Wednesday, November 20, 2013

Northern Peru is worth visiting!


When people think of Peru, they automaticallly think Machu Picchu.  In the past, The Shining Path was also top of mind, but those days seem (gratefully) to be over.  Peru is still a country of the haves, and have-nots, but with the return of a strong tourism base, there is foreign money making its way into the wallets of many of the “common man”.  They can spot a gringo from a mile away, and are quick to exploit all, and I mean ALL, opportunities to wrest yet another few dollars from visitors to their country.  One can ignore it for only so long, and then it all becomes a bit tiresome.  Nowhere was this more prevalent than in the entrance fees to most of the National Parks and attractions and was one of the reasons we really enjoyed the archaeological sites we visited in the north.  Not quite so commercialized.

Chiclayo and Trujillo are fast becoming known for their most recently discovered sites at Sipán, Túcume, Chan Chan, and Las Huacas de los Moches, and it’s easy to add a week or two to your trip to experience it all.  As we had a week before we needed to be in Lima, we were able to knock quite a few off our “sites to see” wish list.  

Sipán combines all the good features of a blockbuster movie – buried treasure, the black market, grave robbers, archaeologists and murders.  You can just envision an Indiana Jones type character stalking amongst the hills and burial sites.  The latest gold-smothered tomb was only just recently discovered in 1987, so one can imagine that there are still countless others still in hiding.  Which is why this area is so interesting.  

Sipan Tomb
Jars of food for the afterlife
Túcume was featured on a television show called Ancient Aliens, which loves to espouse ridiculous (?) notions of aliens descending on Peru in olden times and showing the earthlings how to build.  Granted, this valley has dozens of crumbling pyramids, and at the height of its construction and prosperity must have been something to see.  Millions of adobe brick were used to construct these solid pyramids rising hundreds of feet closer to their gods.  While rain and sun eroded now, they still evoke wondrous thoughts.  
So much work!
A quick stop in one of two of the only restaurants in town, and I was waxing lyrical about an Arroz de Mariscos dish…..I even had to visit the kitchen to complement the chef, who dissolved in giggles when I commended her.  
Lunch!
 
A trip to these parts would not be complete without a visit to the magnificent Museo Tumbas Reales de Sipán in a small community called Lambayeque.   Yawn….another museum, and well worth every minute spent there!
Jewelry to be buried in
An 8-hour bus ride south and we were in Trujillo.  We didn’t have time to visit all the sites, so we got a tour one day that encompassed the “best of”.
La Huaca Arco Iris (Rainbow Temple) started off the day, smack dab in the middle of town.  It was rediscovered, as so many of them are, when construction crews were set to “put up a parking lot”. 
Chimu Defense Wall
Holding up the Wall
Chimu Bas-Relief
Next on the Pre-Inca hit parade was Chan Chan, and it was spectacular.   At its height, some 10,000 structures dominated the plain, comprising nine royal compounds, and the impressive friezes were carved with depictions of fish, waves and sea life; understandable as the ocean was within reach. 
Immense and Brown
Ancient Storefronts
Pretty impressive when you consider that these are all made of mud, and are almost a thousand years old.  We’ve seen some structures in modern-day El Salvador that looked like they were made last year and weren’t going to last the week.  Maybe Central America needs to have some help from the Ancient Aliens on their building techniques. 
Everything was decorated
Lots of airflow between rooms
More Decor
Royal Bird Sanctuary....for the kitchen
Rounding out the day was a visit to the surf-town of Huanchaco.  We wondered aloud if THIS might be a good place to open up a palapa bar.  Even better than watching the surfers, was to sit with a coldie and watch the fisherman riding the waves on their tortora reed boats.

Surfing, Peruvian Style
Tortora Reed Boats
Catch of the day
Hey, Honey, wanna start a palapa bar?
A fittingly named beer, and the end to another great day
Las Huacas del Moche, La Huaca de la Luna and the currently being excavated La Huaca del Sol, were on our next stop.  A great museum, some REALLY ugly dogs, and a pretty impressive recently excavated wall were well worth the time we spent to go. 
Murals!
Sacrificial Platform nicely decorated
Some work holds up better than others
As busy then as they are now
Who's better looking, me......
Or him......
Or this?  Can you believe they are SUPPOSED to look like that?!

South American Travels


Travel in South America is GREAT.  That being said, it is also brown (at least at this time of the year).  It’s spring down here now, but the locals tell us the rain is coming.  Mind you, here in Bahia de Caraquez, Ecuador, it’s not sunny either, although the temps have been pretty perfect.  Our “man on the ground” weather report calls for overcast skies, temperatures in the mid-70’s day and night, and if the sun DOES decide to come out, the breeze will too. 

