Colombian Women?

I won't even bother writing anything other than I'm reminded of Rio de Janeiro—every shade, gorgeous, and nice! Just look at the photos. Some of the images were too wide for the blog, so you can click on them to see a larger image. Just hover over them to see which ones are clickable—or go to my photo site to see the originals.

 

Update from the Isthmus

Editing photos and writing this blog takes hours and hours and hours. I'm currently traveling at a pretty fast pace and don't have tons of spare time for those. When I'm in a place, since I don't have much time, I want to see the town and shoot pictures, so I've gotten behind on the blog and the photos, and I'm pretty sure it will stay that way until I'm home. The possible exception might be Managua, since I'm planning on staying there for more than one week with my good friends, the Mingos. So, here's an update on what's going on.

I just posted a blog entry about my time in Ecuador. At the moment, I'm in the hostel in Panama editing some photos from Colombia. I also need to write a blog entry about Colombia—I visited Cali, Medellín, and Cartagena. From Colombia, I took a sailboat to Panama. That took 5 days and we spent a couple of those just lounging around in the San Blas Islands. That was a very enjoyable trip and there were 8 other really nice travelers along for the ride, along with the captain Mark (from the States), his wife Paola (from Cartagena), and a third crew member, Aurelia (from Panama). I didn't sleep too well on the hard cushions, so I've gotten some much needed rest here in Panama.

While here in Panama, I ran a few errands and saw the canal.

One errand was to buy a couple more USB hard drives for my photos. The two 250GB drives I've been using are full. That's 250GB of data, not 500, as the drives are mirrored. I bought two more Western Digital Passport drives, also 250GB. They're quite a bit more expensive here than in the States, but I had no alternative.

Second, I went to the U.S. Embassy to get more pages in my passport. It's full. My original passport was stolen with tons of other things about 8 months ago. I am still feeling the pain of that day. The embassy won't add pages to a temporary passport. I have to get a new, normal, passport. That takes 10 days. So, I'm going to attempt to cross two borders—that's 4 stamps—on a full passport. Since I'll be staying in Managua for a week or so, I'll go to the embassy my first day there and get the new passport ball rolling. I'll leave after I get the new passport.

Third, I went to the canal. I had been there a number of years ago with my good friend Matt Powell, but it was good to see it again, especially after reading a great book about it.

Tonight, I head for San Jose, Costa Rica. The bus leaves at 10:00 P.M. and will arrive in San Jose 16 hours later. I'll be there a few days and hopefully shoot some animals, then take a bus to Managua.

After a few days of putting antibiotic drops in my painted eye, it's doing much better—pretty much back to normal.

Okay. Back to the photos of Colombia. Keep your eyes peeled for those. Hopefully, I'll be able to upload them while in Nicaragua, maybe within a week, or so.

Cuenca and Quito

When I entered Ecuador, the first thing that struck me—besides that fact that I was near the equator, yet it was rainy and cool—was the wide road with nicely blacktopped surface. It was one of the nicer roads I'd seen on my trip. More? The taxis I took in Ecuador all seemed like brand new cars (one of the taxis I had taken in Lima had literally been about to fall apart—I'm not exaggerating, really!). They were the nicest taxis I had taken on my trip. More? The Ecuadorians seemed to be an industrious people. Throughout the country, I saw clearly-delineated fields where people were growing their crops. Others were building or repairing houses or other buildings. I don't remember any beggars. The beautiful rolling hillsides were dotted with houses. I wasn't struck by the densely populated shanty towns (didn't see any), but by what would normally be a life reserved for the well-to-do—a decent house in the hills with lots of space around it. I really couldn't believe it. That's the kind of pad I'd like for myself!

