Wednesday, April 27, 2005

Arequipa, Peru

Diane: As soon as we arrived in the center of Arequipa, I could tell that we would be comfortable here. Since Tom needs to fully recover from his sinus infection and Calliope seems to have contracted another full-blown case of tonsillitis, I decided to find accommodations that we would really enjoy. The rest of the family waited patiently, and then expectantly, and then worriedly as I tracked down the perfect-for-us Colonial House Inn. After a round of complaints, I was inundated with gratitude at this wonderful find.

It is made from sillar, the white volcanic stone from which the majority of the buildings here are made, including the elaborate archways and facades of the finer mansions and churches. The walls of our room are about a meter thick, maybe thicker. The rounded ceiling has a small opening to light the interior. As the sky brightens early in the morning, it shines on my bed. As the hours of the day go by, each area of the room brightens as the light reaches there. We also have glaring fluorescent lights, when natural light is insufficient. Our window looks out on the interior courtyard, which even has a fig tree with some mature fruit hanging from it. Upstairs, the rooftop dining area is surrounded by potted plants. There is an exchange library of English-language books and common areas where the kids can watch TV, cook, do laundry, etc.

Our first meal in Arequipa was in a restaurant that appeared to be the exact same dimensions as our room, made from sillar with rounded ceiling, just as our room is. At first I thought it was the stock size of all sillar rooms in Arequipa. As it turns out, many rooms are long and low to the ground to prevent earthquake damage.

Having now visited a couple of universities and cultural centers made of the lovely sillar, I can say that no building quite captures the heart and soul of this architectural style as the Santa Catalina convent. We took a family outing there today, to visit the city within the city center of Arequipa. It was a cloistered convent for 400 years, until 1985, housing daughters from many wealthy families. Since 1985, the remaining nuns have been half-cloistered. The buildings have sustained significant earthquake damage over the years, but most were restored in the 1980's, and the nuns now live off the convent entry fees. The sillar is everywhere as are the cobblestone/river-rock streets and lovely archways that lead from one tranquil space to the next.

















The woodwork on the doors as well as the solid columns both add to the safe and solid feel of the place.










Even the roof lines are lovely. You can see where rainwater would come off the rooftops. There are well-organized stone gutters running in the streets as well to catch this falling water.





This was not a communitarian convent. I'd estimate that we saw at least 50 kitchens. Each kitchen had been well-used as evidenced by the grimy black ceilings.














A couple of centuries ago, after a visit from the archbishop, an order came down to limit each nun to one servant. This order met with such disapproval and organized resistance, that the final result was the resignation of the archbishop.


The only reason our room at the Colonial House Inn is not as tranquil as the convent is that WE are living there. Once we leave, it should take on the same serene air we encountered at the convent. Until that time, only the ceiling truly reflects the spirit of our room.






Friday, April 22, 2005

Day 3, Salar de Uyuni Tour, Bolivia & Chile

Diane: Although the shortest day of the tour, it was the most visually exciting for me. We headed out at 6:30 a.m. and headed straight for the fumaroles and mudpots. They were exceptional and we could walk around as well as right up through the center of this volcanic activity. At first, the very land we were walking on was shrouded in the steam of the fumaroles. It was hard to keep track of Calliope, my walking companion














Some of the mudpots contained muddy water; others contained watery mud; and yet others, had hardened up entirely. The subdued gurgling and popping belied the extreme heat and danger at the edge of our shoes.














Every view held its own attraction.










As the sun rose, the steam and bubbling mud, danced in the light of a new day. The mineral and sulphur smells only added another sensation to the mix.









From the bubbling mud and steam, we continued to some nearby hot springs, translated in one of our brochures as the "thermal bathrooms". We have come across hundreds of humorous English translations during our travels. It makes me wonder about all the funny things I must be saying in Spanish. For the most part, nobody corrects me, so I'm sure I add a bit of internal merriment to those I interact with each day. Wearing my long underwear, heavy sweats, and warm hat and looking at a pool with water at a mere 85 degrees, I didn't dare venture into these hot springs. So, we headed off to San Pedro de Atacama, Chile.

We would have taken the bus back up to Peru tonight, but it was full, so we'll head out tomorrow. Since we now have an extra day on our hands, I thought we might go to the Moon Valley (Valle de la Luna) tomorrow. This is the third Moon Valley we've come across in the past week or so and I hear it offers up panoramas that are markedly different from those on our LandCruiser tour. Speaking of our tour, I decided to complain to Colque Tours about our guide who hadn't provided us with breakfast or lunch today. After a short discussion, the owner of the agency offered us free tours to the Moon Valley - I like these guys! Since we are here an extra day, I am also trying to make an adjustment to the Chilean currency - 565 Chilean pesos to the dollar. Everything costs thousands of pesos, which makes me jump at first when I read a menu or calculate bus fares.

Thursday, April 21, 2005

Day 2, Salar de Uyuni Tour, Bolivia

Diane: Last night, my Land-Rover-mates hit the hay fairly early. Another group could be heard laughing in the dining room. And another group was singing old Beatle songs accompanied by a guitar. I decided to join the singers. They welcomed me with rum and coke. A couple of the young men took turns playing the guitar. The young women would then join in singing, if they knew the song. The point of playing the guitar seemed to be to get the women to join in singing. Eventually all the women, except for me, headed off to bed singly and in pairs. At this point, the men showed off their guitar-playing prowess to one another. A couple of the guys were from Argentina and spoke Spanish as their first language. As the motivating force behind the evening, I slowly realized that they were vexed as to how to stay involved with the women who were already trying to sleep in the adjacent rooms. Finally they hit on the idea of serenading one of the rooms filled with women with the song "Hotel California" - a song that everyone would know. They invited me. And so for the first time ever, I participated in a night-time serenade.

