Peter and Marilyn
Christmas in San Jose del Cabo
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
Iguazu Falls
Sorry about the mess of the last post, as I attempted to edit after the pictures were uplaoded and it all went to heel. Hope you struggled through anyway. Marilyn
Cataratas del Iguazu
I will simply post a mess of photos so you get the idea. My friend, the coati, is in some. If you ge doubles, it is because the computer has not shown me what is downloaded. Sorry.
Tuesday, Oct. 26.
We are right into the Argentinean pace of life - even slower than the Mexican. After a lazy breakfast, and I put together a sandwich for Peter and left-overs for me (from last night’s dinner) and a couple of little bananas from breakfast, we are off the visit the world-famous (outside of Canada) Iguazu Falls.
It is standing room only on El Practico, so the young Japanese girl standing beside me strikes-up a conversation in Spanish! Wow - life is full of surprises. It turns out that she and her friend are volunteering in Bolivia and have just come on a trip to visit the falls. I tell her about the Japanese students who come to Castlegar to study English and how we have a “sister” town in Japan. We wish each other good travels as we depart from the bus.
We begin our tour by taking the train (a little like the train at West Edmonton Mall, only longer cars.) to the Saltos Argentinos, to follow the upper path. The pathways are grated-steel so the water passes through and they don’t get slippery. At times, you are walking over rushing rivers, which we try to visualize Ruth doing - or anyone who doesn’t like our spiral staircase.
The roar and the spray from the falls greet you long before the vision. I cannot explain the first view except to take it was rapturous! It simply takes ones breath away. It seems like the river has spread out for half a mile and then, finding the low-spots, tumbles hundreds of feet to a constant cloud at the base. You almost forget you are encircled by hoards of people. We take lots of pictures and drink-in the atmosphere. It is hard to pull oneself away, but there is more to see.
We backtrack to the train, and go to the next station which goes to Garganta del Diablo. Do I need to translate? On the way, I simply must remove myself from the waves of tourists, mostly all in groups with their guide’s name on a tag aroung their neck or their own name, as Peter says - in case they forget it! I go into my own space, slow my walk to a crawl, look into the trees, into the water, and into the undergrowth so I can discover the source of the unusual calls and the movements of the creatures. The falls will not go away if it takes me time to get there. Poor Peter, he never complains, but just moves with the flow and then stops and waits while I catch up. I point out a fish, bottom-feeding by a big rock above the falls. Then there is a lazy turtle, just moving enough to remain stationary by a bridge. There are brilliant butterflies to examine. I see a toucan, but it is flying and I don’t get a picture. At one point, I see a giant Tegu lizard that is shedding its coat - just like its cousin the snake. There are many brightly-coloured birds I cannot identify. Later we see a plush-crested jay, but is seems a false sighting because a young boy is putting out peanuts to lour it down from the tree.
While we take a short water break in a shady area, I place my backpack on the wall beside me. Within a minute, a coati (look it up on Google) is up on the seat sniffing at my pack. I’m about to get up and put my pack back on as I don’t want it digging in my pack when a stupid woman distracts the animal. She is opening a package of sweet cookies to give one to the coati. Snatch! Within an instant, the creature has the whole package. Now the stupid lady, who is not supposed to feed the animals, tries to retrieve her package. Wrong choice! We see the vicious fangs displayed as the animal defends her fairly-stolen lunch. She tears at the package, but when threatened with a rolled-up paper by the stupid lady’s partner, she grabs what is left of the package of cookies and flees into the undergrowth. Good for her! She is way brighter than the stupid lady.
It is a fairly long walk from the train stop to the Garganta, mostly walking over the expanse of water moving quickly to the precipice. Devil’s Giant is as described. We Canadians think Niagara falls is something. No way. It is but a tacky, tourist trap beside a truly well-preserved wonder of the world. Yes, there are lots of people, mostly pushy and without manners, but the falls themselves truly do hold you spellbound. You wish you could have been here before the Spanish and seen this wonder when the Indigenous peoples marvelled at it. All I can say is, if and when you get a chance, do not visit this part of South America without taking the time to visit Cataratas del Iguazu.
The return trip to town gives us an opportunity to come down off the natural high of the day. I find my needles and thread, we pick up some more wine and cheese, collect our neatly folded washing and have a ride on a different ruta of El Practico through a regular neighbourhood of Puerto Iguazu, the real world of Argentine - not the tourist district.
Our bus to Buenos Aires leaves on Thursday afternoon and, until then, we have nothing to do but enjoy the sunshine and the pool . No more posts until we reach the big city and I experience a seventeen-hour trip on a champagne-serving, full-cama (bed) bus. Chow.
We are right into the Argentinean pace of life - even slower than the Mexican. After a lazy breakfast, and I put together a sandwich for Peter and left-overs for me (from last night’s dinner) and a couple of little bananas from breakfast, we are off the visit the world-famous (outside of Canada) Iguazu Falls.
It is standing room only on El Practico, so the young Japanese girl standing beside me strikes-up a conversation in Spanish! Wow - life is full of surprises. It turns out that she and her friend are volunteering in Bolivia and have just come on a trip to visit the falls. I tell her about the Japanese students who come to Castlegar to study English and how we have a “sister” town in Japan. We wish each other good travels as we depart from the bus.
We begin our tour by taking the train (a little like the train at West Edmonton Mall, only longer cars.) to the Saltos Argentinos, to follow the upper path. The pathways are grated-steel so the water passes through and they don’t get slippery. At times, you are walking over rushing rivers, which we try to visualize Ruth doing - or anyone who doesn’t like our spiral staircase.
The roar and the spray from the falls greet you long before the vision. I cannot explain the first view except to take it was rapturous! It simply takes ones breath away. It seems like the river has spread out for half a mile and then, finding the low-spots, tumbles hundreds of feet to a constant cloud at the base. You almost forget you are encircled by hoards of people. We take lots of pictures and drink-in the atmosphere. It is hard to pull oneself away, but there is more to see.
