Rio Dulce

Fronteras, Rio Dulce

Guatemala

15°40.53´N   88°58.98´W

September 24, 2009

Up a Lazy River

Man, is it hot!

We came here in late June, about 25 miles up this gorgeous river, to escape the hurricane season. The trip up the river gorge from Livingston, at the mouth, was stunning. Blazing green, parrots and monkeys screaming, a real jungle. Unfortunately, despite all my clever timing of the spring tide, we ran aground at the river bar and had to be towed into Livingston sideways. That was fun. We tied up at Mario’s Marina, and haven’t moved since (the boat, at least). I do start everything regularly (on boats, as in people, motion is lotion). While the boat hasn’t moved, the people have, a lot (more on that later).

This place is a wide spot on the river, just downstream from Lago Izabel. Years ago, someone started a marina here, and now, like us, scores of boats come to the many marinas that cater to cruisers avoiding hurricanes. There are lots of people to play with (although many just leave their boats for long periods to do inland trips and to avoid the heat), many restaurants, a real fuel dock, some boat parts, and it’s very lush and pretty. The town (Fronteras) is a throwback to the wild west: one main street along the river, no sidewalks, lots of people and traffic, open stalls and markets, and an occasional real shooting.

We chose Mario’s from among the many other marinas for one main reason: the luscious, shaded pool. The water is actually cold (the river isn’t). I’m told it’s spring fed from high in the mountains. Who cares? It’s delicious to jump in on a blistering hot day and freeze one’s ass off.

It’s so hot here, that one gets sweaty just from doing a few minute’s boat work; or making the bed; or walking to the pool; or thinking about doing any of the above. Jeff (a well known good sweater) sweats so much that he had to install windshield wipers on his glasses to see. Have I mentioned how hot it is here?

After about 2 weeks of living in the oven, we went to Antigua, the old capital, which is a delightful colonial town in the mountains, thus cool (the opposite of hot). No, we didn’t sail there, those of you who are geographically impaired, we took a bus. It’s a wonderful place, quaint, interesting, with numerous attractive hotels, restaurants, museums, bars, and lots of outdoorsy things to do. We climbed an active volcano, where, unlike in some countries with too many lawyers, the guides not only allowed us to get as close as we wanted  to the lava, but even brought marshmallows to cook on sticks. Unfortunately, one of us got too close (guess which one) and crashed through the newly hardened lava, shredding his or her arm and hand. The blood soaked tissues, when thrown down onto the rocks, immediately blazed up, suggesting religious themes.

On the way up, one of us insisted on hiring a horse because of extreme fatigue, even though that one of us hates horses. On the way down, our actual guide fell, severely injuring his ankle, and had to be carried down the rest of the way on another horse. Finally, we were all stranded, and had to eat the horses to live. The two of us were, by far, the oldest farts on the trip, and only went because we were assured by the tour company that anyone could do it. Ha!

We also rented mountain bikes and toured the surrounding area, Very interesting, despite the heart attack. Part of the trip was a tour of a macadamia nut factory, which claims to supply the oil in various obscenely overpriced Lancome products, which one of us uses to excess.

We spent 2 wonderful weeks in Antigua, spending only the monopoly money that is a time share exchange. Jeff met and started a relationship with a scarlet macaw at the hotel, which was surrounded by signs warning guests not to approach or touch the macaw. She (I assume) was in love.

Jeff’s mom Lillian died in late July, after a truly nightmarish last few weeks of life. She was 91, and had a good life, but didn’t deserve the end she got. Credit and love goes to Stephanie, who held it together and did the hard work at the end. Thanks is inadequate.

We had made plans for a long trip back to the States before all this, and suddenly had to rearrange our plans to accommodate this reality. Of course, American Airlines couldn’t (wouldn’t) help. Incredibly, the best we could do was dovetail a completely separate trip onto our pre-existing trip in order to attend the funeral, etc.

The good news was we got to spend a lot of time with long lost (?) family. We were in NJ, NY, Mass. We then flew back to MIA, then to Guatemala City for one night, to start our original trip (I promise, we weren’t smuggling drugs), then back to MIA, for a connecting flight to San Francisco.

It was a rewarding, fun and eclectic trip. We were in San Francisco, Healdsburg, Sea Ranch, back to San Francisco and Lake Tahoe. Then, we flew back to MIA, drove to Daytona (actually, New Sphegma Beach) for a more relaxed family reunion, then drove to Lake Placid to see the Potters, then to Fort Lauderdale, Miami, and finally, back home to Antares, with, what else, 2 big bagsfull of boat parts.

Special thanks go to all who extended their hospitality to us during this long trip. It’s a burden to have cruisers (aka schnorrers) as friends. This includes (you know who you are) Steffi and Marty, George and Jerry, Steve and Janet, Donna and Charlie, Rick and Vicki, Jordan and Cindy, Bruce and Sandy, Aunt Milly and Uncle Ray, Ethan and Kim, Lara and Aaron and the adorable Logan,Vela and Joel, David and Lois, Maureen and Glenn, and especially Charlie, Lisa, Caroline (the queen of Healdsburg High School) and Kenneth (the triple threat madman of the Healdsburg Bulldogs). Please come to visit us (while there’s still time).

We’re back on the Rio, not yet acclimated to the heat, and September is the hottest month. Oy! The good news is we are just now planning a short land trip to Lake Atitlan for next week. The Lake is supposedly prettier than Tahoe, and cool. Can’t wait!

Did I mention how hot it is here yet?

Antares getting dragged over the bar

Traveling through the river gorge

A new look

Market place in Chichicastenango

Party animal on church steps in Chichi

Hiking the volcano

Sitting on the hot seat

Under the Volcano

Back rub at the macadamia nut factory

After the bike ride

Head scratch; one of them is dead

"Mayan Tortoise"

"Jeff's New Lover"

"Providencia"

Utila

Water Cay

Utila

Honduras

16º04.158´ N 86º57.871´W

June 12, 2009

Heaven is in Your Mind

(Traffic)

How true!

Here we are, in many people’s idea of heaven, but of course (as with everything), it’s only true sometimes. The worst part for me are the things that break constantly (and we have one of the good boats). Here’s a partial recent list: generator won’t start, generator overheats, windlass controls don’t work (luckily, we have a remote in the cockpit), wind, depth and speed instruments in the cockpit suddenly don’t work (again, luckily, we have another display in the cabin, and I was able to apply the greater hammer theory to that, which has, for the moment, fixed the problem). The main VHF radio gave up the ghost, and a high pressure line for the water maker blew out. In Panama, the hot water heater broke for the second time. The outboard ( a nearly new and usually reliable Yamaha) stopped running (a faulty fuel line connector) and the shaft that holds the gear shift lever rusted and sheared off, requiring me to drill it out from some very odd angles. My theory about boats is that the half time to any random failure is about 30 minutes. If anybody tells you that it’s no different than a house (you do, after all, have to fix the roof about every 20 years), just look at them quizzically and laugh gently.

Some people like fixing these things constantly (like my friend Fred on Mistral), but I don’t. I never worked on cars, wasn’t an engineer or construction worker. Almost everything I do is new to me, so there’s the uncertainty (or total ignorance) factor. Plus, parts are not easily available, professional help is hardly that, and usually unreliable, functioning on island time, where soon come means nothing, and manana means not now, not necessarily tomorrow, sometime later, no time in particular.

