Israel via Amsterdam
Wednesday, March 27, 2013
Long drive to Newark, New Jersey. Left my house shortly after lunch for the three hour drive to Newark. Sunny and terribly windy, got into Newark around 3 PM, took me another 40 minutes looping around the terminal till I managed to find the itsy-bitsy teeny-weeny little signs which showed you where the long term parking lot actually was, after many, many times of circling the airport and with a splitting headache and much anxiety, I finally parked my Jeep in long term and boarded the shuttle to the terminal.
The Delta counter was hard to locate, construction and more confusing signs as to which floor Delta is actually on, but finally made it and checked my bag, got in row for screening and was soon joined by a long line behind me. I am so glad I left my house extremely early, took me another 40 minutes just to get through security. TSA was calling out departures which were leaving soon and allowing people to get bumped ahead, which was considerate of them, judging by the looks on the worried passengers they were very agitated as well.
Grabbed a Chipotle Chicken Wrap at a food stand by my gate and finally settled down to rest and relax. A lady sat down next to me and started on her embroidery, another lady sat immediately behind me and we were soon all immersed in conversation, who is going where and where all have you been? The lady with the embroidery was flying to the Ukraine to visit her grandchildren, the other lady was going to Vienna to chaperone a bunch of teenage girls, her granddaughter included. Me, I was heading through Amsterdam on a 13 hour layover to Tel Aviv.
Our plane soon boarded and the lady going to Vienna managed to get the passenger seated next to her to switch seats with me. She also somehow managed to get a glass of champagne for us. We taxied the runway while viewing an incredible sunset, lifted off over NYC, headed northeast out over Long Island and up into the clouded atmosphere above.
The Delta plane was a Boeing 767. I counted a dozen flight attendants in our economy class, alone. With all the constant hustle and bustle of the busy attendants, offering drinks, dinners and breakfasts, and the hyper-active lady beside me, I got hardly any sleep whatsoever.
I must have dozed off at some point in time, because when I cracked open my window shade, the sun was arising over the western coasts of Europe. An hour later we landed in Amsterdam.
Thursday, March 28
Arrived in Schipol International Airport shortly before 8 AM. I found the lockers for stowed luggage, stashed my backpack and left the terminal, walked downstairs to the train station and spent a frustrating 15 minutes trying to figure out how to purchase a train ticket at a kiosk when I realized there was a counter behind me, over in the corner of the building with actual live people where I purchased a ticket to Central Amsterdam, after making a currency transfer, which is just around the corner from the ticket counters.
I happily boarded the train to Central Amsterdam. Didn’t seem long at all till I was getting off. With my little map in hand, I soon found Singel Street which is what I wanted and found my way to the Anne Frank House, where I am meeting up with my WWII walking tour and am surprised to see the Anne Frank House already had a long line of people waiting outside in the frigid temperatures. No problem, I think to myself, since I had bought my ticket for the 1 PM time slot online and won’t have to wait….when I suddenly remember that I stuck my ticket in my backpack which is now in the locker, back at the Schipold airport. Oh man, there goes that plan.
I grab a cappuccino at the nearby coffee shop and when I come back out, there is Peter, my tour guide and the small group of people who signed up for this three hour walking tour. Introductions are made and then we set off in the brutal cold to learn about Nazi-occupied Holland and see where all the fateful events took place. The tour is incredible and should not be missed for anyone who is interested in WWII history.
Three hours later of bone-chilling temperatures in blustery narrow streets where the sun refused to warm us and I am ready to head back to the train station. I have just enough Euros to get me through the entryway and make my way on the train to Schipold. Retrieve my backpack, grab a piece of pizza and then find my gate and try to catch some zzz’s.
It is a long wait and I just can’t seem to get warm. We finally are ushered through the screening area at our gate and then placed in the lockdown area at the gate anxiously awaiting to board our Tel Aviv flight.
Finally time to board. I am seated next to a sweet young lady from the Netherlands who is looking forward to soaking in some sun on the sandy beaches of Tel Aviv for the next couple of days. Me, I am looking forward to walking the streets of Jerusalem and seeing all the ancient wonders of the Holy Land.
The flight is relatively empty, so I jump in the vacant row behind us after we get airborne. Time for some shuteye, which I never get because a pesky KLM flight attendant keeps waking me up to tell me that there might be some passengers moving forward, since they are all cramped up, in the back of the plane. They never do and I never get any sleep.
The engines wind down and there is a slow pitch to the plane, signaling our descent into Israel. I shove up the window shade and gaze out over the blackness of the Mediterranean Sea and the bright lights of Tel Aviv. My heart starts thumping. Who would have ever though that I would someday make it here? The anticipation builds in my tired and weary body.
Friday March 29
We land in Tel Aviv shortly before 3 AM. After we enter through Foreign Arrivals and grab our luggage, I get in the long line at Immigrations. I had heard all kinds of stories of interrogation and questioning, so I am prepared to be delayed, but hey, I got all morning. When it is my turn, I am passed over quite quickly and find myself just a little bit disappointed, since I was curious about the infamous interrogations.
Just like that, I am through customs and walk out the terminal. There is a Nesher shuttle heading to Jerusalem. I put my backpack in the back and climb in. The van fills up and we are quickly on our way to Jerusalem.
It is 5:00 AM when I buzz the door at Abraham Hostel. A sleepy receptionist lets me in and explains that this is their first morning of daylight-savings time. She looks tired and a bit perplexed as to why I am showing up at this hour? I explain to her that I realize check-in is at 2 PM, but my flight arrived two hours ago and well, here I am. She tells me to stow my luggage in their luggage room and that I can feel free to make myself at home in the lobby area upstairs.
I am weary to the bone and barely functioning at this point, after two redeye flights with hardly any sleep in two days, I make my way upstairs and to my delight I see a pair of bunk beds in the lobby area. I claim the bottom one and am soon oblivious to the rest of my surroundings, for two hours… then the staff show up to start preparing the breakfast area and the buffet.
I look at my watch. It is 7:10 AM. It is Good Friday/Passover and I am here in Jerusalem! That very thought gets me up and going. I stumble over to where you help yourself to coffee and make myself a Turkish coffee, which is terribly strong, but probably just what I needed.
The Israeli breakfast buffet consist of cottage cheese, feta cheese, olives, sliced cucumbers and tomatoes, cereal, chocolate pudding, jam, butter and matzah bread. I clumsily try to figure out how everything goes together and watch the other early risers laden their plates. I copy them.
The bitter strong coffee does the job. I quickly devour my breakfast, wash my dishes and head out to explore the Old City. The streets of downtown Jerusalem are bare, there are only a couple of other people around, the morning sunlight is warm and very welcoming. With a song in my heart and a skip in my footsteps, I set off in the direction of the Old City.
I enter the Jaffa Gate, make a left and wander thru the narrow, winding streets of the Old City. I head for the Via Dolorosa where the many different varieties from the many different churches are doing their versions of the Good Friday processions. Sprinkled among the crowded streets are the IDF and the Israeli police, keeping watch over the massive multitudes. As the processions die down and the crowds thin out, I make my way over to the Pools of Bethesda, visit the churches at the different Stations of the Cross and eventually back to the Jaffa Gate where I am verbally accosted by an angry Arab who is across the street from me.
“Hello!” he shouts to me, as he makes his way towards me from across the busy street. I stop and wait for him, wondering what he could possibly want. He comes up to me and asks me where I am from. I tell him. He sees my cross necklace and tells me he is a taxi driver and asks me if I want to go to Bethlehem. I tell him no. He points to my necklace and asks me why I am wearing that here? “The cross is no good, you should not wear the cross here,” he states and points to the ground and all around us. I am blown away by his blatant aggression. Then I laugh and wave at him and tell him “bye bye.” He throws his hands up in the hands and stomps angrily away. I am thinking, yeah right, why would I even want to get into your taxi???
I see the Christ Church Guesthouse and stop by for a delightful cappuccino and the best chocolate espresso truffle I have ever had! The day is getting quite pleasant and warm. I bask in the bright sunlight and reflect on the confrontation I just had with the angry Arab. Little do I know that I will have a few more before this trip is over.
Refreshed and revived, I make my way into the Jewish Quarter of the Old City and walk along the ramparts high along the walls of Jerusalem. The views out over the city are stunning. I can see the Western Wall and head in that direction. The Kotel is packed with people, I patiently wait my turn to get through the security gates. I make my way through the masses to place my hand upon the ancient, sacred wall and say a prayer for Jerusalem and her people.
I leave the Western Wall and climb the steps ascending into the Jewish Quartet where I am questioned by an Ultra-Orthodox Jewish man. He is asking for a monetary donation to feed the poor children of Jerusalem. I give him a $20 bill. A man ties a red thread around my wrist. Another Ultra-Orthodox man materializes and asks for money for him and his friend. I explain to them that the $20 I gave was for all of them, not per person. What he does with that money is now on him. What am I, a walking ATM? The man who holds the $20 quickly disappears. I am thinking to myself, I never saw anyone disappear that fast. The others seem disgruntled as I walk away. I am not too happy with this little encounter, but my hope is soon restored when I actually see another Ultra-Orthodox Jewish man handing out food to some children in a narrow alleyway I pass by. Maybe it was legit.
I wander deep into the heart of the Old City and find my way back out of the Jaffa Gate, and eventually back to my hostel. It is 4 PM and I am weary to the bone. I had signed up to help prepare the Shabbat meal at our hostel, starting at 6 PM. Right now, all I want to do is sleep, but that will have to wait.
I set the timer to heat the water for my shower and send out emails while I wait. The hot shower does the trick, clean and renewed, I dress for dinner.
The guests are returning to our hostel by 6, everyone who signed up for the Shabbat meal preparation are here and the staff immediately goes about assigning jobs to us. We are seated at the tables with numerous vegetables and fruits, some of which I have never seen before, and given directions on how to pare, peel, slice and dice them.
We introduce ourselves to each other and are soon engrossed in lively conversation and laughter. The preparations go fast, the oven is loaded, the tables are set, the bar is hopping, more people arrive, energy fills the room and I have soon forgotten my fatigue.
A female staff member explains the Passover Shabbat procedure, lights the candles and gives the blessing. A song is sung and I follow along reading the words in Hebrew. Then we get in line to serve ourselves, buffet-style. I am amazed at the delicious flavors which are intertwined in the arrangements of casseroles and salads which the cook has put together. Matzah bread is passed and broken and I am so grateful for being able to take part in this sacred and traditional aspect of the Jewish faith. What an incredible experience!
The conversation over the dinner table quickly turns to politics and religion. I am finding out that these are the two topics which are addressed wherever you go, here in Israel. I am enjoying this, since I relish in the debate of both.
After dinner, it is off to bed. I haven’t had hardly any sleep in 48 hours and now with my belly full, I am really feeling it.
Saturday, March 30
Up early for a quick breakfast and in the lobby by 7:15. I am going to Nazareth and the sea of Galilee today. I meet another young lady, Christina, who is waiting in the lobby and learn that she is also going on this tour. She is from DC. She also travels alone and has been to Peru. We get to talking and before you know it our ride is here. We climb in the shuttle van, along with two other guys and a wonderful young man riding shotgun by the name of Giovanni, who is from Italy.
Our driver heads north. Without me knowing it, we have crossed over into what is known to the rest of the world, the West Bank, but since I am writing this story, I will call it Samaria. We pass through this dry, barren land and it is outside Mitzpeh Yericho
at sea level in the Judean desert that we pick up two young ladies, Allison and Angela, and make our way up to Nazareth. We cross the fertile Jezreel Valley with Mount Tabor in the distance, burrowing our way through the Nazareth tunnels.
We arrive in Nazareth, park in a lot and walk up the street to the Church of Annunciation. I notice a huge billboard which is perched above the side of a building saying “And whoever seeks a religion other than Islam, it will never be accepted of him, and in the Hereafter he will be one of the losers.” -Holy Quran. I tell Allison I guess that makes me a loser.
We get to the entrance of the Church of Annunciation. The Arab guarding the gate tells Allison her dress is too short. She must cover her legs to enter. She pulls a large shawl out of her handbag and tries to figure out a way to wrap it around her legs. She drapes it around her hips so that it covers most of her legs. He takes one look at my sleeveless top and tells me I must cover my bare shoulders. I pull my jacket out of my backpack and slip it on.
Once we are properly and modestly attired, we are allowed to enter. The church is huge and we soon separate and explore on our own. After awhile, I am almost convinced that they left without me, but I soon spot our driver and Giovanni sitting by the entryway. I go over and sit with them.
Our driver is a friendly guy who likes to smoke. He and Giovanni go outside the entrance and smoke on the sidewalk. I wait for the others. Once they all show up, we get into the van and journey on our way to Cana, the place of Jesus’ first miracle.
The church of Cana is a very small church located in a small village with narrow streets. We explore the church and then cross the street to the little gift shop directly across from the church, where we are given samples of Cana Wedding Wine. It is way too sweet for my taste! Christina and I stop in another tiny shop and buy some miniature clay pots. Then we are on the way to the Sea of Galilee.
We arrive at the Sea of Galilee which lies in a lush, green valley surrounded by an abundance of fertile rolling hills edged with vibrant wildflowers blooming by the sides of the road. I am amazed as to how humid and tropical this area is. Palm trees, bougainvillea, azaleas, calla and canna lilies, ferns, birds and butterflies, it certainly doesn’t feel like how you would imagine the Middle-East to be.
We visit the chapel on the shore of Galilee where Jesus had appeared to His disciples, after His resurrection. I wade into the waters of Galilee. It is lukewarm, murky and reeks of fish. We wander around the pretty gardens enjoying the balmy, warm tropical climate.
We move on to Capernaum and visit the crumbling ruins of the ancient synagogue and then explore the area where the Apostle Peter’s house is thought to have once stood. Moving on, we stop for lunch at a huge restaurant on the shore of Galilee, which caters to bus tours. There is a large salad bar where we help ourselves while waiting for our Grilled Tilapia. The fish is incredible! I never thought I would be able to chow down on a fish which was still looking at me (head with eyes), but soon found out how easy it is to get pass all of that. Giovanni went back to the salad bar for a heaping plate of matzah bread and passed it around to all of us.
After lunch, while waiting for the others, I wander down to the lake shore. It is getting very humid and warm, the views across the lake are very hazy and there are some nasty, tiny little gnats who quickly located me on their radar and started biting, so I head back to the air-conditioner van. With our bellies all full, we are back on the road.
Our driver takes us up the hill to where the sermon on the mount was given. Unfortunately, the road up to the church is closed, so we pull over along the road at the highest spot we can find and take pictures. Allison reads Jesus’ words from the sermon on the mount in the New Testament, our driver says something like “that was nice, I wasn’t expecting that,” then we are back on the road heading for the baptismal site of Jesus, by the Jordan River.
The Jordan River is nothing like how it is portrayed in the old Gospel/Bluegrass songs. In real life, it is very narrow and I would imagine pretty shallow, very green in color (at least, at this location) and smells very fishy. There are people donning very large white T-shirts to be baptized. Sorry, I just can’t imagine submersing myself in this cloudy, smelly water, although the location is downright stunning. I wade into the river and watch the schools of little fish part, making way for my feet. The underwater concrete steps are slick and slimy. The little fishes curiously follow me. Huge, hungry catfish wait at the water’s edge for any morsels the tourists might toss them.
Once we are all rounded up and herded back into the van, our driver asks us if we want to see the Mount of Temptation. Our answer is a very quick, loud unanimous YES! I catch him smiling in his rear view mirror as he continues to drive.
The drive to Jericho was a long one, passing through Tiberias along the Sea of Galilee and onward through more arid, barren land where small flocks of sheep and goats are scattered on the rocky hillsides. It is along the road to Jericho where I see the most scariest thing I have ever seen in my entire life. It was a Muslim woman standing by the side of the road, covered from head to toe in a black burqa. Her head covering is grey and her entire face is hidden behind the screened material. To me, she looked like the Grim Reaper. A shudder goes through me as we continue on by.
We stopped for gas in Jericho and then head up to the Mount of Temptation, the place where Jesus fasted for forty days and forty nights and was tempted by the devil. A big old craggy mountain in a barren wasteland which overlooks a valley leading back down into Jericho. Our driver tells us that Jesus was actually baptized in the Jordan River just outside Jericho (which has since dried up) and that would make a lot more sense, since He immediately went to the mountain after His baptism. We drive up to the edge of an abyss and take more photos, use an Arab vendor’s bathroom (which was quite an adventure in itself) and then we are back on the road to Jerusalem.
Taking the Good Samaritan Highway on the way back to Jerusalem, we hit a slight traffic jam as we pass through a check point, then we finally arrive in Jerusalem. We choose to get out in East Jerusalem, close to the Palm Hotel, where Allison and Angela are staying, they run in for some things, Christina and I wait outside in the Arab marketplace, and then we head into the Old City through the Damascus Gate.
It is Saturday night, the night before Easter and we want to visit the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. We get in line with the faithful ones, who want to visit the place where some think Jesus’ body was lain, after His crucifixion. I feel like we are the women of Jesus’ time, coming to anoint His body. After visiting the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, we wander back out of the Old City and make our way up Jaffa Street to find a place to eat.
We walk down Yosef Rivlin street and are approached by hawkers, who hand out menus and invite you in. After circling around we decide to come back to Zolli’s Pub and are seated at a table outside. Our server informs us you get a free drink with your meal. They also bring over a hukkah, which has a nice, smooth anise-flavored tobacco in it. I give it a few puffs. The others ordered burgers, I ordered fried cauliflower which was really, really good. They fried it without breading, which was different, but still very tasty.
It has gotten cooler as the night wears on, we linger over our drinks, pay our bill and our conversation soon turns to where and what time we are meeting tomorrow morning for Son-rise service at the Garden Tomb. We decide to meet at 5:45, by Derech Shchlem street, leading to the Garden Tomb. I check my watch, it is going on 11:30, oh my, better get off to my hostel and my bed.
Sunday, March 31
Much to my surprise, I wake at 4 AM. I go online and check out what is going on back home, then shower and dress and go downstairs to knock on Christina’s dorm door. I knock quietly, not wanting to wake everyone up, then a bit louder. Christina appears at her door, saying that it is only 5, we aren’t meeting till 5:45, but hey, so I got a bit confused.
By the time we get to the corner on Derech Shchlem, Allison and Angela are already waiting. We head off on the way to the Garden Tomb for a blessed Son-rise service. Throngs of Christians are moving ahead of us and we slide in with the mass of believers. Anticipation and excitement fills the air. I am wide awake even with out any coffee. I hear some people softly singing ahead of us. I get goose bumps. Who would have ever thought I would be at the Tomb on Easter morning? The gate is opened and we all quietly file in, slowly, in reverence and awe. We take the little wooden chalices which are being handed out by the volunteers, with their little portions of grape juice with a thin wafer attached for the communion offered, and humbly find our seats. The crowd continues to pour in, till you have standing room only. The service begins with much joy and praise and singing. What an phenomenal experience! What a blessed gift to be given; to be worshiping here and celebrating the empty tomb, the blessed hope bestowed upon us by our risen Saviour, Jesus Christ! Holy, Holy, Holy, Worthy is the Lamb! Amen.
We come away from the service with much joy in our hearts, making our way back to the Christ Church Guesthouse just inside the Jaffa gate of the Old City, for a delightful breakfast of deliciously strong cappuccinos and some enticingly sweet cakes. And chocolates truffles.
Christina wants to go to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre for Easter mass, Allison, Angela and I opt to explore King Hezekiah’s Tunnels. We agree upon meeting later for dinner and Christina heads out to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre , we all head down to the Jewish Quarter to get in line to go up to the Temple Mount, before we take in the tunnels. The line is a very long one and not moving. We are waiting about ten minutes when someone walks by announcing that they closed the Temple Mount down. (The next day I see online that the Arabs were throwing rocks and rioting, which cause the shut down.) Slightly disappointed, we set off for the City of David and the tunnels of King Hezekiah.
We pay the dues and get our wrist bands, stow all our stuff in the lockers provided and wait around (about twenty minutes) for the tour to start. The tour guide shows up and gathers us all together, then we follow him down the stairs into the ancient archeological ruins of the City of David. He is very thorough in his historical and Old Testament/Torah teachings, raising questions to our group and inviting us all to answer. I rise to the challenge, trying to intercept the children’s rapid fire responses. Boy oh boy, do they ever know their ancient history! Allison and I were only able to answer one question each, the rest were quickly answered by the little ones, leaving us greatly impressed with their exceptional knowledge.
Then it is down into Warren’s Shaft and further down into the watery tunnels. Allison and I opt for the water tunnel, Angela takes the dry one. We wait on the steps to descend into the fast flowing current, amidst screams and laughter of those who have gone ahead of us. One cute little boy breaks free and runs back up the stairs. The hidden screams were just too much for him. We all have to laugh.
Allison enters first with her tiny little pin light they have given us, I am right behind her. The water is cold and fast. The light is hardly capable of showing us anything, I start snapping photos using my flash which provides a lot more light. The pitch black, dark, narrowly confined tunnel makes a quick deep dip, up over the knees, causing my heart to race, (what did I get myself into?) I think for a brief moment, then the watery path rises and the water is once again only up past my ankles. I am sure this is the spot that caused the screams!
The tunnel goes on and on forever, twisting and turning it’s way, deep down under the very heart of the Old City. It is very remarkable and quite stirring, to know you are walking through the very places where the ancient people dug through, to bring the waters down off the hills surrounding Jerusalem and into the walled city where the people lived. Our guide told us that David, before he became King, entered the walled, secured city through these very same tunnels and captured the city from King Saul’s sons, thus getting him elected the true King of Israel.
And to take this one step further, King Hezekiah always held a special place in my heart. He was very sick and prayed to God to allow him to live for fifteen more years. I was working my way through the Old Testament when I was going through my third bout of Non-Hodgkin’s Lymphoma, along with all the chemo, and so I too, prayed like King Hezekiah, asking for fifteen more years to live. The Lord has so far blessed me with seven more wonderful years, and counting!
We emerge from the dark, wet tunnel and gather by the pool of Shiloh. Our guide explains that the ruins of the pool run under an Arab neighbor man’s property, thus preventing them from digging. But, he states, that doesn’t mean it will never happen. I love the perseverance and the eternal hope which lives in the optimistic Jewish minds and souls.
We hike back up the long and winding street out of the City of David. Plans are made to meet later. We separate and I pass by a water fountain on my way to Jaffa Street and thirstily sup up the tepid water, which makes me wonder why I haven’t gotten sick over here, since I have been drinking water out of the pipes, everywhere. I usually only buy bottled water when I travel. So far, so good.
I get to my hostel, shower and change and find Christina in the lounge. She asks me to join her for a beer. We enjoy the good, crispy cold Maccabees. She runs down to her room, I grab another. Needless to say, I am a tad bit tipsy by the time we set off on foot to find Allison and Angela.
We decide on the same restaurant we ate at the night before. Minus the hukkah. Our server explains that this is the seventh night of Passover, marking the night the Israelites passed through the Red Sea. In accordance to the Jewish law, no wheat will be served tonight, which also includes beer, since beer contains wheat, rye, barley or some type of grain. No problem, we say.
We order our dinners, I have the steak sandwich (minus the bread) and a glass of wine. The others order their meals and wine or cocktails. Our server brings us shots of Arak, an Israeli liquor, which is very similar to Sambuca, an Italian anise-flavored liquor. After our meals he brings us another round. I am slightly buzzed, after my two beers at my hostel and the two glasses of wine and now the two shots. We all call it a day and head back up the street. This was our last night together, tomorrow I go to Masada and the Dead Sea, the others are spending their last days in Jerusalem.
Monday, April 1
Up bright and early for my day tour to Masada, Ein Gedi and the Dead Sea. I have a slight headache from last night’s over-indulgence. I grab a quick breakfast of cold cereal, olives and feta cheese, strong coffee and then I go downstairs to the lobby. The driver we had for our Sea of Galilee tour shows up, looks like he will be my driver for this tour and I am elated! Such a nice guy! I climb in the van, soon others get in and we are off to Masada.
We are making our way through the streets of Jerusalem, when I see Allison and Angela through the windshield. They are wandering through the Arab marketplace. I want to wave, but know they will never see me. That was the last time I saw them. Our driver drops two young women off at the Dead Sea, then we follow the road south past the Dead Sea, down into the Judean desert and to the high mountain fortress of Masada. What a difference in temperature down here, it is incredibly hot and dry. Mirages shimmer across the desert landscapes. Nothing but sand, mountains of sand and a few sparsely-located shriveled palm trees desperately clinging to the earth’s hot surface.
We pull in the parking lot and get out. The heat is intense. We pay our entrance fee and take the cable car to the top. I follow the rim around the circumference of the plateau, marveling at the ancient ruins and the immense depths spanning below us. I find a deep cave with steps leading down into what looks to be a reservoir of some type. I carefully go down the steps. It is cool and inviting down here. Sunlight beams in through a solitary opening. Pigeons coo and flap about the lofty earthen ceiling high above me, nesting in small niches in the stone walls. I am alone with my thoughts and the birds overhead.
By the time I wander over and find, much to my amazement, the beautifully tiled and decorated, submerged rooms of King Herod’s palace, it is time to head down. Little did I know until much, much later, that the main attraction was just down over the opposite rim from where I had spent all of my time. Sigh. Guess I will have to go back.
I take the Snake Path down to the bottom of Masada. It is a grueling walk in the intense heat. My knee starts to hurt. I can’t wait to get down to the bottom. It takes about forty-five minutes. I soon find the others and we are on the road to Ein Gedi.
Ein Gedi is a Israeli National Park with lots of tumbling waterfalls cutting down through a ravine in a ragged mountain side. It was a long, hot walk back to where the trail starts to ascend, up over boulders and cliffs, jumping some streams and wading through others. I start to feel like a mountain goat. There is a small crowd of Israelis (barely-dressed) and Arabs (overly-dressed) sharing this natural wonder together. At first I stand back and watch them. They basically ignore each other. There are no politics to be played here, they are just mere people enjoying the cool spray of the cold water on this very hot day.
I climb to a higher falls, trailing behind some teenage girls in very skimpy string bikinis, climbing rocky pathways in their bare feet. I am beginning to understand that modesty doesn’t necessarily hold much value in the younger generation of Israelis today. Days later, I will come to understand and laugh out loud, while walking down a street in Tel Aviv, when I spot a spray-can painted verse on the side of a building say “all I want for my b-day is a modest-dressed Jew.”
I keep climbing and make my way up to David’s Falls. It is here at Ein Gedi that David is said to have hidden from the angry King Saul, when King Saul was seeking to kill him. I try to imagine hiding out here with your own small number of faithful warriors, hiding out from the stark-raving mad lunatic who was running the country, praying to God for guidance and protection. Many of the Psalms which were written by David, maybe in a place much like this, maybe even here in this very particular location, portrays the Psalmist David, crying out to God. We know how it turned out for him, but David could not have known that. His faith in his God was strong. And God saw him through it.
I slowly make my way back down off the mountain and catch a glimpse of a Nubian Ibex high up on a rocky edge, looking down on us. There is a little one right on her heels. I take that as a good sign and continue along my way.
A couple of us from our small tour group have gathered in a shady spot where families are picnicking. I see them passing lots of hard-boiled eggs around, but no bread. This is still the seventh day of Passover, at least until sundown. I am intrigued at how much they adhere to their laws, I keep thinking I would forget what day or what time it is, but I guess if you are taught from little on up, you learn to observe and to pay close attention. I wander up to the food counter to get myself an Israeli version of Red Bull. Right now, I really need it.
Everyone else shows up and we are on the road to the Dead Sea. The day is still blistering hot as I climb out of the van. We hurry off of the sizzling pavement, pay our entrance fee and quickly separate from one another. The group I am with today is nothing like what I had experienced a couple days ago, on the tour to the Sea of Galilee. Guess I just got lucky that day.
I change into my bathing suit in the women’s bathroom, walk down the boardwalk to the sea and find a plastic chair and drag it to the water’s edge. I take off my jewelry and put all the stuff on it and then step into the water. Ewww. It is very warm. Feels grimy and gritty from the salt. Looks stagnant. I walk in. My feet keep sinking into the boggy bottom, almost making me lose my balance. At one point I do and tumble into the water only to be bounced back up like a buoyant beach ball and ungracefully rolled over. I try to stand but can’t get my feet under me, they keep wanting to float out and up to the top. It is all that I can do to force myself up and out of the water and onto my feet without tipping over and around like a fishing bobber. I salty water stings my pores and any little scratch and all those tiny insect bites. I don’t like this.
Once I get my feet under me, I come to shore and scoop up the black oozing mud and begin to coat my body with it. It quickly dries. I then go out into the water and rub it off. I am again knocked over by a boggy bottom and flop helplessly around. I do not like this, I am getting out of here. I struggle to get my feet under me and then make my way back to the shore. I walk over to the many showers they have on the beach and shower myself off, put my jewelry back on, gather up my stuff and head up to the ladies showers to take a real shower, before slipping back into my clothes. I didn’t like the Dead Sea and I am happy to be out of it.
I find my driver who waves to me and mentions for me to grab a chair under a shady tree. I sit down next to the two young ladies who we had dropped off first thing this morning, on our way to Masada. They had spent the entire day here. I personally can’t imagine why you would even want to, but refrain from voicing my opinions on that issue. Tourists from all over the world come here to soak in the stagnant waters, why that is, I will never know.
The two young ladies are Germans who are here on holiday. They are spending half their time in Jordan and half their time in Israel/Palestine, as they put it. I let it slide. I am not in the mood for debating politics on Israel, but the one girl insists. She goes on and on about the poor Palestinians. I keep silent. Our driver gets up and walks away. Somehow, she starts in on American and that is when I can’t let it go. I let her have it. I back the truck up and dump it on her. About Obama and his agendas; gun control, his socialism and elitist dictatorship, healthcare, our near economic collapse, unemployment, drones, Benghazi, the Muslim Brotherhood, George Soros, the possibly of a civil war, voter fraud, decreasing our military….on and on till I noticed she was staring at me, speechless, with her jaw hanging wide open. “But America can’t have an economic collapse,” she states, “because we all (meaning Europe) depend on you.” I tell her “you would ALL better open your eyes, because it is coming.” Her friend who has remained quiet through all of our conversations suddenly pipes up, “my mother is very worried for America, she is worried it will become like our Germany was, when Hitler was living.” I look at her and realize that this girl’s mother got it right and hopefully she will have some influence on her daughter‘s direction in life. The other girl, I gave up on.
They soon get up and wander off. Our driver comes back. We get to talking. He was with me in the gift shop by the touristy Baptismal site on the Jordan River, where I had bought my necklace which I am now wearing. It is a replica of a bulla; a seal which was no bigger than a button, which they found in an archeological dig in the City of David. It would have been used to stamp the seal on all of the articles which were marked to enter the Second Temple. The inscription on the seal in hieroglyphics reads “Pure for God.” Each item which would enter the Temple had to be stamped “Pure for God” in order to enter the Temple. I liked the concept and bought the necklace. A day or two later, I had purchased a sterling silver Star of David in Jerusalem, which I now also proudly wore.
He asks me “are you Jewish?” as he eyes my Star of David necklace. I tell him “no, I am a Christian Zionist.” He looks away. I figure he opened the door, it is a fair game and ask him “are you Jewish?” He lowers his head and quietly laughs and shakes his head no. I ask him “are you Christian?” He again shakes his head no. I then say, “well, what are you, you got to be something, what are you?” With his head still lowered he answers “I am an Arab Palestinian.”
Well, for a second, I am speechless. Well, maybe longer than a second. A multitude of seconds lapse by. I am rewinding all the conversations in my head which we women had in the van on the way to the Sea of Galilee. When we crossed through the check point into Samaria (West Bank) and when we drove into Nazareth and how he explained to us that Nazareth is an Arab town. If he overheard us talking about that billboard we saw up in Nazareth. About how before we drove into Jericho (a Palestinian Arab town), I had noticed that Giovanni, who had been riding shotgun the whole time, had removed his yarmulke, and then put it back on before we arrived in Jerusalem. Had he told him to do that before we entered Jericho? I recalled the scrutinizing looks we got from the young gas station attendants, when we had stopped for gas. I thought about that Muslim women draped in her burqa, standing beside the road to Jericho. Had he seen me shudder?
All these things are running through my mind, along with the fact that before I had came to Israel, I had convinced myself that I would be able to immediately spot a Palestinian and I also swore I would never cross over into the “West Bank,” for safety’s sake (that lasted a day). I am now finding out how extremely difficult it is to see the invisible lines which separate these people, how to distinguish between these two different worlds, when sometimes it is so easy and sometimes it is next to the impossible. I end up saying nothing at all.
The rest of our group slowly venture back and we are soon back on the road to Jerusalem. Our driver invites me to ride shotgun and I do. I take it that he doesn’t hate me, after all. We are on the way to Jerusalem when we get hit by a huge sandstorm. He tells me to roll my window up, but just before I do, I stick my hand out and feel the sharp, stinging particles of sand hitting my hand. I quickly roll the window up.
I remember seeing a backpacker standing on a street corner, trying to hide his face from the driving sand. I remember feeling incredibly sorry for him.
My driver tells me he is off tomorrow and that he would be happy to take me anywhere I might want to go, if I am interested. I think it would be interesting to spend some time with him, but I have things to do tomorrow, like moving to my studio apartment and getting settled in there. And then I need to do some shopping. I tell him I will have to think about it. He gives me his card.
We get dropped off and I go in search of dinner, passing Christina who is on her way back to her room to pack and head for the airport. She tells me she spent the day on the Mount of Olives, in the sandstorm. I tell her goodbye and to say goodbye to Allison and Angela, who are sharing a taxi with her to the airport. Dinner finds me at our old stomping ground. I order a chicken sandwich and fries, but it is no fun without the girls. I head back to my room to pack.
It is while I am waiting to cross a street corner when a middle-aged man standing next to me angrily says to me “can I ask you a question?” I look at him. “Sure” I say, with a shrug. He raises his voice and says “You a Christian?” I nod. “How can this be, how can Yeshua…he stumbles, ah, ah, “Jesus?” I interject, “yes, Jesus, how can he be a prophet, God, Son on man, how can this be, how can this be?” he asks, his voice getting louder and louder and he is waving his arms madly in the air. I am taken back from so much anger. Then I simply say the only thing that comes to my mind. “All it takes is Faith, it is not based on works.” He draws back as if I would have slapped him. He glares at me and hurries away. I have no idea why I said what I said. It was the only thing which came to my mind, at that time. Looking back, I wish I would have said to him “May I ask you a question?” The question would have been “Why are you so angry?”
Tuesday April 2:
Up early, eat breakfast and check out. Today I move to my King George Street studio apartment. I had scoped out the area the night before, so I came prepared and am sitting on the stoop by noon, which is the scheduled time to meet with the owner and get my keys.
I sit and wait and wait. And wait. Many people walk by, but nobody I am looking for. Then an Arab man goes walking by, takes one look at me and stops. “I know you!” he declares. I shake my head. He says, “no? I am mistaken? No, I know you, you are Sandy, you live here!” I shake my head again. He tells me to lift my sunglasses, so he can see my eyes. I oblige him. “You are right, I don’t know you. I am sorry, I thought you were Sandy. What is your name? Where are you from?” I ask him “Why, why do you need to know my name?” He said “I just want to talk, you don’t want to talk?” I shake my head. “Why don’t you want to talk, we can have some coffee together, come, I will buy.” I shake my head again. I just want him to leave. “Why don’t you want to talk to me?” he asks. I have finally had it with him. I tell him I am waiting for someone and no, I don’t want any coffee and no, I don’t want to talk to him.
He looks hurt, then angry. He sees my Star of David necklace and asks me if I am Jewish. I shake my head. He points out the fact that I am wearing a Star of David necklace, “why you wear that, if you are not Jewish?” I tell him “I am a Christian Zionist!” “What?” he exclaims! “How can you be a Zionist, if you are not Jewish? How can this be, how can this be?” I tell him “You would be surprised!” And then I wave goodbye to him. He glares at me and stomps off. All because I did not care to chat with him. What is wrong with these people?
I am relieved that he has moved on and continue to wait. I have just about given up when a lady comes out of the building and stands by me, stating “you must be my tenant!” I nod yes. She tells me she has been waiting for me upstairs and had given up on me. I tell her I have been waiting down here and had almost given up on her. She takes me up to the apartment.
It is tiny, but cute! She gives me instructions and hands over the key. I make myself at home, then go downstairs and buy myself some lunch at the French Bakery. With my appetite satisfied, I set off. I am heading for the Mount of Olives.
Down past the Old City, past the Damascus gate, past the Dung Gate, cross the highway and the very busy intersection, past Mary’s Tomb, where an Arab calls out to me. I ignore him. He yells “hello” again. I feign no comprehension of the English language and hold my hands up and shrug. He mutters “Jew” at me and walks away. I take that as a compliment and smile. Then up the trail past Absalom’s Pillar, past Jehoshaphat’s Cave, then up the path into the Arab village of Silwan.
I noticed some pretty strange stares and quickly covered my bare shoulders with my scarf. I hug a narrow road up the steep hill and get a lot of glares. I am not too comfortable with this idea, so I take a quick left on the first street possible which puts me just outside the Jewish Cemetery. I had read that Shindler is buried here, somewhere, so I wander up the stairs and through the cemetery. It is a beautiful day, the views across the Kidron valley are amazing and the serenity of this tranquil place calms me after the unsettling feeling I got in Silwan.
I eventually find my way back out of the cemetery and ask some people who are gathered around a tour bus if this is the road to the Mount of Olives? They tell me it is and then ask me if I had been to the Garden of Gethsemane yet? No, I haven’t. They point the way down the hill, I would have missed it and have somehow forgotten about it, there is just so much to see here.