We backtrack to the train, and go to the next station which goes to Garganta del Diablo. Do I need to translate? On the way, I simply must remove myself from the waves of tourists, mostly all in groups with their guide’s name on a tag aroung their neck or their own name, as Peter says - in case they forget it! I go into my own space, slow my walk to a crawl, look into the trees, into the water, and into the undergrowth so I can discover the source of the unusual calls and the movements of the creatures. The falls will not go away if it takes me time to get there. Poor Peter, he never complains, but just moves with the flow and then stops and waits while I catch up. I point out a fish, bottom-feeding by a big rock above the falls. Then there is a lazy turtle, just moving enough to remain stationary by a bridge. There are brilliant butterflies to examine. I see a toucan, but it is flying and I don’t get a picture. At one point, I see a giant Tegu lizard that is shedding its coat - just like its cousin the snake. There are many brightly-coloured birds I cannot identify. Later we see a plush-crested jay, but is seems a false sighting because a young boy is putting out peanuts to lour it down from the tree.
While we take a short water break in a shady area, I place my backpack on the wall beside me. Within a minute, a coati (look it up on Google) is up on the seat sniffing at my pack. I’m about to get up and put my pack back on as I don’t want it digging in my pack when a stupid woman distracts the animal. She is opening a package of sweet cookies to give one to the coati. Snatch! Within an instant, the creature has the whole package. Now the stupid lady, who is not supposed to feed the animals, tries to retrieve her package. Wrong choice! We see the vicious fangs displayed as the animal defends her fairly-stolen lunch. She tears at the package, but when threatened with a rolled-up paper by the stupid lady’s partner, she grabs what is left of the package of cookies and flees into the undergrowth. Good for her! She is way brighter than the stupid lady.
It is a fairly long walk from the train stop to the Garganta, mostly walking over the expanse of water moving quickly to the precipice. Devil’s Giant is as described. We Canadians think Niagara falls is something. No way. It is but a tacky, tourist trap beside a truly well-preserved wonder of the world. Yes, there are lots of people, mostly pushy and without manners, but the falls themselves truly do hold you spellbound. You wish you could have been here before the Spanish and seen this wonder when the Indigenous peoples marvelled at it. All I can say is, if and when you get a chance, do not visit this part of South America without taking the time to visit Cataratas del Iguazu.
The return trip to town gives us an opportunity to come down off the natural high of the day. I find my needles and thread, we pick up some more wine and cheese, collect our neatly folded washing and have a ride on a different ruta of El Practico through a regular neighbourhood of Puerto Iguazu, the real world of Argentine - not the tourist district.
Our bus to Buenos Aires leaves on Thursday afternoon and, until then, we have nothing to do but enjoy the sunshine and the pool . No more posts until we reach the big city and I experience a seventeen-hour trip on a champagne-serving, full-cama (bed) bus. Chow.
Puerto Iguazu
Peter at the confluence of the Parana & the Iguazu.
Paraguay's monument. Brazil's upside down.
Argentina's blue & white.
Paraguay's monument. Brazil's upside down.
Argentina's blue & white.
Monday, Oct. 25
Two months until Christmas, and we will be in New Zealand then. As Maggie Muggins used to say, “I wonder what will happen tomorrow?” Anyone younger than 65 will have to look that up in the CBC Radio archives.
I cook eggs with slightly-toasted bread for breakfast. It seems more substantial than just the bread, cereal, and jelly you get as the usual fair in Argentina. Wonderfully-sweet orange wedges finishes this lavish meal. Peter drinks the Tang they serve as juice here, but the fresh fruit is always an option.
We gather our dirty clothes and our package for home (nicely wrapped in brown paper and secured with tape),and catch El Practico (the local bus) into town. The washing fits easily into the 15 pesos bag and we are off to the post office. A lovely, patient young lady serves us. She has a little English which she says she has taught herself, so she efficiently takes us through the steps, one-by-one, to successfully mail our parcel. Of course, the brown paper will have to come off so the immigration guy can inspect and clear the contents. No problem, she will give us a more official-looking box to use. Peter fills-out one of many different forms which she does not overwhelm us with, but just keeps handing a new one as Peter finishes the previous! Finally, thirty minutes later, we are ready for the immigration. Peter has his photocopy of his passport ready, and we are led through a maze of offices to a pleasant-looking, middle-aged guy who appears as though he is happy to have something different to enlighten his otherwise mundane workday. He asks what is in the box. I answer in my motley Spanish. Oh, canadienses he says with a smile, he tells us either that his wife of twenty-four years is Canadian or that he was married in Canada twenty-four years ago. As you can tell, my comprehension is not perfect! Anyway, we are now buds, and we are quickly cleared.
The nice young lady at the desk tapes our package, takes our money, and we are on our way. We find the store for the needles and thread I need, but it is now after 1 p.m. and it is closed for siesta. We will return tomorrow when we pick-up our laundry.
We walk to the three-corners’ monument, from which point you can see a monument in Paraguay and another in Brazil. It is like standing in Millennium park as Argentina and viewing Brilliant as Paraguay and Selkirk college as Brazil. Now everyone know exactly where we are - right?
On the way back to town I buy a key chain with a crystal inside a rock the guy says is volcanic. Patrick, was he giving me a line or is this possible? Anyway, it is pretty. Also, I buy a t-shirt with hand-printed hummingbirds on it. Everything is inexpensive by our standards.
For dinner tonight, we go again with the house special, a breaded-beef with cheese. There is so much that neither of us finish, so we have lunch for our trip to the falls tomorrow. Chow.