I shouldn’t be kvetching. Our good friends on Lulu just got hit by lightening for the third time! All the electronics and electrical stuff is ruined. They now are stuck for 4 months with a multi-tens of thousand dollar job.

On the other hand, I’m writing this to the sound of the waves breaking on the nearby reef, one of my favorites (and apparently universally so: they put that sound into sleep machines, along with rain, chirping frogs, and people moaning).

Those of you who read the last blog (well written by Phyllis, don’t you think? I may be out of a job) know that I flew to FL to help with my my ailing mother, while Phyllis stayed with the boat. We stayed at Fantasy Island Marina a little longer than we planned to, because it was very hot and windless for a few days, and the a/c sure felt good.

Back in the day, I read a book named Meetings with Remarkable Men, by George Ivanovitch Gurdjieff. During our last cruise 20 years ago, we met a remarkable man named Alan Frank. He was kind, generous, tall and handsome, and our good friend for a while. He was also probably the only lawyer, engineer, Jewish, semi-pro basketball player, fugitive from the FBI for extortion, father of a Jewish starting tight end for the 49ers (when they were good) in the world. Jon (the son) quit at the top of his game to finish medical school, and went on to become an orthopedist on the Peninsula. The last time I saw Alan (the father), he was sailing off from somewhere with 2 people he had stolen from the Dominican Republic (a beautiful young woman named Benicia [who spoke little English, but called Alan Captain Meshugeneh] and Turkey Green, a somewhat famous jack of all trades), singing opera at the top of his lungs. The last time I saw his boat (“Jonathan” for his son, whom he adored), it was moored forlornly in Grenada, having been attached by Jon in order to recoup some of the money that his loving father had extorted from him! Alan was, at the time, in the slammer, having been picked up by the FBI while attempting to visit his son in the US.

This time, we met another remarkable man, in Fantasy Island. His name is Jamie Betheaepstein (no hyphen). Jamie is, in all likelihood, the only Black, Jewish, psychiatrist, previous NFL kick returner (with a super bowl ring, eppis), dive master and instructor, owner of a live aboard dive boat in Roatan. He claims his brother is Larry Bethea, who was a first round draft choice for the Cowboys as a defensive end. Larry never lived up to his potential, was cut after about 6 years, played for a couple of teams in that horrible new league (I can’t remember the name, but Oakland had a team). He was caught robbing a convenience store, and then shot himself in the head. As for Jamie, if you doubt any of this, you could look him up (google him; it makes for interesting reading). He is, however, another generous guy. He took Phyllis and I on our first wreck dive (unfortunately, I got lost in one of the rooms-very spooky experience).

I don’t know why we don’t meet any women like this. They probably just aren’t crazy enough.

We left Fantasy Island for West End, an attractive little town with a great anchorage, plenty of good enough restaurants, and endless diving opportunities just behind our boat (the Park Service even provides moorings for diving and anchoring). From there to Utila, another of the Bay Islands, with an even more interesting town, which reminds (old) me of the old Caribbean (which is, of course, much better than the new Caribbean). Just now, we are in the Water Cays of Utila, having come back from snorkeling all day to scout out a good scuba dive for tomorrow. There’s even what appears to be a great little town here. We’ll check it out tomorrow.

In a few days, we’ll start moving toward the Rio Dulce of Guatemala, where “Antares” will stay for 4 months of the hurricane season, but we won’t. We’ve plans for extensive land travel in Guatemala (Antigua,  Tikal, etc.) and the US. It’s not our style to sit in a place for 4 months with other cruisers, playing Mexican train dominoes, going to pot lucks, swap meets, wife swapping parties, etc.

Speaking of wives, we had an earthquake here (or an ocean quake) a couple of weeks ago, at 2:30 AM. It was a 7.3 on the Richter scale, and boy did we feel it (the epicenter was only 23 miles away, under the ocean). I thought Phyllis was getting frisky, but no such luck. There were fears of a tsunami, but it never happened.

More later.

I took this photo after he raided the sugar bowl in the restaurant

Bad Monkey

No, I'm not

A close encounter

Bats at the hotel

Fantasy Island Hotel pool

Hotel Pretty Boy

Jeff Costeau

Besa me

Butterfly fish

Close up Blue Tangs

cleaning station.....these fish will clean the mouths of other reef fish. It's like a dentist's office under the sea

"Under the Boardwalk"

Fantasy Island

 

May 13,2009
Fantasy Island Marina , Roatan, Honduras
16 21.429 N 86 26.351 W

De Plane! De Plane! I’m on Fantasy Island but I can’t find Ricardo Montalban and the only midget on the island is myself.
Jeff left for Florida on Mother’s Day to take care of family business. I stayed behind to look after the boat. It’s a little lonely but I enjoy the time alone to paint and catch up on the blog. The marina is a pretty place with a hotel that caters to divers. Roatan is a lot about diving as beautiful reefs surround the island. We haven’t had time to dive here yet, but we’ve done a lot of snorkeling along our route to Honduras.
Donna and Charlie Schaffer joined us for 2 weeks in April. They flew to San Andres and sailed with us to Providencia. San Andres and Providencia are Colombian islands off the coast of Guatemala. Both Donna and Charlie are avid divers. Charlie takes fantastic underwater photos and has given me permission to use them on the blog. The reefs in Providencia were healthy and beautiful which has been a rare situation in the Caribbean.
After the Schaffers flew back home we left Providencia and sailed pass the Mosquito Coast of Nicaragua to the Hobbies Cays. We were sailing with a catamaran called “Mistral” with Fred and Barbara Cusksey aboard. At around 1am during our watch change, Jeff noticed that “Mistral” had altered her course. Jeff called her on the VHF to ask about the course change. We got no response. We tried for nearly 3 hours with several different radios including the SSB and still had no response . About that time Jeff noticed that the radar revealed that there was a vessel within two miles from us with no lights on. Because Nicaragua is “big time” pirate territory our anxiety increased. What if they we boarded? What if pirates killed them? What if one of them fell overboard while the other slept? We could see the navigation lights on “Mistral” and because she’s a faster boat she was getting further and further away from us. Starting to worry ,we decided to call for assistance. On VHF channel 16 we tried in vain to hail Honduran and Nicaraguan coastguards and then used the SSB for stronger reception. We heard nothing, not even the fisherman chatter that is frequently heard out to sea. In a last ditch effort we used our satellite phone and called directory assistance in Miami to get the number of the Miami coastguard. At around 4am we contacted the U.S. coastguard in Miami , told them of the situation and asked them to call the Honduran coastguard for assistance. At the same time we were closely monitoring the mysterious vessel without lights. The coastguard in Miami agreed to our request and told us they would call us back with the results. After hanging up with Miami we decided to call out on the VHF one more time. You guessed it; Barbara’s cheery voice answered our call. She was totally unaware of the situation and when we filled her in with the details she seemed clearly embarrassed. We were relieved but fairly humiliated by having called the coastguard. We immediately called back Miami on our satellite phone and told them of the situation.
According to her crew, when “Mistral’s” AIS is used it disables the VHF radio. I forget what AIS stands for but it is used to track and identify other vessels in the area. When Barbara got up for her watch at 4pm she turned off the AIS and resumed receiving on her VHF. And that’s the happy ending of a dreadfully anxious night. There were no pirates and Fred did not fall overboard. In fact they slept quite well on “Mistral” during that passage. Aboard “Antares” was another story; but we did we manage to sleep soundly when we anchored that afternoon in the Hobbies and when we woke up the local fishermen sold us two large lobsters for $5 and a pack of cigarettes.

