South America

Buenos Aires!

BA is a city of contrasts: French provincial, Spanish colonial, and British
utilitarian structures congregate with dull, concrete and glass buildings within the same blocks...a menagerie of elegant dogs leashed to a professional walker vies for street space with mongrels chasing pigeons...dilapidated tenements dissolve into well-groomed, verdant parks replete with brave hero statues... sterile, upscale shops a la Waikiki compete for business with funky kiosks in colorful (literally) neighborhoods (La Boca) where artesans dance tango in the streets and pose for photos . BA's appearance, albeit often in disrepair, still preserves its eclectic charm.
This city is also a meat lover's paradise... our group of 9 -- two intergenerational families-- feasts at interesting intervals: late morning coffee, then appetizers and wine tastings (fabulous malbecs-cabs at $10 a bottle!) during normal din hours for us American folk, followed by actual dinner at 9pm (still on the cusp of 'too early' for these Porteños), with mouth watering cuts of beef and tasty sides (there's nothing like an authentic Argentinian parilla...) again with excellent wine that is cheap beyond belief! Then off to experience the BA night life; arriving at a night club before midnite is simply not done. This more an indulgence for the younger set in our group, especially the two celebrating completion of law school and three days of bar exams. And the tango...far sexier than ever imagined... all of us totally mesmerized by 4 couples at a late evening dinner show, watching in awe the slivers of separation between each dancer's personal space, perfect elocution unfolding as twirling legs missed areas that otherwise might raise a man's voice by an octave :0)
It is also a city of protests...more on that later...

Mothers of the Plaza

Throngs of demonstrators carrying banners and beating on drums march daily down Avenida de Mayo, swarming onto the square. Two distinct groups yesterday were evident, one protesting the cost of utilities during this particularly cold winter, the other their threadbare salaries. So many children are involved, indigenous faces overwhelmingly visible. What brought us to this particular plaza, though, the most awe-inspiring protest of them all: the remnants of the mothers of Los Desaparecidos (the disappeared), whose young adult children were kidnapped and killed during the Dirty War by the right wing military dictatorship of Videla in the late 1970s, soon to be deceased pregnant women's offspring adopted out to military families. They come every Thursday afternoon, as they have without fail since 1977... demanding information about their loved ones -- especially their unknown grandchildren now in their 30s-- asking for punishment for those responsible. Once a mass of hundreds, they are now down to a few dozen. Siana, Maile and I walked slowly behind them as they continuously circled the plaza, following respectfully to show our support. The women wear symbolic white scarves, and are aging... graphic renderings of these scarves are embedded into the pavement circling the fountain in the center of the plaza. I spoke with several afterwards and could only express my admiration. This an emotional time for me as Fred and I experienced the violence first hand on our last trip here in 1976, standing aghast as students to the left and right of us were taken in a flurry of machine gun toting soldiers in trucks.
Argentina's fascinating history continued to unfold before us following a visit to the Recoleta cemetery to view Evita's mausoleum. The status of her tomb sequestered in this mini city with streets sequestered certainly emphasizes the admiration the people of Argentina held, and still hold, for her. (Peron is not buried here as his last wife is still alive and it is seemingly tacky to allow him to 'reside' with this previous, popular one) But you will get an earful if you mention Madonna’s portrayal of her in the same breath...
Off to Iguazu this morning... so much to do...so little time!

Iguazú

Skimming the vast canopy of trees as we approached Iguazú, we marveled at the contrasting terrain to BA. As we floated lower and lower, the airport nowhere in sight, we had visions of being caught, unsuspecting, in the midst of a new "Lost" series...but the trees gave way to a small strip of runway, and we were soon whisked off for our two nights at the Orquideas Hotel, a small resort tucked away in the outskirts of the town. And 2 nights is enough for the town itself. The Falls are why we included this spot in our itinerary, and they are spectacular! Acres of catwalks connect vista points, each outdoing the other in rainbows and swirling mist and thundering, plummeting water... the temperature hovers around 70 degrees (quite a contrast from the 40-50 of BA), there are no biting mosquitoes, and the skies are mostly blue... animals were elusive (no, toucans, unfortunately...) but we did see a number of feisty choatie - distant gypsy cousins of the raccoon, mayhaps interbred with the aardvark - and one lazy caiman basking in the riverbank sun. We heard tales of poachers killing a ranger,
a puma snatching a toddler from a resident manager, and the last suicide who flung herself over the falls leaving her shoes neatly placed together before jumping; guides do love to excite.
The day ended with a high powered zodiac that zoomed us toward and under one section of the Falls (we were forewarned and well-prepared), then down the river hugging the Brazilian side at times which offered a more panoramic view of Devil's Throat and its cousins, occasionally banking,hard,in S turns for a thrilling bounce down the mini rapids. An 8 kilometer 'jungle tour' in the back of a truck followed... our one stop to view and glorify a single overarching palm tree as the guide extolled this botanical miracle from which hearts of palm are harvested. Too Disneyland-esque for us, but the boat ride was a blast!
We leave for Mendoza today for two days of intense wine tasting :0)

