Well, I am feeling unsure about Peru so far. Not about Peru itself, I guess, but about my place in Peru.
On Thursday we took a full day tour of a few of the islands on Lake Titicaca. The island communities are what the lake is famous for - that, and the fact that it is supposedly the highest navigable lake in the world.
The first island community we stopped in was called Uros, which is notable for being entirely man-made out of reeds! About 1500 people live on these islands - I´d guess there are at least 50 in total - and make their living through fishing and...tourism.
Our little boat pulled up to the island, and several women in traditional dress were waiting for us on the shore, waving. They were expecting us. This is their job.
The women pulled our boat in and tied us up, and helped us as we, one by one, stepped from the boat onto the pile of reeds that is their ground. I wish I could explain to you exactly how this works - an island made of reeds - but I´m afraid my eyes and mind were wandering around the little island while the guide was doing all his explaining. The basic gist, though, is that they harvest reeds (like 6 feet long, thick, hard plants) from other parts of the lake, and then lay them across each other (think weaving) on top of thick slabs of mud that basically float in the lake. Hence, they are sometimes called The Floating Islands.
This first island was easily the best part of the whole day - absolutely fascinating - but I couldn´t quite (and still can´t) decide how I felt about it all. Sure, these islands were originally created for a real purpose, but what about now? I felt very much like the locals would not have been wearing their traditional dress had it not been part of the dress-code for their day job. Many women had sweatpants under their frilly skirts. One woman was wearing an Adidas visor with hers. Digital watches abounded. What is this place? And should I really be impressed by seeing what feels like a recreation of a place that WAS amazing a hundred years ago?
When we were finished talking with our guide, the women opened up their stalls for business. And frankly, I was not impressed with what they were selling. No part of me believes that they made any majority of the jewelry, ceramics, textiles that were on display - it was the EXACT same stuff that was being sold in Puno. Do they have this stuff brought in from Puno? What is the point? Do the other tourists eat this stuff up?
And then again, this is just their way of thriving, surviving, making ends meet. But...
Puno had very little to offer aside from tourist companies and shops geared toward tourists and restaurants with tourist menus. I sort of wanted to tell Puno to get a life after a day or two. Show me something I can´t see in New York City, Puno. Show me something REAL. Something GENUINE. Something untouched. Pulease!
I guess the poverty is real, though. I take it back, Puno. I´m being a snotty Ameircan now.
I´m back in Arequipa as of Friday evening. Arequipa is Peru´s second biggest city, and compared to Puno, it is very modern. It´s called the White City, for all the buildings made from the white volcanic sillar, and this characteristic is most noted in the city´s gorgeous Plaza de Armas, set right in the city center. White colonial buildings surround the square, with a lovely fountain as its centerpiece. At night, the white plaza glows with little lights that sit on the balconies of the buildings. Enjoying a dinner from a second-story restaurant, on a balcony overlooking the plaza, I forgot where I was entirely. One morning I´m in impoverished Peru; that evening I find myself in Europe.
Yesterday, we took a tour of the Santa Catalina Monastery, and I was wowed. This place is awesome. The monastary opened its doors in the 1570s and at its height was home to about 200 nuns. The nuns lived in total seclusion - after taking their vows, they did not leave the monastary for the rest of their lives. They devoted everything to their faith. Until the late 1960s , when the nuns finally opened certain parts of the monastary to the public, no one, other than nuns and servants and clergy, entered its doors.
Only 30 nuns live in the monastary today, and, as they live in total seclusion, we did not get to see any of them or their living quarters. But, thankfully, the original part of the monastary has been turned into a museum of sorts, allowing visitors to wander in and out of the former nuns´residences and to try to get some sense of what this life must have been like. It´s so lucky (and rare) that the monastary has kept to itself for so long, because they´ve been able to preserve so much from the original days. Rooms now uninhabited are still filled with furniture, china, cooking utensils.
Although these gals were living the secluded life and had sworn off all of their vices (do nuns have vices?), they were not, by any means, roughing it. The monastary is a stunning building - the architecture is superb. Each nun shared her quarters with one or two others, and between them, they had an outdoor cooking area, beds situated into little nooks under archways, sitting rooms, the works. I actually found myself wishing I could live in such a place.
"Silencio" is engraved over arched doorways, reminding the nuns to always engage in thoughtful prayer. Listening, rather than talking. Listening, waiting, meditating, praying. One could go crazy, couldn´t one? But...if one could deal with it, what could be gained? I wish I had it in me to know. But I am far too worldy. I like my vices. I choose my vices!
The monastary takes up about six city blocks. It is a massive, sprawling, maze - its own city, really. We must have spent two hours in there, just puttering about, in one room, out the other.
Skepticism strikes all the time, of course. But, wandering through such a place, where so many women spent their entire lives, giving themselves blindly to something they could never be certain of...it makes you think. There must be something there.
Tomorrow morning, we are off on a three day trek through the Colca Canyon. Supposedly it is twice the size of the Grand Canyon (though I don´t know if that means depth or width or what), so it ought to be something to see! We are going with a guide and staying in little villages in and around the canyon, so I expect it will be quite an experience!
Back on Wednesday evening...til then, my pretties. Much love.
Friday, April 25, 2008
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
San Pedro Pics
Por favor, check out my newest pics from San Pedro de Atacama. And Happy Wednesday!
http://picasaweb.google.com/ellen.bucy
http://picasaweb.google.com/ellen.bucy
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
So...Peru
(From last night)
Ohhh boy! I am just about the happiest girl ever today. I´ve arrived in Puno, Peru after three stressful and exhausting days of bus travel.
The goodbye to the boys was sadder than I´d imagined it might be. I even teared up! But I just adore those two. They are some of the silliest people I´ve ever known, but they also have a very sweet and sincere underbelly. Very endearing.
It´s amazing how quickly you get to know people when you travel together. Perfect strangers become intimate friends within days. Secrets are shared. Wholes selves are opened up in a way that just doesn´t happen in the "real world", whatever that is. (I think I still define the real world as my old life in America. My life is very real here, too, though. I´ve just fully realized that in the last month. What i´m doing is real and legitimate. Not fluff. Not escape. Not a dream. Just being.)
As I stepped onto hte night bus to Arica, Chile, fighting my goodbye tears, I ran into Sara Peyer, a Swiss gal who was at the school in Buenos Aires when I was. So when the bus pulled into Arica around 7 AM the next morning, we buddied up to find our way across the border, into Tacna, Peru.
The Lonely Planet said that shared taxis, "collectivos", are the easiest transport across the border, so when someone approached us in the bus terminal and offered our groggy selves just that, we shrugged in agreement, and followed the greying Chileno out the door. Though I am certain now that our way across the border was totally legal and frequently used by locals and tourists alike, the situation was certainly questionable at the time.
We were led out to a parking lot full of unmarked, beat up Cadillac-looking automobiles, make cerca 1985. Our "taxi" was a maroon clunker, with bench seats front and back that were covered with a lovely fabric of a just-noticeable different shade of maroon. The driver had to use a pole to keep the trunk open as he loaded our bags. We were told to get in and wait. We looked at each other nervously. "You think this is okay?" I said. "Don´t know. Do you?" A few minutes lter, three other passengers joined us. They all looked to be locals, and I don´t know why that was comforting, but it was. Two of them were older women, another reassurance (no offense, men).