We left our little boat haven after a week recovering from travel in Colombia, setting off once again in the beginning of September for all points south.  Although we try NEVER to have a schedule, we did need to be in Lima, Peru by September 10th to rendezvous with my folks who were joining us for a month-long “bucket-list” trip to Machu Picchu.  But first we needed to get to Lima.  

Things being what they are, I’ve never done much traveling by bus.  I’ve been fortunate to always have my own car, and enough money to fill up the tank.  What I never seemed to have much of, tho, was time, so my own personal car ferried me to all the destinations I wanted to get to.  Here, my personal car is a dinghy, so that wasn’t going to work. 

By now, Ron and I can safely call ourselves bus experts, having covered ½ the South American continent from the comfort of reclining, leather-bound seats that are ubiquitous on all BusCama (bus and bed) routes.   Wi-fi, meal service, attendants, seats that laydown with foot/leg rests enabling one to get a decent night’s sleep while someone else does the driving…..Greyhound in Canada and the states could learn a thing or two from these guys.  Oh, and they leave ON TIME, like, RIGHT ON TIME, LIKE, IF IT’S 10:01AM, AND THEIR DEPARTURE TIME IS 10AM, THEY CONSIDER IT LATE.  Consider this a forewarning for any of you travelers that tend to dawdle.  They don’t give a shit if you’re not there when it’s time to get on the road.  Oh, and they won’t call your name, go looking for you, or announce that they are ready to roll, they just GO.  

Of course, while we were away, there were a few reports of a couple of buses plunging off the road, taking 50 or so people with them for the flight.  But like anything else in life, it’s best just to keep your eye on the ball and cross your fingers.  If it’s your time, a BusCama is not going to be the deciding factor.

I mentioned the brown-ness of the landscape – we were only to discover this later on, but our first stop was in Cuenca, as we started to make our way south.  We had originally planned to stop in Guayaquil for the night, but as it was still fairly early in the afternoon, (and Guayaquil looked like just another large city) we made a transfer to another bus at the fantastically large and new terminal to continue onwards to Cuenca. It was like a mini-Switzerland, although the “chalets” were not quite so European.  Set amidst a stunning backdrop of 16,000+ foot peaks, we traversed the altiplano from Guayaquil to eventually begin the long descent into the valley where Cuenca lies.  The home (second only to Montecristo, Ecuador) of the Panama hat, this idyllic colonial town had me thinking …..”should we buy some land/house/business here?” again.  

Cuenca Cafe
We spent the night in a coldish, dubious hostel (which shall remain nameless) having significant hors de’ oevres and wine at a fantastic bodega called the Jazz Cafe, complete with roaring fire.  For the first time in over three years, we were rifling through our clothes to find long sleeves and pants, as we were definitely back in the mountains, and the fire we were sitting by was much appreciated.  

Once again, the helpfulness of the Ecuadorian people was showcased, when our hotel desk clerk gave us times to depart for another bus the next day to the Peru border.  And also, once again, the information was wrong, so after purchasing our tickets for 6 hours later, we dropped our bags with the bus company, and returned by taxi to the city centre.  We found a fantastic store selling those famous chapeaus, but we figured it was silly to buy something we were going to have to cart around for another 2 months.  We got a quick lesson on what distinguished one hat versus another, and why some were $20 while others were $320, (and still others being sold in the states were fetching upwards of $20,000!!!!). We left them behind, vowing to return. 
 
Our bus overnighted us across the border (I seem to have a much easier time going from one Latin American country than I do going from Canada to the states), and a 2am arrival at immigration was accomplished in 10 minutes and we were off again, bound for Piura, Peru.  The landscape, as discussed previously, had changed, significantly.  It was brown, with a bit more brown added.  Add to that the dust, and you get the picture.  A one-colour palette.  We opted to just stay on the bus, and continue onwards to Chiclayo.  No worries.  Another $4 each and we were able to travel another 6 hours south.  A good rule of thumb seems to be that for every $1 you spend (doing the exchange, of course) you get to travel an hour.  And no problem if you don’t have a ticket in hand, the guys on board will help you out.  

