20 hours and was very comfortable in the “Semi Cama” bus. Comfortable seats, good food and an awesome view (we were in the front 2 seats on the upper deck, a location we tried to get all the time.) The landscape from Buenos Aires changes from flat to rolling hills, forests with logging and all a lush green. We arrived in Puerto Iguazu where we had reservations at the biggest and best hostel (Hostel Inn) we’ve every seen, set in a park-like setting. A large establishment with internet, pool, tours, etc. the hostel arranges buses to and from the falls with a packaged lunch.

The Argentina side has built bridges and walkways over the actual falls. We started our visit by walking along a metal bridge, built from island to island to see Garganta del Diablo (the devil’s throat), a large hole where the falls begin. A small train takes visitors from the entrance to the top where it is a short walk to the bridges to see Garganta. From there, the train returns, stopping at the beginning of either the walk above or the walk below the falls. As the day was overcast, the weather was warm but not too hot. The falls are multi layered, marvelous and not as wet or as high as Victoria Falls, though, at almost a mile and a quarter wide, they are the largest waterfall on earth. Restaurants attract coati mundis regularly to visit as a ‘clean up crew.’ Large lizards slink under tables and in planted areas, cleaning up anything left by the coati mundis.

Puerto Iguazu on theArgentina side, is a very small town. We had arrived on Sat. afternoon and went walking on Sunday. As elsewhere in South America, everything was shut, closed metal gates prevent any widow shopping. On the other hand, Foz de Iguazu on the Brazilian side, is a very large city which borders both Paraguay and Argentina.

That night at the Hostel Inn there was a barbeque and floor show, a real Brazilian dancer and overly-loud music with an obnoxious MC. The show was aimed for the young males of the group as the gyrating, half naked dancer invited young males onto the stage to teach them how to shake their bottoms. Soon the older guests melted away, leaving the floorshow to the younger crowd.

Next day we crossed into Brazil to view the falls at Foz Iguazu, where the visitor sees an overview of the falls and the bridges (crowded with hundreds of visitors) that we had been on the previous day. Each side of the falls has its own magnificent views. Trees along the walkways were heavy with bromeliads and orchid plants as mist from the falls provides a constant source of water. Only a few of the bromeliads were in bloom and none of the orchids. It must be spectacular when they are blooming.

Next to the Foz entrance is a Bird Park where hundreds of South American birds are kept and a few from Asia and Africa. We wandered around, marveling at the colors and varieties of species, seeing some species that are new to us. There, I was privileged to be able to hold a South American Anaconda and a Macaw. Being able to touch animals is always a highlight of any trip.

Rio Jan 22, 2008

On the Pluma Bus we rode overnight from Foz de Iguazu to Rio through rolling green hills and fields of crops, riding through several very cute little colonial towns on an excellent road. As in Argentina, we went through numerous toll stops and on one occasion, stopped while the police boarded the bus looking for someone or something. Most of the farm houses we passed looked like modern houses and even the poorest ones had satellite dishes.

An interesting phenomenon that we observed was the Fire Rainbow, a rainbow that formed in the clouds without any rain. I tried to get pictures but they aren’t as great as they could have been had we not been on a moving bus. Most of the tourists were busy snapping cameras while the locals just looked at us strangely.

We had been told that Rio was always steamy hot but found that with an overcast sky and a few showers, it was pleasant. Not knowing what conditions might be, we had purchased two cheap ($5) sleeping bags. We used them on the air-conditioned bus and again at night during our brief stay in Rio.

Our hostel in Rio was in an upgraded favella. Upgraded means some brick walls, some stuccoed walls, lots of hills, lots of children, dogs and lots of garbage. To us, it was a slum. The hostel was run by a woman who seemed nice until we paid her. After that, she couldn’t have been nastier, threw our breakfast down on the table, snarled answers back, and finally at the end, threw open the door and screamed at us “OUT!! OUT!!” Never did figure out what we had done to create such behavior.