And off we went. This area of the world is nothing to look at, by the way. It´s worse than the Patagonian Steppe, actually. Flat, dusty, desert. And the towns are so depressing. Sara was planning to stay a night in Arica, but when she saw it, she decided to pass. "I just do not want to stay here at all," she said.
Tacna was no better, though some creative folks had done some very impressive artwork on the enormous sand duns surrounding the city. We spent the entire morning in the bus station, trying to sort out travel plans. After much stress, I got my next two bus tickets in order, and at 12_30, we were on another bus to Arequipa, Peru. Then at 8:45 this morning, I was on yet another bus to Puno, my final destination (for this week, that is).
I had a grand tour through American pop culture over the past few days. In three bus rides, I was forced into watching: The Pianist (didn´t mind that one), I Now Pronounce You Chuck and Larry (why?), The Alamo (blah), Pirates of the Carribean - Dead Man´s Chest (entertaining, mas o menos), License to Wed (actually more entertaining than I expected), and John Tucker Must Die (which, shamefully, I have seen before). I could´ve tried to read instead, but they pump up the volume so loud, it´s impossible to concentrate, not to mention that my current book of desperation is a Robert Ludlum thriller called The Sigma Protocol. My reading horizons sure are expanding. I even read some Danielle Steel and Nora Roberts on Easter Island.
Anyway, I was very relieved when we finally pulled up in Puno. While I was, in the end, very glad to have Sara around for the border corssing, I had been anxious for a little alone time and was slightly annoyed to find myself paired up with someone for another day.
But, ah, I´ve finally gotten some alone time, even if it´s just for a day. I sort of forgot about the rush that comes from solo-travelling. The huge self-esteem boosts that come from navigating strange cities alone, communicating en Español, solo dining.
From my analysis of the map, my hostal here appeared to be quite close to the bus terminal - no more than ten minutes walk or so. I turned down countless taxi drivers, eagerly offering me an easy (and cheap) way out. I can do this, I thought. No problem. As soon as I got out onto the streets of Puno by myself, though, looking every bit the backpacker, I started wondering if I´d made a rather large mistake. I couldn´t find any street signs anywhere, and everyone was looking at me like I was an alien. I finally asked someone on the street how to get to El Puerto, where my hostal is located. Just one block up, they said. Perfecto! And so I somehow managed to locate my hostal without a single wrong turn. May sound silly, but when you finally see that sign you´re looking for and realize you´ve done it! it´s an incredibly empowering feeling.
Even better, I got led up to a private room with a private bathroom! All for me! And only about $11 per night! Eeek! So after an incredibly cheap, early dinner (vegetable soup, grilled trout with rice, fruit salad, and hot tea for $6), I have returned to my little haven and am just in delicious, alone-time heaven. It´s a few minutes before 8 now, and I doubt I´ll make it much past 9 before I conk out. The altitude´s given me a headache, and I´m pooped.
A few words about Peru first, though. A few days ago, I was explaining to someone how excited I was to get into Peru. "Argentina and Chile were amazing," I said, "but most of the time nothing really felt THAT foreign to me. I think Peru is going to be much more foreign."
Indeed. Well, I sort of forgot about Peru´s third-world status, and the poverty just walked up and smacked me in the face. It´s always easy to idealize things in your mind - Oh, Peru! So exotic! So...Peru! And then a town comes into view, full of one-room lean-tos. Small boxes of bricks (if they´re lucky), many with roofs of sheet metal. Nothing attractive about it. Nothing exotic about it. Over half of Peruvians live below the poverty line. I´d read that fact numerous times, but it never quite registered until I saw how most Peruvians live.
I feel both guilty for parading around here on VACATION among such poverty (though I do think I´m a pretty tolerable American tourist, as things go), and slightly hopeful that my money will help them out in some small way. They need my tourist self, don´t they? (That is probably no better than the way I used to justify going to the walk-in Asian nail spas for a mani-pedi: "I´m supporting their business!" But oh well.)
The Peruvians are super friendly, though, so I´ll hope that they DO want me here. A girl on the bus started chatting my ear off for the first twenty minutes. She seemed so genuinely interested in me - I was a little taken off guard. And the folks at the hostels in Arequipa and here have been fantastic.
My walk from the bus station was eye-opening. Block after block, women in traditional dress sat with their merchandise. They are all short, squatty, grandmother types, with two slick black braids running down their backs. They wear a long, frilly skirt, with layers of peticoats underneath, hand-knitted cardigans, hand-woven shawls of bright colors, bowler hat, opaque tights, flat shoes. It´s exactly what I was expecting to see, and yet, being face to face with these women was just shocking. It felt like when I walked through the Hacidic Jewish neighborhood in Brooklyn - I have stepped into another century! Help! Much of what they were selling was produce. I have never seen so many potatoes! I cannot believe they actually sell them all, so what do they do with all the leftovers?
Amid so much foreign-ness, though, is everyday life. School girls giggle to each other, mothers argue with sons, people go to the bank, go to the market. Just living. Just getting through the day. Not NYC at all, and yet, exactly the same.
****
It´s Tuesday now. Present day. I slept for almost 12 hours last night. I needed it.
To answer my Suzers' question, I am speaking a bit of Spanish, though probably not as much as I spoke when I was in classes. Traveling with English-speakers is not very conducive to exercising the Spanish, especially when those English-speakers don´t know more than a few words and DO NOT want to practice with you. However, I am very glad I took those classes because I do try to use my Spanish whenever I´m talking to locals (obviously), and I think THEY really appreciate the effort. And, as I get further away from the modern world of Buenos Aires and Santiago, fewer and fewer locals speak any English. I have witnessed my non-Spanish speaking friends try to communicate with people, and I feel slightly embarrassed for them. You can certainly get around without Spanish - hand gestures speak volumes - but it´s not the same.
And, to my Marie-pie-face, I was actually decent at sandboarding, you little you-know-what. I have some pictures of it for you, in fact. I was basically the best one out there.
Okay, time to go now! Peru awaits!
Ohhh boy! I am just about the happiest girl ever today. I´ve arrived in Puno, Peru after three stressful and exhausting days of bus travel.
The goodbye to the boys was sadder than I´d imagined it might be. I even teared up! But I just adore those two. They are some of the silliest people I´ve ever known, but they also have a very sweet and sincere underbelly. Very endearing.
It´s amazing how quickly you get to know people when you travel together. Perfect strangers become intimate friends within days. Secrets are shared. Wholes selves are opened up in a way that just doesn´t happen in the "real world", whatever that is. (I think I still define the real world as my old life in America. My life is very real here, too, though. I´ve just fully realized that in the last month. What i´m doing is real and legitimate. Not fluff. Not escape. Not a dream. Just being.)
As I stepped onto hte night bus to Arica, Chile, fighting my goodbye tears, I ran into Sara Peyer, a Swiss gal who was at the school in Buenos Aires when I was. So when the bus pulled into Arica around 7 AM the next morning, we buddied up to find our way across the border, into Tacna, Peru.
The Lonely Planet said that shared taxis, "collectivos", are the easiest transport across the border, so when someone approached us in the bus terminal and offered our groggy selves just that, we shrugged in agreement, and followed the greying Chileno out the door. Though I am certain now that our way across the border was totally legal and frequently used by locals and tourists alike, the situation was certainly questionable at the time.
