Tierra de Tortugas

South American Odyssey: Valparaiso, Chile

     Valparaiso. 

     For a sailor like myself, the name has a magical ring to it. 

    In the centuries before the Panama Canal made ocean travel easier and safer, this was the first significant stopover port for passengers and crew who'd survived rounding the Horn on their way to California and other places along the West Coast of the Americas. Its brothels and bars were world-renowned destinations for sailors in need of recreation and a place to get their noses wet. And maybe even a little rest.

    I remember reading about the historical and economic importance of Valparaiso in High School history books. I don't remember the details – just that it was important. And the guidebooks said it was an interesting place to visit.

    To get there from Santiago, we spent 7,600 Chilean Pesos (US$14) for two tickets on a comfortable TurBus for the two-hour trip. A four-lane highway, resembling portions of the US Interstate system, takes you through the vineyards of the Casablanca Valley to the coast. You pass miles of vineyards and wineries advertising tours and tasting rooms. It's a wonder anybody in a private car ever gets to the coast. For many Santiaguinos, the Casablanca Valley seems to offer plenty of diversion and intoxicating recreation along the way. There are even a few forest reserves, if you're inclined toward camping.

     Entering Valparaiso, the term "grubby port city" immediately comes to mind. Later, after walking its steep streets lined with old wooden buildings and crumbling masonry, stopping at a few art galleries, and enjoying multiple views of the harbor below, that quickly changes to "charmingly grubby port city." It's a city that will either grow on you, or offend you. And it makes no apologies. Valparaiso is like a rough-hewn sailor, proudly wearing his jaunty 'go-to-hell-hat' at a rakish angle. You either like it or you don't.

    We went out for a day of hiking steep streets that snake through the many hills of Valparaiso (there are more than thirty hills in Valpo – and they all have names!), taking frequent rides on the ancient asensores (funicular lifts) that are scattered throughout the city, finding museums, cafés and art galleries along the way. We stopped at miradores with sweeping views over the city and the harbor. We descended to the old streets near the harbor, walked through busy Plaza Sotomayor (the name Sotomayor occurs frequently in Chile, on streets, plazas, statues, etc.), and visited the large pier where the Holland America cruise ship we took from San Diego to Lima docked a few days after we departed.       The city is like a smaller version of San Francisco, and the photo opportunities are endless. Not surprisingly, there are many photo competitions here and there are artists around painting every imaginable angle and detail. There are puppeteers in the parks, a Poets Plaza, and tiles featuring quotes from Federico Garcia Lorca adorn houses along a quiet street.

    There's also a LOT of graffiti – much of it paid for by the local government to cover walls that were going to be tagged anyway. As a result, there's enough good muralistic street art that it kind of 'drowns out' some of the random mindless graffiti of the delinquent local youth. There's also a strong leftist–anarchist trend here that leads to graffiti portraits of Simone Weil, Karl Marx, Albert Einstein, and even some very good anonymous portraiture. Snippets of poetry appear frequently in alleys and passageways. All of this gives the graffiti of Valparaiso a somewhat intellectual cast. And maybe that makes it more acceptable (?).

    One of the challenges of long-range travel is always the process of getting used to the local currency. Exchange rates can differ widely from country to country, and day to day. A good bottle of wine to take home can cost you 20 soles in Peru, or maybe 7,000 pesos served at a restaurant in Chile. And how much is that, anyway? Well, at 2.84 Peruvian Soles to the Dollar, and 533 Chilean Pesos per Dollar, the math will keep you mentally active. Which is a good thing for older retired people trying to avoid early Alzheimers. The mental exercise is just another good reason to keep traveling. But unless you're a very anal person – or an accountant – the sensible way to deal with it is by 'rounding off the numbers' to make it easier to deal with. So for us, a dollar is worth 3 Peruvian Soles, and there are 500 Chilean Pesos to the buck. That's enough effort when you're quickly trying to decide whether to buy earrings from a street vendor, or if the entrees on a menu are cheap or expensive. 

     We were a bit surprised that meals at a good restaurant in Santiago were much more costly than dining out in Lima, although you can get an entire bottle of very good wine served at the table for maybe half what you'd pay in the States. Luckily, there's plenty of good, reasonably-priced lodging in Santiago to help keep the budget in balance. 

    We were even more surprised in 'Valpo' at the high prices they charge for rooms we'd describe as merely adequate. Add to that the high price of dining out, although the food and wine were generally excellent and worth the money. Valparaiso, charming as it is, can easily send you 'over budget.' Before we left Santiago, we'd been concerned that we may not be able to score a decent room in this vacation destination. This was a mistake. We'd violated one of our general travel rules: Never call ahead for reservations, if you don't really know what you're getting. 

    We have found that guidebooks tend to 'fudge' their descriptions so as not to sound too negative. You really have to read between the lines. And some of these places, inundated with reservations because of their guidebook listing, raise their prices for what are only minimally acceptable rooms. So if you can't get into the more highly recommended mid-range lodgings in the guidebook, you're usually better off just showing up and investing some time (and taxi fares) checking out the unlisted places nearby.

    We've stayed in some very cheap places along the way, and some expensive ones. We're pretty easy to get along with – as long as the quality is reflected in the price. In Valparaiso, we checked into a 15,000 to 20,000 pesos (US$30 - 40) a night place – where they charged us 45,000 pesos (US$90!) a night. It was recently remodeled by an 'architect' who was more into Minimalist Cute than functional. The hot water was spotty, the Modernist bedside lamps provided about half the light you need for reading, the walls passed far too much noise from the room next door, it smelled musty from a lack of ventilation, etc. But the staff was very warm and friendly, and did their best under the circumstances. Still, we should have looked around first.

     There are some dogs in Valparaiso. In fact, it's amazing to see how many dogs are just lying around in certain very-public areas, completely ignoring the people walking by, not even lifting a snout to beg for a handout. I'd guess they've always had to make it on their own and just don't expect anything special from all the humans nearby. They don't look ill-fed; they probably scrounge garbage cans all night and sleep during the day.

  And there are cats, too. As we board one of the asensores we see a litter of kittens, and various other cats, living just below the rails. We pass right over them and they don't even bother to look up. As we ascend, a cat is walking down the adjacent rails ahead of the descending car. 

    We find a good, and reasonably-priced, place for dinner where we enjoy yet another fine bottle of Carmenere, Chile's signature grape, and start a conversation with the people at the next table. Hank and Karen are from New Hampshire and are a 'new couple,' although they're our age. They're still dividing the bill equally down the middle, and we have fond memories of those long-ago days. They tell us about the place where they're staying for less than half what we're paying, and they invite us to follow them back there to check it out. It's older and less flashy than our place, but looks like good value for the money. We consider moving. But we stop to consider our plans for the next few weeks. 

    We had figured we'd go south to Puerto Montt, and then cross the Andes by a route over several lakes on our way into southern Argentina. But we start to wonder if we really have the time to do it right. First, it's a very long bus ride to Puerto Montt, and the potential stopover spots – Temuco and Osorno – sound less than compelling. In all, we'd only have about two weeks to see a lot of very interesting countryside. And that would cut our time short in other places that sounded very appealing, like Mendoza and Córdova. The trip through southern Chile started to look like too much packing and unpacking, with very little time to see anything. 

     We decided to take the other route that also sounded good: over the Andes directly to the wine country of Mendoza. We decided not to move to the cheaper place, but extended our stay in Valparaiso for another day of exploring its warrens and alleys. Still high on our list was a visit to La Sebastiana, the hilltop former home and now-museum of Chile's most famous poet. Pablo Neruda.

    The well-run Neruda museum/home occupies one of the highest points on Cerro Bellavista, with a magnificent view over the city and its harbor. Neruda was fond of watching the ships arrive and depart – when he wasn't writing or enjoying a fine dinner with good friends. A visit to the home is sort of an adventure by itself. It's a fetchingly odd collection of narrow stairways and rooms going up about three floors and jammed with the mixed detritus of a life spent collecting stuff in flea markets and back-street shops on several continents. There are also displays of his time abroad as consul and ambassador, and the Nobel Prize for Literature he was awarded in 1971. He was a remarkable individual. Photos are only allowed of views from the windows so, sadly, we have no interior shots to share. But a visit to the Fundación Pablo Neruda website is worthwhile.

      So our itinerary took an abrupt turn in Valparaiso. Over another good dinner and another fine bottle of Carmenere, we made the final decision. It was time to head over the pass to the wine country of Argentina. 