The hostel was located above the part of the city known as Santa Teresa, a barrio of winding streets climbing up and down the hills and lined with some of the most interesting old houses in the city and affording marvelous views both down to the port and up to the hill known as Corcovado (the Hunchback), 2500 ft. high with the famous Statue of Christ the Redeemer on top. There is an old tram line which goes up the hill from downtown. It figured highly in the movie “Black Orpheus”. Orpheus was a tram driver. Today it’s the cheapest ride in the city, only a few pennies, which means that it’s always packed with locals and tourists. Those that can’t get seats hang off the sides, back and roof. It reminded us a bit of the San Francisco cable cars only more extreme.

To reach the hostel we took a taxi to near the top of the mountain, climbed some of the way dragging our suitcases, up steps, through cement bags and garbage finally reaching the top where we had to pull our suitcases down a long rambling cement way, across more garbage, over and through a yard, on a wooden path about 12” wide, down some steps and finally to the hostel. Our bed mattress lay on a base made out of plastic bottles held in place with a taped cardboard box. The view from the balcony was worth all the climb and bad vibes. Overlooking the bay and Sugarloaf Mountain, we couldn’t have asked for better.

Our search for a restaurant took us back up and down to find a good German restaurant and 2 rather bad local places. Next day we tried climbing down the mountain and vowed “Never again!” Finally we found a house in the favella that served microwaved pizzas and beer for a few reals (Brazilian money).

For the three days we spent in Rio we rode the metro system and local buses. One strange thing about Brazilian buses is that upon entering, everyone must pass through a very small turn style. I had trouble and Ted found it almost impossible to pass through. It wasn’t only us; the heavier Brazilians really had a time pushing their fat bodies through with shopping bags and purses causing additional problems.

Everywhere in Rio it is dirty and cries out for a paint job except for the tourist beaches at Copacabana and Ipanema. The city is built in the middle of a jungle and mildew covers just about everything. Graffiti adorns every wall, sometimes up to the fourth floor of buildings. Everywhere strangers came up to us to warn us about hiding our cameras. I did, which is why you won’t see many pictures of Rio on the picture web shots. Ted continued to shoot and we didn’t really have any trouble but it did give us an uneasy feeling while we walked the streets.

On our final day we visited the botanical gardens which are very nice with large bromeliad and orchid houses. A treat for us was a family of marmosets running across the beams in the bromeliad house. At the entrance to the park, we were waved inside as senior citizens get in free. How did she know we were senior citizens?

Rio was a very big disappointment. Not only is it expensive, it is dirty, unfriendly and except for the beaches and the views from above, has nothing to offer in the way of sights. Poverty seems to penetrate every street, every house and every building outside of the beach areas. And this is the rich part of Brazil. We certainly won’t recommend it as a place to visit.

Buenos Aires Dec. 2007

2008-01-15T04:28:00.000-08:00

Buenos Aires Dec. 2007

One of the most visited areas of Buenos Aires is La Boca. Set along the side of the river, it is a busy port. When a plague hit the area, those that could afford to move did, leaving only the poor. Gradually the area attracted artists, writers and musicians. The metal-roofed houses were painted with bright colors creating a 3 dimensional painting not on canvas but on an area of a city. Today the houses contain shops, restaurants and tango schools. Market stalls in the street sell all sorts of tourist items.

In front of an old church, a large group of musicians set up with chairs and an old upright piano and performed for a crowd. Another group of five, wildly dressed musicians with metal drums banged their way through the tourists.

We left the tourist streets and walked along the streets in the non tourist areas where they have a large soccer stadium. There, several residents warned us about going on the side streets because of robbers. That was the only place in Buenos Aires where we have been concerned.

We waited for the Christmas decorations to go up. A few lights in store windows appeared. Some displays sprinkled faux snow. One resident hung Santa from the balcony. The walking street, Florida, put up a few lights in the shape of Christmas trees. But certainly nothing like the Christmas decorations that we’ve seen in India or Europe. It seemed that Christmas might not be such a big thing here. Christmas Eve was quiet. Until 12:00 pm. Then the sky lit up with fireworks, kids set off rockets from the intersections and the reverberating shock waves sounded like the city was being invaded! That went on until about 3:00 am.