Two months until Christmas, and we will be in New Zealand then. As Maggie Muggins used to say, “I wonder what will happen tomorrow?” Anyone younger than 65 will have to look that up in the CBC Radio archives.
I cook eggs with slightly-toasted bread for breakfast. It seems more substantial than just the bread, cereal, and jelly you get as the usual fair in Argentina. Wonderfully-sweet orange wedges finishes this lavish meal. Peter drinks the Tang they serve as juice here, but the fresh fruit is always an option.
We gather our dirty clothes and our package for home (nicely wrapped in brown paper and secured with tape),and catch El Practico (the local bus) into town. The washing fits easily into the 15 pesos bag and we are off to the post office. A lovely, patient young lady serves us. She has a little English which she says she has taught herself, so she efficiently takes us through the steps, one-by-one, to successfully mail our parcel. Of course, the brown paper will have to come off so the immigration guy can inspect and clear the contents. No problem, she will give us a more official-looking box to use. Peter fills-out one of many different forms which she does not overwhelm us with, but just keeps handing a new one as Peter finishes the previous! Finally, thirty minutes later, we are ready for the immigration. Peter has his photocopy of his passport ready, and we are led through a maze of offices to a pleasant-looking, middle-aged guy who appears as though he is happy to have something different to enlighten his otherwise mundane workday. He asks what is in the box. I answer in my motley Spanish. Oh, canadienses he says with a smile, he tells us either that his wife of twenty-four years is Canadian or that he was married in Canada twenty-four years ago. As you can tell, my comprehension is not perfect! Anyway, we are now buds, and we are quickly cleared.
The nice young lady at the desk tapes our package, takes our money, and we are on our way. We find the store for the needles and thread I need, but it is now after 1 p.m. and it is closed for siesta. We will return tomorrow when we pick-up our laundry.
We walk to the three-corners’ monument, from which point you can see a monument in Paraguay and another in Brazil. It is like standing in Millennium park as Argentina and viewing Brilliant as Paraguay and Selkirk college as Brazil. Now everyone know exactly where we are - right?
On the way back to town I buy a key chain with a crystal inside a rock the guy says is volcanic. Patrick, was he giving me a line or is this possible? Anyway, it is pretty. Also, I buy a t-shirt with hand-printed hummingbirds on it. Everything is inexpensive by our standards.
For dinner tonight, we go again with the house special, a breaded-beef with cheese. There is so much that neither of us finish, so we have lunch for our trip to the falls tomorrow. Chow.
Sunday, October 24, 2010
Parcel post and Paradise
Photos:A triple straight line means you definitely don't pass!
The rock formaiton between La Quiaca & Salta.
Searcing the bus and the passengers.
The South Americans love statues, even a hard hat becomes one in a mining town.
A specialty decadent dessert fron Salta.
Sunset in Salta - memories of the red sun in Montreal.
The pool at our hostel in Puerto Iguazu.
The pool deck.
I'm warm & I'm happy!
Sunday, Oct. 24
Pictures and the package to post story.
Peter is not feeling well, but we have packed up another box of extras and are to send it home - well to Cathy’s.
We get a box at the Super Mercado and get some tape from the gum-chewing, computer-game playing, watching television or chatting with her friends young woman who is “working” at the front desk. We get it all nicely packed and begin the walk downtown to mail it. But Peter needs to find a bank before we go to the post office. By the time we get to the main square where the banks supposedly are situated, Peter is feeling quite weak and has to sit and rest on a bench. He watches the parcel while I scout around to find a bank. I enter an extremely upscale shopping mall on the other side of the park and ask at a store where I can find a bank. As it turns out, the next street is the bank street with at least eight of them in a one-block area.
I return to Peter with the good news and he is still looking ashen. He goes across the pedestrian street to get a coke. It comes back up way faster then he drank it! We still don’t have money and have not been to the post office.
Now he is feeling a little better, so we walk slowly to the bank street and get some money. It is only two blocks to the post office, so we continue.
We arrive in the building looking as bewildered as foreigners usually do, especially when one of them just wants to lay down and sleep. A nice gentleman rushes out of his office and directs us to the counter where you can send parcels.
A portly mature lady comes to “help” us. There is a small problem. Well, more than one. First, our parcel must be wrapped in brown paper as are the others behind the counter. Also, it is .35 kg over the 5 kg wight, so we would have to pay for 10 kg. We also forgot that we need a photocopy of a passport! Silly us. Finally, they can not deal with our parcel until Monday, because they are closed tomorrow - Saturday - like all good postal workers worldwide, and they only take parcels from 8:30 a.m. until 12:30 p.m. and it is now after 1 o’clock.
Peter is feeling too sick to even be upset. We walk to the corner, hop in a cab, go past our hostel and get a grand tour of the neighbourhood before finding it, and Peter finally gets to go to bed and sleep the afternoon away.
Now for the good news. We flew from Salta to Puerto Iguazu with no hitches and we are now in paradise. We have decided to just chill-out here for about five days, maybe more. We will go see the falls, but not until Tuesday. Our plan is to go on two different days so we can walk slowly and just soak in the atmosphere.
Pictures and the package to post story.
Peter is not feeling well, but we have packed up another box of extras and are to send it home - well to Cathy’s.
We get a box at the Super Mercado and get some tape from the gum-chewing, computer-game playing, watching television or chatting with her friends young woman who is “working” at the front desk. We get it all nicely packed and begin the walk downtown to mail it. But Peter needs to find a bank before we go to the post office. By the time we get to the main square where the banks supposedly are situated, Peter is feeling quite weak and has to sit and rest on a bench. He watches the parcel while I scout around to find a bank. I enter an extremely upscale shopping mall on the other side of the park and ask at a store where I can find a bank. As it turns out, the next street is the bank street with at least eight of them in a one-block area.