We were led out to a parking lot full of unmarked, beat up Cadillac-looking automobiles, make cerca 1985. Our "taxi" was a maroon clunker, with bench seats front and back that were covered with a lovely fabric of a just-noticeable different shade of maroon. The driver had to use a pole to keep the trunk open as he loaded our bags. We were told to get in and wait. We looked at each other nervously. "You think this is okay?" I said. "Don´t know. Do you?" A few minutes lter, three other passengers joined us. They all looked to be locals, and I don´t know why that was comforting, but it was. Two of them were older women, another reassurance (no offense, men).
And off we went. This area of the world is nothing to look at, by the way. It´s worse than the Patagonian Steppe, actually. Flat, dusty, desert. And the towns are so depressing. Sara was planning to stay a night in Arica, but when she saw it, she decided to pass. "I just do not want to stay here at all," she said.
Tacna was no better, though some creative folks had done some very impressive artwork on the enormous sand duns surrounding the city. We spent the entire morning in the bus station, trying to sort out travel plans. After much stress, I got my next two bus tickets in order, and at 12_30, we were on another bus to Arequipa, Peru. Then at 8:45 this morning, I was on yet another bus to Puno, my final destination (for this week, that is).
I had a grand tour through American pop culture over the past few days. In three bus rides, I was forced into watching: The Pianist (didn´t mind that one), I Now Pronounce You Chuck and Larry (why?), The Alamo (blah), Pirates of the Carribean - Dead Man´s Chest (entertaining, mas o menos), License to Wed (actually more entertaining than I expected), and John Tucker Must Die (which, shamefully, I have seen before). I could´ve tried to read instead, but they pump up the volume so loud, it´s impossible to concentrate, not to mention that my current book of desperation is a Robert Ludlum thriller called The Sigma Protocol. My reading horizons sure are expanding. I even read some Danielle Steel and Nora Roberts on Easter Island.
Anyway, I was very relieved when we finally pulled up in Puno. While I was, in the end, very glad to have Sara around for the border corssing, I had been anxious for a little alone time and was slightly annoyed to find myself paired up with someone for another day.
But, ah, I´ve finally gotten some alone time, even if it´s just for a day. I sort of forgot about the rush that comes from solo-travelling. The huge self-esteem boosts that come from navigating strange cities alone, communicating en Español, solo dining.
From my analysis of the map, my hostal here appeared to be quite close to the bus terminal - no more than ten minutes walk or so. I turned down countless taxi drivers, eagerly offering me an easy (and cheap) way out. I can do this, I thought. No problem. As soon as I got out onto the streets of Puno by myself, though, looking every bit the backpacker, I started wondering if I´d made a rather large mistake. I couldn´t find any street signs anywhere, and everyone was looking at me like I was an alien. I finally asked someone on the street how to get to El Puerto, where my hostal is located. Just one block up, they said. Perfecto! And so I somehow managed to locate my hostal without a single wrong turn. May sound silly, but when you finally see that sign you´re looking for and realize you´ve done it! it´s an incredibly empowering feeling.
Even better, I got led up to a private room with a private bathroom! All for me! And only about $11 per night! Eeek! So after an incredibly cheap, early dinner (vegetable soup, grilled trout with rice, fruit salad, and hot tea for $6), I have returned to my little haven and am just in delicious, alone-time heaven. It´s a few minutes before 8 now, and I doubt I´ll make it much past 9 before I conk out. The altitude´s given me a headache, and I´m pooped.
A few words about Peru first, though. A few days ago, I was explaining to someone how excited I was to get into Peru. "Argentina and Chile were amazing," I said, "but most of the time nothing really felt THAT foreign to me. I think Peru is going to be much more foreign."
Indeed. Well, I sort of forgot about Peru´s third-world status, and the poverty just walked up and smacked me in the face. It´s always easy to idealize things in your mind - Oh, Peru! So exotic! So...Peru! And then a town comes into view, full of one-room lean-tos. Small boxes of bricks (if they´re lucky), many with roofs of sheet metal. Nothing attractive about it. Nothing exotic about it. Over half of Peruvians live below the poverty line. I´d read that fact numerous times, but it never quite registered until I saw how most Peruvians live.
I feel both guilty for parading around here on VACATION among such poverty (though I do think I´m a pretty tolerable American tourist, as things go), and slightly hopeful that my money will help them out in some small way. They need my tourist self, don´t they? (That is probably no better than the way I used to justify going to the walk-in Asian nail spas for a mani-pedi: "I´m supporting their business!" But oh well.)
The Peruvians are super friendly, though, so I´ll hope that they DO want me here. A girl on the bus started chatting my ear off for the first twenty minutes. She seemed so genuinely interested in me - I was a little taken off guard. And the folks at the hostels in Arequipa and here have been fantastic.
My walk from the bus station was eye-opening. Block after block, women in traditional dress sat with their merchandise. They are all short, squatty, grandmother types, with two slick black braids running down their backs. They wear a long, frilly skirt, with layers of peticoats underneath, hand-knitted cardigans, hand-woven shawls of bright colors, bowler hat, opaque tights, flat shoes. It´s exactly what I was expecting to see, and yet, being face to face with these women was just shocking. It felt like when I walked through the Hacidic Jewish neighborhood in Brooklyn - I have stepped into another century! Help! Much of what they were selling was produce. I have never seen so many potatoes! I cannot believe they actually sell them all, so what do they do with all the leftovers?
Amid so much foreign-ness, though, is everyday life. School girls giggle to each other, mothers argue with sons, people go to the bank, go to the market. Just living. Just getting through the day. Not NYC at all, and yet, exactly the same.
****
It´s Tuesday now. Present day. I slept for almost 12 hours last night. I needed it.
To answer my Suzers' question, I am speaking a bit of Spanish, though probably not as much as I spoke when I was in classes. Traveling with English-speakers is not very conducive to exercising the Spanish, especially when those English-speakers don´t know more than a few words and DO NOT want to practice with you. However, I am very glad I took those classes because I do try to use my Spanish whenever I´m talking to locals (obviously), and I think THEY really appreciate the effort. And, as I get further away from the modern world of Buenos Aires and Santiago, fewer and fewer locals speak any English. I have witnessed my non-Spanish speaking friends try to communicate with people, and I feel slightly embarrassed for them. You can certainly get around without Spanish - hand gestures speak volumes - but it´s not the same.
And, to my Marie-pie-face, I was actually decent at sandboarding, you little you-know-what. I have some pictures of it for you, in fact. I was basically the best one out there.
Okay, time to go now! Peru awaits!
Friday, April 18, 2008
Will Freeze For Geysers
I woke up a few minutes before 4 AM yesterday morning. Purposefully. To go look at geysers. The Tatio Geysers, to be specific.
I´m in an itty bitty town in northern Chile called San Pedro de Atacama. It´s a town of about 16 blocks, I´d say, full of one-story white adobe buildings with rust color rooftops. There is literally nothing to do in this town except for shop for souvenirs, sign up for tours, and eat. And, oh yes, the internet. The little town endeared itself to me, though, almost as soon as walked down the main drag after crawling off my 24 hour bus ride. The town was positively bumping on Wednesday night, locals and tourists wandering around, laughter spilling out of restaurants and bars, stray dogs begging for love or for dinner.
This is the kind of town where you feel at ease with doing nothing. It´s not like Buenos Aires or Santiago, where you feel guilty if you spend an entire afternoon reading on a sunny terrace (which is exactly what I did Thursday). You can feel safe in your laziness. Soak it up. If I didn´t have places to be, I could easily laze around here for a week.
People come here, though, for the Atacama desert surrounding the town. The town is merely a starting place for tourists. And the geyers I went to see this morning are one of the area´s main attractions.