I hike back down the road and find the little Garden of Gethsemane which is simply wonderful! Tucked away along the steep road which takes you to the top of the Mount of Olives, it is easy to miss. Entering the little garden with the ancient, gnarled and twisted olive trees within the fenced in area, which sits beside the pretty church, the location is simply put, perfect. I press my fingers through the link fence and caress a smooth, old olive tree. It was in this general area where Jesus had prayed to His Father that this cup be passed from Him, while His disciples slept near by. It is here also, where He was seized by the Roman soldiers and taken away.
The adjacent church, the Basilica of Agony, is small, but quite impressive inside. There is handful of faithful followers, kneeling by the rock where Jesus had prayed. The mood inside is a reverent solemn one. Leaving the church I head back up the steep road and eventually up to the prominent overlook viewing Jerusalem, then over to the Pater Noster, where Jesus taught His disciples the Lord’s Prayer. It is a remarkable church perched on the top of the Mount of Olives with stunning marble corridors and many, many colorful mosaic tiled inscriptions of the Lord’s Prayer in various languages for the different countries represented. There is even one in Cherokee and Cree.
I head back down the road, stopping by Mary’s Tomb and descend down in to where she was lain to rest. It is deep in the earth and very dark and cool. The steps are smooth and well worn down, almost slick beneath my feet.
The sun has traveled across the sky and is casting a golden glow of the Mount of Olives as I make my way back across the Kidron valley. I take the path up to the walls of the Old City and traverse along the walls, which are now engulfed in shadow, making my way back past the crumbling ruins of the City of David, back through the Old City, through Mount Zion and King David’s Tomb, peek into the Upper Room and eventually find my way back to the Jaffa Gate.
Shops are browsed on my way back to King George Street, mentally marking which ones I will return to.
Wednesday, April 3:
After a wonderful night’s sleep, I rise and make myself some coffee. Unfortunately, there is only one pack of instant coffee, I am going to need more. I get dressed and go downstairs for a great cappuccino, then head out for Yad Vashem. I take the train to Mount Herzl, get off and walk down the street to the Yad Veshem Holocaust Memorial Museum. I find it without any problems, and walk in.
“Designed by world-renowned architect Moshe Safdie, the new Holocaust History Museum is a prism-like triangular structure that penetrates the mountain from one side to the other, with both ends dramatically cantilevering into the open air. The triangular form of the structure was chosen to support the pressure of the earth above the prism while bringing in daylight from above through a 200 meter-long glass skylight. The skylight allows gleams of daylight to contrast with darker areas required for multimedia presentations. Within the galleries, light enters through localized skylights varying from diffused to clear glass, depending on the requirements of each exhibit.
The entire structure of the museum — floors, wall, interior and exterior — are reinforced concrete. Throughout the prism, the triangular cross-section varies, becoming narrower at the center. The warped surface formed by this variation, amplified by a gently sloping floor, creates a changing sequence of spaces and gives the illusion of descending deep into the mountain. As the route nears its northern exit, the floor begins to ascend and the triangle opens up again, with the exit bursting forth from the mountain’s slope to a dramatic view of modern-day Jerusalem.” ~ Yad Veshem.org
I had heard somewhere that the solitary triangle represents half of the Star of David, with the other half lost in the earth, meaning the six million Jews, all whom were murdered in the Holocaust.
I went in knowing this wasn’t going to be easy to view, I came out feeling completely drained, both mentally and physically, and full of despair. I keep asking myself ‘how could God have allowed this to happen?’
The girls I had hung out with the first couple of days had told me to “go do something really, really fun afterwards,” implying it was going to be tough and that I would need something to lift my spirits back up, after visiting Yad Veshem. My landlady told me that there is a very cute, artsy village just down over the hill from Yad Veshem, by the name of Ein Kerem. It was the home of John the Baptist. That is where I intend to go.
I am standing on the hill where I can board the train from Mount Herzl back into central Jerusalem or get on a bus going down over the hill to the little villages below. I am hem-hawing around when I notice a road sign which says Ein Kerem Road. Well, that it what I am looking for! I cross over and stand at the bus shelter. A young Israeli lad comes over and sits down beside me, his face buried in a book. I ask him how much for the bus to Ein Kerem. He asks me if I took the train here. I tell him I did. He then informs me that the same ticket I bought to get on the train will cover the bus ride to Ein Kerem. Wow. How awesome is that?
We board the bus and it is a very short ride down to the beautiful little, former Arab village sprawling the heavily forested Judean hills and into the green valley below. I get off at the first stop and take a little narrow stepped pathway further down into the tiny village. The path turns into an alley which winds it’s way through old authentic Arab houses, which have since become Israeli artists and the upper crust’s homes and shops.
I stop by the Church of John the Baptist, which opens later in the afternoon, continue on through this pleasant little village till I come upon the café Pundak Ein Kerem.
The restaurant is surrounded by pretty gardens and has a cozy little stone courtyard with shaded tables, so I enter and am quickly led to a table outside. I order a Sparkling Water and the Fried Goat Cheese Rolls with Pesto Sauce. I am not disappointed. They were quite substantial and very delicious! I use their restroom and am impressed with how charming and cute it is. I leave with a smile on my face.
I continue on my way, stopping by Mary’s Spring, a very interesting little spot, then up the hill to the beautiful Church of Visitation. It is here that Jesus’ mother Mary visited her cousin Elizabeth. Elizabeth was pregnant with John (who would become John the Baptist) and when hearing Mary‘s greeting, her unborn child (John) leapt inside her womb.
The church is very picturesque and lovely, the setting has some gorgeous views, I take a lot of pictures and then wander back down the steep hill and stop by an ice cream store for the best ice cream cone I have ever had in my life! It costs about $6, but it is worth every penny!
Winding back up the hill on the other side of town, to the Church of John the Baptist, which is now open for visitors, I stop by for prayer and a quick visit, then back to the place where the bus stop is located, on the road back up to Mount Herzl.
A short bus ride up the hill to Mt. Herzl, then on the train back to Jaffa Street and the Davidka stop. This is my last day in Jerusalem, tomorrow I leave for Tel Aviv. It is time to do some serious shopping!
Two pewter candlesticks, a chalice and plate, a couple of pieces of pottery, some trinkets, two Israeli flags, two T shirts and a purse later and I am loaded up. I stop by a local Pita shop just catty-corner to my apartment where I have the best Pita in the world and regret I didn’t eat here more often. Then it is back to my apartment and up the stairs where I am followed by a young man inquiring what this building is and if I would like to join him for coffee? I tell him I am pressed for time, no, I can’t join you for coffee and wave good bye to him.
Packing all my newly obtained purchases turns out to be quite a challenge, since most of them are fragile. Then it is time to do my laundry. The dryer takes forever to dry my clothes, my neighbor keeps impatiently checking on the availability of the dryer, so I lug it all in and scatter it around, hanging it on every piece of furniture, railing and doorknob I can find, hoping it will be thoroughly dry by tomorrow morning.
Thursday, April 4:
Today I leave Jerusalem for Tel Aviv, to spend my last two days in Israel. I gather up all of my [thankfully now dry] clothes and pack my stuff. One last check around the apartment, run my trash out to the trash can on the street, hide the key and I am on my way to the train to take me to Central Jerusalem and the busses to Tel Aviv.
My landlady had told me to avoid, if at all possible, the bus station in central Tel Aviv, which was my intention, but still, somehow, I managed to get on the wrong bus and end up on the way to downtown Tel Aviv. I am not happy about this, once I realized my mistake, and try to dislodge my disappointment by admiring the lovely countryside along the way to Tel Aviv. At one point, I see an United Nations vehicle pass our bus, emblazed with their large blue UN painted on the white SUV. I try to take a picture of it, but it is too quick for me.
We pull into Tel Aviv. I am not looking forward to figuring out my next move. We all grab our gear out of the belly of the bus, then we are directed through the entrance to the busy, buzzing bus terminals. Intimidation gets the best of me as I ask around if anyone speaks English. I am getting nos, shrugs and nothing but negative responses. I wander back outside. I spot a young female IDF soldier and ask her. She happily shows me where to get on the next shuttle bus to take me to the Carmel market, which is located close by my hotel. I am assuming once I reach the market, I will be able to [hopefully] find my way.
The surly shuttle bus driver snarls at me as I wait for my change, telling me to take a seat. I find a seat and catch his angry glare in the rear view mirror. I get a smile from a woman sitting behind me, across the aisle and ask her if she speaks English. She is quite friendly and happy to assist me, telling me she will let me know where I need to get off.
I get off at a busy intersection, amidst the Carmel market and pull out my Lonely Planet guidebook, which is no help at all with the numerous alleys which are not marked in the book. I go into a little restaurant and ask a patron sitting at the bar. He is very animated and eager to chat. I tell him the name of my hotel. He pulls out his phone and searches for the location. I am only a few streets away and he points me in the right direction.
I set off and almost immediately, take the wrong alley and become lost. I stop and ask a couple of women accompanied with young teen-agers on the street, if they speak English. The women don’t, but the kids do. Unfortunately, they aren’t able to help me. I keep walking. Eventually I come across a lot of parked busses and realize that this is the bus station I had originally intended to get off at! Now, I know the way, since I had mapped my hotel from this very spot.
I follow the street I need, past three blocks and find my street. Sure enough, there it is. Eden House TLV. What an adorable, charming, elegant little hotel! I make my way to the front desk where I am greeted with a huge sincere smile by a vivacious gentleman. He tells me to dump both my backpacks and make myself at home while he happily checks me in. He informs me that after I have made my reservation online (my heart quickly sinks) they had upgraded me to a suite for free (my heart quickly rises and sings in my chest.)
After my tiring and trying little adventure to get here, I am delighted to be shown to my room, which is located in the guesthouse, down the street and around the corner from the main hotel. My room is a sweet little suite, tucked downstairs in a quiet corner, at the end of the building. It has an extra bed, sitting area, kitchenette, bathroom and a little outside patio, all for me, all which was added for free. I can’t stop smiling as he shows me around, excitedly telling me how much I am going to love Tel Aviv!
As much as I love my lovely, inviting accommodating suite, I can’t wait to hit the beaches of Tel Aviv and to see Jaffa. I set off, down the street and around the corner into the strong breeze blowing off of the Mediterranean Sea. I can’t see it, I can’t hear it, but I can smell it in the wind. At the crossroad I make a left and there it is.
I cross the busy main intersection, mentally memorizing the streets for my return to my hotel. Then all is behind me and I am on the promenade, getting blasted by the cool winds off of the bright blue, but rough and tumbling Mediterranean, making my way to Jaffa, which I can see in the distance, sitting by the rolling sea.
For the life of me, I can’t stop smiling. The wind whips at me, the sun blindingly bounces off of the water, birds are stationarily airborne, flapping with all their might, in the wind. They turn and are quickly driven the other direction. I am still smiling when I come upon a water rescue team which had just pulled a body out of the sea. They have put it in a body bag and placed it on a stretcher. My sheer delight comes to a screeching halt. I stumble, both physically and mentally, and I am directed around this awful scene, as my mind tries to comprehend all of this.
I make my way down the promenade. Life goes on; the sun is brilliant, the wind whips around me, the joggers race by, lovers stroll hand in hand, exchanging smiles, hugs and kisses, children frolic about on the beach, couples snuggle on blankets, and surfers ride out the surging, swelling water, awaiting the perfect wave. It is just another glorious Spring day in Tel Aviv.
I cross the street and make my way up the side walk to Jaffa. Stop by the Monastery of St Peter, then up into the plaza, where I stop at a little café for a much-needed double espresso and a delicious chocolate dessert, and chat with the African Grey parrot named Coco and her owners. I then find the tiny, narrow alleyways which meander their way through this ancient, beautiful and perfectly preserved old city. I am lost in thought when I come upon a door with a sign which reads ‘home of Simon the Tanner.’ Oh my. That is then and only then that I realize this is the town known as Joppa in the Bible. This is the town where Jonah boarded a boat, to hide from God, well, we all know how well that worked out for him. This is the town where Peter raised Tabitha from the dead. This beautiful old city holds so much history, so many feet have traveled these stone walkways making them slick and smooth beneath my own two feet. What an amazing place! I follow the alley down the stairs to the port of this old city. I imagine Jonah desperately seeking the first ship departing this port, trying to run, trying to hide and then thinking he made it…only to wind up in the belly of the whale. What irony.
The shadows are growing longer, the day is getting cooler. And the wind is downright nippy. I wish I had brought along a jacket. I head back the way I came, back to Tel Aviv and my hotel.
I shower and dress for dinner. I cut through the now closing Carmel market, dodging piles of rubbish, rotten vegetables, heaping barrels of refuse and overflowing trash cans. Vendors are hosing down their sidewalks, sanitation workers are sweeping the parking lot. Stray cats scurry around, looking for a free meal.
I soon find myself in a trendy neighborhood filled with fashionable restaurants and chic cafes. I pass by Lulu’s Kitchen & Bar, then eventually decide on eating there and come back, where I am invited in and shown to a table. I order the Goat Cheese Stuffed Ravioli with baby Portabellas, along with some wonderful, warm crusty Focaccia bread served with a side of olives. A nice hearty Malbec and I am in heaven! Dinner was divine!
I was seated beside a group of six people; the man who’s conversation carried to me had a thick German accent although he spoke in perfect English. He overtly expressed his concern of North Korean and their ongoing threats of a nuclear attack on the United States. I listened, but kept silent. Strange to be hearing this in Israel. Strange to find that the rest of the world seems more concerned for us, than our very own president. When they got up to leave, I asked them where they were from? One of the women told me “Germany.”
I made my way back to my hotel, using the tall, domineering skyscrapers as navigational points. Back to my room for a much wanted, optimal night’s sleep. Slept like a log in my wonderful, wonderful bed. No noise, a very blissful, uninterrupted sleep.
Friday, April 5:
Up early, anxious to get out and about. I loved Jaffa so much, I am going back to spend the entire day there. Made myself some coffee, dressed, then headed to the main hotel for a delightful breakfast of scrambled eggs with a variety of breads and sauces. Then it is back to my room to pack and check out. They let me stow all my stuff under their stairs for the day, free of charge, and arrange a taxi to pick me up later tonight. Then it is off to the beach and the promenade.
I am walking on the sidewalk, enjoying the perfect day, the blue water of the Mediterranean, the wind whipping me in my windbreaker, big smile on my face, when a man jogs by me and stops. He says something which I don’t understand, he has a strong Eastern European accent. He asks me again. In Hebrew. I tell him I don’t speak Hebrew. He ask me “where are you from?” All the time he is nervously glancing around, looking over his shoulder, turning, twisting, looking away the whole time he pretends to be talking to me. He makes me extremely uncomfortable. I tell him “America” as I back away from him. He seems confused and asks me again “where are you from?” I tell him more loudly, “United States.”
I ask him “where are YOU from?“ He has a slight smile and switches to a broken, but very rough and heavily-accented English. “Russia” he replies. “You want to come with me for some coffee?” he asks me, all the time still nervously looking around him. I back far away from him, make a point to look at my watch and then tell him, “I must go, I am meeting some friends of mine, and I am late.” I hurriedly walk away from him. I glance over my shoulder, making sure he is not following me. He isn’t.
THAT I did not like. For a second, I had an image of human trafficking run through my mind. I can recall reading that Russia runs a lot of women from Eastern European countries and the Ukraine in illegal human trafficking through Tel Aviv. A shiver runs down my spine. I walk faster.
As I get far from Tel Aviv and closer to Jaffa, I relax and enjoy the views, once again. What a gorgeous day to spend in a wonderful little city. I take a different path into the village, come across the suspended orange tree, stop in pomegranate wine shop, pass expensive, extravagant artisan shops, and find myself again down beside the harbor.
Today is Friday, or better known here as Shabbat. Everybody is out with their families, and loved ones. Eating, drinking, shopping, laughing, taking pictures. Enjoying life. I watch fluffy, white egrets try their skills at fishing, while balancing on bow lines or from the edges of the piers.
I wander back up to the plaza and have a delicious lunch at Abrage. An orange & mango smoothie, Mediterranean Goat Cheese Salad and toasty hot bread. Then over to the café where Coco the parrot lives for another espresso, the owner is excited that I have come back and takes me into his house, which is filled with impressive, old antiques from the Ottoman period, and shows me the view of the beautiful Mediterranean from inside his house.
I can’t quite figure him out. He looks almost Arab, but yesterday I happened to see his gold necklace slip out of his shirt and he was wearing the Star of David, on the gold chain, so I know he is Jewish. But, he acts more like an Arab. (For those who have never been to Israel, you won’t know what I mean by this, but for those who have been here, you will catch my drift) Maybe he is originally from Turkey? He gets a tad bit too friendly and I take my leave.
I wander over to a little shop where the young man behind the counter is wearing a yarmulke. I buy some beautiful handmade stained-glass coasters from him and leave. He promptly closes up shop. He needs to go home and prepare for Shabbat.
I spend the rest of the late afternoon hours, sitting on a park bench, basking in the warm sunshine, watching the people. The doves hover around my feet begging for bread crumbs, which they have all quickly learned I just happen to have in my pocket.
As the crowds thin out, I go along with them, making my way back through the new part of Jaffa. I spy a beautiful old building adjacent to the clock tower and climb the steps up to the large patio and the entryway to the restaurant, on the second floor.
I walk over and peek inside. The interior is quite remarkable, very old and in excellent shape. I say to the young man sitting at the entrance “this is beautiful, how old is this?” He ignores me. I repeat my question. He states without looking at me “this is Muslim.”
Now, I am thinking to myself…I don’t care if it is Muslim, I asked you how old this is. I ask him if I can take pictures inside. He shrugs, still without looking at me. I enter and take a couple of pictures. I politely thank him on the way out. He ignores me and looks away.
Arrogance and insolence. In this wondrous land of two very different types of two very distinct peoples, both looking very similar to the other, it can be very hard to tell them apart. With the exception of course, of the Jewish men who wear their yarmulkes and the Muslim women with their heads covered. But in a lot of ways, the deciding factors are something as simple as their character. And the way they treat women.
I make my way back into Tel Aviv, through the lower end, past the same neighborhood I had been in last night, then I somehow make a wrong turn and next thing I know, I am in a very rough, very black part of Tel Aviv. The neighborhood of the Northern African immigrants. I keep my head down and move as fast as possible through the slums and very crowded marketplace. Not only am I the only white person here, I am hardly seeing a women around. I am not enjoying this.
I cross over some major highways, or I should say, I cross under, then through a fence and I am on the other side. The side where the towering skyscrapers stand, draped with the vast spans of Israeli flags hanging down their immense windowed walls. Back past the towers of power, past bank institutes and synagogues, back to Rockefeller Boulevard and the pretty tree-lined pedestrian pathways in the middle of the passing highways, past the quaint, quiet Jewish communities observing Shabbat, past a little yeshiva where the men are all singing, and eventually back to my hotel.
Michael, the happy chap who checked me in, is on duty. He gets me a glass of wine, along with a glass of water. I sit and wait till 10 PM, for my arranged taxi to come and pick me up. The change of guard takes place, Michael is relieved of his duty, and leaves for the night, the young man who is now in charge carries my stuff to the taxi, and it is off to Tel Aviv airport.
I had heard of the atrocities of the Israeli security at the airport and mentally brace myself, preparing for it. Once again, the rumors are highly over-rated. Many of us end of napping anywhere we can till we are allowed to check in.
Saturday, April 6:
2:30 AM. We are finally allowed to check in, then it is through their very tight and meticulous screening, then I am finally at my gate. We board at 5 AM. We wait to leave the gate till sunrise (being it is still Shabbat) then we are released and off we go, down the runway and up into the air. Good bye Israel. May God bless you and protect you, always.
Saturday, November 24: Flew out of BWI at 2 PM on United Airlines to Houston. Looking down somewhere over Tennessee I saw a mountain ridge dusted with snow. Then it was the lakes in the Ozarks and finally arrived in Houston to see some fall foliage still on some trees. My short layover turned into an hour longer one as my flight to Villahermosa, Mexico was delayed.
The flight from Houston to Villahermosa was on a United Express ERJ145 Regional Jet, which seats fifty, only had about thirty people aboard. Sweet! We spread out and made ourselves at home. The flight was a smooth, quick one with an entertaining flight attendant by the name of Fernando.
Arrived in Villahermosa airport at 10 pm. The promised free shuttle ride to the Hilton was not there, so I paid 100 pesos for a taxi for a 2 km ride to the Hilton. Got checked in and almost asleep when the party next door started up. Always remember to bring ear plugs! I popped those little suckers in and was soon comatose to the rest of the world.
Sunday, November 25: Up by 7, made myself a cup of coffee and was soon waiting for my free shuttle ride back to the airport where I had read in Lonely Planet that ADO has a ticket office for shuttles to Palenque. The young man at the Hilton didn’t seem to be aware of this, and you would think he would have, but he wanted to send me into town for the bus station. When I pointed it out to him in my Lonely Planet guidebook, all I got was a shrug. Well, the ride was a free one so I thought I would try it out. The cost into town would have been 200 pesos.
I get to the airport and sure enough, right next to the taxi stand is the ADO ticket counter, which I could have sworn I recalled seeing last night upon my arrival. There is nobody there. I am contemplating my next move when I see an ADO shuttle pull up outside and drop off an employee who comes in and sees me standing there, waiting. She smiles and happily sells me a ticket to Palenque for 125 pesos. It leaves in 45 minutes. I sit down at the little café inside the airport and get a cappuccino and some grilled bisquitas which were quite tasty.
I go outside to wait for the shuttle which arrives right on time. Nice big shuttle with comfortable seats. I have the one just inside the door which I got to pick when I purchased my ticket. I sit back, finally relax and enjoy the ride through the lush green pastures of the cattle country of Tabasco.
By 11 we are in the town of Palenque and at ADO’s tiny bus terminal. I saw on Google Earth that my hotel is only about two blocks away in La Canada. Just a hop, skip and a jump and I am being pleasantly greeted at Hotel Xibalba’s reception desk. 1,100 pesos for two nights. I am shown to my lovely, sparkling clean, sunny room with private bath and a safe in the bathroom. Nice. I get to lock up all my goodies.
Dump all my stuff and walk across the street for a quick lunch since those tiny, but tasty bisquitas I had at the airport didn’t last long. Order some cheese empanadas and a coke, then it is off to find a combi to take me to the ruins. It is impossible not to see them; white vans clearly marked ruinas on the window shield, beeping at you as they pass by. 10 pesos for the combi to the ruins, dropped off at the entrance where I pay 27 pesos to get into the park, then I am told I need to pay another 57 pesos for the ruins, which I find a bit confusing since the ruins are IN the park, but I cough up my extra pesos, get my wrist banded and happily set off. I can hear the howler monkeys from the entrance, pass under the dense trees and wow I finally here! Been wanting to do this for ten years, don’t know why it took me this long to get here.
I spend the rest of the afternoon climbing and exploring every nook and cranny and reclimbing a couple of the temples the second time around. The setting is just so magnificent, with the very vocal howler monkeys hidden in the nearby forests adding to the ambience of the jungle surroundings.
Back to the parking lot as the local merchants are packing up for the day. I catch a ride back to town with a family of vendors who lovingly pick at and tease each other. I sit in the back seat and smile.
Showered, cleaned up and head to the main street where I saw a couple of tour groups with some pretty good prices. A young chatty fellow offers me the Yaxchilan y Bonampek tour for 550 pesos, leaving bright and early tomorrow morning. My hotel wanted 800 for the same tour. I pay him, and head back to the little restaurant next door to Hotel Xibalba named El Huachinango Feliz. It was completely full with locals when I walked by earlier, now there is an empty table and I sit down. If I remember correctly, this is the place someone had mentioned on their review of my hotel on Tripadvisor, a few months back. They wrote “try the shrimp prawns in garlic!”
I pull out my Lonely Planet Spanish phrasebook and look up the word for garlic. Ajillo. Sure enough, there they are on the menu. Ajillo Camarón. I order them and a Negra Modelo. My waiter brings me tortilla chips w/ a black bean dip, a little salad with petite shrimp on it, and a huge serving of some mighty fine Ajillo Camarón! Aiy, they were delicious!! All for 98 pesos!
I stop by the desk to tell them I will need a 5:30 wake up call.
Monday, November 26: Silly me. Why would I think I need a wake up call when for some ungodly reason someone in the neighborhood needs to broadcast a radio program from their loudspeakers at 4:30 in the morning? Yep, now the dogs are all awake too. A few roosters chime in. Why not? At 5, I give up and get myself dressed.
Shortly after 6 my tour van pulls up in front of my hotel and I climb in. Everybody aboard says Buenos Dias. We stop just outside town and pick up the last person, a young lady from Argentina. Somewhere along the way we stop for a breakfast buffet. Then load up and eventually make our way to Frontier Corozal where we get in the boat and along with the current, shoot up the Usumacinta river which separates Mexico and Guatemala.
The steps leading from the river bank to the grounds of the ruins are slightly steep and sloped downward towards the river, which makes for a lot of laughing as we pull ourselves up using the railing. Our guide introduces us to the tunnels of the entrance and we are given flashlights. Victoria, the girl from Argentina, and I pair off since everybody else is traveling as couples and we trail behind, bringing up the rear. Lots of squealing and shrieks in the tunnels ahead as a couple of the women dodge the bats overhead.
We emerge from the “underworld” and climb the embankment to see the magnificent architecture which dominates the hilltop. One word for you. Wow. We spend about two hours exploring the ruins and watching the spider monkeys swinging from the tall leafy treetops high above us. The day has become more humid and icky. One last look around and we head down to board the boat and set off down river, now running against the current.
Just like a dog I have always enjoyed the wind in my face. Whether it be on a galloping horse, a racing motorcycle or a fast boat, the cool air in my face and the wind in my ears has always made me happy.
We are taken to a restaurant in the Lacandon jungle where we have a great lunch and then its back in the van to Bonampek. We arrive where the road leads to the ruins, and our tour guide pays for our entrances. We then have to climb out of our van and into the Lacandon’s van and we drive the road into the ruins with a Lacandon dressed in his white tunic riding in the back seat. He walks us to the ruins and we all separate, with Victoria and I heading up the massive staircase to the top of the temple.
The murals of Bonampek are simply amazing. I had seen pictures but still wasn’t expecting anything as grand as these. After everything is oohed and aahed, we make our way back to the van and eventually back to the town of Palenque.
I am dropped of at my hotel, walk out to the main street and purchase an afternoon tour for tomorrow to Misol Ha and Aguas Azul from the same happy chap who sold me today’s trip for $120 pesos, then stop by the fabulous little restaurant El Huachinango Feliz for some ice cream and a hot chocolate.
Tuesday, November 27: Stop by the front desk to inform the owner that I want una mas noche aqui at Hotel Xibalba. I eat breakfast at my hotel which consist of a rather small ham and cheese omelet and coffee and pay the exact amount I paid for that huge, scrumptious plate of garlic shrimp next door. 98 pesos. The hotel is super nice, rooms are clean and neat , the staff is on the ball, but my advice would be to eat elsewhere.
I spend the morning walking ‘round town, passing many little bakeries with the enticing, inviting aroma of fresh baked goods emitting from their doorways. Hindsight tells me now that I should have purchased my breakfast here and grabbed a cup of coffee from any one of the numerous cafes where the locals are jammed into. I buy some baked goods and stuff them in my backpack for later use.
Noon has arrived and I am back in another van where I am cheerfully greeted by Edmundo and Myna, the couple from Playa del Carmen who were on the tour with me yesterday. The day is a cloudy one and it looks like rain. I am hoping it holds off. We are dropped off along the road and follow the sound of the waterfalls down to the beautiful Misol Ha. Just want to mention here, lest I forget, there are some really cute cabanas by the waterfalls. If I could do over, I would have stayed here one night… beautiful gardens, blue morpho butterflies and the relaxing sound of the cascades makes for pretty much of a paradise in my book.
Pictures and video are taken, then I follow the path leading behind the waterfalls. Edmundo and Myna disappear into the grutas in the cliff. I take my time and enjoy the waterfalls.
Back to the van and onward to Aguas Azul. We pass many roadside stands with their colorful array of merchandise proudly displayed, school children heading home and then finally get to the cascades. Luckily the rain has held off. The cascades roar in my ears and I am thrilled to be here. I am making my way to the top of the long and winding cascades, climbing the stairs and avoiding the roots of the trees which will trip you if you are not paying close attention when I hear my name being called. It is Victoria, the Argentinean girl from yesterday’s tour. We are thrilled to see each other again, exchange emails and then she is off to find a ride back to El Panchan.
After thoroughly checking out the cascades, I buy a few items from the local vendors and then it is back to Palenque town. Loren, the French woman who has been along for the tour and is staying at my hotel joins me for dinner at my favorite spot, next door. We both have the Garlic Shrimp. She tells me of all her journeys. I had thought I was a well-seasoned wanderer. She puts me to shame with her 75 countries she has traveled through alone. Happy trails, Loren, wherever you may be by now.
Wednesday, November 28;
Up early, checked out, located the combis to Ocosingo and I am on my way. 50 pesos for a two and a half hour trip in a crowded combi to Ocosingo. Up and up we climb, on the twisting and winding road to Ocosingo. The young family seated in front of me has a little boy about the age of 4 or 5 and he is getting car sick. He takes it like a true little man and discreetly uses a plastic bag, never crying or complaining. They shuffle their four children between them as they try and comfort him as much as possible.
People are dropped off, we spread out and get more comfortable as we get nearer to our destination. The young family is dropped off and the little lad looks relived to be out of the van. We come down out of the mountains into the fertile fields where Ocosingo lies spread in the valley. A taxi driver finds me in the combis parking lot and takes me to Hospedaje Esmeralda.
I am checked into Hospedaje Esmeralda for one night. Cost 160 pesos. Small, but very clean room, shared bathroom next door. The family who run it are quite helpful and friendly, assisting me with all my questions. I eat a quick breakfast there and then set off for the Tonina ruins. The lady who runs Esmeralda drew me a little map to where I can find the combis for the 11 km ride to the ruins. Everybody stares, then smiles as I smile back and promptly greet me with many “Buenos dias!” Super friendly town.
I arrive where the combis are parked, but a young man who speaks perfect English intercepts me and offers me a ride to the ruins in the back of his pick up truck for 10 pesos. I take him up on his offer and climb in back with an older local couple who have been shopping at the market and are now on their way home. We all hang on tight amidst the crates and buckets of produce. Apparently the man riding in the back is the local dentist, at least that is what his sign says outside his house. They get dropped off and then I am dropped of at the entrance to the ruins. I stop to buy my ticket to the entrance and am told that I don’t have to pay anything. I happily set off on foot. It is a nice ten minute hike to the ruins, passing blissful pastures of contented cattle and horses in the tranquil, quiet countryside.
I pass the tiny little ranchero, cross the creek and climb the steps to Tonina. I am not prepared for the massiveness of these ruins. I read somewhere that Tonina conquered Palenque. Palenque was more spread out and very impressive, these are more consolidated and intimidating in size and presence. I follow the little blue footprint signs and explore the tunnels, which are scary being that I am the only one here. I set my camera to auto flash and take pictures in the tunnels, just so that I can see my way through them, hopefully not tripping over any unsuspected obstacles, tarantulas or vipers.
I make it out alive and climb to the top of the plateau on the ruins. Can’t do the pinnacle, although the blue footprint points the way, which I find highly laughable. The location is sublime, there are a mere handful of people traipsing about now and I take my time and enjoy Tonina.
I get back to the entrance just as the last combi arrives and the rivers checks the log in book, rounds up the locals in the area and waits for the last stragglers to appear, then we are on the way back to Ocosingo.
Back in Ocosingo, dropped off at the combis lot and I cross the street to a Farmacia to buy some cold medicine. I can feel a bad head cold coming on. The tour I had signed up with to Yaxchialn had a few people coughing and blowing their noses, should have known I would catch it. Buy the pills and head back to Esmeralda, a nice HOT shower, clean clothes and I enjoy my delightful dinner of grilled strips of ribeye steak in a bleu cheese sauce. Then walk to the plaza to take one last look around. I really, really like this town.
Thursday, November 29: Wake up feeling miserable. Head feels like a pressurized balloon about to burst. Runny nose. Bad cough. My ears are shut, everything is muffled. I take my pills and eat a light breakfast, pound the coffee then I am off to find the combis for San Cristobal.
I walked from Hospedaje Esmeralda to the lot where the collectivos were. The tout saw me coming and asked me if I was going to Palenque? I shook my head and told him San Cristobal. He pointed to the vans. I eagerly climb in the one which is loading and wait patiently for us to leave. We are soon on our way and it seemed to me that we are heading north instead of south, but I am in the backseat and figure the driver knows where he is going, the road probably turns at one point. The guy sitting next to me is yapping on his cell phone in a Mayan dialect. I wait till he hangs up and ask him if this is the road to San Cris. He shakes his head and says Palenque. I start to panic. Palenque is 2 and a half hours from Ocosingo. Ocosingo is 2 and a half hours from San Cris. That means I just made a 7 and a half hour mistake. I explain to him that I want to go to San Cris, he shakes his head and says again, Palenque. I am distraught. Just then the driver pulls over to check on the cargo on the roof, being there is a vehicle inspection up ahead, by the police. As he is walking around the back, my buddy next to me opens the window and informs the driver that the gringa is in the wrong van. Everybody in the van hangs their heads and softly chuckle. So does the driver.
The driver tells me that I can get out and wait by the side of the road for a ride back to Ocosingo. He gets my backpack own off the roof and points to the other side of the road. I no sooner cross the road when here comes a pickup truck. He stops. I ask him “Ocosingo?” The driver nods and motions for me to hop in back. I climb in the back where there are two very surprised-looking guys, we all hang on for dear life, me clutching both backpacks and the side bar of the truck, as we come back down off the mountain and back into Ocosingo. The diver of the pickup makes sure I got on the right combi. No mistake this time.
By the time we get into San Cris, I am feeling much worse. Dropped of at the very busy combi lot, taxi drives wanting to take you any and everywhere. I tell a young taxi driver I need to go to Posada del Abuelito. He has no idea where that it, and stupid of me, I do not have the address on me and I know it isn’t in the Lonely Planet guidebook. Luckily another man overhears and rattles off the directions to the young guy. We soon discover that it isn’t where the other guy told us it would be, I kind of have an idea we are close, since I had marked it on Google Earth, but I can’t tell which way is north or south or which direction the plaza would be. And I am finding out just how limited my Spanish speaking skills really are.
I soon give up and bail out. I go into the nearest public establishment and ask the young lady behind the desk “Donde es Posada del Abuelito, por favor?” She walks me to the street and points the way. Turns out we are just one street down and around the corner from the Posada.
The Posada is as cute as shown on Tripadvisor. I pay for my seven nights there, then drop my stuff and get directions to a Banamex bank, which I have found out the hard way back in Palenque, is the only bank which accepts my debit card. I am in dire need of pesos. The lady in charge at the Posada marks the bank on the map, I set off on foot. Well, turns out I can’t find it anywhere. I am seeing Bancomer, Banorte, Azteca, everything but what I want to see. Just when I have sat down at the edge of the plaza do I see a OXXO convenience store and see their ATM sign. I recalled a few days before I left on this trip, I had read on Lonely Planet’s forum about someone who seemed to be having the same problem I am having and how they could use OXXO’s ATM. It worked like a charm! J
Now that I have money, I set off for a Farmacia. I need more cold medicine. The pills I have are for a chest cold, I need a decongestant. I describe my symptoms to the pharmacist and she hands me a nasal spray. I hate those things. For some reason they never work well for me. I pull out my Lonely Planet phrasebook and show her “tener resfrio” and motion to my head, eyes, ears forehead again. Ah…she exclaims and comes back with a pack of pills which show a head all red and inflamed around the ears, eyes, nose and throat. Si!
Got my pills, got my money, now it is time to take it easy. I noticed a list of budget places to eat at hanging on the wall at the Posada, one of them was El Caldero, a tiny hole in the wall which only serves soup. Right now I am thinking a big bowl of Chicken soup would do my body good. And, it IS in my Lonely Planet guidebook. I find it without any problem. There is only one table available, I take it. I watch as the waiters deliver huge steaming bowls of soup. I order the Chicken soup with rice, my waiter places it in front of me…it is so big I could go swimming in it…almost! I think it is good, my taste buds have stopped working, but at least it makes me feel better.
Take my cold medication and in bed under five thick, toasty, warm heavy blankets by 7 PM. Popped in my ear plugs and out like a light.
Friday, November 30; Feeling much better. Today I am taking a day off, from my vacation. No plans, no hurries, no worries. I take a picture of the map of San Cris which is posted on our Posada’s wall, since it is much more elaborate and detailed then the measly one in Lonely Planet Mexico. After breakfast, I decide to locate and photograph all fourteen churches in San Cris. That’ll give me something to do today, at my own pace. If it takes all day, so be it.
I start out with the one closest to the Posada and work my way down into town. I have problems locating La Merced and almost give up, when I accidentally walk by it. Turns out it is my most favorite church of all. Strangely, the cross outside the church in inscribed with Mayan Hieroglyphs. I find that to be interesting. J
The search pretty much uses up my entire day. I take it slow, drink fresh-squeezed orange juice from the street vendors and stop by El Caldero for some more chicken soup. After I have satisfactorily finished photographing all fourteen churches, I make my way back to my room for a long, HOT shower. Tomorrow I will take a combi to Chamula.
Saturday, December 1; Just want to interject here…if you are planning a Mexican vacation, always make sure you bring ear plugs! I learned the hard way many years ago, now I always have them with me, anytime or anywhere I travel. And I get lots of peaceful sleep. After I pop them in, which I did when the locals started setting off the M80’s, cherry bombs, firecrackers…you name it…at 3:30 in the morning.
I am eating my lovely breakfast of toasted French bread with an extremely delicious homemade marmalade of bananas, apples, pears, sugar and cinnamon with smooth locally grown coffee when the other guests start to arise and wander out looking like they got no sleep, whatsoever. They are all bleary-eyed and immediately reach for the coffee pot.
