Thursday, November 12, 2009
Iguazu Falls, ARGENTINA
We were blessed with one really nice day while here. That was the day we went to see the falls. And that’s really all that matters. We took a short jungle tour by jeep before boarding an inflated speedboat of sorts. Everyone prepped themselves to be soaked. I’d worn my bathing suit but my modesty kept me from taking off the sundress I had over it. If I’d seen the old women stripping down to their knickers before getting on the impossibly complicated life jacket, I probably would’ve followed suit. Old French women just don’t give a damn. A ways out from the falls we were flying through rapids I hadn’t expected. It felt like white water rafting on speed! I couldn’t understand how we weren’t flipping over but it was great. Ahhhh!!!! We sped up to the falls. They were spilling over a huge plateau in sheets of chocolatey water that free flew into suspended moments of blown glass bubbles and then burst into white water. Approaching Devil’s Throat, the biggest of them all, is as close as it gets. It’s so incredibly thunderous that you’re soaked from what looked like a half mile away. The earth shook. It was what I imagine the Grand Canyon would look like with water pouring over it. As fun as this was, my favorite moment was on the lower trail. There was a long metal walkway that perched out almost precariously close to the center of the falls. Walking down the walkway, the water, wind and vibrations from the sheer force of copious amounts of water pulled hard by gravity over giant cliffs intensify physically and audibly until you are literally swept up by it so that your heart is inflated with air and you can’t stop laughing and smiling. I did it again and again, just walking to the end and walking away. I was screaming with laughter. Everyone did the same. Men, women, and children all opened their arms and took in the tremendous feeling. Later as we walked the many pathways that take in the breadth of the falls, I realized I recognized that feeling. I remembered walking down the aisle when Bobby and I were married. I was so overjoyed at that moment it felt like I was floating and I couldn’t stop smiling. I don’t know if I was smiling on the outside. But, on the inside, it felt the same as walking into those falls. There really aren’t words for moments like that. You just try and hang onto them whenever you can.
K. . . .
Mendoza, ARGENTINA
Before going into our trip to Mendoza specifically, I’d first like to scream from the hypothetical rooftop of this blog, “The buses in Argentina are incredible!!!”
We took an overnight bus to Mendoza from Buenos Aires (about 16 hours) complete with a champagne toddy before bed. The seats recline to a full bed position, multiple movie options play constantly, you are fed meals every few hours, and I now LOVE our travel days! This is the best way to travel in Argentina. And I have to say I came to look forward to our overnight bus rides, if you can imagine. It’s that fun.
Now, back to Mendoza, a truly lovely area skirting the northern part of Patagonia and Argentina’s version of Napa Valley. The area is especially famous for the Malbec wine it produces. In fact, the Malbec in Argentina is so superior that new guidelines mandate a Malbec can only come from Mendoza. And I couldn’t agree more with their decision. I’ve had this type of wine before and was never a fan. I’ve found a Mendozan Malbec is scrumptious and definitely a good way to go when having steak.
With an ever-shrinking budget, we could only afford one major activity here. Because of its’ location, you can do all kinds of trekking, camping, biking and/or horse riding tours. But, being most famous for its’ wine, the decision to go on a wine tasting tour was easy. And, though this is the only fond memory I have of our three days here (the others involve spending a good deal of the day lost exploring the town on day 1 and being lost for endless hours in their very inconveniently laid out park for hours on end on day 3), I’ll take quality over quantity any day. But, if someone out there in Mendoza is listening, you really should provide accurate maps to tourists! It's too damn hot to get lost!
Okay, so here's the thing. I have a new favorite hobby! I can hardly think of an afternoon when we’ve had so much fun and learned so much at the same time. The balance of those two on par like never before. It was a completely indulgent day for the senses, bordering on spiritual. No, it was spiritual. First, you get to explore the dramatic countryside as you drive from one winery to another. Then, once you arrive, they take you through and teach you all about the practices, theories and processes. You can walk around the vineyards and bask in the sunshine, taking in lovely mountain views that surround. Finally, you swill and swish and bubble and inhale and slurge and laugh and drink and drink and DRINK (sips mind you) in a literal cornacopea of wines and, with each, a new set of taste combinations, aromas, textures and, ultimately, experiences. After, they send you on your way to indulge in a whole new set of experiences at another winery off into the distance. Sometimes you are standing in a new and gorgeously built facility. And sometimes you are in a two hundred year old barn. But always there is the smell of oak and earth. And your senses can’t help but sing in your head for the harmony of it all. By the time lunch rolled around, everyone was best friends. And we had a five course spread you’d have to see to believe.
Not to get loopy, but this touched the core of my Venus and Mars in Taurus. It’s the best thing since sliced bread.
For my New York friends: We are going on a wine tasting tour upstate!!!
And for my family: We are going on a wine tasting tour in California!!!
And to Mendoza: Thank you for a fine, fine time...
K. . . . .
Monday, October 26, 2009
LIMA, PERU
We landed in Lima with less than 24 hours before our flight to Cusco. We arrived again with a little more than that before moving on to Beunos Aires. As far as I can tell, Lima is in many ways what I’ve found a typical large South American city to be. Dotted with beautiful old neighborhoods sandwiched between half finished and ugly newer neighborhoods all of which are covered in a thick layer of dirt presumably settled from the polluted air. The population of Lima is huge and the traffic is a reflection. It’s a little hard to breathe in some areas. Like the coast of Ecuador, the coast of Peru is perpetually cloudy in the “Fall, Winter and Spring” months and it tends to be rainy year round. But, unlike Quito, I did like Lima. It felt like I imagine Seattle to be. Some cities wear gloom well. And the beautiful neighborhoods and wide boulevards were grey and reflective. It didn’t hurt that we splurged on one of our best meals to date at “Astrid y Gaston,” the pride of modern Peruvian cuisine. Food memories always color a place for me and the sauces in Peru are rich and delicious. Paired with my new heartthrob, Pisco Sour, I can’t help but smile when I think of our short time in the capital city.
K. . . . .
Sunday, October 25, 2009
PUNO & The Uros Islands, Peru
We were warned to go to Lake Titicaca before seeing Machu Picchu. After that experience, consensus was that most things pale in comparison. Our schedule didn’t permit this but the forewarning helped prepare expectations that were more appropriate. Still, I was a little disappointed when I first laid eyes on the lake. I knew Puno was only a jumping off point and had heard the town itself was on the uglier side. So I had no expectations whatsoever of the town. But, I’d envisioned the lake to look like a huge crater high in the mountains. It’s elevation is among the highest in the world. The slope of the mountains was less dramatic, though. And it seemed like a lake surrounded by hills not mountains.
We arrived in the early evening and went to dinner after settling into our hotel. The older and touristy part of town was actually quite cute. The next day we were picked up for a boat tour to several islands on the lake. The second place we visited was fine and dandy. But, the first set of islands made it worth the trip.
The Uros Islands are man made islands of reeds. The people who’ve inhabited the islands for centuries use the reeds that flourish in the lake for everything. They use them to make rope for which they tie together floating blocks of dirt and root. Then they lay dry reeds over the dirt in a criss cross pattern until the footing is thick. Homes, boats and everything in between are then constructed using the same reeds. They even eat them! It was incredible to see people living as they had for so long and on islands that looked like fairy tale illustrations. That first step off the boat and onto the reed strewn ground made me feel uneasy as I sank down into the cushy footing. Soon, though, I began to feel confident of my footing. And I had to suppress the impulse to run and jump and roll. It reminded me of playing in piles of leaves as a kid. Falling is not a problem here and the implications were a little thrilling. The kid inside was getting a kick out of this and the adult inside had to hold me by my collar. It took all day to visit these islands and we didn’t even cover a quarter of the lake. It’s size is impressive. And, though the view from our side of the lake didn’t wow me, I suspected a more earth shattering view could be had across the border. But, alas, that was all the time we had. We’d hoped to go to Copacabana and La Paz, winding around and exploring different parts of the lake. But I think we’ve finally come to terms with the fact that we don’t have time to do everything. We left for Lima by overnight bus the following day after exploring the town a little more. And we’ve vowed to come back to Peru. Thirteen days here just isn’t enough.
Friday, October 16, 2009
MACHU PICCHU & The Salkantay Trek, PERU
When I run into someone who has traveled to Machu Picchu, my first question will be to ask how they got there. Because I know now that the journey is as important a part of the experience as the destination. In my memory, I can’t think of a single instance in which I’ve been so proud of myself for completing something and so enamored with an experience while simultaneously feeling that I never ever EVER want to do anything like that EVER again. My heart and soul are still trying to comfort my physical body. And I don’t know when it will stop feeling victimized in all this. Though all the steak and wine in Argentina is starting to make up for it.
