August 27, 2008
Malargue is like an old western ghost town in a bad movie between siesta hours of 1pm and 4pm. When the old Andestur bus rolled into this one stoplight town the streets were barren and the shops locked up tight. A stiff breeze was blowing down the main street stirring up little dust tornados and scutteling loose papers and plastic bags in it{s path. The white pitches of the Andes could be seen far off to the north and south as one looked up and down the empty main street.
A lanky mexican, smoking swede, and my straggly self were deposited along with our luggage at a one room bus station on the outskirts of town to fend for ourselves.
Despite the town{s apparent sleep and desolation, Malargue was only an hour{s drive from the acclaimed Las Leñas, [Best ski resort in South America[. I had alighted in Malargue along with the rest of my motley crue to take advantage of the town{s cheaper lodging options outside the high priced resort.
The hostel I landed in [city hostel[ put the term basic to the test. I generaly consider a mirror, bar of soap, night table, and towel basic appropriations, but of these there was none. In an aged wood paneled room the only furnishings to be found were three single beds, and two wooden racks affixed to the walls to serve as the barest form of a closet. THe perk of the room is that it has a gas heater which keeps the room nice and toasty, and even too warm at night.
I was bemoaning the lack of the bare necessities on the bus ride home from our first day on the slopes when the Mexican told me to, [stop complaining, it was cheap[, he said. At the equivalent of 11$ a night, he was right.
Sunday, September 14, 2008
Portillo, Chile
It was one of those perfectly fabulous days when everything goes your way even though you haven{t planned a thing. From the generic beach comforts of Viña del mar I entered the rugged spine of the andes on a bus bound for Argentina. The driver dropped me off on the side of the highway by a sign that said Portillo and continued on. As I pulled my pack off the dirty ice and snow on the shoulder of the road I wondered if I had done the right thing.
Portillo, nestled as if in it{s own private valley admist the giants of the andes is an absolute treasure. The towering peak of the magnificent Acongua rises to over 21,000 ft to the north. The ski resort has only one hotel and there are never more than 450 people on the slopes. In less than an hour from my drop off I was booked in a room, had rented ski equipment, and was on the slopes with Acongua towering over me. The resort had just recently had a sufficient snow storm to close the pass and trap it{s guest for 2 days. Now on the third day in sky{s of the bluest blue I skiied fresh tracks through angel light powder. It was difficult to keep my eyes on the slopes as I was completely mesmerized and enchanted by the magestic peaks and absolute beauty that surrounded me. The runs were challengeling steep to attract the Austrian and Canadian ski teams who competed in races against each other through out the day.
After the lifts closed at a generous 5pm I settled down in the hot spa on a bank overlooking the alpine lake of Laguna del Inca with the rest of the mountains patrons and watched the sun set on the andes snowy white slopes. After the jacuzzi we all migrated to the cinema to listen to Wendy Fisher, Chris Davenport, and other ski legends who were present giving ski clinics at the resort. Each of these famous skiers talked and showed film clips and footage of the best days of their extreme sport.
After dinner and drinks I finished off one of the best unplanned days ever.
Portillo, nestled as if in it{s own private valley admist the giants of the andes is an absolute treasure. The towering peak of the magnificent Acongua rises to over 21,000 ft to the north. The ski resort has only one hotel and there are never more than 450 people on the slopes. In less than an hour from my drop off I was booked in a room, had rented ski equipment, and was on the slopes with Acongua towering over me. The resort had just recently had a sufficient snow storm to close the pass and trap it{s guest for 2 days. Now on the third day in sky{s of the bluest blue I skiied fresh tracks through angel light powder. It was difficult to keep my eyes on the slopes as I was completely mesmerized and enchanted by the magestic peaks and absolute beauty that surrounded me. The runs were challengeling steep to attract the Austrian and Canadian ski teams who competed in races against each other through out the day.