    On the way back to our room, we passed a brand new Mahindra sport truck, but my camera battery was dead. By the time I got it recharged the truck was gone, but a visit to their website says that this Indian company has almost finished the approval procedure and expects to be selling pickups in the US this Spring. Some guy named Rumsfeld made a snarky comment about Old Europe a few years back. The way things are looking, thanks partly to his efforts, we might want to add Old America to that list. Along with China and Latin America, India is looking like a good horse to put your money on these days. 

    

    Before boarding a bus to leave the country, I indulged in a few more Chileno reflections. We try to keep track of what's happening in the countries we travel through by reading the local newspapers. Someday we may be glad we've maintained a degree of 'situational awareness.' But mostly, we just find interesting things (like free concerts, art shows, etc.) that are happening nearby. And our view of the world situation seems to change, depending on the place we view it from. 

    Newspapers throughout Latin America cover important news from the US, but they give equal weight to the rest of the world. And there's a robust competition among numerous newspapers in most large Latin American cities. El Mercurio, founded in 1827 in Valparaiso, seems to be the main Chilean newspaper – the country's 'newspaper of record.' One of our taxi drivers tells us (very proudly) that it was the first Spanish-language newspaper in the New World! (Taxi drivers are generally a cool bunch of characters who can provide you with all kinds of interesting tidbits. Some have told us jokes. Others have sung, or recited poetry!)

    Besides El Mercurio, there's El Segundo (The Second), and El Tercero (The Third). There's even an El Quarto (The Fourth). But by the time you get that far down the line, it more resembles The National Enquirer than a serious rag. 

    Sticking with the upper tier of newspapers, we found plenty of interesting things to read. According to La Tercera, it's the Chilean stock market that's leading the way in Latin America now, edging out Brazil and Peru. El Mercurio notes that the price of copper recently closed higher on the London market – good news that's closely watched in a country that ships most of the world's 'red metal.' 

    Big news one day is the Tom Jones concert – remember him? Tom wowed them recently in Santiago. There's also a passionate Opinion blurb to "Save Abbey Road." That's right, the famous studio where the Fab Four recorded almost 90% of their music is in danger of being sold off by EMI because they can do a lot cheaper elsewhere now. We read it first in El Tercero. 

    According to an advert, a brand new Great Wall Wingle sport truck (there was a photo in our previous Chile blog) will set you back 8.6 million Chilean Pesos (US$16,226). And if you want to know what the daily weather's like at the Chilean base in Antarctica, just pick up any Chilean paper (FYI: the other day it was freezing cold!).

     Then there's politics. 

    The politics of Chile took an abrupt turn recently. Sebastián Piñera, the rightist/business candidate won the election over Eduardo Frei, the center/left candidate of the Concertación party that came to power after the criminal regime of Pinochet. The Concertación, under Presidenta Michelle Bachelet, made great strides to repair the damage inflicted on Chilean society during the military years, when the murder rate soared. They have subsequently made the country one of the most prosperous in Latin America, while almost eliminating extreme poverty. But all things must change. Chilenos seem to have suffered "Concertación-fatigue" and voted, narrowly, for a different approach.

    It was a very close race, but the billionaire Piñera, with his 'million Chilean Peso smile' (US$1,876) seems to have been irresistible to the Chilean people, and he promised not to mess with most of the very popular social programs installed by the Concertación. He was backed by a high-profile visit from Peru's most  well-known author, and former leftist, Mario Vargas Llosa, who has his own famous 'million Peruvian Soles smile' (a higher value @ US$352,112). La Presidenta Bachelet showed her anger by bumping Vargas Llosa's keynote address from the agenda of the Fifth Congreso de la Lengua to be held to be held at La Moneda (the Chilean White House). A Bachelet spokesperson said it was due to a scheduling conflict with King Juan Carlos of Spain. Vargas Llosa, still smiling broadly, said "This is the first time this has happened." 

     The people of Latin America take their writers and intellectuals very seriously (Gabriela Mistral, famed Chilean poet and winner of the 1945 Nobel Prize for Literature is on the CH$5000 bill), and this incident was given significant press coverage, as was Vargas Llosa's initial endorsement of Piñera. Fellow Peruvian writer Jorge Edwards, who also backed Piñera, likewise found his speech time 'adjusted.'

    Piñera, by the way, is already backing off from promises not to mess with the very popular social programs currently in place, claiming that he just discovered the country has big budget problems. Bachelet actually left the country with a healthy surplus because she refused to spend the recent huge influx from the soaring price of copper, of which Chile is they world's largest exporter. So here we go again with the political games.

    Back in our hotel room, we tried to get a ticket online for the 8:00 a.m. El Rapido bus to Mendoza, but failed. So we arranged for a cab at 6:45am to the bus terminal to be there early enough to buy one of the last available seats shown on the website. As usual in situations like this, neither of us got a good night's sleep. I think it was the philosopher Jon Bon Jovi who said, "I'll sleep when I'm dead!" Good thing we're still young. Sort of.

    At the station, a sign on the window said the El Rapido office didn't open until 7:55! Then someone told us the El Rapido bus didn't even leave until tomorrow! I stayed with the luggage while Carolyn went in search of tickets on anything headed to Mendoza. It's a good thing we're flexible. If we couldn't leave until the next day, so be it. We'd just find a cheap hotel room and explore more of Valparaiso. 

    But shortly, she returned with the last two tickets on a Cata Internacional bus over the Andes to Mendoza. After an anxious half-hour of making sure we caught the right bus, we were on our way through yet another area of the Chilean countryside. 

     There was a drunken French guy in line (at 8:00 a.m.!) who was greatly enjoying himself making conversation with anyone who would listen. And he smelled just awful. We hoped our seats were far from his. But he slowly made his way aboard and found his seat. Right in front of us. So most of the trip was perfumed with 'eau de borracho.' But the scenery was spectacular, nonetheless.

    Since arriving in Chile, we'd both kept a watch out the windows of various busses and taxis to see if there were any slums on the order of the desperately poor areas that surround Lima and characterize many other communities in Peru. We'd heard that Chile was different in that regard and wanted to see for ourselves.

     There weren't any areas you'd call slums along the road from the airport in to Santiago, and that wasn't surprising; it was a newer road to the recently-built airport. There were a few poorer neighborhoods along the road from Santiago to the Concha y Toro winery, but they looked like areas we'd seen in many US cities. As we passed through the countryside heading from Valparaiso to the pass at Los Andes, we saw some modest housing for field workers and a few scattered shacks, but still no large areas that looked desperately poor to us. From everything we'd seen on our too-short visit to this part of the country, Chile was indeed very different from Peru.

    The pass over the Andes to Mendoza, although shortened from the old days by a tunnel near the top, remains a spectacular trip. We'd been over passes much higher in Peru – there were no snowfields beside the road on this trip – but the scenery on this route is still well worth the travel. As we neared the border a long series of steep switchbacks on the Chilean side, along with a few heavily-loaded trucks, kept us grinding upward in low gear most of the way. Small patches of snow were visible on the highest peaks. About halfway to the top we passed an old sign reading "Curva Numero 13." It's always interesting the kinds of things that Latin Americans feel compelled to count.

     The route is being rebuilt, widened, and modernized with snow-tunnels and rockslide-tunnels and there are delays along the way. We pass a few gravel pits and we're reminded that the Andes, in their own way, are a restless living creature, constantly moving and grinding at itself. Massive grey rockslides tell us the mountains themselves are a gigantic 'gravel factory.' The trucks mostly just scoop it up, run it through a sorter, and move it to the roadbed. 

    On the Argentine side of the pass, we spent maybe an hour at the efficiently-run Aduana station getting ourselves checked in to yet another country. ¡Bienvenidos a Argentina! 

    There are very few switchbacks on the Argentine side, and the route is not as steep as we cruised downward through an ancient, rounded, glacial valley. Aconcagua, the highest peak outside the Himalayas, loomed somewhere near the top of the pass, but we never were able to see it. Maybe next time. 

     We passed a few small ski resorts on our descent, and for most of the way to Mendoza we followed the lonely, rusted, forlorn-looking tracks of the old narrow-gauge train that used to steam its way through this valley and over the pass to Chile. In its lower stretches the mountainsides are multi-colored, the valley widens into desert, the river carving its banks into scenes from the Wild West. The dry scrub and broad horizons reminded us, fondly, of New Mexico. It's easy to imagine that more than a few Westerns have been filmed near here.   