The first day started out harmless enough if a little rough around the edges. A 3:00am wake up call preceded a three hour bus ride to our jumping off point. We found a budget trek and so the fact that the buffet breakfast turned out to be a basket of stale bread and tea was par for the course. Though it seemed hardly enough fuel for the four hours uphill we needed to walk before lunch. Then again, all that walking is probably better on a half empty stomach. And I’d read the altitude makes digestion difficult. So perhaps they were doing us a favor. That first hour went by rather quickly and the weather was perfect. The sun and breeze were as gentle as the hills. Now I know I was only easing into the worst self inflicted pain of my life. How innocently I walked my way to the point of no return. After the second hour, the hills were becoming steeper and clouds rolled in. By hour four it was raining cold rain and we were on rocky and very steep terrain. The rain made the path muddy. Bobby bought us a walking stick (literally a long stick) at the breakfast spot and we used it to help pull stranded individuals out of slippery situations. I thought I’d never been so happy to stop walking when we finally reached our lunch spot. But I really had no idea what relief could feel like. And this I think is the essence and joy of trekking and camping the Salkantay. After lunch we walked three more hours uphill. We made it to the camp site somehow, though there were moments when I thought this might all be a joke. There is no campsite, only TV cameras set up along the way waiting to jump out from behind the trees when we finally snap. "Surprise! You're on WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU THINKING!" To my mind this had become a real possibility and I entertained myself with thoughts of what the consolation prize might be. I could really use a spa weekend somewhere tropical right now. But we did arrive to a camp site and there was a consolation prize of sorts; sitting. Sitting never felt so good. Sipping hot tea never tasted so good. Dinner was in a shack lit by candles. It was about 30 degrees outside and we were surrounded by snow-covered mountains.
I sat as still and contently as I can remember. After the best dinner I’ve ever eaten, we played a round of “Bullshit” and then “Memory” with our awesome group and settled in for a winter’s nap. But bed was not to be the imagined rest that kept me putting one foot in front of the other those last grueling forty-five minutes. The temperature dropped well below freezing, the ground was hard as a rock and I did little more than close my eyes for six hours. Every part of my body EXCEPT my feet hurt. And I literally jumped out of bed at our 5am wake up call. That and I really had to pee. The hot tea they served in your tent was a nice thought. But it did little to warm my frozen, aching body. Yep, ironically, I needed to walk again and warm up. And walk we did! Our second day would be our hardest. We were to walk 9 hours total. The first four hours were solidly steep. They were so steep the people in front of me were literally over my head.
I warmed up quickly and shed my layers. My hoodie felt like a lead weight around my hips. I tried out different strategies. First, I thought about the tortoise and the hair. So I decided it might be easier if I made teeny tiny steps the size of half my foot. But, much to my amazement and frustration, shuffling up the hill was still incredibly exhausting. I was taking breaks every 10 shuffles or so. Shuffling was not working. Next, I tried to stay in a steady but solid rhythm. Our tremendous guide, Cesar, who used the words “tremendous” and “Jesus Christ” so much that Bobby cleverly pinned the book he should write about trekking to Machu Picchu, “Jesus Christ this book is Tremendous,” (we loved him) said it was best not to stop and to keep a rhythm. He said to find a way to keep walking. So I put my head down and walked. But, try as I might, I couldn’t keep a rhythm. The path was so rocky my legs just wore out. I was stumbling all over the place. I then tried to pretend I was a sure-footed Shetland pony. I suppose it was a reflexive thought. After all, I’ve only walked up and down hills for over three hours on horseback. But that just made me feel awful about myself. With the way I was going, I’d have been sold for dog food. Three in the pack were making a decent pace. But, after the second hour, the rest of us were stopping every two or three steps (yes, steps). So, as I usually do when I’m exhausted and in an impossible situation, I started laughing hysterically. And as I was sitting on a rock trying to catch my breath again, I couldn’t help but think about the time Lauren and I got lost in the hay field at my Grandmom’s farm. We were around eight years old and trying to find some creek on foot that I’d found on horseback a few weeks before. Both Lo and I loved catching crawdads and this little creek was in a most magical part of the woods and was loaded with crawdads. So I convinced her we should go find it and we set off in only our bathing suits in mid-day during the month of August. Long story short, we walked for hours and still couldn’t find it. Things look different on horseback. So we were walking in this field with hay up to our eyeballs, the sun blazing down, in our bathing suits and with ticks crawling all over us. Lo is way out in front of me sneezing her brains out because she’s allergic to HAY. I can picture it now. She was so far in front of me she was like an ant in the field (I’m a slow walker and her allergies made her more desperate). The top of her back cleared the hay. Then I hear her voice faintly carried in the wind. “Amazing Grace how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me….Ahhh chew…I once was lost…” she sang that whole song with the full conviction of someone who thinks they might die any moment. And that’s the kind of thing that makes you laugh from the deepest part of your belly. Then and there I realized the only way I was getting up that mountain was if I sang myself up that mountain. So I start singing ridiculously silly things and sure enough I walked a decent way without stopping. Carol, one of our mates, started giving us little goals. “Okay, Katie, we can do it. Let’s just get to that rock there and then we can stop again, “ she’d say. And I’d sprint forward, cheering us to our mini destination with songs like “Eye of the Tiger” and “She Works Hard For the Money." Eventually, I settled on the more practical, “Left, left, left, right left.” And I have to say that this is a super effective song for keeping rhythm at the walk. In fact, I might still be climbing that mountain if it weren’t for that classic. I should have known all along the best strategy was collective effort (and that I’m a Quarter Horse not a Shetland). When we reached the top, a whopping 4,600 meters above sea level, we were face to face with the Salkantay Glacier. And, you guessed it, it never felt so good to have climbed a mountain.
At this point, we started to descend. It was 2 more hours mostly downhill until lunch. I could have cared less. Our lunch spot was bliss. We saw condors flying high above.
Lunch stop on the Salkantay Trek from Robert Kelly on Vimeo.
The last three hours that day were mostly downhill, too. Cesar warned that walking downhill was worse. I did get five blisters and shin splints. But it felt like floating comparatively speaking. Our camping spot the second night was in a more temperate area on soft earth and we crashed hard. I’d venture to say we left indentions of our bodies in the earth where we slept. It was the first time in three days we had a real toilet WITH a toilet seat! The fact that it was boarded up crudely with gaping cracks in which to see through and that a humongous, mean hog guarded it, chasing me in and out, was beside the point.
Six hours of walking the third day lead us into a tropical region close to the jungle. That’s right. We walked from a glacier to a jungle, complete with swarming mosquitoes, parrots and, best of all, a spider monkey!!! This was the most precious little angel monkey in the world and I’d be lieing if I told you he didn’t love me the most of all. I want one!!!
Untitled from Robert Kelly on Vimeo.
The fourth day we only had to walk three hours down the train tracks to Aguas Calientes, the town from which you leave for Machu Picchu. At this point, we were wobbling around on little nubbins of peg legs. In fact and in all honesty, I think Bobby was worse off than me. Poor thing had to carry his camera equipment the whole way and it was at least thirty extra pounds. When we passed the parked luxury train that comes in from Cusco, we couldn’t help but look longingly at those cushy seats and fine dining cars. I knew what we’d done was special, though. Because no one coming in by luxury train can really appreciate what it means to get to this location by foot. And you can’t really, REALLY respect what the Incans did unless you walk this SOB ( So Overly Big ; ) mountain. Or at least that’s what I told myself in order to break away from the alluring grip of plush velvet. That night in Aguas Calientes we enjoyed Pisco Sours (my favorite new cocktail) and hatched our plan for the morning. You can take a bus up the hill to the entrance of Machu Picchu. But, if you want to climb Wainu Picchu (a second mountain inside the park) for electrifying views, you have to be one of the first 400 people in line. And that means walking up the hill very early. We’d come this far and everyone was determined to walk it.
On day five, we met outside at 3am armed with headlamps. It was a solid hour straight up ancient Incan stairs. Our newly conditioned bodies surged stealthily passing people left and right. Go team Salkantay! I was frankly surprised at myself and impressed with what four days of conditioning can actually accomplish. Everyone cheered and high fived and hugged when we got to the top. We’d done it. I got a little teary. The sun rose behind Wainu Picchu.
Arriving early, it was as if we had a private tour. The fact that it felt empty with more than 400 people there is a testament to its’ size. First, I was struck by the way in which walls were constructed on 90 degree cliffs. It seemed like the walls were holding up the sides of the mountain in some instances. Touching the seams between the rocks it was impossible to wrap my head around how this could be made by hand, precision the only mortar. Cesar’s explanation of their religion was also fascinating, full of philosophy and wisdom. Everything in their daily lives revolved around Paccha Mama, “Mother Earth.” They saw the past, present and future existing at once and represented these with the snake, the panther and the condor. What I'd felt in the Galapagos came to mind. They left remains and sometimes whole sacrifices at the Alter of the Condor, a huge stone sculpture of mesmerizing beauty. The condors would land, feast and then take flight. After which, they believed the condor carried the soul of that being upon its’ huge wings into the future. On his wings or in his belly, the truth is they were right. And the poetry of it all was compelling. There was so much beauty. We stayed all day. We studied the advanced irrigation and fresh water system. We walked through the home of the royal family. We walked through the houses of everyone else. We walked through the storage houses and rested on feilds of stairs that used to be crops. We snuck up on the Llamas to steal a pet. We watched the sun make shadows on the stone calendar and through the "Three Windows." We held on tight as we traveled the narrow steps of the Incans. Bobby even made it up Wainu Picchu. But this quauta haws was done. I decided I'd seen my fair share of great views that day. I rested at the Guardhouse overlooking the city and soaked it all in. Machu Picchu is truly an incredible must do experience (and by "must do" I mean take the luxury train!).
k..........