Tales from our friends Cindi and Adam on Bravo, had us clutching our bags while on the buses.  We slept with them under our heads, kept them on our laps, looped the straps around our legs, or rested our feet on them, ever mindful of any movement of the bag from unseen hands.  One would think that having your most valuable items near at hand would be the most secure; however a bus company employee in Colombia was adamant that I should put my camera bag in the luggage hold.  I opted not to, however a sign on the wall in their office, tales of David Copperfield-like fellow passengers making computers disappear, and seeing no other local passengers putting their bags overhead, convinced us to be ever mindful.  Fortunately, I can say that after all the bus trips we took, in 4 different South American countries, we never had anything filched.  For most of the longer trips we took, we were given luggage tags for our bags in the hold, and unlike in some North American airports, they are VERY serious about making sure your number matches the one on the bag you’ve checked.  Don’t lose your baggage claim tickets!

An aside for anyone reading this that has questions about bus travel in South America, do not be worried, but do be careful, as in everything.  You are traveling through VERY poor countries and sometimes the allure of a “rich gringo’s stuff” can be too much.  As my captain likes to say, “if a bad man wants something, he’s going to get it, but you can do what you can to keep the honest man honest.”  Bus travel is practically the ONLY way the locals can travel long distances, and the companies we have used have been nothing less than professional.  That being said, we did NOT purchase any of our tickets based on price, but rather on the quality of the bus.  Long distances are NO fun on a local chicken bus.  You can get your fill of all the culture you can handle in a ride lasting an hour within a city, but research which countries’ buses are considered the best, and use them.  We had a guideline based on hours….if we had to travel more than 6 hours, or overnight, we were going to pay top dollar.  Anything less and we considered it to be a sightseeing journey and would put up with a bit of discomfort.  

Welcome to Peru!

To Moor or Not, that is the Question


A not so funny thing happened a while ago.  It changed the way we think about being on a mooring, and we now have a tendency to rely exclusively on our own gear.  

While we were in El Salvador, we ended up staying at Bahia Jaltepeque.  This is a fast flowing estuary, with currents up to 6 knots when the tide was either incoming, or outgoing.  It being an unfamiliar place, and being given advice that a mooring ball would prevent us from swinging into other boats, we decided to go with a local guy that had put in 30+ cement blocks for those cruisers wishing to feel more secure, either on a day to day basis, or when leaving the boat for an extended period of time.  We were happy, until we weren’t.  

While local lore said that a micro-burst (not really sure what a micro-burst is, as hurricane would have been a better word) hadn’t occurred in this bay for almost a hundred years, we were “fortunate” to be there when one hit.  With the vhf radio on, and blow by blow (hahaha) announcements coming from various boats in the fleet, we heard of speeds clocking ever upwards.  We weren’t so lucky to be able to sit in the cockpit calmly assessing the situation, as we were in the middle of a full teak deck restoration project.  The cockpit was full of our storage boxes, and various other detritus that had to be removed from the deck for it to be worked on.  This included 2 loose propane tanks.  With winds screaming upwards of 70 knots (for those of you out there that are not familiar, this is a Category 1, verging into Category 2, hurricane), we had a few unplanned projects we needed to see to, immediately.   Rightly so, Ron thought it prudent to disengage the bottles prior to them doing some real damage, like exploding, while I was down below securing the multiple wine and liquor bottles that we had just purchased the day before, but had yet to stow.  Again, as we were in full-blown (hahaha, again) work mode, I was also in the middle of repainting a cupboard down below.  Not willing to discard the container of turpentine that contained the white enamel soaked paintbrush (I thought perhaps I might need another coat), I had left it on the counter, along with the remnants of our recently consumed dinner.  It, along with upwards of 10 glass (of course) bottles, went flying across the salon sole.  Both Ron and I had our hands full.  

I won’t bore you with the details, with two exceptions.  With me slipping and sliding on the pitching floor, I discovered that the red slop causing me to lose my grip, was not only red wine, but my red blood.  Seems one of those bottles decided to cause a bit of damage.  This combined with the white turpentine made for an unholy mess down below.  Ron was dealing with his own issues up top.  At one point, he looked up to see one of our neighbors screaming past, and wondered where in the hellish madness that we were in, was he going.  30 seconds later, and he realized that our neighbor was not on the move, BUT WE WERE.  Rapid fire thinking had our anchor chain screaming out of the chain locker, bringing us to a stop several minutes later. 

We found out later that the winds topped out at 74 knots.  Exciting stuff.  I believe that this freak event was also chronicled in Latitude 38.  We were famous. 

A few months later we needed to make a move, and requested that the guy come and grab the, obviously broke, bridal that was still attached to our cleats.  An hour of diving came back with the message that we were actually still attached to the mooring, albeit in a different place than where we had started from.  Which brings us to Ecuador…..