After the lifts closed at a generous 5pm I settled down in the hot spa on a bank overlooking the alpine lake of Laguna del Inca with the rest of the mountains patrons and watched the sun set on the andes snowy white slopes. After the jacuzzi we all migrated to the cinema to listen to Wendy Fisher, Chris Davenport, and other ski legends who were present giving ski clinics at the resort. Each of these famous skiers talked and showed film clips and footage of the best days of their extreme sport.
After dinner and drinks I finished off one of the best unplanned days ever.
Rosa and Marcos
August 19th, 2008
The table was laid with fine china, silver, and crystal. Prepared meats and cheeses and savory biscuits adorned the table. It was as if an honored guest was expected, but it was prepared for me.
I had met Rosa and Marcos just yesterday, a lovely chilean couple from Punta arenas in the south of Chile. Rosa is the sister of the the swim coach Pedro Ordenas with whom I had swam in the San Francisco bay at Aquatic park to prepare myself for the open water of the Ironman. Pedro has distinguished himself among the bay area swimmers for having swum from Alcatraz to San Francisco 500 times. I am just 498 crossings behind him.
Rosa and Marco spent two days showing me the lovely city of Vina del Mar. The long stretches of beach were reminiscent of Nice in France or Brighton in England. We went to the botanical gardens where the recent rains and flooding had destroyed their ponds and scattered their ducks and swans. Vestiges of spring were present in the soft white and pink blooms of cherry blossom flowers and the magestic magnolias, but the gardens glory was yet to come and resting beneath the light misty rain that fell.
After the gardens we returned to the apartment of Rosa and Marco where she had prepared the table for the ¨onces¨. The onces is a light tea or meal that is eaten around five but called the ¨elevens¨ for a reason I wasn{t able to elicit.
I was reminded of my grandmother{s carefully laid table in the handstitched table cloth, the dishes carefully placed, and the loveing hand that I knew had placed it all.
The table was laid with fine china, silver, and crystal. Prepared meats and cheeses and savory biscuits adorned the table. It was as if an honored guest was expected, but it was prepared for me.
I had met Rosa and Marcos just yesterday, a lovely chilean couple from Punta arenas in the south of Chile. Rosa is the sister of the the swim coach Pedro Ordenas with whom I had swam in the San Francisco bay at Aquatic park to prepare myself for the open water of the Ironman. Pedro has distinguished himself among the bay area swimmers for having swum from Alcatraz to San Francisco 500 times. I am just 498 crossings behind him.
Rosa and Marco spent two days showing me the lovely city of Vina del Mar. The long stretches of beach were reminiscent of Nice in France or Brighton in England. We went to the botanical gardens where the recent rains and flooding had destroyed their ponds and scattered their ducks and swans. Vestiges of spring were present in the soft white and pink blooms of cherry blossom flowers and the magestic magnolias, but the gardens glory was yet to come and resting beneath the light misty rain that fell.
After the gardens we returned to the apartment of Rosa and Marco where she had prepared the table for the ¨onces¨. The onces is a light tea or meal that is eaten around five but called the ¨elevens¨ for a reason I wasn{t able to elicit.
I was reminded of my grandmother{s carefully laid table in the handstitched table cloth, the dishes carefully placed, and the loveing hand that I knew had placed it all.
