Nazca

Saturday, Nov. 27.
Breakfast includes scrambled eggs and lovely buns that are all crust! Yes, there appears to be no dough, just air in the centre. I actually eat two - when normally I would not even have one.
The owner disappears and the lady in charge has no English. We manage to get her to understand that we wish to go downtown, but she does not understand the message that Peter wants to talk to the owner to cancel his seat on the plane going over the Nazca lines tomorrow.
The nice girl does explain to the driver to show us on the way downtown how to walk home. He is very conscientious about doing this.
We wander the “tourist” street, that is very low-key, and then the “local” shopping street, which is very busy. The hunks of meat and whole yellow chickens with their feet still attached - but heads gone - sit on the tables right beside the sidewalk. The Plaza de Armas looks like it has been newly renovated as it is in prestine condition and the trees are small.
Peter gets himself some beer and we flag a taxi for the return trip. It is just too dusty and hot to walk.
I have a short swim in the pool, enough to cool off. I do my final embroidery on my hat and Peter reads and snoozes by the pool. We will have dinner at the hotel as we skipped lunch today. Finally, the owner returns and is not too happy about Peter’s cancellation (she must get a kick-back), but says she will arrange things. I should be prepared to leave about 7:30 in the morning. Sound good to me.
Before dinner, we have a drink with the owner and a young man who does carpentry for her. He is married to a French-Canadian lady from Montreal. He spent three months taking French lessons in Quebec and worked as a carpenter while he lived there. He likes the style of life much better in Nazca than in Montreal. He chatted with me, correcting my Spanish nicely, as we spoke. He speaks only Spanish and French!
Dinner was expensive by Chilean standards, or what we have gotten used to, but we are in a small hotel and we are almost the only residents at the moment. We saved half our bottle of wine for tomorrow night.
I must be up early for my flight. I am going to take the non-drowsy sea-sickness pills we bought in New Zealand as soon as I wake up as I have read that the swooping of the Cessna can be a little “upchucking!” I hope to get some good pictures!

Sunday, Nov. 28
After the warnings by the young embassy worker from Estonia who told us on the bus that they had had a conference with other European countries warning that the outfits running the airplanes over the lines are not safe and that under no circumstances should we take the chance of flying over the lines, I still want to go. I don’t think there is as thoughtful and unselfish husband as Peter in the world! I know he is worried about me going, but he says nothing negative except - I don’t know what I would do without you. He gets up, makes sure I have taken my seasickness pill and comes with our landlady to the airport. He does all the fretting while I just wait to be told when I can go through security.
The pilot is in his fifties and the co-pilot in his twenties. There are only five seats in the little Cessna. They seat us to distribute the weight evenly. One guy from Liechtenstein is six-foot six, but slim, and yet he has had to pay extra because he is overweight. We all get seated, and off we go. We fly at about 2000 feet when we are not swooping down to see something.
The whole flight takes only a little over ½ hour, but it is spectacular. I thought the pictures of the lines had been doctored in photos I have seen, but the ones we see are very clear. They fly early morning and late afternoon to get the use of the shadows to reveal the characters well. We see twelve fully-distinguishable figures plus other lines. It is as amazing as one can imagine. The mystery of the why they were produced is still in dispute. The fact that they have been here, the earliest, for 2000 years is hard to comprehend. The fact that they were not fully discovered until the 1920s is interesting, but it is only from the air that they can be fully appreciated.
The Atacama desert is the dries place on earth. One area of it recorded a 400 year drought that ended in 1971. With no rain, whatever is made on the desert does not get destroyed. The oldest lines are carbon-dated to 300 B.C. while the youngest are 800 a.d. As you can imagine, this has been one of my high-highlights of South America.
We have breakfast once we return to the hotel and decide to take another trip downtown. Peter knows I would like to visit the museum. It is a little walk from the downtown area, but has an open sign on the metal doors. We ring the bell as instructed and soon are admitted to a lovely courtyard. It is 15 soles each for the admission, but turns out to be a very fair price. They have a translation book for the displays - not always correctly marked but we figure it out. We spend about an hour and a half looking at the marked displays and the artefacts they have in separate display cases. They have examples of “trophy” heads, sort of like the shrunken heads we saw earlier. There is a hole in the forehead and a rope through it where the person could wear the head to display his own power. Much of the art work on the pottery mimics the lines in the desert. Quite a bit of textiles have been preserved. This is all pre-Inca.
As we arrived we noticed one room filled with Lions Club members. It turns out that they are having a convention. As we leave a “Lion” comes out and introduces himself as a Canadian. He certainly has a Latino accent, but he is retired and he and his wife run a bed and breakfast in Ontario. All his kids are also in Canada. I think the fact Peter has his red Canada shirt on gave away our nationality!
By the time we arrive back at the hotel, the place is jumping. Locals who have a little money come to the hotel on a Sunday to enjoy the pool, the booze, and the food. As the place is not busy, it is a steady income for the owner. Unfortunately, some stay into the evening.
We have a nice supper, with my “pollo cordon bleu” becoming the favourite. Peter eats almost half of my over-sized serving. We finish our wine and beer by the pool before heading to our room in the dark at 7:30. It just seems way to early to go to bed!
Tomorrow we head for Lima and the final two days. Wednesday night we start the long trip home at midnight, arriving in Vancouver around 2 p.m. on Thursday. On the following Sunday it is off to the real “down-under”. But not before the highlight of arriving back in Canada on Dec. 2.
While talking with Douglas on Skype, I discover that he and Willow will be in Vancouver on the 2nd to attend the Leonard Cohen concert. Right - I’m going to miss that - not if I can help it! Thanks to the timely call and the fact that there are still seats available, I will be spending the night after my flying night at the concert. I cannot believe my luck. And even Peter will be happy as he will probably go to the pub for dinner and a good Canadian beer. I guess he will celebrate having won his Grey Cup bet with you-know-who from Saskachewan.


