Peru Postscript

Found in Dad's "Travel Report" folder, along with his other South American reports. Titled:

Tomatoes, potatoes, corn 

(although none of these are mentioned in the report) and ending 

Never finished always in need of repair.
Alpaca, vicuna, llama

We'll never know the full story, but here is the "never finished, always in need of repair" work-in-progress Peru report:


Dear family and friends,

As many of you know, I have now been home for more than two weeks but I feel obliged to send one more letter to finish the chronicle of my South American trip and not leave you thinking I am still strapped in the seat of a Cesna 172 and flying around over the Nazca Lines.

image borrowed from http://www.cuscocity.com/store/products/NAZCA-LINES-WORLD-MISTERY.html 

I Abhora Mancora

Dear family and friends,


My overnight bus bounced off the highway and came to a dusty halt in front of the police station in Casma, Peru. It was 6:15AM. There were a half dozen men lolling around in the early morning half-light, none in uniform. The driver and I got off the bus and he approached the most senior looking man and started talking to him in Spanish, explaining my predicament.


"Habla usted Ingles, senor?” I said, not wanting to be excluded from the conversation. ("Do you speak English?")


"Poco", he answered ("A little"), but I never did hear him use any.


Then in a torrent of Spanish, little of which I understood, but from which I did gather, I should wait a moment and he would get me to the bus terminal. And within minutes, almost as though it had all been scheduled in advance, I was in a car with three policemen and another young couple and we were off, headed back up the Panamerican Highway in the direction from which I had just come. The car was a 1975 Chevrolet Biscayne, faded, pealing paint, re-upholstered at least 15 years ago and in desperate need of another one. The muffler leaked, the shock absorbers were shot, but we rocketed off down the highway at 130 kph, just as it was getting gray light. The old Chevvy floated and weaved, the massive hood rippled and bounced as though it was about to fly off. No one spoke - the roar of the motor would have drowned it out anyway - the young woman in the back was weeping and wiping away tears. I have no idea what the problem was.

Galapagos

Dear family and friends,

"Prickly pear cactus!  Prickly pear cactus!  My Gahd, I can't believe how much he talked about prickly pear cactus!  We've got millions of prickly pear cactus in Texas," Cecelia started in a whisper but ended with a near squeal to emphasize her dismay that Ruly, our naturalist tour leader, would spend so much time discussing something which is so uninterestingly common in her home state of Texas. 

Cecelia is from Port Aransas on the Gulf Coast, and was apparently unaware that our tour to the Galapagos Islands was intended for more than just folks from her home state.  Or alternately, she may not know that prickly pear cactus does not grow in Canada, England, Norway, and northern United States from whence the other nine of us on the tour come, or that this is a unique species of prickly pear cactus.  In her mid fifties with sun-bleached hair, brightly painted toe nails, and the grooming of someone desperate to look younger - but being resolutely betrayed by the sagging flab bubbling over her belt line - I am not quite sure why Cecelia decided to come to the Galapagos Islands.  With the urbanity of one who has seldom traveled outside Texas, I am quite certain that she has no knowledge that the Galapagos is the crucible of the Theory of Evolution, or as commonly known, Survival of the Fittest Through Natural Selection, as proposed by Charles Darwin in 1859.  Darwin spent less than one month in the islands in 1835, but his extraordinary ability for observation permitted him to identify many different endemic species - that is, they only occur here in the Galapagos - including 14 different species of finches, now known as Darwin finches.  It was his keen observations of how specialized the finches had become in adapting to their particular environment that propelled him to his conclusions of the evolution of species.

The Galapagos Islands, a group of some twenty islands and forty islets, lies 1,000 km off the coast of Ecuador with the equator running directly through it.  The Galapagos were my next stop after flying out of Santiago.  Then an enjoyable flight took me from Quito, the capital of Ecuador, to the airport located on Baltra Island from where I was whisked off to board the vessel Cruz del Sur for a five day/four night tour of the highlights of several islands. 

3 Interesting People

INTERESTING PEOPLE

One of the great things about travel is the interesting people one meets.  Most travelers, as opposed to tourists maybe, are very easy to meet and welcome the opportunity to talk about where they have been, where they are going, and to pass on suggestions for accommodation, tours, eating, etc.  Generally I find it easy to strike up a conversation with folks and I have met many.  But three I have met so far stand out. 