Antares at anchor in Isla Providencia

 

Barracuda

 

 

Dinner

 

 

Donna and a nurse shark

 

Spotted Eagle Ray

 

French Angelfish

 

This ray thinks we can't see him

 

Providencia reef

 

Sea Fans

 

Two stars

 

"Wave Dancer"

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Kuna Yala

Colon, Panama

March 14, 2009

I’ve been elected to write the blog this time around because the captain’s creative thoughts are dampened by worldly worries.  It’s true that his writing abilities are more developed than mine but I’ll try my best to make this blog entry somewhat intelligible and entertaining.  However, I must point out that he can’t even draw a stick figure.  Oh well, you can’t have everything ….and I’m better looking too!
We left Cartegena, Columbia on New Years Eve and sailed on a down wind trip, port hopping through the San Blas Islands of Panama.  The San Blas Islands are located on Panama’s Caribbean coast. They are considered to be one of the most perfect cruising grounds in the world and are unique because they are home to the indigenous Kuna Indians.  The islands and their associated mainland territories are called Kuna Yala by the Kuna Indians.  Kuna Yala does not welcome industrial development and the rain forest land looks much like it did when Spainish first arrived hundreds of years ago.  An exception to the lack of industry is the introduction of high tech telephone buildings that are present on the most populated islands.
The Kunas are physically small but are well proportioned and appear to be very healthy.  They are for the most part, a very peaceful population.  The married women wear the traditional dress of colorful molas, glass beads around their arms and legs, tattooed face paint, gold nose rings, earrings and necklaces.  The men and unmarried children wear western attire; tee shirts, shorts and flipflops.  My experience was that they loved to be photographed and sometimes insisted that we photograph everyone in the family including the dog.  Since 1925 no Kuna is allowed to intermarry.  Violation of this rule results in expulsion from the tribe. Kuna Yala is a matriarchal society, the woman controls the money and the husband pays to marry her and then moves into her family compound. Family values appear to be quite traditional but there is a tolerance for gay and in particular, transvestite life styles.
Kuna villages are composed of huts that are made from cane and the roof is constructed from palm leaf found in the jungle.  Every village has two oversized huts, the “congreso” and the “chicha”.  The “congresso” is the townhall where the villagers congregate.  The “Sailas” is the chief who  provides wisdom for the Kunas and sings sacred songs.  The “chicha” hut is basically the local brewery.  “Chicha” is a distilled drink made from sugar cane that is used for spiritual events.  During these events most of the villagers, including the children become intoxicated.
Each island is a cooperative society. The day starts out early for the Kunas .  Many get into their “ulus” at sunrise and paddle to the mainland where they harvest fruit, firewood, sugar cane and coconuts.  Others fish for the village.  The women create and sell “molas”.  These are beautiful appliquéd textiles made by sewing and cutting different layers of cloth.  The designs range from geometric designs to abstract images of birds, fish, animals and depictions of Kuna life.  During our visit I developed a case of “E- Mola Virus” (a deadly buying disease coined by a fellow cruiser).
The water surrounding the islands that were close to the mainland were murky and sometimes inhabited by salt water crocodiles (yikes!).  We didn’t do much swimming in those waters.  The islands that were further west and away from the mainland had crystal clear water with beautiful reefs.  We spent many days snorkeling and visiting the reefs with the use of our “snuba” ( a  floating gas powered compressor equipped with two regulators that hang off its sides).  Jeff and fellow cruiser Stu from “Heartsong”  spent many hours hunting for lobsters to no avail.  We ended up buying them from visiting Kunas that paddle up to our boats to peddle them along with fish, octopus, vegetables, fruit and, of course, molas.  They also want you to charge their cell phones because they have no electricity on their islands.  It’s a very strange sight to see a traditionally dressed Kuna with a cell phone in their hand.
We left those islands in February, parked the boat in a slip at Shelter Island Marina at the entrance to the Panama Canal and flew home for a short visit with friends and family,  skied for a few days in Tahoe and bought stuff for the boat in Fort Lauderdale.  It was great to see everyone and I decided that once a year was not enough time for a visit home.  So, we will return to the states again in August.  The plan is to sail to Guatemala via the Colombian islands of Providencia and San Andres, with stops in the Bay Islands along the coast of Honduras.
At present we are dealing with boat issues such as a leaking hot water heater with a short and an up coming haul out date to get the boat’s bottom painted.

Typical Kuna village

Ulus and laundry in Kuna village

Kuna fisherman on a jungle river

Kuna family visits Antares

Traditional dress

Village woman in her house

Mola maker with her child

Selling molas

A visit with a Kuna family on one of the Chichime Cays

Playing with a Kuna family

Antares at anchor

Antares interior

Antares main salon

With Stu and Sandy from "Heartsong" on a Chichime cay

"Mola Maker"

"Tree Blossums"

"Peruvian Flute Player"

Adios Cartagena

Club de Pesca
Cartagena, Colombia
10º24.937´ N  75º32.718´W
Christmas Day

“Go very light on the vices, such as carrying on in society. The social ramble ain’t restful.”
Satchel Paige

Boy, is that ever true. We haven’t been this active socially since we were communists.

We’re still here at the fabulous Club de Pesca, where it’s been an endless series of parties, drinks, dinners, restaurants, etc. since we got here. Luckily, Colombia is not very expensive, and we still have some energy left over from our youths.

There are several cruising boats here, plus many friendly Colombian boaters, all conspiring to create an ongoing floating party. Plus, the Club and it’s members are extraordinarily friendly (as are most Colombians), so we’re included in many of the Club’s social events. The best was the recent annual regatta. It was part fishing tournement, part sailing races, and endless parties. I was crew (tripulante) on an English friend’s boat.  As crew, Phyllis and I were invited to all the events of the regatta (3 breakfasts, 3 dinners, free drinks, other events). The last day’s race was the “Admiral’s Cup”, named that because each entry had a real Colombian admiral as crew. We took secundo (second) in that race. What a trip! We screamed across the finish, turned hard right, and then paraded by the “Gloria”, the Colombian cadet tall ship. All the cadets and officers aboard “Gloria”, in dress whites, snapped to attention, pipes were sounded, and they saluted us and our admiral. After we docked, we attended a party on the “Gloria” where we were presented our trophy for second place. Phyllis loved getting served drinks by all those cute cadets.

I, on the other hand, liked getting served endless free scotch by the 3 lovely “Grant’s girls” provided by the club. Also, free wine, food, entertainment…..yikes, these people can party.

Recently, I read an article in a cruising magazine about Cartagena. The author described the two choices of marinas: the Club de Pesca (where we are) and the Club Nautico, where, by far,  most of the other cruisers stay. He aknowledged that Club de Pesca was nicer (the other place is somewhat of a dump), but disparaged the Club de Pesca (and, by extention, those of us who stay here) as being somehow uppity. What he doesn’t get is how much staying here, (mostly among Colombians), instead of there (mostly among Americans, Canadians and the dreaded French) has contributed to our total enjoyment of Cartagena. We have partied with some of the richest (but still friendliest) people in the country. We have been invited to dinner and breakfast at a club member’s penthouse overlooking all of Cartagena. One couldn’t buy these kinds of experiences.