From far side:
Leaving Tacna.
On the road again.

The northern part of the desert.

Anyone for a chicken?


I enjoy a swim in Nazca.

My hat is now complete.

The pilot I have faith in.

Sorry, it got printed twice.

The lines.

The astronaut.

He is upside down here.

More lines.


This is the condor or the hummingbird?

The mountains we go over on the way back to the airport.











The city of Nazca.

We are back safely.

Peter still waiting. Sorry, I missed his head in my excitement.

Arica to Nasca

Thursday, Nov. 25

One month until Christmas and we will be somewhere in New Zealand then. All I know for sure is that I will not be cooking a turkey. I wonder what we will have for dinner?
Today we have a lazy morning and walk in the opposite direction from town and come upon another beach with kindergarten and school kids at the beach. We don’t realize that this is an outing to celebrate the end of a school year. In S.A. the school year actually begins at the beginning of the year. Well, January or February. This beach is well-protected with rock outcroppings. There is even a lifeguard on duty.
We walk out onto the rocks just beyond the beach and find many sea shells as well as see many little things swimming and walking in the water. I collect a few shells to take home. I never do anything with all these shells, but I am getting a decent sized collection.
After the “home-made” lunch and a time at the pool, we go to collect our washing. The old guy at Roma continues to practice his English on us as he wraps our sparkling-clean, neatly-folded washing in thin brown paper which he affixes with scotch-type tape. It turns out that he was born in 1904! Yes, that makes him 96 years old. I guess hard work is one of the secrets to longevity. I hope a life of traveling and learning does the same.
Dinner is back at Oseano Azul. A different waiter, but the same owner and cook. I have a plate of ceviche which is, I’m happy to say, as good as Jesus’. I leave the potatoes and give Peter my greens as he doesn’t get any and I dive into the next dish - one typical of the region. Without knowing I had had the Reineta fish the other night, he recommends it done in a special sauce. Again, it is delicious. A whole mess of fish, one marinated and one in a rich sauce and that is dinner for me. I opt for the mango sours instead of the pisco. Very smooth, but I like the pisco better.
We have to pack ready for our 14 hours on the bus tomorrow. A gastronomically satisfying, but not exciting evening.