I return to Peter with the good news and he is still looking ashen. He goes across the pedestrian street to get a coke. It comes back up way faster then he drank it! We still don’t have money and have not been to the post office.
Now he is feeling a little better, so we walk slowly to the bank street and get some money. It is only two blocks to the post office, so we continue.
We arrive in the building looking as bewildered as foreigners usually do, especially when one of them just wants to lay down and sleep. A nice gentleman rushes out of his office and directs us to the counter where you can send parcels.
A portly mature lady comes to “help” us. There is a small problem. Well, more than one. First, our parcel must be wrapped in brown paper as are the others behind the counter. Also, it is .35 kg over the 5 kg wight, so we would have to pay for 10 kg. We also forgot that we need a photocopy of a passport! Silly us. Finally, they can not deal with our parcel until Monday, because they are closed tomorrow - Saturday - like all good postal workers worldwide, and they only take parcels from 8:30 a.m. until 12:30 p.m. and it is now after 1 o’clock.
Peter is feeling too sick to even be upset. We walk to the corner, hop in a cab, go past our hostel and get a grand tour of the neighbourhood before finding it, and Peter finally gets to go to bed and sleep the afternoon away.
Now for the good news. We flew from Salta to Puerto Iguazu with no hitches and we are now in paradise. We have decided to just chill-out here for about five days, maybe more. We will go see the falls, but not until Tuesday. Our plan is to go on two different days so we can walk slowly and just soak in the atmosphere.
Chow for now.
Saturday, October 23, 2010
La Quiaca to Salta
Thursday, Oct.21.
Peter is certain he has read on the Internet that there is an express bus from La Quiaca to Salta and it should take four hours which, for the distance, is logical. We decide to attempt to cancel our tickets and take either an express or an earlier bus. We can get a bus at 11:30 which takes the same seven hours for the trip. Unfortunately, we can get only 50% back on our cancellation. We decide to bite the bullet. It is a good investment, as Peter is still not feeling well and we don’t need to be arriving at 9:30 or later in Salta.
There are a few inconveniences in Argentina that one must get used to. You pay to have your bags stored in the luggage space of the bus and you pay again to retrieve it. Also, the Gendarmerias stop the bus often, Probably eight times in our trip. Once on the trip, everyone had to get off, take all their luggage and have it searched. A sniffer-dog and three or four guards searched the bus meticulously. I felt sorry as we watched the bus in front of us, as the guards pulled and scattered the clothing of the ladies who had those big, plastic bags that are so popular in Latin America. The ladies had to repack the stuff as best they could. As foreigners, the guard does a quick look at Peter’s stuff, but disturbs nothing. I am in the lady’s line, about fourth or fifth, but within no time, I and a nice elderly Argentinian are at the back of the pack! We smile and talk about casual things. As the men finish, a guard comes over and takes the last lady to bench behind us and quickly deals with her, while the guard at the men’s table motions that I should come to his station. He views my passport, looks in my Peruvian day bag - that big thing I have found so handy for day trips - asks me what is in it. I answer in Spanish and he moves me on without even opening my Switchback luggage I have zipped together.
At another stop, a young guard gets on the bus, sees us as foreigners and asks us some questions in English. When he is finished, I ask him in Spanish if he is practicing his English. He says yes, he is studying English. I say that I am studying Spanish as well. We get a beautiful smile.
The topography along the way is extremely varied. We begin in the Pampa, wide, flat desert. The first hills we see appear like a beach washed by surf. I took a picture so maybe Patrick and Antigone can let us know what it is. We come to a pass called the Valle Azul, as there is some green here and many dry arroyos coming from the tall mountains to the west. There is a town called Volcan, so I figure there should be a volcano somewhere around, but can’t distinguish one. There are stone walls built in the arroyos at about a forty-five degrees from the edge of the “river”. We wonder if this is to direct the water coming from the mountains or to slow the speed of the water as it rushes downhill. Finally, we end in a lush valley of rich farmland.
On the outskirts of both Jujuy and Salta, there are tracks of land with extremely upscale housing, mostly all fairly new in style. More so by Salta, these are located within a gated, but not walled, community. Finally, we arrive in Salta an hour and a half later than scheduled. We have had fabulous seats, top-level, at the front, so although long, the trip has been pleasant. Only one identification foreigner was ever on the bus!
Our hostel is the most dilapidated to date, but the night-man is helpful, cheerful, and very handsome! He shows us around, somewhat apologetically, I detected. It turns out the bed is comfortable, and we have a fan to help with the heat. HEAT!!!! I pack up a bag to send home tomorrow, but that is a whole other story. I’ll save it to the next blog. Chow!
Yes, Henry, they do use “vos” for “usted” here. I saw it in an ad. Also, I find "con permiso" seems to work well when someone is blocking the way.
p.s. Also will post later the pictures to go with this post as they did not download from my camera. Another Johnstone glitch.
Peter is certain he has read on the Internet that there is an express bus from La Quiaca to Salta and it should take four hours which, for the distance, is logical. We decide to attempt to cancel our tickets and take either an express or an earlier bus. We can get a bus at 11:30 which takes the same seven hours for the trip. Unfortunately, we can get only 50% back on our cancellation. We decide to bite the bullet. It is a good investment, as Peter is still not feeling well and we don’t need to be arriving at 9:30 or later in Salta.