With the directions memorized in my head, I set out down the street , make a right on Utilla and follow it out to where the combis to Chamula are supposed to be located. I walk and walk. And walk. I finally stop and ask for directions to the combis. I am told I went too far, from what I am gathering anyway. I go back and turn down the street I was pointed to. I walk and walk. Stop and ask again for directions. I am sent back the way I came. Go around another block and ask for directions. Walk and walk. I stop and ask a man who is pushing a cartful of pineapples. He starts to tell me, then motions for me to come with him. I am embarrassed because his other vendor friends are now laughing, as he leads the way, pushing his load of pineapples. We get to a street, he motions for me to go down one block and make a left. I was just on this street, but I follow his directions and there in a narrow alley are combis, plainly marked Chamula. In case any of you have noticed…I am not the sharpest tool in the shed! ;)
I get on board, and we are soon climbing up and out of San Cris. There are two guys from San Francisco, California seated behind me. I take advantage of this time, being that the people I have been running into who speak English are few and far between, so the 28 km ride flies by.
We get to the little plaza, get out, pay our 12 pesos. I am amazed at how chilly it is here. It is downright blustery and cold. And I only packed a light windbreaker. We pay our dues at the church, 20 pesos to get in and are given stern warnings about how no cameras are allowed. Cameras go into backpacks and we enter.
Now, I had heard about this church, been wanting to see it for many years now, but never anticipated anything like this. There are no benches or pews. There are about four inches of pine needles on the floor which makes for some pretty slippery walking. We shuffle our way through the small crowd of tourists, to the front and see the most unusual sight; local Mayan people on their knees dripping melted candle wax on the floor to which they adhere the candles in an upright position. Hundreds and hundreds of candles. Around the interior walls of the church are all the saints lined up in their glass cases. Around these cases are sprays of flowers. Hundreds and hundreds of flowers. In front of the glass cases are tables with more candles lit in glass votives. Hundreds and hundreds of votives.
There are small groups of locals on their knees, praying, chanting or singing before certain saints. Most of them have soda bottles from which they drink and belch, supposedly dispersing any evil spirits. I see a shaman waving a pine branch over an old lady, he then picks up a bag of chicken eggs which he waves over her and all around her, then places the bag on the floor, pours a clear liquid from a bottle (I am suspecting it to be pox) into the bag and again waves it around the lady. The impulse to pull out my camera was almost overwhelming. The two guys from San Francisco said the same thing. The one guy said I wonder who I could bribe here, so I could take pictures! :-)
With the warmth of all the candles, the scent of pine needles and all the flowers in the air, I find the place quite comforting, especially compared to the blustery cold outside. We take our leave and exit the church just as the church bells start ringing.
I wander around outside, walk through the market and buy a warm jacket and a tablecloth. Then it is back in the van and back to San Cris.
Walking back into town I see a political protest. Can’t quite figure it out, then notice a gringo behind me who is videoing it also and ask him what the demonstration was about. He says that they are protesting their president who was just re-elected. Hmmm…sounds familiar. I stop by a café for a fresh strawberry cream cheese torte and a cappuccino! Enjoyed an interesting, but very political conversation with a chap from Ireland, named Peter. The debate leaves me with a bad headache and I move on.
Time for dinner. I hunt down the Comida Thai which is way out on Real de Guadalupe towards the church. It is a tiny place, with only five tables and everyone is taken. I am about to leave when the waiter comes out and tells me that one table is leaving in a few minutes. He takes my order on the street corner and tells me my food will be ready by the time my table is available. He is right. I had ordered the Pad Thai and a Thai Iced coffee. Two thumbs up! If you like Thai food, do NOT pass this by!
Sunday, December 2; Today I signed up for the Lagunas de Montebello and El Chiflon tour for 250 pesos. We leave at 9 AM and stop by the Grutas de San Cristobal outside of town, then stop for shopping outside Comitan, then it is to the beautiful emerald green lakes and the mighty El Chiflon. It was an amazing day, albeit a very long one. Like the gringo who was filming the demonstration yesterday said, they try to cover too much ground in one day, on this tour. He did it and said by the time they got to the lakes, it was getting dark and you really couldn’t enjoy them. We did it backwards, by the time we got to El Chiflon, the mirador was closed and it was getting dark. My impression of that day trip is…they should omit the Grutas from the tour, it is only 8 km outside of San Cris anyway, you could see it on your own if you want to. That ate up about an hour of our time. Maybe start at 7 Am instead of 9. The scenery along the way was amazing. It was an incredible day, just way too much for one day. IF I could do it over again, I would have stayed overnight at the cabanas by El Chiflon. They were beautiful and inviting, saw another blue morpho butterfly and the sounds along the rivers are just so relaxing. Lots of picnic areas by the river with tables and grills, lots of locals packing up and leaving the area just as we were arriving. It would have been really nice to have more time to spend there.
Monday, December 3; Hung around town all day. I think I ate more today than the last five days combined. Bought my bus ticket for my 5 hour ride back to Villahermosa, for Friday. :( Fly out at 7 AM on Saturday morning. My, how time flies!
I stopped for lunch at Pollo a la Lena. I passed it the other day and the chicken looked so yummy, even though I wasn’t hungry at that time. I am seated at a table and enjoying my half of a chicken with rice and vegetables and fresh, homemade tortillas when in walks a gringo who is seated next to me. “How is the chicken?” he asks. “Awesome,” I say. He asks if he can join me. Sure, why not. It has been awhile since I had a great conversation with anyone. I soon learn that he lives in New Jersey, has worked all his life at Three Mile Island, which is about seven miles from my house and comes to Mexico every winter. We talk and talk. He asks me to join him at La Vina de Bacco later that evening. At 7 PM I am enjoying my lovely Argentinean Malbec when my new friend joins me. We have a couple glasses of wine and tapas of different varieties, we talk of books and writers, he tells me to be sure to go to the Nature Reserve just outside town, before I leave San Cris, if I would like to do some independent hiking. We say our goodbyes, he is flying back home for the holidays, tomorrow out of Cancun.
Tuesday, December 4; Enlisted another gal from Switzerland, Karen, who is staying at our Posada to go horseback riding with me. We left at 9 AM and rode over to Chamula. The day was bright and sunny, I had dressed warm remembering how cold it was up in Chamula. My horse is probably as old as I am, and missing a shoe. We take it slow and let the horses et their own pace. Our guide watched the horses as we walk to the plaza and I watch Karen’s face as we enter the church. She is amazed as I was the other day. This time, there are locals with live, but seemingly very intoxicated roosters which soon become sacrifices. We leave after the second rooster is disposed of. Thankfully, they were too drunk to feel anything.
We get back to San Cris by noon, Karen and I go to El Caldero for some more of that fantastic soup. Walk around town, say our goodbyes, she is heading to Tulum tomorrow, I got a Chocolate Workshop at 5 PM.
The Chocolate Workshop cost 250 pesos and is at the Chocolate Museum, of course. I arrive early and find out that I am the only student. A sweet, very animated, happy young girl by the name of Alexandra is the teacher. She can’t understand me and I can’t understand her. So…she teaches me, much like charades. It is amazing how much can be relayed that way!
We handpick the cocoa beans from their own private collection, roast them, shell them by hand, run them through a hand grinder, not once, but three times till we get a thick paste and believe you me, it is very hard to turn that grinder. Then we add sugar and run it through again. Then it is heated till smooth, spread into a mold into which we add anything we want, I add ground coffee and shaved almonds. The mold is put into the freezer. Alex ask me if I would like to have some hot chocolate from the small amount of sauce we have left over. She then ask me if I like tequila, which of course, I do. She abruptly leaves and returns with some tequila and adds it to the hot chocolate. Oh my! Very tasty! Who would have thought?
She then tells me to relax and tour the museum while my chocolate bar chills. I am completely absorbed in a conversation with a couple from Mexico City who speak English when Alex arrives with my beautiful and very tempting-looking chocolate bar! I give her a nice tip and happily leave with my chocolate bar in hand, back to my Posada. This little excursion was probably my favorite one! So much fun and you really learn to appreciate what all goes into making chocolate!
Wednesday, December 5; Today I go to the Sumidero Canyon. Back in February 2009, I flew out of Guatemala City and coming up over Chiapas, Mexico, I looked out my airplane window and saw this amazing canyon far down below. That was when I knew that I had to see it in person! Cost is 250 pesos. We leave from San Cris at 9 AM, the ride over the mountain is beautiful, the day is sunny, we get to the river and all put on our life jackets.
The boat ride is amazing! The canyon is breathtaking and stunning! We see egrets, herons, a kingfisher, cormorants, crocodiles and even a couple of spider monkeys! What a great day! Another one on the “must-see lists!” The captain of the boat is very patient and allows everyone the time they need for those perfect shots. Just want to mention that I noticed they really allow you to take your time on these tours I have been doing. There is no rushing, nobody telling anybody what to do, everything is so laid back.
After the canyon we stop at Chiapa de Corzo and are given an hour to walk around and get something to eat. I buy some empanadas from a street vendor, find a huge shade tree, sit down and enjoy my empanadas and the scenery.
Get back to San Cris and decide that tonight I am going to splurge. I stop by La Vina de Bacco
for a Buenos Noche beer made specially by Modelo only for the holidays, then eat an awesome, delicious, juicy steak at El Argentino restaurant. I take my scraps and the remaining bread back to “my dog,” a little Akita-mixed mutt who lives next door to the Posada. He is old and hobbles around, kind of like me in the mornings.;)
The guy in charge at the Posada ask me what time I am checking out in the morning? I tell him I am here till Friday. He says not. We go look at the book. I made a mistake. I ask if I can stay for one more night. He says he thinks it is booked full. I go to bed slightly worried, not wanting to have to move for only one day, since I am taking the bus back to Villahermosa on Friday and already bought the non-refundable ticket for 245 pesos. And I am so comfortable here!
It is around 2:30 AM that I awake from a belly ache. What happens next makes me spend about an hour on the cold, hard bathroom floor. Yep. I got sick. Probably something I ate. I reluctantly crawl back into bed after about an hour, not because I didn’t want to, but because I just felt much safer lying on the bathroom floor…but it was just too cold on the floor and I now had the chills. I put on my warm fleece pants, two t- shirts and wrap up in the five toasty warm blankets.
Thursday, November 6; This morning a friendly fellow whom I never saw before was brewing coffee and then went into the Posada's office. I asked him if he speaks English. He does. I then explained how I made a mistake when I booked and I need one more night, since I bought a bus ticket to Villahermosa for Friday. He then said that my room should still be available, but he has to check the internet to see if it got reserved online.
About 10 minutes later, the Mexican lady who I have been seeing here everyday arrives and I try to explain in my poor Spanish that I will need one more night here. That is when the happy chap, Guillaume,
laughed and said "actually, I am the owner of the Posada." I had never met him, because he was in Guatemala the whole time I have been here. He just happened to come back today.
He said my room is free, you can have it for tonight. I gave a big sigh of relief and told him I need to pay him for it. That was when he told me, "no, it is free. You stayed here a week, you get one night free. "
I am still thinking he was just being nice, because I never saw anything about that online. J
After my wonderful, leisurely, light breakfast and some delicious coffee I decide to walk to the Orquideas Moxviquil which is about a thirty minute walk and costs 30 pesos to get in. It is easy to find. I pay the entrance fee and the young guy opens up the orchid hothouse for me to explore. So may teeny tiny little flowers, they are all so easy to miss.
After photographing all the tiny, fragile orchids I set off on the path which takes me high up into the hills surrounding San Cristobal when I realize that this is the Nature Reserve that Marty, my gringo friend from New Jersey, was talking about. I found it after all! What a gorgeous area, what a beautiful hike! It was only a 2 km hike, but it was all uphill or downhill and I was struggling with it, only because I got so sick last night. That took a lot out of me.( Pardon the pun.) I take it slow.
Then it is one last walk into town and I climb the steps, all 285 of them once again, to the church high on the hill. I am resting on my way back down when I spot the Aussies I met on the Sumidero Canyon tour. They are on their way up. We say our goodbyes. I then visit La Merced for one last time. I get back to the Posada, pack everything in my 65 liter backpack and am amazed everything actually fits.
Friday, December 7; After an eight hour bus ride with numerous check points by the Mexican military, then three taxis rides, I am finally safe and sound in my comfy room at the Best Western hotel, in Villahermosa, Mexico.
I knew the bus ride was going to be a tremendous one, but I was not expecting the Hilton Hotel by the airport, to be booked full. I had about 400 pesos left, since I knew the taxi from the bus station to the Hilton was 200, so I left a few more, just in case. Well, I used my 200 pesos to the Hilton, found out there is no room at the hotel available (due to the Virgin de Guadalupe Festival), figured I would sleep at the airport, paid a taxi driver 100 pesos to take me to the airport where I just happened to run into another taxi driver who spoke English and told me you can't sleep at the airport anymore.
So, I am down to my last 100 pesos and no hotel. The taxi driver told me there is an ATM inside the airport and he will watch my backpack for me and wait and take me to a hotel, for no charge. I left my backpack with him and went in and got 500 more pesos. (Enough for the taxi ride into town and for the ride to the airport tomorrow morning.)
When I came out I told him to take me to a good hotel, I can and I will pay you now! He took me to the Best Western and asked the valet if they have rooms available, before he drove away. I paid him, but he refused a tip, my angel. :-)
Want to mention here that I liked the Best Western much better than the Hilton. It is only about a ten minute ride to the airport from the Best Western, in case anyone is interested in those logistics.
Saturday, December 8; Up at 4:30 AM, at the airport by 5:15 for my 7 AM flight back to Houston, Texas and then to BWI.
Mexico was awesome! This was my twelfth trip to Mexico, but my first one to Chiapas. I really enjoyed it! The Mexican people were so kind and helpful even going the extra mile to help me out in my own little jams I go myself into. I got everything I wanted to do done, plus some other excursions. Really enjoyed Palenque, Ocosingo, Tonina, Sumidero Canyon and the Chocolate workshop. San Cris was beautiful. The highlight was most definitely Yaxchilan and Bonampek!
Thank you Mexico!!
Huaraz, Peru (part one)
This was my third trip to Peru, the first two being in the Cusco/Sacred Valley areas. I had heard about the “second highest mountain range in the world,” the beautiful mountains in Huaraz and me being a mountain-lover decided it was time I went and checked it out for myself.
Saturday, May 26 ~ I flew out of BWI at 11:30 in the morning and arrived in Miami around 2 PM. My 4:30 Lima flight was delayed an hour and a half. We finally got airborne little after 6 PM and I settled in for the long five hour flight.
Got into Lima at 11 PM. My driver from Casa Ana was waiting for me at the airport. He delivered me to their door and I was shown to my room. It was the same room I had last September and I was happy to be back in Lima. After the long draining day of traveling, I slept sound, resting assured that they would wake me for my 6 AM taxi ride back to the airport.
Sunday, May 27~ Up early and at the airport for the 6:30 check in on LC Peru to Huaraz. Get to the gate and find out the flight is delayed until further notice. At 10:30 we are told the flight will be leaving soon, by 11 AM we are finally on board the spiffy little Dash 8 and climbing up and out of the thick grey clouds which enshroud Lima.
The flight is listed as an hour flight, it only seems like twenty minutes as time quickly passes while I sit in amazement and stare out of the windows at the Cordillera Blanca. The anticipation builds!
We land light as a feather and coast to a stop. Everyone is up, out of their seats and step out into the brilliant and blinding white light of the bright sunshine. As our eyes adjust, we are stopped dead in our tracks. Straight ahead, hovering just behind the small airport terminal is the mighty, massive Nevada Huascarán! Welcome to Huaraz!
I gather up my gear and we are ushered into the tiny terminal. A couple of persistent taxi drivers latch on to me, I turn and spy two guys who seem to be traveling together and ask them if they want to split a taxi. They quickly take me up on it and into the taxi we climb and head down the road towards Huaraz. Cost for me, 20 sol.
The two guys are from England and tomorrow they will be setting out to do the Huayhuash. I wish them well and I am dropped off at Churup Guesthouse. Churup is a cute little guesthouse, looks kind of like a Swiss Chalet, lots of floors with inviting parlors and cozy rooms. The stairs are carpeted and have another layer of stair pads on top along with signs posted stating “No stumping in hiking boots after 10 PM. We need our sleep.” I like that!
My room isn’t ready yet, so my luggage is put into a storage closet and I go up on the terrace. There is no way I can explain how overwhelming the views of the mountains are. They dominate the horizon and everywhere else you look, it is virtually impossible to peel your eyes away from them. The sun is intense and I have to go back to the storage closet and get a change of clothes. It is much warmer than I had expected.
I head over to the church next door and it’s pretty little plaza, then just aimlessly set off on foot, thinking I can find the path to El Mirador. I find myself wandering through the part of town, which I soon realize is, the only part which wasn’t destroyed by the 1970 earthquake. It is a lovely, sunny Sunday afternoon and the local families are serving up Pachamanca on tables set up in the narrow streets. The entire neighborhood is involved with either cooking, serving or eating at the crowded tables. Little piglets roasted whole are displayed, chicharron is advertised by handwritten signs dangling from the tented stalls and pitchers of chicha morada grace the tables. The mood is a very festive one. I feel lucky to have stumbled upon this.
I get to a crossroad and run into another gringa, who is from Seattle, Washington. Her husband is off doing the Huayhuash for ten days and she is stuck in Huaraz with a slight leg injury. Together we decide to walk up to El Mirador, after checking out a map she has on her. We set off and I start to get a bit of a headache. We stop at a little café on the way up towards the cemetery and have some coca tea.
My guidebook says it is a 7 km hike up to the cross, but the smooth dirt road with all it’s switchbacks makes it a pretty easy climb for my first day. The views are astounding and I stop often to take pictures. Andrea, though limping, leaves me behind as I move at a turtle’s pace, stopping often to gaze in wonder and for many more photos. In the distance Huascaran reigns supreme on the northern horizon, gleaming so bright in the late afternoon light. That is one big, big mountain!
At the top we can see Llaca Quebrada and it’s snowy glacier peeking between it, more mountains to the south of us and Huascaran the north’s anchorman. A number of local people are here also enjoying this beautiful late afternoon.
We make it back to Huaraz just as the light is fading from the sky. Huascaran is now an iridescent white in the purple twilight, making it appear even larger than what is probably is. My belly reminds me that I have completely forgotten about it, in all the excitement of the day.
As I come back pass the church, I notice that they are setting up firewood for a bonfire in front of the church. On top of the roof of the church, next to the steeple, stands a young lad strumming his guitar and singing. They are getting ready for some festivities here tonight.
I go back to Churup, get my stuff out of the storage closet and into my appointed room, change into warmer clothes and inquire about the festivities planned by the church. The guy at the front desk doesn’t seem to know anything about them, so I leave and go in search of dinner.
Dinner finds me at Café Andino. Pretty place, located on the third floor, brightly colored rooms, welcoming lounge area with huge fireplace, the upstairs has a book exchange. I am seated at an table on the upstairs outside balcony. The intoxicating aroma of pesto greeted me upon entering and now I am craving it badly. I order the Pesto Chicken Pasta, which turns out to be quite delicious!
With a bellyful of pasta, I head back to my room. Then I recall the preparations up at the church and head on up. There are large crowds of teenagers, singing, dancing, music playing, the bonfire is ablaze, what a celebration! I still have no idea what it was, but they were having fun!
Back to my room and a hot shower. The day’s events have taken their toll on me. Time to sleep.
Monday, May 28~ Up early for the continental breakfast offered at Churup. Then down to the front desk to pay for my room and get a taxi to take me to the Lazy Dog Inn, where I will spend the next two days.
The Lazy Dog Inn is located 12 km outside Huaraz, up in the mountains. The ride takes about a half hour. The road is a dirt one with lots of hairpin turns and as we wind our way higher up into the mountains, I keep catching glimpses of immense snowy ranges round each bend.
The Lazy Dog Inn is a gorgeous place, situated on a slight hill, the main house on the higher ground with the cabins located downhill and the horse stables on the edge of the property. I am greeted by the family dogs and Nick, the assisting manager. Diana, the owner, is in the kitchen, Nick helps me with my backpack and together they show me to my room. It is a lovely bedroom with a big picture window facing the Llaca Quebrada, skylights in the ceiling and woven tapestries on the wall. I am shown the shared bathroom and Nick explains how the composting toilet works. Then the day is mine!
I ask about a good hike and Nick sends me on my way to the Wilkawain ruins, which are 6 km downhill, halfway back to Huaraz. I remembered seeing them when we passed by in the taxi, seems like a decent hike for acclimating, so off I go.
It is another brilliantly blue sky overhead, the sun is surprisingly very warm and I take to my hike like a bear takes to honey. The stunning scenery dazzles me with much interest and appreciation; sharp, ridged snow-capped mountain peaks, tall, swaying Eucalyptus trees, the constant teasing sound of bubbling, gurgling waters somewhere underground only to emerge cascading down a deep crevasse into a grassy valley far below.
For a short time I had a sheep accompany me. He appeared from out of nowhere. I think he thought I was his owner. He spotted me and came running down the road behind me, baa-ing all he could. At first it was a bit unsettling, I was thinking he might be a mean one, but he came running to me, then seemed to look at me as if to say “hey, you are not who I thought you were,” then he ran on ahead of me and turned round as if to look at me from another angle, decides that he really doesn’t know me after all and ran baa-ing back up the road from where he first appeared.
I finally arrive at the Wilkawain ruins only to have the guard tell me the ruins are closed, come back tomorrow. What? I came the whole way down here to be told the ruins are closed? Now it is another 6 km back, which is now all uphill. Well, at least I am getting my exercise…a great acclimating hike, I keep reminding myself.
Just before the road which turns off to the Lazy Dog, I sit down to change the batteries in my camera and spot a caravan of cattle, sheep and donkeys driven by two local ladies coming up the road. I hold my camera low and away from my body hoping I can video them without the ladies knowing. I let the video roll and pretend that I am just resting, but alas, the women are too smart for me. The one lady shakes me down for money. I reach into my pocket and hope I pull out 1 sol, but it is a 5. She takes it and demands payment for the other lady. I reach back into my pocket and out comes another 5 sol. She gives that to the other lady and they gleefully cackle with laughter the rest of the way up the road. I sit on my rock feeling a bit miffed.
I get back to the Lazy Dog and Nick asks me how I liked the ruins? I tell him they were closed. Diana overhears, laughs and asks Nick how he could forget…it is Monday. Apparently all ruins in Peru are closed Monday, except Machu Picchu. Anybody know, is that true? I ask Diana how much 10 sol rounds out to? She laughs and asks me “why, who got you?” I tell her about the women. She tells me her cook is their niece and she tells her young cook about the incident. She laughs, they laugh, we all laugh.
I help myself to an ice cold local IPA brew and sit outside in the late day sun, enjoying the coolness of the approaching evening and the whisper of the winds in the Eucalyptus trees.
Once the sun disappears, the temperature drops drastically. The fireplace is lit and stoked with ample firewood, wine is offered, the other guests are assembling and dinner is served. We are served family-style; the meal is a delightfully delicious array of cream of cauliflower soup, salad, zucchini stuffed with chicken, cheese and rice and banana nut cake for dessert.
The stuffed zucchini was simply amazing! I had to have seconds!
The other guests are a young couple from Washington DC, a young couple from England and Ireland, and a young couple involved with the Andean Alliance NGO. Our conversations over dinner were almost as good as the meal!
I am whooped after my long, high-altitude day hike, the young people all head outside to the fire pit, I adjourn to my room.
Sometime during the night I wake up and roll over only to see an immense, incredible display of stars twinkling above me through the skylights.
Tuesday, May 29 ~ First one up for breakfast; scrambled eggs, fried potatoes, toast, juice and coffee. Diana has a six hour horseback riding tour to Llaca Lake lined up with some people who are arriving, but no more Peruvian Pasos for me to ride, so I opt for a ride on one tomorrow. Decide to hike up to Llaca glacier on foot today. Nick packs me a lunch and I set out just as the group is arriving for their horseback ride.
The trail is an easy one to follow, although it is a rocky one. I make it to the geography boundary of the Huascaran National Park when the group on horseback overtake me and disappear on ahead. When I get to the entrance of the Huascaran National Park, I crawl under the railing and pay the guard 5 sol. I find the short cut Nick had told me about on the right, shortly past the entrance. It is a steep zigzagging path which cuts up over the high canyon wall.
The shortcut brings me out on an upper road, I follow it and can now see the huge Llaca glacier straight ahead. It looks so close, but looks can be deceiving in the distances judged by the eye. I get to the bridge and cross the river. I take the path to the left and head up the road. The road goes on forever, just out of curiosity I take out my map Nick had drew me and realize I am on the road to the refuge, no to the lake.
Exhausted I stop for lunch. My toes are hurting. I had read in Turn Right At Machu Picchu that you should always wear a double pair of socks when trekking and I broke that rule on my very first hike, up to El Mirador. It is the downhill that kills the toes and now my toes are screaming. I eat my packed lunch and have now drawn the attention of the cattle which were grazing in the valley. A couple of them approach me. They are friendly bovines; just curious and they snoop around me. They know I am eating. When I get up and head down into the valley to the river, one comes over and smells where I was eating, looking for food scraps.
The valley is simply beautiful. Giant lupines stand by the rushing, tumbling alpine blue waters. Huge boulders meant for crawling on, which I do, are strewn across the green meadows. Waterfalls tumble past the rocky formations by the river, butterflies are flitting around the lupines and the friendly cattle have now followed me down onto their turf.
I never make it to the lake. I was enjoying that valley too much! Plus, my toes were reminding me it was soon time to head back.
On my way back, the group from Lazy Dog Inn ride past me. I enviously watch the Peruvian Pasos and their elegant gaited glide. Tomorrow, I will finally get to ride one.
I can’t find the shortcut and have to take the long winding road with all it’s switchbacks back down. I run into two German guys who hike along with me, I show them the shortcut to the road which comes out at the Lazy Dog, they then continue in the fashion “they way the crow flies” and go straight down the mountain to Huaraz. I am impressed by their stamina and hiking skills.
Back at the Inn the other guests have returned. Dinner is served family-style, another fabulous meal, our daily experiences are shared and then everyone retires to their rooms. No fire pit tonight. We are all tired.
Wednesday, May 30~ Up early for another great breakfast, then I pack and move my stuff into their laundry room. I am going horseback riding this morning and then leaving for El Patio de Monterrey Hotel.
The young lady from England, her Irish boyfriend, Diana and I spend the morning on those beautiful Pasos I have been eyeing up, yesterday. We ride around the highlands and pass through the small farming community which own the land surrounding the Lazy Dog Inn.
I see my taxi is waiting at the road to the Lazy Dog upon returning. I grab my gear and am on the way back to Huaraz and up to Monterrey. My plan is to stay there tonight, then head up to Yungay tomorrow for the 42nd anniversary of the 1970 earthquake.
My taxi driver drops me off at the pretty El Patio de Monterrey Hotel. It sits along the main road and at the end of the sloping hill which takes you up to the Aguas Termales, or the hot springs. Once inside the gate, the quiet and tranquility of the shaded property calms your senses and relieves you from the hot afternoon sun. I am shown to my room; nice, large, clean, with a lovely garden view, bathroom has a bath tub w/shower and I have a heater! (which I did use and it kept me toasty warm)
I change into lighter clothing since the climate is much warmer down here off the mountains and walk around town. Nothing to do here in this town. I then walk down to El Colibri to have a late lunch and to talk to the owner. I have heard that she owns the Hostal Pilar over in Chacas, where I am hoping to get to, eventually.
I have grilled chicken, French fries and a salad while I wait for the owner. She seems surprised that I want to talk to her and when I explain that I want to stay at her place over in Chacas, her whole face lights up! She tells me I don’t need to make any reservations, just tell them I talked to her. What a sweet lady!
After lunch I head back to the hotel and explore the grounds and the gardens. I am their only guest. They have no wifi, there is no internet in this town and I am already bored. The hotel is beautiful, but…probably the only thing I would do differently, if I could, would have to been to return to Huaraz. But I had made reservations here for one night.
My dinner at the hotel was a steak in Bleu cheese sauce, rice and carrots served by a sweet young lady who tried her best to understand my limited Spanish. A wonderful hot shower, and early bedtime for me in my toasty warm room, since there is nothing else to do here.
Thursday, May 31~ Up early, pack and go for breakfast. My breakfast is included with my room. I must say that the coffee I am running across here is extremely good! I pay for my room and inquire about which combi I should take to Yungay. The young woman at the front desk tells me which one. It will have the #1 on it. I grab my gear and go down to the corner where she told me and wait. And wait, and wait. Combis come by, stop and they yell something at me and leave. I am confused. I figure maybe I need to head down a coupd of blocks to the busier intersection which I do. The same thing happens. I ask the lady selling tamales by the road. She explains in a lengthy conversation, but I am not catching any of it. She then tells me to catch the combi back to Huaraz. No combis to Yungay ahora. That I understand.
So, I hail the next combi headed to Huaraz and I am dropped off at Yungay Express. At least, maybe, relatively close to it. When they dropped me off, they pointed in which direction I needed to go. Which I did. I never did find it. Now, I know it exists, because I recalled seeing it my first day when I arrived in Huaraz, while riding in the taxi which I took from the airport. I am pretty sure I am in the general vicinity and everyone tries to help me, but the funny thing is, they are all contradicting each other.
So I give up and it is while I am walking down the street towards the plaza that I run into a Mormon missionary. I see him a mile away ‘cause he sticks out like a sore thumb. White guy, squeaky clean, spotless button-down shirt, pressed pants. When he spots me he immediately stops in his tracks and wants to talk. Which is okay with me because I have not talked to anyone who speaks English in almost two days, so to me, it is a real treat!
I tell him about my situation earlier. “Oh!” he exclaims. “The miners have closed the road to Yungay due to roadblocks, they are protesting…the protests are supposed to last at least two days, who knows, maybe even a week?”
Wow. I finally now understand what everyone was trying to tell me. It suddenly all made sense. I thank him and decide to find a room in Huaraz for at least two nights. I remember my nice taxi driver from Olaza’s Bed and Breakfast who took me up to the Lazy Dog Inn. I also remember the great reviews Olaza’s got on trip advisor and recall it is located pretty close to Churup guesthouse and the church.
I head back up the hill towards Churup guesthouse and go one block over and there I find Olaza’s Bed and Breakfast. I ring the bell and am let in. The young lady who runs the place was quite nice and gladly gave me a room for two nights. It is a cute little room, quite clean, very bright and sunny, nice twin beds, down duvets, clean cozy bathroom. I dump my stuff and go up on the terrace. Whoa! What a view! The Cordillera Blanca stands just to the east and runs as far north and south as the eye can follow. I am thrilled to have found a room in such a sweet hotel! And, they have free wifi!
The rest of the day is spent in Huaraz. I wander the streets, do some shopping at the local artisan market by the plaza and the silver shops along the main drag and rest in the plaza del armas. I have a cold coming on and I am feeling drained. Stop in at Mi Chef Kristof for an early dinner, he hears me coughing and suggests to let him make something special to help me feel better. He whips up a delicious Spicy Thai Chicken Pasta which is simply incredible! The herbal infused tea I order is served by the teapot, I drank all of it which I think was about six cups. Then Kristof sets a shot of his own ginger-infused pisco down in front of me. He says it will help my cold. It burns the whole way down. He sets up a round of shots for the regulars sitting at the bar, brings over another for me and sits down to chat. Quite a likeable, affable fellow. I make a mental note to come back tomorrow night.
Friday, June 1~ Up for breakfast on the sunny terrace of Olaza’s. My cold is still with me. Coughing, sneezing, running nose and fatigue. I decide to pass up on the mountain-biking excursion I had planned on, with the people I met last night from Chicago. I am just too tired.
After breakfast I head for a pharmacy in town. I describe my symptoms the best I can, the pharmacist sells me some cough syrup and some decongestant tablets. I come to the conclusion that the main ingredient in the cough syrup would be illegal here in the States. My mouth, tongue and entire throat goes numb after ingesting. I immediately feel much better. Take it three times a day, she said. Morning, noon and night. I can’t wait till noon time!
I take a taxi from Iglesia de Solidad up to the Wilkawain ruins for 30 sol, since they were closed when I tried to get in on Monday. The admission is 5 sol. The ruins are situated in two parts, the lower ruins are very small, the upper ones located further up the road are rather impressive. After exploring the ruins I decide to walk back to Huaraz. I meet a young couple, Angel and Gabandae, from Lima who decide to walk back with me.
We haven’t gone more than a kilometer or so when a combi comes by and we jump in. The combi takes us back to Huaraz. Cost .50 sol or about 18 cents a person. We are dropped off close to the main market, I bid goodbye to the young couple and I walk pass the The Chicken Grill, which is packed with locals. I stop and go back, and run into Angel and Gabandae. We get a table and Angel orders for us. It is the set “menu” which consist of chicken soup, and choice of chicken or fish with rice and potatoes. Cost 5 sol. It is very good and extremely filling. Angel picks up the bill. I am a happy girl! For 13.18 USD, I had a beautiful day at the ruins with both taxi and combi rides included AND a terrific lunch with a lovely, charming young couple from Lima! Just another one of the many reasons why I love Peru!
Back at Olaza’s, take my medicine and relax in the shade under the umbrellas on the breezy terrace. Then it is back to Mi Chef Kristof for another superb dinner of pollo ensalada and a couple glasses of red wine. Also, I had to come back to try the chocolate mousse! Wow! Compliments to the chef! ;)
One of the regulars is sitting at the bar. I like his fleece jacket. I mention this to him and he explains how he designs his own line of clothing and this jacket is just one of his creations. I end up buying it from him, right off his back. Kristof sends us some of his ginger-pisco shots and sits down to join us. I am starting to see there is danger in Huaraz, a person could get used to living here! The comradely feeling one gets here can be very intoxicating, in itself.
Saturday, June 2~ Last night over dinner at Mi Chef Kristof, I learned that the miner’s protests ended. Remember, that is what brought me back to Huaraz in the first place? The road to Yungay is once again open. I pay my tab after breakfast at Olaza’s and take a taxi to the street where the combis leave for Yungay. I am directed to one and we are on the way to Yungay.
A little over an hour later we arrive in Yungay. I am dropped off at the little station where I am bombarded with touts yelling “Llanganuco, Llanganuco?”
I shrug them off telling them “mañana!” They are very persistent and keep insisting. I tell them “No hablo español.” They finally leave me alone, looking dejected.
I ask a lady where a hotel is. She points me up the hill to the plaza de armas. I see the biggest and most promising one, Rima Rima Hotel rising above the other buildings. As I come around the corner to the street where the entrance is, I see a van with about a dozen gringos spilling out of it. I ask them where they are staying, since it looks like they are traveling with a rather respectable tour guide. They point to the Rima Rima. Looks like it is a winner.
I go along in with the group. Turns out they are a church group, all from Georgia, here on a mission trip. They all get checked in, I get a room also. The room is clean but very basic. A bed, a table and a chair with a bathroom. The price is 100 sols which I think is very expensive, more than what I was paying for nicer places in Huaraz. But it is the nicest place in Yungay, so I resign to that fact and ditch my stuff. Time to go to Campo Santo.
Remembering passing it on the way here, I set out on foot. It is located some two km south of the new Yungay. I follow the road and once I get past the high hills which now shield new Yungay from mighty Huascaran, it abruptly appears like some hideously huge, but beautiful big giant gleaming bright in the midday sun. Now I recall why I came here. I had planned on being here for the forty-second anniversary of the devastating 1970 earthquake, which was two days ago. I didn’t make it because of the road blocks.
I pay the admission and somberly step onto the hallowed grounds. Straight ahead stands Huascaran. Straight ahead lies the path of destruction, the 3,000 foot wide swath of the avalanche. Rose gardens now grow here amongst the pretty manicured lawns. It is said that there is a rose for every single person who perished. Grave markers, head stones and crosses dot the grounds, mapping where the families’ houses once stood. It is difficult to understand, but looking up at Huascaran, not hard to imagine. They never stood a chance.
On May 31, 1970 a 7.7 earthquake hit the Ancash region of Peru, lasting for only 45 seconds. The earthquake destabilized the glacier on the north face of Huascaran causing 10 million cubic meters of rock, ice and snow to break off and barrel down the massive mountain at speeds of 120 mph. By the time it hit Yungay the 3,000 ft wide wave is estimated to consist of 80 million cubic meters of ice, rock and mud. In less than 3 minutes, the entire town of Yungay was completely covered. 25,000 people were buried. Gone. Forever.
I make my way over to the remains of the church’s steeple which still sticks out of the ground. They say that most of the people ran for the church when the quake hit. That church now lies somewhere down there below my feet. Four remaining palm trees still protrude by the buried church, amazingly one is still alive.
I see the remains of the beaten, crumbled bus emerging from the ground. I pass people who are crying. They are probably the now grown children who were some of the only survivors. The day this happened, 300 children were spending the day away, at a circus. Because of that, they were spared. Could you imagine being a child and coming back from the circus to find your families, your homes, your entire town gone?
I move on. I walk up through the corridor of whispering pines to the replica of the church’s façade which stands in memory of all those who lost their lives. Behind it looms Huascaran. It is so beautiful. But yet, so omnificent to be able to destroy so much. This sacred place has touched me like none other and will forever remain planted in my mind.
From there I walk down to the cemetery which rises like a multi-layered pre-Incan tomb, built on an artificial hill. Besides the 300 children who were spared, there were 92 people who made it to the cemetery. They climbed the many, many stairs to the top. One man who reached the top said when he turned he could see “a giant wave of gray mud about 60 meters high.” He states “the landslide hit the cemetery about five meters below our feet. The sky went dark because of all the dust, mostly from all the destroyed homes. We turned to look and Yungay, as well as it’s thousands of inhabitants, had completely disappeared.” ~from Peruvian Times.com
From the top of the cemetery I can see a path which the locals are taking back to town. I cross back over the consecrated grounds and follow the path back to Yungay.