Friday, Nov. 26.
Before we go down for breakfast, Peter notices that there are two navy guys walking along the beach. This is unusual, but he doesn’t mention it to me. When we get downstairs for the breakfast, we notice the place is swarming in navy people, army people in full-flack uniforms, and many “undercover” well-dressed big guys with the earpieces. Outside the driveway is filled with way too expensive cars! Everyone is in a bit of a flutter, except Petrito, the bell hop, who tells us when we inquire that the president is coming for breakfast! By the time we leave, the dignitaries are having breakfast in a private room which is obscured by a nylon curtain. I thought Petrito said it was the president of Chile, but the taxi driver who took us to the bus depot said it was the president of Peru. As you can tell, we neither get a picture nor an autograph because we would know which is if we had. The president of Chile is a man and the president of Peru is a woman!
We arrive at the bus depot, but Peter has not explained the drill to me which he has learned from the desk clerk the first day in Arica. I get a little nervous when Peter is steering us to a dilapidated taxi with three other people and the taxi driver is taking our passports! Maybe a little preparation would have been helpful. This is actually how you get most efficiently from Arica, Chile, to Tecna, Peru, where you get the bus that takes you north. I have to admit, this was as nervous as I have been in South America. The movement through the border is the best yet and, I think, the fact we are with a regular colectivo taxi driver smoothed the situation. The customs did confiscate my apples, but they do that to me all the time in California!
Unfortunately, there are no full-cama (full-recline to bed position) seats available (there are only 12 on a bus) so we have semi-cama (the leg rest does not come all the way up) from here to Nazca. An Australian fellow who has just come to check in as required four hours before his reservation was lucky enough to get the last full-cama seat to Lima. He is going farther and he did have the knowledge to get his desk clerk to phone three days earlier to get the reservation. We do get the upper-front seats which mean nobody is reclining into your space.
We can leave our suitcases at the counter, so we take a taxi and look around town. There is a huge celebration in the town square. It has something to do with the police cadets and the local schools. We are fascinated by the prescion and the numbers of both schools and kids involved. There are probably over a thousand - from grade 3 to grade 12. Of course, everyone is in their varying school uniforms and the girls either have their hair in a bun with a net, like the real police women, or is one full-French braid that starts at the top of their head. The marching song which the band is playing becomes pretty repetitive after an hour, but the whole thing is spectacular. We learn later that this is done every year to celebrate the end of the school year. The kids now start their three-month summer holiday!
There is a small museum jus across from the main square. We spend a little while going through. It was the house of Jorge Basadre, a famous Chilean historian. We later see the young woman who is working (or volunteering) there on the bus to Nazca. She is off to visit friends in Ica, about half-way between Nazca & Lima.
Finally, it is time to get the bus, but there is security before getting on. They give our carry-ons a look through, we are monitored with a radar wand, and they take our picture. Before the bus leaves, a fellow gets on and videos each person in their seat. Seemingly, hijacking is not unheard of on this stretch oh highway! I’m glad I had never heard of it. The bus is monitored on GPS, so I assume the authorities have things under control.
We get less than an hour north of Tecna, when we have another customs check. I guess a lot of stuff, especially electronics, is smuggled into Peru through Chile from Bolivia. (I didn’t know they had much in Bolivia.) This process of taking everything off the bus and searching takes over an hour. Luckily, other than one short stop while the police check I.D.s of the passengers, it is clear sailing.
The ride begins very well with long straight stretches through the desert. I am a fairly good rider, but, by the time the dinner is served between 7:30 and 8 p.m., I simply can not eat. Because I am so hungry, I eat the rice, but that is as much as I can chance. We swing from side to side as the bus negotiates curve after curve around the mountains. Yet, everything is still rock and sand. I am quite happy when it get dark early - we have moved two hours forward from Arica - except the driver does not put on his lights. I am sure he has “running” lights, but nothing that can be seen to light the road. This seems to be the custom as we have huge trucks barrelling towards us with virtually no lights on. Finally, it gets pitch-dark, the lights come on, and I really don’t want to see what is ahead - well, actually - what is at the side. Nothing but air. We zig and we zag and we pass on the double yellow solid line. This is a two-lane mountain highway with no passing lanes and hoards of trucks as it is the main north/south highway this side of the Andes. Like the American I-5 only two lanes around the sides of mountains. Best to sleep. I do so fitfully until I awaken at 3:30 a.m., about an hour from Nazca. It turns out to be 1 ½ hours, but we arrive as the sun comes up. The lady from our hotel has been here since 4 waiting for the bus. The Oasis Hotel turns out to be as nice as the reviews claim. We fall into bed just around six for two hours of shut-eye before having breakfast at 9.
It is now - (next blog) -

Far side: author Jorge Basadre;

The courtyard of his home, now museum.