Santiago singing
I spent my first day in Santiago walking around in a daze. How strange it was to be in a cosmopolitan city once again. Gone were the indigenous tribes of Ecuador walking about in their brightly colored cloth and the ladies bent over roasting plantains on dime store grills. Gone were the green leafy trees now laid bare, grey and cold in the midst of winter. I walked in a sea of dark skinned ebony haired humanity as I had so many times before for the last 7 months, and yet it seemed more ordered somehow. There was an underground and one could almost feel as if they were on the London tube. The mercado central was full of bantering fish mongers and tubs of iced salmon, cod, tuna, and octopus, giving the feeling you had just been dropped down into the Pike street market in Seattle. The Spanish architecture of looming buildings and Baroque churches had a distinctly European feel. And yet when the buildings gave way to reveal the muddy current of the Rio Mapocho and the rocky hill top park of cerro Santa Lucia, and the clouds parted to offer striking views of the snow capped andes to the east I was unsettled by the unfamiliarity of it all. I sat down in a wooden pew in the beautifull neo'classical church of Catedral Metropolitano admist the soft glow of the stained glass windows and the lofty recesses of the heavenly vaulted ceilings and somehow felt once again grounded. It was confession time and the repentant were kneeling before the boxes yearning for the forgiveness that would make them new once again. The organ was playing softly and a woman was singing a hym that sounded familiar but couldn{t quite be placed. Here in this cathedral in this country tipping toward the south pole I felt the pull of familiarity and comfort. People came here to seek the same God and to seek solace and peace and in the quiet of the common need the bewilderment I felt gave way to wonder once again.
Santiago Blues
Aug 16, 2008
I left Ecuador the same way I came in, on Taca airlines, but this time I flew south to Santiago and I was instantly thrust into a land I had never seen.
The disorientation began at customs when they informed me that I had to go back to pay the reciprocity fee, a fee Chile charges americans because the US charges Chileans a visa fee. I had my 30$ US ready to pay this fee as I had been instructed in Ecuador. When I got to the window, however, the official told me it was 130$. So I went back to customs and had to get a police official to escort me to an ATM machine so I could withdraw more money. Now of course I had no idea of the exchange rate which it turned out was about 480,000 pesas to one dollar. Now try to work out how much you need to pay the 130$ fee when you are jet lagged at what is now 3am in the morning. And then try to work out if you need to put in the figure with the zero¨s after the decimal point, or without and it pretty much just cranked my brain to a full stop. So I withdrew about 30$ the first time and the second time I actualy had the police official typing in the amount because I couldn{t work it out.
So then we traipsed back to the fee lady who told me I would have to go upstairs to change the chilean pesos into american dollars. I looked at her despairingly and asked, ¨I am in Chile and I have to change the chilean pesos back into american dollars to pay you?¨ Yes, was the answer.
I had now been in the aiport customs-reciprocity fee area for an hour and there was not another passenger in sight. With each transaction I was actually regressing slowly back toward the plane and I wondered if there was ever a point when they just made you get back on the plane and return the way you had come.
As I turned to take the pesos to the changing person the lady cleared her throut and said I could pay 30$ US and the rest in pesos as an exception. I nodded numbly and she took my cash in two different currencies and I was ushered back to customs. WHen I finally got to the empty baggage claim area they were just carting off my backpack and I was able to rescue it before it disapeared forever. The Taxi deposited me at the Happy House Hotel and I finaly hit the sheets at 4:15am.
I left Ecuador the same way I came in, on Taca airlines, but this time I flew south to Santiago and I was instantly thrust into a land I had never seen.
The disorientation began at customs when they informed me that I had to go back to pay the reciprocity fee, a fee Chile charges americans because the US charges Chileans a visa fee. I had my 30$ US ready to pay this fee as I had been instructed in Ecuador. When I got to the window, however, the official told me it was 130$. So I went back to customs and had to get a police official to escort me to an ATM machine so I could withdraw more money. Now of course I had no idea of the exchange rate which it turned out was about 480,000 pesas to one dollar. Now try to work out how much you need to pay the 130$ fee when you are jet lagged at what is now 3am in the morning. And then try to work out if you need to put in the figure with the zero¨s after the decimal point, or without and it pretty much just cranked my brain to a full stop. So I withdrew about 30$ the first time and the second time I actualy had the police official typing in the amount because I couldn{t work it out.
So then we traipsed back to the fee lady who told me I would have to go upstairs to change the chilean pesos into american dollars. I looked at her despairingly and asked, ¨I am in Chile and I have to change the chilean pesos back into american dollars to pay you?¨ Yes, was the answer.
I had now been in the aiport customs-reciprocity fee area for an hour and there was not another passenger in sight. With each transaction I was actually regressing slowly back toward the plane and I wondered if there was ever a point when they just made you get back on the plane and return the way you had come.