Dinner was at a very nice place along the main road, can’t recall the name of it. Once again, it was the set “menu.” Very good food, the young boy who waited on me was eager and quick to assist me in any way.
After dinner I wandered over to the plaza de armas. I was sitting on a park bench by the water fountain when I heard a blaring horn in the distance which was getting louder. Here comes the Yungay Express, a big modern bus which announced it’s approach the whole way coming up the road. I had to laugh, recalling how I never did find it’s location in Huaraz. It stopped by the plaza, before honking it’s way out of town, headed north to Caraz.
I spent the evening on a park bench by the plaza watching the full moon rise.
Sunday, June 3~ Can’t believe I have already been here a week, only have one more week to go. Up early and looking for a place to eat. Nothing is open. It is now past 8 and I still haven’t had any coffee. I walk down to the market and buy some biscuits, sweet breads, a coke and a couple of bottles of water, stick them in my backpack and head off to look for a combi to take me up to Llanganuco. Of course, I go to where I was dropped off at yesterday when everyone was screaming “Llanganuco, Llanganuco!” at me. Now nobody wants to take me there. No combis to be found. Taxis want 100 sols to take me up and drop me off. I finally find one man who tells me I have to go up next to the plaza del armas for the combis to Llanganuco. I do. Not seeing anyone. It occurs to me to walk down to the police station and asks them, they would know. I do. They point me up the same street we are standing on and point me to a red beat-up van which is loading people in it.
I go up and ask them “Llanganuco?” Si, says the driver! He motions me in back, I am sit next to three young guys on the back seat. The rest of the van fills up. A woman walks up with a big sheep. They tie the sheep to the door and she climbs in. More people get in. Their cargo is loaded on top of the roof. Then lastly, the sheep, much to his dismay, his lifted up and you can hear a lot of tussling and his little hooves stomping, then all is quiet. The men climb down off the roof and we are on our way. Seventeen people, one sheep and a load of cargo and this battered old van chugs and coughs it’s way up the mountain. Up, up, up we go. The road is a rough one and the shock absorbers on the van and springs in the seat have seen better days. We feel every bump on this winding, dusty dirt road.
We stop at the entrance to Huascaran National Park for a banos break. From an overheard conversation I learned that you can get dropped off at the trailhead to Lago 69 and hike up to the lake and from there, back down past the Llanganuco lakes, eventually (hopefully) getting a ride back to Yungay.
The driver stops at Llanganuco lakes and looks at me in the rear view mirror. His tout yells back to me. I tell him Lago 69. They drive on. At the trailhead the van stops, two guys and I hop out. I pay the driver The two guys pay him and disappear. I look down at the trailhead and the vast valley which lies before me. What was I thinking? I am a bit intimidated at first. A park ranger comes out of the bushes from lower down the trail and motions for me to go ahead. I set off, gingerly climbing down the steep descent, then to the river, cross the bridge and I am in the very pretty alpine valley.
The trail is easily marked. I take to it the trail, passing a cow who has her head stuck in an outhouse door. Why she would do that is beyond me. She backs out and warily watches me pass by. The trail continues, zigzagging through scrubby bushes and around large boulders. It is a tough one, poorly maintained and heavily trodden by cattle. Lots of loose rocks and gravel.
I was told when I was dropped off by one of the only guys who could speak any English that I had to be back at the trailhead by 5 PM. That was when the last bus passed through. It was 11:30 when I was dropped off. They say it is 3 hours up to the lake and 3 hours back. I am not making good time. Looks like I am not making it to the lake. I stop up by the waterfalls and turn around and come back.
The way back down is tricky, with all the loose gravel. Kind of glad I didn’t go the whole way up. You could really use hiking poles and a better pair of hiking shoes then what I have on for this one.
(Right here I want to clarify something. After I got back home from Peru and looked on Google Earth, only then did I realize that I was on the wrong trail. I was on the trail up to Pisco Refuge camp, not the lake! Silly me!)
I am back once again on the road and figure that I will walk back to Llanganuco Lakes and hopefully find a ride there. But, no need for that, here comes a van now! They pull over, pick me up and drop me off in Yungay. I head immediately to the café by the plaza and order dinner. I am famished!
Here come’s the Yungay Express again, noisily announcing it’s arrival and departure. After dinner I spend the night people watching on a park bench in the plaza. Nothing else to do here in Yungay. The one café which sits along the plaza does have a large flat screen tv which I noticed draws the attention of a lot of the locals who park themselves just outside the café and watch whatever is on. Tomorrow, I head back to Huaraz and it’s countless options and activities, cafes and shops!
Huaraz, Peru (part two)
Monday, June 4~ Up early, pack my bags and head out looking for some breakfast in Yungay. For some reason I took a right out the door instead of a left, which brings me ‘round the corner of the block and up past El Portal. El Portal is a tiny hole in the wall, I passed it by a few times before without giving it a second glance, but this morning the place is packed completely full with gringos. Not a single chair is available inside. I take the one and only chair which is sitting outside the door and watch the scurrying server. Looks like everyone is paying by separate checks and she hurries around presenting the checks to each individual. I sit patiently and wait for a table to pay and leave.
There are two shuttle vans with distinctive names of tour groups blazed across their panels. The one guide asks me which group I am with. I tell him I am traveling solo. He leaves me alone.
A table is now empty and I go inside and sit down at it. Another girl comes over and clears the dirty dishes. An older lady comes over and takes my order. The place clears out. Suddenly the server becomes distraught. Two people walked out without paying their tab. She is close to tears. I remember which two they were, since I had the pleasure of watching the chaos unfold. I tell her I will go and get them. She is frantic, thinking I am now leaving without paying my bill.
I sit back down and when she comes over with my check, I ask her how much the other couple’s tab was? She tells me 18 sol. I offer to pay for their food, but she refuses the money. I pay my bill, then lay 20 sol on my table before slipping out the door. In all the confusion they forgot to bring me my scrambled eggs, but I don’t want to add more stress to her situation.
I pay for my two nights at Rima Rima Hotel, gather my gear and head down to the combis to catch a ride back to Huaraz.
Back in Huaraz I am dropped off by the river, grab a taxi and tell him to take me to Olaza’s Bed and Breakfast. He seems confused. I then tell him Churup Guesthouse which he immediately recognizes. As we climb up the hill to Churup I tell him to turn right and then left. He does. There sits Olaza’s. He seems surprised to see it, which I find interesting. It is a very nice place , I actually prefer it over Churup, why don’t taxi drivers know about it?
I buzz my way in and the young lady who runs the place is happy to have a returning guest. Seeing that I only had coffee and bread in Yungay and missed out on breakfast at Olaza’s, I walk down to Café Andino for their famous Belgian waffles. Seated upstairs on the balcony enjoying the warm morning sunshine and the wonderful, rich coffee , my waffle arrives and it is as good as Lonely Planet describes them to be!
Spent the day in Huaraz, shopping, buying gifts for my family and co-workers, had another great lunch at El Horno, afternoon relaxing on Olaza’s terrace and another superb dinner; Pollo Ensalada at Mi Chef Kristof. Kristof is surprised to see me. I had told him and his regulars that I was going up to Yungay and eventually to Yanama and Chacas. After fixing my dinner of Polla Ensalada and their sinfully delightful caliente chocolate with Baileys , he sits down with me to chat. “What brings you back to Huaraz?” he asks me. I tell him how bored I was up in Yungay and that I changed my mind about Yanama and Chacas, simply because I found out how limited my conversational Spanish is and how few my options were up in Yungay, I was afraid I would have been in the same predicament over in Yanama and Chacas. Probably even more so.
He produces the Huaraz newspaper and tells me to read the article which he lays opened in front of me. It is an interview he had done and describes of his decision to leave Huaraz. He is leaving Peru. Mi Chef Kristof is closing. Although I had the pleasure of only knowing him for a few days, it saddens me, knowing that if and when I return to Huaraz, he and his enchanting little restaurant won’t be here.
I somberly walk back to Olaza’s. I feel like I just made a friend and now have already lost him.
Tuesday, June 5~ After breakfast on the terrace, I walk down to the tiny tienda where I had bought some cough drops a couple of days ago, knowing that the owner speaks English and I want to ask him where I can buy a combi ticket to Chavin?
He is quite helpful, writes down the address so that I can give it to my taxi driver. It works. My taxi driver takes me to the place where I am dropped off. It is an itty bitty tiny shop with three chairs against one wall. The girl sitting behind the small desk seems surprised to see a gringa. I tell her I want to go to Chavin. Her face lights up and she tells me 30 sol and quickly writes out a receipt which she hands to me. She then tells me they are leaving in one hour.
I remember that I forgot to bring toilet paper along in my backpack (anybody who is familiar with traveling knows what your chances are, of finding toilet paper in public banos) and go next door to buy some toilet paper and some water.
The van shows up and I climb in. Locals climb in along with their cargo which is loaded in the back and on the roof. I keep waiting for another sheep to show up, but no livestock is traveling with us today.
We are soon on our way out of Huaraz. The scenery is stunning and keeps me occupied. Up over the mountain and through the tunnel and then down the mountain to Chavin, which by the way, is a very, very pretty little town. I am dropped off at the entrance to the ruins. Wow! It was that easy!
Another tour group (working under Galaxia) has arrived just as I pay the 10 sol to get in. Their operator spots me and tells me that I am welcome to join their English-speaking guide who is taking two other gringos through the ruins. I take him up on his offer.
Antonio is our English-speaking guide . From my first glimpse of the ruins , I was not that impressed, but Antonio divulges into his repertoire of Chavin’s history and it is simply incredible! He is very thorough and points out the finely detailed petroglyphs and describes how the high priests used the sounds and effects of the underground water tunnels and cisterns to manipulate the minds of the people, increasing their power over them. He takes us into the tunnels and describes how they had air-condition vents and light portals in the deep underground tunnels. It is all very impressive indeed! I am so glad I came here!
We are all rounded up and taken to the awesome museum , then to a restaurant in town. I walk in to find a table and George, the llama farmer from California comes in and gets me and tells me he knows of another place which he likes better. (He’s been here before.) He gets Linda, the History professor and we go down a couple of doors to the other restaurant. Antonio joins us. Our tour operator isn’t too happy with us, but George tells us the food is better here. Our meals are really good, we all had either grilled chicken or beef with rice and vegetables. The service is great.
After eating we walk across the street to a little shop where Linda goes bonkers when she sees these cloth dolls. She runs out and gets George. Curiosity gets the best of me and I ask her what they are? She tells me they are dolls made out of actual material they found in burials. They are known as Funeral Dolls. Replicas of dolls which were found buried next to mummys. But made from the cloth of the dead. She tells me she had known about them but the only time she saw these before was from a bus while passing by a local road stand, while traveling through Ollantaytambo. The bus didn’t stop. She was very disappointed. She now ecstatically buys a bunch of them, I get some for myself..
Our tour operator comes over and collects us, we soon find ourselves back on the road to Huaraz. Up over the mountain , back through the tunnel and we stop by the lake where the map of Peru is shaped by a crevasse on the mountainside. The sun is rapidly setting and as we arrive back down in the valley just outside Huaraz, the sun slides behind the mountains to the west and we all climb out of the van for some gorgeous sunset pictures. It has gotten quite chilly but we are all in such high spirits we don’t even notice the dropping temperatures. What an amazing day! Again.
I am dropped off at the plaza and hurry back to Olaza’s, partly because I am so cold, mostly because I am so hungry. I put on some warmer clothes and go back into town for another enjoyable evening at Mi Chef Kristof. I have the same thing I had the night before, the Chicken Ensalada, it was just so tasty! Had to do it again.
Wednesday, June 6~ Up early for an exceptional breakfast on Olaza’s cheerful, sunny terrace and then I pack my daypack and set off up the street towards the church. It was here I had picked up my fairly reasonable taxi to Wilkawain a few days ago, I am hoping I can find a cheap one to take me to Pitec. I want to go hike to Lago Churup.
I am wandering the narrow streets and a taxi turns the corner and comes down my street. I flag him down. It is a young guy with a pretty beaten up car. I ask him how much to Pitec. He doesn’t understand. I write the word Pitec on my hand and ask him “Cuánto?” He calls someone on his cell phone and I hear him mention Pitec. I tell him Lago Churup. He continues with his conversation and then hangs up and tells me 70 sol. I tell him 60 sol and we agree on that.
The road up to Pitec is a very rough, bumpy dirt road. I worry whether his car will make it or not. We bottom out at a lot of places, but he continues on. At times he seems unsure as which way to turn, even though the road signs clearly point the way. He always looks to me for the directions which I find kind of humorous. Up and up we go, past the Way Inn, which I make a mental note that if I don’t make it back to Huaraz, I can hopefully snag a room there for the night.
Onward we climb, eventually arriving at a place where there is only one sign by the side of the road and one park ranger. He lets me out and I pay the guard 5 sol. The guard points the trail out to me. I set off. The ascent in the beginning is a pretty difficult one. As I am making my way I up it I spot a Caracara . It just sits there as if it is a trail marker or a sign . Maybe it is. I get closer to it and it lifts off and soars off across the horizon. The trail eventually levels off and I pick up the pace. I get to the spot where the trail continues up over a huge wall of boulders. I don’t think I can do it . I turn around and start back. I run into an Israeli couple who ask me how the lake was? I tell them I can’t get up over the rock wall. They tell me “sure you can, we will help you!”
Wanting to believe them, but still having my doubts I tag along with them. Tamara quickly scales the wall. Ahaad takes my backpack and helps me up over the huge boulders. We soon get to the place where the steel cables are. Tamara goes first and gingerly makes her way up over the mammoth boulder grasping the cable and Ahaad follows. He then comes back down for my back pack and takes it up, comes back down and assists me with the cables. I make it up. We then get to the second place with the cables which is easier and then the third part with the cables which is easier still, and then…we are at the lake!
WOW! It is absolutely drop-dead gorgeous! Probably the prettiest place I have ever seen . The Israelis sit down and enjoy their packed lunch, I go off exploring , giving them their space. We are soon joined by a single young guy from England who continues on up over the mountain path. Then a young couple from Brazil arrive. We sit together and savor the time we have here, soaking in the sun and the stunning views of the shimmering turquoise lake with massive snow-encrusted Nevada Churup behind it. What a magnificent place! So hard to get to, but well worth the effort!
We all decide to leave together and help each other down through the challenging parts. Much to my relief I discover that getting down was easier than getting up. We are back on the trail heading down towards Pitec with Churup glistening behind us, in the late afternoon sun.
We get to the road and decide to take the donkey path back to Huaraz. The young guy from England has followed us down and tells us the donkey path is the quickest way. He walked the entire way up here from the Way Inn. He goes on ahead, we follow him.
The donkey path is a lovely, idyllic little path which takes you down through the green valley and lush pasture with cattle grazing, , following the bubbling Incan aqueduct and into a tiny little rural village . The sun has set behind the mountains, there is a chill in the air along with the impending darkness which is settling over us.
We need to find a ride back to Huaraz. Nicholas, the guy from Brazil, stops and talks to some children who have been watching us. He then tells us “good news, seems that there is a guy who owns a van in this village, hopefully he will take us back to town.” We continue on our way, passing the most charming scenes of rural life; campansinos driving their animals home for the night, the weather-wrinkled elderly ladies laden with shocks of corn on their backs, children, puppies, piglets and lambs playing together in the dusty paths. We are all amazed and delighted, yet we raise no cameras, respecting their privacy and peaceful lifestyles.
The van is soon spotted and Nicholas approaches the owner. Their conversation is a friendly one. He turns and gives us the thumbs up and we quickly all climb in. Cost for the ride back to Huaraz is 5 sol a piece. As we travel down the bouncy, bumpy road, I turn and look at the scene out the back window. Colorful campansinos trail behind us with their herds, donkeys loaded with their burdens walk along beside us, the little old ladies carrying the corn shocks follow them and the children are now running after us waving all they can. And, behind ALL OF THIS are the blazing Cordillera Blancas, glowing like beacons in the darkening night.
The driver stops and gets out. He and another man unload a donkey. It takes the two men and Nicholas to heave the bag of potatoes into the van. I imagine that I hear the donkey sigh a sigh of immense relief. A young local girl climbs in and sits next to me. An older lady removes something from her back and the carefully wrapped bundle is tenderly passed back to the young girl. In the brightly wrapped bundle is her baby boy. She looks at me and smiles. We continue on down the road into town, bumping along. The young mother and I bounce so hard on the back seat, laughing the whole way. I might not be able to speak her language, but her expressions are priceless and smiles and laughter are universal. What an another amazing day!
We get into Huaraz, the driver stops, gets out and hauls the sack of potatoes out and leaves them by the doorway. The young girl with her little one gets out and knocks on a door. She is let in. We leave.
We are all dropped off on some street in town. I am trying to gather my wits about me and figure out what direction to take. The group I was with head downhill, presuming to the plaza. I stop on the very crowded street corner. A couple of young school girls still dressed in their parochial uniforms are trying to tell me something. I assume they want me to take a picture of them with their camera. I reach for their camera. They say “no senorita, (how kind of them) amigos, amigos!” pointing ahead, thinking I was losing my friends. By this time my friends have stopped and are waving for me to come along. Then I spot the Monkey Bar and now I know precisely where I am. It is here that I was dropped off at when I came back from Monterrey last week and I was looking for Yungay Express. I know because at that time, I was up and down and back and forth on this street. So I wave goodbye to my friends from Lago Churup and thank the school girls and head off in the direction I need to go. Back to Olaza’s.
I shower, change and walk down to Mi Chef Kristof for one last delectable dinner and to bid him farewell. The restaurant is full tonight, Kristof is very busy sautéing, tossing and grilling. I sit at my usual table. My server brings me a glass of red wine. Steaks are being served to the large table behind me and they sure do look appetizing! To celebrate such a fabulous day, I order the Steak in Negra Pimento Cream Sauce. . It is incredible! Very spicy! I thank Kristof, wish him the best and bid goodbye to him and a few of the regulars who have since came in. Tomorrow I leave for Carhuaz and La Casa de Pocha.
Thursday, June 7~ Breakfast upstairs and then pay for my room. I catch a taxi which takes me to the combis for Carhuaz. The trip to Carhuaz is a little over half an hour. There is a parade of some sorts in Carhuaz. There are traffic jams and crowded streets, marching bands and police blowing whistles. I just want to get out of town and to La Casa de Pocha. A young taxi driver is more than willing to run me up there.
La Casa de Pocha is a very interesting place . Located higher up the mountain, with spectacular views of the Cordillera Blanca. Ran by two ladies who will go out of their way to make you comfortable and trust me, you will never go hungry here!
I am shown to my lovely room . Very rustic, yet charming and chic.. Simple, white-washed walls, basic but adequate furniture. Bathroom is cute, very eco-friendly. Cool, tile floors. It is all very inviting, but I don’t linger long.
I want to do some hiking and Pocha sends me up to the little chapel. It is a nice hike, but the pretty path which is only traveled by locals is heavily guarded by some very vicious dogs. I am leery when I pass then, bending down often to pretend I am picking up a rock. Which works very well. Still, I don’t trust them and I am very happy to come back to the safety and security and the very playful, goofy, loveable Chunga , Pocha’s six month old pup.
I get back just in time for lunch. The ladies cook with solar power, using their solar getups which to me look like satellite dishes.The old-fashioned kind. We have Swiss chard, rice and potatoes with some of their homemade cheese and fresh lemonade. It is so good and so filling! The cheese was simply amazing!
Spend the rest of the afternoon, taking it easy in the hammock , on the second floor, enjoying the views of Nevada Hualcan and the sound of the wind in the wilderness around me. So peaceful here
Dinnertime I join the ladies for some cauliflower soup, stuffed eggplant and caramelized peaches for dessert. Even though the meals are all vegetarian, I am not missing not having any meat. They are very sustaining and satisfying.
Friday, June 8~ Happy Birthday to me! I purchased this trip back in December, it was both my Christmas and my birthday present to myself! Nothing like treating yourself good!
After watching Pocha milk the cow, I sit on the farmhouse’s warm, sunny porch and watch the antics of the geese, ducks, a sheep and Chunga interacting only a few feet away from me. Their hired man drives the cattle out through the gate to graze them. Pocha and Patricia are busy in the kitchen, preparing a breakfast of home-grown fruit, homemade yogurt, granola, French press coffee and fresh raw milk, still warm from the cow. I can’t begin to describe how good it all is!
After I stuff myself, I set out for the hike up to Juan Saavedra and the hot springs. Pocha has drawn me a map and I manage to find my way up to the road to Juan Saavedra, using the short cut she highlighted. The views are again, amazing . I never, ever grow tired of gazing up at the mountains. . There is road construction going on and big dump trucks pass by me often, back and forth. One friendly chap offers me a ride up to Juan Saavedra. I choose to continue on foot.
I cross the bridge and there the path kind of disappears. I have to ask a man for directions. He points uphill, through the woods and I follow where he pointed. I cross over a dry creek bed and eventually come upon the cutest little town with a tiny little plaza . The chapel is a pleasing blue and looks quite enchanting with enormous snowy Nevada Hualcan lurking behind.
I follow the way the locals have directed me, go down the wooden steps to the river and the very small, but clean hot springs . I slowly insert a foot Ooy, that is mucha caliente!!! I can get in up to my ankles but never in a million years would I be able to sit in it. Over by the big boulder, the water is bubbling…or should I say boiling. I lift my beet red feet out and carefully make my way over the boulders, rocks and stones to the rushing river which is ice cold . After my feet go numb I go back to the hot spring. Ay-yi-yi, I can’t do it!
I take my time going back. The day is a beautiful one, the folks I meet along the way are very friendly and the views are delightful! What more can you ask for? Plus, I know there is incredibly good food waiting back at La Casa de Pocha. .
I get back and Pocha asks me how the hot springs were? I tell her they were too hot. She gasps and says “I forgot to tell you, you have to run back and forth between the river and the hot springs.” I tell her I did that. But the water was way too hot. Besides, you can’t really run barefooted with all those rocks and stones, it is more like a very cautious, slow scramble.
She serves me up some lunch; boiled potatoes smothered in some very thick, delicious sauce, fresh salad and some more of that scrumptious homemade cheese! She kept offering more food, but I was completely stuffed!
The ladies are busy readying the place for the group of students who are arriving tonight. They are coming for three weeks; their hired hands are scrubbing the solar dishes, Pocha is cooking and Patricia gets ready to drive to Huaraz to pick them up. I ask to ride along with her and she can drop me off in Carhuaz, since I am badly craving an internet fix.
She drops me off at the quaint little plaza, I hit an internet café and then the ice cream shop. Sit by the plaza awhile, but it is just too buggy. Lots of little gnats constantly at your eyes, nose, mouth or ears. They are just so incredibly annoying. I take a moto-taxi back to La Casa de Pocha.
Pack my bags and get ready for bed. The group of students have been delayed and won’t be arriving till 10 PM.
Saturday, June 9~ Tonight I fly back home. My taxi arrives to take me back to the Anta airport for my flight back to Lima. Then I will have about eight hours to kill before I have to be back at the Lima airport. I have decide to spend that time in Miraflores.
Our flight is on time , and unfortunately I realize that I am on the wrong side of the plane (the left side) as our flight path takes us north along the Cordillera Blanca. I lean out of my seat as hard as I can to see the beautiful Llanganuco lakes on my right, several thousands of feet below us. If I would have been sitting on the right of the plane, I bet I could’ve seen Lago 69...after all!
I have to go back and do it right. That is all there is too it.
We follow the coast line down to Lima. No long lines or immigration or customs, since we arrived on an internal flight! Sweet! I walk through the exit and get a green taxi to Miraflores for 45 sol.
He drops me off at Parque Central in Miraflores. For once it is a beautiful, warm, sunny day in Lima . I grab a good lunch at El Parquito. . Then I walk to Parque de Armor, up to Parque El Faro where the hang-gliders ride the wind, back down to Parque Salzar and then finally find my way down off the cliffs to the long wharf extending into the Pacific, over the pounding surf. .
I had originally wondered what I would do with all my time, in Lima . Well, now I am wondering where the time went? Must head back to the airport. No problem, I will just flag down a taxi. I flag one down, he shakes his head when I mention airport, I flag down another, same reaction, another pulls up, same thing…then another and another. I am starting to feel a slight panic, never would have thought it would be so difficult to hail a taxi to take me back to the airport.
Another pulls up, young guy smiles when I say “cuanto airport?” He holds up three fingers and a zero. I repeat it back to him. He smiles and nods! Awesome! At this point I would have willingly paid twice that much! He is a super nice kid. He talks to me the whole way to the airport and I deduce that… his mother lives in Cusco and he has moved here to Lima where he has been driving taxi for three years now, trying to earn money, so he can move back to Cusco. He said his heart is in Cusco. He doesn’t like Lima. He also has two younger brothers who live in Cusco with his mother. Poor kid.
He delivers me to the airport and I hand him two 20 sols. He is digging in his pocket for change, I tell him to keep it. His face literally lights up, he turns around and grabs my hand and shakes it all he can. Such a sweetheart! What a great impression and beautiful memory to take with me, on that long flight back home.
Once again, Peru has lived up to my expectations and has even given me more back that I had ever hoped for, or would have ever dreamed of. What makes it so special? I would have to say it is the people. Sure, it is extremely beautiful, has an incredible diversity of different cultures, deep-rooted pride and a sense of it’s history, awesome food, wonderful climates, but so do a lot of other countries. So, it has to be the warm and inviting, friendly people. I have never been treated so well, anywhere!
You can bet your bottom dollar I will be back.
Just wanted to share a bit of our journey in Nicaragua.
We flew into Managua at noon on Saturday, Feb 4th. I had set up an airport pickup through our hotel La Posada Azul in San Juan Del Sur. The price was $80 for two people, which was the same price Paxeos was asking, and this was a private car, which I was happy for.
It was a long drive to San Juan Del Sur. Our driver, Francisco, was a very considerate driver and took his time getting there. We passed a pretty bad accident along the way; a van had ran into another car and the van had rolled. Someone was crawling out of one of the broken side windows, there didn’t seem to be a sense of urgency, so I am assuming no one was seriously hurt. It did make me grateful for our careful, cautious driver.
We arrived at our pretty little hotel and were checked in, then hit the streets to check out SJDS. The town reminded me a bit of San Pedro on Ambergris Caye, some years back, but without the amazing blue water and the island breeze.
Had some beers at Arriba’s Beach Bar while watching a volleyball game on the beach. When I asked for the check, two waiters promptly appeared and quoted a price without producing the check and stupidly of me, I gave our waiter a twenty dollar bill. It took him forever to return and when he did he brought me fifty cordobas back. My friend and I looked at each other and said “wow.” We didn’t realize the beers were that expensive.
Changed for dinner and headed up to El Colibri, which didn’t open till six pm. The owner of Aladdin Café was sitting outside drinking coffee and asked us to join him. We did. He chatted with us for awhile, telling us of how he ended up in Nicaragua and about a guy who had ran a pyramid scheme selling properties up close to Pelican Eyes a few years back, which coincidentally, according to Wikipedia isn’t illegal in Nicaragua. ?? Seems the guy had made a fortune and fled to another country with his millions.
It was while we were talking to him that we asked him about the price of beer, explaining our little scenario on the beach. He laughed and told us that we had got the "blue light special, welcome to Nicaragua." Meaning we got ripped off. I, who tend to think I am a bit savvy in these kinds of things, was humiliated. Not only had they taken me for a sucker, but I also tipped him too. We all got a laugh out of it.
We lingered awhile with the owner, who showed us the rooms in his little hostel, then walked across the street to El Colibri which had filled up quickly. We got a table on the porch and ordered Sangria and the filet mignons. The place is artsy and cute, but a bit over-priced and the food was not all that memorable.
Retired early, since we had been up almost 48 hours without any sleep.
Sunday was spent walking around town. We had wanted to sign up for the turtle tour where you go to a beach and see the turtles laying eggs, but they weren't doing it that night. Stopped by El Gato Negro, just as they were roasting a new batch of coffee beans. Great little coffee shop/book store which is owned by a very nice couple from Vermont, who have been living in Nicaragua for the past six years.
The day has gotten quite hot, so we returned to our hotel pool and took it easy for a few hours. We met quite a few friendly Canadians who are staying at our hotel and spending a couple of weeks in the area. They suggested a great place for dinner which we will try later.
It is Super Bowl Sunday and everyone is watching the pre-game. We grab some frozen cappuccinos at Barrio Café and then decide to find a taxi to take us up to the Christ statue. Well, we couldn't find a taxi anywhere and was just about ready to give up when here comes Francisco, our taxi driver from yesterday, driving toward us. We flag him down and ask him to take us up to the statute. The sun was quickly setting.
We just missed the sunset. But the view is incredible and worth it never the less. On the way back we set up our ride to San Jorge for the next day with Francisco.
Dinner finds us at the little Mauricio’s San Juan Pizzeria up by the church. The others from our hotel show up and we enjoy the extremely good pizza.
After dinner we sit in the small park by the church and enjoy the slight breeze. It is while we are sitting in the park that the town has a blackout. It doesn’t last long, just long enough for your eyes to get used to the dark. I am amazed at how much of the streets, buildings and the horizon you can make out, even without any electricity.
Back to our hotel for a good night’s sleep.
Today Francisco is taking us to San Jorge where we will board the ferry to San Jose, on Ometepe. He arrives just as we are finishing up our breakfast. It is a half hour ride to San Jorge. We have about forty minutes till the ferry leaves. We board and get seats up on the top deck and kill the time watching them back in the trucks.
We are soon on our way and the ticket collector comes around. Fifty cordobas to cross the lake, or $2.16 per person. The ferry takes roughly little over an hour to cross. As we step off the boat we are greeted by a smiling local man who proudly proclaims that he is Eddy and he is here to take us to our hotel Finca del Sol. The truth is, I had forgotten that I had mentioned in my emails to Finca del Sol that I would be needing a taxi. I had just figured we would track one down when we arrived. Good thing, because other than Eddy, there was no one to meet us at the dock. There is nothing there. No town, just a couple of buildings and then nothing. Thank goodness for Eddy.
Eddy was a lot of fun, always cheerful and full of grins. He merrily made his way down the winding road with his radio blasting out ‘80’s hits. I could not help but smile.
About forty-five minutes later we arrived at Finca del Sol and were shown to our cute little thatched-roof cottage. We had the orange cabana which sits highest on the hill, overlooking the isthmus and Volcano Concepcion. The farm’s small flock of sheep were scattered all around on the grounds, all with twin or triplet newborn lambs in tow. All of them baa-ing.
If you are not an animal lover, they probably would have gotten on your nerves. I found them to be very endearing. Even their insistent baa-ing. The ewes were quite tame, not budging from their paths. The little lambs would quickly scamper out of arm’s reach.
But I did eventually manage to grab one and hold it. It folded it’s little legs up and relaxed in my arms, just like a puppy.
But, enough about the sheep. Our cottage consisted of a queen bed and a set of bunk beds, both with mosquito netting. We had a compost toilet in the bathroom and a wonderful shower which if turned just right, you could have the proper hot shower. This is an eco hotel, which runs on solar power. Very smart, rustic and yet somehow elegant and charming.
In the afternoon we walked down to Little Morgan’s to use their internet. Kind of a backpacker’s paradise, overflowing with dreadlocked twenty-something’s lounging in hammocks and watching the movie 300 on the overhead flat screen TV. Not my kind of place.
We moved on to Santa Cruz Hotel for lunch. I had their chicken curry. Incredible! I was immediately impressed. Mental note to self, we shall be dining here a lot. After lunch and a couple of beers later, we decided to rent bikes to ride to El Oja de Agua. It was around 3 pm and the sun was still intense. We blazed our way down the hills and walked up most of them, pushing our bikes. The bikes aren’t, how should I say it, in the best of shape. You have only a few gears which work.
By Santa Domingo beach we blew by a bunch of local teenagers kicking a soccer ball around when my chain came off while shifting up. A young handsome lad came to my rescue. He fixed my bike chain in a jiffy. I thanked him and went on my way. Later on down the rode he caught up with me on his bike and wanted to chat. Quite charming; about the age of seventeen with a dimpled smile and a head full of black curls, I had to wave him off with a smile and wish him Adios.
The lane where you turn on to El Oja de Agua is very beautiful. Bordered by banana plantations on both sides, the dirt road passes under tall, impressive, shady old-growth trees following the fence line into the natural springs. Perfect area for bike riding.
We pay our two dollars to get in and I swim for awhile, then it is back to Santa Cruz to return our bikes and we get back to our hotel just before dark. Our hosts, Sherry and Christiano had asked me a week before we arrived what we wanted for dinner, since it had to be delivered from Santa Cruz restaurant to our cottage. We both asked for the chicken in garlic sauce. It was delivered around seven pm. Once again, the meal was excellent!
Wake up to a cloudy morning. Looks like rain. We make our way up the hill to where our hosts live and where the breakfast area is. Two other couples show up. The one couple is heading back to Costa Rica today, the other has made arrangements to hike Maderas Volcano this morning. Since the weather isn’t looking too promising, we have not yet decided what we want to do.
Breakfast is served. Homemade brown bread, sunny side up eggs and fresh fruit. Good coffee. The bread is delicious!
My friend hangs out in our hammock, I walk down to Little Morgan’s to try to get online. Their one and only laptop is encased in the lap of a red-eyed young gringo encircled by five or six of his friends. I leave.
I am restless and bored. The couple return from their hike. It was too wet and cloudy, their clothes are soaked and their boots are muddy.
The clouds break by noon and I set off alone to rent a bike and ride back to El Oja de Agua. I had enjoyed it immensely yesterday, but we had ran out of time. At Santa Cruz Hotel I meet four of the young girls who are staying at Little Morgans, whom we met yesterday. They are here for bikes also. As we are leaving on our bikes another couple show up, but sadly all the bikes are now taken. I bid them farewell and catch up to the young girls.
The sun has come out and is bearing down on us with a vengeance. The strong winds off the lake are a mixed blessing, constantly aiding us with their cool gusts, but hindering us on the hills and our persistent pedaling.
A huge crowd of locals have entered El Oja de Agua just ahead of us. We pay our entrance fees. The girls set off on their separate way. I find an isolated chair to park my stuff. I have my camera, my watch and money along. I cover it all up with my t shirt. Still I am a bit leery while I swim, always keeping an eye out on my stuff. Then I spot a red maple leaf on a backpack parked a few chairs down from mine. It belongs to the older couple who are relaxing in their chairs. I swim over and ask them if they are Canadian (which of course they are) and we get to talking. I explain that I am here alone and would they watch my stuff for me? They pull my chair over beside theirs and now I have a couple of hours of pure bliss to swim, soak and float in these heavenly crystal clear, cool natural spring waters.
I climb out and we share some stories over a few beers. They are from Nova Scotia, own a house in Las Vegas and are now looking for another home to buy in Costa Rica. We talk of travel and of our hopes and dreams. Then it is back to my bike and them to their bus stop and I am back on the rode.
I take it slow riding back, stopping often for pictures, since I am in no rush. Large trucks heavily laden with bananas blow by me. I pass by a very young cowboy who is driving a herd of cattle on the road. I keep an eye out for the cappuchin monkey I saw yesterday. I also can’t help but notice the ever-blackening threatening sky ahead.
It is just one more hill till I make it to Santa Cruz when the sky opens up. At first the raindrops sting like driving sand, then it becomes like pebbles striking me. Luckily for me, out of nowhere I see a thatched-roof palapa just standing there beside the road. I pull in under it, just in time, seeking refuge from the wind-driven storm. The clouds let loose. It pours.
Once the rain abates, I climb back on my bike and am almost up the hill when I get dumped on again. I am soaked by the time I make it to Santa Cruz Hotel which coincidentally is also the time the rain stops, for good. I pay for my returned bike and walk back to our hotel, which is just up the road and around the bend. About a five minute walk to the entrance, then it is five minutes uphill to the cottages.
Christiano is surrounded by his sheep. They are all baa-ing. Then he disappears. They spot me. I am walking on the volcanic gravel pathway to our cottage when I hear something and stop and turn around. Immediately behind me, in single file, are all the sheep. When I stopped and turned around, they all stopped and with raised heads are looking at me, waiting for me to lead them to wherever?
Christiano reappears and the sheep see him and take off after him. My friend hears the commotion and rises from her hammock. She got a bad cold a day before our trip, so she isn’t feeling very well. She is now hungry and we decide to walk back to Santa Cruz Hotel for dinner.
Dinner consists of spaghetti with chicken for my friend, chicken in garlic sauce (again) for me. And a couple of Tonas. A skinny Rottweiler shows up beside our table and looks at us, pleadingly. We put our plates with our leftovers on the floor and he licks them clean.
With a full moon watching over us, we walk back to our hotel in the dark.
Up bright and early. We make our way up to the breakfast area. A couple show up also. It is the couple who wanted to rent bikes yesterday, but missed out. They are from Ottawa. We get to chatting and they are doing the same circuit we are. We are leaving for Granada tomorrow afternoon, they are leaving for Granada today. They ask where we are staying, we tell them. They said they don’t have a hotel yet, they will have to check it out.
Breakfast is awesome French Toast made out of that incredible home-made brown bread. Fresh fruit and coffee. We say our goodbyes over our last cups of coffee. Who knows? Maybe we will see them in Granada.
Our lovely hostess, Sherry, stops by and asks where we are headed next, since we are checking out today. We tell her just up the road to Totoco Eco Lodge. She asks if we need a ride? She says that her husband, Christiano will drive us there. It is only a fifteen minute drive from here. We are thrilled! She said she could have called Eddy, but he would have charged twenty dollars, while her husband will only need twelve dollars to take us there. That’s okay by us.
We are soon packed into Christiano’s truck and bumping along, on our way. They are paving the road on Ometepe, but have only got as far as the hill going up to Santa Cruz. The road we are on going to Balgue is dirt and a bit rough, even with four wheel drive.
When we arrive at Totoco, we find it to be quite beautiful and harmonious with nature. Thatched-roof bamboo lodge surrounded by beautiful gardens, happy hummingbirds buzzing around, inviting clean blue infinity pool overlooking the lake. And the view is just phenomenal!