As outlined in another post, the bus drivers were a bit on the wild side. The bus ride to Cuenca was slightly nerve racking, but beautiful. We climbed up and up, into the fog as the lush green vegetation absorbed the moist air. Occasionally, if the fog broke, I could see a thousand feet down, into the depths of the valley. The bus stopped at random intervals to drop off a local at his house or to pick up some school kids on their way home from school, then drop them off five or ten minutes later. We eventually exited the fog, which revealed rugged mountains, dry and dotted with trees and brush.

We passed many small groups of houses along the road, barely worthy of the name village, and occasionally, a larger town. Several times, I wondered if we had arrived in Cuenca—I didn't know how big it was. When we finally arrived, I realized that Cuenca was much bigger than I was expecting. After getting a taxi to my hostel, I took a brief nap, then headed out to explore the town a bit and take a few photos. I walked the few blocks to the main plaza and was immediately approached by some local high school students.

These students were doing a school project. They had to find English speaking people, take them to a local attraction and interview them in English. They took me to the hat museum—Museo del Sombreros. I found the name strange, as it didn't really seem like a museum, but a place where hats were made and sold. There were hundreds of hats, all hand made, initially weaved by women hired just to weave the raw hat, then trimmed, shaped, and decorated right in the museum. The hats which used a coarse fiber were inexpensive—around $15—and somewhat stiff. The hats with a fine weave take much, much longer to weave, are very supple, and can cost hundreds of dollars.

The students' camcorder battery was low from the day's previous interviews and so they had to charge it. While we waited, we went to the cafeteria located above the museum, and they bought me a hot chocolate. There was also a nice view overlooking the city, so I snapped a few shots. When the battery was ready to go, the students wrote their questions down on a piece of paper—I helped them with their English—they asked me the questions, and I answered. Their English left something to be desired, but at least they were working at it. It was really nice to meet them and hang out for a couple hours. They were a great bunch of kids.

I left Cuenca the next morning and took the bus from hell to Quito. As I am writing this, you can rest easy in knowing that I made it alive, if only just.

Quite is not unlike many cities in Latin America in that is it situated in a valley. The city is oriented in a north-south direction and is long and skinny, not unlike the shape of Chile.

As my time was brief and it was raining most of the time I was there, I didn't really do too much exploring. I did make it to the top of Panecillo Hill to visit the winged Madonna, a 45-meter-tall monument built in 1976, and to several of the plazas in old town. The plazas all used a similar architecture, that of the Spanish baroque style in use in the 16th century when the Spaniards conquered this area. I found it a bit plain and unattractive, but for that very reason interesting. It was different than any architecture I had yet seen on my trip.

I liked the vibe of Quito. It was modern, yet with lots of old flavor. I know it had several places for dancing Salsa, although I didn't make it to any of them. The people seemed nice—a trend that I saw in Ecuador. Unfortunately, my schedule dictated that I move on. When I'm in South America again, I'll swing through Quito for a more extended visit.

Colombian Hospitals and Life as a Cyclops

I'm behind on my blog, in case you hadn't noticed, so here's a brief update.

I'll be working on a post about Ecuador and another about Colombia over the next several days, while sailing from Cartagena to Panama. We leave at 6:30 in the morning (Thursday the 13th) and will sail for two days straight. Then, we'll spend two days in the San Blas Islands, then, on Monday, continue on to Panama. We'll take a 4x4 from where we hit land down to Panama City, where I'll spend a couple nights before heading to Costa Rica.

If you were wondering about the title to this post, here's the scoop. There are lots of parties going on right now in Cartagena. They're celebrating their independence and having a contest for the Colombian beauty queen (Fiestas de Independencias de Cartagena de Indias and Miss Colombia—unfortunately, I will be missing Miss Colombia, as it takes place tomorrow, after I leave). These parties are going on for a couple weeks. I'm glad I was here to experience a little bit of it, but would have loved to have spent more time here.

I went to a parade yesterday. People were spraying foam all over the place—cans of foam were for sale—and throwing water and flour. Some guy took a handful of flour and plastered it onto my face, getting it directly into my eye. I was okay, though. Didn't make me happy, but no big deal.