The women, who weren't quite asleep, but were still a bit groggy, slowly realized what was going on, grabbed their cameras and started snapping flash photos through their darkened window. This added additional fuel to the fire of the serenaders. We were stars for the only-somewhat-dressed paparazzi. Of course, we were loud enough that I'm sure we woke the entire hostel.

Only upon subsequent reflection did I fully realize that these Argentinian men had probably spent the whole evening wooing these primarily European women. Between their rum-and-cokes, their guitar playing, sharing of cultures, friendly conversation, and serenading, their whole evening was a bit of a hunting game. I was entirely off the radar, I assume due to my age. However, I was delighted to be welcomed as a participant-observer. Tom and I had noticed at dinner that we were the oldest people at this hostel, housing some 30 or 40 people. This is always a welcome change from Sarasota, where we are many times the youngest people in a group of 30 or 40.

There are just so many stereotypes in this little story clamoring for my observation and attention that I don't know where to start. I am wimping out and, instead, I notice the date of this entry and realize that somewhere in the U.S., someone is probably celebrating Earth Day. Today, we celebrated this vast earth by visiting a remote corner and drawing in its serenity, tumultuousness, vibrant colors, and harsh contrasts all at the same time.

Nothing big and obvious lives on the Salar we drove over yesterday. Although today we were back on "regular" ground, as we rise in elevation (4500 meters above sea level), I find that nothing big and obvious lives here either. Unexpectedly, in an area entirely devoid of vegetation, Vicuna grazed contentedly. Our guide said they were living on micro-organisms in the soil. The llama and alpaca did not live at these elevations. We did pass a herd of domesticated llamas with their cute, little, red ear tassels. They were living in an impossibly small pen, and despite their reputed bad temperaments did not mind having their pictures taken.














Their owner, on the other hand, felt that she deserved to be compensated for our photo opportunism. I would have taken a picture of her demanding, scowling demeanor, but she probably would have wanted my weight in silver for such a golden opportunity.

The landscapes we passed through, passed from surreal to sculptural to inviting to barren. We passed a smoking volcano.





We stopped in canyon country for a chance to clamber around the rocks. Surrounded by red rock that reminded me a bit of the Garden of the Gods in Colorado Springs were what looked like small boulders covered in bright green moss. It turns out there was no boulder, just a plant, called yareta.






The views were stark.






All of the rocks had a covering much like eggs have a shell. These covering sheets of rock were eroding away to reveal the underlying base.










We ate lunch near a lake with a flock of wild flamingos who avoided us as best they could. The next lake we came to boasted another flock of wild flamingos also doing their best to avoid us.






Tom, the outlaw with his bandana wrapped around his face, fell asleep on the way to the Stone Tree.










When we arrived at the Laguna Colorada, our guide informed us that the red color of the lake was due to micro-organisms. There was also a lot of borax in area, enogh to climb on in fact.














The last bit of terrain today was very bare. Some of the mountains had a painting-like quality to them. In another area, large rocks were randomly plunked down in a vast emptiness. All majestic in their own way.














It is very cold tonight. There is neither running water, nor hot water in our very basic hostel, the only kind of accommodation available in the area. I told the kids to think of it as camping, but with the benefit of a building, a bed, and a warm meal at the end of the day. This didn't seem to help raise anybody's spirits, so I retired to my sleeping bag, while I was still warm. No singing tonight.

Wednesday, April 20, 2005

Day 1, Salar de Uyuni Tour, Bolivia

Diane: Yesterday, we finally got to ride a long distance train! Many of the South American passenger train services have been abandoned one by one over the years. In Bolivia, a once thriving industry now runs at just a fragment of its former capacity. According to our guide for the Salar de Uyuni tour, the train company used to employ 7000 employees in Uyuni alone. Now there are just a handful of employees. As it turns out, our guide is not a terrific source of information, except for the prices of various commodities, such as quinoa or salt, and our current elevation, so I take this with a grain of salt.





Although we sat on the sunny side of the train and kept the shades down for the most part, the large expanses of land were easily viewed through the large windows on the opposite side. The most extraordinary portion of the journey was riding through a large marsh/lake. It seems an unlikely spot for railroad tracks.









Today we started our tour of the Salar de Uyuni, salar meaning salt flat and Uyuni being the name of the nearest town. It was a fantastic spectacle - a white lake of salt, up to 120 meters deep at its deepest. Small portions of the salar were still underwater following the rainy season, meager as it was.






We traveled by Toyota LandCruiser, 6 passengers to each vehicle.





We stopped in a small town where they refine salt and make salt sculptures to sell to tourists. Salt certainly left its mark.






The walls of the store were made entirely of salt bricks. Calliope took a taste just to be sure.










The most popular construction method involved the use of calcified rock for the foundation, adobe bricks for the walls, and grass (paja) roofs.





Our next stop was to examine the salt mining methods used on the Salar. As the water in the Salar dries up after the rainy season, locals create large mounds of salt. These mounds dry in the sun for about a month, and then are loaded into the back of a pickup and for the most part, carted off to be refined for personal use.
















Still traveling on the Salar, our next stop was the Salt Hotel. The building is made of salt; the chairs are made of salt; even the beds are made of salt.






This building is no longer used as a hotel, so they call it a museum now.

We ate lunch at Fish Island, so called, because as you approach it from a distance and from a certain angle and at a certain time of year, it looks like a fish. We evidently didn't hit it quite right. It is covered with wonderfully huge cacti and craggy volcanic rock.





























We continued, carefully skirting an area of the Salar in which cars would sink if they weren't careful, even taking a road where necessary.









Our hostel for the evening was located in the small town of Chuvica. The crusty dirt, salt, and plant formations along the edge of the Salar were captivating.