Monday, October 5, 2009
QUITO, ECUADOR
Our travels took on a faster pace after hitting the Galapagos. Sitting here now on our cushy bed in Buenos Aires, my memory of Quito is as cloudy as my eyes were from the gritty burs of dirt perpetually in them while I was there. The wind and dust whipped the dry air so much so that our flight out was actually cancelled. We learned that landing in Quito is unusual for aircraft. Apparently, most planes these days land on autopilot. But, because of the mountains that surround the city, the runway in Quito is too short for an auto landing and pilots must land manually; an interesting tidbit of information if you’re not the nervous type. In fact, one could say that there is a lot to enjoy about Quito if you’re not the nervous type. The drive there is the epitome of picturesque. The city is surrounded by volcanoes. I think you can see eight total on a clear day, Pichincha being the closest. To add to the excitement, some of them are actually still active. The colonial city center has charming architecture, albeit somewhat oddly laid out and poorly restored in most instances. And, then, there is Marisol Sucre, the hip, happening “new town” that has a truly fun restaurant and bar scene. If you find yourself in Quito, I recommend dining at La Boca del Lobo. It’s fabulous! And I say that with a double snap because it’s the kind of saucy, spunky place with spot on food that deserves some sort of special punctuation.
The “hitch” in all of this is that Quito is just plain dangerous. First, there is the innocent kind of danger which is usually funny even though it’s still quite dangerous. These little law-suits-waiting-to-happen are everywhere. From the showers with electric wires in them to inadequately set up tourist attractions like La Basilica, a beautiful cathedral near the old city center especially known for its’ fabulous views at the top. In order to get to the top, you need to walk across a seriously rickety plank high above solid ground with only a loose rope as a handrail. After which, you then need to climb three sets of teeny, open-air stairs going straight up the side. Turn around and you’re a monkey climbing up the side of a twenty-story building! One slip is a fall to your death. It was shockingly unsafe but thrilling enough that we did it anyway (after watching two other couples do it first, of course). That’s more of a simile for the real danger to which I’m eluding, though. You don’t HAVE to go up La Basillica. But, for those who want to walk around the city in the evening or climb El Panecillo to the monument of the Virgen Mary by day, you’re out of luck. In Quito, you’ll need to take a taxi unless you want to be mugged. There really isn’t any kind of safe zone. The fact that the areas of interests are spread out doesn’t help. And, when everyone around you is getting robbed, it’s kinda hard to enjoy yourself. Couple that with a city whose natural setting in a valley traps smog from all the 100 year old cars jamming its’ streets and with wind that whips around dust like my Great Granny Russell could sweep up a face full of porch dirt and there is a level of unpleasantness that leaves you searching for alternative cities in which to hang.
Bobby and I enjoyed touring the historical center, the nightlife of Marisol Sucre and even the death defying climb up La Basilica. But constantly watching our backs was another thing entirely. And we were both ready to leave Quito. Which is why it was so ironic that our TACA flight was finally canceled at 10pm after waiting four hours in the airport only to have the wind stir up trouble just as TACA had finally gotten it together to leave. Strategically waiting to have dinner on the airplane to save money had backfired again. I think we are all familiar with the Agee girls’ blood sugar problems…nuff said. I’ve really come to love our travel days : ) .
So I left Quito a little miffed. I was miffed with having to deal with another TACA debacle. But, more importantly, I was miffed with the Ecuadorian government. I don’t know how they could let this jewel of a city be ruined by crime and pollution. Actually, I found myself thinking this over and over during our travels through Ecuador. The lack of civil infrastructure was the biggest crime of all. And the Ecuadorian people deserve better. From water, sewage and trash issues to the crime in Quito, those in charge don’t seem to be paying attention. It’s no wonder that whatever differences you may find from region to region, they all share in and express freely their anger at the corrupt politicians who continue to squander their resources. And I’m with you! Viva Ecuador!
We will always be grateful to the people of Ecuador for the hospitality, warmth and openness they exuded. They are rich in heart and soul. And I know we will be better world citizens having been to this most diverse and interesting little country. We learned so much. Not the least of which is to always travel with toilet paper! Seriously, I would love to come back one day and do volunteer work. This is a great country for that kind of travel and I hate that I only learned about it while in route. If anyone reading this is inspired to go and do work there, I highly recommend it and can head you in the right direction.
PS- We have no pictures of Quito because we were too scared to take our cameras anywhere….it’s a shame but it’s true…
The “hitch” in all of this is that Quito is just plain dangerous. First, there is the innocent kind of danger which is usually funny even though it’s still quite dangerous. These little law-suits-waiting-to-happen are everywhere. From the showers with electric wires in them to inadequately set up tourist attractions like La Basilica, a beautiful cathedral near the old city center especially known for its’ fabulous views at the top. In order to get to the top, you need to walk across a seriously rickety plank high above solid ground with only a loose rope as a handrail. After which, you then need to climb three sets of teeny, open-air stairs going straight up the side. Turn around and you’re a monkey climbing up the side of a twenty-story building! One slip is a fall to your death. It was shockingly unsafe but thrilling enough that we did it anyway (after watching two other couples do it first, of course). That’s more of a simile for the real danger to which I’m eluding, though. You don’t HAVE to go up La Basillica. But, for those who want to walk around the city in the evening or climb El Panecillo to the monument of the Virgen Mary by day, you’re out of luck. In Quito, you’ll need to take a taxi unless you want to be mugged. There really isn’t any kind of safe zone. The fact that the areas of interests are spread out doesn’t help. And, when everyone around you is getting robbed, it’s kinda hard to enjoy yourself. Couple that with a city whose natural setting in a valley traps smog from all the 100 year old cars jamming its’ streets and with wind that whips around dust like my Great Granny Russell could sweep up a face full of porch dirt and there is a level of unpleasantness that leaves you searching for alternative cities in which to hang.
Bobby and I enjoyed touring the historical center, the nightlife of Marisol Sucre and even the death defying climb up La Basilica. But constantly watching our backs was another thing entirely. And we were both ready to leave Quito. Which is why it was so ironic that our TACA flight was finally canceled at 10pm after waiting four hours in the airport only to have the wind stir up trouble just as TACA had finally gotten it together to leave. Strategically waiting to have dinner on the airplane to save money had backfired again. I think we are all familiar with the Agee girls’ blood sugar problems…nuff said. I’ve really come to love our travel days : ) .
So I left Quito a little miffed. I was miffed with having to deal with another TACA debacle. But, more importantly, I was miffed with the Ecuadorian government. I don’t know how they could let this jewel of a city be ruined by crime and pollution. Actually, I found myself thinking this over and over during our travels through Ecuador. The lack of civil infrastructure was the biggest crime of all. And the Ecuadorian people deserve better. From water, sewage and trash issues to the crime in Quito, those in charge don’t seem to be paying attention. It’s no wonder that whatever differences you may find from region to region, they all share in and express freely their anger at the corrupt politicians who continue to squander their resources. And I’m with you! Viva Ecuador!
We will always be grateful to the people of Ecuador for the hospitality, warmth and openness they exuded. They are rich in heart and soul. And I know we will be better world citizens having been to this most diverse and interesting little country. We learned so much. Not the least of which is to always travel with toilet paper! Seriously, I would love to come back one day and do volunteer work. This is a great country for that kind of travel and I hate that I only learned about it while in route. If anyone reading this is inspired to go and do work there, I highly recommend it and can head you in the right direction.
PS- We have no pictures of Quito because we were too scared to take our cameras anywhere….it’s a shame but it’s true…
Sunday, September 27, 2009
THE GALAPAGOS
It seems to me when one travels for a while they begin to develop their own “style of traveling.” Some people study a place intensely beforehand. When they arrive, they point things out, complete with dates, authors, architects, artists and/or periods, with the excitement of knowing what something is and seeing it for the first time. I respect this, even envy it for its’ practicality and discipline. But my personal style is to arrive a blank slate. I consciously choose to study as little about where I’m going as possible. True or not, I feel my experience is more genuine when I encounter something with fewer preconceptions. When I leave and I’m on a plane or bus, I then like to immerse myself in literature and fact finding to help supplement and understand what I saw. Perhaps this style developed because I have a vivid and overly optimistic imagination and I’m subconsciously protecting myself from disappointment. Or perhaps it’s that I’m a tangible learner and don’t retain what I can’t touch and feel. Or, maybe, I’m just lazy. Nevertheless, it’s what works for me. And, in the Galapagos, I think my style is especially rewarded. No book can prepare you for the experience. Granted, the Galapagos is one of those places on earth in which it’s impossible not to have a good deal of preconceptions. Our imaginations conjour things for which our eyes have no reference. And our imaginations are given much to chew on in grade school. But, without review and in-depth study beforehand, it is startling how desolate it is on Isla Baltra, where we landed our plane. Later I learned that this is what most of the early people who landed in the Galapagos thought of it. And I experienced a little piece of what they must’ve felt discovering the islands for the first time (sin the panic of being stranded there). And that was the first in a series of visceral responses that, when linked together in context, made this trip one of the most unique and impressionable of my life.