Austria Japan Walking

At the Chilean/Argentina border on the way back from my visit to Torres del Paines, a dusty, barren, out of the way, little spot with just a few houses and a couple of cafes, I couldn't help but notice a young guy striding up to the border control.  He was covered in dust and more than a little tattered looking.  As he walked by me I saw he had a sign on his backpack, something like 'Austria Japan Walking'.  Of course I had to talk to him.  I didn't get his name as we only spoke briefly, but this young guy started out in Vienna more than two years ago.  He has walked across Europe to Lisbon where he caught a flight to Ushuaia, and he is now walking through Chile (he will skip the northern desert), Peru, and Ecuador where he then flys to San Diego to walk to Vancouver.  from Vancouver he will fly to Japan to walk the length of it.  He was perky as hell and sure didn't appear to be bored, or discouraged, or in any way looking like he might quit before he completes his stroll.

Charley from Texas 

Another interesting guy was Charley, a Texas dirt farmer who, having just visited Antarctica, traveled along the same bus route as I did from Ushuaia to Punt Arenas and on to Puerto Natales.  Charley appeared to be in his mid fifties, had a sizeable paunch and a scruffy beard, he wore a baseball cap, checkered shirts, and well frayed pants.  He was traveling without a guidebook which makes me think he could not read, or certainly not well, and that he did acknowledge.  Charley looked less like a traveler than any one I have ever met, American or otherwise.  In fact, as I've traveled, Americans are generally conspicuous by their absence.  I have seen more here in South America than other places, but usually they are young people or those who travel somewhat upscale, certainly more upscale than Charley.  Charley spent his whole life happily living as a stereotypical Texan on his farm near the Mexican border.  September 11 changed all that.  He decided something was wrong with all he had been told and believed; he sold his farm and has set out to learn what the hell the world is all about.  More power to him.  I wish I had spent more time talking with Charley, as he is certainly unique for his peer group in wanting to learn more of the world and how America fits into it.

Nick the Biker

And then there is Nick.  As I was boarding the bus for Punt Arenas I noticed a bicycle and a bunch of well worn cycling gear being loaded on.  Nick Lenzmeier, mid thirties and out of San Francisco had just completed an incredible journey, cycling from Prudhoe Bay, Alaska to Ushuaia, a trip which took him 20 months and covered more than 33,000km.  He pedaled every inch of the way except for the Darrien Gap in Columbia, which is considered unsafe for armies, let alone individuals.  He was so unassuming about his achievment it was completely disarming.  Almost, 'ho hum, well that's over'.  He did admit that he delayed a couple of days in the city of Rio Grande just out of Ushuaia, as apparently do many other Pan-American cyclists, reluctant to finish, and to having felt somewhat melancholy when he did.  Nick has a great website with lots of excellent pictures if you want to read the whole saga, http://www.the-road-south.com/, about as modest of a name as he could have chosen for such a monumental ride.

I Adore Ecuador

Dear family and friends,

After my visit to the Galapagos Islands, I joined a small group tour for a transverse of Ecuador, Peru and Bolivia. I met my group in Quito, the capital city. Besides myself, there is a guy from Norway, and seven women, three from Norway, three from England and one Australian. All the others are between nineteen and twenty-five. Our leader, Alex, is a Bolivian guy who grew up in Montréal. As well, we have a tour leader trainee with us. Alex and the trainee, an American guy, are likewise, under twenty-five. I stick out a bit.

I like Alex a lot. He is energetic, enthusiastic, and very knowledgeable about anthropology and archaeology, his father being a professor of archaeology at Laval University in Québec City. The archetypical machismo Latino, Alex is handsome with raven black hair, deep brown eyes, and he has the physique of a professional dancer, which he was before becoming a tour leader. He has all the moves. Charming, engaging and considerate, he did complicate the group dynamics a bit, however, by singling out one of the Norwegian girls for special sleeping arrangements from the very first night.

I really liked Ecuador. After Argentina and Chile where there is almost no evidence of indigenous people and limited colonial architecture, Quito, and the other few cities I visited, were a welcome change. And I must add, after Chile, dining is again an agreeable activity with lots of tasty local and international foods available.

Chile

Dear family and friends,

Some twenty odd years ago I heard a talk by Hugh Johnson, a well-known English wine writer. He was discussing the elements that were required to produce great wines; grape variety, climate, terroir, vintage, wine-making techniques, and, lastly, he added, a discriminating wine consumer. He then pointed out that in his view the best grape-growing region in the world was Chile, but serious wines were not being produced there because that last ingredient, a demanding public, was absent. At the time of Johnson's remarks, there were few Chilean wines available in B.C., Gato Negro and Undurraga are the two I remember. Since that time we have all come to enjoy the expanded line up of quaffable, fruit driven wines from Chile, with each new listing seeming to be better than the previous. It is easy to understand why, when I first contemplated a trip to South America, Chile was my number one destination on the continent.