    Our bus pulled in to the very large and busy station at Mendoza, and we scrambled to collect our luggage. Then Carolyn waited with our gear while I went to find an ATM, so we'd have some local cash. After I'd been gone for half an hour, she began to get concerned. She asked an employee where the ATM is. Is there good security in the building? He answers yes. About that time, I return with the money, and a new 'in-country' impression. Mendoza is a very busy transportation hub served by a large number of busses. The station has a very long concourse shaped like an open "U." The ATM (there's only one (!) in the whole place) was on the opposite end of the station, and there was a long line of people standing in front of it. As I got closer to the door, the drunken French guy from the bus had trouble with the machine and asked the lady behind him for some help. It took 20 minutes standing in line to reach the ATM. Once inside, things went very smoothly and I was out quickly – much quicker than most of the others. Then there was the long walk back, but now we had a fistful of Argentine Pesos. 

    We were ready for Mendoza!

There are two photo albums with this post -- one for Valparaiso and one for the trip from Valpo to Mendoza. Valparaiso provided just too many great photo ops; we couldn't resist!

South American Odyssey: Santiago, Chile

To every thing there is a season. After two and a half months of living in Peru and exploring as much as we could manage, the time has come for us to leave. In early February it was time to go to Chile. 

     We booked a late night flight through Buenos Aires that saved us hundreds of dollars over booking a direct flight to Santiago. At the boarding gate, there was a large transparent cube for all the "non-allowed items"– knives, can-openers, various sharp objects – that had been confiscated in just the past two weeks. It was about two-thirds full. We left Lima at midnight and landed in BA's Ezeiza airport at dawn. After a 2-hour layover, we were on a flight to Santiago, high over the snow-capped and glaciated peaks of the Andes. We could feel the plane reduce power for the landing before we even left Argentine airspace.   Santiago is that close to the mountains. There was an unpleasant moment at the airport: it cost us US$131 each to get into the country, because that's what the US government charges Chilenos for a visa. We'd read about that fee in a guidebook and had taken out the cash to deal with it, although they were happy to take a credit card. This special "reciprocal fee" only applies to residents of the US, Canada, Australia and … Albania (?).

    The ride into town took us along a modern well-paved expressway; the taxi was almost new and in good condition – as were all the other cars we saw along the way. And nobody seemed to be addicted to using the horn. This was a striking contrast to charmingly decrepit Peru with its pot-holed roads and its rattling, dented, and constantly honking taxis. Unlike our experiences in Peru, the ride from the airport was almost silent. This was our first visit to Chile and we had no idea what to expect. Guidebooks said there's not much left of the Spanish Colonial past in Santiago, if there ever was much to start with. There's very little truly 'ancient' about Santiago, as the oldest buildings seem to date from the late 1800s. But in the center city, there are plenty of beautiful neoclassical buildings dating from that era; they look sturdy, well-finished, and well-designed.  

     The overall traffic plan is marked by very wide tree-lined parkways, sometimes with a broad sculpture park down the center. After coming from the more desert-like climate of Lima, one of the most notable differences was the sheer abundance of trees throughout the city. Unlike the jumbled – if charming – centers of many ancient cities, Santiago was designed with grandeur and ease of travel in mind. There was clearly a cadre of competent Architects and Engineers in charge. At least for their time.

    Unfortunately, they could not have predicted the modern clutter of cars and vehicles that has overwhelmed every city. And the smog they produce has made this city notable as one of the most polluted in the Americas. If you're lucky, you can just see a faint outline of the very nearby snow-capped peaks of the Andes. Before the advent of the automobile, the clear mountain views must have made this a stunning location for a city. Like anyplace else in the world, Santiago is a mix of the good and the bad – luckily, we found sufficient good to stay a few extra days. 

     We decided to spend a week at the charming, gothic-styled, Hostel Las Amazonas, right next to the massive Argentine Embassy, across the street from the Olympic Museum, close to various universities, and maybe half a block from the headquarters of the Chilean Communist Party. It's a diverse neighborhood. The whole area has a definite hip, revolutionary, and 'edgy' university feel – again, completely unlike anything in Lima. Chilean hippies pedal their hand-made jewelry, wire sculptures, incense, etc., from blankets on the sidewalk. There's a 'with-it' Euro-vibe to the young and prosperous-looking population. This part of town feels a lot like Berkeley or Greenwich Village. Except for all the beautiful young people smoking cigarettes (very much unlike Peru, where smoking is rare), and looking tragically cool. In that regard, Santiago appears European.

    We make a point of watching for any sign of the abject slums like we've seen in Peru and some other countries, but so far nothing of the sort appears around Santiago. Generally, Chile looks like a prosperous place with some poor neighborhoods – about like cities across the US. But we'll be traveling further, probably visiting areas to the south, and we'll continue to admire this interesting place.

     Our hotel was near the Barrio Bellavista, so-called because of the views from the top of the hill just behind it. There's a funicular to the top for visits to the large statue of La Virgen that stands over the city, but we decide we could use the exercise and start up the pathway/road that winds its way to the top. After a bit, we wished we'd remembered to buy a bottle of water. About the time we were getting pretty thirsty and drug-out, we encountered a guy on crutches, and his very overweight family. We decided to suck it up and get moving. Sure enough, at the top of the trail, there was a refreshment stand where the lady sold bottled water – although the Chilean hikers and bike riders mostly just drank from a handy faucet.   We settled into plastic chairs with a refreshing "mote con huesillo" – stewed peaches in their juice, over a bed of cooked wheat kernels(!). Later, we saw the guy on crutches and his family at the top, in the restful gardens by the statue. While they prayed, we got a beer and some lunch at the restaurant, and enjoyed a great view over the city. Except that as we sat under the outside awning, we could just barely (thanks to the smog) make out the towering and majestic Andes that are maybe only 20 miles away.

    We take the funicular down the hill with Chilean families out enjoying a warm summer day, and then we walk through the tree-lined streets of Bellavista back to the hostel for a nap. Along the way, we choose which of the many excellent restaurants will be our destination for dinner. So far, the eateries and shops at the architecturally very interesting Patio Bellavista have been hard to resist. It's such an inviting jumble of hip venues that it's where many of the in-crowd go almost every night.     We find ourselves back there again on Valentine's Day Eve for a fine dinner followed by drinks at the Jazz Club where a Brazilian guitarist plays 1960s samba tunes till after midnight. Afterward, a walk back to the hostel down Santiago's well-lighted streets marks the end of a very good day.

      But a few nights earlier, our walk back to the hostel involved some unexpected, um, adventure. We'd had a fine dinner, accompanied by a very good Chileno wine, at another local bistro, and we were feeling nicely mellow. We decided to take a different route back through the Plaza de Armas area. We crossed the bridge over the Rio Mapocho behind two young couples with a baby, and noticed a sweet familiar smell hanging in the air. We realized that if we stayed behind them, we could end up with a nice mellow contact high, a free buzz. We all crossed the bridge in tight (!) formation and wandered down several streets, until the doobie, and its sweet cloud, was gone. Then Carolyn and I found our way onward through a warren of dark streets, past a few raucous sidewalk cafes, back to where we had to cross Avenida Bernardo O'Higgins, one of the broad main streets in town. We waited for the light to change, and began to cross just in front of a waiting bus. 

    That's when I felt something very strange – a hand in my pocket. I instinctively reached for my pocket and turned to see a tall young man sprinting away. I realized he'd missed his mark and I still had my wallet, but I took several steps after him, yelling "You son of a bitch!" at the top of my voice. It was the first time I had ever been 'pick-pocketed' anywhere in my travels. I was lucky he was unsuccessful.

    It was obvious why he'd targeted me. I was distracted by the bus. He was young, quick, and athletic, and he was wearing running shoes. I appeared to be older (Alright, I actually am older!), I looked like a tourist with a wallet bulging in my pocket, and I was wearing some comfortable flip-flops. He was pretty sure I couldn't run him down. We've taken precautions against muggers – if not pickpockets – and I only had some money and a few unimportant cards in my wallet. Bank cards were deep into another pocket in my cargo pants, and we only carry copies of our passports with us when out wandering the streets. Yet it was still an experience that kept me awake for awhile after my head hit the pillow that night. Although Santiago is known for such non-violent crimes, we considered it an isolated incident and decided not to let it bother us much.

     The next day we bought a combination bus and metro ticket, and set off to see more of the city. We wanted to try the metro to see how it compared to others we've ridden. It was quick, clean and efficient, and very well used by Santiaguinos. There was "standing room only" for the whole trip. According to the route maps, it appeared to service most of the city, and there wasn't any graffiti in the stations. Walls in the underground stations are treated with massive murals and graphics. 