Mendoza

We are moving to an estancia in Mendoza and building a winery, creating a new and bold vino tinto, perhaps calling it "Trotamundos Especial." We have fallen in love with this magical town. The wineries are irrigated through gravity driven canals... amazing. And it’s snowing!

We are immersed in Wine Savoring 101: Appearance (“Look at the legs- are they thick and slow moving?” “Tip your glass...the arc should show a bright red with purple highlights...”), Aroma ("...catch the chocolate and tabacco scents...” “This wine needs at least half an hour to express itself...”) and Taste (“You will savor the lemon zest and the acidity of the ricotta as you sip the chardonnay semillon...” “The tannin sensation you will feel behind your teeth...a fake thermal tactile sensation...” “Taste the caramel, chocolate and tobacco in this selection... you will notice a hint of cinnamon and clove after you swallow....”) As you can well imagine, references to Sideways are non stop...

By now we are all certainly qualified to write articles for Wine Snob Esquire... just put us on Jeopardy with ‘malolactic’ ... you’ll see.
Our oentologist guide during our three night stay in Mendoza owns a small wine tasting salon and is incredibly knowledgeable. He often knew more about the specifics at the bodegas (wineries) we visited than the respective guides who showed us around.
Luncheons at the various wineries are a work of art, delectable goodies paired with unbelievably good, and cheap, wines... e.g. grilled onion, pumpkin and cheese tartlettes (upper class empanadas). Wine tasting at the many bodegas fun and intriguing... written in a testimonial book at one winery: “too bad I have to ride my bike all the way back...”
Our fourth winery – this at a relatively small (80,000 liters a year) husband-and-wife run vineyard, Carinae, is one of our favorites. (Wine at Familia Zuccardi, in contrast, produces 13 million liters a year. )

We have osmosis’ed all kinds of cool information: If you have fat you must pair it with red for the tannins... there are five enemies of wine: garlic, vinegar, onion, asparagus and artichoke. (I suppose we’re relegated to drinking soda with our next paella dinner at home....) Much of this came from a private wine tasting at Martín’s salon. Such fun....

Our dinner at 743 (a number that also designates the altitude of Mendoza), the apogee of boutique restaurants, can’t be described in a way that would give it its due. Fifteen small portions of delectable goodies (starting with a large spoonful of arugula ice cream - more like a créme fraiche), paired with five wines in a living room of a private home that seats just 12.

Scouring the cities for good restaurants in our many dining ventures, we have learned that asking for an ‘imperial’ table means taking four tables and placing these in a square so that we can all see each other. What a coup once we discovered this! And the nine of us are enjoying this trip, and each other, immensely...

Santiago

The plane trip from Mendoza to Santiago offered a picture post card view of the Andes. Santiago is a large, busy city, which we saw little of. We spent two nights and one full day here, solely with the intent of visiting and comparing two Chilean wineries: Concha y Toro and Cousiño Macul. We enjoyed lunch in a private home between the two visits, pupu served in the garden with Pisco Sours and wine, then a full on dining service in one of the living rooms at a large table. We will need to dry out before our upcoming trek in Machu Pichu :0)
Connor arrived today! He is able to take time off from work and join us for the rest of the journey - all of us will simply have to retrace our experiences in Argentina again sometime down the road with him in tow.

Machu Picchu

“Your bags are not on the plane – there are no more baggage carts arriving.” Explaining that we had a very short connection before our flight departed for Cusco, the Lima agent simply shrugged her shoulders and stated that we could not go to Cusco without our bags. Momentary panic (if we didn’t catch this last flight to Cusco we would miss our 5:30am train the next morning towards Machu Picchu)... then -- the sudden whirring and rattling of the baggage conveyor starting up once again -- lo and behold, there were our bags. Shaking our heads, we maneuvered through security and ran towards the gate, only to face another roadblock in the form of a departure tax station. A long line of passengers, many desperate to make the flight as well, snaked its way toward an opening facing a wall of teller windows, fearlessly guarded by corded stanchions. Passengers anxiously waited their turn as they shuffled towards this coveted entry point to freedom. After squeezing through an opening by a window close to the end of the line and "innocently" querying the agent about what we would need once we reached our turn (grateful once again for my Spanish fluency through luck of upbringing), we transacted all of our passport/flight ticket info into a ‘get out of line free’ card and set for the gate. We judge others harshly for exhibiting bad form when cutting in line, but compromised in the name of desperation, ruminating over the bleak consequences we might face should we miss our permit time to hike the last 12 kilometers into MP.