Today, I went to another street party. Got a few photos, but was just getting warmed up. There was also lots of paint being shared amongst the partygoers. A girl took a handful of paint and basically grabbed my face, hammering my eye with a finger. My eye was logged with paint. At first, I couldn't even open it. It stung a fair amount and I was quite bothered that particular partier—there are some who are quite inconsiderate, even rude, while others exercise some respect. I began to wipe the paint out of it, but wasn't really making much headway, so I bought some water and rinsed it out. Still, things weren't returning to normal. For a bit, I feared my LASIK surgery had been undone. Those who've had their corneas cut with a razor blade know what I'm talking about. I decided I should go to the hospital. I like seeing.

I caught a moto-taxi to the hospital—they use motorcycles here in Cartagena as taxis, in addition to cars—gave them my info, and got seen pretty quickly. The doctor shined a flashlight in my eyes, had me look in different directions, and had me close my eyes and then pressed on them, asking me if it hurt. Then a nurse rinsed out the questionable eye, put some antibiotics in it, put a patch over it, and gave me a shot of cortisone. I paid them, caught another moto-taxi, went to a pharmacy and got some drugs—more antibiotic creme and a couple other things—then got dinner and went back to the hostel.

My eye feels like it has sand in it, but I'm supposed to be fine. At least that's my assumption. The doctor didn't act like I was going to go blind. I guess I'll find out. I'll have plenty of time to take it easy and let the eye rest, out of reach of crazy partiers, while sailing during the next several days, so my eye should have a nice, relaxing time to heal.

Recommended Reading

Well, I finished my last book. In a way, that's good, because my pack has gotten smaller and lighter. Now, I'll just have to work on my laptop, look out the window, or, if I'm in a hostel, I can practice the cheap guitar I bought in Salta. I have plenty of books waiting for me when I get home.

The book was one that was recommended to me by my wandering friend, Alaska John. It was The Old Patagonian Express, by well-known author Paul Theroux. This book made me both happy and sad. It made me happy because it was a wonderful book. It was fun to be able to relate to some of what he wrote, as I'm traveling in the same part of the world. I also enjoy trains, and it was fun to hear about the variety of trains he hunted down and traveled in through Latin America (I haven't seen too many). His writing is wonderful, his descriptions colorful, his encounters enchanting, and his wit precious—I laughed out loud at times, not a common occurrence.

The bad part of reading this book is that I was made painfully aware of how lacking my writing is. I thought myriad times while reading The Old Patagonian Express, "If only I could write like that! If only I could describe things like he does! I only I were half as smart as that guy!" I'll just have to learn from him and try to improve.

As with the other books I brought with me on this trip—or picked up along the way—The Old Patagonian Express was a winner.

Crazy Crossing

Crossing the border from Peru into Ecuador was an experience. I took a bus from Trujillo to Tumbes, a town not far from the border. As I stepped off the bus, I was met by a man who asked me if I was going to Ecuador. I told him I was and that I wanted to go with Cifa, a company that had been recommended to me back in Quito because it is an international company—it would take me straight across the border, from well within Peru all the way to Cuenca, Ecuador. He told me they left in 10 minutes and that I had to hurry. I asked him how much the taxi would cost and he told me $2. Going to the bathroom was the most important thing to me in the world at that moment, so I took care of that first.

After I exited the baño, we grabbed my backpack off the bus and hurried off to a taxi. We threw my bags in the back and I got in the back seat. The driver (a different man) started chatting with me. I asked him why we weren't leaving. He didn't answer. A couple minutes later, the first guy got in the back seat next to me and another guy, an employee of the bus company (the bus I had just exited) got in the front seat. He was wearing a vest and cap and looked official. So, now there were three men and me. We headed out.