Goose stepping.

The band that played the same song for an hour.

The officials & the Hero!

Spike ready for another bus trip.


The navy on guard behind our hotel.

The President of Chile or Peru came for breakfast.

The waiter and owner at Oceano Azul, Arica.





This "thing" is alive. I have an empty one.

Peter outside Roma's where the 94 yr.-old man works.






A church sent from France designed by Eiffel.

Like in Santa Rosalia, B.C.S.









Our infiniti pool with ocean behind.

The public beach in Arica.









A sunset in Arica.

Pueto Varas to Santiago to Arica - Going North!

It is now, Wednesday, November 24, and we have gone from Puerto Varas, our farthest southern point in Chile, to Arica, our farthest northern point.

This time I thought I would try something different. I’m going to post the photos first, then the script and see what happens. This is all a learning experience, and, at 69, learning comes slowly!
On the last post, the first caption for the pictures was supposed to be the “doll” on our bed, but she was shown down farther and it was not our “door“. We didn’t name the doll, but she was company for Spike.

Saturday, Nov. 20
We spend the day with good seats top-floor front, but not semi-cama (leg-rests), back to Temuco and the Holiday Inn.
All buses go through Valdivia, a port city at the coast. It has been hit in past by serious earthquakes and tsunamis, but it looks reasonably prosperous. As it is Saturday, we see from the bus that it is flee-market day. A couple of the streets and side streets are the area for selling used clothes. Something like Alta tension in San Jose! I get a picture of the fruit and vegetable streets. And to think of the lack of interest in the farmer’s market in Castlegar. Anyway, it looks like fun.
It’s funny how every new town is so strange when you first arrive, but we had only a full day in Temuco, yet the taxi ride back to the Holiday Inn from the bus is quite familiar to us.
Nice digs. We eat again from their pre-prepared, micro-waved meals and get to bed early as tomorrow is another day on the bus. I am glad we are not riding the Greyhound!

Sunday, Nov. 21.
Thank goodness we have the semi-cama, big seats with leg rests for the long stretch back to Santiago. The bus doesn’t leave Temuco until 10 a.m., so we have a lovely breakfast and I put together food (from the buffet) to take on the bus for lunch. The colourful Peruvian bag I purchased for about five dollars in the market at Aqua Calientes (Machu Picchu) has more than paid for itself. Luckily, I have a small sewing kit along because it did need a little mending at one point.
I have finished knitting my wool socks, so I can wash and store Cathy’s. A lady on the bus to Puerto Varas looked at what I was knitting each time she walked by us on the bus. Finally, she stopped to ask what I was knitting. I showed her the finished sock and she was quite impressed. She gave me a card for a yarn shop in Puerto Varas, but we never did find it.
We arrive on time in Santiago to wonderfully warm weather. The taxi driver has no idea where our hotel is - it is small and fairly new - so I just tell him - cerca del Mercado Central pero dos quadros mas en el mismo calle, el edificio de rojo. We actually get there!
The nice boy is on duty and carries our suitcases up the three flights. He certainly deserves a tip before we leave.
We unpack the suitcase that we stored at the hotel and, in putting things away I realise that my Teva sandals are not amongst the stuff. I think the last time I wore them was in Temuco or Puerto Varas - as we had cold, rainy weather in the south. I am really annoyed with myself as I will need them to wear in New Zealand and Australia etc.. What a bummer!
We walk to Plaza de Armas and have dinner at the Marco Polo. It was once again good food at a reasonable price. The square is a lively family place on Sunday night. There are entertainers, artists, and the same guy we saw last week attempting to convince a crowd something we don’t understand!
I have a sleepless night as I fret about my shoes and some La Costa stuff. Twice I get up in the night. I send an e-mail in Spanish to the Pucon hostel hoping that is where I left my sandals. Finally, about 4 a.m., I make a cup of mint tea which relaxes me enough to sleep.