We arrived with little more than luggage, a week and a battle plan for obtaining a last minute cruise deal that we could barely afford. Armed with directions from our Lonely Planet Guide, we took a bus to the end of Baltra and marveled at the turquoise water as we hopped on board a ferry to Isla Santa Cruz. They scuttled us from plane to bus to ferry back to bus with the efficiency of a well-oiled machine. Our vista gradually changed as we traveled across Santa Cruz, a “middle aged” and populated island, to Puerto Ayora from the dry desolation of Baltra to lush, damp and strange forests. I spotted a huge turtle walking down some farmer’s driveway! We found our hostel, dropped our bags and quickly proceeded to the recommended travel agency hoping to find and book a tour that began the following day. There was one boat with room available and it started and ended exactly when we wanted and it was a first class boat but with a big discount and it was really all just more than PERFECT! Sipping on overpriced mojitos that night while awaiting what was to come, we hoped our eight day cruise on board the “Yolita II” was as good as it sounded. Because the very action of booking this trip meant we would need to cut our “big adventure” short by two weeks and cancel our upcoming Spanish classes in Peru and Argentina. Goodbye Japan, the South Pacific and possible fluency and hello to The Galapagos Islands! I’ll digress about “choices in life, their consequences and what that says about you, your parents, your pets and your hair” at a later date.
Once on board, we found our ship to be that of a dream. Instead of the stacked bunk beds under deck that we’d imagined, we had a large room on the 2nd floor of the ship with a great view, a king size bed and regular size bath, larger than most in New York. Meals were three course. And they welcomed us with snacks after every outing, hot chocolate and cookies after scuba. Washington, our guide, posted our schedule for the day the night before. And pretty soon our attention span and mental capacity regressed to those of Kindergarteners. It was great to be in Kindergarten again. We took Dramamine that first day and avoided the fate of another family that could be heard wretching throughout the first night.
Each day we met a new island with it’s own unique blend of wildlife and vegetation or lack thereof. We began on the relatively young Island of "Rabida" which was a deep red, rocky, scorched and inhabited mainly by sea lions.
We did our first snorkel that morning in the middle of the open ocean just off some large rocky formation jutting out of the sea. It was my first time to snorkel in the open ocean and I kept looking around for sharks and then for everyone else and then for sharks again. My instincts for self-preservation are strong and overwhelmed my instincts for reason. With the waves pounding me closer to the rocks, gasping for air as my lungs gripped up from the cold, I was truly scared. Little did I know by the end of the trip I’d be swimming so close to reef sharks that their fins would brush my stomache.
Below are pictures, videos and highlights of the other islands we visited and things we saw:
“Chinese Hat Island”
(young island that looks like wet, hard lava w/ penguins (!) and marine iguanas….you could watch the marine iguanas eating algae on the rocks under water…this was a favorite island of mine for snorkeling….Bobby has footage of a sea lion chasing off a reef shark....Our first “wet landing” found us face to face with a newborn sea lion pup. OMG. Even Bobby began using words like “cute” and “monkey” and “cutelilmonkey” It was so cute that I was able to overlook the intense lingering odor I learned to expect near sea lion colonies that can only be the result of a diet of fish and a lacksedazical attitude about sewage. I mean really.)
“Bartolome Island”
(desolate, rocky young island…the good ole U.S.A is responsible for the odd shape of the rock in the picture….they tested missles on this island back during WWII…)
Swimming with sea lions was my very favorite experience. They are so incredibly playful. If you free dive, then put your arms by your sides and spin, they spin around you. And if you just go under and look at them, they’ll swim right at you and duck out at the last minute. It’s thrilling.
Mangroves off of “Santa Cruz Island”
(Pelicans fishing, cranes, rays, sharks and lots of turtles…they mate here…the female will mate with multiple males over the course of hours…when she is exhausted, she hangs on to the mangrove roots and rests)
“North Seymor Island”
(Frigates....it takes the male about 30 minutes to inflate his red sack and hours to deflate it...frigates are really cool...they are the pirates of the air....their wings are huge and graceful and would be crushed if they dove into the ocean to fish...so they steal instead, Boobies....who fish quite efficiently, diving dramatically in large groups to overwhelm their prey...they look cute and funny on land but they are like arrows in the air.... and Sea Lions)
“Bachas Island”
(Flamingo lagoon)
“Santa Fe Island”
(Beautiful Island w/ crystal clear water and white sand beaches….lot’s of reef sharks hang around the rocky edges and our guide had us swim into a huge cluster of them….I didn’t know what was there until it was too late….Jesus may be able to walk on water but I found out I can lay on top of it {when a shark went underneath me and I felt his fin tickle my stomache}!!!)
“Espanola Island”
(Old and dieing island, home to the albatross)
“Floreana Island”
(Old island, Flamingos, snorkeling around “Devil’s Crown”....Miss scaredy pants sees 2 hammerheads swimming below…tried to show Bobby who was the one who actually wanted to see hammerheads but he missed them : ( ….barracuda, rays)
Soccer Game with the crew on "Post Card Island" (We won!)
Dolphins surround our boat on the way back to Puerta Ayora.
Needless to say, we had a fabulous time, saw amazing things and met wonderful people (shout out to our boat mates!). Seeing these islands and how they’ve moved along the tectonic plates over time from birth, to maturity, to death set my mind spinning in ways for which I’ve yet to find the right words. You’re literally able to touch the past, present and future at the same time. The world is an amazing place. And you realize just how much so at The Galapagos Islands.
We arrived with little more than luggage, a week and a battle plan for obtaining a last minute cruise deal that we could barely afford. Armed with directions from our Lonely Planet Guide, we took a bus to the end of Baltra and marveled at the turquoise water as we hopped on board a ferry to Isla Santa Cruz. They scuttled us from plane to bus to ferry back to bus with the efficiency of a well-oiled machine. Our vista gradually changed as we traveled across Santa Cruz, a “middle aged” and populated island, to Puerto Ayora from the dry desolation of Baltra to lush, damp and strange forests. I spotted a huge turtle walking down some farmer’s driveway! We found our hostel, dropped our bags and quickly proceeded to the recommended travel agency hoping to find and book a tour that began the following day. There was one boat with room available and it started and ended exactly when we wanted and it was a first class boat but with a big discount and it was really all just more than PERFECT! Sipping on overpriced mojitos that night while awaiting what was to come, we hoped our eight day cruise on board the “Yolita II” was as good as it sounded. Because the very action of booking this trip meant we would need to cut our “big adventure” short by two weeks and cancel our upcoming Spanish classes in Peru and Argentina. Goodbye Japan, the South Pacific and possible fluency and hello to The Galapagos Islands! I’ll digress about “choices in life, their consequences and what that says about you, your parents, your pets and your hair” at a later date.
Once on board, we found our ship to be that of a dream. Instead of the stacked bunk beds under deck that we’d imagined, we had a large room on the 2nd floor of the ship with a great view, a king size bed and regular size bath, larger than most in New York. Meals were three course. And they welcomed us with snacks after every outing, hot chocolate and cookies after scuba. Washington, our guide, posted our schedule for the day the night before. And pretty soon our attention span and mental capacity regressed to those of Kindergarteners. It was great to be in Kindergarten again. We took Dramamine that first day and avoided the fate of another family that could be heard wretching throughout the first night.
Each day we met a new island with it’s own unique blend of wildlife and vegetation or lack thereof. We began on the relatively young Island of "Rabida" which was a deep red, rocky, scorched and inhabited mainly by sea lions.
We did our first snorkel that morning in the middle of the open ocean just off some large rocky formation jutting out of the sea. It was my first time to snorkel in the open ocean and I kept looking around for sharks and then for everyone else and then for sharks again. My instincts for self-preservation are strong and overwhelmed my instincts for reason. With the waves pounding me closer to the rocks, gasping for air as my lungs gripped up from the cold, I was truly scared. Little did I know by the end of the trip I’d be swimming so close to reef sharks that their fins would brush my stomache.
Below are pictures, videos and highlights of the other islands we visited and things we saw:
“Chinese Hat Island”
(young island that looks like wet, hard lava w/ penguins (!) and marine iguanas….you could watch the marine iguanas eating algae on the rocks under water…this was a favorite island of mine for snorkeling….Bobby has footage of a sea lion chasing off a reef shark....Our first “wet landing” found us face to face with a newborn sea lion pup. OMG. Even Bobby began using words like “cute” and “monkey” and “cutelilmonkey” It was so cute that I was able to overlook the intense lingering odor I learned to expect near sea lion colonies that can only be the result of a diet of fish and a lacksedazical attitude about sewage. I mean really.)
chinese hat from Robert Kelly on Vimeo.