There had been a change of plans and I hadn't been informed. We were heading to the border, to a town called Aguas Verdes, about a half-hour's drive. I was warned about this border crossing. It's dangerous. The unsuspecting tourist will get robbed—or worse. These men told me this was where we were going, but I was skeptical. Why were there three men in the taxi with me? I half expected that they were going to drive me to a remote location outside Tumbes, rob me and leave me. I placed my hand on my pocket knife—a sharp 3-inch affair with half smooth and half serrated blade. I wanted to make sure it was there. I wondered to myself, if they pulled over and demanded my money and my things, which one I would start with and precisely how I would start. A simple shove into the chest? Slit the throat? I didn't cherish the though, but I was done being robbed. I respect people who fight back against crime, and think the ones who allow themselves to be victims are pathetic. At least if I got robbed again, it wouldn't be because I wasn't paying attention. I would be ready.

I asked why we were going to the border and not simply to Cifa, as I had requested and been told we were doing. I was informed there were going to be protests at the border later in the day and buses and other vehicles wouldn't be able to cross. We would have to hurry before the border closed if I wanted to make it into Ecuador today.

When we arrived at the border town, we saw the buses and other vehicles parked. The protests had begun, apparently, and the border was closed. The driver turned down a side street. We wound around through a maze of narrow passages. The car stopped and a police officer stepped up to the window. The guy in the front seat with the vest on told me I had to pay the office $40 for protection. I knew this was a dangerous crossing—I had been told that by people who had nothing to gain by lying. I wasn't really in my element. I pulled $40 out of my camera bag and handed it to the cop. We continued a few more blocks. The man in the vest also told me I needed to give him $35 to cover his cost (i.e., the taxi) plus the bus to Cuenca. He would get the ticket for me once we were across the border.

At that point, the car stopped, the vested man and the man next to me got out. I was instructed to follow suit. We would be crossing the border on foot—just what I was told not to do—and I would catch a bus on the other side to Cuenca, my first Ecuadorian destination. The man who had been sitting next to me grabbed my backpack and slung it over his shoulder. The driver asked me for a tip as I was about to step out of his cab. This was an expensive trip. The $35 I had given the vested man would cover the taxista's fee. I wasn't going to give him a penny more. I grabbed the rest of my stuff and the three of us headed out.

We headed into the market. I had no idea where Peru ended and Ecuador began. This was the craziest market I had seen. There was barely room to move. The street was filled with men pulling carts—they were in gridlock. We squeezed between them. There were vendors everywhere. There was raw meat hanging from hooks. It was chaotic. We moved fast and stayed together. I wished I was alone with just my camera. The setting was amazing. I thought to myself "I've got to come back and photograph this place."

Aguas Verdes is a small town of only a few thousand. It's mashed together with Huaquillas, a town on the Ecuadorian side. Residents move freely between the two towns to trade, sell, and barter their goods. Immigration control is farther inland on both sides of the border.

At some point—I don't know when—we exited Peru and entered Ecuador. We had left the market behind and the streets were calmer. We approached a taxi driver. Apparently no buses were leaving from this town, also due to the protests. I would have to take the taxi to Pasaje and catch a bus from there to Cuenca. The taxi would cost $25. The bus from there to Cuenca would cost $5. The man in the vest begged me for a tip, saying that would be his only pay. I gave him a five-dollar bill but told him he had to give the taxi driver $5 to cover my bus ticket in Pasaje. I also gave him my last few dollars' worth of Pesos. I was already spending a fortune to get across this damn border, so another five bucks wouldn't kill me. At least that's what I tell myself to feel better. What it comes down to is that I'm a softie. I need to work on my negotiating skills.

The taxi ride went without a hitch. The roads were nice. We arrived in Pasaje in an hour, or so, the driver got me a bus ticket, and collected his $25.

I may have just been robbed by the nice men in the taxi, but I did make it from Peru to Ecuador with all my belongings—minus about a hundred bucks—and with my life. I'll never know what would've happened if I'd saved my money. Maybe nothing. Or maybe I would've ended up with even less.