Still, we’re eager to get going now. I think we have been on the dock too long. We have a Christmas party tonight, then various goodbye dinners and drinks, then we’ll leave next week for “something completely different” the San Blas Islands of Panama. I’ve attended (I hope) to all the boat tsouris (a broken high pressure hose on the watermaker, a leaking water pump on the generator, a maddening leak in the raw water supply line of the generator that took me hours to trace [it was as a result of a typically French Rube Goldberg design that was totally unnecessary], and other smaller projects). We’ve also gotten a lot of medical projects taken care of here. They have good practitioners and very cheap prices. There is a “weather window” for next week (that just means that the winds will be something less than 30 knots, and the waves less than 12 feet). We’ll probably be going alone, because all of our friends going that way want to stay for New Years. We’re ready to leave. We’ll probably come back here some time.
Hasta luego, Cartagena. What a town!

Pangea crew in racing whites

Shopping crew in uniform

With trophy aboard "Gloria" . Our admiral in foreground

The queen mother of cadets

Grant girls with leacher (aka Stu)

Christmas carriage ride

Carriage ride

Christmas lights in old town

Her first communion

"Fruit Vendors"

"Cartagena Courtyard"

Cartagena

Cartagena, Colombia
10°24.94´N  75°32.72´W
December 2, 2008

Colombia, the Gem of the Ocean

We love it here!

Twenty years ago, we didn’t come to Cartegena because we were scared off by all the bad press about drug wars, pirates and other tsuris. What a mistake. Cartagena des Indias (the proper name) is by far the best town we’ve been to by boat, on this or any other trip. It’s a World Heritage site. The old town (called Centro) is a completely walled island with original 16th century architecture. Think French Quarter of New Orleans, only much better. Forts are everywhere, including the marina we’re staying at, which occupies an old fort (the entrance has no sign; you just have to know where it is).

We’ve learned that Cartagena has always been safe pretty safe, even during Colombia’s time of trouble. It has a laid back, Caribbean atmosphere. All the warring factions have respected it’s neutrality (even drug lords, communist guerillas, and right wing terror squads need a place to vacation). Now, Colombia has entered a period of relative stability and peace, thanks in large part to it’s president (Urribe), who is almost universally admired by Colombians, unlike the situation in some other countries we know (are you listening Chavez, you moron).

We’re staying at the Club de Pesca, a private club that allows transients. Most of the cruisers are down the street at Club Nautica, which has the same feeling (for us) as Georgetown, Bahamas, where 400 cruising boats vegetate for the winter. Endless meetings, dominoes, flea markets, wife swapping, etc. Here, there are about 10 transient boats, and it’s way better. The Club is wonderful and hospitable, inviting us to functions, helping out and being extraordinarily friendly (as an example, we were invited to breakfast at a board member’s house last weekend). This week is their annual fishing/racing tournament, which we will participate in. That means, in addition to the races, free breakfast every day, free dinners at night, and endless parties (something Colombians are very good at). Of course, part of the festivities will involve the Colombian national sport of beautiful women parading around in hardly anything. When we first arrived, they were celebrating Independence Day (which went on for 2 weeks). Most of the celebrations consisted of  gigantic parades through Centro featuring the Miss Colombia contestants (including a boat parade, which we had front row seats for). Colombian women are often quite beautiful, and the Colombians know it and celebrate it. It’s not for nothing that Colombia has had more Miss Universes than any other country. The parades were like an endless Mardi Gras, but much better. Colombians seem to be generally happy and friendly. They like Americans (apparently the only ones left in the world that do), and always have a hola! (hello) for you.

The Club is on a nice residential island called Manga, which is conveniently just across a small bridge from Centro. We walk everywhere, including at night. No fear. The town is full of good, often inexpensive restaurants and shops, and more traditional places where you can buy or get anything fixed. So far, to my amazement, we’ve had our TV fixed, and today, I had a pair of flip flops (my favorite Reefs) repaired (for $1.25). Try that in the States.

The only down side to all of this, is that we’ve been stuck on the dock for so long, living in a very nice floating apartment. It’s nearly impossible to leave, what with all the socializing, going out to eat, etc. When we first arrived early in November, our friends Bruce and Sandy were visiting, so we took them cruising to some local islands for a few days. That was great: we actually had some fishermen deliver cooked lobster to us. I would like to go again (we probably will next week), but boy, are we having fun being degenerates. This also isn’t very healthy for our bank account (neither is the stock market; it’s hard to economize by pinching pennies when you lose thousands of dollars every day). Oh well, one of us is a rich woman.

For the benefit of our sailing friends (who have complained that I don’t include enough navigational information), the trip here from Curacao was a mixed bag. It was supposed to be potentially dangerous (it has the reputation of being among the 5 worst passages in the world). The most wind we had was 35 knots and pretty big seas, but no problemo, “Antares” and crew did fine. Some legs even required motoring, which drives me crazy when going downwind in the Carribbean. “Antares” is a pretty big boat, and needs 15 to 20 knots to sail downwind well, so I prefer windy conditions, to a point. We arrived in a terrible tropical depression, with friends George and Pixie of “Silver Sea”. Getting into Cartagena was tricky; you have to cross an underwater wall at Boca Grande built by the Spanish 400 years ago to keep out the British. It apparently doesn’t work on Americans.

Plans are to stay through xmas, which is, we hear, wonderful in Cartagena. Then to Panama (particularly the San Blas Archipelago, a semi-autonomous group of islands controlled by the Kuna indians, famous for moles [mole-ace] shirts and wonderful soft shoe dancing). We’ll leave the boat in Panama, and return to the States in early Feb. Upon returning in March, we’ll have the boat hauled out for bottom painting, etc. After that, who knows? Maybe Barack will let us go to Cuba.

If anybody is looking for a slightly different Caribbean vacation, Cartagena would be a good choice. If you have any money left, try the Santa Clara Hotel. It’s in Centro, constructed within the remains of an old convent, and wonderful. It’s a bit pricey, but worth much more. We go there to drink, eat and gawk. Did I mention the beautiful Colombian women?

Torre de Reloj  (clock tower) (entrance into old city)

Court yard

Dancers in parade

Fruit vendors

Horse cart

Island home, Islas Rosarios

Jeff and Bruce at Gold Museum

Landfall Cartagena

Lobster vendor (not enough dinero, amigo)

Colombian Army at the parade

Phyllis' 39th b'day party

Sandy

With George and Pixie at castle

Me and Pedro (Pedro is the sloth)

Street scene 1

Street scene 2

Miss Cartagena contestant

Another beauty

“Mango Vendor”

“Cartagena Shop”

Bonaire

Kralendijk, Bonaire

12º 09.175´ N 68º 16.744´ W

October 13, 2008

Tickled Pink on the Island of Pink Flamingos

I almost didn’t write this today, because my mood is a little gloomy. In addition to the general malaise resulting from the financial meltdown which is affecting everyone (thanks all you politicians, bankers, mortgage brokers, appraisers, unqualified borrowers, and everyone else who brought this down on us [including us ourselves]), we here in paradise have been having our own little problems. The weather has been generally awful, hot and muggy with little of the refreshing trade winds normally found here. In addition to being uncomfortable, this results in winds coming from unusual directions, which makes the anchorage here rolly, and sometimes even dangerous, becoming a lee shore. It hasn’t happened yet, but from time to time during these “reversals” it’s necessary to suddenly leave the anchorage. This may happen this week. Thanks for this too, President Bush!