We can’t wait to see our cottage! We are staying in the Tonatiu. A delightful little casita with thatched roof, queen bed and one twin, cool tile floors, compost toilet and shower, but the best part of all was our fantastic terrace overlooking Volcano Concepcion. Hammocks and comfy lounge chairs grace the patio.
We settle in and then walk back to the main lodge and grab a couple of beers and check our emails. We decide to hike to Finca Magdalena for lunch. We get the directions from the girl at the front desk and set off, down the very, very long hill which is Totoco’s driveway.
We get to the road and eventually pass through Balgue. Balgue is a tiny village with a couple of churches, little houses, free roaming pigs, chickens and lots of curious, friendly kids. And it seems that the main means of transportation on this island is bicycle. Everybody has one.
We soon find the sign for Finca Magdalena. Turn right and just follow the road. It is another long, long hill we have to walk up. Banana trucks are constantly passing by us. A full one comes down, and an empty one goes back up. The guys riding in the back smile and wave.
We get to the Finca. It is a large outpost with a huge porch full of tables and chairs. Small bungalows sit off to the back of the main buildings. Beautiful gardens are in the front, the porch is nice and shaded. There is only one other table which is taken, we pick a table by the railing. Order two Tonas. No long after, a group of twenty-something’s with guitar cases claim another table and produce their guitars, and strum softly. Their girlfriends show up and sit by their sides. Some locals claim a table behind us. It is lunch time and the place is packed, Ometepe-style.
Dinner for me is grilled chicken with rice and beans and tortillas. A small side of fries. Our after dinner drink is some home-brewed coffee, which is very smooth. I bought three pounds of their coffee beans, my friend bought four. Six dollars a pound, not too bad.
And, you are supporting a good cause.
After our long and exhausting hike back up to Totoco Eco Lodge, we spend the rest of the afternoon swimming in their lovely pool.
As the day winds down, and with the sun slowly sinking across the isthmus, Volcano Concepcion set the stage for one of the most stunningly beautiful sunsets of my life!
Dinner time finds a few more guests showing up; a bunch of guys who are on their way to Costa Rica to do some wheeling and dealing in property. They just happened to stop by Ometepe on their way. The one guy is a real estate lawyer, another is a professional photographer, they all are very vague about what they really are doing here, so we ignore them.
On the menu for tonight is beet root soup, grilled snapper with rice and vegetables and caramelized flan for dessert. The snapper was excellent!
The winds kick up as darkness takes over. You think you know what black is, you haven’t seen black till you spend a night at Totoco. You can hardly see your hand in front of you. I am thankful I had remembered to run back to our cottage for a flashlight before it got too dark. It would have made for a stumbling walk back to our cottage without one.
I love the sound of the wind wildly caressing the palm trees. While I was tossing in my bed, fighting with the mosquito net which the wind kept whipping open over my head, I imagine myself looking like a prickly pear the next morning. Just connect the dots. Between trying to keep the mosquito net tucked down tight between the wall and the mattress and keeping the fan running on the solar power (yes, we could hear the wind…we just weren’t feeling it) I didn’t get a whole lot of sleep that night.
By morning I was tired.
Up for a good breakfast and then it is time for our nature hike which we had set up the day before. Our guide is right on time. I just want to mention that I noticed, albeit it, in a lot of countries in Central and South America, being on time isn’t of an utmost priority. But, so far, in Nicaragua, of all the things I requested, rides/tours etc…the person responsible is always right on time, and in many cases….even early.
Our guide is sitting by the reception area waiting while we eat our breakfast. We quickly finish and I grab my back pack and we are off to see the howler monkeys! We only have an hour and a half till check out time, so we make it a quick hike. He takes us up a portion of the way on Maderas Volcano. We see howler monkeys, bats and butterflies. Our guide is the perfect host. Pointing out the shimmer of a butterfly’s wing, the cave where the bats are sleeping, the clutch of the mother howler monkey holding her little one, we are amazed at his trained eye.
Time to check out. Yesterday, Martin our host, overheard us talking about a taxi and volunteered to have a driver, Pedro, who they use, to meet us at San Gorge who would then take us to Granada. The price was thirty dollars. I agreed immediately, since I had overheard others saying they had to pay forty dollars for a taxi from Granada to San Gorge. He also got one of his local helpers to drive us to the San Jose dock to catch the ferry at 3:20 pm.
We had lunch and a few beers while we waited for our taxi. Lunch was shredded chicken sandwiches with cole slaw. Quite good!
Adios to Totoco. Our driver arrived and we were whisked away to San Jose dock. We got there a half hour before departure, so we stopped at a local bar, which consisted of a few tables on a concrete slab overlooking the lake. A round of Tonas and then in was onto the ferry for our ride across the lake.
We got into San Gorge around 4:30 pm. Sure enough, there was our young driver, Pedro, holding a sign reading Totoco. He was grinning ear to ear and happily took our bags and off we went, to Granada.
Pedro had a lead foot. Along with Pedro’s lead foot was his bright and happy smile and his gush for words, which I could barely understand, my Spanish not being that awfully good. But still Pedro laughed and smiled, all the while looking over his shoulder at us while his pedal was to the metal.
I am not complaining, afterall, we are still alive. He was a very loveable guy. In no time at all we arrived in Granada. We tipped him fat and he took off, probably to his lovely young senorita waiting for him, somewhere along the shores of beautiful Lake Nicaragua.
We check into Hotel Patio del Malinche, where we have reservations for the next three nights. The hotel is beautiful; two stories with corridors of rooms which have air-conditioning all centered around the lovely garden and pool. We are tickled to have a/c again. No more worrying about becoming a mosquito feast. Our room is quite small, but clean and cool.
I read in the Moon guidebook about a great steak place, El Zaquan, which is just around the corner from our hotel. We are seated at a table next to the Ottawa couple who stayed at Finca del Sol. We are thrilled to see each other. They tell us they got a room at our hotel after all. While we are talking to them, the Canadian couple who we met at our hotel in San Juan del Sur, who we ate dinner with at the pizza place up by the church in SJDS, walk by us, while leaving the restaurant.
We all laugh at how everybody is doing basically the same thing, on all our separate vacations.
Kyla and Sean from Ottawa are finishing up their dinner. We order a pitcher of Sangria, tortilla chips with guacamole and the filet mignons. The food is fabulous! Definitely unforgettable! Kyla and Sean take their leave and while we are waiting for our check, the local people start coming in, droves of them, all dressed to the nines. The restaurant is now buzzing, tables are being moved to accommodate large groups, the maitre de now becomes another server, the manager is enlisted into taking drink orders. Our server finally frees herself and brings us our check. From the looks of this place, this must be “the” place to eat in Granada.
After our delicious dinner we stroll down gringo alley, checking out the town. Young street entrepreneurs have hastily set up tables and laid out their wares, all touting and beckoning to people passing by. My friend has a t shirt on which says Italia. A few of the young men call out “Italia” and then add a rude comment or two, to her. We are slightly intimidated and leave the crowds and head back to our hotel. After the laid back, easy going pace of Ometepe, we aren’t quite ready for such “in your face” attitude yet. Maybe tomorrow.
After getting a great night’s sleep, I am up early. I walk around town taking pictures in the early morning light. Few people are stirring. The ones which are boldly stare at me. I, trying to be polite, smile back at them and say “buenas dias.”
They mutter something. One man leers at me and makes kissing noises. ??? I am disgusted and head back to wake up my friend.
Time for breakfast. I order the fruit plate which when it arrives has every kind of fruit known to man and some I have never seen before on it. One kind of fruit looked similar to a small fuzzy plum and when you bit into it, it was incredibly sweet and had a sugary cinnamon taste. Anybody know what I am talking about? We don’t have it here in the States.
I comment to my friend on the rude behavior I experienced with the men I had passed on the streets, just before breakfast. She recalls the comments from last night. I tell her don’t wear anything they can read today. We don’t need to deal with that all day. She laughs.
After breakfast we wander aimlessly around town. Still trying to get a feel of the place and trying to get a grip on the “back to civilization.” We are also avoiding any and all eye contact.
We stop by the Chocolate Cafeteria for a couple of espressos, then walk down to the market which is packed with people. Strangely, even as busy and packed as it is, this is one of the place where I feel the least bit intimidated. Overhead tents hold back the sun, the sights, smells and sounds are intoxicating. Or maybe it is the espressos we just had.
We emerge from the market and continue to drift aimlessly about, only to stumble upon Mombacho Cigars, a place where you can roll your own cigar. We didn’t, though we did enjoy watching them efficiently roll out one cigar after another.
We continue on down by Iglesia Guadalupe and get to the lake. It is in this general vicinity that we pass a guy riding his bicycle who…exposes himself to us.
Yes, at first I wasn’t sure what I was seeing. I am still not. It was one of those moments where you think…did that just happen? At first I was shocked, then annoyed, then I got extremely mad. I told my friend who missed it. She laughed. But I was still angered. I kept thinking I didn’t come the whole way to Nicaragua to have some guy expose himself at me. Then I was wishing I would have known some surly insult in Spanish to hurl at him.
I know it was just a small thing, pardon the pun, but it still made me mad.
We continue our walk by the lake, ignoring all the touts pushing their guided boat rides and eventually get to the boat dock. We are approached by another tout who offers us an hour boat ride for $5 a person. I like the idea, although my friend isn’t that thrilled, but we pay and get on board.
The insolent young lad begrudgingly starts up the motor and we are off. He is sulking in his backseat by the outboard motor. I tell my friend “Our capitan doesn’t seem to be too happy with us.” Little do I know that he speaks perfect English. Which he does, shortly after, pointing out the houses, birds and the distant view of Granada in English. He seems to have lightened up and is now more interactive with us. We go by monkey island. He spots a tree, pulls the boat by the shore and climbs up on the edge of the boat, grabs two pods and then pulls out of the pods, two beautiful flowers which he hands to us.
The boat tour is lovely and relaxing. Time goes by fast. We are soon back at the boat dock. We tip the young man and set off on foot, back the way we came, passing bored, lazy cows lying by the side of the road.
We get to town without any further “southern exposures” from anyone and come upon the Cubana Café, which is offering Mojitos 2 x 1. Happily we claim our table on the sidewalk and while away the time and the mojitos, which are exceptional, by the way!
Six mojitos later we get back to our hotel and find Kyla and Sean, Ottawa’s finest couple, enjoying cocktails by the pool. They buy a round for all of us, the we buy another. Dinner is mentioned and we all get dressed and head to the Garden Café.
We order appetizers which we all split, and steak dinners and a couple of glasses of wine. By the time we leave, I notice the entire staff is waiting by the front door. I have no idea what time they close, but apparently we were keeping them late. I felt bad.
We head over to O’sheas Irish bar with the Canucks. More drinks and then Kyla and Sean leave, my friend and I who are now adopted by a poor mangy street dog, buy the dog some food and I feed it till it can’t eat anymore.
My friend is up bright and early and has breakfast with the Canucks, who are flying back home today. I manage to get up and eat some breakfast. Then we head into town and stop by the Chocolate Cafeteria, my friend wants a piece of that scrumptious-looking chocolate cake she saw the other day. We stop by a couple of shops, looking for t shirts to buy. Not seeing anything we like, we head back to our hotel. It is getting hot. My friend goes back to bed, where she will spend the majority of the day, I swim in our pool and hangout in the hammock all morning.
Two o’clock, I am hungry and go in to wake up my friend. She looks at me and tells me she is hungry for pizza. Which is what I had in mind, after reading about the great pizza place, Don Luca’s in the Moon guidebook. We find the place with no problem. It is packed full with locals. Always a good sign. We order pizza and a ham and cheese calzone. Two cokes.
The food comes out and it is incredible! Best calzone I have ever had in my life! After stuffing ourselves, we walk around the central square which is in mid-swing, starting off the Poet’s of the World festival week. The vendors have taken over the plaza, there is a disc jockey in the center of the buzz and kids are bouncing around on a trampoline. The place is too busy for me today, I am still recuperating from last night.
My friend goes back to our hotel room, I wander around town and then head over to La Merced and climb the church to the bell tower. It is late in the afternoon, the shadows fall long across the corridors and rooftops of Granada. Absolutely stunning views with a magnificent breeze blowing in from the lake, one you don’t notice down on the hot streets below. I could stay up here for hours, except I am now dying of thirst and need to lie down. Pictures are taken, I then head back and stop by the main cathedral by the plaza which is holding mass.
Back to our hotel and spend the rest of the evening lazing in the comfortable hammock.
Today we leave. I get up before my friend, eat breakfast and then stop by the reception area to pay my bill. I ask about getting a taxi to the Managua airport. It is $50 for two people. I ask how much for a taxi to take us to the market in Masaya, then to the Masaya Volcanic National Park and then to the airport. She tells me it is $50. Great, we can still see the market and the Santiago Volcano!
I wake up my friend and tell her to be ready in an hour, then I head into town for some last pictures of Granada. I am walking up the street and a young guy is riding his bicycle towards me. As he passes me, he leans over and gets in my face and says “senora” very seductively. What is it with Nicas? ??My last hour in Granada which I wanted to remember happily and I get intentional intimidation…once again.
I take my pictures of all the churches in the bright morning light and then return to our hotel to find my friend waiting along with our taxi driver. We are leaving Granada! Yay!
We check out the Masaya market, get the t shirts we wanted which are a lot cheaper here by the way, I buy a little handmade dress for my granddaughter, then off to explore Masaya Volcanic National Park and climb up to the top of both volcanoes. Last time I was here was in April of 2004. So much has changed. The staircase to the cross wasn’t here back then. I am impressed!
Got to the airport around 1 pm. Just in time, our flight leaves at 3:30.
I am glad that Nicaragua has come so far in the tourism industry! Not so sure about that airport out on Ometepe, though. I am afraid that it is going to make a big difference on the local way of life out there, just not too sure if it will be a positive one.
We loved Ometepe! You all should go before it changes…forever.
Since a few of you have helped me on here a couple of months ago, I just wanted to share my incredible journey and amazing experiences! This trip went better than what I had hoped for, except for my one severe bout of high altitude sickness...but I digress.
Thursday, Sept 1~ I caught the first flight out of Dulles, DC at 5 am. Got into San Salvador, El Salvador around 7:30, them being two hours behind (counting the daylight savings time), had an hour to kill so I knocked back a couple of drinks hoping they would put me out for the next leg. Boarded my next flight shortly before 9 and managed to catch a few z's before we arrived in Lima around 2 pm. Lima is one hour behind us so technically, it was still early in the day for me...
I was met at the airport by Angie, the lovely young lady from Casa Ana. Casa Ana is located in the Brena` district in Lima, a nice quiet residential neighborhood. I was shown to my cute cozy room upstairs, then I dumped my gear and with the house’s courtesy map of Lima in hand, I make my way to the Plaza de Armas.
Just because the light turns red does not necessarily mean that the traffic stops. I quickly learned that you cross the streets when the masses cross and you cross as fast as you can. My highlighted map took me past the dignified Palacio de Justicia, past the pleasant little Plaza San Martin, down the bustling Lima Centro and into the beautiful, impressive Plaza de Armas.
I was also impressed by the abundant presence of policia. There was even a small tank parked outside the lovely Monasterio de San Francisco. I wandered around enjoying the sights and sounds of the busy city.
Dinner time found me at Norky's, close to the San Martin Plaza. They seemed to be drawing quite a crowd, so in I went and ordered the Anticuchos (beef heart skewers) and french fries. First let me tell you, if you are a french fry fiend, then Peru is the place for you! And the beef heart skewers were mighty tasty too!
It was getting late and time to find my way back to my room. I have an early flight to Cuzco tomorrow.
Friday, Sept 2~ Up early and at the airport by 6:30. Standing at the end of a very long line of people at the Star Peru check-in. This is the flight I was slightly worried about. All I had in my hand was an email with the reservation code. It was finally my turn and I showed the girl my piece of paper. She checked my carry-on, then told me I had to walk down to the end of the terminal to the tiny little Star Peru counter next to the money exchanges and pay for my flight, since it was just an “on hold" reservation. Then come back. I looked at the hordes of people now behind me. Well the good thing is, at least I know I do have a reservation.
I walk down to the stand, pay for my flight, then come back and get in line again. They then ask everyone on the Iquitos flight to come forward. Apparently the Iquitos flight leaves before the Cuzco flight, so they are all bumped ahead of everyone, which is nice for them. I eventually get processed through, all is well, and then we are shuttled out to the plane. Seats are claimed and we are winging our way up and out of Lima’s dense dismal grayness into the brilliant blue skies ahead.
The flight over the stunning Andes is always a spectacular one. I am not disappointed.
We arrive in Cuzco at 9:30. My driver from Hostal de Anita (a part of the Amaru group) is waiting. I am zipped up the steep streets to San Blas and my charming little hostal. My room is really nice, bright and sunny with amazing views of the distant hills surrounding Cuzco. Nice big bathroom. I am a happy camper.
Out and about in Cuzco. The skies are that clear, intense, unreal blue which is common in high altitudes. Even though it is quite crisp and chilly, the sun has a satisfying warmth to it. It has been five years since I have been here, I spend the morning feeling my way around and remembering places from the past. Not much has changed. I like that.
I purchase my tourist ticket and then head down to Qorikancha, the temple of the sun. Looks exactly the same as before, but I am enjoying it again and take my time exploring.
Afterwards, I head to the upstairs Cappuccino Café which overlooks the plaza for a cup of mate de coca and some more of those fabulous French fries. The other time I was here, I minded the altitude immediately. This time I am not feeling anything. Still, I drink my tea.
I spend the rest of the afternoon roaming the streets we missed the last time. Then I buy a few warm scarves and a pair of gloves as the day is cooling down.
I take Xinloi’s advice and eat dinner at the little “hole in the wall” on Cuesta de San Blas. The name of this little hole in the wall is Tupana Wasi. I order a Chilean Cabernet and the chicken soup, followed by the filet mignon smothered in a creamy mushroom sauce. To die for. Thanks Al!
Then it is time for bed. All these early mornings and flying has worn me out. I am thankful for the extra heavy blankets on my bed. The temperature really dropped when the sun went down.
Saturday, Sept 3~ Up early for my breakfast which is included with my hostal. Breakfast consists of a flat type of bread/bun, strawberry marmalade, fresh fruit w/ yogurt w/Andean granola and scrambled eggs. And coffee. I am going to say it right here…I never did learn to like their coffee. I believe… and correct me if I am wrong, it is a very strong brewed instant Nescafe.
Time to use my tourist ticket. I take a taxi into the innards of Cuzco to the Pisac bus stop, climb aboard and ride the very crowded public bus to Tambomachay where I am dropped off. Cost of taxi to bus stop 4 sols. Cost of bus ride 3 sols. Taxis ask 40 sols to take you up to Tambomachay.
Tambomachay is an easy walk from the road, my ticket was punched and I climbed to the highest point looking down on the Incan baths, where I was soon enveloped by a group of school children who all were anxious to practice their English on the gringa. I was bombarded with questions. “Where are you from?” I reply “USA.” Which is immediately followed by “do you like Michael Jackson?” My answer is a quick no. They seemed shocked and are silent for a moment, then the questions continue. Then it is picture time. Everybody has to have their picture taken with the gringa. For a few minutes I am reminded how thrilled I am that I am not a celebrity, at least not back home. Being surrounded by a paparazzi is no fun.
The kids soon grow bored of me and move on. So do I.
I cross the road and walk over to Pukapukara. There are very few people here. I enjoy the silence and the wonderful views from the ruins.
Then it is all mostly downhill to Q’enqo and Sacsaywaman, except for the numerous high mounds of rock formations and precipitous stairs which beg to be climbed which I do. Grottos are explored, pictures are taken and I ascend to the overlook high above Cusco. The magnificent snowcapped Asungate reigns supreme on the southern horizon.
It is here that I start feeling unwell. I am nauseous, have a pounding headache and feel ill. My intentions were to climb to the Christ statue before I descend to Cuzco. Maybe I can still do it. I leave Sacsaywaman and start the short, but steep climb to the mount. Get about half way up and something tells me to turn around. Can’t do it. I need the bathroom and my bed. In that order.
I gingerly make my way down the dirt trail, then down the long and stepped path to Cuzco. I get to the Plazoleta Nazarenas and sit on a curb. Feeling worse. How do you ask for a doctor in Spanish? My clothes are sticking to me from my sweat. People look at me funny. I pull myself off the curb and slowly make my way to the ally my hostal is on. Unfortunately, it is a very vertical staircase made up of three sets of twelve steps each separated with three landings. I make my way up the first set. Sit and rest on the conveniently placed nearby bench. Only two more to go. I make my way up the next. Feel like I am going to pass out. I make my way up the last on and lay flat on my back on the cobbled-stone ally. My head is spinning. I feel intoxicated and nauseas. A man passes me by, warily. If I can only make it to the doorway, which by the way is locked. I have the key in my purse but can’t foresee the possibility of me having the strength to dig it out.
I pry myself off the uncomfortable cobble stones, put one foot in front of the other and pray someone will be leaving from my hotel, so I can get in without using my key. Miraculously two women are on their way out and I can hardly get the phrase “hold the door” pass my lips, but somehow manage and they do.
At the second locked doorway, I buzz myself in. One more set of steps to my room and I am in. I barely make it to the bathroom. I have severe vomiting, which amounts to severe dry heaves since my stomach absorbed every piece of food I had ingested from earlier this morning. I am sweating profusely, my head feels like it will explode and my heart has a very rapid, irregular beat. It then dawns on me….I have a severe case of soroche, or high altitude sickness.
I had thought I was doing okay and simply overexerted myself to the point where I brought this on myself. What a fool. It is 3 PM and I am in bed sick. Three hours later I get out of bed, take a hot shower and some Ibuprofren and back to bed I go.
Sunday, Sept 4~ Well, I survived. Up early and packing. Today I move on to Pisac. Eat very little, seems the sickness left me with no appetite. Drink lots of coca tea.
Then I get a taxi to the Pisac bus stop with the intention of taking the bus. The taxi driver offers to drive me there for 20 sols. I picture myself on the jam-packed and bouncing bus vs. the heavenly front seat of the smooth, quiet car. I opt for the taxi. His name is Andres and he is very considerate and kind. Driving slowly through the visually spectacular valley, stopping at the miradors and talking about his family makes for a short ride. I tip him 20 sols for his generous hospitality.
The charming little Pisac Inn where I am staying is on the fringe of the plaza which you can’t see because it is market day. Vendors are side by side taking up every iota of space. The place is too busy for someone like me, recuperating from soroche. I enter the welcoming doorway to a peaceful and calming environment. Tea is offered and I find a dark sitting room and lie on the couch till my room is ready.
My room is the furthest from the busy plaza, a delightful piece of paradise. I lie on my bed and am happy to be here.
After a quick nap, I am feeling better. I decide on lunch downstairs. The inn is a hopping hub of activity offering all the comforts of home and enticing in not only their own guests but day trippers stopping in for a bite to eat. I order a coke, chicken soup and some fried cheese rolls w/ spicy guacamole. The food is beyond excellence! Might as well say gourmet.
After refueling, I investigate the market, then set off for the path to the ruins. I will take it slow, see how much I am comfortable with. I have no desire to relive last night. I cautiously make my way up to the guard station, offer my ticket and am told they only punch it at the top, implying …if you actually make it to the top. From the looks and the laugh the guard gives me, he has his doubts about me.
I probably make it a quarter of the way up, stopping frequently. An Aussie couple coming down chat with me awhile and help me to decide to take a taxi to the top, tomorrow. Passing by the guard on my way back down, he laughs again and waves. I too get a chuckle out of this.
I browse the market place as the vendors are dismantling their stands. My mother asked for a green blanket from Peru. It is way too early into my trip to do any major shopping, so I am just looking. Green is a hard color to come by. I am seeing mostly browns, reds, orange; earth tones. I come across a vendor who has gorgeous, heavy hand-loomed blankets. One vivid green one at the very bottom of the pile. I ask to see it. It is lovely! She asks 180 sols for it. As I stand there and try to figure out how in the world I am going to lug it around with me for the next thirteen days, she keeps lowering her price. I guess I can squeeze it in the very bottom of my carry-on. She comes down to 110 sols. I offer her 90. She accepts. I now have a very lovely, but very heavy blanket to haul around with me for the duration of the trip. I console myself with the fact that if I get too cold at night, I can use it to keep me warm.
In hindsight, I am very glad I bought the beautiful blanket, because I never came across anything like it again. I would have regretted it immensely had I not.
Monday, Sept 5~ First one up for breakfast. Scrambled eggs, elderberry jam and bread, fresh orange juice, coffee and I am on my way to look for a taxi to take me to the ruins. I find a guy, Freddy, who drives a very hard bargain. He wants 50 sols to take me to the top and back down. Lonely Planets says 30 sols for a round trip. I finally get him down to 40, but he is one tough cookie.
He takes me up to the entrance and tells me he will wait for me. The vistas are indescribable. The ruins are immense. From the looks of them, I imagine the military sector was originally built by the Wari, then the rest added by the Inca. Very impressive indeed! I walk over to the one staircase which takes you up to the Intihuatana. After watching another couple climb them ahead of me, I decide to forego the steps. Alas, I can’t do it. The top couple of steps basically don’t exist. I watched the man scrambled over them on his hands and knees. No thanks, I’ll pass. Another couple behind me opt to pass also. Sadly, I have to miss the best part of the ruins.
Freddy has convinced me that it would be better riding along with him to Yucay then taking the bus, considering my past experience with soroche. Like I said earlier, he is one tough cookie. I half-heartedly agree with him. He takes me to Yucay for another 40 sols. I tell myself, this is the end of it. These taxis will bleed you dry.
Yucay is a lovely, tranquil little town. As busy as Pisac was, Yucay is not. I am dropped off at the Sonesta Posadas del Inca. What a beautiful hotel in a breathtaking location! I am shown to my suite on the second floor. This was one of the two indulges I have allowed myself on this trip.
Lunch is being served buffet style. I get myself a healthy, hearty plateful and a glass of papaya juice. For desert I have my all-time favorites, tres leche cake and rice pudding.
I bump into two ladies from Alabama who tell me about some ruins just north of the hotel. A quick peek at their map and I set off on foot. The path follows a bubbling aqueduct and takes me along a shaded walkway lined with bougainvillea adorned walls and fertile fields where farmers are plowing furrows with their begrudgingly Brown Swiss bulls.
I can see the ruins. I can also see a storm brewing in the valley south of me. Thunder rumbles in the distance. A substantial breeze has sprung up. I lick my finger and hold it up, trying to decide which way the wind is blowing, which way the storm is moving. It is hard to tell. The thunder is getting louder. A thunderstorm at this altitude, probably not a good idea…I turn around and go back to my hotel.
The storm moves on, I walk around town, stopping by the gorgeous church which inspired me to stay in Yucay to begin with. As I am sitting on the nearby bench noting the differences between the tiny towns in the Sacred Valley and Cuzco, where everybody wants to sell you something; paintings, jewelry, massages, shoe shines, personal tour guides, everyone touting something, posing for pictures from which an extended palm proceeds afterwards demanding a donation….Cuzco will deplete you of all your money in no time, if you let it. Here….it is heaven. Here you can stop and sit, contemplate, write, but best of all, be ignored.
It is while I am doing just that, sitting and enjoying the scenery when from out of nowhere two little donkeys come walking down the dusty, hot street. They pass by the shops and church, pass by me, stop for a moment and then make a right at the corner. Nobody says or does anything. I am assuming they know their way home.
I head back to my hotel, slide into a hot bubble bath and let the day slip away.
Tuesday, Sept 6~ Breakfast is served once again, buffet style. After a satisfying meal, I collect my bags and check out. Time to move to Ollantaytambo. Time for a change of scenery.
I haul my carry-on and myself down the dirt road and out to the street. There are a group of smartly dressed, uniformed school boys huddled on the corner. I make eye contact with one of the braver ones and ask him if this is where I board the collectivio to Urubamba. He answers “si” and points to the spot where I am standing. Then he points to an approaching van, points to me, then the van again and the spot where I am standing. I ask “Urubamba?” A shy quick nod from him. As I wave down the van, I notice the other boys are now poking and teasing him. Boys will be boys wherever you are.
The van pulls over, the door is slid open and I am staring at about twenty-some people looking back at me. They squeeze and move into a tighter knot, I heave my carry-on in first, which is quickly snagged by a older Runa lady, then me and my backpack. Another Runa lady steadies my backpack, I squeeze unto the floor and the top step, bracing myself on the side door, which by the way is not closed correctly and slips open with every turn. This becomes a main concern of the three older Runa ladies and the one holding onto my suitcase grabs a hold of my arm with her other hand. Her grip is a strong and unrelenting one. I have read in books about the Andean highlands and how Runa mothers are very ferocious and protecting moms. Also how they never take any backtalk or a backhand for that matter, from any of their men. Knowing this, I feel very safe, regardless of the shuffling sliding door.
At the next stop, the one lady exits and on her way out she slams the door shut properly. The other lady relaxes her grip on me, slightly.
We arrive at the bus station in Urubamba, Everybody bails out. I thank the lady who hung on to me so tightly. She smiles. Her eyes are an amazing light green-grey color in a sea of weathered, wrinkled dark skin. If eyes are a window to the soul, you can see she has an almighty one.
I am immediately directed to another van leaving for Ollantaytambo. The driver motions for me to sit up front. Another lady climbs in beside me. Off we go to Ollantaytambo. I am sandwiched between the driver and the other lady who take it upon themselves to test my Spanish. With a certain satisfaction they soon learn my limitations, to which they then switch to Quechua, to confuse me even more. I remember I have a book with me. “Cut Stones and Crossroads” which contains a lot of sonnets written in Quechua. I dig it out of my backpack and show one of the sonnets to them, first the lady, then the driver. They both eye me, then become quiet. Either I have gained a certain respect or have shown them up…I am hoping it is respect, not the other way around.
We arrive in Ollantaytambo, my favorite Andean village. Luggage is collected from the roof, the driver offers to help me find my hostal. I take this as a good sign, that I didn’t offend them after all. I tell him I know where my hostal is, I don’t really, just rather a general idea. I am wandering around hauling my carry-on over the very bumpy cobbled alleys until I finally admit to a mototaxi driver that I don’t know where I am going. I tell him the name of my hostal, he throws in my carry-on and off we go. Turns out it wasn’t very far from where I was roaming, but it is up a very long flight of stairs which the driver quickly scales along with my luggage. For this I am very thankful and give him his 2 sols.
From the moment I entered the doorway of Hostal Iskay, I knew it was going to be a great place! Cristina greeted me like a burst of fresh air! She stated my name before I could even get it out, took my luggage and showed me to my room all the time saying how happy she was to finally meet me. My room was as neat as a pin and cute and comforting. Fresh flowers and candles adorn the table top and window sills. The views of the ruins from the window are beckoning me. The bed is inviting. There is a happy, bubbly water fountain just outside my room.
Eager to explore the ruins, I ditch my gear and head out. The hostal is only a couple of blocks from the ruins. I get my ticket punched and enter the hallowed grounds. This is one of my favorite ruins. This is the one place the Inca defeated the Spanish, but got to enjoy their victory only for a short time. It is here, with a little bit of an imagination and a lot of wonder, you can feel their short-lived glory.
Up and up I climb, ascending the awe-inspiring staircases. Up to the magnificent walled structure they were building when the conquistadors showed up. They were working on something so big, so impressive…it is a terrible crime they never got to finish it. One can now only imagine…
I seek the path which I couldn’t do before. There was a large outcrop of rocks which you have to stoop around and beneath, all the time hovering a couple hundred of feet in thin air. To my utter surprise and sheer delight, they cut a lot of the rock face away and made the pathway broader. Now I can take the path which always taunted me. Around the mountain the path leads, overlooking the Incan waterways and aqueducts, overlooking the vast valley and the terracing below. I descend the stairs at the end of the ruins and wander through the waterworks. I never cease to be amazed at the ingenuity of the Inca. I wish I could have met such masterminds, in person. It would have been an incredible experience.
After exploring the ruins, I stop for a bite to eat at Puka Rumi. Comes highly recommended in Lonely Planet. True to the book, it does not disappoint. I order the chicken burritos and a Cusquena. The burritos are a culinary delight, the cold, crisp beer goes down fast.
Back to my hostal, a cup of tea, a hot shower, my soothing sheets and comfy bed.
Wednesday, Sept 7~A buffet breakfast is served downstairs. After breakfast I nosy around town and then ask Cristina where there are some good trails to hike. I had heard about Pumarca ruins and I was told you could hike to them. Cristina enthusiastically drew me a map to the ruins, says it is a very nice hike.
I stick it in my pocket and head down the street. The street brings me to the edge of town, I cross the bridge and make a right unto a dirt road which follows the loud lively, tumbling river as it meanders through the scenic valley. It is a gorgeous day. The views of snow-capped summits peeking over the high meadows and mountain ridges are astounding! I have never been happier.
On and on I walk, stopping often to take pictures. Another couple appear from behind me and ask me about the ruins. I show them my map. They quickly set off leaving me behind, since I am dawdling in my own the contentment.
I come across a young girl who is driving two cows with her stick. I ask her if I can take a picture. She smiles and says “si.” The one cow stretches her neck out to sniff me and bawls her complaint. At least that is what is sounded like. The girl laughs.
Further on, I see two donkeys charging towards me, all the while tussling with each other. The one keeps viciously biting the other. The bitten donkey gets rolled on the ground. The man walking behind them smiles and then shakes his head at the donkeys. The donkey gets on it’s feet and the two of them take off down the road, still fighting amongst themselves. The man waves goodbye to me with his stick and follows his troubled pair of asses.
Two hours later, the trail is getting steeper and I am getting hot and winded. Seems to be taking forever. I come across a shepherd and ask him if I am going the right way. He points further up the mountain. A van comes barreling over the crest of the hill and blows by me as I stand aside and hope for a ride. No such luck. The guy in the front waves and so do the two ladies in the back. In the nice cool, air-conditioned van.
I keep walking. Around the bend I can finally see them.
The ruins sit at the top of a very high hill which is surrounded by a steep meadow being grazed by cattle and a couple of horses. I scope out the cattle. No bulls. I slowly start to climb, seeking out the cow paths which sneak through the brambles and shrubbery. The animals ignore me. I am fine with that. As I climb, another couple is coming down. We stop and chat and try to perceive where the short cut is located as we scan the opposite mountain side. Turns out they are from Boston and staying at my hostal and have the same hand drawn map. They set off to follow the tree line down.
By the time I get to the top, the ladies who passed me earlier in the van are just leaving. They are happy to see me and want to know where I am from, and what I am doing traveling alone? They are from Tennessee.
Their guide shows me where the short cut is across the valley. Just follow the tree line he says. Then off they go to leave me to wander the ruins alone.
The ruins are incredible. The views from the ruins are staggering. The sun is intense. The wind blows wild way up here. I seek out a shaded spot and find the couple who I met earlier on the trail way below. I leave them be and find another secluded spot for me.
A Snickers bar and a Powerade are my lunch. There are a couple of local men who are up here doing a few repairs. I find it fascinating that they are so concerned with the upkeep of these little-known ruins. I wave at them and they smile and wave back. They seem pleased to see us here.
After exhausting my interest, I search for the quickest and shortest way across to catch the trail by the tree line. I pass the contented cows and am soon on the path. Two guys on mountain bikes blow by from behind me without much warning, spooking me. Where did they come from?
I soon find out that the path follows an old Incan aqueduct the whole way down the mountain. The well-thought-out structure amazes me. The water constantly gushes by me as I follow the path. The vistas across the valley I came up through are even more mind-blowing from up here.
I come to a bend on the cliff and find the aqueduct makes an almost forty-five degree angle and continues on down the mountain. Where does all this water come from? This is the dry season. Still is rapidly rushes by me, never ceasing.
I pass some school kids coming around the next bend. They are surprised to see me, as I am them. They all say “hola” and continue on their way. I smile thinking about their wondrous walk to and from school each day. Now that is determination.
As I make it down off the trail and am back on the dirt road just outside Ollantaytambo, I find myself tired but extremely happy. The day was a very satisfying one. The scenery was spectacular, the ruins were remarkable and the few local people I met along the way were quite friendly.
Another great dinner at Puka Rumi consisting of Hawaiian Pizza and a cold Cusquena, then it is a hot shower and my wonderful bed which has been calling my name.
Thursday, Sept 8 ~ Another beautiful morning vista, downstairs for my buffet breakfast and then I seek out Cristina for one of her special maps of the trail to the Inka quarry. A quick stop at the local neighborhood tienda for a Powerade and a Snickers bar, then I happily set off on foot following the road out of town. It is all down hill to the river, I cross the bridge and find the trail leading to the right.
The trail follows the river at a constant gradual climb, the higher it takes you the drier the landscapes. Nothing surviving up here, except cacti and yucca plants with some very coarse yellowed grass and lichen coated boulders. Up and up I ascend, following the trail which leads me to a bend where you get a wondrous view of snow-topped Willawayna.
I see no signs of the quarry. There is no breeze. The sun is burning me up. I cover myself up with my hooded windbreaker, but my hands are exposed and are looking pretty red. Reluctantly I realize it is time for me to turn around. I take one last long look around, then head back the way I came. I stop in the shade at the big rocks and pull out my Snickers bar, which has became quite mushy. Devouring the melted mess, I lick the wrapper clean, stuff it back into my backpack, drink my Powerade then set off for town.
I opt to follow the train tracks to the station for my entry into town, since it would have been all uphill the other way. Coming in this way brings me closer to my favorite eating place and I splurge for the Bleu Cheese Steak. It is a whopping 300 grams of tenderloin swimming in a creamy bleu cheese sauce, served with mashed sweet potatoes and some warm dinner rolls. I had my doubts when she sat it down in front of me, but I managed to make it all disappear. Completely stuffed, I head back to my hotel to shower and pack my bags, tomorrow morning I catch the train for Machu Picchu.