We breathed a sigh of relief once we were on the plane, and chuckled at the signs on the back of the service trays: “Your live vest is under your seat.” As opposed to a dead one?! One would have assumed that well versed translators would be easy to locate in today’s global culture...

Settling in at Torre Dorada, a residence hotel 5 minutes by car from the center of Cusco (an unbelievable find... family owned and run... and they simply could not do enough for us), we eagerly anticipated our adventure the next day. Our pick up van arrived at 5:30am sharp, and we scrambled into our seats with accoutrements needed for hiking in tow: bug spray, sun block, goodie bags with water and snacks. From there to the station, where we boarded the train at Ollantaitambo, and a scant hour and a half later bailed off the train in the middle of the tracks at a stop (literally all that it was) called K104. Thus began our trek to Machu Picchu. A 2,000 vertical ascent over a period of 6 hours, with an hour stop for lunch. (The trail is barely visible across the face of the mountain in the pic on the left.) Trying to keep our eyes on the terrain directly in front of our path (vs. staring at the plunging cliffs within a few feet off to our right), we occasionally stopped to admire the surroundings... the scenery was spectacular... deep valleys carved out by the Urubamba River – a halo of peaks, some with glaciers...green everywhere, tiny orchids, lolling lizards, waterfalls....stunningly beautiful. And tiring. @#$%* stairs. The Inca gods must have considered us appropriate sacrificial material with our frequently peppered use of expletives as we rounded parts of the trail only to find, yet again, one more long, high set of rock steps.
Rounding the last part of the trail -- downhill, at this point -- towards the Gate of the Sun, green squares began to take shape, and the profile of MP materialized, stark against the late afternoon sun. We continued trekking around the periphery, gazing across the glory of Machu Picchu after most tourists had left. This experience bolstered the decision we had made months ago to hike in rather than take the bus all the way to Aguas Calientes and busing to the entrance.

After a brief visit to the highest and most scenic spot (where we took the requisite holiday card picture...) we caught the bus to Aguas Calientes from the entrance of MP, intent on returning as early as possible the next morning.
Aguas Calientes is a vibrant, colorful tourist town, similar to many developing in the wake of visitors arriving in droves to view some well known site. (Yangshuo in China comes to mind): kiosks everywhere, hawkers outside restaurants trying to reel you in for dinner via enticing 10 for 1 Pisco Sour specials....
We watched delightedly as a group of boys practiced Inka Cola riding - sliding down ramps of sidewalks (half of the stone walkways in Aguas Calientes are long steps, the other half ramps for baggage moving) on flattened plastic soda bottles. Inka Cola is the Peruvian drink a la Coke – bright, yellow-green in color... and tasting equally putrid.

A quick visit to an Internet cafe (where we became unavoidably involved in a boy dumps UK girlfriend by phone while she's off on a trip debacle... she inconsolable, sitting in the middle of a band of computers, surrounded by girlfriends trying to convince her that he was a jerk, anyway.) Difficult to block out the sobbing, but we managed to read several e-mails before taking flight.

Lining up at 5am the next morning at the station in Aguas Calientes, we caught the fourth bus back to MP (they come every 5 minutes or so... this portion between Aguas Calientes and MP can also be hiked, a straight shot full of those lovely rock steps.... the way the buses careened around the switchback dirt roads with inches to spare on the downside cliffs as they deftly avoided buses coming in the opposite direction made this walking option increasingly enticing...but we remained bus bound.) We sat in the quiet, watching the sun rise and creep over the ruins, admiring the rays of light shooting off the mountains. We toured the ruins in more detail with a guide, half of our group lining up to be among the 400 lucky ones to climb Huayna Picchu, a mountain peak rising from the citadel of MP's center. They reported back that the view from the top was unbelievable.

A dark side of tourism loomed during our meanderings. The lamas that wander the grounds have been placed there by the Peruvian government, a nice touch... but.... Vista-ing in one particularly spectacular spot, a sole beast posed regally with the Andean mountains as a backdrop. Then, looking closely, we noticed that its front legs were tethered with a thin cord so that it couldn’t scamper up and down rocks. A constructed Kodak moment. Sigh.