We arrived at the geysers a little before 7 AM. There´s no glorious sunrise to view, nothing like that. But apparently the geysers are most active during the hours between 6 AM and 8 AM, and of course, they´re two hours away from town, on a bumpy dirt road. So, every morning in this town, you will find tourists standing outside their hostals or hotels, bundled up in everything they own to keep warm, at around 4 AM, waiting for their ride.
The geysers sit at about 4,600 meters, so it is FREEZING cold up there, especially before the sun comes up. Someone estimated that most mornings it´s about -10 degrees Celsius. (I still cannot make sense of Celsius, so I cannot tell you what that means except that it´s cold. I´d estimate around 25 degrees Fareinheit.) The sun was still sitting behind a mountain as we piled off the tourist van this morning, so I hopped around from geyser to geyser, trying to keep my feet warm, taking as many pictures I could before the fingers went numb.
I´m in an itty bitty town in northern Chile called San Pedro de Atacama. It´s a town of about 16 blocks, I´d say, full of one-story white adobe buildings with rust color rooftops. There is literally nothing to do in this town except for shop for souvenirs, sign up for tours, and eat. And, oh yes, the internet. The little town endeared itself to me, though, almost as soon as walked down the main drag after crawling off my 24 hour bus ride. The town was positively bumping on Wednesday night, locals and tourists wandering around, laughter spilling out of restaurants and bars, stray dogs begging for love or for dinner.
This is the kind of town where you feel at ease with doing nothing. It´s not like Buenos Aires or Santiago, where you feel guilty if you spend an entire afternoon reading on a sunny terrace (which is exactly what I did Thursday). You can feel safe in your laziness. Soak it up. If I didn´t have places to be, I could easily laze around here for a week.
People come here, though, for the Atacama desert surrounding the town. The town is merely a starting place for tourists. And the geyers I went to see this morning are one of the area´s main attractions.
We arrived at the geysers a little before 7 AM. There´s no glorious sunrise to view, nothing like that. But apparently the geysers are most active during the hours between 6 AM and 8 AM, and of course, they´re two hours away from town, on a bumpy dirt road. So, every morning in this town, you will find tourists standing outside their hostals or hotels, bundled up in everything they own to keep warm, at around 4 AM, waiting for their ride.
The geysers sit at about 4,600 meters, so it is FREEZING cold up there, especially before the sun comes up. Someone estimated that most mornings it´s about -10 degrees Celsius. (I still cannot make sense of Celsius, so I cannot tell you what that means except that it´s cold. I´d estimate around 25 degrees Fareinheit.) The sun was still sitting behind a mountain as we piled off the tourist van this morning, so I hopped around from geyser to geyser, trying to keep my feet warm, taking as many pictures I could before the fingers went numb.
But I think the geysers were worth the early morning and the freezing cold. They were neat-o. Huge spirals of white steam poured out of the dry earth every few feet. I felt like I was walking around in the clouds. In some spots, the geysers simply burst from seemingly nowhere. Just a crack in the ground. In others, there were little puddles, gurgling and bubbling with scalding hot water. The biggest geysers had huge pools of boiling water, and apparently several tourists have died, falling in! Yikes! Not a pleasant way to go, I´d imagine. I´m melting!!!
After we´d gawked at all the geysers, we were allowed a few minutes to soak in the natural hot springs. If you´d zoomed in on my life yesterday at 9 AM, I was standing in the freezing cold, taking off layer after layer of warmth until I was standing, barefoot, in just my swimsuit. FREEZING! I made a beeline for the hot springs, and oooh, did it feel nice in there. Getting out and drying off in the freezing cold a few minutes later was brutal, but I´m glad I got in. Not too often you get to bathe in a natural pool of warm water in the middle of the desert, is it?
I´m going sandboarding this afternoon. Don´t ask. I have no idea what I´ve gotten into. I´m hoping that it´s impossible to break anything when falling into sand because I have a feeling that accident-prone me is going to be falling into the sand a lot. Should be interesting. After that, we´re going to see the sun go down over the Valle de la Luna, which should be awesome since it´s a full moon here tonight.
After that, I am saying goodbye to Liam and Mikes and boarding the night bus to Arica, which sits on the Chilean side of the Chile-Peru border. I´m going to be traveling on buses for the next three days, making my way up to Puno, Peru (which sits on Lake Titicaca) to meet my old/new friend Bjorn. Not sure what will happen after that! That´s as far as the plans go now. But it´s adios to Chile, hola to Peru!
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
Moving On
Hola, friends. I am back in Santiago now, trying to console myself after leaving Easter Island.
But, I am still with my English lads, and we are heading to San Pedro de Atacama (northern Chile, the desert) tonight on the overnight bus. 23 hours. Good fun.
So while I am cooped up on the bus, why don´t you look at my most recent photos? I just added TWO albums.
http://picasaweb.google.com/ellen.bucy
But, I am still with my English lads, and we are heading to San Pedro de Atacama (northern Chile, the desert) tonight on the overnight bus. 23 hours. Good fun.
So while I am cooped up on the bus, why don´t you look at my most recent photos? I just added TWO albums.
http://picasaweb.google.com/ellen.bucy
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
My Vacation From Vacation, cont.
Trying to pick up where I left off is difficult, but I´m going to try...
As we walked the long dirt road in the direction of the beach that first day, a stray dog fell into step with us. This is a pretty common occurrence around here. There are strays EVERYWHERE, always buttering you up, hoping you´re going to take pity on them and make them yours (or at least give them a little treat). Well, this dog - Faith, as we later named her (terrible) - stayed with us the entire day! We must have walked 8 km, and that dog just stuck by our side, down to the beach, through fields, past horses and cows. When we sat to take a rest, she sat, too.
When we returned home, she waited faithfully at the doorstep of our hostel, then followed us to a restaurant for dinner. She actually came into the restaurant several times and sat herself down under our table. No, Faith! I yelled (a bit too loudly for a restaurant). Scram! It was sad. Liam wanted to take her in, but that obviously wasn´t a choice. We had tried to keep some emotional distance from her, but she was in love. Que triste historia. The waitress finally shooed her out, and we haven´t seen her since. Nor have we had such a loyal stray friend.
(I, by the way, am developing a very interesting theory about the correlation between male humans and male dogs. I´ll save that for a one on one conversation, though.)
The next day we rented bikes and rode 18 km out to Anakena Beach. The island only has two very small white sand beaches - the rest of it is black rocks and cliffs - so it´s a shame that they´re so far away. You can basically taxi it (which feels awfully lazy on a beautiful island) or you can get yourself there via bike, moped, or rented car. The ride there wasn´t so bad, difficulty wise, and the scenery was incredible. Once you get out of Hanga Roa, which is the "town" part of the island, you can really feel like you are alone on the island. No people within sight, and the only thing reminding you that you´re on a somewhat civilized island is the road you´re riding on.
Farms, volcanic mountains, horses and cows and chickens everywhere. It´s wild. Truly. And the views of the ocean are chilling - no other land mass in sight. Just water.
We finally made it to the beach, and I felt like I had just walked from one kind of paradise into another. We were hot, sweaty, and tired, and we parked the bikes and took in the beach. Turquoise, aqua, blue - the water was a perfect mix of colors against the white sand. Just behind the beach sat an ahu (platform) with about 8 moai sitting atop it (the statues the island is famous for - more on that in a bit). And, as we parked ourselves on a towel and got settled, I counted, and there were only 23 people on the beach (and yes, I could count everyone from my seat - that´s how small the beach was). Where else can you so easily get exercise, beauty, peace, and culture, all in the same place? Amazing.