Monday, Nov. 22.
I am beginning to feel we are on our way home.
After breakfast, we decide to walk to the Parque Metropolitano. It is probably a half-hour walk, but, again, we like walking through cities. We come to a little street that is the St.Laurance St. of Santiago - all sorts of clothing manufacturing shops. I get a cute black & white top that I put on over my white golf shirt. It has the stylish pointy corners on the bottom. For less than $15, I have a good packing, versatile top.
We discover that the zoo is closed on Mondays, but we take the “funicular”, a 1925 cable car, to the sanctuary of the Immaculate conception and the statue there of the Virgin that over-looks Santiago. It is quite impressive even for heathens like us.
Peter has bought me an inexpensive pair of “lapizlazul” earrings, the blue stones found only in Chile & Afghanistan, and we wander downtown looking for a more expensive - for good - pair. We look in lots of shops, but I like the ones I have and don’t see anything I would spend money on - so I will just continue to wear the nice ones I have.
At Plaza de Armas there is one side where there are arches on the building. In this area, there are fast food, stand up or take-away, stands on the side by the arches (and the plaza) and there are restaurants, side-by-each, on the side by building. We go right down the row looking for something interesting for dinner. I have to choose between a stew - always in the Chilean restaurants - and something in an individual baking dish. I have no idea what it is but want to try it, so I choose a restaurant with an example of it in the window. Peter has a half chicken and I have the mystery meal. (I’ll post the name next time as I forgot to write it down!)
The mystery meal: served in a black, stone bowl, is ground corn kernels that are cooked in a chicken stalk with chopped onions, bits of chicken and spices - not hot but tasty - with surprises on the bottom - half a hard-boiled egg and two black olives. The top is crusty from being in the oven and from the sugar that crystallizes when it is baked. One serving will easily do two people, so I take half “para llevar!”
The downtown outside of the square is very quiet as we walk home. We need to be packed and ready to go early tomorrow, the wake-up call is for 4 a.m.

Tuesday, Nov. 23.
The phone call and the alarm clock blast us awake at the same time. As we are all ready, we are downstairs by 4:30 a.m. The nice young fellow offers us breakfast which is not usually served until 7 a.m. We have coffee and Peter has toast while I have yogurt. For the first time in S.A., we have a taxi that is not only spotlessly clean, but is quite new and the driver is extremely professional. Thinking back, the closest was the private driver we had to the vineyards in Mendoza. There is little traffic and so it is a quick trip to the airport. The places is buzzing, even at 5:15 a.m. The line-up at Sky airlines is not long, but only one lady is working. A few more arrive at 5:30, but it is a full fifteen minutes before they begin to help customers! Now the line really is long, but we are not far from the front, so we are soon helped. Neither of us are over 17 kg., ( 20 is the limit) so the littlish bags have been a good investment.
Out flight is a little late, and is full to bulging, as it stops at Antofagasta before Arica and then goes on to La Paz, Bolivia. We are served a decent breakfast before Antofagasta - I had never heard of it either, but Peter says it used to be part of Bolivia before it was lost in a war and Bolivia became land-locked! As we land it becomes obvious why we are recommended not to bus between Santiago and Arica. The terrain is totally desert. There is not a tree in sight and sand dunes all around. I can imagine keeping the runway free of sand must be a major job with specialized equipment.
At least half of the people on the plane disembark! I wonder what is so important here! Anyway, the load is lighter as we are off. We approach Arica, the most northern city and a major port in Chile. It is still desert! Again, there is nothing but dirt (sand) and dunes as we approach town. You can see the development - and one tall building that turns out to be the government building in the downtown - to the south and beside the ocean. The hotel shuttle takes us along the waterfront past the town centre and it is all quite pretty. There is a high cliff - of sand - which we round to get to the resort hotel. It is quite posh! Shiny marble floors give it an upscale appearance. Although it is not new, it has been kept in first class shape and will be a wonderful relaxing place to be for three days.
Our room looks to the southwest with a large picture window we can open to hear the waves of the Pacific ocean crashing on the rocks. It is quite rocky just behind the hotel and this is home to thousands of sea gulls. They turn out to be so much fun to watch as they zoom around in what seems like some kind of organized but confusing dance. At times they can be a cacophony of noise, but they are quiet after dark.
Our first job is to find a laundry, so we pack our washing and head off on the ocean-side sidewalk for the twenty minute walk into town. We wander our a likely street and find nothing. We ask locals and get varying directions until two come together - one with the correct directions and the second with a name - Roma. It seems a little iffy, and turns out to be relatively expensive - but it is an experience. The old - and I mean ancient - guy who takes our clothes is anxious to use his English. We ask him where he learned it and he says he went to sea. He says he does not get a chance o speak English! I guess not. Not a lot of travellers wander the streets like we do to find a local lavaderia! Anyway, the stuff will be ready tomorrow at 6 p.m., so we will make another trip in then.
At the hotel, the wind off the water make it feel cool, but the sun is very hot. It is so pleasant, I fall asleep in the sun, something I seldom do. I get a sunburn with lines of white where my bathing-suit straps and wrap cover me. It doesn’t hurt, but it does look funny.
Peter chooses to go to the restaurant next to the hotel as the menu seems more reasonable. As it turns out I have the best dinner I have had in South America. Number 81 on the menu is grilled fish with some kind of cooked spinach and a mixed salad. Now I have to choose the fish - so I ask what is local. The salmon is local, but we have the wonderful sockeye at home, so I go for the Reineta. What a good choice! I tell the owner how pleased I am. He offers us an “after dinner drink to help the digestion” on the house. Also, he gives us a coupon for 2x1 pisco sour or mango sour with our next meal. I think we will return on Thursday.
We sleep with the window open and the sound of the surf. It brings us back memories of our first trip to Jamaica in 1986 and the wonderful room we had at the resort in Ocho Rios.