More personally, someone stole my folding bike off a dock during the Regatta, (a famous annual sailboat racing event here), and a mechanic ripped me off. Not only did this, as usual with these kinds of things, make me feel violated, but it also made me think less of the place, which previously has been high on my list of favorite places (we’ve been here several times before. In fact, Phyllis and I came here first 35 years ago to dive, immediately after getting certified in SF. We were also here several times during our last cruise 20 years ago).

Now for something completely different (Lyle, you may want to avert your eyes just now; this may be more than you want to know): Lyle was conceived on an island 35 miles east of here, twice! (the first time, it didn’t stick). Both times, exactly one year apart, Phyllis confirmed she was pregnant, in Bonaire. In fact, Lyle’s name is from the French L’Isle, which means from or of the island.

So, Bonaire occupies a special place in our lives. It’s also a wonderful island. It’s one of the ABC’s (Aruba, Bonaire and Curacao), which are part of the Netherlands Antilles. As such, it has wonderful people, who are either Dutch, or a mixture of Dutch, Black and South American. The native tongue is Papamiento, which is a patois of all of the above. Everybody also speaks English and Dutch, which makes things very easy. The people are very friendly, organized, and generally honest, as opposed to those in some other countries we know (are you paying attention, Chavez?). It has world class scuba diving (we have finally been getting a lot of use out of our Airline unit, which is a floating compressor driven by a Honda engine, making tanks, BC’s, etc. unnecessary). It also has some very strange and beautiful scenery, including the Goto Meer, which is a huge brackish lake with hundreds of pink flamingos, iguanas, and other creatures not generally seen in Brooklyn.

We got here about 2 weeks ago, after a delightful cruise through the offshore (mostly uninhabited) Venezuelan islands of Tortuga, Los Roques, and Las Aves. Lots of free diving (we even finally got our [temporary] fill of lobsters). We especially liked Las Aves (again), which are 2 sets of horseshoe shaped coral atolls like in the Pacific. We anchored in the lagoon in the middle, with almost no land in sight, and dove every day on the countless coral heads nearby. Very romantic (although unlike previously, no children were made, thank you), almost no people (we were visited several times by the local Venezuelan Coast Guard, who were 8 kids, one with a submachine gun, in a leaking skiff. They were apparently bored to death, and visited us to talk and drink beer.)

Today, we’re waiting for the arrival of our friends on “Silver Sea”, who have been carrying a care package for us for several weeks. We are also waiting for mail. We plan then to depart for Curacao (a much bigger island with lots of provisioning opportunities), where we’ll be joined by Bruce and Sandy, who’ll sail with us to Columbia, probably in about 2 weeks, weather permitting.

Tomorrow is our 30^th anniversary. Thirty years of unrelenting bliss! Can you believe it? (I can’t). Because of our outrageously expensive trip to Argentina and Peru (which we gave to ourselves as an anniversary present) and because we now have no money thanks to the financial crisis (are you paying attention Lyle?), we’ll just go out to eat at a nice restaurant here (called, interestingly “It’s Raining Fishes”).

Postscript: my mood has improved considerably. I just dove down below the boat (we’re in about 25 feet) and found the fork I accidentally threw overboard last night, and also found a pair of $200 sunglasses (not mine; they’re Versace) and a fishing lure. Now, I have the fever. I intend to cruise the entire anchorage in snorkeling gear on a scavenging mission. Just as soon as I awaken from my nap.

PPS: 10/15/08

Bad weather was predicted, as I alluded to above. Interestingly, nobody could predict exactly what would happen. Just in case, we prepared the boat for a quick get-away, and went to sleep on the night of 10/13. At 2AM 10/14 (our anniversary) we were awakened by a tremendous squall, with lots of rain, thunder and lightening, and winds of 40+ knots from the west (exactly the wrong direction for us, putting us on a lee shore). That started it. We were up all night, with the engine, radar and all navigational instruments running, debating whether or not to run. Finally, at daybreak, we decided to try to go into the marina for refuge. Just at that moment, Phyllis yelled “there goes our dinghy!” A shackle on the painter had bent and opened,, casting our dinghy (think car) adrift. Without thinking (stupidhead!; please don’t tell my mother), I jumped into ferocious seas, swam for the dinghy (which was about 50 feet from destruction on the rocks), got in, attached the starting lanyard (which I suddenly realized I had been hiding for safety against thieves ever since my bike was stolen), and, in one pull (thank you Yamaha), started the engine and backed away from the shore in 15 foot breakers, 2 feet from destruction (mine and the dinghy’s). I motored back to Antares, to find Phyllis on the stern, ashen faced (she still loves me, or was frightened that she couldn’t run the boat herself). Then I realized I would have to get aboard, with the stern of the boat rearing 8 feet above my head (ouch!) Phyllis threw me a line, I got the dinghy tied off, timed it, and jumped. I’m still here (stupidhead!) Yee-ah!

We dropped our mooring lines (a feat in itself in those conditions) and motored into the marina, very shaken. Interestingly as soon as we started to move, everyone else in the mooring field did the same. We were the first of many boats (cruisers, locals, Venezuelan fishing boats, etc.), to go into the marina (which is now like a parking lot for boats) for refuge. We, and everybody else, should have done it the night before. It’s a hard lesson to learn.

So, we spent our 30^th anniversary on Antares, in a marina, in pouring rain, eating soup and sandwiches washed down with large volumes of rum and soda water for me, gin and tonics for P. We were going to go out to a local restaurant, but they were all closed due to what has now become Hurricane Omar. The town is a wreck, with numerous seafront facilities ruined (including the docks of the little marina where my bike was stolen from). An anniversary to remember!

Working on the Blog

Boats on Moorings at Kralendijk waterfront (later destroyed by Tropical Storm Omar)

Restrooms in the Bonaire desert…….

Guess which is the girl’s and boy’s?

Dashboard Saint…..Dr. Jose Gregorio Hernandez, patron saint of Venezuela

Flock of pink flamingos in Goto Meer sanctuary, Bonaire

Flamingo landing

Colorful lizard, Washington Nat’l Park, Bonaire

Iguana looking for a handout

On the road, Washington Nat’l Park

Making use of a going away present

Visitor in Los Roques

Bonaire waterfront before Tropical Storm Omar

“Los Nevados” (Venezuelan Andes, near Merida)

“Mother Ocean”

“Waterfront”

Venezuela

Puerto La Cruz, Venezuela
October 2, 2008

Matilda, She Take-a Me Money and Run Venezuela
Harry Belafonte

We had booked a 1 week land trip to Merida, a western Venezuelan city in the Andes. After discovering that it would cost about $900 to fly there (it’s only a few hundred kilometers from PLC), we decided to take a bus (18 hours with 2 rest/eating stops, and, as it turned out, a shakedown by theGuardia National, who stopped the bus at 2AM and made everyone disembark, collect their luggage, go through a portable x ray machine, and get back on). Our Venezuelan friend Ricardo took us to make a reservation or buy a ticket. Upon arrival, the very attractive chica (don’t worry, all you N. Californians, this is not considered derogatory in Venezuela) told Ricardo we could neither buy a ticket, nor make a reservation. Why? Because they don’t take reservations, and don’t sell tickets more than 3 days before departure. Why is that? She smiles sweetly, and shrugs her shoulders. Ricardo says “let’s go, we’ll come back 3 days before departure”. As we turn to leave, the very same chica, looking furtively from side to side, calls us back, and puts our name on a reservation list. As we left, I asked Ricardo what just happened. Ricardo is very intelligent, speaks nearly perfect English, and is a native of PLC. He just shrugged his shoulders and said “In this country, everything is possible, and nothing is possible, at the same time.” I have decided to call this phenomenon “La regla de Ricardo” (Ricardo’s Rule), to explain everything in Venezuela which is, to me, inexplicable. (By the way, we returned to the bus station 4 days before the trip to buy the tickets. The very nice woman I spoke to before recognized me in the ticket line (she was working in the shipping line that day). She closed her line, motioned me over, and with a big smile, sold me the tickets at half price. Upon arrival at Merida, 8 days before we were to leave, they sold us our return tickets.) La regla de Ricardo.