The ride back was hard. The first 25 minutes were straight up, and the last thing you want to do after being lazy for 6 hours is exercise. But we made it.
The next day we went back to the beach, but opted for the taxi route, which was actually cheaper than renting three bikes and, obviously, much less strenuous.
Wednesday, we decided we needed to soak up some culture, so we went on a full day tour of the island. Our guide was a local woman, who was a "certified guide" of the island, meaning that she´s passed a certain number of hours of training. As I found out later, she´s studied under one of the top archaeologists here, and she really knew her stuff.
The famous Moai statues are remnants of the very first culture of the island, which started around 300 AD. That´s a long time ago. The first inhabitants of the island migrated over from Polynesia, and the self-proclaimed king divided the island into twelve tribes, each with their own village. He took for himself the section of the island including Anakena Beach. Smart guy. That´s what I would´ve picked, too.
Anyway, all of these folks were part of the "cult of the Moai" which basically just means that they subscribed to worship of their ancestors. The wealthiest members of each community had a huge statue built in honor of themselves, to be erected only once they had passed away. These huge statues, usually around 8 m tall, looked out over the village, protecting the people, and keeping them in line! So, the statues served a few functions - they were funerary markers, status symbols (whoever has the biggest and best statue must be the most important...), intermediaries between the villagers and their god (the people spoke to the Moai, who communicated their prayers to god for them), and protectors. Apparently the higher class folks also used these statues to keep the lower classes under control - they´d tell them that the Moai were always watching them, hoping to scare them into submission. I think it worked because whoever built these stautes (undoubtedly the lowest of the low), must have worked awfully hard.
We visited several Moai sites, and then made our way to Rano Raraku, which is the "nursery," the quarry where all of the statues were built. The statues were carved straight out of the rock of this huge mountain, and you could see a few that were in progress - faces emerging from the mountain - when things fell apart. The guide explained how they finally released these huge things from the rock when they were finished, but I didn´t quite get it, so I can´t explain it to you. But it´s unthinkable that they were able to do this. I don´t get it.
Each Moai stayed at the quarry until his human representative died, when he (and they were all men, of course) could then begin his journey to his platform. Therefore, there are also many finished Moai standing around the quarry, waiting for transport.
They say that the Moai literally walked back to their villages to take their place as guardians of their community. I´ll believe that about as soon as I´ll believe a fable of another religion, but, considering how the workers transported their Moai, it´s almost true. There are still many working theories about Moai transport, but the most widely believed is that they stood, completely erect, on a pile of rocks, and then were moved, corner to corner. Think of how you would move a refrigerator, if you were trying to do it by yourself. You´d scoot it up a bit on one side, then a bit on the other side. So, in this way, the Moai WAS walking, bit by bit, through the countryside.
The distance between the quarry and the Moai platforms is incredible in some cases. I can´t even fathom how they got them anywhere, much less several kilometers.
I wish they´d hurry up and figure out time travel so I could watch all of this taking place.
But, this amazing culture was doomed. To begin with, their competitive nature (who can build the biggest statue) depleted their resources. And then of course, came all of those interferers. The Dutch, the French, the English, the Peruvians, the Catholic missionaries, the list goes on. Each had their part in the downfall of the Rapanui, from introducing diseases to taking slaves. And of course there was also a civil war between tribes. The original Rapanui community consisted of about 15,000 people, but in the end, was reduced to only 110 people! How incredible! So anyone that lives here now (population about 5,000, and slowly growing) that calls themselves Rapanui, is a descendent of only 110 people. Que loco.
It´s really lucky that there´s anything left of this original culture, considering how many people came in and messed around with things.
Okay, sorry to go on and on about all that, but I just think it´s fascinating stuff.
We went on a hike yesterday, up to a huge, rain-filled lake, Rana Kau, that sits at the bottom of a huge crater at the top of an extinct volcano here. It was pretty incredible. You could see all sides of the island from up there.
So far, this time on Easter Island has been everything I hoped it would be. It´s an amazing place. And while most things around the town are soley there for the tourist community, the tourist community isn´t huge or overwhelming. Only one flight arrives on Easter Island every day, so they are controlling how many people can come here at once, which I think is good. It´s a fragile place, and one that´s clinging to its history and tradition. I hope they do everything they can to hold onto the remnants of their original culture.
It´s Friday now, the week is coming to a close! Heading back to Santiago on Monday morning. It´s pouring down rain today, which seemed like a good excuse to while away some time at the ole internet cafe. Not sure what will be done with the rest of the day, but I´m going to go find out! Much love to you all.
As we walked the long dirt road in the direction of the beach that first day, a stray dog fell into step with us. This is a pretty common occurrence around here. There are strays EVERYWHERE, always buttering you up, hoping you´re going to take pity on them and make them yours (or at least give them a little treat). Well, this dog - Faith, as we later named her (terrible) - stayed with us the entire day! We must have walked 8 km, and that dog just stuck by our side, down to the beach, through fields, past horses and cows. When we sat to take a rest, she sat, too.
When we returned home, she waited faithfully at the doorstep of our hostel, then followed us to a restaurant for dinner. She actually came into the restaurant several times and sat herself down under our table. No, Faith! I yelled (a bit too loudly for a restaurant). Scram! It was sad. Liam wanted to take her in, but that obviously wasn´t a choice. We had tried to keep some emotional distance from her, but she was in love. Que triste historia. The waitress finally shooed her out, and we haven´t seen her since. Nor have we had such a loyal stray friend.
(I, by the way, am developing a very interesting theory about the correlation between male humans and male dogs. I´ll save that for a one on one conversation, though.)
The next day we rented bikes and rode 18 km out to Anakena Beach. The island only has two very small white sand beaches - the rest of it is black rocks and cliffs - so it´s a shame that they´re so far away. You can basically taxi it (which feels awfully lazy on a beautiful island) or you can get yourself there via bike, moped, or rented car. The ride there wasn´t so bad, difficulty wise, and the scenery was incredible. Once you get out of Hanga Roa, which is the "town" part of the island, you can really feel like you are alone on the island. No people within sight, and the only thing reminding you that you´re on a somewhat civilized island is the road you´re riding on.
Farms, volcanic mountains, horses and cows and chickens everywhere. It´s wild. Truly. And the views of the ocean are chilling - no other land mass in sight. Just water.
We finally made it to the beach, and I felt like I had just walked from one kind of paradise into another. We were hot, sweaty, and tired, and we parked the bikes and took in the beach. Turquoise, aqua, blue - the water was a perfect mix of colors against the white sand. Just behind the beach sat an ahu (platform) with about 8 moai sitting atop it (the statues the island is famous for - more on that in a bit). And, as we parked ourselves on a towel and got settled, I counted, and there were only 23 people on the beach (and yes, I could count everyone from my seat - that´s how small the beach was). Where else can you so easily get exercise, beauty, peace, and culture, all in the same place? Amazing.
The ride back was hard. The first 25 minutes were straight up, and the last thing you want to do after being lazy for 6 hours is exercise. But we made it.
The next day we went back to the beach, but opted for the taxi route, which was actually cheaper than renting three bikes and, obviously, much less strenuous.