    We left the Metro at a large shopping center called Parque Arauco, right next to a very nice city park of the same name. We could have been at a fancy mall in southern California. Or if you ignore the palm trees, maybe the more exclusive suburbs of Chicago. The Arauco mall, surrounded by gleaming new condo towers, is for the well-heeled – with shops by Hugo Boss, Kenneth Cole, and most of the other high-label brands in the world. We spot a Starbucks and can't resist springing for some really good coffee. One look at this mall and the surrounding area tells you that someone in Chile is doing very well these days. And with all that new money, some of them are probably visiting the new Aston Martin dealership that just opened in town to compete with the established Ferrari dealer. The rest can probably afford to buy a brand new Great Wall Wingle CRDi sport-truck to grace the driveway. 

     You don't yet own a Great Wall vehicle? How about a BYD, a Changan, or a Chery? Or maybe a Dongfeng, Forland, Hafei, Huanghai, JinBei, KingLong, Lifan, Mahindra, SsangYong, Yutong, Zxauto, or Zotye? Well, maybe you'll soon be able to pick up a new set of LingLong tires at your local dealer. These are some of the names we're seeing here in South America. It's one of several reasons that I keep thinking I may may be looking at the future here. And judging by many of those names, the future looks very Chinese.

    We walked away from the Mall through the very large and shady adjacent park, with its area of picnic tables, its well-kept exercise equipment, and its ample children's play area. We stopped for a couple of delicious "choripanes" (sausage on a bun, covered with guacamole and a stripe of sour cream), and sat for a while under a large tree to watch people go by. Near us, a young girl playfully dropped a piece of grass onto her sleeping boyfriend's face, and laughed when he leapt to his feet sputtering. We walked onward through the park and decided to take the bus back to the center of town, instead of the Metro, so we'd see more of the action at ground level. The bus took us through suburbs old and new, ranging from 1930s half-timber English and other classics, through 60s modernism, to more contemporary styles. Along the main street we saw a prosperous city, the streets packed with shoppers, the sidewalk cafes filled with diners, at midday on a weekday. We could have been somewhere in California, except for the signs in Spanish. Come to think of it, that also seems to be changing in California and elsewhere in the US. We got off the bus and walked along neighborhood streets back to the Hostel. It was time for a nap.

     We bought tickets for a wine tour. What's a visit to Chile – one of the world's premier wine producers – without going on a wine tour? And what better tour than the one to Concha y Toro? It was pretty much what you might expect from one of the top producers in the world. A grape arbor entry to the Founder's big, beautiful, classical residence surrounded by acres of gardens, a couple of ponds, horses grazing in the meadow, and ample sculpture. Yeah, I think I could live there.

    In the extensive modern wine cellar, there were thousands of oak barrels filled with the finest wines. When we entered, we could smell the wine on the air as the barrels breathed, and the cool air was welcome relief from the warm afternoon. Next, it was down into the 'holy of holies,' the inner sanctum, the Casillero del Diablo. This is the ancient crypt where the best wines are kept to rest. It's an imposing stone dungeon built by the Founder 4 meters (about 13 feet) below the ground, where the temperature remains constant and cool throughout the year.  Legend says the Founder noticed some of his bottles disappearing whenever he left on business trips, so he spread a rumor that the Devil lived there, and even dressed up as the Devil sometimes to scare off intruders. It's now called el Casillero del Diablo, the Devil's Locker.

    We were given tastes of a good white wine (I don't remember the name since I don't drink much white), and a very fine 2007 Marques de Casa Concha red. The glasses were given away as a remembrance of our visit, but since we'll still be on the road for two more months, we decided to leave them with a nice couple we met from California – some of the few US residents on the tour. In the winery store, they sold engraved glasses for only US$4. They'd work nicely, I'm sure, with the Marques de Casa Concha priced at only US$16. Or maybe even with the 6 liter bottle of 1998 Almaviva (their premium brand, in association with Baron Philippe de Rothschild) at US$1,022!

     Sunday finds us at the fine old Museo de Bellas Artes. It's a large classical building, with a broad open center court filled with sculpture and five other displays of work in the exhibition halls. What better way to spend a Sunday? We're greeted at the entry table by the wonderfully vivacious, multi-lingual, bright, and worldly Ana Maria Bianchi Sierra who takes an immediate interest in us and our travels. She makes such an impression that I think I'll try to figure some way to mention her in our blog. Among the more interesting displays is a group of works by Roberto Matta, the world-famous Modernist/Surrealist Chilean artist (and Santiago native) who died in 2002. I remember posters touting his work in the Paris Metro in the 1980s. You either love him or you hate him. So far, I'm not sure. Other displays included an interesting study of Chilean landscapes from the early 1800s into present times. Chile looked like a wild and majestic place back in those days. But the pastoral gave way inevitably to the urban, as happens everywhere. And are we the better for it? I think the jury's still out on that one, too.

    We spend much of our final day in Santiago taking care of business. Like finding a place to stay in Valparaiso during the busy Summer season, and even getting tickets to fly back to Mexico a couple of months from now. Every so often there needs to be a quiet day to deal with these things. But we left the hostel in late afternoon for a last wander through the emerging Barrio Brazil area, and then into the intriguing warren of streets behind the monstrous Cultural Center that's now under construction. We settle on a sidewalk table at "Victorino," and order a bottle of 2008 Viu Manent Carmenere to go with dinner. They say, "If you've been to Chile and haven't enjoyed the Carmenere, you haven't been to Chile!" It's a grape that's found nowhere else in the world, and it makes a great wine. Plus, it only cost us around US$15 for the bottle. That's about what three glasses of 'house wine' would cost in the US. It pays to drink really good Chilean wine while in Chile.

     And so it comes time for us to leave Santiago, and head to the old port city of Valparaiso. That's where the cruise ship that got us to Lima was headed in the first place, so in a way, we're just getting caught up. Valparaiso translates as "Paradise Valley." We'll let you know….

See additional photos in the album titled: S. American Odyssey: Santiago, Chile

South American Odyssey: Politics, Pain, and Economics

 Much of the Peruvian Carnival or political scene, as in almost any other country, is emblazoned across the newspaper headlines each day.     

    When we arrived, there were accusations of Policia assassination squads in the Trujillo area eliminating members of local gangs. But the Policia blamed the "pishtacos" – mythical beasts that kill people to render fat (!) from their bodies and sell it to American and European companies as a fine oil to lubricate expensive machinery. Oh yeah. After a period of furious discussion, recriminations, and denials, a few commanders were rendered unfit for duty.

    Then there was the Chilean spy scandal, where a few Chilean agents were caught buying secret info on the jet aircraft used by the Peruvian Air Force. One wag suggested the Chileans were actually trying to steal the recipe for a good pisco sour, which galled the Chilenos because they also claim to have invented it. While the whole thing appeared ridiculous to many here (and was largely ignored by the rest of the world), it was a major dust-up that required intervention at the highest levels of both governments. The two countries still treat each other very carefully due to lingering hard feelings left over from the Pacific War of 1879-83, which cost Perú a big chunk of its southern coastal region. (The War also cost Bolivia its access to the Pacific, although they still maintain a "headquarters" of the "Bolivian Navy" near Copacabana, on Lake Titicaca.) Mention the Chilenos to a cab driver and you'll get a long indictment of all the ways they've harmed Peru. And blaming the US for selling weapons to Chile. There's still a lot of bad feeling around here left from a war that happened more than a hundred years ago.  

    One of the hot items available as the country readied itself for the New Years celebration: the Victor Arisa piñata. He was the main Chileno spy in the ongoing scandal. Also available was the Michael Jackson piñata. Don't ask.

    Recently, there was great debate about possible corruption in the country's purchase of Army tanks from China. Presidente Alán Garcia labeled those asking for details about the purchase as "anti-patriots." As a result of the scuffle, the Chinese tank purchase will be overseen by government auditors – who are presumably immune to corruption. One political cartoon showed the Chinese even agreeing to make the top entry hatch much bigger so Garcia (who's quite hefty) could climb in and take the tanks for a spin. Even after the tank purchase, Peru's defense budget remains one of the lowest in South America, as a percentage of Gross National Product; only Venezuela's and Argentina's are lower.

     At one point, Alan Garcia released the results of a poll showing he still had the overwhelming support of the people. Over the next few days, the opposition questioned the poll and wanted to know who paid for it, since there appeared to be no expenditures for such an expensive poll. Garcia called them a bunch of malcontents, and went on with business as usual.