Cusco, Lima, and Trujillo

At this point in my trip, I had already entered turbo mode, so I'm not spending loads of time getting to know places, unfortunately. My main reason for going to Cusco was to visit the ruins perched on top of Machu Picchu.

The thing that stood out to me the most about Cusco was the volume of tourists. There were more than I had seen in any other place on my trip. With about 400,000 folks visiting the ruins each year, I shouldn't have been surprised. Many of the locals speak English, so as to be able to sell their wares more effectively to the tourists. I had juice at a place called Yajúú! so that gave me a little taste of home, too (even the same font as Yahoo! if you didn't pick up on the similar name). With cobblestone streets—in the old part of town, anyway—and old churches around the perimeter of the main plaza, the city has a look and feel similar to many in Latin America. Up to this point in my trip, however, I hadn't seen many red tile roofs, but this city is covered with them. The view out the hostel windows reveals a city that appears to be made almost entirely of red clay. With church steeples poking up through the sea of tiles, the sight is beautiful.

The main tourist drag stretches in both directions off the main plaza and over part of its length is walled with large stones that the Incas somehow shaped to fit perfectly together. One cannot slide a piece of paper between the rocks, they fit so tightly. Along this street are many art galleries selling beautiful art by local painters, masseuses offering their soothing services, and restaurants for every taste. You'll find more of the same just off the plaza. Elin and I even ran across a club where we danced Salsa for a couple hours.

I was sitting on a bench in the main plaza when a local boy sat down next to me. He was from a small town far out of Cusco, but his parents didn't have money so he was living with his aunt and uncle in the city. Still, he didn't have enough money for school and he was asking for money. He told me $20 would be enough to pay for the rest of his school year—a few months. I asked him if that's how much the entire school year cost. He said yes. We went to McDonald's and I bought us a couple Fruit 'n Yogurt Parfaits. After we were done, I told him I'd walk to his school with him and pay his tuition. Unfortunately (for him), he told me his school is very far away and it would take hours to get there. I figured as much.

A note about trash: There are city workers who keep the streets swept and free of trash here in Cusco. This is something you'll see in some Latin American cities.

If you've got a couple days on top of your visit to the ruins, you'll find enough to keep you busy in Cusco.

Although I wasn't able to visit Arequipa, I'm told it's very nice and should be your next stop on the way to Lima, if you're headed north.

Although I barely scratched the surface of Lima, I can say that for the most part, it's a big, modern city—kind of what I expected. I saw a few old churches from the outside, an old government building—with an armored vehicle parked out front and a guy manning a machine gun on top—the main square, and a market. Pretty typical stuff.

The highlight of my visit to Lima had to be seeing an old friend, John, whom I had met in Puerto Natales several months earlier. After John left Puerto Natales (while I was still there), he went to Panama, but left when the rain started getting to him. Lima was his new home of choice. I met him at his hostel, in the upscale district of Miraflores, and we had lunch together and then I got some ice cream. We visited for a couple hours. It was fun to see him and catch up on life.

On the way back from visiting with John, I stumbled across a parade in celebration of the birthday of the barrio (neighborhood) in which I was staying—Barranco. That was a pleasant surprise for me and I took some photos as I strolled back to the hostel along the parade route.

My last stop in Peru was Trujillo, a little more than halfway up to the border with Ecuador. When I decided to go to Trujillo, I didn't know what I'd find there, I just knew it was a big dot on the map, so I figured there'd be a bus going there and it would get  me part way up to Ecuador, the next country in line. I told some other backpackers where I was off to next, and they kindly pointed out that there are some ruins around the city. That would be perfect.

To get to the ruins, I took a collectivo—basically a minivan, cheap and packed with people—and arrived in about 15 minutes. Unfortunately, they weren't letting anyone in. I had to wait about 20 minutes until the king and queen of Spain and the president of Peru came out. That's not so bad! I knew the king and queen were visiting town, but didn't know I'd bump into them here. I shot some photos as their cars sped past, but didn't get anything earth shattering.