Wednesday, we decided we needed to soak up some culture, so we went on a full day tour of the island. Our guide was a local woman, who was a "certified guide" of the island, meaning that she´s passed a certain number of hours of training. As I found out later, she´s studied under one of the top archaeologists here, and she really knew her stuff.
The famous Moai statues are remnants of the very first culture of the island, which started around 300 AD. That´s a long time ago. The first inhabitants of the island migrated over from Polynesia, and the self-proclaimed king divided the island into twelve tribes, each with their own village. He took for himself the section of the island including Anakena Beach. Smart guy. That´s what I would´ve picked, too.
Anyway, all of these folks were part of the "cult of the Moai" which basically just means that they subscribed to worship of their ancestors. The wealthiest members of each community had a huge statue built in honor of themselves, to be erected only once they had passed away. These huge statues, usually around 8 m tall, looked out over the village, protecting the people, and keeping them in line! So, the statues served a few functions - they were funerary markers, status symbols (whoever has the biggest and best statue must be the most important...), intermediaries between the villagers and their god (the people spoke to the Moai, who communicated their prayers to god for them), and protectors. Apparently the higher class folks also used these statues to keep the lower classes under control - they´d tell them that the Moai were always watching them, hoping to scare them into submission. I think it worked because whoever built these stautes (undoubtedly the lowest of the low), must have worked awfully hard.
We visited several Moai sites, and then made our way to Rano Raraku, which is the "nursery," the quarry where all of the statues were built. The statues were carved straight out of the rock of this huge mountain, and you could see a few that were in progress - faces emerging from the mountain - when things fell apart. The guide explained how they finally released these huge things from the rock when they were finished, but I didn´t quite get it, so I can´t explain it to you. But it´s unthinkable that they were able to do this. I don´t get it.
Each Moai stayed at the quarry until his human representative died, when he (and they were all men, of course) could then begin his journey to his platform. Therefore, there are also many finished Moai standing around the quarry, waiting for transport.
They say that the Moai literally walked back to their villages to take their place as guardians of their community. I´ll believe that about as soon as I´ll believe a fable of another religion, but, considering how the workers transported their Moai, it´s almost true. There are still many working theories about Moai transport, but the most widely believed is that they stood, completely erect, on a pile of rocks, and then were moved, corner to corner. Think of how you would move a refrigerator, if you were trying to do it by yourself. You´d scoot it up a bit on one side, then a bit on the other side. So, in this way, the Moai WAS walking, bit by bit, through the countryside.
The distance between the quarry and the Moai platforms is incredible in some cases. I can´t even fathom how they got them anywhere, much less several kilometers.
I wish they´d hurry up and figure out time travel so I could watch all of this taking place.
But, this amazing culture was doomed. To begin with, their competitive nature (who can build the biggest statue) depleted their resources. And then of course, came all of those interferers. The Dutch, the French, the English, the Peruvians, the Catholic missionaries, the list goes on. Each had their part in the downfall of the Rapanui, from introducing diseases to taking slaves. And of course there was also a civil war between tribes. The original Rapanui community consisted of about 15,000 people, but in the end, was reduced to only 110 people! How incredible! So anyone that lives here now (population about 5,000, and slowly growing) that calls themselves Rapanui, is a descendent of only 110 people. Que loco.
It´s really lucky that there´s anything left of this original culture, considering how many people came in and messed around with things.
Okay, sorry to go on and on about all that, but I just think it´s fascinating stuff.
We went on a hike yesterday, up to a huge, rain-filled lake, Rana Kau, that sits at the bottom of a huge crater at the top of an extinct volcano here. It was pretty incredible. You could see all sides of the island from up there.
So far, this time on Easter Island has been everything I hoped it would be. It´s an amazing place. And while most things around the town are soley there for the tourist community, the tourist community isn´t huge or overwhelming. Only one flight arrives on Easter Island every day, so they are controlling how many people can come here at once, which I think is good. It´s a fragile place, and one that´s clinging to its history and tradition. I hope they do everything they can to hold onto the remnants of their original culture.
It´s Friday now, the week is coming to a close! Heading back to Santiago on Monday morning. It´s pouring down rain today, which seemed like a good excuse to while away some time at the ole internet cafe. Not sure what will be done with the rest of the day, but I´m going to go find out! Much love to you all.
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
My Vacation From Vacation
Hello, friends! Greetings from Paradise!
My plane touched down on Easter Island (aka Rapa Nui) a little after 11 AM local time (which I believe is two hours AHEAD of NYC) on Sunday morning. The flight was incredible. I don´t understand why Chile has such nice airlines, but I fear I might immigrate here for it. Each seat had its own TV screen, hooked up to an amazing entertainment system. Their selection of movies was unbelievably good for an airlines - I watched "Atonement"! That was JUST on in the States when I left! The food was also terrific - again, two meals in a 4.5 hour flight! Spoiling. I´m looking forward to going back just for the flight.
I bumped into my new travel buddies Liam and Mikes while boarding the plane. As a refresher, I met these two English chaps at the hostel in Puerto Natales, and we had a long conversation about how much we all wanted to go to Easter Island. So, when I got an email from them a few days later that they had indeed booked a flight, I followed suit.
A few minutes before the plane landed, I could see nothing but water out the window. Slowly, a piece of land came into the picture, and shortly thereafter we were down, looking out at rugged, green mountains, palm trees, and blue ocean.
We came down off the plane on one of those little staircases - right down to the runway - and as I stepped down, I heard cheers, screaming erupt from the fence bordering the runway. For me? No, you shouldn´t have! There was a huge line of locals along the fence, dotted with several folks in traditional dress (I have photos), beating drums, singing songs, cheering. A huge roar erupted suddenly, and I looked back to line of people behind me, trying to figure out who was getting off the plane. Were we on with someone famous?
A couple was dragged into the welcoming line, covered with leis of tropical flowers, and generally celebrated by everyone there.
After questioning several people, we finally figured out that it was a reality show winner and his wife. Apparently, this guy had gone off to Chile to compete in a Chilean military reality show, and he won. And now, he´s a local hero for putting Easter Island on the map.
As we waited for our bags to come around, an intimidating man came up with his dog. His uniform said something like "Inspection Team," and he looked like he just wanted nothing more than to really bust someone that day. "He´s not had a bust for weeks," Mikes said. The real inspector, though - the dog - was a friendly looking yellow lab, who was allowed to walk on the baggage claim merry-go-round, happily panting and sniffing as he trompled all over everyone´s luggage. It was really funny.
We hadn´t made a hostel reservation yet, but I think they count on that in places like this. There was a row of hostel representatives with signs, trying to flag down folks like us, who look like they have no place to go. We were taken in by a nice woman from Residencial Miru, a small house on the main drag of town, that sleeps about 10 people, from what I can see. The house is concrete and painted bright orange and is shaped like an L with a big open area in the middle. Periwinkle, red, peach, and yellow flowers line the patio area, and an assortment of roosters, chickens, cats, and kittens, roam about freely.
We were showed into a small room with three twin beds lined up across it. This should be interesting, I thought. Sharing a room with these two Brits I barely know. These two are nuts. In a good way. In a British way. They have the silliest sense of humor - I just find myself laughing whenever anything comes out of their mouths.
By the end of the first day, the room STANK. "It smells like boys in here," I told them. Ugh. But I am being good humored about it all, and of course, we're really spending any time in the room except to sleep.
We took a long walk around the island that first day. There's a small town along one coast, but otherwise, this place is extremely deserted. I don't know why, but I was expecting a bit more "stuff" here. It is just as well, of course. The fewer people, the better.