Cono Sur

February 28, 2004

Dear family and friends,

Owww! I stubbed my toe in the dark, nearly taking off the nail of my little toe trying to answer the wake up knock on my door at 6:00AM. My last missive ended with me about to leave Ushuaia and head northward for a visit of Chile. My bus was to leave at 7:30AM, so I limped off to the depot, just making it on time. As my toe bled and throbbed, the bus wound its way through the grand Martial Mountains and out onto the Pampas of Tierra del Fuego, flat, treeless, with lots of sheep and cattle, but with few signs of inhabitants, quite beautiful nonetheless. It was not long before we crossed the frontier into Chile and a short while later a ferry took us across the Straits of Magellan and back onto the continent itself. I spent two days in Chile's southernmost city, Punta Arenas noted for its many stately and extravagant homes dating from the heydays of the Estancias and reflecting the incredible wealth made during that era. Then I was on to Puerto Natales another eight-hour bus ride away through pretty countryside, light greens and gold colours predominant on the rolling hills, and the snow topped Andes rising off in the distance.

Tierra del Fuego, Fin del Mundo

Wednesday, 25 February 2004      

Dear family and friends,

It was a beautiful day, near cloudless, a soft breeze blowing, pleasantly warm with the sun high in the sky when I teed off at 2:00PM.  There are no birds twittering in the trees, in fact, there are no trees around the clubhouse.  The only sound is the occasional whistle from the Tren Fin del Mundo (Train to the End of the World) which departs from the station nearby. 

The number one hole at the Ushuaia Golf Course in Ushuaia, Tierra del Fuego, is a short 275 yard par 4, slightly down hill, with a sharp dogleg left into the green.  I chose my driver knowing a nice easy swing combined with my natural fade would put me in great shape on the right side of the fairway for an easy chip onto the green.  I hit it like I had every reason to expect, a dreaded scuff hook which ended about 40 yards away.  There was no murmur of appreciation, no applause.  I thought I heard someone laugh.  Frost, Spurrell, and Holmes weren't there and I didn't wake up.  This was no dream, it was for real.  (Expletive deleted.)  Mulligan.  I teed up again and... Well, I suppose you don't really want to hear anymore about my round, but it was great, as was the day. 

Uruguay, Come and Gone

February, 2004

Dear family & friends,

The Rio de la Plata originates in Uruguay (as the Uruguay River), and forms the boundary for Argentina and Uruguay. I do not know why it was called the 'silver' river as, like all large rivers, it carries a lot of silt with it as it wends it's way to the sea, consequently it is much more brown or red than silver. Maybe it was so named in the hopes that it would lead to the silver and other riches that South America was known to hold, and which were the stimuli for all early European exploration. In any case, it is a grand river and a three-hour ferry ride took me across from Buenos Aires to Colonia del Sacramento, Uruguay. The ferry was new, quite modern, and very comfortable, even in 'turista class' where I was.

Argentina Today

February 14, 2004

Dear family & friends,

Two years after the then President Adolfo Rodriguez Sau announced to a cheering Congress that Argentina was defaulting on it's sovereign debt of $88 billion US, the country remains in economic turbulence. Following the default, the peso, which had been pegged 1 to 1 with the American dollar, fell to its current level of about 3 peso to the dollar. Current President Nestor Kirchener has gained support from more than 60% of his electorate with his hardline position of not negotiating repayment to the international institutions holding the debt, offering a 'take it or leave it' 25 % and no payment of the accrued interest since default. This reduction in the debt is being referred to as a 'haircut' here in Argentina - more than just a trim, more like a scalping.

It Takes Two To Tango And Iguazu Too

Late January, 2004

Dear family and friends,

Who knows who Carlos Gardel is?  Okay, Daph, Bev and Jim, and you John, you can all put your hands down.  I thought you might know.  For the rest of you, Carlos Gardel is only slightly less revered in Argentina than San Martin, Evita, or Maradonna.  Gardel is the one who popularized and then introduced tango music and dance to Broadway and Hollywood in the 1930's.  His pictures and CD's are available everywhere even yet today. Tango may well be the best known export of Argentina, an art form encompassing music, poetry, and dance. 

Apparently the dance was originated by men at the end of the 19th Century and was danced in the brothels of La Boca and San Telmo.  With all the European immigration, the tango inevitably made its way to the dance hall of Paris where it was gentrified and internationalized.  With the imprimatur of that stamp of approval, the dance was adopted by Argentinean society and has been the rage ever since. 

Wanderings in the winter of 2004

January 2004

Dear family and friends,

It's going to be another beautiful day, I thought, as I teed up my ball. The cobalt blue sky was cloudless, and at 18 degrees (my tee time was 7:00AM again), it promised to be ideal for another great round of golf. The quiet of the day was only disturbed by the morning chorus of the kea, saddleback, tieki, kakapo and other local birds flitting about in the pohutukawa trees around the clubhouse.