There are a few inconveniences in Argentina that one must get used to. You pay to have your bags stored in the luggage space of the bus and you pay again to retrieve it. Also, the Gendarmerias stop the bus often, Probably eight times in our trip. Once on the trip, everyone had to get off, take all their luggage and have it searched. A sniffer-dog and three or four guards searched the bus meticulously. I felt sorry as we watched the bus in front of us, as the guards pulled and scattered the clothing of the ladies who had those big, plastic bags that are so popular in Latin America. The ladies had to repack the stuff as best they could. As foreigners, the guard does a quick look at Peter’s stuff, but disturbs nothing. I am in the lady’s line, about fourth or fifth, but within no time, I and a nice elderly Argentinian are at the back of the pack! We smile and talk about casual things. As the men finish, a guard comes over and takes the last lady to bench behind us and quickly deals with her, while the guard at the men’s table motions that I should come to his station. He views my passport, looks in my Peruvian day bag - that big thing I have found so handy for day trips - asks me what is in it. I answer in Spanish and he moves me on without even opening my Switchback luggage I have zipped together.
At another stop, a young guard gets on the bus, sees us as foreigners and asks us some questions in English. When he is finished, I ask him in Spanish if he is practicing his English. He says yes, he is studying English. I say that I am studying Spanish as well. We get a beautiful smile.
The topography along the way is extremely varied. We begin in the Pampa, wide, flat desert. The first hills we see appear like a beach washed by surf. I took a picture so maybe Patrick and Antigone can let us know what it is. We come to a pass called the Valle Azul, as there is some green here and many dry arroyos coming from the tall mountains to the west. There is a town called Volcan, so I figure there should be a volcano somewhere around, but can’t distinguish one. There are stone walls built in the arroyos at about a forty-five degrees from the edge of the “river”. We wonder if this is to direct the water coming from the mountains or to slow the speed of the water as it rushes downhill. Finally, we end in a lush valley of rich farmland.
On the outskirts of both Jujuy and Salta, there are tracks of land with extremely upscale housing, mostly all fairly new in style. More so by Salta, these are located within a gated, but not walled, community. Finally, we arrive in Salta an hour and a half later than scheduled. We have had fabulous seats, top-level, at the front, so although long, the trip has been pleasant. Only one identification foreigner was ever on the bus!
Our hostel is the most dilapidated to date, but the night-man is helpful, cheerful, and very handsome! He shows us around, somewhat apologetically, I detected. It turns out the bed is comfortable, and we have a fan to help with the heat. HEAT!!!! I pack up a bag to send home tomorrow, but that is a whole other story. I’ll save it to the next blog. Chow!
Yes, Henry, they do use “vos” for “usted” here. I saw it in an ad. Also, I find "con permiso" seems to work well when someone is blocking the way.
p.s. Also will post later the pictures to go with this post as they did not download from my camera. Another Johnstone glitch.
On to Argentina
Photos: I am trying to keep warm!
The train ride from Hell.
Thousands of pink flamingos on the salt flats. Merry-go-round turned
The train ride from Hell.
Thousands of pink flamingos on the salt flats. Merry-go-round turned by man-power. Plus, the many-sided slide in the same park in La Quiaca.
One of more than a dozen wagens of something being transported quicklt by wagon.
One of more than a dozen wagens of something being transported quicklt by wagon.Protest to do with the need for education - it is not free in Argentina.
Tuesday & Wednesday, Oct. 19 & 20.
We get a taxi to the bus terminal in lots of time. Nobody is working at the kiosk for Fletcha bus, supposedly the best. Finally, a light is on but still nobody is home. A young man frantically gets a hold of Peter and says that our bus has been changed and we must come pronto to the other bus. For the inconvenience, they will provide the taxi from the bus depot in Oruro to the train. (Our other bus was to take us directly to the train.) There is a young lady we have met, Tash from Brisbane, and another couple on the bus before any “locals” are loaded. Not long before departure time, a German couple come on the bus, feeling very confused and “ripped-off” as they were approached in a panic by the same guy who got us and whisked to our bus, thinking all along that it was a scam! They felt a little better when they saw other foreigners on the bus.
We get a taxi to the bus terminal in lots of time. Nobody is working at the kiosk for Fletcha bus, supposedly the best. Finally, a light is on but still nobody is home. A young man frantically gets a hold of Peter and says that our bus has been changed and we must come pronto to the other bus. For the inconvenience, they will provide the taxi from the bus depot in Oruro to the train. (Our other bus was to take us directly to the train.) There is a young lady we have met, Tash from Brisbane, and another couple on the bus before any “locals” are loaded. Not long before departure time, a German couple come on the bus, feeling very confused and “ripped-off” as they were approached in a panic by the same guy who got us and whisked to our bus, thinking all along that it was a scam! They felt a little better when they saw other foreigners on the bus.
We begin only 10 minutes late, but proceed to lose time as the stop in El Alto becomes the place of choice to get off and get some food. One local decides at the last minute that she is hungry (although I think if she didn’t eat for a month, the reduction of weight would not show!), and she casually goes to a stand and orders something. The bus driver inches forward until he is just past her and then stops and waits. We are now over an hour and not yet out of La Paz. As we pass the spot we saw the body on the way in and hit the autopisto, an Evangelical preacher begins his spiel. You don’t need any Spanish to recognize the patter. Finally, he passes the hat and explains that he has a website. As if by providence, the bus begins to sputter. Finally, we are parked at the side of the road and the locals are up in arms yelling at “el maestro” - their word for the driver. The bad news is we have run out of diesel the good news is we are only 50 yards from the station! They get a can of fluid to get us to the pump. By the time we leave it is almost 2 hours and we are maybe a half hour out of La Paz. Luckily, we have three hours before our supposed arrival time and the departure of the train.
The train station in Oruro is exceptionally clean. We buy a few snacks for a late lunch and for on the train. They begin boarding early. Our seats are fine, if somewhat thread-bare. They show movies as we travel. Our dinner is small, but adequate - chicken, fries, frozen vegetables, and canned gravy. It is accompanied by a warm coke.
I lowered my seat at about ten o’clock, snuggling under the warm cover. But, the track is so rough that at times when you go over a series of undulations, one feels it that the train is going to become air-bound. Otherwise, it sways enough to cause anyone so inclined to become sea sick. Yet, we get to Vilazon in one piece, if not a little tired.