As I turned to take the pesos to the changing person the lady cleared her throut and said I could pay 30$ US and the rest in pesos as an exception. I nodded numbly and she took my cash in two different currencies and I was ushered back to customs. WHen I finally got to the empty baggage claim area they were just carting off my backpack and I was able to rescue it before it disapeared forever. The Taxi deposited me at the Happy House Hotel and I finaly hit the sheets at 4:15am.
Thursday, August 7, 2008
Black Sheep Inn
The donkey is braying in the cool night air, the calico cat is fluffed up on the picnic table, the fat spider is spinning a web around the hapless beetle, and I have just shoveled a load of sawdust into Van der Ryn's composting toilet. I am staying at the Black SHeep Inn ecolodge at elevation 10,500ft. Not only does the toilet not smell bad, it in fact smells like flowers and has a view of dramatic peaks and the plateau below that rivels the three tier bunk house where I am lodged. The toilet room is also a greenhouse with pretty little flowers and vines growing all around. The water from the sink doesn't go down a sewage line, but instead empties directly into the garden and irrigates it. A ;erfect little system to infuse the toilet room with the eau de flor.
Spent today hiking from Laguna Quilatoa, a mesmerizing blue green lake inside a volcanic crater, back to the Black SHeep Inn. It was a beautiful hike with lupines laying a royal purple carpet all the length of the trail. For dinner a gourmet vegetarian meal of ministrone soup, cole slaw, and corn bread was served. Now it is 9:15pm and I am off to bed.
Spent today hiking from Laguna Quilatoa, a mesmerizing blue green lake inside a volcanic crater, back to the Black SHeep Inn. It was a beautiful hike with lupines laying a royal purple carpet all the length of the trail. For dinner a gourmet vegetarian meal of ministrone soup, cole slaw, and corn bread was served. Now it is 9:15pm and I am off to bed.
Saturday, July 26, 2008
Last days
July 20, 2008
It has just stopped raining after another 12 hour stretch. The rain forest is not short on rain.
Had pinchos last night, a local Friday night delicacy. Basically a type of shish kabab marinated meat on a stick complete with greasy fries and seasoned Choclo. Choclo is a type of pale yellow latin corn that has bigger, softer kernels than American corn and is quite tasty. After that headed to Becky’s for movie night from her arsenal of literally 200 movie DVD’s. Not much else to do in Shell on a Friday night.
So it stands that I am down to my last week in this strange rain forest land. Home to the biggest and strangest insects I have ever seen. I have seen spiders the size of my hand, fluffy tarantulas that are actually quite cute, and a odd sort of flat spider that inhabited the corner of my door. Rhinocerous beetles with pokey black horns who always seem to be belly up clawing the air with their insect feet, florescent green bees, walking sticks of various hues, grass-hoppers in the shape of large green leafs, and butterflies in brilliant blues or painted with huge owl eyes.
Some places you are drawn to and they call you back with an almost tangible force. For me these are the mountains and high places of the world. This rain forest holds mystery and intrigue and curiosities of every sort, but it is not where I am drawn, but where I have labored for a while.
So many lives have been touched by this small service I have offered, and in return my heart has been molded as well. Esteban learned to walk in Makuma and Angelita sat up for the first time in months. Juan Eras travels two hours once a week for therapy on his knee and Zoila Herminia Perez wet my arms with her tears when I left. Daniela, our new therapist now has a job in the town of her family, where no work existed before. The hospital now has a physical therapy department and new clinic, a service they had been waiting over eight years to put in place. The lives of certain disabled orphans at the Casa de Fe, “House of Faith”, have also been touched through the work of Dr. Sue Curfman, my previous anatomy professor who felt led to come to Ecuador for a week to provide physical therapy.
“Not that we are competent in ourselves to claim anything for ourselves, but our competence comes from God” 2 Corinthians 3:5
It has started to rain again.
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