We stayed in a timeshare in Merida that we got by trading points from our timeshare in Lake Tahoe. It’s supposed to be an equivalent trade. Here are some of La Regla de Ricardo as applied to our time share:
1) The dining room opened for breakfast at a) 8AM b) 7AM or c) never. This isn’t a multiple choice quiz. All the answers are correct.
2) Our breakfast was a) included b) not included or c) half and half. Again, all are correct.
3) The pool towels were not available at the pool. I guessed this in advance, having become a student of La Regla. We went to the office, where they “rented” pool towels, which we did. We then proceeded (where else?) to the pool. There, the pool boy asked us for identification. We had none. Finally, I understood that we had to have one of those plastic bracelets one sees everywhere at places like this. Where does one get such a bracelet? Why, at the office, of course. We walked 300 yards back to the office, and asked the very same receptionist who had rented us pool towels moments before, for our bracelets, which she cheerfully provided. I asked her with wonder why she hadn’t given us one when we were given our towels. She shrugged sweetly. La Regla.

There are many other examples. Of course. The best, however, occurred when we returned to the pool. I was admiring my new bracelet, which had a symbol of the hotel (Aldea Valle Encantado) telephone numbers, internet address, etc., and the motto “Donde se escuela el silencio” (where one can hear the silence). The hotel is indeed set in a beautiful environment-a small valley surrounded by beautiful mountains and vegetation, done in neo Andean adobe and stucco with red tiled roofs. I turned to Phyllis, who was sitting in the pool chair right next to me, to point out the motto. Unfortunately, she couldn’t hear a word I said, despite the fact that she was sitting right next to me. My words were drowned out by the ubiquitous, astoundingly loud, bad Venezuelan rock ‘n roll, heard at every pool, marina, restaurant or any where else there are more than 2 Venezuelans.

Despite all this, we loved Merida (again, having been there 20 years ago). It’s a special place with great weather, beautiful scenery friendly intelligent people, and lots of outdoorsy things to do. The highlight was a trip to a small town (Los Nevados) at 3500 meters. The teleferico (cable car) which is Merida’s main tourist attraction, has been broken forever. We took a harrowing 4 hour jeep ride on a road so bad that the jeep nearly turned around. We stayed in a very nice posada, where we were told we couldn’t go back the next day, because the road was closed for repairs. Instead, we would have to ride mules several miles, to a point where we could meet our jeep. It turned out to be horses, not mules, which I loved, but Phyllis was terrified. By the way, the road wasn’t closed (our jeep passed us on the way).

As for the rest of our time in Venezuela, I’ll resort to the old admonition not to say anything if you have nothing nice to say. Our friend, el Presidente (not Bush), who is now despised by most of the Venezuelans we met, has totally screwed up what was previously, for us, our favorite country.

Tomorrow, we leave for a leisurely cruise through the offshore islands of Tortuga, Los Roques, Las Aves, and then to Bonaire. We can’t wait to be sailing and cruising again. Hasta la vista!

Andean Village

Farmer

Los Nevados

Our posada in Los Nevados

hammocks on the terrace

Family on horse back

View from our posada

Our horses for the trip down the mountain

Our friend Angel and our luggage on the mule beside him

View on the way down

City bus in Merida

Joia, our tour guide in Merida

Jeff in the Parador

Butterfly kisses

Peru

Lima, Peru

August 5, 2008

Ink-A-Dink-A-Dink-A-Dink-A-Dink-A-Dink-A-Do

Jimmy Durante

Rama-Llama-Llama-Llama-Llama-Ding-Dong

The Edsels, covered by Sha-na-na

And now for something completely different…..

Argentina and Peru, despite being neighbors, couldn’t be more different. Argentina (should be) a first world country which seems always to be trying to become a third world country. Peru is a third world country stumbling to become a first world country. Argentina is European, Peru indigenous.

Our Peru trip was the first arranged trip we have ever had. It was a whirlwind tour of central Peru. We visited Lima, Puerto Maldonado (in the Amazonian rain forest), Cusco (the capital of the Incas at their height), the Sacred Valley, Machu Picchu, Lake Titicaca and Ica (Nazca lines). It was all Inka, all the time. It was a great trip, but boy, are we tired (the altitude sickness and turista didn’t help).

Lima is a fairly typical capital city, with an urbane center and atrocious shanty town slums surrounding the center (like a lot of Latin American cities). The interesting thing is, Lima is the largest desert city in the world. The coast of Peru is a complete desert (it almost never rains there), but it’s cool, like SF, almost always enveloped in fog.

Puerto Maldonado is a wild west town on the Rio Madre de Dios in the Amazonian rain forest, used as an embarkation point for trips to various ecohotels on the river. For some reason, everybody with us knew what was coming, but we didn’t. At the embarkation point, the guides made all of us consolidate our stuff into one bag (our allotment), which caused a frenzied scene of people unpacking their unmentionables (“hurry, my friend, hurry!”). We were then herded into a motorized canoe for a 2 hour trip down river to the lodge, which was beautiful the way it blended in to the jungle scenery, but not in the fact that our room had 1 dim bulb (which was shut down at 10 PM) and a very cold shower. The jungle was interesting, but I wouldn’t want to live there. We did see lots of monkeys, caimans, parrots, turtles, tarantulas, and an anaconda (I thought they were all mechanized props, but the guides swore they were real.)

Cusco is a great town at a very high elevation (about 3500 meters). It’s an international hang out, full of tourists from all over. It was the capital of the Inca empire, with numerous Inca ruins, colonial stuff, etc. The Cusquenos (people, not beer) are very proud of their Inka heritage, and most even speak the Inka language (Quechua).

The Urubamba River flows through the Sacred Valley from Cusco to Machu Picchu. There are numerous Inka ruins and colonial sites. I think we saw all of them (“It’s included, my friend”). Our guide in Machu Picchu was Charlie Evans, who is also masquerading as an emergency doc in Ukiah.

We could have skipped Ica (the Nasca Lines).We were awakened at 3am, to take a bus to some town south of Lima, then a car to an airport in the middle of nowhere, to wait 4 hours for a flight on a single engine Cessna that lasted 30 minutes, to see lines scratched in the desert (“now, now, look my friend, under the left wing, the parrot, the parrot!). I don’t believe the whole thing. I’m sure the lines were made by extraterrestrial taggers, or Walt Disney.

The highlights of the trip were, of course, numero uno, one of the 5 most important tourist sites in the world, the “lost city of the Inkas”, damas y caballeros, I give you Machu Picchu. This is one of the few places we’ve been to that actually looks way better in reality than in the glitzy tourist brochures. It’s too wonderful to describe, so I won’t. You just have to go see it yourself.