The crossing of the border was long, but uneventful. The walk from the train to the frontier is farther than it appears on the Internet. A taxi might have been a good idea, especially since Peter is still under the weather.
We do take a taxi from the Argentina border to our hostel. It is a little tired, but it is clean and in the centre of the downtown not far from the bus stop. We take the room that is ready, and within an hour we are fast asleep until early afternoon.
We go out to use the Internet and to have dinner, only to discover that in Argentina, you eat before three a la tarde, or after eight at night! The supermarket became our source of dinner. I have discovered that strawberry yogurt is just as good as peach.
The town is very clean and quiet, much to our liking. We are in bed early and make up for some of the lost sleep over the past few days. The bus is not until 2:30 the next day, so no morning hurry.
La Paz
Photos:
Wiring in the street! Can you make sense of it, Lorne?;
Typical stall in the Witches' Market;
Llama fetus (for good luck) in the Witches' Market;
Downtown.
View from the Mirador we walked to.
Monday, Oct. 18.
Before starting our day, we drop our laundry at the front desk. It will be ready tonight, by 10. It turns out to be very well done, nice white whites, neatly folded, but cost way more than we were expecting. I’m happy because it is done!
We walk uphill to get our tickets, and the lady there suggests we walk to where we are going to get the city tour bus. She says it is almost all flat on the way. She also suggests that if we have time, we should go to the mirador as it is a nice park and an excellent view of the city.
We go downhill to the hotel, then our walk takes us about fifty minutes as at this high-altitude strolling is a fast pace. We walk by the University building which is a high-rise with a plaza in front. We find a corkscrew to replace the one we broke a couple of days ago. It is amazing how small finds in a big city can be so satisfying! We make the turn to the mirador (lookout for those who don’t get the joke), yes, it is more uphill. It makes Park Hill look flat! and it goes about twice as high. The park is lovely with large shade trees and a lovely view. There is a small chapel here which is probably built over an original indigenous peoples’ worship site, as most of the Spanish Catholic churches are so placed.
After a little rest, it is downhill again, this time one must take care not to slip and fall as the grade is so steep.
We arrive for our bus about an hour early and have one of the best times just sitting and watching the world rush by. We entered The Ritz hotel - serious 5 star - to ask about our tour bus stop and are hustled out as the handsome young bell hop if full regalia shows us where it is.
Before starting our day, we drop our laundry at the front desk. It will be ready tonight, by 10. It turns out to be very well done, nice white whites, neatly folded, but cost way more than we were expecting. I’m happy because it is done!
We walk uphill to get our tickets, and the lady there suggests we walk to where we are going to get the city tour bus. She says it is almost all flat on the way. She also suggests that if we have time, we should go to the mirador as it is a nice park and an excellent view of the city.
We go downhill to the hotel, then our walk takes us about fifty minutes as at this high-altitude strolling is a fast pace. We walk by the University building which is a high-rise with a plaza in front. We find a corkscrew to replace the one we broke a couple of days ago. It is amazing how small finds in a big city can be so satisfying! We make the turn to the mirador (lookout for those who don’t get the joke), yes, it is more uphill. It makes Park Hill look flat! and it goes about twice as high. The park is lovely with large shade trees and a lovely view. There is a small chapel here which is probably built over an original indigenous peoples’ worship site, as most of the Spanish Catholic churches are so placed.
After a little rest, it is downhill again, this time one must take care not to slip and fall as the grade is so steep.
We arrive for our bus about an hour early and have one of the best times just sitting and watching the world rush by. We entered The Ritz hotel - serious 5 star - to ask about our tour bus stop and are hustled out as the handsome young bell hop if full regalia shows us where it is.
We walk to the opposite side of the traffic circle, dodging traffic to get across two streets, and find a wooden bench meant as a waiting place. In front of us is the moving stop of the thousands of mini-busses that serve as a major form of transportation. The destinations of each bus is painted on the windshield and is often accompanied by someone yelling the destinations in the hope of attracting passengers. As they pull in towards the side of the road (sometimes just stopping in traffic) a passenger or two appear to fall out of the vehicle almost simultaneously as the others jam themselves inside. Every strata of society appears to use these vans. We are absolutely fascinated.
Finally the bus arrives, and although we are glad we took the trip as it takes us to one of the highest miradores in town, it confirms our belief that La Paz is a city that is falling apart from lack of repairs. I took a picture of the wiring system, so I hope it will download well so you will get a feeling for the place. Yes, many of the buildings are old, but many are only one hundred years old and some, like the skyscrapers are quite new, yet all appear to be falling apart. It makes the downtown Eastside of Vancouver look normal.
Finally the bus arrives, and although we are glad we took the trip as it takes us to one of the highest miradores in town, it confirms our belief that La Paz is a city that is falling apart from lack of repairs. I took a picture of the wiring system, so I hope it will download well so you will get a feeling for the place. Yes, many of the buildings are old, but many are only one hundred years old and some, like the skyscrapers are quite new, yet all appear to be falling apart. It makes the downtown Eastside of Vancouver look normal.
For dinner, the hotel has recommended Luna & Sol. It is only two blocks uphill. We look in and realize that we are forty years older than the eldest person there. Peter wants to check out a hostel on the next uphill street, so we mount the stairs and take a look. We decide to return to the restaurant for dinner and are not disappointed. I have a nice, spicy roti and Peter has a fillet, we share a bottle of water, and each have a large glass of wine. All this for the equivalent of $30 Canadian.
If you are getting tired of the ups and downs, so are we! Also, Peter is definitely getting the flu or something. He is lacking appetite, and having some problems getting enough air. I think it is a bit of altitude sickness without the headache. I am looking forward to finally feeling warm as we move from the mountains and la pampa.