      One headline story in December was about Alan Garcia announcing the resumption of construction on the "Tren Electrica," an elevated electric train that will link the growing areas of northern and southern Lima to the center. Work was halted 23 years ago (!) amid allegations of fraud when Garcia was Presidente in an earlier term. He shortly fled to Europe (presumably with the money) and lived in exile until the statute of limitations expired – when he came back to run again as Presidente -- and won! For the past two decades a line of concrete support towers has run along one of Lima's major avenues as a monumental, mocking, reminder of the fraud. Over the years, they were decorated with artistic murals, perhaps to deaden the pain of their existence. As we prepare to depart Lima for Chile, there's an announcement by Garcia in El Comercio that the project will begin "in two weeks." Meanwhile, there's a poster celebrating its completion – in the year 2427! Ah, the fun continues. But alas, we won't be here to hold our breath. 

    Garcia is a very large, garrulous fellow who never shies from a confrontation, or a photo opportunity – even if he looks ridiculous trying to be 'a man of the people.' We're sorry we didn't catch one of his long-winded "balconazos" (a speech from the balcony of the Presidential Palace) because they're said to be quite a show.

      On a very serious note, recently there was a moving display of candlelit caskets resting on the pavement along one street around the Ayacucho Main Plaza. There was a name on each casket. They were a silent reminder to mark the return of remains of about two hundred people from one community who were massacred during the very bloody war between the Sendero Luminoso (The Shinging Path) and the Peruvian Army. Especially heartbreaking were the small caskets, for the children. There's still much debate here about which side was responsible for most of the killings, although it appears the Sendero wins that dubious title. The Army apparently massacred 'only' about 35% of the victims. As in most civil wars, and despite all the political spin surrounding this one (the victor always writes the official history books), there weren't many "good guys" in this dirty war. 

    There was a pall of silence over the Plaza the night the caskets lay there. Relatives sat quietly with each casket as flickering candles cast an eerie glow over the scene. It's just one of many constant reminders of the country's recent painful past.  

     Near the end of Jirón Libertad, in Ayacucho, there's a modest, but very educational, Museo de las Memorias that chronicles most of the tragedies that occurred in the Ayacucho area. And they were many. One of the more heart-breaking was the murder of eight journalists by villagers who thought they were spies for one side or the other. The villagers tried to make the murders look like the work of either the Army or the Sendero. Clauswitz long ago referred to "the fog of war," wherein mistakes and tragedies are common. The concept of "surgical strikes" rings hollow in the reality of war.

    In Lima, there are plans for a similar, and much larger, museum on a site overlooking the Pacific in the up-scale area of Miraflores. Mario Vargas Llosa, Perú's most distinguished modern writer, and a former presidential candidate, is heading the commission. There is debate over how balanced the message will be (the Army has weighed in loudly and often), but it's clearly still a major trauma the country needs to face up to and get beyond. (Mario Vargas Llosa's novels, Conversation in the Cathedral, and Death in the Andes, give a good look at the complex mix of injustice, politics and superstition that helped to fuel the conflict.)

    On the brighter side, there's lots of strong economic activity in El Perú, according to El Comercio, the nation's oldest and most respected newspaper (since 1839), which we read regularly. In early December, Perú and Brazil celebrated stronger ties and the Inter-Oceanic road between them that's been recently improved and is expected to power more growth in the region. An article mentioned that after a flat 2009, Brazil was expected to grow 6% in 2010, and Perú should peg 5% because of the expected better world market next year that they are both well-poised to exploit -- especially with raw material exports to a resurgent China. Chile, along with most of the rest of South America, is also expected to do quite well for many of the same reasons. Interestingly, Mexico posted the worst regional results for last year due to its close ties to the US economy, and has lower prospects for next year. 

    The big news in late December was the elevation of Peruvian bonds to Investment Status by Moodys, S&P, and Fitch. That's expected to make the country an investment magnet, as it greatly lowers the cost of money, although there's concern that the country's currency will rise against the dollar, making Peruvian goods more expensive. The Peruvian Central Bank is now among the many buying dollars to keep their own currencies competitive.

    According to El Comercio, The Lima Stock Exchange (BVL) posted a 100% gain this past year. It's apparently a very volatile market. Shares in Lima Caucho, a rubber company that makes tires, went up 600% last year! Experts predict a more modest, but still respectable, 15% return for the overall Lima Stock Market in 2010. It posted a 10% increase in the first week of the new year, but later took much of it back. The International Herald Tribune, sold on the Plaza in Miraflores, also noted the amazing growth of markets in the 'emerging world' over the past decade, while US markets remained flat, but questioned whether the boom can sustain itself. Still, it looks like Perú, and most of South America, is going to be an important region to watch over the next few years. 

 
   

     Away from high finance and back at 'street level,' we saw lots of programs in the highlands (both Gov't and private) to give people needed training and business assistance to help them gain a very real chance at a better life. The people of the highlands, who were long marginalized and exploited, and for whom the message of the Sendero Luminoso clearly had some resonance, finally appear to be gaining notice and respect in the power councils of Lima. And today, there are training programs available, and perhaps more importantly, "Help Wanted" signs hanging outside most businesses in Ayacucho. Some copy shops on the Plaza in Ayacucho run their own 'classified section' by selling ad space over the door to post listings for jobs, rentals, cars for sale, etc. That has to be a very visible sign of increased economic activity and possibilities for the average person. There's also the very real success story of Finca Peru that now has over 7,000 participants (socias) running their own small businesses in the area.  

     And President Alan Garcia recently announced a new initiative to exempt industries that relocate to the highlands, to sites above 2500 meters (8,000 feet) elevation, from certain taxes. Those who relocate to sites above 3200 meters (10,500 feet) get an even sweeter deal. There are critics, of course, but Garcia called them "zonzos" (fools) and said the people of the altiplano deserve a chance to participate in the growth of the country instead of just watching it from a distance. 

 

     And certainly Lima needs no more hordes of people swelling the city's shantytowns to escape the poverty of the hinterlands. The city is also undergoing a construction boom of high-rise buildings in many areas. Seven- and eight-story condo towers are being built throughout Barranco, Miraflores and San Isidro. But while many restaurants and other local businesses may welcome the influx of new customers, there is concern that the city is quickly losing many of its beautiful older mansions, and much of its character, to the wrecking ball to make room for this growth.    

    As has long been the case, economic growth throughout Latin America is still biased toward the wealthy. It's estimated that in Peru, the richest 10% receive 37% of the income, and more than half of the population lives on less than US$60 per month. The edges of Lima are surrounded by shantytowns filled with people trying to make a decent life for themselves and their children. From the privileged vantage point of living or visiting in Miraflores or San Isidro, it's easy to ignore these facts. 

    But perhaps there's finally a realization that sending in the Army to crush resistance movements is never anything more than a short term solution that does nothing to deal with the underlying problems. Maybe current efforts to broaden participation in the country's future are at least one tangible result of the recent horrible bloodshed. 

    And with that it's time to go onward, to Chile. We'll see what adventures await us there, and try to describe them for you in future blogs. Thanks, by the way, for all your comments and encouragement. It's nice to have contact with 'the folks back home.' 

    

(BTW, If I haven't responded to your Facebook inquiries, it's nothing personal. I just don't have time for Facebook. Sorry. -- Perry)

There is no photo album posted with this entry -- the only photos are shown here in text. 

South American Odyssey: Peruvian Culture, Art & Dancing 'til (almost) Dawn

As I write this, we're in Lima for the last few days of our stay in Peru, and still greatly enjoying all the many cultural activities this country has to offer. But we have many fond memories of our time in Ayacucho. If there were any doubt that we'd find enough non-work activities to keep us busy – besides all the numerous ways to experience the Andes – those were quickly dispelled. It turns out that there's a lot going on in Ayacucho's cultural scene. The presence of the 500 year-old Universidad de Huamanga probably helps.

     For instance, you did remember to celebrate "International Philosophy Day back in November, didn't you? In Ayacucho, they had a two-day event with lectures such as, "Brilliant Women of History," and "Socrates: The True Direction of Life." It's one of many ways this very old city can be a bit humbling.

    The beautiful old Centro Cultural shows movies every Sunday night for a few soles. And some of them are in English. We saw an award-winning Peruvian movie, called "La Teta Asustada" there. It's now a contender in the upcoming Oscar Awards, and Peruvians are very proud of that fact. It's in Spanish, of course, and I had lots of trouble with the dialogue but I thought I had it pretty well figured out – until afterward, when Carolyn told me what it was actually about. Still, I've noticed my Spanish getting better after living in Mexico for over five years, and now after immersing myself in the highlands of Perú, I'm even to the point where I can do Sudoku in Spanish.  