We continued to walk the streets, marveling at the old buildings and the new. New Years Eve came and went with only a few firecrackers. We visited the Brazilian Consulate to see about getting a visa. Many South American countries are retaliating against the visa restrictions of the U.S. An example, Chile charges U.S. citizens a $100 retaliation fee when flying in. At the Rio airport, U.S. citizens pay an additional fee of $100 on top of the visa fee of $110. These visa costs are the most expensive we’ve ever seen anywhere else in the world.

Next we visited the Paraguay Consulate. This is a small, dirty and crowded room on a side street near the center of the city. We had read that Paraguay is one of the poorest and least populated countries in South America. Judging by the consulate, we can believe it. An unlimited visa, good for 10 years, cost $65 and took one day.

One day we rode the train to Tigre, about 1 hour, and a 30 cent ticket, from Buenos Aires. Here, people catch the ferry to Uruguay. Others have beautiful homes along the Rio Parana. Boat tours pass the lovely homes and swimming holes. One house completely covered under glass to prevent deterioration was the summer home of General Sarmiento who had been president in the 1870s. The Parana delta is made up of dozens of islands and all are exquisitely manicured with lawns, trees, and ornamental shrubbery. Besides the private houses, some of which are quite elaborate, the islands contain numerous campgrounds, hotels and resorts. This is the weekend and summer playground for the wealthy elite of Buenos Aires but the poor folks can also come here and take advantage of many public beaches.

Another day we visited the city’s largest park, the Parque Tres de Febrero, named for the day that the then General Sarmiento vanquished his arch rival, a cruel and ruthless dictator, making Argentina safe for democracy, for awhile anyway. The park covers some 62 acres in Palermo, the city’s largest single neighborhood consisting of lots of green spaces and monuments, as well as the wealthiest homes and apartment buildings. A large lake is the park’s single main attraction and both pedal boats and rowboats are available for rental. The park was laid out in the 1870s, inspired by the Bois de Boulogne in Paris, and there’s a lovely old footbridge which crosses the lake at its narrowest point leading to a large rose garden and a section of statuary with busts of some of the world’s greatest literary figures. On weekends, the roads are closed to traffic and food vendors of all kinds set up booths. We enjoyed a lunch of the most delicious beef, cut into thin strips and served on a bun.

Now as we’re getting ready to leave Buenos Aires for a trip to Brazil, here are some observations we’ve noticed. The meat is incredible. However, there are no fresh herbs for cooking to be found in the grocery stores. There are some dried ones, but limited in variety. There are wonderful cheeses and sausages. Vegetables are available but not the variety found in Asia and Africa. Fruits are limited to oranges, apples, plums, apricots, and chiquita type bananas.. There is only one brand of yogurt with fruit ( three kinds), all in small containers, while the choice of yogurt drinks fill shelves 20 feet long. Saturday afternoon and Sundays, all shops are closed and the parks are full of families enjoying the hundreds of green spaces in the city.

Many citizens have pet dogs. Professional dog walkers with up to 15 dogs ply the sidewalks. Every neighborhood has a pet shop.

Every block has at least one restaurant with sidewalk tables and chairs. Most have more.

Sidewalks in prosperous neighborhoods are well kept, even and clean. In poorer ones, uneven and unsafe. Traffic lights are long but many people run across on the red light.

The city is basically clean, quiet, and modern with lots of wonderful old buildings and a delight to visit.

Buenos Aires

2007-12-04T02:47:00.000-08:00

Nov 11, 2007 Buenos Aires, Argentina

Arriving in Buenos Aires after a ten hour flight from Cape Town, we disembarked, passed through immigration and found our luggage with no problems. A short taxi ride brought us into the city itself, a city dotted with old colonial buildings between modern steel and glass high rises, wide streets, wonderful old trees, large green parks where people walk dogs or push baby strollers. A far cry from South Africa.

We had picked a backpackers hostel on the internet, one with pictures of nice rooms. However, the reality was far from the pictures. True, we had a private bathroom and a TV mounted high up on the wall. Also, a refrigerator placed high up on a ledge. But the bed had seen better days sometime in the middle of the last century.

We ventured out in search of food. A real paradise for us. Cheese shops filled with many choices. Sausages of every type. Gourmet smells from every restaurant and café (at least three on every block.) The streets, the shops, the old buildings, people walking; everything reminded us of European cities, Madrid, Paris, Florence, or maybe even Barcelona.