After another exhausting day, back to Cusco in the late afternoon via train, then bus (invasive sounds during the bus portion: andean pipe music interspersed with 80s one hit wonders. Can’t decide which is worse for extended pieces of time....)
Our bus and another played chicken several times on the way back to Cusco, passing each other or blocking such passing by maneuvering their lumbering vehicles towards the middle of the two lanes, leaving just a wee bit less room than needed to pass.

Sacred Valley

On our last day in Cusco we hired a guide to take us to the major ruins in and around the area. (Among a sea of pins on our guide’s hat: mickey mouse, a toucan, a leprechaun, and Che Guevarra. Not sure what this says about Che...)
We began this journey in Sacsayuaman, a massive walled area made of precision fitting boulders in a zig zag format built without wheels or iron tools. An impressive site. A bit of guide speak: “Look at the rocks in the wall there! See the snake? These pre-Incans wove in many animals into their constructions!” The row of rocks that formed the snake looked like... a row of rocks. Under our breaths: give us five minutes and we’ll find you a turtle....
Next stop a farm where we fed lamas, alpacas and vicuñas. Attached to the farm a showroom of very expensive articles made out of the fur of same animals.
Then Pisaq, where we stumbled upon a parade honoring the assumption of the Virgin Mary (her passage into heaven, commonly celebrated every August 15...who knew?!) . Black bear masks, ornate costumes, Pinocchio lookalikes... We roamed among the sellers at the marketplace before heading for the outlying ruins.

Sitting on a low wall outside the entrance to the market in the noon day sun – a girl holding a young puppy. She asked for 1 sole (about 35 cents) for an opportunity to take her picture. Couldn’t resist... then in conversation she mentions that her parents are at home... Children as commodities. Lovely.
At the Pisaq ruins, a young man stood on a low rock wall taking pictures... our guide admonished him for being disrespectful of these ruins...and asked, where are you from? Arequipa. Figures, our guide replies. (Surely the same response would be given regardless of the home town mentioned...) Once chastizing was finished, the young man simply said, "Ay, maestro." Interesting personality, this guide... called a bunch of schoolboys ‘salchichones’ (little hot dogs) and yelled out “take off your glasses, ugly” out of the van window to a woman we passed. Strangely inappropriate. But in the next moment, professional is his demeanor and explanations, incredibly proud of his culture and the importance of keeping the ruins in pristine condition.

An interesting note about these communities of yore: life consisted of three rules: don’t be a thief, a liar, or lazy. Sort of an ahupua’a ethos. Would come in mighty handy in our own culture...

Cusco

A quaint town... grounded by its beautiful central plaza... a lit up cathedral perpendicular to an equally majestic church in the center of the Plaza de Armas. Narrow, clean streets, maniacal drivers AND pedestrians.

As we readied ourselves for dinner – our four story residence hotel began to undulate – we knew immediately it was an earthquake. Par for the course considering our experiences with major events on other travels. More on this later...

“The only time you see these in Peru is on a plate.” This uttered by a hiker in Iguazú; we now know what she meant. Baked guinea pig graces every menu, sometimes with accompanying photo... often on its back with feet up, head back, teeth showing.....
When in Rome, we decided... so we ordered one for all to taste during appetizer time on our last night in Cusco. It came flayed and neatly laid out like a fanned deck of cards. (Horrifying to hear later that served in this manner can hide its true identity: rat.) But at the next table, a specimen equal to the restaurant photos, so we asked to borrow the platter for a photo opp (by then the 10 of us had polished off several bottles of wine). The meat is light and tender; one just needs to erase any vision of the cute little rodent alive...

Back on a flight to Lima. This broken down city oozes poverty... rubble, dirty, trash everywhere, somewhat lawless. Driving in Lima is insane. Cars often straddle the middle line, moving back in ever so slowly when oncoming traffic approaches. The Sheraton Hotel & Casino (the latter reinvented into a conference dining room after we made our res. $#%*. ) where we stayed for the day (our flight left at midnight) had a huge crack in the lobby ceiling from the earthquake which they were frenetically patching as we checked in. Another Pisco Sour and time for our ride back to the airport.

There were a dozen or so deaths in Lima, and over 500 in the Pisco area. We are saddened for the families who have lost loved ones and for all who are now left homeless. We do so appreciate who we are and where we serendipitously live.


A hui ho.