“Bartolome Island”
(desolate, rocky young island…the good ole U.S.A is responsible for the odd shape of the rock in the picture….they tested missles on this island back during WWII…)
Swimming with sea lions was my very favorite experience. They are so incredibly playful. If you free dive, then put your arms by your sides and spin, they spin around you. And if you just go under and look at them, they’ll swim right at you and duck out at the last minute. It’s thrilling.
Mangroves off of “Santa Cruz Island”
(Pelicans fishing, cranes, rays, sharks and lots of turtles…they mate here…the female will mate with multiple males over the course of hours…when she is exhausted, she hangs on to the mangrove roots and rests)
“North Seymor Island”
(Frigates....it takes the male about 30 minutes to inflate his red sack and hours to deflate it...frigates are really cool...they are the pirates of the air....their wings are huge and graceful and would be crushed if they dove into the ocean to fish...so they steal instead, Boobies....who fish quite efficiently, diving dramatically in large groups to overwhelm their prey...they look cute and funny on land but they are like arrows in the air.... and Sea Lions)
“Bachas Island”
(Flamingo lagoon)
“Santa Fe Island”
(Beautiful Island w/ crystal clear water and white sand beaches….lot’s of reef sharks hang around the rocky edges and our guide had us swim into a huge cluster of them….I didn’t know what was there until it was too late….Jesus may be able to walk on water but I found out I can lay on top of it {when a shark went underneath me and I felt his fin tickle my stomache}!!!)
“Espanola Island”
(Old and dieing island, home to the albatross)
“Floreana Island”
(Old island, Flamingos, snorkeling around “Devil’s Crown”....Miss scaredy pants sees 2 hammerheads swimming below…tried to show Bobby who was the one who actually wanted to see hammerheads but he missed them : ( ….barracuda, rays)
Soccer Game with the crew on "Post Card Island" (We won!)
Dolphins surround our boat on the way back to Puerta Ayora.
Needless to say, we had a fabulous time, saw amazing things and met wonderful people (shout out to our boat mates!). Seeing these islands and how they’ve moved along the tectonic plates over time from birth, to maturity, to death set my mind spinning in ways for which I’ve yet to find the right words. You’re literally able to touch the past, present and future at the same time. The world is an amazing place. And you realize just how much so at The Galapagos Islands.
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
AIRLINE MAYHEM and wild goose chases……
All was going perfectly Wednesday morning heading out of Banos and on to the next phase of our journey, The Galapagos Islands. We both woke up at 4am easily. Our driver was on time. And we got to the airport early. I’d reserved my tickets online but was unable to pay due to internet peculiarities. The email message from the agent said to pay at the airport. So, when we arrived, I used my very best Spanish.
Q: ?Disculpe, Senor, donde puedo comprar boletos de TACA, por favor?
A: Blahmasrapidoblah….a la derecha.
Thank God he pointed. Okay, so that way and to the right. We walked and looked but we saw no TACA signs. No hay problema. I’ll ask someone else. This time I strategically tried out the more friendly, informal address I’d noticed was commonplace, hoping to garner a more thoughtful, helpful and thorough explanation.
Q: “?Disculpe, amigo, sabes donde es TACA?
A:”Blahblahblahblhablahblahblah”…..
Hmmmm…..
Q: “Despacio, por favor, mi Espanol is muy mal”
….Phew! I had succeeded in at least illiciting pity and he seemed confident as he led us back in the other direction and took us to an odd random looking doorway.
Q: “Aqui?”
A: “Si”
Q: “Seguro”
A: “Si”
….Muchas Gracias and off he went. Bobby and I looked at each other and then to the unmarked doorway. It turns out we were directed to an airplane control center of some sort. They held my passport and made Bobby stay downstairs as I went up to the control room on the third floor for TACA. I could hear them directing pilots as I explained my situation to the perturbed man I’d interrupted doing an obviously important job of what I’m assuming was grounding planes from the way he was talking. He quickly explained that it was not possible to purchase tickets at the airport. We needed to take a taxi to the TACA office twenty minutes away. He jotted down the address and nudged me on my way with an assuring but firm nod at what could only have been a confused face looking back at him. But our plane leaves in 2 hours was what my blank face and dropped bottom lip read to the back now facing me. Shit! I rushed downstairs and we headed to grab a taxi. Rule 1: Never seek a taxi in Quito, Ecuador in desperation and without agreeing on the fare. We did try mind you. But he assured us he would use the meter and we’d yet to hear warnings about rigged meters. Traffic made the trip slow and when he finally pulled up to stop it wasn’t at the TACA office. “No entiendo, este no es TACA. Necesitamos TACA.” I showed him the address again. “No es mejor! (No, it’s better!)” he said. He obviously had relatives who worked at this travel agency and wanted us to get our tickets here. Great. With the meter still running and suspiciously fast, mind you, I explained: “No entiende. Tenemos un reservacion con TACA. Necesitamos solamente pagar. Ahora, por favor, a TACA!” He sped away. We arrive. TACA is closed, a beautiful new detail in this evolving nightmare. Galapagos is so close but seems so far away now. I can taste the salt water as we look longingly at the closed office, meter still ticking. Fifteen minutes later and with one hour before our flight, I explain the situation to the lady opening the gate. But we don’t fly to the Galapagos, she said. What, you don’t? No, we have no flights to the Galapagos. I look down at the crumpled post-it and its' scribblings of my reservation code # and airline. Very clearly I have written: “TAME.”
Fifteen minutes later we are back at the airport, $40 (our entire budget for the day) lighter and with 45 minutes to go. We enter the TAME stand, purchase our tickets and make the flight. Sitting there in the airplane with sweat dripping off of us, I can tell it’s difficult for my husband to decide whether to kill me right then and there or simply be happy we made it.
Q: ?Disculpe, Senor, donde puedo comprar boletos de TACA, por favor?
A: Blahmasrapidoblah….a la derecha.
Thank God he pointed. Okay, so that way and to the right. We walked and looked but we saw no TACA signs. No hay problema. I’ll ask someone else. This time I strategically tried out the more friendly, informal address I’d noticed was commonplace, hoping to garner a more thoughtful, helpful and thorough explanation.
Q: “?Disculpe, amigo, sabes donde es TACA?
A:”Blahblahblahblhablahblahblah”…..
Hmmmm…..
Q: “Despacio, por favor, mi Espanol is muy mal”
….Phew! I had succeeded in at least illiciting pity and he seemed confident as he led us back in the other direction and took us to an odd random looking doorway.
Q: “Aqui?”
A: “Si”
Q: “Seguro”
A: “Si”
….Muchas Gracias and off he went. Bobby and I looked at each other and then to the unmarked doorway. It turns out we were directed to an airplane control center of some sort. They held my passport and made Bobby stay downstairs as I went up to the control room on the third floor for TACA. I could hear them directing pilots as I explained my situation to the perturbed man I’d interrupted doing an obviously important job of what I’m assuming was grounding planes from the way he was talking. He quickly explained that it was not possible to purchase tickets at the airport. We needed to take a taxi to the TACA office twenty minutes away. He jotted down the address and nudged me on my way with an assuring but firm nod at what could only have been a confused face looking back at him. But our plane leaves in 2 hours was what my blank face and dropped bottom lip read to the back now facing me. Shit! I rushed downstairs and we headed to grab a taxi. Rule 1: Never seek a taxi in Quito, Ecuador in desperation and without agreeing on the fare. We did try mind you. But he assured us he would use the meter and we’d yet to hear warnings about rigged meters. Traffic made the trip slow and when he finally pulled up to stop it wasn’t at the TACA office. “No entiendo, este no es TACA. Necesitamos TACA.” I showed him the address again. “No es mejor! (No, it’s better!)” he said. He obviously had relatives who worked at this travel agency and wanted us to get our tickets here. Great. With the meter still running and suspiciously fast, mind you, I explained: “No entiende. Tenemos un reservacion con TACA. Necesitamos solamente pagar. Ahora, por favor, a TACA!” He sped away. We arrive. TACA is closed, a beautiful new detail in this evolving nightmare. Galapagos is so close but seems so far away now. I can taste the salt water as we look longingly at the closed office, meter still ticking. Fifteen minutes later and with one hour before our flight, I explain the situation to the lady opening the gate. But we don’t fly to the Galapagos, she said. What, you don’t? No, we have no flights to the Galapagos. I look down at the crumpled post-it and its' scribblings of my reservation code # and airline. Very clearly I have written: “TAME.”
Fifteen minutes later we are back at the airport, $40 (our entire budget for the day) lighter and with 45 minutes to go. We enter the TAME stand, purchase our tickets and make the flight. Sitting there in the airplane with sweat dripping off of us, I can tell it’s difficult for my husband to decide whether to kill me right then and there or simply be happy we made it.
Saturday, September 5, 2009
Baños Bike Clip
We don't have footage of us riding a bike on the actual main road because we were riding at high speeds, downhill, in Equadorian traffic which has the invisible third lane.. Sometimes the road goes under a tunnel and for bikes you take a separate path ( and breath for a sec). There were some nice views.