Here in Bahia de Caraquez, there is a mooring field attended to by Puerto Amistad, and is again in a swift flowing river.  Upon arrival, with memories of El Sal uppermost in our minds, we wondered about the security of the balls, and whether our 50,000 pounds of fiberglass and wood, would again take us for a ride in the event of a blow.  We opted out, and decided instead to trust our ground tackle that had saved our asses in hurricane force winds.  

What did we learn?
- Trust the gear you have on your boat.  If you have crap gear, than get good stuff you can trust.
- Take everything that anyone tells you, about anything, with a grain of sand.
- When done with a project, put stuff away.
- Box wine is the way to go on a boat.

Saturday, August 31, 2013

I think I'm turning Catholic, I really think so - August 17, 2013

An early start to the day. We made our way from our hostel to the Sabana Train Station, fully documented up. Passports - check, train tickets - check. What I neglected to bring was the address of the hostel, or one of their cards, but more on that later. Initially, we wondered if it was necessary to purchase our tickets in advance but when we departed the second stop with nary a seat available, we congratulated ourselves on our forethought. This is actually something I'm a bit OCD about, as I HATE wasting time when we're off the boat. So much to see, so little time (and money). Lots of people say that they LOVE to be spontaneous when they travel....those people either have a lot of time, a lot of money, or no sense. Upon arrival in Bogota, even after our 9 hour overnight bus ride from San Agustin, I made the executive decision to head straight to the station to get our tickets to visit the Salt Cathedral the next day.   

We rattled our way towards the community of Zipaquira, a pueblo that has obviously enjoyed the fruits of having a major attraction in its midst. Beautiful brickwork lined the sidewalks and although it was a Saturday there wasn't a bit of trash on the roads. While were were in the train heading to our destination, we purchased entrance tickets for the Cathedral and the transport to/from the train. Suffice it to say we were blown away with the immense scale of the underground crosses and the Cathedral itself. Twelve different crosses, all carved/mined in a different way, representing the steps towards the resurrection of Christ. After seeing the crosses, you come to a vast sanctuary.  The last photo shows the scale of one of the columns. You don't have to be religious to truly appreciate this place, but....you have to visit it yourself to believe it. Unfortunately, I have no words to really describe it, and our photos do not do it justice. For more info, see http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Salt_Cathedral_of_Zipaquira














After an entire day of being tourists, we are always tired and today was no exception. We had made it back to Bogota, except, we still had to figure out where we lived. The cabbie didn't know our particular hostel amongst the myriad of others in the historic center but I channeled my inner bloodhound and we drove right to it. I impressed even myself....

Statues, sugarcane, and....bras? August 13-15, 2013

I belong to a Facebook group called Women Who Sail.  While writing this blog post, I was switching back and forth between my words here, and a thread on “customs”.  As happens so many times, for some reason the topic got switched to "bras"…..and so goes the conversational pattern of most women.  Funnily, but the subject of bras was on my mind as I was recalling our journey from Popayan, Colombia to San Agustin.  I knew that our road was going to be a bit rough.  It said so in the guidebook, and we had seen it in print in other places.  We had even been told to expect an “interesting” ride.  We were mentally prepared, or so it seemed.

Upon arrival at the bus terminal, our 9:30am departure was still a go, but apparently there was also one in…..1 minute.  We were hustled aboard, only to find that pushing our departure one hour ahead, also meant that we got the last 2 seats on the bus, and they weren’t the good ones.  Ron was the “lucky” one (as men usually are who have women with them that don’t want to hear any whining) and got a seat in the middle in the back.  Granted, the seat cushion didn’t seem to be attached to anything, and threatened at each turn to pitch him into the lap of the little girl sitting on the floor in front of him.  Me, well I got to cuddle the 7 boxes holding all the tomato seedlings destined for…..somewhere.  This doesn’t sound like an inconvenience, but it sure is when they are stacked to the ceiling, and every 15 seconds, around yet another curve at Indy Car Rally speeds, they threatened to decapitate me.  Although our year's traveling had shown us a thing or two, this bus ride was supposed to take 7 hours.  After 15 minutes, I turned to Ron and told him I didn’t think I could do it for that long.  He only exclaimed, “hang in there.”  

It was a few hours into this trip that the notion of bras was uppermost in my mind.  It was a two-bra kind of journey, and I knew when we would disembark, my boobs would have migrated their way down to my lap, or perhaps puddled around my ankles.  

San Agustin was our destination.  A small village in the southwest portion of Colombia, it boasted over 500 statues scattered throughout an area roughly 250 square miles, standing guard over ancient tribal tombs.  Not much is known about the people who erected them, as they disappeared prior to the arrival of the Spaniards.  I won't bore you with all the photos we took, as I bet we have 2 or 3 of every one of them!!