As I was walking into the ruins, I met Simon from England. We walked around the ruins together, and spent the rest of our day together, until I had to catch my bus.

The ruins were very different than those of Machu Picchu, but were interesting in their own way. Instead of being made from piling rocks up, mud bricks where their construction material of choice. Time had been hard on the city, but there was plenty left to see and enjoy. The specific ruins I visited were called Chan Chan, but there are several sets of ruins surrounding the city. The city was built by the Chimu people around 1300. They were later conquered by the Incas. On the way back into town, we stopped at another set of ruins, but of a temple instead of an entire city. It was called Huaca Esmeralda. It was much smaller, but had all the same features and used the same construction methods as Chan Chan, and, I presume, as all the other ruins in the area.

Although I sped through Peru, I enjoyed what I saw. It's a place to go back to a second time for more thorough exploration.

   

   

Up the Andes

If you spend much time traveling the the Western parts of South America, you'll spend time in the Andes mountains. I've been in the Andes mountains off and on over most of my trip.

The Andes is the longest mountain range in the world, stretching out over approximately 7,000 kilometers, the entire length of South America. It's also the highest mountain range outside Asia—the highest in the world, of course, being the Himalayas. The average height of the Andes is about 4,000 meters.

The Andes actually comprise several mountain ranges, including two primary ones—the Cordillera Oriental and Cordillera Occidental—and some smaller ones. In between the two primary ranges is the altiplano, or high plain. This area is in the central part of the Andes, mostly in Bolivia, and averages about 3,300 meters in altitude.

Since arriving in Bolivia several weeks ago, I've been mostly in the Andes. I started with a 4-day tour in Southern Bolivia (between 4,000 and 5,000 meters), then went to La Paz (about 3,600 meters), then to Lake Titicaca (3,812 meters), Cusco, Peru (3,310 meters), Lima (sea level, as it's on the coast), Trujillo (on the coast), Cuenca, Ecuador (2,500 meters), and now Quito (2,850 meters).

From Cusco to Lima was an uneventful 24-hour bus ride. Lima to Trujillo was also not too bad, and only about 10 hours. Trujillo to the border wasn't a big deal and another 10 hours, or so (the border crossing into Ecuador was crazy—busy, apparently dangerous, and expensive). Although all these drivers pass cars and trucks, I didn't feel that death was imminent.

Traveling by bus through the Andes can be a harrowing experience. Maybe it's just the bus drivers in Ecuador. The trip from the Peru/Ecuador border to Cuenca (5 hours) was a bit scary because of the steep cliffs off to the side and the near zero visibility due to fog, but the trip from Cuenca to Quito was particularly coronary-causing.

I had just met Matt from North Carolina at the bus terminal and he would be getting off the bus a couple hours before Quito for an adventure into the outback of Ecuador—into the more remote parts of the Andes (I envy him!!!). Matt is a photographer for a local paper in North Carolina and brought a small digital camera and a rangefinder—a Voigtländer (the oldest name in cameras—1756). I swear that our bus driver thought he was driving a Ferrari in a Formula I race. Or maybe he gets a thousand-dollar bonus for arriving early. Or maybe he's just really competitive. Matt and I were both beside ourselves—we couldn't help laughing. The way this guy was driving this big bus was just ridiculous. A blowout or a slick spot on the road or a broken axle and you would've had 50 dead people—most likely a crumpled wad of sheet metal and guts recovered from the bottom of a thousand-foot cliff. It was one of the more exciting 9-hour periods of my entire trip. Psycho.

Tomorrow, I'm headed to Cali (1,000 meters), then Bogotá ("2,600 meters closer to the stars", their catchphrase) , and finally—for South America—Cartegena (sea level on the northern coast of Colombia). So, I still have some ground to cover in the Andes. Let's hope for sane bus drivers. I'd really like to live to enjoy Central America.