We set out to scope out some of the good surfing locations because Liam is really interested in doing a bit of body boarding and wanted to see how the surf was. As we walked along the road, horses passed, mopeds, cars. This place is a true blend of modern and old. Cars share the road with horses, and there are loads of horse poop along the sidewalks. Watch your step.
Sorry to hold you in suspense, but I have to get off the computer now. Am supposed to meet the boys in a minute to head to the beach for the day. To be continued...xoxo
My plane touched down on Easter Island (aka Rapa Nui) a little after 11 AM local time (which I believe is two hours AHEAD of NYC) on Sunday morning. The flight was incredible. I don´t understand why Chile has such nice airlines, but I fear I might immigrate here for it. Each seat had its own TV screen, hooked up to an amazing entertainment system. Their selection of movies was unbelievably good for an airlines - I watched "Atonement"! That was JUST on in the States when I left! The food was also terrific - again, two meals in a 4.5 hour flight! Spoiling. I´m looking forward to going back just for the flight.
I bumped into my new travel buddies Liam and Mikes while boarding the plane. As a refresher, I met these two English chaps at the hostel in Puerto Natales, and we had a long conversation about how much we all wanted to go to Easter Island. So, when I got an email from them a few days later that they had indeed booked a flight, I followed suit.
A few minutes before the plane landed, I could see nothing but water out the window. Slowly, a piece of land came into the picture, and shortly thereafter we were down, looking out at rugged, green mountains, palm trees, and blue ocean.
We came down off the plane on one of those little staircases - right down to the runway - and as I stepped down, I heard cheers, screaming erupt from the fence bordering the runway. For me? No, you shouldn´t have! There was a huge line of locals along the fence, dotted with several folks in traditional dress (I have photos), beating drums, singing songs, cheering. A huge roar erupted suddenly, and I looked back to line of people behind me, trying to figure out who was getting off the plane. Were we on with someone famous?
A couple was dragged into the welcoming line, covered with leis of tropical flowers, and generally celebrated by everyone there.
After questioning several people, we finally figured out that it was a reality show winner and his wife. Apparently, this guy had gone off to Chile to compete in a Chilean military reality show, and he won. And now, he´s a local hero for putting Easter Island on the map.
As we waited for our bags to come around, an intimidating man came up with his dog. His uniform said something like "Inspection Team," and he looked like he just wanted nothing more than to really bust someone that day. "He´s not had a bust for weeks," Mikes said. The real inspector, though - the dog - was a friendly looking yellow lab, who was allowed to walk on the baggage claim merry-go-round, happily panting and sniffing as he trompled all over everyone´s luggage. It was really funny.
We hadn´t made a hostel reservation yet, but I think they count on that in places like this. There was a row of hostel representatives with signs, trying to flag down folks like us, who look like they have no place to go. We were taken in by a nice woman from Residencial Miru, a small house on the main drag of town, that sleeps about 10 people, from what I can see. The house is concrete and painted bright orange and is shaped like an L with a big open area in the middle. Periwinkle, red, peach, and yellow flowers line the patio area, and an assortment of roosters, chickens, cats, and kittens, roam about freely.
We were showed into a small room with three twin beds lined up across it. This should be interesting, I thought. Sharing a room with these two Brits I barely know. These two are nuts. In a good way. In a British way. They have the silliest sense of humor - I just find myself laughing whenever anything comes out of their mouths.
By the end of the first day, the room STANK. "It smells like boys in here," I told them. Ugh. But I am being good humored about it all, and of course, we're really spending any time in the room except to sleep.
We took a long walk around the island that first day. There's a small town along one coast, but otherwise, this place is extremely deserted. I don't know why, but I was expecting a bit more "stuff" here. It is just as well, of course. The fewer people, the better.
We set out to scope out some of the good surfing locations because Liam is really interested in doing a bit of body boarding and wanted to see how the surf was. As we walked along the road, horses passed, mopeds, cars. This place is a true blend of modern and old. Cars share the road with horses, and there are loads of horse poop along the sidewalks. Watch your step.
Sorry to hold you in suspense, but I have to get off the computer now. Am supposed to meet the boys in a minute to head to the beach for the day. To be continued...xoxo
Thursday, April 3, 2008
Vino Y Vino
So much to say, so much to say!
I've just wrapped up a wonderful few days in Mendoza, a city of over 1,000 vineyards. WINE-yards as the Swedes say.
My hostel might have been the best part of my trip to Mendoza - La Chimbas (or something like that). I haven't written much about the hostels I have been staying in, but some are much better than others, and this was a great one. It was situated about 20 minutes walk from the city center, which could be seen as a big con for some people, but a little walk never bothered me too much, so it was just fine. An old, Spanish-style white house with orange roof tiles houses the hostel, so it feels very homey on the inside, with arched doorways and exposed brick throughout.
The best feature, though, is the backyard. A huge tiled terrace spans the yard, with several small tables with chairs for sitting, an old, out-of-commission fountain, and a pool. The pool was either in the process of being cleaned or being filled during my stay, so I didn't get to test it out, but I was content to just look at it most of the time. Just to know my hostel had one. It's technically fall in Mendoza now, but it feels something like September in Nashville - HOT - though it does cool down pleasantly in the evenings. At any rate, it was perfect weather for outside sitting time, one of my favorite activities.
A very simple breakfast was served out on the terrace every morning, and I just felt like I was living the high life, drinking my coffee, listening to the birds chirp, admiring the pinks and greens of the flowering trees. All for $10 a night! And that wasn't even for the cheapest room!
So, you ask, what did you do in Mendoza other than sit on your terrace and drink vino? Well, hmm. Wednesday, I went on an afternoon vineyard tour, after spending a very lazy morning on the terrace. The tour was nothing special, but the weather was beautiful, and it doesn't take much to entertain me on days like that. We went to two different wineries, one olive oil making place (surely there's a more technical term for this?), and, my favorite stop, the chocolate licquor place. They had every dessert you could imagine bottled up and shot up with alcohol of some kind or other, and at the end of the "tour" you got to taste a licquor of your choosing and a couple bites of divine chocolate heaven. I tasted Chocolate and Banana, and I think Bjorn got something like Coconut and Rum. Blech. These licquors sound so enticing, but then when you taste them...something's not quite right here. But I sure did enjoy the alcohol free chocolate I was served, and we bought some for the road!
Went to a really nice steak place that night, and I am certain I have now seen the biggest steak EVER. I got the "petit" filet, and it was not even close to being petit, but wow, was it good. I really didn't think I liked steak before I came down here. I like steak. Really like it. I think maybe Mom's steak took a few too many chews in the mouth (30 times before you can swallow, Ellen!), which isn't Mom's fault, of course. Just the cows. I don't know what they do down here, but they are doing something right. And of course we had a lovely (and very economical) bottle of red to accompany the meat. After dinner, we popped into a kiosco to get another bottle (for after-dinner terrace sitting, of course), and we actually bought a $4 peso bottle of red. That's about $1.50 US...and it was decent!
Thursday we rented some bikes and had a fairly lazy day exploring the HUGE park that sprawls out over the West side of Mendoza. I didn't see all of it, but I am fairly sure it's a good bit bigger than Central Park. It was lovely, and we rode all the way up to a viewpoint at the top, where there's a huge statue dedicated to...oh, you know, the Liberator. Everything here is to El Liberatador. San Martin.