Because of the bed, we quickly went in search of a new place. A taxi ride is a good way to see different parts of the city. We soon found a small studio apartment in a very central and rich part of the city. A few blocks away is the Plaza San Martin, a large square surrounded by flowering Jacaranda trees and containing a large statuary group in the center, topped by an equestrian statue of General Jose de San Martin, revered as the liberator of Argentina. By Wednesday we had moved and began exploring the neighborhood. On every corner, flower stands burst with color and sweet fragrance. Many professional dog walkers with up to 20 dogs on connecting leashes walk swiftly by. A couple of blocks from our apartment are a Supermarket, many shops, more cafes and restaurants and several shopping malls. We began to stock our refrigerator.

Our apartment is on Arenales, a tree-lined street filled with 10 and 12 story apartment buildings and upscale shops selling everything from lingerie to fancy furniture. One block away is Avenida Santa Fe, one of the city’s main shopping streets
Two blocks away is the city’s main thoroughfare, the Avenida 9 Julio, probably the widest street in the world. There are 11 lanes of traffic in each direction, 22 in all, broken into sections by tree lined strips. It takes at least 2 traffic light changes to cross this behemoth of an avenue, and if you’re too slow, you can wait for three. Both sides are lined with tallish buildings dating from the 19th and 20th centuries and containing both offices and posh apartments, very reminiscent of New York’s 5th Ave. or the Champs Elysee in Paris, the street level is lined with all kinds of shops. Avenida 9 Julio runs for about 2 miles from the waterfront area to the edge of the downtown section known as Microcentro. At one point, where it crosses the Avenida Corrientes, Buenos Aires’ answer to Broadway, there’s a large plaza containing a 250 ft. tall obelisk built in 1936 to commemorate the 400th anniversary of the foundation of Buenos Aires and the spot where the first Argentine flag was hoisted on Independence Day in 1816.

At the Plaza San Martin is the beginning of La Florida, a mile long pedestrian street lined with high-end shops and many shopping malls. One of Argentines specialties is leather goods and almost every shop carries purses, coats and accessories in many colors and patterns of leather. The street is so crowded that just walking becomes an exercise in avoidance. It is also home to the largest Mac Donald’s we’ve ever seen anywhere.

The famous Cementario de Recoleta is also within walking distance (good exercise for old travelers). Outside of the cemetery the streets are lined with outdoor cafes, Tango demonstrations, vendors, a craft market on the weekends and lots of people sitting, eating and enjoying the outdoors. An old Ficus tree over 200 years old spreads it limbs and leaves providing shade under its 200 foot diameter. Benches around the trunk of the tree are filled with couples of every age enjoying the sights, the music and the food that abounds. Certainly not the average cemetery.

Here many of Argentina’s leaders and elite over the centuries (The ones who no longer matter) are buried. Inside the cemetery walls there are mausoleums of every type and size, built of marble, granite, stones or bricks. Many have statues in front, others on domed tops, usually of angels. I especially like the ones with the skylights on top. More light for the dead? Some have glass fronts so visitors can see the caskets. It is a city of and for the dead. We wove our way down the narrow streets looking for Eva Peron’s resting place. Finally we spotted a crowd and found the mausoleum belonging to the family Duarte. Every day crowds come to take pictures and pay homage to the woman many call Saint Evita.

Sunday we rode the metro to an old part of Buenos Aires, the San Telmo section. Here, in the Plaza Dorrego, the large Sunday open air antiques market draws thousands of browsers. We passed antique stalls selling glass ware, bad oil paintings, earrings and jewelry, ancient victrolas, toy soldiers, purses and lots of knitted shawls. The funniest sight is all the stall owners dressed as angels, belly dancers, butterflies, Romans in togas, anything you can think of. The strangest thing was that they are also antiques. There wasn’t a person under 55 dressed in costume. These folks are out here every Sunday and have probably been doing this for many years, not really caring whether they sell any of their wares or not and having loads of fun. We stopped and watched more tango demonstrations, listened to a musical group doing Latin music, visited an old cathedral and enjoyed the afternoon.