Friday, Sept 9~ Up at 5 am. My taxi arrives at 5:30 to take me to the train station. Along with the crowd, I board at 6. I have the very last window seat in carriage car A, my companion is a very delightful fellow from Brazil. His name is Fabio. Fabio is the icebreaker, he gets the introductions started, not with just me but everyone around us and then entertains us with his lively personality. We are served drinks and cookies and then before you know it we are arriving in Aguas Calientes.
I say adios to Fabio and then I have to find my own way to my hotel, since the staff person never showed up as promised. I make my way to the plaza and then ask a lady where my hotel is. She points me to the corner of the plaza where there is a narrow alley. Turns out, it isn’t far from the place we stayed at in 2006.
Gringo Bill’s is a artistic/bohemian kind of a joint. It has many different floors being that it sits on a tiny piece of property and the only way you can build on is up. It is laid out very cute and has it’s own certain flair. I am shown to my room on the second floor. Large room with two beds and a big flat screen TV which I am finding in a lot of hotels down here. Not something I look for, since I got rid of my own TV over a year ago.
I dump my luggage and head down to buy a bus ticket to Machu Picchu. With my ticket purchased, I get in the long line waiting for the bus.
We get to the top and make our way to the entrance. There are crowds and crowds of people. It wasn’t like this five years ago. I finally get to the gate and offer my piece of paper which I got when I purchased my Machu Picchu ticket online. I am waved to the side and my paper is taken from me. The girl disappears into the guard station. I stand helplessly by, wondering what is going on. Hordes of people continue to happily pass by, all getting in without any problems. I am getting annoyed.
Finally, another gate keeper goes in and brings out the corrected reprinted ticket and hands it to me. I get back in line.
I am finally through the gate and squeeze pass all the people and start up the long trail. Up and up I climb till it brings me out way at the top, above the House of the Guardians. The llamas are all sweetly grazing a couple of terraces below me on the large flat meadow.
It still takes you breath away.
I take it slow, soaking in the satisfaction of simply being able to be here again. This is an Incan paragon of perfection.
I read and have heard and have been seeing a lot of examples of the Inca’s obsession with perfection, from their architectural designs to their alignments of the rising sun and the mountain peaks. There was nothing left to chance. Every angle had a purpose. The purpose of these magnificent ruins still remain unknown, but it does not in any way diminish the affect it has on you.
The only drawback is the massive amount of people who are here. Hard to believe the difference. Last time I was here you pretty much had the place to yourself. And you could climb anywhere. Now you have to literally stand in line in the roped-off areas and wait your turn to look at the more popular structures and then wait for each person to have their picture taken and then take a picture of each other . That got a bit tedious.
As I made my way to the Intihuatana I noticed a beautiful Caracara sitting on the top of the rock wall. It lingered awhile, allowing lots of photo opportunities for us avid birders. I took that as a good omen.
The sun was getting hotter and there were no breezes to cool you off. I sought out the less-crowded rooms and corridors, seeking solace and shaded corners. Although it has been five years, some of this seems like new terrain to me. It isn’t till after I got home and compared my pictures to those from the previous trip that I realized they have been building at Machu Picchu, adding on segments. I am not too happy to learn that. Some things just can’t be copied or perfected or improvised…
I can now remember seeing construction being done at Sacsaywaman . The ancient impeccable, flawless Incan walls are being heightened at some spots with whatever rocks are on hand and to me it appeared sloppy, disrespectful, insolent and profane.
Between dodging the crowds and the relentless sun, I acquired my desired photos and satisfied my craving for exploring every nook and cranny, I make my way to the exit and the rotating, waiting busses. Pumped with adrenaline and filled with elation from this excursion, I am also sadden at all the changes which have transpired.
Some things are meant to be left untouched.
The chugging busses wind their way down the mountain and we are dispatched back in town. I wander along the railroad tracks where countless hotels and restaurants have sprung up, brick sidewalks have been laid, it is all very picturesque and tourist-friendly, but I am remembering the way it used to be. I remember my friend and I sitting in a tiny café next to the train tracks sipping cappuccinos and watching the locals go about their way of life.
I remember less tourists and less everything. Aguas Calientes has turned into a boomtown and it is only going to get worse. I foresee more deforestation to make room for more hotels, more people. But it is good for the local economy, I guess.
I eat dinner at a Mexican restaurant which has live musicians playing an appealing blend of panpipes and mariachis. They are very good and it isn’t long till my pizza and beer are gone. My waiter has disappeared also. I ask another waiter to find him so that I can pay my bill.
I walk around town and eventually find myself muddling in the maze of the local market. I buy a silver pendant and necklace, a leather journal and a small soft teddy bear made from baby alpaca . Heading back to my room I stop at a little café for an incredible piece of chocolate cake with mocha icing and a cappuccino. I recall Peru having some of the best chocolate I have ever eaten. The cake does not disappoint me.
Time for a hot shower and my big soft bed. Tomorrow I catch the train back to Ollantaytambo.
Saturday Sept 10~ Slept in till 7. Then breakfast in the dining room which was included with the room. The typical peach yogurt, fresh fruit, pan bread with marmalade and scrambled eggs. By the way, I am loving that peach yogurt! Not so much their coffee.
With two hours to kill before I catch the train, I spend the morning reflecting on the sunny benches in the plaza. My entertainment is watching the local fish commission catch the trout which are swimming beneath the feet of the Inca statute in the center of the plaza. They are using nets and placing the flopping fish in five gallon buckets filled half-full of water. Then someone runs off with a slopping bucket full of fish. I am hoping he is heading for the river but alas, my curiosity got the best of me and I follow and see him going into one of the larger restaurants by the river. Guess their feature will be trout tonight.
Time to head for the train. I arrive a bit early and perch on a near bench. A train pull ins and all the new arrivals disembark and head my way. I watch as the local vendors line up, hawking their wares. They are good at it. Fresh-faced and unaware, the newbie’s are being picked off left and right. It is quite amusing to watch.
I find a spot by the window and wait for my train to arrive. It is while I am in the bathroom (of course) that I hear the whistle and my train is here. By the time I get to the train car, almost everyone have boarded. I am the last one on my train car. I look at my ticket and see that I have seat 1A. I make my way to the front of the train, excusing myself through the rowdy crowd . It appears I am in the midst of a rather large group of people touring together. I find my way to my seat.
It is astounding. My seat is the best on one the train! I have this huge picture window in front of me! Ahead of me are the tracks we shall travel on! Wow! What more could you ask for? The crowd I have parted to get to my seat look at me and wonder how I could get so lucky. One lady comes up to me and I find out they are about thirty Argentineans traveling together. She seems amazed that me, an American, is traveling alone. She tells me “that is so unlike Americans.” I smile and catch her jest. I have to agree with her. I have an Argentinean lady next to me and then it is the engineer. Behind me the party commences. They sure are a fun, boisterous bunch!
The ride is a spectacular one! We soon find ourselves in Ollantaytambo. My Argentinean friends stay on the train, they are riding the rails to Poroy, Cuzco and then back home to Argentina tomorrow. Only a few of us get off. I haul my suitcase back to Hostal Iskay where I am shown to a different room then the one I had. This one is next to a patio from where I snag a lounge chair and prop it between my room’s front door so that I can rest my feet on the railing of the balcony. It isn’t long before I fall asleep in the afternoon sun.
A friendly little black and white cat wakes me with his rubbing against my chair and meowing. I pluck him up and hold him in my lap. He settles his purring little self down and together we nap in the golden rays of the late afternoon sunshine.
We are awakened by the stomping feet of people returning to their room. I get out of their way, since I am blocking their way and they have the room on the other side of me. The cat scampers off.
I head down to my favorite restaurant, Puka Rumi, for one last dinner in Ollantaytambo. It is Hawaiian pizza again for me. After dinner I buy a set of placemats at the market. Once again the wind has kicked up and I am thankful for my sunglasses, which keep the ever blowing dirt and dust out of my eyes. One last look around and then I head back to my room for a shower and sleep.
Sunday, Set 11~ Up early and eat my buffet breakfast downstairs. Then it is time for me to check out of here and mosey on down the road. I finally get to meet Lluc, husband of Cristina, the owners of Hostal Iskay. Super nice people. He tells me that one of the young guys who works for them is going to the plaza anyway, so he can carry my suitcase for me. I tip him and we part ways at the plaza.
I head over to the parking area where the shuttles wait and am immediately offered a seat in one going to Urubamba. We wait for others and a local lady comes by selling tamales. A family in the seat in front of me buy some. They look appetizing, but I am still stuffed from my big breakfast. More people climb in. Everybody greets me with a “Buenos dias” and a smile. The driver climbs in and we are off. Heading out of town a lady standing along the road flags us down. She climbs in with a wiggling burlap bag which a pair of lively chicken feet protrude from a hole in the bottom of and another bag in her other hand which contains, celery, onions and carrots. It doesn’t look good for the chicken. I can tell he is a rooster from the little noises he is making. I feel sorry for him and hope he is on this trip for a different purpose than what it appears to be, judging from the contents in the other bag.
We arrive at the bus station in Urubamba. It is really only a small parking lot with a couple of vans and a bus or two. I passed this way before coming from Yucay, so I am feeling pretty confident and flag down a motopaxi to take me to the San Agustin Monasterio de la Recoleta Hotel.
The old monastery is absolutely gorgeous. I walk into the reception area with my mouth hanging open. I can tell the attendant who greets me is amused. Still I walk around and gape in wonder. It is just so beautiful and I am thrilled that I picked this place to stay. When I had made my travel plans a couple of months ago, I had really anticipated staying at the Sonesta Posadas del Inka, but I like this place much better. This is the real, authentic thing.
After dumping my stuff and marveling at my charming room, I stop by the reception to ask the lovely young lady at the desk about directions to Maras, Moray and Salinas. She is very sweet and kind and draws me a map where I want to go and how much to expect to pay for the rides whether I go by bus or taxi.
I jubilantly head out on foot, past the cheerful chap who guards the gate, and he happily shows me the button to buzz myself in when I return. I wave at the first motopaxi coming towards me and tell him I need to go the bus station. When we get there, a van bound for Cuzco via Chinchero is just preparing to leave which is exactly what I want! I am helped on board and squeeze in.
The road to Chinchero is a winding one, climbing way up and out of the Sacred Valley high onto a stepped plateau. Passing farmers in their furrowed fields we ascend, still winding upward. I am feeling light-headed from the altitude. Chinchero sits at 12,343 feet above sea level. And you can really, really feel it.
At the crossroad to Chinchero and the main highway, I am dropped off. I head in the direction of the church. Which is of course, all uphill. I take it slow and stop often. Slow deep breaths. Inhale, exhale. In, out. Remembering my bout of high-altitude sickness in Cuzco, I don’t want to repeat it. Slow and easy.
The last time I was here, I fell in love with Chinchero. That feeling still remains. It is cloudy, cold and brisk today, I am all layered up and thankful for that. I make my way to the church. They are having Sunday mass inside the church. The place is packed full with the faithful locals, standing room only. A sign outside the door announces no cameras of any kind allowed inside, which is a shame, because the hand-painted ancient murals and interior is astounding! They are singing in Quechua, in perfect harmony with no
musical instruments of any kind, all acapella. It is undoubtedly the most beautiful music these hears have ever heard. And all unrecorded…
Perfection is not to be messed with.
As the priest enters, I leave to wander around the surviving Incan ruins located behind the church. The long rows of crumbling walls and many terraces dictate the distances to the valley below. On the far horizon you can see snow-capped mountain peaks peeping behind the rolling ridges. Just another awe-struck moment in this passage of time.
Starting to feel the altitude again, I stop by a little coffee shop for some mate de coca. I need my tea. The owner of this little café is quite nice and when he hears I am heading to Maras, he sits down with me and I get another hand-drawn map along with distances and prices expected to pay. It is very much like the one I already have in my pocket. I pay for my tea, thank him and satisfied, I head towards the main road, which is now all downhill.
I arrive at the corner of the crossroad where I was dropped off at. I see a local man talking to two gringos and walk by them, crossing to the other side, looking for a taxi. The man sees me and waves me back across the road to them. He starts talking to me and I have to tell him I speak very little Spanish. The older couple he is talking to are from France and speak very little English. Somehow we all end up hiring this man, who is a taxi driver , to take us to Maras, Moray and Salinas for 24 sols a person, which would be roughly $8 a person. Which ends up being cheaper than anything else I could have found. I am thrilled, as are they and we all climb into his cab and off we go to Maras.
The scenery is just phenomenal along the route we take. Before we get to Maras we come upon some people thrashing the old fashioned way, using a team of donkeys to grind out the grain. In this case it is a type of bean. We stop and watch them. I feel like I was just transported somewhere back in time. I sit and muse about my good fortunes and fantastic opportunities I keep stumbling upon in this ever-exquisite country I am traveling in.
We pass through the tiny town of Maras and find ourselves parked at the edge of a bluff. Nothing but the landscapes and wind. I turn and look at the French couple, they look at me? We look at the taxi driver. He motions this is where we get out. We do. I walk over to the edge and oh wow, another jaw-dropper! The French couple see my reaction and hurry over to where I am standing. I can’t understand French but I do understand expressions and can tell that they are as astonished and amazed as I am. Wow! Way down below us are these huge circles which are terraced over and over, each one rising above the other. Tiny people are walking around in these circles. We need to get down there. Without any further hesitation we descend.
It is a long way down and the excitement builds inside me. I went down the one path, the other couple went down around the other way. We arrive at the uppermost top of the first terraced flat. We still have to descend down into the innermost bottom circle. The steps the Inca have attached to each terrace are the same ones you see on the upper terraces overlooking Machu Picchu. They can be a bit difficult and we help each other maneuver our way down.
Inside the bottom circle I sit down and gaze around me. The Inca never stop ceasing to amaze me. They built “three large natural depressions in which terraced co-centric circles were constructed. Seeds cultivated at this site were likely sent throughout the Incan empire to improve yield in the harsh conditions of the Andes and were probably one of the benefits offered by the Incas for peaceful incorporation of neighboring tribes into the Incan empire. Today the site is a series of co-centric circles on plateau’s 400m above the valley floor (3,200-3,500m above sea level). The site was designed by the Incas to take advantage of natural depressions below the level plain and model Andean, jungle and semi-tropical environments for the growth of different plant varieties. Pollen studies indicate that soils from each of these regions was imported by the Incas to each of the large circular basins. In the largest of the depressions (150m) a serious of water channels can be seen finding their way to the bottom. Studies have found temperature variations up to 5 degrees Celsius. “ ~ Wikitravel
After thoroughly soaking in the wonders of Moray, we climb back out, returning the opposite way we came in. Our driver is waiting patiently in his car. On the road to Salinas, we have more stunning landscapes backed by the lofty snow-encrusted Andes. Our taxi driver stops for some local men using the road to drive home their mixed herds of cattle, donkeys and sheep. They part and pass by us on both sides of the car.
We arrive above the Salinas salt flats and the driver pulls over for us to take pictures. It is mind-boggling. For the life of me, I can’t begin to understand WHY I passed this all up on my previous trip. At that time I didn’t think we would find it interesting and I planned are itinerary so that we spent three nights in Aguas Calientes. Huge mistake. We could have seen all this instead.
We pay our fee to enter the salt flats. It is windy and cold and I am getting a very bad headache. We are still around 11,000 feet and all this climbing is affecting me. I am a bit worried, not wanting to push my luck, since tomorrow I return to Chinchero (altitude 12,343 ft) and stay there overnight. I have been feeling it all day. Got to slow down some.
The view looking across the immense expanse of salt flats in numbing. I have never seen anything like it. This is a lifestyle I know absolutely nothing about.
Wiki says it best. “Since pre-Inca times, salt has been obtained in Salinas by evaporating salty water from a local subterranean stream. The highly salty water emerges at a spring, a natural outlet of the underground stream. The flow is directed into an intricate system of tiny channels constructed so that the water runs gradually down onto the several hundred ancient terraced ponds. Almost all the ponds are less than four meters square in area, and none exceeds thirty centimeters in depth. All are necessarily shaped into polygons with the flow of water carefully controlled and monitored by the "farmers". The altitude of the ponds slowly decreases, so that the water may flow through the myriad branches of the water-supply channels and be introduced slowly through a notch in one sidewall of each pond. The proper maintenance of the adjacent feeder channel, the side walls and the water-entry notch, the pond's bottom surface, the quantity of water, and the removal of accumulated salt deposits requires close cooperation among the community of users. It is agreed among local residents and pond "farmers" that the cooperative system was established during the time of the Incas, if not earlier. As water evaporates from the sun-warmed ponds, the water becomes supersaturated and salt precipitates as various size crystals onto the inner surfaces of a pond's earthen walls and on the pond's earthen floor. The pond's keeper then closes the water-feeder notch and allows the pond to go dry. Within a few days the keeper carefully scrapes the dry salt from the sides and bottom, puts it into a suitable vessel, reopens the water-supply notch, and carries away the salt. Color of the salt varies from white to a light reddish or brownish tan, depending on the skill of an individual "farmer". Some salt is sold at a gift store nearby.
The salt mines traditionally have been available to any person wishing to harvest salt. Usually there are many unused salt pools available to be farmed. Any prospective salt farmer need only locate an empty currently un-maintained pond, consult with the local informal cooperative, learn how to keep a pond properly within the accepted communal system, and start working.”
The effect of sunlight reflecting from the maze of ponds is really truly quite stunning!
My adrenaline has been exhausted and I am feeling very drained. We pile back into the car and head back to the highway. Since the French couple are going back to Cuzco and I am headed back to Urubamba I asked to be dropped off at the bus stop along the main highway. Just as we arrive, a bus heading my direction stops to drop somebody off. I pay the taxi driver my share of our ride and run across the road and climb aboard the bus. Just like that. The timing has been impeccable for all my connections, my good fortunate continues.
All the way back on the bus I consider emailing Casa de Barro in Chinchero to cancel my reservation for tomorrow night, due to my pounding headache. I might not be up for the tremendous altitude. Hopefully I will be alright by tonight.
I am dropped off at the bus station in Urubamba and choose to walk back to my beautiful hotel, since I now know the way. The pounding in my head keeps time with my heart beat. I arrive at the little gate to the monasterio and push the buzzer. The happy chap who instructed me earlier waves and motions to the huge gate to my right which now stands open allowing cars to enter. Duh! I feel like a total fool. I slap my head.
He laughs. The staff is so friendly and personal here, I feel like I have known them all my life while I just met them this morning.
There is now a very attractive man behind the reception desk. His charming smile lights up his face and he hands me my key. Once again I find myself wishing I was fluent in Spanish, his generous grin and the twinkle in his eyes draws me to him, but I take my key and head to my room for a hot shower and some much needed rest.
The hot shower and some rest do the trick, my headache has subsided. I dress for dinner and head to the dining room. The full moon has crested the distant mountains which only adds to the ambience of this magnificent age-old place.
I am allowed to pick my table and I choose an isolated one over by the fireplace. One of the staff come over and starts a fire. The young waiter appears and is shy and a bit awkward, trying hard to please me. I attempt to make him laugh and succeed with my poor Spanish skills and hand motions, making him more comfortable. He relaxes a bit. The roaring fire warms the room, my Chilean Cabernet warms my body and the Quinoa Ravioli is very good. To the delight of my waiter I order the dessert he has recommended. It is crepes filled with elderberry jam and topped with chocolate ice cream. Mmmm, very, very good! I leave my wonderful waiter a nice fat tip and bid everyone goodnight.
Once again, I can’t express how hospitable the people are here!
I head back to my room to my big bed with the very large over-stuffed pillows. This would be the only thing I can find negative about this hotel. I keep punching them trying to make them more bearable, but it is no use. They are just too big.
Monday Sept 12~ Next morning I enjoy their very satisfying buffet breakfast and then it is check out time. The handsome affable man I met yesterday afternoon is behind the reception desk again and seems genuinely sorry to see me go. He hands me a survey to fill out and then eagerly reads it when I am done. He gives me s huge bear hug before I leave and tells me to come back soon. The door man asks me if I need a taxi. I shake my head and start walking out to the road. It is only about seven or eight blocks to the bus station, I opt to walk there.
I walk past a parked pickup truck with two little children in the back. The little girl calls out to me “hola gringa!” I wave, smile and call back to her “Hola, amiga!” At this response she and her little brother have a fallen down giggling fit, poking each other and waving at me. Another amazing moment!
My intentions were to walk the entire way, but a bus comes by and stops just ahead of me. I walk around to the door and asked the driver if he is going to Chinchero? He smiles and says “si, Chinchero-Cuzco.” Great! I jump on the bus. We sit for a bit, then he backs the bus and turns it around. I tell him, “no, no, Chinchero!” thinking he is going to Cuzco via Pisac. He says “si, Chinchero, un momento!” He pulls into a little auto repair shop and they look at his radiator. Some hoses are switched and then he turns the bus back around and we are on our way.
There is only two other people on the bus. The driver turns left at the bridge, never even stopping at the bus station. I have been trying to figure out the discussion he had with the other couple. I think he is either off duty or returning the bus to Cuzco for some repairs, because he doesn’t stop for anyone else.
I am dropped off at Chinchero’s crossroad the same place I was dropped off yesterday. It dawns on me I don’t know where the hotel is. I should have looked for it yesterday, but that was the last thing on my mind at that time. I ask a lady and she points me in the direction along the main highway. I start walking and after a few blocks stop and ask a man in his corner shop. He holds up two fingers and tells me where to go. I deduce he means two more blocks and turn left. My assumption is correct.
Casa de Barro is an amazing little hotel! Hidden behind a tall mud block wall, it is a haven of brightly colored flowers and ferns, a dazzling display of floor to roof windows and color contrasts of deep dark browns and vivid yellows.
They are still prepping my room so I take a seat outside under a thatched roof palapa and pet the playful pup. I am soon summoned to my room. It is a cheerful sunlit room on the second floor with a door which opens to a balcony. My view from the balcony is stunning one. The snow-capped Andes are seen as a backdrop to the village on the hillside below me. What a view!
I ditch my stuff and head downstairs, out the door and up the street to the church and the plaza. Not long before I am huffing and puffing. Doesn’t take much to wind you in this thin atmosphere. I walk past the doorway of a textile workshop where the women are giving a presentation to a small group of tourists. I stop and go back and peek in. I am invited in and join the group. The ladies are showing how they dye the wool by using herbs, insect larvae, leaves, maize and roots. It is incredibly interesting and then they move to the backstrap looms and show how they weaved the fibers into various products, like scarves, shawls and blankets using the mountains, rivers and sky for inspirational designs. I remind myself to come back later and buy some of their beautiful items. I promise the one lady I will return.
Onward and upward I climbed the steep stepped ,winding streets slowly making my way back up to the church. Chinchero and Ollantaytambo are my two favorites. Both are so inviting and chockfull of culture with very few tourists wandering the back streets and alleyways. Both are so picturesque and authentic, left undisturbed for centuries.
The plaza surrounding the church is relatively empty. More pictures are taken, than I check out the shops. I buy a few items, then stop by the coffee shop I had my tea in yesterday, since I promised him I would be back. He is glad to seem me and makes me a great cappuccino. Then he sits down once again to chat with me. We talk for awhile, then I head back to my hotel for a late lunch., stopping first at the ladies’ workshop to buy a scarf, and a blanket.
Lunch consists of a three course deal; an appetizer, entrée and desert. for 45 sols. Or about $15. I have some delicious crepes covered with a thick mushroom cream sauce for my appetizer, chicken cordon bleu smothered in a rich cheese sauce and tres leche cake for dessert along with more mate de coca tea. Let me say this, the meal was extremely delicious! I should say gourmet at it’s best.
After my lunch I shower and then head back up to the church for some sunset shots. It is quite cold and with the cloud formations stacking up it is promising to be a grand show.
It is. I get my shots and then head back to my hotel in the quickening dark. I turn around and look back to see Sahuasiray’s brilliant peak covered in snow towering over the village and softly glowing in the dark. It is so many moments like this that take your breath away, which are making this trip so special.
I go back to my room, lug a chair out on the balcony and watch the full moon rise over the horizon.
Tuesday, Sept 13~Up at 7 and downstairs for my breakfast . Bread and strawberry jam, orange juice, coffee and scrambled eggs. After breakfast I pack my suitcase and all my goodies I bought, then walk back up into town for one last look around. I also need to stop at a tienda to buy something for headaches, because my Tylenol got all. I copied the word headache out of my Spanish phrasebook and show the piece of paper to the lady behind the counter. She sells me a couple of packets of pain relievers for 2 sol. Then it is to the little tiny chapel for some pictures and then back to my hotel to collect my things. I paid my tab yesterday, and it is a good thing because there is no one around. I leave without saying goodbye.
I drag my suitcase down to the corner of the main highway and spot a little old lady sitting at the bus stop. I sit down next to her. It is only a matter of moments when a collectivio pulls up and the driver rolls the passenger side window down and ask me if I want to go to Cuzco. It is where I need to go, but not where I want to go…. I nod and climb in the side door.
The drive is a pleasant one. There are not many people and therefore we are not packed in like sardines. When we get into Cuzco, the driver lets the others out at the Iglesia San Francisco. I should have just got out there too, but he insisted to take me to my hotel. In the end he didn’t know where it was and in his frustration pulled over by the side of the street and just motioned for me to get out. Which put me now out past Iglesia San Pedro. Great…now I have even further to walk.
I have a long walk back to my hotel and it is for some reason, exceptionally busy in Cuzco today. Traffic is horrendous.. .no wonder my driver was so upset. I realize I have been out in the country for awhile, it is not my imagination. Cuzco is humming with tour busses, taxis, beeping horns, bumper to bumper traffic…you would think you were in Lima.
I get to Amaru I hotel and I am checked in. The place is cute, but I had much nicer rooms in my travels. Makes me wish I would have stayed at the Hosteria de Anita again, which is by the way, part of the Amaru group.
I dump my stuff and stop by the Granja Heidi, which comes recommended in Lonely Planet and it is only two doors down. I have the Mennonite chocolate cake (I have to…I am from Lancaster County Pa) and a cappuccino. I have to say, I am not at all impressed with this place. The girl who waits on me is in a dour mood. The lady stocking the cakes and pies seems to be having a very bad day also. Another girl shows up for work and her beautiful smile is the only one in this place.
I pay my bill and leave, shaking off the gloominess of Cuzco so far. It has clouded up and looks like rain. I head up to San Blas and pick a street I had never taken before. I am passing cute little shops and see one called the Coca Shop. A couple of dreadlocked gringos tumble out, all of them laughing. One guy is chowing down on something out of a bag. I go in. Everything in this shop is made out of coca, from bath soaps to chocolates to various teas. The lady behind the counter sets up a couple of plates with samples of chocolates. I pick one. It is very good. As I look around I go back for a second, a different one which looks like a piece of fudge. It is very chewy and taste more like grass than fudge. I don’t like it but eat it anyway. Then I thank her and leave. A little bit further down the street I realize my lips are numb. So is my tongue. The entire inside of my mouth is numb. My cheeks are numb. I feel like I had a big mouthful of Novocain. Hmmm…that was some pure coca in that chewy fudge.
I now have lots of energy and I am not feeling the dreary weather. I climb up to the Iglesia de San Cristobal and it’s plaza overlooking the city. I explore more streets and then go to Cappuccino Café overlooking Plaza de Armas for lunch. Chicken soup, French fries and coca tea. It is cold and has started to rain. The hot soup and revitalizing tea warms me up. More exploring and then it is my favorite little joint for dinner on Cuesta de San Blas.
To bed I go.
Wednesday Sept 14~ Breakfast is included and it is the typical menu I have been having. The sun is brighty shining and it looks like a good day to climb up to the statute of Christ. If you can remember back that far…that was where I was headed eleven days ago when I got sick and had to turn around. Now it is time to make the climb.
The street is a very long and stepped one leading up and out of Cuzco. It is very tiring. I take it slow and eventually am climbing up the dirt pathway to the statue. I remember the spot where I had to turn around. I was almost at the top when I had to quit. Now I blow by amazed at how easy the short climb is today.
The view up here is intense. I can see Asungate rising like a phoenix above Cuzco in the far distance. The sounds of the busy city rise up to meet me also. Somewhere out there I can hear of all things…the song “Wonderwall” by Oasis. Which brings to mind another thing. Five years ago you heard the beautiful haunting sounds of panpipes and waynas everywhere you went. Now the top hits of the 80’s and 90’s is all you hear. Anywhere.
A I prepare to leave, I walk around the other side of the summit and see a bunch of young girls racing each other and screaming those ear-piercing high octaves that only young girls can reach. They suddenly spot me and for some reason make me their target and race towards me, the first one embraces me and claims that she is the winner. The others plow into me a few seconds later, almost knocking me over. Then they smile, wave goodbye and off they go.
I head back down, stopping by Sacsaywayman to trail my fingers along the wall as I walk by it. My tourist ticket has long expired, so I can’t revisit the ruins, just touching the stones as I pass by.
I go to the Cappuccino Café again for lunch. More hot chicken soup and coca tea. Outside it has gotten a lot cooler and has started to rain. Hard. I spend the afternoon seeking shelter from the rain under the balconies around the plaza. Me and everybody else. It is raining harder and the water is getting deep with a fast current in the streets. Street corners the water can come up past your ankle, I know this because everyone has taken to watching people trying to cross the streets. Two gringo girls decide to make a run for it. The first girl leaps and make it over the flooded curb, the second girl misses by a mile and her pants are soaked to the knees. We all sympathize with her.
I wait out the rain spending money in the silver shops. I buy two rings and a pair of earrings. The rain continues. I decide it is time for me to make my way back across the plaza. I skip my way across one street, walk further uphill where the streets are not as flooded, then quickly cross to the other side, leaping the curb.
I dodge the rain under every balcony and awning that protrude above the sidewalks and eventually find myself in my favorite restaurant for one last dinner in Cuzco. I order the chicken soup and filet mignon smothered in a creamy mushroom sauce. A crisp cold Cusquena to drink. I am the only one in the place. A gringo girl enters and takes her place at the next table. We are chatting and enjoying our dinners when a whole bunch of people come in. They need the table the girl is sitting at, so she joins me and I learn that she is from British Columbia. She has already been here for three weeks on the Pacific coast and at Lake Titicaca. She said it snowed while she was in Puno. Her friends will be joining her in a couple of days.
I recommend Ollantaytambo and Hostal Iskay to here, since she is headed that way. We say goodbye and go our separate ways. Her off to find her hotel, me back to my room to pack. Tomorrow I fly back to Lima.
I get back to my room and decide I need a heater for the night. It is cold! The heater cost me $3. But it is worth it.
Thursday, Sept 15~ Up for breakfast, pay my tab and then out the door I go. As soon as I walk out the door a taxi is coming down the hill. He sees my luggage and stops. 4 sols to the airport. It’s a deal! He drops me off at the airport. The place is crowded. I find a seat by my gate and catch up in my journal. Our plane is a half hour late coming in from Lima. We eventually leave Cuzco and get airborne.
Lima is hidden under a thick dense grey carpet of clouds. We land around 2 pm and Angie is once again waiting outside the airport for me. She tells me that yesterday they had a beautiful sunny Spring-like day. Today it is grey and thick and hard to breathe in.
We get back to Casa Ana and I have a different room then before. I also have a fan, which I will probably need. Although it is cloudy, it is warm and humid. Compared to where I was these past two weeks, I find it rather stifling. My first day here I would have loved a heater.
I have heard it said, Peru is a country of two extremes. A country of two opposites.
I dump my stuff in my room, lock the door and head downtown for the Plaza de Armas. Angie has printed off a large version of the map of the city. I find myself remembering the way.
I am soon sitting on a park bench in the middle of the plaza enjoying the view. There are police stationed on every corner and some are standing behind riot shields. Some people this would make them feel nervous. It has the opposite affect on me. I explore Centro Lima, and then it is Norky’s again for dinner. Chicken on their wood-fired grill, French fries and a banana spit for dessert.
It is dark as I make my way back to Casa Ana. I join the masses as we cross the busy streets. At one intersection we try to cross, then are cut off my a ruthless driver, then someone rear ends somebody else which gives us the break we are looking for and we all run across the now jammed-up highway. Nobody stops to be a witness. Nobody cares. Neither do I. We pedestrians just want to get where we are going. And I am going back to Casa Ana and then I am going home tomorrow.
Friday, Sept 16~ Up at 6 am, all packed and eat breakfast downstairs. At the airport by 7. I stop at Café Britt in the airport and buy the biggest whitest teddy bear made out of baby alpaca that I can find. It is for my granddaughter who will be arriving in November. My first grandchild.
It will go good with the white alpaca rug I got for her . And her white alpaca booties.
In the sky by 9:20 am.
Arrive in Guayaquil, Ecuador by 11:30. This was the tight connection I had been worried about for the last couple of months and my late flight out of Lima just made it even tighter. I literally walk off the Lima flight and walk to the end of the terminal and board my San Salvador flight.
11:53 in the air winging our way to El Salvador. Arrive in San Salvador shortly before 2 pm. Greeted by sniffer dogs. At each gate, we are all processed, our luggage and parcels are searched and everyone is spread-eagle and patted down. A woman for the women. A man for the men. Everybody gets patted down.
2:57 Board my flight to Dulles, Washington D.C. Got into Dulles at 9:20 pm.
Catch the bus to the long term parking green lot and say “muchas gracias!” to the bus driver without even thinking.
Flew through four countries, drove through three states; Virginia, Maryland and Pennsylvania just to get home. All in 14 hours time.
Trip highlights: Pisac, Ollantaytambo and the hiking trails, San Agustin Monasterio de Recoleta Hotel, Moray, Salinas and Chinchero!
Friday, February 18 ~ We flew out of BWI at 6:10 AM, arrived in MIA around 8:30 AM. The pilot informed us that we were flying 530 mph with the help of a 80 mph tail wind. We arrived twenty minutes ahead of schedule. We had three hours to kill, so I had a couple of those yummy Bloody Mary’s and hem-hawed around till it was boarding time for our SAP flight.
The flight went smoothly and before you knew it we were arriving in San Pedro Sula at 1:30. I was a bit concerned because we had to be on Hedman Alas’ airport shuttle bus by 2:15. We made it in the nick of time. Got into Hedman’s bus terminal around 3, traffic was bad, and then it was on the bus to Copan. We had the first class seats and boy were they sweet! They were much like Lazy Boy recliners and even after all our flying, it was so nice to slide into the big, comfy seats. I would gladly take Hedman again anywhere, even preferred it over flying.
The road to Copan is a long one. Traffic was very heavy and we got stuck behind an eighteen-wheeler. As darkness settled over Honduras and with no street lights out in the hills, it was a pitch black night and there was no passing the eighteen-wheeler on that road. We finally got into Copan around 7 PM.
We were tired, bleary-eyed and hungry, after being on the road since 3 AM that morning. Stumbling around on the dusty street at the bus station all stiff-legged from our long day of travels, we were too tired to absorb all the hustle and bustle as moto taxis and their touts converged on us, all trying to sell us their services. We took the first guy up on his offer, $4 a person to our hotel. $8 for the two of us. I didn’t care, I just wanted to dump my things and get a decent dinner somewhere.
We were staying at Yat B’alam Boutique Hotel which got great reviews on Trip Advisor. Rina immediately greeted us when we stepped out of the mototaxi and her infectious happy attitude and bubbling laughter was like a healing balm for our weary souls.
The hotel only has four rooms. We had one facing the back which is a lot quieter than the ones facing the street. After ditching our gear, we headed down to the corner of the street and made a left to Carnitas N’ia Lola. It was brightly lit up, similar to a Christmas tree, all the tables downstairs were taken so we were shown upstairs. Ordered two Salva Vidas, nachos and a bean dip for appetizers, another round of beers and chicken fajitas for me, beef fajitas for my friend. With full bellies we headed back to our beautiful little hotel and fell into a blissful sleep.
Saturday, February 19 ~ I woke up early, shortly after 7 and walked downstairs to enjoy a coffee and take pictures while I waited for Kim. It is slightly cloudy out with pleasant temps. I am on my second cup when Kim joins me. I order a scrumptious piece of carrot cake which was on display in the little dining area of our hotel. Awesome cake and smooth, delicious reviving coffee!
We decide we are going to walk to the ruins and I take the lead. Unfortunately, I was looking at the map upside-down and after walking forever in the hot, now-shining sun, we both realize my error and we walk back into town, passing the cemetery and into the central plaza.
We stop by the bank and get our money exchanged, which is a good thing, since it is Saturday and the banks close at 10:30 AM. So, I guess getting lost sometimes does have it’s advantages.
Then it is off to the ruins.
The day is getting hot as we walk along the footpath which leads to the ruins. There is a small crowd of people ahead of us, as we pay for our tickets, and Kim lingers near them listening to their guide. I tell her guides cost money, she argues that no, he is included, I say not….this goes on for a bit, then I walk away. Kim trails behind the group of people until the guide walks back to her and explains that it costs extra money, no money no guide. I try to hide my grin when she laments to me…at least this time I was right…I might have gotten us lost, but at least I was right about one thing.
So we set off on our own. The ruins are beautiful, I would rate them right up there with Tikal, the setting is stunning. Along with the ruins we see lots of Macaws, Montezuma Oropendolas, Blue-Crown Mot Mots. The wind has kicked up, cooling us off and it makes for a perfect day for exploring the ruins.
After enjoying the ruins, we walk back into town and stop at Picame for a cold Salva Vida and a papaya milkshake for me. Supposedly, they are known for their roasted chicken, but it was just a snack of chicken nachos for us and then we head up the steep street.
Kim gets an idea; hey, how about stopping for one beer in each bar we pass by? I take her up on it. Before you know it, we are feeling pretty good and have somehow made our rounds and now are standing in front of Twisted Tanya’s. We get a seat at one of the corner tables overlooking all the telephone wires and a very beautiful sunset. Meet lots of interesting gringos. Never knew there were so many in Copan Ruinas, who would have thought? We are told that there are six US military bases in Honduras and soon to be a US Coast Guard base located on one of the Bay Islands, if all goes as planned. Seems Honduras is the halfway point for all the drug running between South America and the US. Seems it goes without saying, where there is money to be made, the military will be there.