Yesterday, we rented a car and explored the area to the West of Mendoza. We drove to Villavicencio, where all the bottled water here comes from, and then took an insanely steep and curvy road about 4 kilometres up, up, up, to a viewpoint of Aconagua. Aconagua is the largest peak in South America, and I think in the world, it's only second to the Himalayas. The peak itself doesn't actually look all that impressive because although it's some 6,000 meters up, there's a good chance that wherever you're looking at it from is about 3,000 meters up, which is where we were. So comparatively, it just looks like another one of those Andes out there.
After a nice picnic lunch, it was on through Uppsalata, to Puente del Incas, where there's a natural bridge and the remnants of an old thermal springs. The Lonely Planet calls the puente, the bridge, one of Argentina's most incredible natural wonders (or something to that effect), but I felt kind of "eh" about it. They wouldn't let me walk across it, which sort of lost some points with me.
Also at Puente del Incas was a Climber's Cemetary, where probably 30 people are buried, all who lost their lives attempting to scale Aconagua. Some were old graves, some were quite recent, and it was really moving to think how many people have given themselves up to these mountains, to love for nature, to reaching new heights.
Had yet another wonderful steak last night and some more vino tinto and some helado. I am slowly becoming very soft and round.
I left Mendoza this morning, heading out the same road we drove down yesterday, past Puente del Incas, past the Argentina-Chile border, through the insane pass through the Andes, and on into Santiago. (I should mention here that crossing borders on a bus is not my kind of fun. It tacks a good hour or two onto your trip, and involves a lot of sitting around, standing around, getting things inspected and sniffed and stamped. But I haven't gotten caught yet!)
So I am back in Santiago now and am staying at another terrific hostel, Hostel Bellavista, where I stayed when I was here a couple weeks back. My plane to Easter Island leaves at 8:10 AM in the morning, so it will be a very brief stay here, but I am going to try to get to bed early. I am exhausted from all that wine drinking and terrace sitting.
I picked up the Chile-Easter Island Lonely Planet earlier this evening and just started drooling. I am in for a treat. Will fill you in soon.
And one more thing, I am not making any more friends down here. These goodbyes are the pits. Que triste historia.
Much love to you all.
I've just wrapped up a wonderful few days in Mendoza, a city of over 1,000 vineyards. WINE-yards as the Swedes say.
My hostel might have been the best part of my trip to Mendoza - La Chimbas (or something like that). I haven't written much about the hostels I have been staying in, but some are much better than others, and this was a great one. It was situated about 20 minutes walk from the city center, which could be seen as a big con for some people, but a little walk never bothered me too much, so it was just fine. An old, Spanish-style white house with orange roof tiles houses the hostel, so it feels very homey on the inside, with arched doorways and exposed brick throughout.
The best feature, though, is the backyard. A huge tiled terrace spans the yard, with several small tables with chairs for sitting, an old, out-of-commission fountain, and a pool. The pool was either in the process of being cleaned or being filled during my stay, so I didn't get to test it out, but I was content to just look at it most of the time. Just to know my hostel had one. It's technically fall in Mendoza now, but it feels something like September in Nashville - HOT - though it does cool down pleasantly in the evenings. At any rate, it was perfect weather for outside sitting time, one of my favorite activities.
A very simple breakfast was served out on the terrace every morning, and I just felt like I was living the high life, drinking my coffee, listening to the birds chirp, admiring the pinks and greens of the flowering trees. All for $10 a night! And that wasn't even for the cheapest room!
So, you ask, what did you do in Mendoza other than sit on your terrace and drink vino? Well, hmm. Wednesday, I went on an afternoon vineyard tour, after spending a very lazy morning on the terrace. The tour was nothing special, but the weather was beautiful, and it doesn't take much to entertain me on days like that. We went to two different wineries, one olive oil making place (surely there's a more technical term for this?), and, my favorite stop, the chocolate licquor place. They had every dessert you could imagine bottled up and shot up with alcohol of some kind or other, and at the end of the "tour" you got to taste a licquor of your choosing and a couple bites of divine chocolate heaven. I tasted Chocolate and Banana, and I think Bjorn got something like Coconut and Rum. Blech. These licquors sound so enticing, but then when you taste them...something's not quite right here. But I sure did enjoy the alcohol free chocolate I was served, and we bought some for the road!
Went to a really nice steak place that night, and I am certain I have now seen the biggest steak EVER. I got the "petit" filet, and it was not even close to being petit, but wow, was it good. I really didn't think I liked steak before I came down here. I like steak. Really like it. I think maybe Mom's steak took a few too many chews in the mouth (30 times before you can swallow, Ellen!), which isn't Mom's fault, of course. Just the cows. I don't know what they do down here, but they are doing something right. And of course we had a lovely (and very economical) bottle of red to accompany the meat. After dinner, we popped into a kiosco to get another bottle (for after-dinner terrace sitting, of course), and we actually bought a $4 peso bottle of red. That's about $1.50 US...and it was decent!
Thursday we rented some bikes and had a fairly lazy day exploring the HUGE park that sprawls out over the West side of Mendoza. I didn't see all of it, but I am fairly sure it's a good bit bigger than Central Park. It was lovely, and we rode all the way up to a viewpoint at the top, where there's a huge statue dedicated to...oh, you know, the Liberator. Everything here is to El Liberatador. San Martin.
Yesterday, we rented a car and explored the area to the West of Mendoza. We drove to Villavicencio, where all the bottled water here comes from, and then took an insanely steep and curvy road about 4 kilometres up, up, up, to a viewpoint of Aconagua. Aconagua is the largest peak in South America, and I think in the world, it's only second to the Himalayas. The peak itself doesn't actually look all that impressive because although it's some 6,000 meters up, there's a good chance that wherever you're looking at it from is about 3,000 meters up, which is where we were. So comparatively, it just looks like another one of those Andes out there.
After a nice picnic lunch, it was on through Uppsalata, to Puente del Incas, where there's a natural bridge and the remnants of an old thermal springs. The Lonely Planet calls the puente, the bridge, one of Argentina's most incredible natural wonders (or something to that effect), but I felt kind of "eh" about it. They wouldn't let me walk across it, which sort of lost some points with me.
Also at Puente del Incas was a Climber's Cemetary, where probably 30 people are buried, all who lost their lives attempting to scale Aconagua. Some were old graves, some were quite recent, and it was really moving to think how many people have given themselves up to these mountains, to love for nature, to reaching new heights.
Had yet another wonderful steak last night and some more vino tinto and some helado. I am slowly becoming very soft and round.
I left Mendoza this morning, heading out the same road we drove down yesterday, past Puente del Incas, past the Argentina-Chile border, through the insane pass through the Andes, and on into Santiago. (I should mention here that crossing borders on a bus is not my kind of fun. It tacks a good hour or two onto your trip, and involves a lot of sitting around, standing around, getting things inspected and sniffed and stamped. But I haven't gotten caught yet!)
So I am back in Santiago now and am staying at another terrific hostel, Hostel Bellavista, where I stayed when I was here a couple weeks back. My plane to Easter Island leaves at 8:10 AM in the morning, so it will be a very brief stay here, but I am going to try to get to bed early. I am exhausted from all that wine drinking and terrace sitting.
I picked up the Chile-Easter Island Lonely Planet earlier this evening and just started drooling. I am in for a treat. Will fill you in soon.
And one more thing, I am not making any more friends down here. These goodbyes are the pits. Que triste historia.
Much love to you all.
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