So far we are really enjoying Buenos Aires, maybe more so because after living in Asia and Africa for almost 4 years, we appreciate it. Another thing we like is the size of people and the clothes for sale. Especially the underwear. In Asia the people are about the size of an American 10 year old child. Ted bought some XXXL underwear which turned out to be too small even for me! All the bras are padded in countries where the weather is about 100 degrees Fahrenheit or 40+ Celsius. Do they think breasts are like yeast and flour; they’ll rise with more heat? In India clothes are very cheap but they all look like they came from an import place. Okay for me but Ted didn’t want to look like a 65 + year old hippie. Bras were very cheap, about $1.25 U.S. And they look like it. In Africa there wasn’t much choice. Sure, in the used clothes markets in Tanzania but who wants to wear used underwear? So finally we’re back with choices of size, color, lace and brands. Thank heaven; we’re about out of underwear, though Ted says that it’s a long time since he’s seen so many women he’d like to see without underwear.

Buenos Aires has a “Pink House” (Casa Rosada) where the President lives during his term of office. This is where the Peron’s used to address the crowds from an upstairs window. Today, the park in front of the House is filled with strolling people and pigeons. A vendor sells pigeon food and buyers are treated to hundreds of pigeons which will sit on their arms or head to reach the food.

In another part of the city we found the Mercado de Pulgas (flea market), a real treat. A city block filled with different vendors selling everything from estate or garage sales. Wonderful old items along with pure junk. Some great buys. Shops filled with chandeliers, old furniture, old costume jewelry, silver, glass, mirrors, and a thousand other great finds.

Yesterday we visited the Plaza Congreso, the Argentine legislature, built on the model of the US Capitol in Washington, sporting a huge dome and rotunda. Unlike the capitol, however, the building is adorned with large numbers of European style sculptures including a gigantic victory driving a chariot on the front portico roof. The Plaza across the street has a huge fountain with fantastic horses’ ala the fountain in the main square in Salzburg, Austria, which stands in front of a large monument to Argentine independence. It’s definitely one of the world’s greatest city squares, ranking right up there with anything anywhere else in the world.

We’ve traveled on the subway and the busses. One subway line, Lina A has very old cars with wooden seats and doors that are manually opened. It’s like stepping back in time about 100 years. We’ve walked miles through old and new neighborhoods. It certainly is an interesting city. And we haven’t even left Buenos Aires yet!

Problems in Africa

2007-09-16T21:38:00.001-07:00

Disillusion, Poverty and Corruption in Africa

People in Africa for the most part are friendly and helpful. Strangers will offer help to confused tourists. There are always stories of robberies, muggings, etc. in Africa just like anywhere in the world. Tourists in Africa, like in any tourist location, are seen only as WALLETS. But for the most part, Africans are an easy people to be with.

For the last month we were totally immersed in the stupid, corrupt, venal, fraudulent, and totally incomprehensible mess which calls itself official Africa. Granted, our experience was limited to only 3 countries, but the stories we heard from the dozens of other travelers we met proved that this is truly a continental situation with the possible exception of South Africa.

In political speeches, on the TV and in the newspapers the general answer for all problems is “the money has been allocated.” Years go by and nothing is done but “the money has been allocated.” Who has the money, where has it gone? We have seen projects where millions of dollars have been allocated years before and not a single cent been spent.

It seems that the African birth control methods are brutal; war, rape, murder, refugee camps, disease, female mutilation, stone age medicine, ignorance and slow starvation. And yet, the population continues to grow!

In Moshi, as we had in Mombasa and Lamu, we met lots of people who had paid large amounts of money to one organization or another for the privilege of spending a few weeks engaged in various charitable activities, such as working in orphanages. From talking with these people, we were further strengthened in our opinion that the money they pay goes directly into the pockets of the organizers and their political cronies, and none of it ever finds its way to the orphans or the other disadvantaged people it’s supposed to help.

From the Nuns in Lusaka we learned of more African horror stories. The worst is that of any pharmaceuticals sent to them through governmental agencies for use in their hospitals, 90% get diverted to the black market. One of the nuns has been working in Africa since 1948 and she told us that the people were far better off in 1948 than they are now. Their birth rate almost equaled the death rate. They had room for their cattle, farms, and a way of life. Then people came to help. The dream of better sanitation, better medicine, better education, a better life. Little of which has actually happened. Modern Africa has been a total disaster for most of its people.