Tomorrow we begin a twenty-four hour trip by bus and train to the first hole-in-the-wall place (if you don‘t count Copacabana) - La Quiaca, Argentina.
If you are getting tired of the ups and downs, so are we! Also, Peter is definitely getting the flu or something. He is lacking appetite, and having some problems getting enough air. I think it is a bit of altitude sickness without the headache. I am looking forward to finally feeling warm as we move from the mountains and la pampa.
Tomorrow we begin a twenty-four hour trip by bus and train to the first hole-in-the-wall place (if you don‘t count Copacabana) - La Quiaca, Argentina.
La Paz, Bolivia
Photos: Orchestra playing at Belles Artes; Cathy, remember the braids?; Cathedral at main square; The young ladies who are not from El Alto; Dancing ladies.
Sunday, Oct. 17
A last word on Copacabana: It is extremely small with few cars and few barred windows and doors. There was an extremely thin lady we saw several times, each time on the road outside a place that sold CDs, which of course they were playing. This lady was spinning and dancing in her own little world. The locals paid absolutely no attention to her as this is what she did.
A last word on Copacabana: It is extremely small with few cars and few barred windows and doors. There was an extremely thin lady we saw several times, each time on the road outside a place that sold CDs, which of course they were playing. This lady was spinning and dancing in her own little world. The locals paid absolutely no attention to her as this is what she did.
Our first morning in La Paz, I awake to church bells. Our hotel is at the side of Iglesia San Francisco. We walk uphill to the travel agent who is closed, but get some meds from the farmacia de lado to help with our runny noses. We go downhill to the hotel, then uphill in the other direction to find the main square. On the way we hear the music of many ten-string guitars. At the Belles Artes they are having a free concert of an orchestra. The participants are mostly dark-skinned and of all ages. We stay awhile, but Pete’s attention span is stretched, so we move on to the square. This is the site of the Governor’s Palace, the City Hall, and, of course, another church. A marching type band has just finished performing, obviously by the instruments and uniforms, they are not from El Alto! A high school band begins to perform. There are adults (teachers?) also participating. One lady is really good on the saxophone. There is a dance group preparing to perform next and I hope to see them, but a huge black cloud is closing-in, so we leave just before the band has finished. During one of their numbers, some older, well-dressed ladies waltz into the open space and performed an impromptu formal dance with white handkerchiefs waving gracefully over their heads. The audience applauds enthusiastically when they finish.
Before we reach our hotel - downhill - it begins to rain fairly heavily. We stop at our room for Peter to get a jacket, and then again walk uphill to the travel agent. It is obvious by now that she does not work on Sundays! Peter later sends her an e-mail which is promptly answered that she has our bus and train tickets ready for us to pick-up on Monday after 10.
Earlier this morning, I had a neat experience. While Peter was using the bank machine, I took out my camera to take a photo of the skyscraper across the street. At the same time two short gentlemen were also taking a picture. When they noticed me, they asked me, in Spanish of course, where I was from. I answered and asked them also. It turned out they were tourists from a town north of Lima, Peru. They told me that their town and the area is very beautiful. When Peter emerged from the caja, he was surprised as he was greeted by two little guys shaking his hand and smiling in greeting!
Monday, October 18, 2010
La Paz
Saturday, Oct. 15.
Those of you who are following will realize that the picutre from yesterdays’ post actually belong with today’s. Not to worry, because I had too many to download at once for today. I hope today’s will be: the snow-capped mountains (for skiers) north on La Paz; Our first view of the city; the city in the bowl, La Paz; finally for Trevor, Spike enjoying his ride in my backpack to so many interesting places;
It is a real treat to have an early afternoon bus, 1:30, so we sleep in and have a little breakfast. Our check-out is 10:30, so Peter settles the bill and we sit in the atrium for the two hours before we leave. I begin to knit socks and Peter enjoys his Kindle. Although there is a free ride down at 1, we bump our way downhill at 12:45 and are the first in line. I stake-out our place and Peter takes care of the luggage. There is no bus depot in Copacabana - it is one of the main streets in town! There have to be fifteen buses of all sizes and shapes. The couple we call “the poutty girl” couple from our hotel & trip yesterday, are second in line and it is obvious he thinks that they are first! I managed to hold my position. Trevor would be proud of how his old Baba managed this in pleasant, but firm way. We got the first seat which looked out the front window and had lots of leg room. Peter figures the bus will go around the boulevard we are parked on to get out of town. No, he goes up a different street and is blocked by the buses and vans parked outside the Basilica. It is Saturday - wedding day! \Now he driver skilfully and backs down the same, narrow road, pedestrians almost under the wheels. When we finally make it to the bottom, he goes the way Peter figures he should have in the beginning. Oh well, we are a little late in leaving.
On the trip to La Paz you go over two substantial passes. The topography at one point was like going from Rock Creek to Osooyos. We saw a group of bikers on the uphill and thought of how their lungs must be burning enduring both the incline and the air at 4000 metres. You also go over a short stretch of water. Everyone gets out and pays a small fee for a ride across in a dilapidated motor boat, while the bus goes by barge with a minibus or car sharing the space. It is quick and efficiently done. It is also a bathroom or smoke break for those who need it. We are still driving around Lake Titicaca. You get an appreciation for its size on this bus trip.