Baños
I liked this town a lot. I guess Katie has pretty much explained. We packed a lot of activity into a small amount of time there, including walking - mostly uphill. We rode mountain bikes on an actual mountain, which is actually a first for us. I also putted around on a four wheeler which was geared pretty low, I'm assuming for all the inclines. We'll post some of the video soon.
More importantly I hope to post some pics of the bizarre taxidermy we found in a museum above the iglesia (Lucy would get a kick out of this).
Go for the cascades and amazing views.
B
More importantly I hope to post some pics of the bizarre taxidermy we found in a museum above the iglesia (Lucy would get a kick out of this).
Go for the cascades and amazing views.
B
Friday, September 4, 2009
BANOS, ECUADOR
The rooftop café of our hostal was a pleasant surprise that first morning. In all seriousness, we didn’t see the sun our entire 2 weeks in Montanita. And when we climbed to the top floor, we were literally basking in sunlight. Our eyes adjusted to find we were flanked on all sides by magnificent mountains. Being in Banos is what I imagine it is like to be in the Swiss Alps. The setting is simply beautiful. After breakfast, we rented mountain bikes for the day and took the road to Puyo. It’s a dramatic descent from the mountains to the mouth of the jungle. I am not a mountain biker (or any kind of biker for that matter). It was painful and terrifying 65% of the time. But it was well worth it. We didn’t make it all the way to Puyo. We took too many stops and stayed too long looking at the amazing waterfalls along the way. I think I would be without legs if we had gone any farther. To get to the waterfalls, you usually had a 25 minute walk down the side of a very steep mountain. And a 25 minute walk down is about a 40 minute feel-the-burn-I-can’t-breathe-my-heart-is-stopping walk back up. Couple that with thighs already tingling from biking uphill and continued digestive problems and I think we did really good to get over halfway to Puyo! It was a beautiful day and the physical challenge was therapeutic after nearly the entire day before spent sitting in a bus. We caught an open air bus and road back to Banos as the sun set (Ahhh…..). Our second day in Banos was spent checking out the town and hiking the small trails that surround. We were quite sore and took it easy. That evening we tried out the “best baths” in town, Las Pinscinas del Virgen. The natural hot springs are just below the waterfall inside town. The walk to the pools was nice but the pools themselves were small and crowded with screaming children and old men in bikinis. In Costa Rica, Diana and Andy took us to an amazing hot springs complex with loads of natural pools. So I think we’d been spoiled because the two little hot pools they had just didn’t impress. They may be famous for their baths. But I think Banos has much more impressive things to offer. Though the experience did give us plenty of fodder and some good giggles. Bobby was finally able to satisfy his urge to be on a 4 wheeler our last day there. We drove up to Run Tun and checked out beautiful views of the Volcano Tungawhatchamacalit. I’m sorry, but there is just no way I’m ever going to remember it’s name. Earlier that day we toured the local church, gazed at its’ many paintings of local miracles and toured its’ museum complete with bizarre taxidermy collection. Overall, the people were as friendly as they were in Montanita. I noticed they used more formal language. We ate well and enjoyed the city but neither the architecture or the food impress like the grandeur of the natural setting. For me, this is what makes Banos so special and my favorite second stop on our journey.
-------------------K
ON THE ROAD to Banos.....
Bobby and I left Montanita in the wee hours of a Saturday morning after a late night of celebrations and goodbyes. We had an hour and a half drive to Liberdad where we needed to catch a 9 hour bus to Banos. When we arrived in Liberdad, we found the schedule changed and the bus no longer left at 8am but at 2pm instead. After some scrambling around and a quick look at the adorable port town that happened to be having a parade, we re-routed to Guayaquil via a 3 hour bus ride. In Guayaquil, the bus station was large and confusing. At first it seemed that we had again been ill advised. Discouraged but determined, we went ahead and bought a ticket to Banos though it didn’t leave until 4pm. Shortly thereafter, we did, indeed, find a bus that left immediately and got into Banos at a reasonable hour. And though we weren’t able to get a refund, we took our losses and purchased a second set of tickets. FINALLY, we were on our way to Banos! Rough morning that it was, the 7 hour bus ride was beautiful. Slowly the coast disappeared in the background and gave way to gentle hills and then huge mountains and volcanos. The view was spectacular. I’m proud to say I only had to use the bathroom once and the bus was already pulled over to get gas. They were almost on the road when Bobby stopped them to wait on me. It was a close call. But I’m glad I took the opportunity because we didn’t stop again for six hours! I strategically took only small sips of water when parched. And we horded our snacks, nibbling only when our stomachs were audibly growling. All we’d had to eat all day was a banana, a bag of chips and a snack pack of crackers and we were starving when we finally got to Banos. In our initial planning, we had time for breakfast and lunch. But all the re-routing left us running for last minute buses and on empty stomaches. So I’m not ashamed to say that DINNER was our first order of business when we finally got into town at about 8:30pm. After which, we collapsed. Calling ahead probably would have been a good idea. Check.
-------------- K
-------------- K
Thursday, August 27, 2009
SPANISH PROGRESS…
The school in Montanita was very good. Though still far from fluent, I’d say Bobby and I are now able to understand 25% of the time (as opposed to -5%). We can communicate well enough to navigate in most situations and USUALLY things go smoothly. The hardest part for me is thinking before I speak. I know some of you will get a chuckle out of this. Well, I’ll admit I tend to say what’s on my mind with immediacy and few edits. In Spanish, I’ve found this gets me about halfway into a sentence and then I’m stuck trying to get my way out of it with some semblance of intelligabilitymenteondo….Right…So, if I pause and take just a moment to form the sentence in my head, I can usually say what I want to say. It might not be in the same form or phrasing I would use in English. And I usually have to find a way to say it in present tense. But it’s amazing what you can say in present tense if it’s required! When I have long taxi rides, I get bolder and more experimental trying out crazy things like past tense, reflexives (which blow my mind by the way) and gerunds. They can’t get away from me and they are usually bored enough to help me say it correctly if I screw it up. Bobby’s better at understanding others and retaining vocabulary than I am (especially words having to do with food, which I find very amusing). I seem to understand the conjugations and sentence structures better. And I’m less worried about sounding like an idiot. So I speak with more ease at this point (though I’m not sure that will last long). Put us together and we make a decent team.
-------------K
-------------K
AGUA CALIENTE, POR FAVOR…
Even when they have it, they don’t. Not one place. Not for a whole shower. Not yet. I hope this is somehow improving my circulation.
----------------K
----------------K
MONTANITA, ECUADOR
Greeted by the gregariously warm driver, Andres, we made our way to Montanita in the night. Driving along the coastline most of the way, we could make out boats propped in the sand. Andres speaks no English. But he speaks his Spanish so loud that, if you have a Spanish ancestor, I’m positive they will hear, understand and translate for you. Kidding aside, he was delightful and we conversed surprisingly well thanks to his patience, very clear Spanish, and….. some pointing.
Once in Montanita, we found our cabanas adorably, albeit somewhat uncomfortably, rustic and large. As it turns out, most houses in town are open air. Temperature wise this works out nicely. The noise is another matter. I’ve learned Ecuador is famous for its’ birds. And I found them to be unusual, fascinating, beautiful and undoubtedly the loudest birds I’ve ever heard in my life. We are all acquainted with the rooster and the turkey, of which abound in Montanita, as do their repetitious, hourly morning salutes. But I have yet to lay eyes on the culprits that inhabited the trees surrounding our cabana and sounded like a flock of geese being run over by a trailer truck intermittently throughout all hours of the night and day. And then there are the “night owls.” But, really, who needs the night to start slammin’ the reggaetone tunes down, anyway? …Discoteque at 10am, anyone?
At first impression, the town seemed like a surreal painting, a brown, dreary third worldian place with trash, sewage, and drainage problems and houses made of little more than sticks, juxtaposed with touristy eateries, shops and bars. I was surprised to find these things cohabitating in reality at such extremes and in such close proximity (the town is about 4 blocks all together). It was eery and dreary. It was charming. Was it wrong to think it was charming? And so my mind went on as I looked on in a state close to bewilderment that first day, watching and waiting to understand this foreign little place. The people all seemed happy and carefree, always willing to share a smile. Tourists and locals alike shared in the daily fiestas. And I found the environment to be casual, youthful, and lighthearted. There seems to be no “delincuencia” as they say here, except for the occasional rowdy drunk. I did, indeed, feel very safe once I grew accustomed to the place. And though I never grew fond of those mucky streets, there is now a place in my heart for “cocktail alley” (where the fruity cocktails are made fresh by “Cocktail Poetica” or “Bebida Maestra” who salsa and serve at the same time and in style…& for $2 no less), surfing, salsa and “La Punta” (the rocky end of town that juts into the sea….home to tide pools teaming with sea urchins, anemones, fish, etc… and dramatic rock scapes where the water would splash foamy white between crevices)…..And that list is in no particular order if you’re wondering.