    In December, we attended a three-night Festival de la Guitarra and listened to some of the best guitar playing I've ever heard. There were about a dozen players who appeared each night with different musical pieces. Some played the same pieces as others, but with different interpretations. These weren't just players, these were craftsmen, and women. Most were Peruvian, from various parts of the country, and ranged from locally-famous masters of the beautifully complex traditional 'huaynos' of the Andean highlands, like Julio Humala, to a wild flamenco player named Ernesto Hermosa, who whispered lovingly and loudly to his guitar, and thumped the floor. There was also an excellent Argentine jazz-guitar performer named Claudio Arbañiel. When we get to Buenos Aires in a month or so, we'll check out his performances there. 

     But the main attraction was a young, slightly-built, performer named Riber Pol Oré Ramirez. Fortunately, he just goes by Riber Oré, and even we could tell that he's going to be one to watch. He played such complex pieces, his fingers racing over the strings at incredible speed, that the entire audience hung on his every move. It didn't hurt that he seemed very modest, smiled a lot, and truly enjoyed jamming with the others on stage. We bought several of his CDs, and Googled him when we got back to the apartment. We were not surprised to find several Facebook entries for Riber Oré, and relived the experience a few more times. But there's really nothing like seeing him, or any other guitar master, in person. And at 10 soles per CD (about US$3.50) we wished we'd bought several more as gifts. But when we got back to the table, they all were sold out.

    We attended an award ceremony to honor the principals and staff of the local credit union, Cooperativo San Cristobal de Huamanga, founded 50 years ago by our friend and host, Dr. Aquiles Lanao Flores. We knew he'd been instrumental in many programs in the Ayacucho area, but had no idea he was the driving force behind the area's major credit union, too. Aquiles is not exactly painfully modest, it's just that he's done so much it's hard to keep up. He had said there was an event at the Teatro that we might want to attend, but hadn't mentioned his involvement. We also found out he has set up another 55 (!) credit unions in Peru.   

    There were lots of awards to hand out, a good band to provide the music, and two pretty girls to stand on the stage and help older honorees up the steps. When it came his turn to speak, Aquiles had no prepared notes, unlike the other speakers, and spoke in both Spanish and Quechua. He talked of the difficulties of starting the credit union back in 1960, when many accused him of being "communist" (whatever that means) for even having such an idea. But many friends rallied behind him and were the first to join, not letting ridiculous political labels stand in the way of a common sense idea. Aquiles is never one to hold back when something needs to be done, or said. 

    The ceremonies ended with a flock of more pretty girls handing out cups of wine and small cookies for the traditional toast that always goes along with these kinds of events. Afterward, Carolyn and I were donning our jackets and broad-brimmed hats, getting ready to walk back to the apartment in a light rain. But Aquiles wouldn't hear of it. He made sure there was room in his car for us, and we all crowded in together for the ride.

     No matter how interesting Ayacucho can be, it's good to get out of town once in a while. The quiet and charming mountain village of Quinua is an enticing nearby destination. The winding stone streets feature a number of artisan shops filled with excellent and inexpensive goods, and there are lots of photo opportunities among the old buildings, and vistas onto the surrounding mountains. It's a bit like Taos was, 50 or so years ago. Nearby is also the tall white stone obelisk marking the site of the Battle of Ayacucho – the encounter that ended Spanish rule in South America. We made a day trip to Quinua with our friends, Linda Logan Condon and Kate Miller, from Albuquerque, who managed to find lots of excellent handicrafts to buy. 

    Back in Ayacucho, there were a couple of traditional dance competitions to attend. The first, in a large municipal gym, featured dance troupes from throughout this part of the Andes. Although the place was crowded, there were less than a dozen tourists. This was something for the local people.   And some of the performances were just wild, with battles acted out – complete with abductions of women and other fun. Most of these ended with torn bits of clothing littering the floor. It was a hoot!

    There was a Bajando los Reyes celebration (the official ending of Christmas and beginning of a new year) at Finca Peru, with hundreds of people attending. Including most of Aquiles' family from Lima. It all began with Mass in one of the 33 churches of Ayacucho, and proceeded down the street to the Finca building, blocking traffic along the way.   Nobody seems to get, or need, a permit for these parades, which are common in the city. At Finca, we danced, ate the traditional 'mondongo' (cow's stomach stew), joined in joyful processions around the courtyard led by a cast of costumed characters, and listened to a good band playing Andean music. Aquiles, the guest of honor, was truly in his element.

    Another dance competition, held at the recently refurbished and impressive Teatro Municipal on the Plaza, was considerably more sedate. Couples moved elegantly across the floor in bright traditional dress. The women swirled their multi-colored skirts and bowed, while the men doffed their hats in proper gentlemanly fashion. It was a fine way to end an evening that began with good food at a restaurant on the Plaza, and concluded with a nighttime walk along quiet, narrow, rain-slicked streets back to the apartment.

    On our final return to Lima, we had only planned to stay a few days. Earlier in the trip, Carolyn had checked about changing our plane tickets and found that it would only cost about US$30 each. We had already spent considerable time in Lima over the Christmas season and thought we might want to move on to Chile almost a week earlier than planned. She called again and found the price was now going to be about US$300 each just to make the change! That's what we paid for the tickets in the first place. We guessed the sudden price gouging might have had something to do with the massive flooding in Cuzco and the evacuations of thousands of tourists from Machu Picchu – the reason we had stopped in Lima in the first place.

     We were staying in a really sweet, but pricey, old converted mansion called Hotel Antigua Miraflores, with the sound of birds singing and water trickling down the fountain in the courtyard. Most mornings, we met interesting people over breakfast – Aussies, Germans, Brits, South Africans, a Canadian Army Doctor just returned from Afghanistan and attending a course here in tropical medicine, and even a philosophy professor and retired high school English teacher from Denver. We were on a quiet street, with a nice little art-filled coffee shop called Arabica just around the corner, but still close to all the action and lots of great restaurants. 

    Lima is considered to be one of the great cities of South America, second only to Buenos Aires. We quickly figured we would just stay put in the hotel – for less than it would cost to change the tickets. That's one of the advantages to finally being retired and footloose. We could also use the downtime to just read, hang out, and catch up on our blogs – and spend time seeing more of the things this very cosmopolitan city has to offer. 

    Like the Oscar Niemeyer exhibit at the Museo de San Marcos, that was closed during the Christmas period. Now at the age of 102 (!), Niemeyer is still one of the more influential Modernist Architects. He designed Brasilia, the capital of Brasil, and was one of the designers of the UN Headquarters in New York, among hundreds of other projects. He's now working on stadium designs for the next World Cup Soccer Finals, to be held in his native Brasil in 2014!  

    Nearby, there's the Italian Art Museum, a gift from the Italian people in 1921 to commemorate the hundredth anniversary of Peruvian Independence from Spain. It's an eye-catching structure, with some very nice murals on the outside walls depicting a gathering of famous Italians throughout history. The inside is filled with works by Italian artists from the late 1800s to the 1920s. It's really kind of an artistic time capsule of the period.   

    From Miraflores, it's only a one-sol bus ride to the museum area in central Lima. That, in itself, is another of the curious attractions of Lima. The ticket man leans out the door and yells the destination to waiting passengers. What he yells is usually undecipherable to tourists, so we yell back, "¿Miraflores?" And he nods and waves us aboard the crowded bus that jockeys its way down congested Avenida Arequipa back to a stop near the hotel. It's all part of the wonderful urban cacophony of Latin America. 

    The Museo de la Nación was another good place to visit for its fine displays of ceramics and other important Peruvian works. But we didn't get to the famous Museo Larco, which has more ceramics than most people ever want to see – including an important collection of pre-historic erotica! Maybe next time. 

     We saw an announcement for an art opening in the nearby exclusive district of San Isidro, followed by an intimate concert with singer Myriam Quiñones, and walked over to enjoy it. There were works by 30 good local artists on the walls, and the concert was held in a small auditorium with only 200 seats. And of course, we bought another CD to add to our growing collection. Afterward, we walked back to Miraflores along well-lighted streets, past private security guards who watch the streets all night (thank you!), and stopped for ice cream at one of the many eateries that stay open late. We decided to return to the beautiful streets and parks of San Isidro in the daytime for a better look.

    And what's a trip to Lima without checking on the Club Scene? One night, we stayed out way past our bedtime to partake of the famous nightlife in the nearby Barrancos District. Carolyn has fond memories of the distinctive beat of Afro-Peruvian "Música Criolla" when she lived here back in the 1960s, and she wanted to share the experience.     