The land on this side of the crossing appears easier to work as it is in the flat plains of the lake. We pass one town that looks like it is a sport fishing area for the rich of La Paz. The highway, as we near the city becomes quite smooth. Finally, we reach the outskirts which are Alto to the city. People are hustling across in front of the bus. This is the only time our driver used his horn except once when a dog looked like it was going to cross. At one point we notice a crowd of people at one side of the road. As we approach, two ladies run across the road and there is a man (corpse?) being lifted into the back of a van-type taxi. Obviously, he had been hit and was being transported to the hospital. Further on, the road widened into a two?three?-lane boulevard. This went through a city much like the ones we saw in Mexico. Suddenly, we got a view of the city Abajo! It is one of the most extraordinary sights I have ever seen. It is like a big bowl - almost like the inside of an immense volcano with large, modern buildings at the bottom and houses all the way up the sides. You are now on a highway which coils down like the upper level from Horseshoe Bay to the Second Narrows bridge. Part of the way down we take the off ramp onto a highway that is gridlocked. It certainly pays to be the biggest, as the bus got through in less than five minutes. He had to back-off and let a van go so he would have room to squeeze on. This highway is just like in Quebec where the on ramp is before the off ramp so most of the traffic is crossing over! We travel down a little farther and leave the highway to enter the main bus depot. Of course, there is no carrel for us, so the driver just keeps going and parks parallel to the building. Luckily, my luggage is the first to fall out when the driver opens the bottom. Peter’s was right under mine, so we are off quickly. The official taxis are allowed to enter the bus-parking area, and we have one of the first. Then begins the fifteen-minute hair-raising ride to the hostel/hotel. The ride was about $7.00. The tiny bell-hop picks up both our bags and carries them up the flight of stairs to the front desk. After check-in, he carries them, plus Peter’s daypack down the back flight of stairs to our room. Again, there is a bright atrium and our room is tidy and clean. Now a little down-time in La Paz. Spike has been our “good luck” companion and conversation starter snugly settled in my pack. We plan a Hop On/Hop Off city tour on Monday, otherwise, just walk and explore. I’ll post again once we are out of La Paz.
Those of you who are following will realize that the picutre from yesterdays’ post actually belong with today’s. Not to worry, because I had too many to download at once for today. I hope today’s will be: the snow-capped mountains (for skiers) north on La Paz; Our first view of the city; the city in the bowl, La Paz; finally for Trevor, Spike enjoying his ride in my backpack to so many interesting places;
It is a real treat to have an early afternoon bus, 1:30, so we sleep in and have a little breakfast. Our check-out is 10:30, so Peter settles the bill and we sit in the atrium for the two hours before we leave. I begin to knit socks and Peter enjoys his Kindle. Although there is a free ride down at 1, we bump our way downhill at 12:45 and are the first in line. I stake-out our place and Peter takes care of the luggage. There is no bus depot in Copacabana - it is one of the main streets in town! There have to be fifteen buses of all sizes and shapes. The couple we call “the poutty girl” couple from our hotel & trip yesterday, are second in line and it is obvious he thinks that they are first! I managed to hold my position. Trevor would be proud of how his old Baba managed this in pleasant, but firm way. We got the first seat which looked out the front window and had lots of leg room. Peter figures the bus will go around the boulevard we are parked on to get out of town. No, he goes up a different street and is blocked by the buses and vans parked outside the Basilica. It is Saturday - wedding day! \Now he driver skilfully and backs down the same, narrow road, pedestrians almost under the wheels. When we finally make it to the bottom, he goes the way Peter figures he should have in the beginning. Oh well, we are a little late in leaving.
On the trip to La Paz you go over two substantial passes. The topography at one point was like going from Rock Creek to Osooyos. We saw a group of bikers on the uphill and thought of how their lungs must be burning enduring both the incline and the air at 4000 metres. You also go over a short stretch of water. Everyone gets out and pays a small fee for a ride across in a dilapidated motor boat, while the bus goes by barge with a minibus or car sharing the space. It is quick and efficiently done. It is also a bathroom or smoke break for those who need it. We are still driving around Lake Titicaca. You get an appreciation for its size on this bus trip.
The land on this side of the crossing appears easier to work as it is in the flat plains of the lake. We pass one town that looks like it is a sport fishing area for the rich of La Paz. The highway, as we near the city becomes quite smooth. Finally, we reach the outskirts which are Alto to the city. People are hustling across in front of the bus. This is the only time our driver used his horn except once when a dog looked like it was going to cross. At one point we notice a crowd of people at one side of the road. As we approach, two ladies run across the road and there is a man (corpse?) being lifted into the back of a van-type taxi. Obviously, he had been hit and was being transported to the hospital. Further on, the road widened into a two?three?-lane boulevard. This went through a city much like the ones we saw in Mexico. Suddenly, we got a view of the city Abajo! It is one of the most extraordinary sights I have ever seen. It is like a big bowl - almost like the inside of an immense volcano with large, modern buildings at the bottom and houses all the way up the sides. You are now on a highway which coils down like the upper level from Horseshoe Bay to the Second Narrows bridge. Part of the way down we take the off ramp onto a highway that is gridlocked. It certainly pays to be the biggest, as the bus got through in less than five minutes. He had to back-off and let a van go so he would have room to squeeze on. This highway is just like in Quebec where the on ramp is before the off ramp so most of the traffic is crossing over! We travel down a little farther and leave the highway to enter the main bus depot. Of course, there is no carrel for us, so the driver just keeps going and parks parallel to the building. Luckily, my luggage is the first to fall out when the driver opens the bottom. Peter’s was right under mine, so we are off quickly. The official taxis are allowed to enter the bus-parking area, and we have one of the first. Then begins the fifteen-minute hair-raising ride to the hostel/hotel. The ride was about $7.00. The tiny bell-hop picks up both our bags and carries them up the flight of stairs to the front desk. After check-in, he carries them, plus Peter’s daypack down the back flight of stairs to our room. Again, there is a bright atrium and our room is tidy and clean. Now a little down-time in La Paz. Spike has been our “good luck” companion and conversation starter snugly settled in my pack. We plan a Hop On/Hop Off city tour on Monday, otherwise, just walk and explore. I’ll post again once we are out of La Paz.
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