Today most Africans get one meal a day. They send their children to school (if a school is near), hungry. Schools aren’t free. Tuition is too expensive for most, as well as the required uniforms, books and shoes. There are no school busses, children walk up to five miles, both ways to attend. Lots of parents simply can’t afford to send their kids to school. So what’s the Kenyan government’s solution? They threaten to put any parents who don’t send their kids to school in jail. That’s a big help! What happens to the children when their parents are in prison? Never mind offering some kind of subsidies; that might take money out of the politician’s pockets.

The peace corps workers we met are pissed (discreetly, of course) at their own Catholic Church, which has decreed that no condoms may be passed out in Catholic hospitals, in spite of the huge AIDS problem afflicting Africa.

From the Peace Corp workers we got another earful of horror stories. They are working at a farming village which 7 years ago was persuaded by the Zambian government controlled coffee cartel to give up their subsistence agriculture and grow coffee. To this end they were given government loans. Coffee takes about 3 years to start yielding an appreciable crop and for the last four years they have had pretty good harvests. Problem is, they have yet to be paid one red Kwacha (Zambian money). The cartel tells them that the crops have been sold but that they haven’t yet figured out how to allocate the money. Uh huh. Of course, the banks are now threatening to foreclose on the farms. The cartel will be able to get the land, the plantations will be theirs, and the farmers will be shit out of luck. Of course, they will probably be able to get jobs working for the cartel at the typical minimum wage of less than nothing. This is not an unusual story. Africa is the most corrupt place we’ve ever been. Everyone is aware that Nigeria is the scam capitol of the world, but the rest of the continent is right up there with them.

In spite of pleas by Bono and the rest of the misguided do-gooders in the West, no money should ever be given to any African government; it never gets to where it’s supposed to go, ending up instead in numbered bank accounts in Switzerland.

We also think that the extreme prevalence of fraud is one of the main reasons that the banks are so reluctant to give out money. Our bank in Nairobi which issued us a Visa ATM card automatically blocks any use of it in Africa outside of Kenya. After we informed them we were out of the country they unblocked it which didn’t much matter since money we’d had wired there had been missing for 2 months and the account was empty anyway. (The money was finally tracked down, but that’s another story.)

A further problem confronting Africa is the general apathy of the populace and their inability to adapt to new ideas. According to the Peace Corps couple, they have been trying to get the villagers to eat a more nutritious diet and getting nowhere. Large swatches of the population do not and never have eaten eggs, a valuable source of protein. They’ve had no luck in introducing eggs to the village. Likewise with fresh vegetables. They have planted lettuce and tomatoes and the people want to know the best way to cook them. They cannot be induced to eat them raw. Their staple food is cabbage which they cook until it’s translucent and totally without nutritional value.

This couple arrived in Africa with high hopes. They now figure if they accomplish 10% of what they set out to do they will have been successful.

Another problem, of course, is HIV AIDS which is decimating the population of adults and leaving millions of orphans to languish in barely adequate orphanages with less than adequate amounts of food, in spite of the billions in aid pouring in from everywhere. The problem is that most of the money goes through government agencies: see above.

Compounding the problem is that just about every woman you see over the age of 15 is carrying a baby slung over her shoulder. Most of them don’t have husbands, which is not as bad a situation as that might seem, because most African men are totally worthless anyway, sitting around all day drinking and gossiping, or else visiting prostitutes and spreading even more HIV infections. Everyone we’ve spoken to in the aid industry has made the same comment. Only give money to women; never to the men. We don’t know why this is so, but it is the sad truth.

Of course, the atmosphere of corruption extends beyond the Africans themselves. We met a large group of British kids who’ve paid more than $6000 apiece for a month long tour in Africa from a British travel agency. They are living in tents and cooking their own food, mostly rice and cabbage. The aim of the group is to teach the university kids how to travel. Give me a break. We’re definitely in the wrong business.