I find Montanita to be a great place mostly because of the people and the seemingly collective carefree attitude about life. You simply cannot fiesta too much here and loud music is always welcome. I suppose the babies simply get used to the noise because there are babies everywhere. If you’re an introspective sophisticate, this is probably not the place for you. But it’s a good dose of medicine for anyone for a couple of weeks, regardless of your leanings.
Did I mention I learned to Salsa?
--------------K
Once in Montanita, we found our cabanas adorably, albeit somewhat uncomfortably, rustic and large. As it turns out, most houses in town are open air. Temperature wise this works out nicely. The noise is another matter. I’ve learned Ecuador is famous for its’ birds. And I found them to be unusual, fascinating, beautiful and undoubtedly the loudest birds I’ve ever heard in my life. We are all acquainted with the rooster and the turkey, of which abound in Montanita, as do their repetitious, hourly morning salutes. But I have yet to lay eyes on the culprits that inhabited the trees surrounding our cabana and sounded like a flock of geese being run over by a trailer truck intermittently throughout all hours of the night and day. And then there are the “night owls.” But, really, who needs the night to start slammin’ the reggaetone tunes down, anyway? …Discoteque at 10am, anyone?
At first impression, the town seemed like a surreal painting, a brown, dreary third worldian place with trash, sewage, and drainage problems and houses made of little more than sticks, juxtaposed with touristy eateries, shops and bars. I was surprised to find these things cohabitating in reality at such extremes and in such close proximity (the town is about 4 blocks all together). It was eery and dreary. It was charming. Was it wrong to think it was charming? And so my mind went on as I looked on in a state close to bewilderment that first day, watching and waiting to understand this foreign little place. The people all seemed happy and carefree, always willing to share a smile. Tourists and locals alike shared in the daily fiestas. And I found the environment to be casual, youthful, and lighthearted. There seems to be no “delincuencia” as they say here, except for the occasional rowdy drunk. I did, indeed, feel very safe once I grew accustomed to the place. And though I never grew fond of those mucky streets, there is now a place in my heart for “cocktail alley” (where the fruity cocktails are made fresh by “Cocktail Poetica” or “Bebida Maestra” who salsa and serve at the same time and in style…& for $2 no less), surfing, salsa and “La Punta” (the rocky end of town that juts into the sea….home to tide pools teaming with sea urchins, anemones, fish, etc… and dramatic rock scapes where the water would splash foamy white between crevices)…..And that list is in no particular order if you’re wondering.
I find Montanita to be a great place mostly because of the people and the seemingly collective carefree attitude about life. You simply cannot fiesta too much here and loud music is always welcome. I suppose the babies simply get used to the noise because there are babies everywhere. If you’re an introspective sophisticate, this is probably not the place for you. But it’s a good dose of medicine for anyone for a couple of weeks, regardless of your leanings.
Did I mention I learned to Salsa?
--------------K
Montañita
So I'm currently in Baños writing this post after receiving the worst haircut in recent history - possibly ever. Katie tried to give directions but it's really a testament to how much Spanish we've yet to learn. On the bright side, the haircut only cost seven dollars.
I would have posted something sooner but there was never really a good time in Montañita. I was always too busy with language school, surfing, salsa dancing, and plenty of vomiting. It was certainly a packed two weeks of which I have mixed feelings about. While I met some fun folks and had a few interesting experiences I was more than happy to shove off to the next destination. I would recommend staying a week to anyone. Two weeks is really pushing it.
• Montañita isn't terrible mind you, it just isn't my bag of purified water. For starters, it's apparently off season (although I got conflicting reports), which means the weather is particularly gloomy. The sky is perpetually grey, overcast, and spitting rain with the exception of 10 miraculous minutes of pure sunshine I witnessed one afternoon. This in itself wouldn't be so much of a problem but unfortunately the town has an engineering and sewage issue. Two hours of mist can cause the streets to become a thick sea of mud and muck you could lose a small child in. It was funny the first few days but increasingly became an annoyance.
• Montañita claims itself a surfing destination. I can't contest this as there are plenty of restaurants and bars with the word "surf" in their name. The town's economy is based on tourism and seems to attract a lot of neohippy transients . You know the kind - sort of unwashed and malnourished, with a back pack the size of a large calf. It's the kind of person that might break out with a hackey sack, bum 5 dollars, or sell you jewelry at any moment. Anyway, I assume it's good surfing here. I don't know, I come from a land locked state. It's just not my scene.
• Katie and I are here to study in a Spanish immersion program that just happens to also provide surfing lessons. So we've chosen to do both. The name of the school is Montañita Spanish and Surf, which so far has been a pretty good experience, no complaints. They've got it together for the most part and I can recommend them. After about 4 days of surfing lessons I can ride a wave of my own choosing for a short period of time. I think it would take several more weeks of practice to not look ridiculous trying.
• We stay at the school's private cabañas which are open air, hut like, private rooms. Apparently they are next to a farm or zoo because several different species of birds will wake us up at different intervals in the night including a rooster operating on a different time zone.
• I've had quite a few variations of arroz con pollo, lots of bananas, fish, fruit juices of every sort. I've found it's pretty standard Ecuadorian fare. I was surprised to find that many of the menus also had a section with Italian-esque food like spaghetti and pizza which I'm assuming is for tourists. I did try the pizza. A pleasant surprise was a barbeque joint called the "Happy Donkey". My assumptions were wrong about this place and I had my best meal there. As far as I know they don't actually serve donkey.
• I'm curious about the seemingly feral dogs that wander the streets and enter random restaurants with impunity. I often see collars but I never see the owners. Sometimes they run in packs down the street but most of the time I see them guarding territory and begging for food. They literally walk into restaurants. The dogs give you a pathetic "woe is me" look and if that doesn't work they change tactics and start to hump something until you give in. Occasionally you'll find a cat or two holed up in the makeshift safehouse that is the kitchen. I'm sure it's a dangerous town for cats. I wonder if there are any health codes in the town and if so how do they read?
Maybe something like, "All employees must wash their hands after bathing a dog in the kitchen sink.", or "All nursing kittens must be at least 1 meter away from prepared food, with the exception of the really cute one that keeps licking your spoon".
• I got sick at the end of my first week. Not sure what caused it. Don't think it was the food as Katie and I share most dishes. I vomited about 7 or 8 times every 15 minutes or so until I no longer had bile to give and my back was in pain. I took another day or so of watching bootlegged dvd's like "Patton" that were lying around to recover. A lot of people in the Cabañas came down with the same thing and Katie had something similar the following week although her reaction was bit less severe.
It's been pointed out that people leave Montañita and only talk about the bad experiences, which is probably true. I can say that there was plenty I did like. The school, for one, made me feel productive, was a good home base, and provided the opportunity to meet new friends. And even though I was constantly gagging on salt water and flailing about like a man on fire, I also enjoyed my first experience surfing. Isidro, my instructor, was more than patient and also somehow managed to make me simulate surfing on sand which he most likely laughs about with his friends in private. I'll also have fond memories of cocktail alley and the spontaneity of pulling up a plastic chair next to a tiny kiosk to consume enough rum to dance to reggaeton. I'll look back fondly at men announcing their morning catch being sold from the basket of their bicycles and the walks around the craggy rocks of the point.
-------------- B
I would have posted something sooner but there was never really a good time in Montañita. I was always too busy with language school, surfing, salsa dancing, and plenty of vomiting. It was certainly a packed two weeks of which I have mixed feelings about. While I met some fun folks and had a few interesting experiences I was more than happy to shove off to the next destination. I would recommend staying a week to anyone. Two weeks is really pushing it.
• Montañita isn't terrible mind you, it just isn't my bag of purified water. For starters, it's apparently off season (although I got conflicting reports), which means the weather is particularly gloomy. The sky is perpetually grey, overcast, and spitting rain with the exception of 10 miraculous minutes of pure sunshine I witnessed one afternoon. This in itself wouldn't be so much of a problem but unfortunately the town has an engineering and sewage issue. Two hours of mist can cause the streets to become a thick sea of mud and muck you could lose a small child in. It was funny the first few days but increasingly became an annoyance.
• Montañita claims itself a surfing destination. I can't contest this as there are plenty of restaurants and bars with the word "surf" in their name. The town's economy is based on tourism and seems to attract a lot of neohippy transients . You know the kind - sort of unwashed and malnourished, with a back pack the size of a large calf. It's the kind of person that might break out with a hackey sack, bum 5 dollars, or sell you jewelry at any moment. Anyway, I assume it's good surfing here. I don't know, I come from a land locked state. It's just not my scene.
• Katie and I are here to study in a Spanish immersion program that just happens to also provide surfing lessons. So we've chosen to do both. The name of the school is Montañita Spanish and Surf, which so far has been a pretty good experience, no complaints. They've got it together for the most part and I can recommend them. After about 4 days of surfing lessons I can ride a wave of my own choosing for a short period of time. I think it would take several more weeks of practice to not look ridiculous trying.
• We stay at the school's private cabañas which are open air, hut like, private rooms. Apparently they are next to a farm or zoo because several different species of birds will wake us up at different intervals in the night including a rooster operating on a different time zone.