Also wonderful was Lake Titicaca. It’s very high (allegedly the highest navigable body of water in the world), looks like Lake Tahoe in winter, although it’s way bigger, is in Peru, not California, and has lots of amazing stuff to see, like reed boats, and inhabited man made floating reed islands, that are anchored to the bottom. Puno, where we stayed, is a frenetic little town, inhabited by, in addition to Peruvians, almost every conceivable nationality. We had drinks in a very Peruvian bar, where they were playing Jimmie Hendricks and Bob Dylan, and the bartender, who spoke little English, kept on calling me “man”. Far out!

I also fell in love with Andean music. If you think you’ve never heard it, you’re probably wrong. I was wondering why every time we heard an Andean band, they were playing the Simon and Garfunkle song that goes “I’d rather be a sparrow than a snail, Yes I would, If I only could……”. The song is “El Condor Pasa” and is typical of the flute, bamboo pipes (zampona), guitar and drums of Andean music (for some reason, they also always played “Guantamanero”, which is Mexican, and “Yesterday” which is Beatles; anything for the tourists). I even bought a zampona, which I intend to drive Phyllis crazy with. Here’s an important personal historical aside: my first ever date, in the sixth grade, was with Karen Garfunkle, Art’s sister.

The other custom which “turned us on” (one of us more than the other) was the free use (in fact encouraged use) of coca, which is the plant used to make cocaine. The Incas chewed the leaves to get energy for working in the thin atmosphere (smart cookies, those Incas). Nowadays, it’s still used freely, in tea (mate de coca), candy, soda (Inka Cola, which is what Coca Cola was before our puritanical forebears banned it), etc. One of us became so enamored of it, that he or she drank about 20 cups a day (it’s available in every hotel lobby). He or she hasn’t stopped talking since we got to Peru. Oy!

Peruvian, or more specifically Andean, people are shy but friendly, honest, hardworking and reliable, unlike some other people we know. Those characteristics are typical of the Incas, and formed the cornerstone of their philosophy. The kids are completely adorable in their “typical” clothing (which they really wear in normal life), holding baby llamas or alpacas, posing for pictures for “un sol, senor”. They are the actual descendants of the Inkas, speaking the same language. Before I visited Peru, I had only vague ideas about the culture and history of the Andes. The Inkas were the greatest, but also the last, of the Andean empires. Their civilization lasted from the 13^th to the 16^th century, when they were conquered by Francisco “Franky” Pizarro and his band of merry men and not so merry priests. Franky was one of the many lovable Spanish conquistadors who destroyed the various Mexican, Central and South American civilizations in a quest for gold, more catholics, cute Inka girls, and gold. The Inkas, despite their many admirable qualities (they were great engineers-see Machu Picchu), were not such good guys themselves, having conquered much of South America, not always by being good arguers. However, they had a knack for incorporating the civilizations that preceded them, thus improving on a good thing. There are pre-Inka temples that are as old as Egyptian pyramids. This is (to me at least) seriously interesting stuff, but I better stop with the history lesson, already. What does all of this have to do with sailboats?

On the negative side, I am bummed out by the Peruvian government and tourist industry’s abominable exploitation of tourists, and of the Andean people themselves, who they seem to use as a colorful backdrop to suck money out of tourists. Here are some examples: the entrance fee for Machu Picchu is 122 soles (pronounced soul-ace), plus a 30 soles bus ride, per person, for a day ticket. By contrast, Yosemite National Park charges around $10 or $15 for a 7 day pass. Plus, they charge 1 sol to use the toilet, and, you have to bring your own toilet paper and seat, and you’re not allowed to throw the used paper in the toilet (don’t ask). This could cause serious problems for those of you with obsessions in this particular arena, so make your travel plans carefully. There is a hotel right at the entrance to the park, which looks like a bad Holiday Inn, that charges $1000 dollars per night, for their cheapest room.

We stayed at a hotel that charged 6 soles for bottled water from their mini-bar, which one could buy on the street next door for 1 sol. That’s a 600% mark-up (actually, 1200%, because they buy it for 0.5 soles)! The tour book we used, Lonely Planet, was published in 2007, presumably with 2006 information. Everything had least doubled, in 2 years. Things may not be as expensive in non tourist areas, but, by some bizarre coincidence, the tourist areas are where tourists go. Despite what you may have heard, Peru is not cheap. I intend to sue the government of Peru, the Peruvian Tourist Association, my travel agent, Franky Pizarro, and the Inkas.

For reference, $1= 2.7 soles, a Peruvian pensioner gets about $80 per month, a laborer makes about $8 a day. The colorful indigenous people one sees mostly live in serious poverty. The whole thing made me very uncomfortable. (Interestingly, after my terminally ill girl poem gaff, I’ve been accused of suddenly developing spirituality, perhaps from schlepping all over Machu Picchu. Not true. I’ve always had spirituality [I was a Sufi in my youth, but that was probably just to be able to hit on naked girls]. I think I had to suppress my spirituality in order to counter balance all those oppressive liberals surrounding me in Northern California). Write your congresspersons!

Despite all the above kvetching, our trip was really fun and interesting. I give it a B+.

We decided to give this trip to ourselves as a thirtieth anniversary present. Because it was so expensive, we now have no money to spend on our actual anniversary, which is October 14. Can you imagine-30 years of unrelenting bliss. Gifts (particularly money) will be cheerfully accepted.

Next up is “home” to Antares in Puerto La Cruz, a couple of weeks of boat work and lazing around the pool in the marina, another (short) land trip to Merida, Venezuela, then back to sailing the seas, to Isla Tortuga, Los Roques, Las Aves (all Venezuelan Islands where it’s supposed to be safe, presumably because, being so far offshore, there aren’t many Venezuelans there).Then on to Bonaire, Curacao and maybe Aruba (the Netherlands Antilles), where we’ll probably stay for a while, in particular for the great scuba diving. We expect to be in Cartegena, Columbia, around mid November, and stay at least through the first of the year. Hey, somebody has to do it.

Two monkeys in the jungle

Beautiful Baby

Catacombs in Lima

Cusco

Dance judges Lake Titicaca

Eco-lodge Rio Madre de Dios

Finally Made It

Machu Picchu

Floating Island, Lake Titicaca

Flute player

Pre-Inka Funeral Tower, Sillustani Site

Goodbye

Huachuchina Oasis

Inca Chief

Packers on Inca Trail

Turtle sex

Lady in Lima

Lady with llama

Love

Machu Picchu

Market in Aquacalientes

Monkeys in jungle

New Friend

Old man

On the road to Titicaca

Paternal instincts

Peruvian baby

Peruvian kitchen with guinea pigs (for dinner)

Rare vicuna

Reed boat and floating island

Sillustani site

Sky King and Penny over the Nazca lines

“Under the left wing: the albatross!”

Street musicians in Aquacalientes

Aquacalientes: a train on the street!

Sun god at the Sun Gate, Machu Picchu

Tall American, short Peruvian

The climb to the top of the jungle canopy

View from the canopy

Traditional custumes (Lynn Meadows on left

Too much mate de coca

Aqua Sueno

Butterfly Kisses

Mate de Coca

Show Your Work

Argentina

Buenos Aires

Argentina

July 18, 2008

Don’t Cry For Me, Argentina

Evita

(Boy, it was tough sailing here.).

We thought we had died, and gone to restaurant and service heaven. Buenos Aires has, by far, the best combination of great restaurants and impeccable service we have ever experienced. Coming from Venezuela, the contrast was especially striking. Perhaps the whole country was like this…. Pero, no!