Sunday, February 20 ~ Next day we are up around 8. After an exquisite, very long high-pressurized shower at Yat B’alam, I feel much better. We dine on a delectable breakfast downstairs and then walk across the street to use our favorite shop for internet. Then it is into a mototaxi and up to Macaw Mountain.
Macaw Mountain is very nice. I am a bird person, so for me it was like being a kid in a candy store. I held a lot of beautiful birds, photographed all of them and walked the grounds, down by the creek and over the bridge, looping back to the little restaurant to find my friend sitting in the shady garden area sucking down bottled water and a Sprite. Hmm? Hung-over, are we?
We take our leave. Our mototaxi driver has returned as promised and it is back to our hotel to scoop up our luggage and then back into the mototaxi and up the hill to Hacienda San Lucas, where we are spending the next two nights.
Hacienda San Lucas is a beautiful mountain-top property overlooking the Copan valley with Rio Copan winding through it. We are shown to our room, which is in the original farmhouse, right next to the kitchen. The day has become a rather hot one again and we spend the afternoon hanging out in the hammocks on the large shaded porches.
They offer us a lunch of chicken tamales, pickled vegetables, coffee and tres leche torta, or three milk cake which I have heard of forever, but never had it. It is incredible! No wonder it is so popular in CA and SA!
The afternoon starts cooling down around 4 PM. We once again have our energy back and set off on one of the many hiking trails. This one is heading in the direction of Los Sapos and as we wander along it, we spot a couple of Montezuma Oropendolas and Blue Jays. The hike is a lovely one and we arrive at Los Sapos which is a Mayan fertility/birthing site. Pictures are taken, imaginations run wild and then it is up to the village where they make the corn husk dolls.
There is a soccer game in progress, only men to be seen everywhere, so we don’t linger long and head back down the trail or I should say we attempt to …from out of nowhere a young lady spots us and makes a rapid beeline across the field with her little girl in tow and shows us her corn husks dolls. We politely say no, besides we came up this path with no money, but she is a persistent one. Her and her little girl follow us back down the trail.
From the looks of her, she is apparently halfway through her pregnancy and I hate the idea of her making that long walk down the trail when it will be dark soon, and neither of us are interested in her wares, to be completely honest. We tried to explain, but to no avail.
She soon gives up and in one last ditch effort she sent her little girl ahead of us to try to get us to buy, but we again explained we had no money…which we didn’t, not on us, while I am thinking all along…lo siento, mi no gusta.
We get back to the hacienda just as they are lighting the candles. There are candles everywhere. In our room, on the porches, the verandas, the kitchen, social area, reading room, bar, you name it. People are coming out of the woodwork. There is a group of thirty birdwatchers who have came back from their birding expedition and I am seated at the table next to them and listen with a smile on my face as the leader goes down the list, questioning whom saw what bird where? Kim joins me and laughs when she hears. You should introduce yourself and tell them the birds we saw, she says. She doesn’t understand…these folks are serious birders, rising long before daybreak….something I can only begin to imagine doing. I am a night owl.
The rest of the crowd shuffle in. It is a full house tonight at the hacienda. Dinner is served. All food is made from homegrown, organic, original Mayan ingredients. There is pureed carrot and ginger soup for starters, salad with beets and balsamic nut dressing, chicken, nutmeg and a Mayan Mole sauce with steamed cucumbers and cauliflower, for dessert we were hoping for the tres leche torta again, but we got a caramelized flan instead, which was very good also.
After dinner, the birders disappeared, true to their nature, while Kim and I sat under the magnificently spread blanket of stars and marveled at all the ones we never get to see back here, at home, due to our light pollution. Stars upon stars upon stars! I never knew there were so many stars inside Orion. Looked like you could just reach up and touch them.
Went to bed early, put my ear plugs in and fell into a deep sleep.
Monday, February 21~ Woke up around 7:30. Went down to the veranda for my morning coffee and am now sitting on one of the captain’s chairs enjoying the beautiful morning light across the Copan valley. Kim soon joins me, looking thoroughly ruffled. I asked her what’s wrong? She looks at me, amazed, and states didn’t you hear all that racket last night?
Well, apparently…the bird people got up around 3:30 for a 4 AM breakfast. Kim said she heard every rattle of every pot and pan, dishes clattering, an entire rack of glasses breaking on the floor, people talking…everything…meanwhile I slept through all of it. She said she got no sleep whatsoever. Folks…this is why you always travel with ear plugs.
Argie made the mistake to ask my friend how her night was while we were drinking our coffee. Kim told her about her sleepless night. Argie was terribly upset and apologized profusely. She explained how they had a full house and didn’t have another room to offer us. She expressed her concern and offered to find us another hotel in town. She called Yat B’alam, but they were booked full, then she called La Casa de Café. They were also booked, but one of their apartments across the street was available for the night. We agreed to take it.
Upon checking out, Argie billed us only for our meals. We insisted on paying for our one night, since we had had reservations for both nights. She said absolutely not. She said it is all about the representation. I felt bad. She had their driver take us to La Casa de Café, where we were promptly shown to the spectacular little apartment, Casa de Don Santiago.
The apartment was a two bedroom with two and a half baths, living room, dining room, kitchenette and little patio out back. Spotlessly clean, modern, came with all the amenities. We both loved it. We each have our own bedroom and bath. Kim could finally watch TV late at night, downstairs away from me, thank goodness!
After ditching our gear, we walked back to the ruins and paid for re-entrance and the tunnels this time. Once again we were back exploring the wonderful ruins and got our tickets punched to visit the tunnels. The tunnels though welcoming and a cool relief from the day’s heat are a bit overrated, not worth the $15 in my opinion. Maybe $3, not much more than that.
We once again stopped at Picame on our walk back into town. This time we had their fabulous cheeseburgers, French fries and two more papaya milkshakes. Great food; saw quite a few gringos stop by for their refreshing smoothies and milkshake takeouts.
We walked off our late lunch touring the town and shopping, then it was back for showers and change of clothes to jeans and t-shirts. I have noticed it does cool off nicely early evenings when the westerly winds rise up. We end up our day having dinner at Momo’s, which isn’t much of a place to look at, but we were told their food is awesome and it is! Filet Mignon dinner for $8. Can’t beat that! Back to our lovely apartment and a good night’s sleep.
Tuesday, February 22 ~ I awoke to find Kim already downstairs, which surprises me, usually she is the grumpy, can’t get her awake type person. She is in good spirits, got lots of sleep, so it is across the street we go to La Casa de Café for our breakfast which is included with the apartment. Another great meal, revitalizing coffee and then it is check-out time. We bid goodbye to our lovely hosts and jump in a mototaxi for our quick ride back to Yat B’alam for our last night’s stay in Copan. Our driver asks us if we are interested in horseback riding? Of course we are. He explains how we can do a horseback ride and zip-line excursion, he will set it up, he will pick us up tomorrow morning at 9 AM sharp, here at our hotel. We agree.
Rina once again greets us like family and our bags are dispatched to our room. I recalled reading in the Moon guidebook that if you stay at Yat B’alam, you get to use Posada Real’s pool for free. It is promising to be another hot one, so I ask Rina and she quickly produces her calling card. Just give it to the receptionist at the desk whenever you choose to go. We choose now, ‘cause it is hot!!
Another mototaxi is flagged down and we are on our way up the hill outside of town to what is now the Clarion Hotel. Beautiful large conference center-like hotel, nice lush green gardens, but most important…a sweet, inviting and curiously cold pool! We spend the day finally getting some down time, sunning ourselves, sipping cocktails and splashing in the cool refreshing water. Then it is back to our hotel, cleaned up and one last dinner at our favorite joint, Momo’s again, for another Filet Mignon dinner and a couple of beers.
Wednesday, February 23 ~ Up before 8, downstairs for coffee and breakfast, then sure enough, our driver is here to take us horseback riding and zip-lining. Our horses await us at the outskirts of town, and just the two of us ride while our guide walks behind us, for whatever reason that is, I don’t know. It is a nice, slow ride, although way too slow for my kind of riding, but never the less a peaceful one and we arrive at the top of the mountain overlooking Copan Ruinas. Our guide who has walked the entire way up tells us Guatemala is just over there, pointing to the mountain range on the other side. Then we make our way back down to the Rio Copan and follow the dirt road which takes us eventually back up to Hacienda San Lucas, but we stop at the Canopy Tour, just short of the hacienda’s entrance.
We dismount from our stable, little steeds and meet the two guys who harness us up for our zip-line adventure. Once equipped and suited up, we hop in the back of a pick up truck and are taken to the top of the zip line. From here it is all downhill! Lots of fun! The two guys took both our cameras and like pros shoot us coming and going, with one guy always ahead of us and the other one always behind us. Everything was done so well, very organized, very nice pictures and videos, very professional! Very pleased! We tip them generously and it is back to town on our trusty little ponies, then a quick shower, check-out and to the bus station to catch our Hedman Alas ride to San Pedro Sula.
Once again, Hedman doesn’t disappoint us, everything goes so well, we have great first class seats and it is a nice, smooth ride back to San Pedro Sula. Our driver from Metrotel Express is waiting for us and we are whisked away in his car to the Metrotel. It is very nice and clean with friendly, helpful staff. Has a guarded gated entrance and an armed guard for a doorman…makes you wonder about this city, but hey, we are just here for the night, then it is to Roatan tomorrow. One thing I do notice, it is more humid here. You can tell we have a change in altitude, definitely getting closer to the sea!
Thursday, February 24 ~
Slept like a rock last night, although a bit cold from the air-conditioner which was cranked, rose to find myself stiff and sore, especially the abs and upper arms from all the zip-lining. Downstairs enjoying my coffee and free continental breakfast when Kim shows up walking all hunched over and hurting. Her whole body hurts, she says, which makes me bowl over in fits of laughter which in turn only hurts me more, especially around the abdomen. Oh, but it we had fun, I remind her…
Our taxi driver returns on time, as promised and it is to the airport to catch our 10:15 flight to Roatan. You have to pay domestic departure fees of 37 lemps, not to be confused with the international fees of $37 USD at the airport, which needless to say, we were a bit confused at first. If traveling here, remember to save that cash for your international departures, because they don’t accept credit cards.
Flew on TACA Regional to Roatan. Arrived on the island in less than hour, amazed at how windy it is when you step off the plane. Our ride from Bananarama Dive Resort was waiting at the door and we were on our way in no time at all.
Bananarama is quite nice. But, also take note, this resort offers special deals to the cruise ships and when we arrived I was a bit dismayed to find the place over run with Carnival cruise ship people. Every beach chair was taken. Just about every table, every bar stool. They do rope off certain areas for hotel guests only, which I noticed the next day, but to be totally honest with you, I found it a bit intimidating at first. I wasn’t expecting this. I was seeking peace and quiet.
We managed to find two seats at the bar and enjoyed a few cocktails, a few beers and a couple of shots of courage, then things started to look up. By 4 PM the hordes of people started disappearing, back to the ship they went and we were left with the beach to ourselves and finally some quiet time.
Kim was drinking with Trish, an ex-pat, while I had wandered off, and she told her about the special on Thursday nights at Foster’s. Twin lobster tails for $12. So, naturally we had to go. We walked down the beach to Foster’s and found the place was hopping. We were quickly shown to a table and had an amazing lobster dinner that night.
Friday, February 25 ~ Had a good night’s sleep. I got up early, before 7 and grabbed my camera and snuck out for an early morning walk. I walked the empty tranquil beach, lavishing in the calmness, down to Las Rocas Resort where I enjoyed their breakfast buffet. By the time I got back to Bananarama, our beach was once again taken over by the cruisers. What a difference that creates! Found Kim relaxing on the hammock on our porch. We decided to skip the crowd and walk down the beach to West End for the day.
Once we got out of the cruiser’s radar, the beach was a delight to walk. We stopped whenever we got too hot and dived in, enjoying many unmarked, untouched near perfect swimming spots with undisturbed pristine beaches to photograph.
Took our time for once, had no where we had to be, and truly enjoyed this day. West End was busier than I had expected it to be, we did some shopping and then enjoyed Sprites and a banana split at some waterfront café.
We caught the 3 PM water taxi back to our hotel and happily found all the cruise ship people gone. I had made reservations the night before for dinner at the Vintage Pearl, so we showered, dressed and made it just in time for some awesome sunset pictures on the beach. Then we were shown to our wonderful little table at the Vintage Pearl. Trip Advisor rates it #3 on the island. I can’t imagine who the other two are, but the food was to die for! We shared a bottle of Argentinean Malbec along with a Baked Brie, I had Delmonico Steak, Kim had Red Snapper. I had Black Forest cheesecake, she had a Berry Torte. What an incredible dinner! The restaurant would be an awesome place for any of you romantics out there who might be up for a proposal, by the way. Any girl would love it!
Saturday, February 26 ~ Finally have the entire place to ourselves. All ships are out at sea. Now this is what you would call an island paradise! Enjoyed our breakfast at Bananarama, then we rented snorkels and masks and spent the morning snorkeling off the beach at the very western tip of West Bay. It was simply amazing! You could walk right in and see the most stunning reef formations, coral and fish in every hue. Sadly though, I did see one guy stomping all over the beautiful, fragile coral in his amphibian shoes. I can’t understand why it is not a protected area. In water that shallow, fins or any kind of footwear should be prohibited to protect the coral. We swam for hours, enjoying the perfect conditions and the few people.
When we stopped for lunch, we both realized we were too sunburned to go back out, but the bar came in handy and that is where we finished out the day. Then it was a nice starlit night’s walk down to Las Rocas for their King Crab and Spaghetti dinner for our last night in Honduras.
Sunday, February 27 ~ I can’t believe how fast the time went! It is all too soon over. Our driver took us to the airport for our 8 AM flight back to San Pedro Sula. Goodbye beautiful island, goodbye beautiful people!
We had a five hour layover in San Pedro Sula. Sit around and wait. The airport has a couple little shops, couple of cafes and fast food joints, and a bar/cigar lounge. Still it is better than Miami…
Honduras was amazing. I loved the highlands, guess I am more of a mountain girl than an island girl. Weather was perfect, could not have asked for anything better. The people of Honduras are exceedingly friendly, honest and kind, the food was better than we had expected it to be. Salva Vida is a great beer, coffee is of course awesome!
Yat B’alam in Copan Ruinas; would definitely stay there again. Copan Ruinas is very nice for walking anywhere and everywhere, always felt safe, never any hassle from anybody at any time. Only thing you have to fear is maybe a sprained ankle from the cobbled streets and the dangerous sidewalks on the steep streets which you think have steps connected to them, but they have sheer drops instead. That was the only danger I could see.
Momo’s; best food in Copan Ruinas, my opinion anyway. Carnitas draws more of a crowd, but the food wasn’t near as good there and prices were just about double. I guess you pay for the presentation…servers carrying food and drinks stacked high on there heads…
Hedman Alsa; can’t stop talking about how great they were! Very professionally ran, very organized, helpful staff. Awesome, comfortable Mercedes Benz busses. Need I say more?
The guys who run the Canopy Tour outside Copan Ruinas. Very sweet, patient, mild-mannered young men who have a certain expertise in photography.
Bananarama; although I wouldn’t stay there again, simply because of the cruise ship attractions, is a very pretty resort with cute little cabañas and just happens to be on the nicest beach on the island. Very friendly, considerate staff.
Tuesday, May 25~ Flew out of BWI at 6 AM and arrived in Miami at 8:30. Miami flight to GUA boarded on a timely fashion and things were going well up until I noticed we seemed to be circling too many runways and basically touring the tarmac. It was then that the pilot came over the intercom stating that there was a mechanical problem and we would be returning to our gate. After sitting at the gate for close to an hour they made a decision that we would all have to get off the plane, since nobody knew how long the repairs would take or if we were leaving at all.
We all got off and amazingly there was a bar right next to our gate so I made a beeline to the bar for a Bloody Mary. One went down too fast, so I had to have another. That was when Peter, a New York textile salesman on my flight joined me for another drink and then mercifully, our flight boarded and we were on our way. I fell asleep shortly after take-off and woke to the announcement “flight attendants, prepare for landing” in GUA.
Since we were delayed two hours getting into GUA, I missed my shuttle to Antigua, but luckily for once everything else was going right and another shuttle was immediately available and charged $10, the same price as the one I missed.
I got in with three other women and we were on our way to Antigua in the pouring rain. I was dropped off at the lovely Hotel Casa Cristina, ditched my gear and walked around the corner to Fernando’s Café for an invigorating cup of joe.
Walked around Antigua taking pictures and ended up at the Café Sky bar where I had an awesome dinner of French Onion soup and Chicken Quesadillas. I was slightly confused when I got the check as you could see there was an additional 10 percent added to it, which I assumed was the tip, as most places in Antigua do, but when I questioned the server he said, “no, no tip” which I still don’t know whether he meant it was already included or no tip needed…so I gave him a tip anyway. Maybe it was a misunderstanding, maybe intentional, I don’t know but I didn’t go back, even though I have always like the place in the past.
I walked back to my hotel and went to bed early since I had got no sleep the previous night and slept like a rock in my comfortable bed and quiet hotel room.
Wednesday, May 26~ Woke up at 6 AM, bright and early. I was one of the first customers at Fernando’s Café, met Missya the cat and enjoyed my excellent French Toast and fresh fruit, another bold cup of latte and I was on my way to Antigua Tours by the plaza to pay for my Elizabeth Bell walking tour ticket. I ran into another single woman traveler from North Carolina, sitting in El Portal Café, it was her first time in Guatemala and she was nervous and full of lots of questions, so we sat and had more coffee and talked while I waited for the Antigua Tours guy to show up. After paying for my ticket, I headed back to my room for my gear and met up with Elizabeth Bell’s group which had already started.
The tour cost $20, lasted three hours and was very informative and interesting. I had hoped to go through some of the other ruins, but she took us to the Cathedral, some little hotel, the Santa Domingo Hotel and through a Jade store. She was very knowledgeable about their government and Antigua’s history, but I was more interested in learning the actual history behind the San Francisco el Grande church, the Convent of Cappuchinas, the actual Santa Domingo ruins and some of the other ancient crumbling ruins which are prominent in Antigua. Just a tad bit disappointed with it. I mean…anyone can walk into one of the many Jade shops or through the Santa Domingo hotel. After the tour I grabbed a quick lunch at Café Condesa which ended up being one of my two favorite restaurants in Antigua.
I had also purchased an afternoon tour to the five surrounding villages outside Antigua through Antigua Tours, which turned out to be much better and well worth the money. It was just me and my wonderful guide, Robert Spillari. We visited the Bishop's Palace in San Juan del Obispo, the villages of San Pedro las Huertas, San Antonio Aguas Calientes ( I was dressed up in a hupile and corte), San Lorenzo del Cubo and Ciudad Vieja. Also stopped by the Valhalla Macadamia Nut Farm where I got to try some delicious chocolate-covered macadamias and even could have had a macadamia facial, which I passed up. I highly recommend this tour, gets you off of the beaten gringo path and gives you a tiny glimpse into the local villages and their way of life.
That put me back into Antigua by 5:30 PM, with a growling tummy and food on my mind, I went in search of dinner. I ended up at Frida's for a delectable meal of pollo mole, then it was shopping at Nim Pot. I spent way too much money in Nim Pot, and visited La Merced for prayer and meditation before I headed back to my hotel to pack for my early morning shuttle to the lake tomorrow.
Thursday, May 27~ Up bright and early and raring to go. My shuttle showed up and I was on my way to the lake. Expecting a crowded shuttle, I got a good window seat (so I could rest my head and sleep) but it turned out we only had nine people in our van. I learned yesterday from Robert, my tour guide, that this is the slow season and boy is it ever. I am amazed at the lack of gringos I have been coming across! They are few and far between.
Apparently since our van is so empty, the shuttle makes a detour through another town and we pick up five Guatemalan students and then we are once again detoured where we climb into another van and finally we are on our way to the lake. We stop halfway there for a quick cup of coffee/snacks and eventually get to the lake, three hours after leaving Antigua, which is a bit longer than usual, but we are finally here…
It has been raining off and on since this morning and by the time I am dropped off at Hotel Utz Jay, it is pouring. Rain, rain, rain! I am forced to sit on my porch and wait for the rain to abate just a bit, since I have no umbrella. I did bring along a light windbreaker/rain coat, but this is a brutal, hard rain. The rain lets up a bit and I walk down to Calle Santander.
When I came down here, I had just assumed it would be like always, lots of tourists everywhere. Well…there is hardly any tourists here at all. I am just nosing around, with no intentions of buying anything (I have a whole houseful of Guatemalan textiles) and the vendors must think I am just trying to drive a hard bargain, because they keep lowering their prices to ridiculously cheap amounts. I try to tell them I really don’t NEED anything. In turn they offer me an even better deal. Sorry, I am just looking…it humbles me to see them this way. Anybody reading this…you need to come to Guatemala and help support the local people!! Tourism is their bread and butter here, their meal ticket. I do end up buying some things which I really don’t need, anyway.
The hard rain has started up again and I seek refuge in Llama de Fuego Café for a cup of coffee and a steaming hot bowl of soup. What an adorable little café!
Another break in the weather and I head down to the Sunset Café and check out both boat docks before the rain returns. It is later on in the day when I am having my dinner that I run into Julio Cochoy; an economist with the Guatemalan Government Department of Human Rights who lectures on the recent civil war, Maya cultural resurgence, and Maya immigration to work in USA. Julio is fascinating to listen to and we soon find ourselves back at the Sunset Café to watch the daylight drain from the darkened skies and tiny glimmers of light appear from the distance villages around the lake. There is a band playing and a small crowd of people have surfaced to dine. It is late when Julio walks me back to my hotel and we promise to meet early the next day to go to Solola’s Friday market.
Friday, May 28~ I meet Julio at 8 AM at the Jasmin Deli for a wonderful breakfast and couple cups of coffee. I am so thankful that you do get good coffee here in Guatemala, the land which produces it, unlike Ecuador who exports all their coffee and serves you Nescafe instant coffee instead. That is unpardonable, in my opinion!
Julio has the Prensa Libre newspaper and I see the pictures of Pacaya Volcano and all the ash dumped on Guatemala City. It is here I learn of Tropical Storm Agatha bearing down on us. And I thought this was just the start of the rainy season;) We finish breakfast and it is raining hard as ever again. We hail a tuk tuk to Pana’s church and then from there we catch a taxi up to Solola. I am so glad to be with Julio, this is an authentic Mayan market , as real as it gets! Most of the locals here only speak their own Mayan tongue. Julio is Mayan also and says they speak three different Mayan languages at this market. He tells me there are 25 different Mayan languages altogether. It would be extremely intimidating and difficult to maneuver in this market without Julio acting as my guide. I did only bring my camera…no purse. I have cash stuffed in my bra and cash stuffed in my socks, since this place is supposed to be a pickpocketer’s dream! We manage to make it out alive and unscathed. But, what an experience!!
We get back to Panajachel, Julio has to leave for Huehuetanango and I head back to my hotel to check my emails. By the time I head back to Calle Santander, it is pelting buckets of rain. I break down and buy an umbrella. Eat dinner at Llama de Fuego and head back to my room to pack. I am leaving for Santiago tomorrow.
Saturday May 29~ woke up all bleary-eyed after a fitful night sleep. It rained so hard overnight, the drumming on the roof made it all most impossible to sleep. I eat breakfast at my hotel, grab my bags and start walking down the sidewalk to Calle Santander. A tuk tuk rounds the corner and I flag him down. My stuff is pretty well soaked in the minute or two of walking in the driving rain. He drops me off at Pana’s Santiago boat dock and by the time I am on the boat I am drenched completely through.
There is a tuk tuk waiting at the boat dock in Santiago. The driver wants way too much for the ride to Posada de Santiago, but it is dumping deluges of rain on me and all I want is in, so I don’t even attempt to negotiate. He drops me off at the Posada and I am more than happy to be in this dry, accommodating haven of rest and where awesome food awaits! I am shown two cottages, I get my pick, and decide upon Casa Angel. It does have the best view of the lake, that is if you would be able to see the lake through all this rain. As I set about unpacking I discover that both beds are wet, there is a leak inconveniently above both beds. So…I grab my umbrella and walk back down to the lobby to tell them I need to change cottages. No problem, I am now in Casa Quetzal , which doesn’t have a view of the lake, but not a problem there since you can’t see much further than the next cottage anyway, through all this driving rain.
I start a fire and unpack, hanging all my damp clothes from the mantle or as close to the fire as I can get them. Nothing now to do but watch the fire and listen to the rain. My clothes dry quickly with a nice wood smoke smell on them and I grab my umbrella and head down to check my email and settle in for dinner. It is while I am on the Lonely Planet web site that we lose electricity. No problem; candles are brought out, the acoustic guitars are tuned up, dinner is served, bottles of wine are consumed and the lights come back on. I meet two other women from New Jersey, mother and daughter and we have a great evening enjoying the music, food and ambience at the Posada. Dave is as charming as ever!
Sunday, May 30~ The rain has stopped ! The sun is trying to shine! I enjoy an awesome breakfast of Blue Corn Pancakes and Posada coffee, then I walk up to Panajab to see the village where the huge mudslide swept 1400 people away, back in 2005. There is another mudslide , further away from what remains of the town and everybody, locals and visitors like me are out and about surveying the damages.
I get back to the Posada just as Beth and her daughter Lori are checking out and leaving to cross the lake. I leave the Posada and start making my way down to the boat dock but somehow I take a wrong turn and end up in Santiago’s plaza. Since I am not in a hurry and don’t really have any plans I wander around Santiago and eventually do find myself on the street to the boat dock. I get accosted by a very persistent boy selling beaded bracelets and end up buying two off of him. This causes me to miss a boat leaving for San Pedro, now I have to wait another hour for another boat to leave, since there are so few tourists and so few travelers. So, I wander over to a local vendor’s food stand and buy a soda off of her and sit down to unwind and watch the local activity.
It is soon time to go and I spot the captain who tells me we are going in the big boat. 20 Qs for the big boat…not bad I think. Little do I know but soon find out, that taking the big boat is like “taking the slow boat to China…”
I could swim faster than this, I’m thinking… as we putter across the lake to San Pedro. An hour later, we finally arrive. As we are coming in closer to the shoreline we see all these people down by the water’s edge, looking in the reeds, checking out the boggy areas. A guy sitting next to me tells me they are looking for a little girl who got swept away in a mudslide last night. You can see the fresh raw gash high up on the hillside where the ground left loose and came slashing down through the lush greenery covering the cliffs. A wave of emotion seeps through your veins as you watch them searching. I can’t imagine their pain.
Pulling into the dock, I can see a family who has dragged all their earthly possessions (kitchen stove, bedspring and mattresses, cupboard, end tables, chairs, all covered with mud) into the lake and they are washing them off by hand. I feel ashamed and try not to stare. Here I was, coming off the boat slightly annoyed because of my misfortune in taking the “slow boat” when they are in the lake scrubbing mud from their household items and some other family just lost their daughter…
I walked the streets of San Pedro with a lot on my mind. I rounded a corner and heard one single solitary mournful church bell clanging. Without thinking, I had my camera raised and ready when out of the church came a priest carrying a cross high above his head, followed by a coffin being carried just as high, followed by the family and the rest of the mourners. It was such a shock, after losing my Dad last summer, I wasn’t ready for this and surprised by the sob which rose out of my chest. I was thankful for my dark sunglasses.
I eventually come back to the boat dock (Panajachel side) and wait for a boat to go to San Juan. I learn that there are no boats running because there are not enough tourists. I spot a tuk tuk and ask the driver to take me to San Juan. He does for a couple of Qs.
He asks me where I want dropped off at and since I have never been to San Juan before, all I can think of is the church. So that’s where he drops me off at. San Juan is remarkably clean, very pretty and everybody is friendly. Totally different vibe than what I got in San Pedro, Santiago or Panajachel. Nobody harassed me, no children begging for money (Santiago was brutal) nobody trying to sell me anything. I wandered freely around town taking pictures of the many beautiful murals and brightly-painted buildings. What a charming little village! I stopped by the cemetery and bought a beautiful scarf in a local co-op. Then it was another tuk-tuk ride back to San Pedro’s Santiago boat dock.
It was here the boat captains and there sidekicks messed with me. A couple of the drugged-up sidekicks demanded an outrageous price for a private boat to Santiago. I laughed at them. They told me a public boat would be here soon. I waited. They told me 5 PM. I waited. At 5:30 they told me “too late now, no more boats, come back tomorrow.” I was so frustrated I wanted to choke them…or cry, whichever happened first. I walked into the local sports bar next door and complained to the owner who along with his drunken clientele was no help at all. He told me ‘you are going to have to pay them whatever they are asking, or stay here overnight.”
I went back out and spied the captain who was walking down to the boat dock with his little girl. I begged him to take me back to Santiago, asked him “what do I have to pay you?” He said “150 Qs.” I begged him “100, por favor” He said okay. He and his sidekick and another guy climbed in a boat with me. The other guy climbed up next to me and spoke a little English. I found out that he lives in Santiago. So…I figured that they knew they had me, they knew I needed to get back to Santiago, it was just a “cat and mouse game” to them, and I was their mouse.
Once again, a tuk-tuk was waiting by the boat dock and the Santiago man I crossed the lake with told the tuk-tuk driver I was going to Posada de Santiago and he told me it would be 5 Qs. The tuk-tuk driver said “No, 10 Qs.” The tuk-tuk driver argued with the local man, I ended up paying the 10 Qs. The point of this story is… the Santiago man I rode the boat over with…well, it seemed like he was trying to help me out after all.
Boy was I happy to be back at the Posada! But, when I walked in well past 6:30 PM, their dinner hour, there was no one around. It was just me for dinner, although it was once again an incredible meal!
Grilled Beef Tenderloin
One-half pound portion of field-raised, marinated tenderloin, grilled with olive oil, butter, garlic, fresh ground black peppercorns and Chilean red wine
Absolutely incredible! Dave, wherever did you find your Chef?
Once I was back in my bed with the fire well-stoked, I thought back on my day’s advents. I understand that times are even tougher now down here, with hardly any tourists. I know that the couple of dollars I bickered over could be the difference between a full belly or going to bed hungry for most. It was just that I know how much the going rates are and how much they jack them up for me, a gringo, versus a local. That’s the part that tweaks me so.
Monday, May 31~ I am leaving Santiago today. I have one last wonderful breakfast at the Posada; a cheese, avocado and bacon omelet, more Posada coffee…then I pay my final tab and catch a tuk-tuk to the boat dock. Funny how the tuk-tuks from the Posada to the boat dock are only 5 Qs when they are double that to come back….
I get on board the boat leaving for Panajachel and the captain charges me 30 Qs plus 5 Qs for my carryon! I can’t believe that! What? I argue with him, but it gets me nowhere. The boat isn’t even full, but I still have to pay 5 Qs. Unbelievable. I can’t get out of Santiago fast enough.
After a few engine stalls and some worried looks in the middle of the lake, we arrive at the Santiago boat dock in Panajachel and everybody’s speechless including me! Speechless! See for yourself . We stumble off the boat like we are all shell-shocked, just gaping at the mess Tropical Storm Agatha created and left behind.
Local Mayan people, men, women and children are all gathering up firewood out of the lake. This firewood which the lake brought them is the blessing which the curse left behind. Life is a series of give and take. You can see it now more then ever. I make my way over to Sunset Café where I spot a tuk-tuk which takes me over to the main Panajachel boat dock.
There they get me on a boat so fast I can barely get my change back, and we are off once again crossing the lake, this time it takes me to La Casa Del Mundo. The first gringo I see in a long time asks me if La Casa Del Mundo is open? “What? It better be!” I exclaim. She tells me most places are closed, most have evacuated. I am stunned. We pull up to La Casa Del Mundo’s dock and much to my relief their staff come down to the dock to carry my stuff for me. I get up to the lobby only to have Oscar apologizing and worriedly explaining that they have no electricity, but they do have solar power, so they do have hot water and they use gas for cooking. I smiled and reassured him, that is no problem at all! He seems greatly relieved! He states that all their guests have cancelled and there is only one other couple there besides me. I tell him once again, “no problemo!”
He has another staff member take me up to my beautiful room and I am quite happy! After dispatching my stuff, I wander around the grounds amazed at all the new constructionand new additions being added on to this already gorgeous hotel.
Dinner time rolls around and the other couple appear seeming genuinely surprised to have another guest joining them. They tell me Jaibalito and Tzununa have been hit hard, lots of people lost their homes, lots of mudslides. Jaibalito had no electricity for a total of four days, two of them being while I was there.
After dinner, Oscar has one of the staff lead the way back to my room with a lighted candle. He also gives me a couple of candles for in my room. I read by candlelight until I’m sleepy than after I blow the candles out, I see an amazing sight. The cloudless night sky is just full of stars, so many it looks like you could reach out and gather them all into your arms. Truly an amazing sight! I have never seen so many stars in my life, except for that one moonless winter night in the Colorado Rockies.
Later on I awoke to the sound of hard rain once again upon the roof. I laid in my bed, in the middle of the night, on that sheer, steep cliff and thought about mudslides.
Tuesday June 1 ~ I awoke to the palest pink sunrise I have ever seen. Pastel pink and lavender clouds were lazily hovering around the volcanoes as I walked down to La Casa Del Mundo’s dining room. Oscar was manually hand brewing coffee, so I sat at my favorite table and patiently waited for my morning fix. The other guest showed up without his girlfriend, apparently a coffee addict also, and we chatted while we waited. Turns out they were from California and came down on a whim for a weekend getaway. He seemed shy when I met them yesterday, but I soon find out you get him talking about traveling and now it is quite a different story. He tells me about his travels from Mexico to Panama during the traumatic ‘80’s, the civil wars, the guerillas, he talks about his travels to Turkey and Mongolia. This man is a walking wikipedia. Before we realize it our coffee is ready and his sleepy-eyed girlfriend joins us.
Breakfast is served, more coffee consumed and then I climb up to my room for my swimsuit and both cameras.
The sun has burned through the clouds and it is a brilliant, crystal clear day. Quite warm also. I get up the nerve to jump in the lake, ahhh it feels so good…I didn’t think I would be doing this after all the debris and trash I have been seeing in the lake before I arrived at La Casa Del Mundo but surprisingly, over on this side the water is an amazing, untainted, crystalline green color!
I am having a great time enjoying my swim, the sun is hot and I lie down to soak in some rays. I doze off for about a half an hour and when I lift my head I am dismayed to see that a whole lot of debris has found it’s way to this little cove in the lake. The shoreline cropping around the hotel’s grounds is now just littered with floating trash.
So much for that. Thank goodness, I got to enjoy my swim before this settled in. I pick up my things and climb back up to my room to shower, change and head up the path for Santa Cruz.
Yesterday, I had hiked the path over to Jaibalito. The path was very nice and relatively easy, winding it’s way down a slight ravine through trees, bushes, tall grasses and wild flowers. I was doing fine until I heard someone coming up the trail towards me, I couldn’t see him because of the lush thicket…but I could hear him singing and he was obviously extremely inebriated. My heart started pounding. Here I am, all alone, basically in the middle of a dense jungle-like setting and I got a drunk man heading my way. What if there is more than one? My heart is now a drum beating in my ears. I had always heard of the flight or fight instinct…now I get to experience it…and my first thought was flight. I could dive in these bushes and hide, hopefully he won’t see me. (By this time I assumed he was alone because of the way he was singing.) Then I thought, what if there are snakes, spiders, or poison ivy in there? I then thought; I have the element of surprise on him, he thinks he’s alone, maybe the shock of seeing me will throw him. I gathered up all the courage I could find in myself, postured myself up as tall as I could be and went barreling down that path just as self-assured as I could possibly make myself look. It worked. I met him on a jut of the hill, coming around the corner of a big boulder, and he was quite taken back by the sight of me. He wheeled and wobbled and ‘bout fell over as I plowed by him, but after I passed him, I heard him say, “kiss, kiss…”
I kept moving down that hill with as much confidence as I could muster but inside I could feel my heart banging hard against my chest, my legs felt weak and my knees were shaking. I came upon a fork where the path split into two parts, I had intended on heading back further into the thickest part towards Jaibalito, but there was a handmade sign poking out of the ground with the name of some hotel pointing towards the lake, and with a drunk possibly on my tail, I headed for the hotel and hopefully some inhabitants.
That was one of the few times I was truly scared. The other time was coming across the lake on the boat, after we had left Santiago. The boat prop had hit some debris, it was a hard hit, and the engine shut off. The captain pulled up the prop to check it, apparently there wasn’t too much damage, cause it started back up. That happened twice. It was not a good feeling; with the water as rough as it was, to be sitting on that boat wondering whether we were going to make it or not.
(just another reason why I gave up on the boats and took to hiking the high paths ‘round the lake)
Once I found the hotel and saw the lake, I made my way down to the water’s edge and followed the shoreline till I came upon a mudslide. Huge parts of the hillside were washed away and there was now a deep gorge where the cement walkway was. I gingerly made my way down into the deep hole and contemplated on where I would cross over at. A gushing creek was carved in the crevasse carrying the remaining runoff of all the rain into the lake. While I was standing there lost in thought, a local Mayan man and his young daughter climbed down and crossed the creek. I followed in their footsteps. I found the street which leads up from Jaibalito’s boat dock and walked up the hill till I came to Vulcano Lodge. All the times I have stayed at La Casa Del Mundo, I had always wanted to check out the Vulcano Lodge, only because it gets the best reviews on Tripadvisor, but I never did. This time I made up my mind I would. Well…I get there and the place is deserted. I am told by a passing local, they had to evacuate. The beautiful gardens which were once abundant are gone. The buildings look like they have survived but there is a wash of river stones and boulders left behind where the mudslide went through, taking with it everything in it’s path.