Then there are the missionaries, again mostly kids who come for two, three or four weeks. In a continent that is 99.9% religious, the idea of sending missionaries to “bring the word of God to the heathens” is both insulting to the Africans and a condemnation of the churches (mostly from the U.S.) that send them. As one African woman on the train said, “The missionaries descend on us like a plague of locusts every year.”

(There are some truly wonderful people that come to Africa and do help. Students that dedicate six months or more to work in villages and schools. Nurses and doctors that come and work in hospitals, sometimes for a life-time.)

One group has paid for the privilege of working in orphanages, but most of their time has been spent learning how to repair diesel engines, as they explained: because the vehicles they use to visit the orphanages break down a lot. They have a month in Africa and are hoping to visit orphanages for at least a week. Where do you suppose the money they paid for this “privilege” goes? Name any damned Evangelical Church you can think of and you’ll have your answer.

We met a young American couple who, along with 30 others, have paid almost $4000 to work with the underprivileged for a month. They didn’t know where their money went, but the husband was working with a group of teenagers in jail and managed to provide them with new mattresses and mosquito nets. Did that come out of the $4000? Hell no. They got donations from people on the street.

We figured that 30 people a month paying $4000 apiece amounts to something over $1,000,000 a year. Where the hell does that go? And there are many many groups running the same scams, playing on the heartfelt desires of people to do something to help people who are less fortunate than they.

Humans always preach “acceptance” to the oppressed. They use their various religions to justify “status quo.” Today, the African churches are playing the same role, which only enables the general apathy with which the average person goes through life. When most Africans can’t even afford to buy a cheap bicycle, this is totally unconscionable. Signs on buses and walls proclaim “Man is born to suffer.” The churches ought to be preaching change!! Bishop Tutu is definitely a minority of one.

The young mining engineering student we met offered further confirmation of the general corruption. Most of the mining companies in the “Copper Belt” of Zambia are being run by either white former South Africans and Rhodesians, or Canadians. In order to suck the greatest profit out of the mines, they run their machinery into the ground, paying little attention to day to day maintenance. That this is seemingly a self defeating situation doesn’t seem to make any difference. And, of course, the African workers who do most of the hard labor are paid next to nothing. The same is true of the diamond mining, the silver mining, and the tin mining sectors. The vast natural wealth of Africa is finding its way into Swiss bank accounts and the people are starving. It’s disgusting! And the international community, despite mea culpas all over the place, is generally turning a blind eye, needing the African votes for whatever ridiculous nonsense is happening in the totally worthless UN General Assembly or Security Council.

Don’t even get us started on Darfur, Ethiopia, and Somalia.

The real theft in Africa is definitely of an “official” nature. Or, as in the case of the porter who carried my suitcase aboard the ferry to Zanzibar, opportunistic taking advantage of dumb tourists who aren’t familiar with the money. I was happily lugging my own stuff when I realized that I had to climb up 3 flights through heavy crowds so I finally relinquished the bag to the guy who’d been bugging me ever since we arrived at the dock. At the same time, his buddy grabbed a bag that Maria was carrying and they brought us up to the top, open air deck. When we were settled, I asked him what he wanted and was told, with a perfectly straight face, that 20,000 shillings each would be good. That’s more than $15. I laughed and gave them 5000 for both, somewhere in the vicinity of $1.50 each, which was the proper rate, or even a bit more. I realize that they are only trying to make a living in a shitty economy and I might have paid yet more if they hadn’t tried to cheat me.

That, of course, brings us to another of Africa’s great scams. The wildlife parks. The average daily fee for the parks is about $50 and visitors must be out by 6:00 pm. Camping fees outside of the parks are anywhere from $10 to $20 for a tent per day. Most of the money for the management of these game parks is supplied by some of the larger zoos around the world as well as international organizations like the WWF. In the Serengeti for example, 200,000 visitors a year x $50 equals $10 million. The animals are free, the animal food is free. There are only a few park rangers. The roads are unpaved. There are two toilets at the gate and they are pretty bad.

In South Africa where the cost of living is greater, the parks charge $10 and a visitor can stay for many days. The facilities are great, camp grounds, lodges, etc. with all the conveniences.

So exactly where do the millions of dollars in park fees actually go? We doubt that it goes anywhere but into the pockets of African politicians, but we’ll do a little research just to be fair. Stay tuned.