More about Buenos Aires later. Here are a couple of “cute” stories. The first is called “La Gran Aventura del Acondicionador de Aire de Iguazu” (the great Iguazu air conditioner adventure).

We took a side trip from Buenos Aires (BA) to Puerto Iguazu, near the superb Iguazu Falls at the triple border of Brazil, Paraguay and Argentina. Right away, there was tsouris. Aerolignea Argentina, the national airline, has not paid its employees for several weeks. Not surprisingly, it doesn’t work so well. Our flight left 5 hours late (even though it was listed as on time before we left the hotel). Not only that, but they killed us with small tortures, changing the departure time and gates every 1/2 hour. Not only that, but one of their other flights to Iguazu, that was scheduled to leave after our flight, left before ours (you can tell I’ve discovered how to use the underline function in Word; now I’m going to have some real fun).

We stayed at the 4 star Hotel Esturion. Upon checking in to our room, the bellhop went through the usual ritual of showing us how everything worked, including how to turn on the air conditioner (as many of you probably already see where this is going, and, in interest of fairness, I’ll point out that Puerto Iguazu, being in the southern hemisphere, is in winter, but has a delightful spring like climate {high seventies}). It was a little hot and stuffy in the room, so the next morning, I reported to the front desk that the air conditioner wasn’t working. The unfriendly front desk person, dressed as they all were in identical faux safari outfits, made a big show of taking my room number, indicating it would be fixed quickly, perhaps even faster than I could get back to my room. Instead, we went out for the day. Upon returning, we noted the air conditioner wasn’t working. I spoke to the very same explorer at the front desk. He explained, with a straight face, that the air conditioner only goes on about 9 or 10:00 PM in the winter (of course, this makes no sense, as it’s hotter in the daytime than at night, even in the Southern hemisphere). However, trying to be good emissaries for our country, we accepted this explanation in good spirits.

As you might guess, it didn’t go on at 9, 10 or any o’clock. The next morning, I cheerfully approached the very same clerk, who this time explained (with the same straight face) that the air conditioner does not work at all in the winter. I calmly asked to speak to the gerencia (manager). He graciously listened to my story, and asked incredulously, why I didn’t say something to him sooner, so that they could put a fan in our room, which they did.

There’s a humorous follow up to all this. After our first comfortable night, the maid came in to make up the room. There’s another funny long story (that I’ll spare you) about how they deal with electricity, but the short version is that they turn it off (inconsistently-some do and some don’t) when they make up the room. So, when we got back, the fan didn’t work. I didn’t realize the electricity was off. I asked the maid to show me how to turn the fan on. With a pitying look (these stupid Americans), she turned on the electricity, and, like a miracle, the fan went on. On her way out, she asked “Why don’t you just use the air conditioner”? I didn’t have an answer.

The second story is called “La Grand Adventura de la Piscina Iguazu” (the great Iguazu swimming pool adventure). We had decided to ignore the standard advice that “Iguazu is only worth 2 or 3 days” (it’s “worth” much more than that), and stayed for 5, planning at least one day lazing around. The hotel has 2 parts: the main hotel (with pool) and a second, mysterious “lodge” somewhere, also with pool. The main pool was being repainted when we got there, but we weren’t ready for our down day yet, so it didn’t matter. We were told the pool would be available “manana, (that dreaded word) en la tarde”. A few manana’s later (I refuse to bother putting a tilde where it belongs) we were ready. I asked my explorer friend at the front desk if we could use the pool. “Of course, senor”. Unfortunately, the pool “boy” (about 82 years old), told us we couldn’t. There were no towels there, and, the water was “fria”, because it was just pumped in from the river. “Use the pool at the lodge”. He pointed across the street. Dutifully, we packed up our stuff, and went across the street to find the other pool. Nothing appeared to be across the street. A taxi driver asked us where we were going. He indicated that it was down the street towards town, on the same side as our hotel. We walked about a block, and found another pool. Unfortunately, it was in another hotel. We almost used it anyway. Instead, we went back to Jungle Jim, who decided to escort us to the pool. Incredibly, it was across the street, through a huge, ancient, unmarked gate, and down a long jungle path, the nerve shattering scream of jaguars clearly audible nearby. By the way, there were no towels at that pool either, and the water was the coldest we’ve ever swam in (this from someone who has stupidly swam in the Pacific Ocean, temperature 68 degrees). It was a beautiful day, though.

Iguazu Falls is in a national park, at the border of Brazil, Paraguay and Argentina. The falls are breathtaking (Eleanor Roosevelt, Zsa Zsa Gabor, or someone like that, upon seeing them said “poor Niagra Falls; it makes them look like a kitchen faucet”). The surrounding park is full of exotic plants and animals. We were lucky enough to be there on a full moon, so we also took the excursion at night, only available 4 nights a month. Wow!

The town is charming, and in spirit reminds me of Healdsburg (around the same size, with lots of interesting restaurants). If it weren’t for Tarzan, we’d give the whole trip an A.

BA is also wonderful. We went there because a very charming man we met from Montevideo , Uraguay (how’s that, Hector?) told us not to miss it. “It’s the best city in the world” (he’s been around). I already mentioned the restaurants. Portenos (people from BA) are obsessed with good food and service. We stayed in a charming neighborhood (Palermo Viejo) which reminded me of Greenwich Village, North Beach and the French Quarter. Small, tree lined, cobblestone streets, with great restaurants, shops and green squares everywhere. We walked all over the city, also using the easy to understand subway system. The Portenos, despite their reputation, are friendly, and very attractive and stylish in an understated way. I have no idea how they stay so thin, the way they eat. The national dish is parrrilla, which consists of a huge plate of several dead cows and pigs. Restaurants don’t even open until 8PM at the earliest. Then, everyone goes out to boogey until early in the AM, and still manage to get up to go to work.

Even the corny touristy things were fun, like the tango show we went to, and the Evita museum (an historical note: after she died of ovarian cancer, Eva Peron was embalmed. Her corpse was stolen, and hidden in Spain for 14 years. During that time, her face was smashed in and she was raped [that's after she was dead]. After her husband Juan Peron died, his hands were cut off and stolen. The magistrate who has been investigating the case had his office broken into just a few days ago, and all his records were stolen. These people know how to do politics). If you like shoes, leather coats, dogs, little children and wine, you’re in the right place. BA is very European, like Paris.

Here are some shameless commercial plugs: the Hotel BoBo, where we stayed, was wonderful, particularly the 3 chicas lindas at the front desk, Vanessa, Belin and Gabriella. The travel agency we used to arrange our Peru trip was equally great (Mawa Travel on Malabia). Our favorite restaurant (a tough choice-they were all good) was Don Julio (probably the best for the money I’ve ever eaten in). Malbec wine from Mendoza is delicious. Try it.

Next up is Peru, and all the usual suspects, like Machu Pichu, Cuzco, and, that perfect name for all of us with a 12 year old boy’s mentality, Lake Titicaca. More later.

Puerto de Buenos Aires

Buenos Aires Cematary

Coatamundes at Iguazu Falls

Iguazu Falls

Falls with Rainbow

Fresh Produce

Public Display of Affection

We have their CD

Palermo Viejo

A great restaurant on every corner

No speaka the signish

Tango

Tango 2

I give you the 15…oops….10 commandments

Three corners: Brazil, Argentina and Paraguay