Wednesday, Nov. 24.
The hotel is very busy as there are at least two different groups having some kind of conferences. The spread for breakfast is first class. This is the first time since Peru that we have had eggs on the buffet. Also, the coffee is good. We linger over the third cup each.
Peter has found a place to stay in Nasca and they turn out to be helpful re-a trip over the Nasca lines and with the bus schedules in Peru. Nobody this side of the border has a clue! We walk into town to see if a travel agent can help, but they have no information. We stop at the post office to send the kids post cards and wander up the main pedestrian street. There is a demonstration brewing which is in full swing around 1 p.m. It appears that the teacher’s union is protesting President Pinera’s proposal to force “early-retirement” as part of his plan to put more money into education reform. We pop into a store while the hoards pass down the pedestrian mall.
We decide to try the bus back to the hotel to see how they work. There is no problem and they are cheap, so we will take it back to pick up our laundry in the evening.
I have the fixings for lunch, so we eat in the room and head to the pool for a few hours. We get into the wine we bought this morning. It is hard to spend even $4 on a bottle of wine! What’s wrong in Canada?
We hop the bus back to town and arrive at the laundry about 6:30. In the conversation with the old man we discover he really is old. He was born in 1916! I think that is the year my late Dad was born. I guess work is good for the health. I hope travel is as well.
We decide to buy “ready made” food from the super market for supper . This works out well, as we sit by the picture window at the end of the hall and watch the waves and the sea gulls. Life’s good.
Another statue - this of books.
My finished socks.
Saturday flee market in Valdivia.

Going up on the Funicular.

The cars of the funicular from the 1920's.

A view of Santiago and the two old
travelers.

We are still smiling!






Constructing a new highrise but keeping the old facade.

One of my favourite Santiago buildings.







The entrance to the Bellas Artes subway station.

A mall, with a winding balcony construction, of all hair salons!

Our final shot of Santiago - 4 a.m. and a full moon.











The rie from the airport to the hotel in Arica. Desert!

The gulls in flight.

The view from our window.













The view across the street from the hotel in Arica.

The waves crashing.
















The birds as the sun goes down.

The sun set - November 23, 2010, Arica, Chile.

My best dinner in South America at the Oceano Azul restaurant.

I've already eaten half of it.

My sun burn.

Surfers going to sea.

Paddling out from our rocky coastline.

(There is one more below.)

The picture window at the end of the hall where peter and I ate dinner.