• I've had quite a few variations of arroz con pollo, lots of bananas, fish, fruit juices of every sort. I've found it's pretty standard Ecuadorian fare. I was surprised to find that many of the menus also had a section with Italian-esque food like spaghetti and pizza which I'm assuming is for tourists. I did try the pizza. A pleasant surprise was a barbeque joint called the "Happy Donkey". My assumptions were wrong about this place and I had my best meal there. As far as I know they don't actually serve donkey.
• I'm curious about the seemingly feral dogs that wander the streets and enter random restaurants with impunity. I often see collars but I never see the owners. Sometimes they run in packs down the street but most of the time I see them guarding territory and begging for food. They literally walk into restaurants. The dogs give you a pathetic "woe is me" look and if that doesn't work they change tactics and start to hump something until you give in. Occasionally you'll find a cat or two holed up in the makeshift safehouse that is the kitchen. I'm sure it's a dangerous town for cats. I wonder if there are any health codes in the town and if so how do they read?
Maybe something like, "All employees must wash their hands after bathing a dog in the kitchen sink.", or "All nursing kittens must be at least 1 meter away from prepared food, with the exception of the really cute one that keeps licking your spoon".
• I got sick at the end of my first week. Not sure what caused it. Don't think it was the food as Katie and I share most dishes. I vomited about 7 or 8 times every 15 minutes or so until I no longer had bile to give and my back was in pain. I took another day or so of watching bootlegged dvd's like "Patton" that were lying around to recover. A lot of people in the Cabañas came down with the same thing and Katie had something similar the following week although her reaction was bit less severe.
It's been pointed out that people leave Montañita and only talk about the bad experiences, which is probably true. I can say that there was plenty I did like. The school, for one, made me feel productive, was a good home base, and provided the opportunity to meet new friends. And even though I was constantly gagging on salt water and flailing about like a man on fire, I also enjoyed my first experience surfing. Isidro, my instructor, was more than patient and also somehow managed to make me simulate surfing on sand which he most likely laughs about with his friends in private. I'll also have fond memories of cocktail alley and the spontaneity of pulling up a plastic chair next to a tiny kiosk to consume enough rum to dance to reggaeton. I'll look back fondly at men announcing their morning catch being sold from the basket of their bicycles and the walks around the craggy rocks of the point.
-------------- B
Sunday, August 16, 2009
Our FIRST FLIGHT….
Bobby and I agreed to make entries only once a week. But I must make exception here because our first flight deserves it’s own entry in our blog. Never in my LIFE have I enjoyed a plane ride as much! Who knew business class was so fabulous and why didn’t they tell me? On second thought, it’s probably good they didn’t or I would have been miserable in economy. As is, I can’t imagine going back. Don’t ask me how we got in Business class, because, I do not know. But there we were being offered champagne as we marveled at the legroom and nearly infinite and indulgently delectable seat positions. I am not exaggerating when I say I was a giggling schoolgirl and it felt like we were on honeymoon. I take this delightful start as a good omen.
------ K
------ K
For the record…..I LOVE Bobby’s family in MIAMI!!!
(Tere, Bobby, Esteban, Idonna, Brian, & Eduardo... please forgive any misspellings)
They made our short, 24 hour, layover so incredibly special. We met second cousins, third cousins, cousins of cousins and 4th and 5th cousins (if that exists)! And we absolutely fell in love with them all. Eduardo, Bobby’s 2nd cousin, and his son, Eddie, picked us up at the airport and took us to their home where Tere, his wife, played the perfect host with a spread of homemade Cuban delights to dine upon. Nearly all the Barturen children were there and then some. Their father Juan is Bobby’s Grandfather’s older brother. He and his infamous wife, Kitty, of fiery Irish ancestry, were recently in a terrible auto accident. Thankfully they are recovering and we got a short visit with them at the hospital. At the ripe ages of 92 and 87, they are incredibly beautiful, smart and witty. My husband has such good genes ; ) Before visiting Juan Sr., Esteban, Bobby’s 2nd cousin, Idonna, his wife, and their son, Brian, took us through the beautiful neighborhood of Coconut Grove. Gorgeous! It was such a treat getting to know everyone and I, honestly, can’t wait to set up a family reunion. I want to see Jose with his brothers. They are both so funny. (Teresita y Abuelo Barturen: Porque no sabemos el “nick”nombre, “Pepe”?! We loved learning Jose’s nickname……Pepe :)
To our most wonderful extended Miami family:
Thank you for your warmest of receptions. We had a lovely time. Please be our guest in New York whenever you want to come to The Big Apple!
---- K
Some Tennessee pics
We'll be posting pictures of our trip from time to time on flickr. Since we'll have so many it's best just to navigate to this collection. Our first set of Tennesee photos is still growing.
Thursday, August 13, 2009
What we do when we are not working on a Travel Trailer
For you NYC folks, here is the creek that we would swim in when it was terribly hot. It only took 15 minutes of trying to negotiate plumbing in a tiny closet of a hot tin can before I was ready to jump in.
Here's some video we made with Katie's little camera. We got an underwater housing for the camera during our last week in Tennessee in the event we snorkel etc.
B
Here's some video we made with Katie's little camera. We got an underwater housing for the camera during our last week in Tennessee in the event we snorkel etc.
B
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Ode to Tennessee....
Our time in Tennessee was a sweet gift. And like any intangible gift in time was filled with joy, frustration, struggle, laughter, exhaustion, peace, etc….etc… I would be a liar if I said the Airstream didn’t school us in our ignorance of, well, …Airstreams! For three weeks we labored over the Silver Bullet. And during that time we learned a tremendous amount about plumbing…especially plumbing in tight spaces. But not enough to get it done ourselves…. at least not this time. The day we employed professionals to fix the ever-evolving leak was the first best day we had! We gave up and it was wonderful! We played in the creek the rest of the afternoon. It had been calling us…..well, more like torturing us….as we sweated ourselves to exhaustion while cramming our hands and shoulders into impossible positions tightening this and sealing that without the luxury of air conditioning in a tin can parked in the sun. “To hell with this!” was our battle cry and to the creek we ran. It took the guys at the shop two more weeks to fix our illusive multiple leaks. Knowing our Silver Bullet was in someone else’s sweaty hands made those afternoons in Knob Creek that much sweeter. With Silver’s return, we parked him on the edge of the water and immersed ourselves in our little version of Walden Pond. Ready for intimacy with the night and nature, I’d imagined a still kind of quiet that reaches your soul and stills it, too. But, as Katie’s imagination is often just that, I learned what a racket it is on Knob Creek at night!!! You couldn’t hear someone 10 feet away if you tried! Between the frogs, the crickets, the owls and the beavers (who can only be doing belly flops from the tree branches from the sounds of it), the soundtrack at night was a chorus of noise. Our biggest treat was a crane that visited nearly every morning to fish just outside our bedroom window. We’d wake up, pull the curtains and watch him standing in the reeds to mask his presence, curl his neck down like an S and come up with a large minnow, sparkling and silvery in the morning sun. And it became an even more special treat to learn one day walking along the bank that our crane was a girl crane….a Momma crane to be exact… with a gangly baby ….. assumingly startled by our presence, she flew the nest with an unmistakable youngin’ skawking and flapping not far behind.
During these past two months, we ate too much and worked too hard and have gained 10 lbs, a remodeled Airstream, a 100 tree line at Aunt Barbara’s, a Leg Up sign at Aunt Beck’s, a new walkway at Dad’s, and a silken sealed siding, re-organized shop and re-organized fridge at the Kelly’s! We had a ball watching our amazing nephew do the fabulous things 1 1/2 year old musical geniuses do. And…..the list truly goes on and on. But, though tempted, I won’t bore you with ramblings about every detail. I’ve gone on enough. As Bobby would scold, “TMI {Too Much Information} Katie!” So I’ll let the pictures tell the rest of the story.
To our Tennessee ( & New Orleans) folk:
Thank you, you wonderful family and friends of ours for all the love, food and, especially, time you shared. It was visiting with each of you that I cherish most. We love you and can’t wait to see you at Christmas time!!!
---- K
During these past two months, we ate too much and worked too hard and have gained 10 lbs, a remodeled Airstream, a 100 tree line at Aunt Barbara’s, a Leg Up sign at Aunt Beck’s, a new walkway at Dad’s, and a silken sealed siding, re-organized shop and re-organized fridge at the Kelly’s! We had a ball watching our amazing nephew do the fabulous things 1 1/2 year old musical geniuses do. And…..the list truly goes on and on. But, though tempted, I won’t bore you with ramblings about every detail. I’ve gone on enough. As Bobby would scold, “TMI {Too Much Information} Katie!” So I’ll let the pictures tell the rest of the story.
To our Tennessee ( & New Orleans) folk:
Thank you, you wonderful family and friends of ours for all the love, food and, especially, time you shared. It was visiting with each of you that I cherish most. We love you and can’t wait to see you at Christmas time!!!
---- K
Saturday, August 8, 2009
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)