    Around 9:00 p.m. on a Friday night we hired Rafael, a very engaging taxi driver – he used to play rhythm and won several championships back in the day – to take us to the heart of the action. Along the way, he pulled the car over to a curb and played a set of custom spoons for us. Then he recited a long epic poem he'd written – while effortlessly negotiating the wild traffic of Lima. You meet some of the most interesting people in unusual places. 

    In Barrancos, we walked the streets to the sound of music, mostly loud rock, emanating from almost every door. But since it was only about 9:30, we were way early. Most shows start around 10:30. We asked at several places for Criollo Music without success, until one very large young bouncer said, in a low voice, that we should try the place next door. So we walked past a sign reading Don Porfirio's, peered down a long, brightly-lit hallway into what looked like an old grubby apartment building, and thought, "This can't be right." We stopped in front of a little store to discuss our options and looked up to see the same young man talking to the store owner and motioning us secretly (so his boss from the neighboring club couldn't see him) to the door we'd just passed.   

    We decided to give it a try, and walked down the hallway to a tight little hole-in-the-wall where an Afro-Peruvian group was just starting to tune up the conga drums and guitars. So far, we were the only customers in the place. We paid a 20 sol cover charge each and got a round of good pisco sours. A little after 10:00 p.m., the place started to fill up, and soon it was rocking to a beat with strong caribbean overtones, and a touch of Andean guitar. The centerpiece was a guy playing the 'cajón,' a wooden box you sit on and drum out a beat. Various audience members sat in as the night progressed, and it all seemed more like a family affair than just some nightclub.

    After several hours, we were starting to fade and asked for the tab. The lady brought us the bill, but explained that we should wait just a bit because the rhythm dancers would be there soon. The singer carefully positioned two microphones on the floor to pick up the sound. After three rounds of pisco sours, we had maxed out our drinking abilities, but that didn't seem important to anybody, so we decided to hang around a little longer and see what happened.

    Soon, a young man arrived with all the moves of a young Sammie Davis Jr., and danced to the accompaniment of one quiet guitar. After he wrapped up, one of the band members sauntered onto the floor and gave him the eye. Suddenly, it had become a competition and the crowd went wild. After he was finished, an audience member wandered out onto the floor and showed his stuff. Then the young man returned with his beautiful girlfriend or wife, and wowed the crowd again. Curiously, all the rhythm dancers were black. I can't speak for the rest, but I was way too intimidated by the competition to show whatever "stuff" I might imagine I had.

     Unlike real Peruvians, we did not stay out until the sun broke the horizon. We were back in our hotel room, exhausted, at the 'early' hour of 1:00 a.m. If you're ever in Lima, a late-night trip to Don Porfirio's in Barrancos is an experience you won't want to miss. Carolyn and I enjoyed it so much, we went back the next Friday night and stayed until 3:00 a.m.!

    But you don't need to go very far in Miraflores to find good music. One night, we walked about three blocks to a little club called the "Cocodrilo Verde" to hear Lady Jazz sing Sinatra and other favorites, with a slight Peruvian accent. There are many more clubs in the area than we have time for, but that's how Limeños spend their evenings. And it's why they take siestas before going out.

    A few last items of note: 

We've already posted our blog on food, but a couple of nights ago we ate in a place we just have to mention -- Astrid y Gastón. Chef Gastón Acurio is the person most responsible for bringing Peruvian cuisine to its star international status. He now has restaurants all over the western hemisphere. We ate in his newest here, La Mar, as guests of friend Kate Miller. But we thought we should try the original which was founded 16 years ago. Needless to say, it was stunning; and we thought you would like to see the fare. Too bad you can't taste it!  

    Also, there was a note in the newspaper that a local bar named Malabar was just selected to appear on a list of "The Top Ten Bars of the World" in the April issue of Food & Wine Magazine. Naturally, we had to go check it out and enjoy a drink or two. We didn't realize they also serve dinner, and had already eaten. Too bad for us. We don't hang out in bars much, and had never heard of any of the others on the list. But our personal favorites would include The Sand Bar, a funky place with a sand floor on the island of Bimini in the Bahamas, and the tequila bar at Los Santos in Alamos, Sonora. But the 'experts' somehow left them both off the list.

Check out these websites for good music: 

http://www.donporfirioperu.com/

http://www.cocodriloverde.com/web/inicio.php

For more photos, see the album entitled S. American Odyssey: Peruvian Culture, Art & Entertainment.

South American Odyssey: The Great Escape

We enjoy a good adventure – especially one that gets us away from the Prescribed Tourist Path. You may have noticed that while reading our earlier blogs. But we don't go out of our way to do things that are REALLY DANGEROUS. Or ridiculously uncomfortable. We just assume that local people know the place better that we do and will usually steer us in the right direction. Our two-month stint of volunteer work in Ayacucho was drawing to an end (As our friend, Bob Blue, once said, "If you can't be brilliant, at least try to be useful!").å And it looked like another adventure was shaping up.

     One day I needed to discuss some design ideas with Derek Visser, a Dutchman who came to Ayacucho about five years ago to do some volunteer work, and stayed when Finca offered him a job. But he would be unavailable for a few days because he had to take care of some business in Huancavelica. I remembered reading in Lonely Planet that it was very difficult to get directly from Ayacucho to Huancavelica – but worth the trip, if you could pull it off. They refer to it as "The Missing Link," because of the difficulties involved. You have to know where to get off one old, unheated, bus and wait several hours for another one. It's high, cold, country, and you may even be out there overnight. It's not for the faint of heart, or the unprepared.  

    To get from Ayacucho to Huancavelica, most people fly to Lima and take a 7-hour bus trip to Huancayo, then a 3-hour bus to where the pavement ends – where Huancavelica nestles in a steep mountain valley surrounded by snow-capped peaks. You take the same route back to Lima, or fly from Huancayo on a propeller plane. Huancavelica sounded like a great place to visit, but not easy to get to. 

    So I asked Derek how he did it. How are the roads? How long does it take? Is that where the llamas and alpacas are (since, so far, we hadn't seen any at all on our trip to Peru)?

    Derek's been to Huancavelica about 10 times over the past several years, always over the high roads through the snow fields. The roads were rutted, often muddy, and slow going. The trip would take around seven hours through some very scenic high country. And there were so many llamas, alpacas and guanacos, scratching for moss and lichens under the snow, that you'd have to wear a blindfold to miss them. Most of the area we'd cross was even above the 'potato line,' and too high to grow anything else. It sounded like an adventure not to be missed.

    Back at the apartment I told Carolyn, "I think I've figured out our Exit Strategy (unlike most military planners, I might add)."

    But there was one small detail: Derek always traveled in Finca Peru's own rugged and chauffeured Toyota truck. Nobody else in Ayacucho covers the route to Huancavelica, except a few old buses. Another complication was that we had two friends, Kate Miller and Linda Logan-Condon, arriving from Albuquerque, and they wanted to go with us, so we would need a vehicle big enough for all of us, plus our gear. None of the small, rickety, taxis could carry us with all our gear over roads like that – if they'd even survive the trip at all.

     There are several tour companies in Ayacucho that specialize in day trips to nearby Quinua, Huanta, or Vilcashuaman. It was the low season, so we decided to ask what it would cost to hire a solid vehicle, with driver, for the trip to Huancavelica. The price was 140 soles (about US$50) per person, and we decided to go for it. We set a departure time of 7:00 a.m. on Saturday morning, and I put down 100 soles for a deposit. Things were coming together.

    We'd be traveling during the wet season, in an extended-cab truck with all our gear in the bed, so we bought several meters of blue plastic off a large roll in the mercado. After using most of two rolls of wrapping tape, our bags were well-protected from the rain and ready to go. Our Quechua friends thought it was very expensive to pay a total of 560 soles (about US$200) just to get four of us to Huancavelica, but we thought it seemed reasonable. The driver would probably get 50 bucks for his trouble, and the owner would pocket about $150 dollars for the vehicle. 

    Saturday morning arrived, grey and overcast. We expected a rainy journey, and maybe snow over the passes. We hauled our gear to the street, and our friend Aquiles had Edgar, his assistant, help him to the sidewalk so he could see us off. Soon the truck arrived. We hoisted our gear into the bed of the truck, and hugged Aquiles and our other friends goodbye. I handed the remaining 180 soles (for the two of us) to the tour owner, and we were ready to pick up Linda and Kate at a nearby hotel. 

    That's when the whole deal fell apart.

    The tour operator said, "Oh no, Señor. That's 140 Dollars per person. Not soles." 

    I said something along the lines of, "You've got to be crazy! We can fly to Lima for less than that. We're not paying US$140 each to go to Huancavelica."