Somewhat reminiscent of an early-day Sponge Bob

There were so many of them, that a day later, the joke was….”mmm, another statue……mmm, great."

This is a good time to talk about the Colombians.  Ron thinks I generalize, and maybe sometimes I do, but it's very interesting to meet with people from different countries.  The better my spanish becomes, the more I can recognize the different sub-cultures, even amongst Latin Americans.  THEY ARE NOT ALL ALIKE.  Some recognizable attributes are:

Colombians are VERY gregarious.  They like nothing better than to talk, alot, with alot of emotion.  
Colombians want you to like their country.  We were constantly asked if we did....and we were honest in saying that we loved it, and them.  Agradable is the word. 
Colombians are very happy, and busy.  Actually, they are really HAPPY, and BUSY. 
Colombians want to know about who we are and always want to know where we are from, how long we were in their country, and how long we were going to stay.
Colombians wanted to have their pictures taken with us.  We always happily complied.  


 A day later, we embarked on a jeep tour of more statues, waterfalls, rivers, and most interesting, the way in which they process sugarcane, making the product panella.  We munched our way around Colombia eating panella coated peanuts.  




It was about this time that we started to hear rumblings about an imminent nationwide strike, about to be called by the campesinos of Colombia.  But we were only 9 days into our first inland trip in months!  If you learn nothing else when traveling, know that life will always change the best laid plans. 

Mercado Madness - August 9-11, 2013

If anyone is heading to northern Ecuador, the thing to do is plan to be there for the Saturday market.  All the villages in the surrounding valleys converge on Otavalo, bringing the usual, and immense, assortment of fruits and vegies, along with the special handicrafts of the region.  While there were a few tourists there, this market seemed to be more about the locals.  We’ve visited the Ocatlan Friday mercado outside of Oaxaca, Mexico, and the famous Saturday Chichicastanango mercado in Guatemala, and yet we never get tired of seeing the vibrant community life enacted before our eyes.  The amount of “stuff” on offer was staggering, from clothes to alpaca ponchos, and everything in between.  For us, this trip to the market was about the food.  By noon, we were stuffed to the gills.  Bunuelos, paella, whole roast pig, every configuration of bread products, it was there and in abundance!














 Tomorrow we make a run for the Colombian border. 

Friday, August 30, 2013

Gasping - August 8, 2013

All the guidebooks say to take it easy when you first arrive at a location with a significant altitude. "Take it easy, acclimatize, drink lots of water, avoid alcohol, don't exert yourself." Uh huh, yeah right, okay.

We were off to the teleferiQo, Quito's newly installed cable car. It felt like old home week as I stepped into the gondola made by Poma, although a lot warmer than I was used to, and carrying a lot less gear. It was bliss.

We were flouting conventional wisdom, and although we have been living at sea level for years, surely those acclimatization rules didn't apply to us, we told ourselves. We wanted to do "a bit" of walking and the trail to Pichincha (Quito's resident volcano, located at 4,784 m or 15,696 ft) seemed to be just the thing. (See Green arrow below, which was where we were going). After all, we had climbed Izalco in El Salvador, and Pacaya in Guatemala.  We could bag another volcano!  Turned out, we were insane.... 1 and 1/2 hours into it, and being passed by fit, young men looking like they'd be right at home on Mont Blanc, we happily took photos of "the hill we didn't climb in Quito" (Red arrow below, and the sentiments attached). But, I kept saying to Ron, the book said it was a three hour walk.  "Just be sure to set out in the morning, before the clouds obscure the view." We set our sights on the first electrical power pylon and called it good.

Green means, Go - Red means, WTF, STOP!!!
So naive first thing in the morning, see that thumbs up?!
Several hours later, cooked and DONE!
Not quite as perky as he used to be
Upon our descent, we saw the sign we had missed upon initially setting out, which called it a difficult, 5 hour trek, ONE WAY. Hahahahahaha.....

Scattered around our hostel were posters and prints of strange looking men with expressions of anguish, soulful eyes, and evocative fingers. Learning that they were by Ecuador's "father of art", Oswaldo Guayasamin, we hauled our weary selves to the museum, workshop and Capilla of this most influential of artists. His personal story is amazing and his work, compelling. We vowed to return to purchase a few pieces to call our own.





I had many more sights to see on my Quito list but what we really wanted to see in front of us by this time was a cold beer or three. Despite it being "the dry season" in Ecuador, we found ourselves in the midst of a lightning and thunderstorm like what we had left behind in Panama. This time tho we were just afraid of getting wet, rather than getting hit. Things have definitely improved in the last few weeks.