    After a few more minutes of this it became clear he was serious. We tossed our gear back off the truck and he handed me back my 100 sole deposit. Suddenly we had a new plan, although we weren't exactly sure at the time what the new plan might be. 

    We were momentarily stunned, but quickly reviewed our options, and planned to go find another tour company that would make the trip. We called Kate and Linda and told them to relax while we figured it out.

    That's when Aquiles made an executive decision. He called his driver, Walter, told him to get out of bed and take us to Huancavelica in Aquiles' Nissan SUV. We protested a bit -- it seemed a lot to ask. But Aquiles insisted. He told us to just give Walter a little something for the trip.   We'd grown to really like Walter during our time in Ayacucho, and we figured we'd just give him the money we'd already planned to spend on the trip. He deserved it more than that tour guy. 

    In the end, we were about an hour late leaving Ayacucho but we still had plenty of time to arrive in Huancavelica well before dark. And our gear was safely inside the vehicle, so all that plastic wrap was unnecessary. Thanks to Aquiles and Walter, everything worked out fine. We just love it when a plan comes together!

     For the first 3 hours, we traveled the paved Via Libertadores – the main route to Lima – stopping only at one of the more 'rustic' and 'fragrant' baños along the way. On we went, through verdant valleys with dozens, maybe hundreds, of waterfalls tumbling down the steep slopes around us, and then over our first snowy, llama-infested, 16,000 foot pass, where we stopped for a few pictures of the herd and a curious, shaggy, herd dog. The skittish llamas tried to avoid us, and carefully stayed between us and any young llamas, but we got a few good shots anyway. 

    Then, at Rumichaca, we left the pavement and climbed onward into the outback. We'd spend the next 4 hours picking our way around potholes, past road crews (working with only shovels and an old wheelbarrow), and through some truly spectacular scenery marked by rounded glacial valleys and clear crystalline lakes mirroring snow-draped peaks. It was like something out of the Swiss Alps. With alpacas.

     Occasionally, there'd be a crossroads – and no sign. If there were a herdsman nearby tending his llamas, we'd ask the route to Huancavelica. If not, we'd just pick the one most traveled and hope for the best. We passed broad, snow-fed, Lake Choclococha (where they raise delicious trout), occasional thatch-roofed villages, and uncountable snow-capped peaks.   Heavy clouds hung on the mountains around us but we got only a small amount of rain. We made frequent stops for pictures, and those tell the story better than rambling descriptions of snow and majestic vistas.

 

    After about 3 hours of dirt road, we left the broad altiplano and began our steep drop into the valley where Huancavelica rests. We'd be dropping about 4,000 feet from the snowfields – down to only 12,100 feet (!). At one point, we could see the town in the valley below, but it still took quite a while to get there. And as we pulled into Huancavelica, there was a warm feeling of accomplishment, of having seen a lot of country most outsiders miss.

     We spent the next two days and nights, cold and wet, in Huancavelica. Those heavy clouds that had been lurking near us on the way from Ayacucho finally chose to descend. Each afternoon and evening we were drenched as we walked to dinner, or to find a Hot Toddy someplace, anyplace. But that's not an Andean tradition, so we searched, and shivered, in vain – although we found some of the best trout any of us could remember ever having eaten anywhere at the Restaurant 'Joy,' just off the Plaza. And the Chef really looked like he was enjoying himself.  

     The hotels in Huancavelica have no heat, so they give you three heavy blankets per bed. Sleeping with much of your clothing on also helps. And in the morning, when you peek out from under the covers to feel the cold air on your nose, there's condensation on the window because the cold room is much warmer than the outside. Remember, this is Summertime in the high Andes. I'm not really complaining here, because it was our choice to have this 'adventure.' I'm just describing the situation. 

    By mid-morning each day, the sun would emerge, the temperature would rise, and we spent some rewarding time exploring this charming town. The plaza was undergoing major renovation and was a muddy morass, but the adjoining streets were well paved with planter areas, brick work, and other niceties. We walked a few blocks to the train station to check the schedule, and found out the picturesque weekly "Tren Macho" would begin its season on Monday. And it was free(!), at least until Tourist Season really kicked in about March. So we made plans to endure one more cold, wet, night, and then head for the warmer lowlands around Huancayo – down at 10,650 feet.

     We had a good day ahead of us to wander the town. The Sunday market was filled with colorful goods, and people were friendly. There's a rewarding hike up a broad stairway to an overlook, San Cristóbal Mineral Springs, and a swimming pool that passes a series of fountains and statues on the way up. And at the top, you can see how serious they are about water reuse. Warm water spills out of the pool into a rocky channel crowded by people doing their laundry – before it tumbles down the hill through that series of fountains to the river!

    Monday morning dawned and we heard the bad news: the Tren would not be going because the tracks were blocked by a 'derrumbe,' or rockslide, caused by all the rains. In fact, the Tren couldn't even get to Huancavelica at all. Again, we made escape plans. You can take a bus to Huancayo, but there are guys who can drive you there as well. We decided to hire two cars because of how much gear we had –but we didn't want to just take the main road. They suggested another route over the top, through Palca, so off we went.

     We actually never saw Palca, because after maybe an hour in the back country, a road crew told us that route down the valley was blocked by a 'huayco,' or mudslide. No problem – if you're Peruvian. Such things are so common in the wet season that everyone just learns to cope and figure out a solution. We took another turn for the high country, passing by ancient stone bridges, rivulets of snowmelt trickling over the tundra, a few breathtaking drop-offs and past the snowy turnoff to a place named Chiribamba – which our Quechua driver translated as "Cold Village!" At one point, both drivers spotted a "perdiz," a quail-looking bird they said was more delicious than chicken, and bounded down the hill after it, leaving us to sit there and wait. We were relieved when they didn't catch it.

     Finally, we got back to the paved road for the easy run into Huancayo. We passed several small rockfalls and a few larger ones that had been cleared back to make a passageway (Linda counted 31 rockfalls for the day). Until we rounded a corner and pulled up behind a string of cars and buses stopped by tons of huge rocks blocking the pavement. In good Peruvian fashion the men sized up the situation, grabbed whatever collection of old wrenches they could muster, and started disassembling the guard rail by the cliff overhanging the Mantaro River valley and the train tracks, at least a thousand feet below.   

    Luckily, there was just enough room for cars to go around – if you were a good driver and not too squeamish. And if the cliff didn't crumble beneath you. As for the buses, they did what they always do: the passengers from each bus grabbed their gear and hiked to the bus on the other side of the blockage to continue their trip. And, as usual, there were ladies with food to sell, so we had a quick impromptu snack while the 'ad hoc' road crew dealt with getting us around the blockage.

    After about an hour, we were on our way again, stopping only for lunch in Izcuchaca, and a few snapshots of the impressive old bridge (built by the Incas, according to legend) that spans the raging Mantaro River.  

     We spent three days in Huancayo. It's an unspectacular working city, but the people were nice, the food was good, and we always find interesting things to do. There was an interesting, crumbling mercado area to explore, and several large churches to admire. Just walking down the street, we were included in a passing parade. And crossing the Plaza at one of the churches, we got swept up in a "Bajando los Reyes" celebration – that sort of thing can happen on a spur of the moment.

    We also met a young lady on the Plaza who was selling tickets for a tour of craft and farming areas in the surrounding countryside. For 30 soles each (less than US$11 a head), it seemed like a good idea. Sandra our tour guide was animated, informative, and fun to be with. 

     First, we visited a local weaver, then an organic dairy and enjoyed some truly excellent cheese and ice cream. Next up was a honey farmer whose pride in his bees was impressive. He calmly extracted one of the swarming combs from a hive and explained that there are two types of people around bees: calm people, and stung people. There was a jewelry maker who wore a rag-costume with a long cloth nose, a legend based tradition in his village. We took a ride in an oar-powered boat on a quiet lake. And we had trout for lunch beside a rushing stream in a gorgeous little valley filled with ancient oak trees, while an artist at the next table did a nice watercolor. The tour ended with a visit to the historic Convent of Santa Rosa de Ocopa, with very old art decorating the walls, and with its library of 30,000 dusty but beautiful leather-bound volumes collected over the centuries. Alas, no pictures allowed.

     Then it was back to Huancayo, as the sun set over the Andes. We needed to get a good night's sleep, and catch the comfortable Mercedes bus (with four axles!) through even more mountains back to Lima. That was another good trip, passing the old mining district of La Oroya, and dropping rapidly back to sea level, but we'll let the pictures tell that story.

Pictures for this entry are posted in two separate albums -- so much to see! One is S. American Odyssey: Ayacucho to Huancayo, and the other is S. American Odyssey: Huancayo to Lima