As I make my way back to my hotel, sidestepping all the rubble and climbing over all the ruin left behind from Tropical Storm Agatha, my brain is boggled as it absorbs all the damage. I can’t explain it. And I am just a visitor here, merely passing through. What is must be like for those who live here? I can’t comprehend it.
That was yesterday. Today I am going to hike to Santa Cruz. I wrestle up all my courage and start up the steep path from La Casa Del Mundo. This path is a bit tricky at times and I have to fend off my fear of heights in a couple spots, but once I get by them, things are a lot easier. The path takes me down pass Isla Verde Hotel and all it’s cabins perched high on the hillside. I can see they have dragged out all their bed linens, household items and kitchen wares; washed them and now they are spread out in the sun to dry. I continue on and see more gaping gorges, mud-marked tree trunks, and mud-caked tile walls of houses. I arrive at La Iguana Perdida and Santa Cruz’s boat dock. In the past this place has always been a hub of activity, now it is barren and empty. Not much going on at the Iguana, so I walk over to Arca de Noe where I am invited in for lunch. I accept. Lunch consists of an amazing grilled ham and cheese sandwich, cole slaw and a cappuccino.
I retrace my tracks back the way I came, skirting the deep gaping wounds in the ground, crossing the shallow waters where the lake has bled in. Turn right pass the big uprooted tree, squeeze up through the crawlway where the sidewalk used to be and follow the path back through the grassy knoll which takes you cross the bridge and puts you back on track, up the hill and eventually back to La Casa Del Mundo.
I am exhausted both mentally and physically by the time I get back to my room. I rest for a bit and then wander down to the lobby to learn that the electricity is back on! Yea! We have Wifi! I immediately ask Oscar if I can use their laptop. He brings it over, plugs it in and I am happily checking emails. I get an email from my mother stating that American Airlines called her and told her my flight was cancelled. I ask to use their cell phone and try to call American Airlines in Guatemala City, but I get put forever on hold and finally hang up with no success. I’m not so happy anymore.
By this time, another couple has arrived at La Casa Del Mundo. I imagine it is like being on furlough, when you finally get to see other people and you hungrily grasp at any news they might have to pass on to you from the other part of the world. They tell me their GUA flight was rerouted through San Salvador, then they were bussed to Guatemala City, finally making it to La Casa Del Mundo. Wow! That’s determination. They are staying here a couple of days and then they are heading for Tikal.
The girlfriend of the other guy, the talkative one, shows up and tells us her boyfriend is sick in bed, apparently he ate something bad in San Marcos. I was a bit worried about that also, since most of these villages didn’t have proper refrigeration for a number of days, but all was well for me.
Dinner was served and the five of us sat together and talked about devastation, mudslides, loss of lives, and flight cancellations.
Back to my room to pack. I leave to go back to Antigua tomorrow, back to Casa Cristina and who knows what else. The word we are getting out here on the lake is that GUA is still closed. I was supposed to fly home on Thursday, but that was before my flight got cancelled. I have to wait and see what happens…
Wednesday, June 2 ~ Up early. Since the electricity came back on yesterday afternoon, I had the opportunity to recharge all my batteries for both cameras and now I am out and about taking pictures of La Casa del Mundo, the gardens, the lake, the volcanoes and anything that moves.
By 7:30, I am in the dining room with my coffee, breakfast is ordered and I got the laptop. Once again I try American Airlines web site to no avail and after more frustration, I finally give it up and pass the laptop on to the other couple who came down for breakfast. Breakfast arrives; it is whole wheat pancakes with warm apple topping, yogurt and fresh fruit…same thing I had yesterday, but it is just so dag-gone good, had to have it again.
Finished up my scrumptious meal, paid up my total tab for the two nights, food, drinks…tipped generously and then up to my room for my bags and down to the boat dock I headed. My shuttle pickup in Panajachel to Antigua is at 12 noon, but experience has taught me the boats (and the captains) aren’t as reliable now, after this natural disaster occurred and the lack of tourists.
One of the hotel’s staff helps me with my stuff down the steps to the dock. A boat is coming our way and the captain asks if I’m going to Panajachel. There is no one else on board so I ask firstly if this is a private boat, “no” he says, “publica,” then I ask “how much?” cause I want to get that out of the way before I set foot in it. Both he and La Casa Del Mundo’s employee say “15 Quetzales.” I repeat it back to make sure. “Si, 15” they both reply.
Good, I think to myself. I am helped in and off we go, leaving the beautiful hotel heading for Panajachel. We go a little distance, about halfway to Santa Cruz and he stalls the motor and says he now needs 100 Quetzales. He motions with his hands that there are no other people, he needs 100 Quetzales. NO, not again, I am thinking! This is a bunch of bull! When did they become like this? “No!” I say, and then I spout off how both he and the hotel employee told me 15 Q’s,… you can’t do this now! I heard you, we all agreed, absolutely not! He pulls out of his pocket a calculator and taps up a number and leans towards me showing now he wants 50. “No, no, I don’t have it” I angrily state. “You know what, just take me to Santa Cruz!” I say. All the while I am trying to recall what bill I do have in my pocket, I think it is a 20, but now I am so mad I can’t remember. It might be a 50. If it is a 20 I can just shove it at him and say that is all I have, but now I am thinking it is a 50 after all, so there goes that argument.
He is still stalling the engine, so I pull the bill out of my pocket and he and I can now both see that it is a 50. Rats! I give it to him. He smiles and fires up the engine and instead of heading for Panajachel, we stop at Santa Cruz. This is just stupid…I am thinking. Now I have already paid him, there is nothing else I can do.
I figured we would stop here anyway, a straight run to Pana would have been to much to hope for. He pulls in and starts yelling “Panajachel” like they do, then he looks at me and ask me if I am getting out. I just shake my head and don’t budge. He keeps touting his ride and very slowly a few local people make their way down and then we start backing out when another public boat (this one with lots of people and I am sure a lot cheaper…) heading for Pana stops by. I can see a handful of gringos heading our way and our boat captain goes a little crazy and lunges his boat back to the dock, screaming “Pana! Pana!” The other captain gives up, backs out and leaves. The four gringos climb on board and we are now officially bound for Panajachel. There was a certain note of desperation in the poor man’s cry and display, I start to feel sorry for him. I guess desperate times lead to desperate measures. I am ashamed of myself.
By the time we get back to Panajachel, it is a relief to see that most of the firewood and trash have been retrieved from the lake along Pana’s shoreline. What does remain is still being collected.
It is stinking hot as I get off the boat and make my way up to the new little bar which sits on the incline, before you reach the street. For the life of me, I can’t remember the name of it. I have an ice cold Gallo and reminisce. For the first time since I have been coming here, I am actually anticipating leaving the lake. Just that it was all so raw; the mudslides, all the people that died, lost of homes, all the damage, all the desperation, difficulty in modes of transportation on the lake or lack thereof, and the constant shakedown of the stranded gringo. As I sat and reflected back, I realize how immensely draining this leg of the trip has been, both mentally and physically.
A couple of other gringos are waiting with me at the appointed stop and our shuttle arrives on time. I climb in and get the back seat, with a big wide open window, the others get in and we are off for Antigua. We make our way up and out of Panajachel, past lots of fallen trees, more mudslides, we are detoured through Solola and then back onto the main road again. It is simply astounding; all the devastation we see on our way back to Antigua. Huge landslides, more mudslides, partial roads missing or still covered with earth and downed trees. At one place the road had turned into a stream which our shuttle forded and continued on.
We arrive into Antigua around 3 PM. I am once again dropped off at Casa Cristina. Rosario is in the office and I explain to her about my flight cancellation. I use their phone to call American Airlines and amazingly I immediately get through and am quickly rebooked on an afternoon flight out of GUA for Sunday, June 6. That is one load off my mine. Next, she books me for three more nights in the same room I have been using. One more thing needs attended to. I have been emailing my brother, asking him to contact my neighbors and let them know I will be staying in Guatemala longer than expected, since they are my critters’ caretakers while I am gone. This has been worrying me more than anything else. An email confirms that all is taken care of, they will continue taking care of my animals…now I feel much, much better. Time to finally relax, kick back and start enjoying this vacation!
While I was in Panajachel last week, I had met some Antiguans who were spending a weekend getaway at Hotel Utz Jay and they told me about a place called “Hectors” in Antigua, supposedly known for their food. I decided to try it out. This ended up being the “other” of my two favorite places in Antigua. This place is incredible! Wow! I had a late lunch there; roasted sun-dried tomatoes with mozzarella in an olive oil, balsamic and garlic vinaigrette served with fresh bread, and a crispy cold Gallo. Yummy!
Spent the rest of the evening wanderin ‘round town and then dinner at Frida’s before heading back to my hotel .
Thursday, June 3 ~ Woke up to a spectacular morning. Funny how the day I was supposed to be leaving…well, it turns out to be the nicest weather we had yet! I had another lovely breakfast at Fernando’s and then I set off looking for the old ruins of Ermita de la Santa Cruz . I recalled seeing it on Google Earth. It sat at the very edge of town, but I can’t remember where exactly. I was told Antigua has 32 churches. I figured since I have all this time on my hands, I am going to take pictures of each one. I just have to find them first.
The location of the church I am seeking inadvertently finds me at the bottom of the hill, at the walkway up to the cross which overlooks Antigua. Now, I could not have found this if I had wanted to…and this was something I had wanted to do, but forgot about. There are three other gringos not too far ahead of me, so I manage to catch up to them and walk along up to the cross. Just like in the photos I’ve seen, it is truly an amazing view of Antigua.
The day has become quite warm. I stop by El Portal Café for an iced frappuccino and tiramisu. Refreshed and revived, I am off to Jocotenango to find the orange and white church , which I have seen on Google Earth and our shuttle brought us by it on our way into Antigua. Kind of have an idea where it is. I walk and walk. Three times I stop and ask directions to the church. I know that blanca means white but I can’t remember the word for orange. I do happen to be wearing an orange tank top, so I point at the orange when asking for directions to the iglesia.
Elizabeth Bell had told us on the walking tour I took that Antiguans are famous for pointing the way. Nobody ever tells you the name of the street…they will just walk you to the curb and point. I found that to be true. Three times I asked and three different people pointed me down this way and then back that way. It was the just motions with their arms, no verbal instructions like three blocks down, then turn right and go two more blocks on such and such a street. They just point. This way and then that way. So I walked and walked. The afternoon sun is beating on me, my shoulders are getting quite red and I am hot, thirsty and tired. My feet hurt. I find a church but it isn’t the orange and white one, so I think maybe they might have misunderstood me and sent me to this one. I take the pictures, turn around and make my way back to Casa Cristina.
I shower, change and haul my sunburned self back out in search of dinner. Hector’s it is and the dinner is just truly amazing! Tenderloin steak sandwich with French fries and a glass of their house red. The tenderloin is perfectly seasoned and melts in your mouth. I do want to add that I like their idea of greeting you with a bowl of assorted olives when you are seated. Heck, I would go back just for the olives!
Friday June 4 ~ Another gorgeous day! Breakfast at Fernando’s and then I wander into town to explore the church and convent of Capuchinas. I find the nunnery fascinating , especially each tiny little room where you could see they had some type of heating duct (at least that is what it looked like to me) and I try to imagine the Sisters hovering in their habits in those small cubicles.
Then it is the on to Calle de los Pasosand the stations of the Cross. I walk the length of the street till I get to Iglesia El Calvario . From there I wander back to Saint Joseph Cathedral, and then
over to the cemetery and Iglesia San Lazaro. Then it is past the bus station to the ruins del Convento de la Recolección. I crawl around on the crumbling ruins and listen to thunder in the distance.
With rolling thunder and the threat of rain I head back to my hotel to shower and change. The storm by passes us, so I head back out to find dinner. My cash flows is dwindling down and I set about looking for a relatively cheap place which accepts credit cards. My aging Lonely Planet guidebook suggests Café La Escudilla so I try it out. It is cheap. I have a glass of Argentinean red and a bowl of Azteca soup, which is their version of tortilla soup. The wine is good, but I am not to pleased with the soup, so no need to order anything else. I pay my bill and leave.
I stop by Nim Pot on my way back to my hotel and get to meet Marcus, the friendly, handsome man who has been working at Nim Pot for 14 years. He talks of all his travels to the tiny villages where he purchases their textiles. He tells me about when he lived in Massachusetts for a year and bought cars which he would drive to Guatemala and sell. We talk for a long time and I tell him I will return tomorrow night to say goodbye.
Saturday, June 5 ~ It is shortly after midnight when I wake up freezing cold. I can’t figure out why I am so cold. I get out of bed and pull a heavy wool blanket off of the shelf in my room and cover myself with it. I am starting to shiver and now my belly hurts, along with a pounding headache. I have to get up quick and run to the bathroom. Yep, you guessed it…I have food poisoning. It is a very long night; you name it, I got it, and back and forth to the bathroom I go. All night long. Finally ‘round 7 AM after spewing everything out of me which my body could possibly contain, I manage to fall asleep. I wake up four hours later when the man who cleans the room opened my door. When he saw me, he apologized and slipped back out. About an hour later, I force myself to get out of bed. I take two pillows, a bottle of water and my sunglasses and it is all I can do to climb the two stories to the terrace on the roof. That is where I spend the entire afternoon. I sleep on the bench till 4:30 when thunder starts rumbling again, then I cautiously make my way back downstairs to my room. I crawl back in my bed and pass out.
Sunday, June 6 ~ I am up at 5:30, feeling a hundred percent better! I take a shower and pack my bags. The sun is brightly shining as I set off for a coffee at Fernando’s. Well, Fernando’s is closed today, so I go back to my hotel and drink a cup of instant coffee and eat a couple of dry muffins which are complimentary.
It is off to Jocotenango once again, this time I am pretty sure I know where that church is. I am heading back the street I walked before, I just think I didn’t go far enough. The roosters are crowing, the birds are singing, people are smiling, traffic is scarce and I am really enjoying my walk. I eventually come upon a church. Little did I realize, but I took a wrong turn somewhere and ended up in La Pajonada instead. The church I am looking at is San Felipe de Jesus , not Iglesis de Jocotenango. I thought I had it all figured out. Why can’t I find that church? I give up and head back into Antigua for a tall, cold Papaya milkshake at El Portal, ’cause my stomach is still not feeling up to par.
A quick stop in Santa Domingo Hotel to explore the ruins, only to find that they don't open till later on in the afternoon. While I am there, Fuego Volcano does erupt . It is a small one, but it is an eruption neverless, and I get to see it again from a beautiful place surrounded by beautiful gardens.
Then it is back to Nim Pot to apologize to Marcus, who isn‘t there, it‘s his day off. I ask one of the young ladies working at the counter to please let Marcus know I stopped in to say goodbye.
Back to my hotel and my 12:30 shuttle to GUA.
When I had originally bought this plane ticket last August, I was flying to Panama City. After my recent Guatemalan experience in October...I came home and changed this entire trip itinerary to Guatemala City instead. There was just too much that I wanted to see and do and it didn't get done. Still is much, much more I want to see. Looks like I will be going back...
I flew into GUA at 12:30 PM and this time I had arranged an airport pickup thru Antigua Tours. I know there are a lot of cheaper ways of getting around, but after traveling for eleven hours straight, I only wanted to see a smiling face and my name on a placard. They were there as promised. I had a private shuttle ride to Antigua allowing me to sit back in style and unwind. Sweet!
In Antigua I had two hours to kill till I boarded the shuttle to Pana. Grabbed a quick snack and cold Gallo at Chimino's Cafe and then walked all around town enjoying the brilliant blue skies and warm sunshine. Where I came from back in PA, it was 7 brutal degrees this morning. Burrrr..
El Fuego briefly erupted and I got some good shots. The day was just so gorgeous with the jacaranda trees and bouganvillia in full bloom, for once I hated to leave Antigua.
It was into a cramped van and onward to Pana I went. We arrived atop the lookout over the lake just as the last light was draining from the sky and everyone snapped away. It was so windy and too dark and sadly the pictures didn't come out too good, but it was a lot of fun trying not to get blown away.
I was dropped off at Hotel Utz Jay in Pana and very surprised as to how cold it was. The owner informed me that a cold front had blown in two days prior and they have been experiencing some unusually cold weather. She said it was expected to be gone by tomorrow. I never knew it got so cold down here. I had packed only a fleece jacket and I was freezing...
The wind blew wildly through Pana that first night. Every tin roof in town which wasn't properly nailed down shook and rattled and rolled through the night. For some strange reason, as I lay safe and snug in bed that night, I enjoyed all the racket that was going on outside. I soon fell into a dead sleep.
Next morning I awoke to an amazing day. The winds were gone and the sun was out in full force. I ate breakfast at Utz Jay and then strolled down to the lake. It was only four months since I was here last and I was simply amazed at all the improvements in town. The dirt street riddled with mud puddles and potholes which we had dragged our luggage through last October is now a beautiful brick road lined with bouganvillia-embraced walls.
My friends; Bob (who lives at Posada de Santiago) and Doloresb (another thorntree-er who now resides by the lake) joined me at 1 PM for our journey to Chichicastenango. Bob was driving. We got into Chichi shortly after 2 and ditched our bags at the Hotel Giron before exploring the empty streets of Chichi, visited the church and climbed the hill to see Pascual Abaj, the Mayan idol. Looking back, I am glad we decided to stay overnight in Chichi. We got so much done that afternoon. We had drinks at the very beautiful, but expensive Hotel Santos and then dinner at Los Cofrades. The next day was a whole different story. We awoke to a totally transformed town. It was absolute madness. We left Chichi by 11 AM. I had bought only one item, a nice heavy wool rug for $11.
Got back into Pana, had lunch at the Sunset Grill, and then Doloresb and I got on the boat for La Casa del Mundo. The lake was so choppy the boat dropped us off at El Jabalito's boat dock instead La Casa del Mundo's, making us take the path over to our hotel. (which was a good thing, because I needed the knowledge of the path as you will see later)
I had room #12 the first night which is the highest room on the property and is an absolute beauty. I had always mentioned that room #13 is the nicest one, but I would say they are a close tie. Room 12 is a sweet little suite, very isolated and private. Room 13 is above the dining room and can be, as quoted on here often, a bit noisy...I had reserved room 13 for the next night.
La Casa del Mundo is as always, a wonderful experience and the food was actually much better than I had remembered! I got to swim in the lake this time around and had some time to relax and truly enjoy this exquisite piece of property.
The second day I took the boat over to Pana in the afternoon to do some shopping before leaving the lake and managed to catch the last boat back to La Casa del Mundo. The boat was packed full. I counted 37 people on board and not a single life jacket. (gotta love it...) The captain forgot that I was staying at La Casa del Mundo and overshot my stop, dropping people off at Jabalito. I had to walk back to La Casa del Mundo in the dark...with no flashlight. I was so glad I had gotten to travel the path the day before in the daylight. It could have been rather tricky....
I was back in Antigua for my last night and stayed at Casa Florencia. A really nice little hotel on 7th ave., one block over from La Merced and two blocks over from the Arch. I would stay there again, in a heartbeat! Ate at Sky Cafe (excellent!!) and did some major shopping at Nim Pot.
Left Guatemala heavily burdened down with all my purchases, but quite satisfied!!
October 12 - 19;
We just got back from Lake Atitlan and had an awesome trip!! We flew into Guatemala City, headed for Antigua and further on to Lake Atitlan. Just a few things I want to mention here. Please note, they are no longer running shuttles from Guate airport to Antigua. You have to reserve one before you get there, or hope somebody else's reserved shuttle can squeeze you in, or take a taxi. We settled for the latter since it became apparent that I had screwed up and overlooked this very important factor. (Update...they still do run the shuttles ...)
Taxi cab driver told us (at least I thought he told us) it was $15 to Antigua, but once we arrived in Antigua...he said it was $50. We agreed on $38. After that and realizing that we now had to find a shuttle running to Lake Atitlan, which being it was Sunday, wasn't all that easy...I started to feel a little glum. We finally found a shuttle running to Atitlan and it was only $8 a person, my hopes came back up and onward we went.
We got into Panajachel around 6:30 and paid for a private boat to take us to La Casa del Mundo. La Casa del Mundo is truly a gem! Very, very nice hotel with views to die for! We had room #13 which happens to be the nicest room in the beautiful hotel. The next day we went back to Pana and did some shopping, eating and drinking.
The third day we went to Santiago where we had a reservation at Posada de Santiago. Stayed in one of the delightfully charming little stone cottages with a cozy fireplace surrounded by beautiful gardens. The owner is a very interesting, great entertainer/host and he, his friends and his son sat up with us till 1 AM, drinking and telling stories. The next day, his friend took us to Los Terrales, a working coffee finca/nature reserve. We hiked around the mountainside along the coffee fields with a sweet young woman who was our birdwatcher guide. We saw lots of birds and visited with Mary, a wonderful little lady who is the owner of the finca.
The fifth day we headed to Lomas de Tzununa. We got off the boat and no one was around. I, along with my carry-on, backpack and purse climbed the 426 steps up to the lobby to tell them that my friend was on her way up with a huge suitcase. They ran down to help her and later I was told by the owner that there is a call button by the boat dock. Boy, did I feel stupid! But...it was a great workout!! And, after all the food I was consuming...I really needed it! Lomas de Tzununa is a gorgeous hotel with million dollar views!!
The next morning we hiked from Lomas over to San Marcos and scoped out the town. It is about an hours' hike and quite a pretty one at that. San Marcos was nice, although not a whole lot going on. We did check out some hotels while we were there. We were not at all impressed with the Aaculaxx, although we really did like Hotel Jinava. Really pretty little place with some awesome views! Another one was the Posada Schumann which is down by the boat dock. Adoreable little stone cottages set up like an old-world village style. We ate lunch here. Had really good pasta dishes! We also had drinks at the II Forno, a really cute place with a jungle feel.
From San Marcos we caught the boat over to San Pedro. Didn't get to spend too much time there since we only got there around 3:30 and the last boat left at 5. We managed to get lost wandering the back streets of San Pedro, so the time was even less. We grabbed some coffee at Nick's Place, while waiting and watching the boat dock.
The seventh day we went back to Antigua to spend our last night at Hotel Quinta de las Flores. Really nice place with lots of little bubbling waterfalls and lovely gardens loaded with flowers and butterflies. We ate dinner at the Cafe Sky which has incredible food!! If you go there...beware...the portions are huge!
Flew out of Guatemala City the next day. Make sure you use up your Quetzals, because other than booze and very expensive jewelry & watches, the airport doesn't offer a lot to buy. Plus nowdays, you have to check all your liquor bottles.
Two Updates!! The shuttles still run back and forth from GUA to Antigua...and GUA airport has changed immensely since the new addition!! So many shops, vendors, cafes and even a little food court now!
April 18 -23, 2008
the times they are a-changin'"
To quote Bob Dylan:
"Come gather 'round people, wherever you roam and admit that the waters around you have grown and accept it that soon you'll be drenched to the bone. If your time to you is worth savin' then you better start swimmin' or you'll sink like a stone. For the times they are a-changin'..."
I just got back from Ambergris Caye and my how things have changed in three years. I hardly recognized the streets as I wandered 'round town. From the cobbled paved streets to some newly sprung-up places along the beach, I found it just a little unsettling. I found myself saying 'wow' over and over again.
I rented a bike and rode north, over the "new bridge", and up past the numerous condos rising like phoenixes out of the sandy soil. When did all this happen? I realize that it is good for the economy of San Pedro, as I watched them all head north on bicycles, every morning at 6:45, going to work on the construction sites, but at the same time I can foresee locals being sandwiched tighter and tighter back into the lagoon side...
A couple of the locals I talked to seem to think Ambergris Caye is destined to become a "little Cancun." It already is starting to remind me of Playa del Carmen. Hopefully that new guy in office will put an end to too much more development. Kind of made me sad.
But to quote Lansluder..."Belize is Belize." They will find a way to survive.
Other than that, the weather was fantastic, the food was great and the beer was cold. I had an awesome chicken burrito at Waruguma's and some simply delicious BBQ chicken dinners complete with rice/beans and slaw, from street vendors, which were to die for. The grilled shrimp dinner at The Reef was divine!
Signed up with Searious and sailed over to Caye Caulker, snorkeled Hol Chan and Shark Ray Alley again, and drank more ice-cold Belikin while we cruised the vibrant blue waters along the way.
All in all, it was wonderful to be back in Belize! And hopefully I will return again, some day soon.
September 23 - October 2, 2007
Sunday, Sept. 23rd- I flew out of BWI at 6:30 AM into Miami at 8:30 AM. In Miami, I had a 7 hour layover. I had tried my hardest to avoid this, but nevertheless, at some point in my travels I had to face it. So I bit the bullet in Miami. Miami airport has absolutely nothing to offer a stranded flyer. It was a very long day. At 3:30 PM I boarded American Airlines for Quito. I had picked a window seat on the left, since I had read somewhere that would be your best view of Cotopaxi. I sat next to a sweet young couple from France. Unfortunately, I can't speak French, they couldn't speak English and none of us could understand much Spanish. Amazingly, we did however, have our Lonely Planet guidebooks with us and it was through them that we could point out to each other the places we were visiting. And, Cotopaxi presented us with an outstanding view as we flew into beautiful Quito.
I waved goodbye to my new French friends as we seperated at customs and once through immigration, I was immediatedly picked up as promised, by my driver from La Cienega. I had earlier worried about the 2 hour drive from Quito, since I was traveling solo. My Spanish is very limited and I was naturally nervous. Patrick, my driver, spoke English and for the next 2 hours we were deep in conversation as the Quito night flew by. I will say that Quito still blows my mind...it is so huge!
Arriving at LaCienega at 9 PM, I was shown to my room and offered a glass of wine. I declined dinner since eating was about the only thing I did during my 7 hours at Miami airport. I took a nice hot shower and turned in early, being I had arranged an all-day trip to Quilotoa tomorrow.
Monday, Sept 24- Up early and served a wonderful breakfast of homemade wheat bread and hot rolls, scrambled eggs with bacon and some very good naranjilla juice. I inquired about the fruit which they squeeze this delicious juice from and they brought me something that looked like a yellow tomato/orange. Hence the naranjilla fruit.
Patrick had arranged for a young man by the name of Samuel, to be my driver for the day. We left around 9 AM, just Samuel and I. Samuel was a delight from the get-go. He was talkative and easy-going. He pointed out at everything that we passed, the towns, the fields, the crops. He talked about the paramo and of the constant winds which sweep across the high grasses. Time passed quickly as we made our way through the tiny villages and the Quilotoa loop countryside.
We arrived at Quilotoa around noon. It was very windy and cold at the top. Samuel asked me if I wanted to descend and I quickly agreed. Samuel went first down through the canyon walls and down the gravelly path. I carefully followed. The tiny stones made the trail trecherous and slippery. The gusty winds were whipping sand into our faces. I wear contacts and it wasn't long before sand blew into my eyes, halting me in my tracks. Samuel came back to ask me what was wrong. With burning and tearing eyes, I pulled out my Lonely Planet Spanish phrasebook and showed him the word for "contact lenses." Thank goodness for my book! Try to explain that one! I told him I needed my sunglasses. He rushed back up to the car and returned in no time, with a big smile and my sunglasses. Thanking him, I turned and said "Vamos!
Down, down, down we went into the crater. The trail was tough and tricky. I slipped at one point and down I went on my butt, sliding even further. Samuel was quick to help me and seemed relieved that I was okay, except for my pride. At the lower portion of the trail, the entire hillside seemed to be made of sand. It was like climbing down a sand dune. Regardless how hard I tried to ignore it, in the back of my mind I couldn't stop thinking how incredibly tough the climb back up is going to be.
We made it to the water's edge. I washed my hands in the alkaline water and turned around to look at our ascent, which we will have to do, sooner or later. Wow! What was I thinking? We looked at each other and nodded. I got up and followed Samuel as we slowly manuvered our way through the flock of sheep, which were being driven by two young boys. We stood aside and left the sheep pass us. I heard a noise behind me and turned to see a ewe, who had just given birth. The new-born lamb was lying on it's belly with it's legs splayed out and it was bleating. The new mother seemed a bit confused. I called to Samuel and we both watched as the lamb tried again and again to stand up. By this time, the young boy had swooped up the wet little lamb and moved it to higher ground and closer to us. The new mom followed close on his heels. This was another perfect opportunity for more pictures!
Samuel and I continued onward and constantly upward. We took it slow and easy. The sand dune part was probably the hardest. For every 2 steps you took, you slid back one. I wish I would have actually counted how many steps I took before I had to stop and rest. It didn't seem like many. I kept looking up at the top of the rim of the crater. Samuel kept telling me "relax, no problem. We go nice and slow." And so we did. Samuel did have to literally pull me up at some places, I was so tired. And he carried my backpack for me. Samuel, wherever you are...THANK YOU!
After our exhausting ordeal out of the crater, we were back in the car and on our way back to Latacunga for chugchucaras. We got there around 5 and I treated. The chugchucaras were divine! Latacunga was bursting at it's seams with traffic and crawling with people. Samuel announced with a huge smile "It is La Mama Negra Festival!" We stayed for the parade and all the festivities! By 7 PM, Samuel returned me dusty and weary, but safe and sound to La Cienega.
Tuesday Sept 25- Up early for another delicious breakfast, took lots of pictures of this beautiful place and then I am packed and ready for my ride to Hacienda Manteles. The owners, Caesar & Gradalupe, are coming to take me to their hacienda, which is just outside of Patate. Our ride is a pleasant one. It is raining lightly as we wind our way through the lush and fertile green valleys and farmland. We pull into a little piece of paradise tucked back in the hillside and on the very edge of the LLanganates. The hacienda is an organic "working-farm" and there are three dogs, some horses, a donkey, guinea pigs and some cattle. I am the only guest and am treated like family. Caesar, Gradalupe, along with Ernesto (their hired-man) and I share a scrumptious lunch and then I am off to follow Ernesto into the cloud forest, located behind the hacienda. We have boots on and wade through creeks, cling to wines and sidestep seeping bogs, while making our way back to a stunning waterfalls. Blue; a big black lab, and Sisi; a sweet small golden retriever, are our companions as we climb the meadow to meet the friendly bulls and then we head back home.
After a delectable dinner of fresh-caught trout, potatoes and broccoli, I excuse myself to the comfort of my bed and some much-needed sleep.
Wednesday Sept 26- Today I am going to Chimborazo! After another exquisite breakfast, Caesar and I head for Chimborazo. Caesar takes me to Salasaca first and lets me do some shopping. Then we are off to see the highest volcano in Ecuador. We stop at the little train station below and drink some mate de coca tea. Caesar asks them to bring me some "puntas" and I add it to my tea. I soon find out is the same as moonshine! Nasty!! As we climb higher and higher in the car, my ears keep popping and I start to feel light-headed and nauseated. I don't say anything to Caesar, for fear he will turn around. We spot a herd of wild vicunas in the vast moon-like landscape and then we are pulling into the first refuge hut. I think it sits at 14-15,000 feet. Does anyone know how high it is? All I know is that I drank three more cups of mate de coca...and then I felt much better.
Coming back down, we do the Chimborazo loop. Whole way around the volcano. That is one BIG volcano. Later in the afternoon I finally get to see the top of Chimborazo. I had no luck seeing Cotopaxi, except for the view of it coming in on the plane. And, Tungurahua has not been much better. It just teases me with mere glimpses.
Thursday Sept 27- Caesar and Ernesto have arranged to take me to Banos this morning. We get into town and Ernesto shows me the church and then to the waterfalls at the edge of town. Ernesto says goodbye since he will be staying here a couple of days with his girlfriend and I am picked up by Caesar and he takes me to the Pailon del Diablo, where I have an hour to myself to hike down to view the falls. What a beautiful and diverse country this is!! The landscapes change along with the temperatures and the climates all in a matter of a few hours!
We return to the hacienda for one last lunch together and then I am off to Quito to pick up my friend. The driver they have assigned me seems to be a bit of a suicidal madman. How do you say Kami kaze in Spanish? I silently sit in the back seat and say my prayers....
I am by far not a prude when it comes to driving. I have been known to get a few speeding tickets in my day. So when I say the ride was atrocious, trust me…it was. I think he said his name was Paulo. I also managed to figure out that he was a mechanic by trade. Other than that, everything he tried to tell me I could not begin to understand. The last thing he did ask me just before he dropped me off at the airport (I looked it up in my Spanish dictionary) was whether I was married or not. I told him no. In return I got a big smile and his phone number. Oh those hot Latin American men…they never cease to amaze me.
I managed to find my friend Kim, who looked worst for the wear, and I listened to her tales of woe about the horrible flight arrangements I had set up. It was the exact same regimen I went through in Miami, and listening to her humored me, especially after my death-defying 4 hour ride to Quito, in the back of seat of an extended cab pick-up truck whose driver used his horn instead of his brakes…for everything! I was just surprised we didn’t kill anyone or anything on our journey.
We were picked up by our chauffer from La Casa Sol in Quito and taken to our hotel. Dispatching our luggage and in bad need of food and something strong to drink, we found ourselves at Le Arcate for some excellent soup and a blissful warm brownie dessert. We also had a very good bottle of Negra Gato which led to another bottle and from then on the night got kind of blurry, like the pictures which showed up on my camera, the next morning. According to the pictures, it was at The Dragonfly, where we ran into a very nice Colombian couple, Alex & Gabe, who joined us on our downward slide into oblivion.
Friday Sept 28- Quito was a lot of fun, from what I could recall, and after a satisfying breakfast a couple of doors down from La Casa Sol, we were in a taxi and on our way to La Casa Sol’s sister hotel in Otavalo. Sitting in the back seat of a taxi cab enduring hangovers and a 2 hour ride was the price we paid for last night’s fun. Thank goodness, this cab driver was merciful and seemed to sense our self-induced miseries.
We arrived in Otavalo around 2 PM and our driver missed the road up to La Casa Sol. He pulled over at the edge of Peguche and dropped us off at the foot of a long and steep staircase. We stood there and gazed up longingly at our hotel perched high on the hilltop. “You have got to be kidding” I think I mumbled to Kim. Our taxi driver smiled and waved goodbye to us as we proceeded to drag our luggage and ourselves up every step. Up and up and up we went, my head reeling and the suitcase and backpack getting heavier with each minute. Once we made it to the top, we came upon the road our driver had missed. “Incredible!” I stated. "He could have pulled right up to the front gate of our hotel." We still had another 500 yards to go and it was now a cobblestone driveway and all up hill. “This is something we will later look back on and laugh about” Kim said.
La Casa Sol at Otavalo was absolutely gorgeous! What an enchanting and serene setting! The interior aimed for tranquility, with the soft Andean background music, vivid colors and textures, wind chimes and waterfalls amid flowering plants and flumes of grasses. I am so glad I stumbled upon this place in all my researching!
We were shown to our room with it’s own little patio and waterfalls. Yula, a sweet little Chow-mix adopted us immediately. She slept outside our door every night and waited on the patio every day for our return. As soon as we unpacked, we headed down to the front desk to seek out something to do. They gave us a map and told us of many different places we could see, many within walking distance.
The first place we went was back down the staircase and into Peguche to see the waterfalls. It was a nice easy walk back through an eucalyptus grove. The mist from the waterfalls felt good upon my face and I was slowly recuperating from last night’s adventures. After the waterfalls, we walked into town. It was about a 40 minute walk and by this time we were quite ravenous. We found a quaint and charming little restaurant called Mi Otavalito. We ordered Filet Mignon steak dinners with a wine mushroom sauce, potatoes and a salad. $5 for a steak dinner! Excellent place! From there we wandered around town and watched the local vendors dismantling their stands. Apparently they do this every day. Day in and day out. That is a lot of work for the little money they make.
Saturday Sept 29- It is market day! I awoke at 5:30 and got dressed, ready to go see the animal market. Then, I rethought it and crawled back into my bed. My body needed more sleep than it did the animal market. At 7 AM, we were up and after a delicious breakfast of the best kashi and yogurt I have ever eaten, we were officially on our way to the animal market.
For $2 we got a taxi into town. Plaza de Ponchos was crazy busy with everything and anything under the sun being sold. Breads, croissants, rolls, cookies, grains, rice, corn, potatoes, berries, fruits, vegetables, chicken soup, grilled meats, ice cream, you name it. Then there was the rugs, tapestries, shawls, sweaters, t shirts, hats, purses, etc.
We were overwhelmed! Where do we begin? Then I remembered that the animal market ends at 10 AM. We need to go to the animal market, first. I had remembered reading that it sits at the edge of town; I just didn’t know which edge. A very friendly police officer saw our bewilderment and ask us in English if he could help us. We mentioned animal market and he immediately brightened and sent us on our way.
We walked in the direction his finger pointed and found ourselves in back alleys and narrow streets filled wall-to-wall with masses of people. We shuffled and bumped our way through the crowd. I knew we were getting closer as we started passing people with sheep and pigs attached to them. Nothing makes you smile more than when you get behind a little old lady walking down a narrow sidewalk leading a big pig. It was surreal!
The animal market was dwindling by the time we had arrived. I could only imagine what it had looked like at 6 AM. There were piglets and lambs, sheep and cattle, along with the ear-piercing squeals of adult pigs being loaded by hand into the back of pick-up trucks.
But the biggest attention-getter was a box of puppies which a throng of people had gathered around. They were selling like hotcakes at $5 a piece.
We spent most of the day wandering around town. Last year we were in Peru and barely bought anything, since we were traveling so light. After we got home we deeply regretted it. This time we both came prepared. We had cash and we had made extra room in our suitcases! I bought a beautiful large hand-woven wool duffle bag which all my goodies went into. Two women on the loose, in Otavalo, with no men to hold them back…LOOK OUT!! After shopping to our heart’s content, we took our purchases back to our room.
We had heard about a special tree; a famous magical tree which was said to contain healing powers. El Lechero. We asked about it at the front desk. Another taxi ride found us at the top of a mountain overlooking Otavalo and Laguna de San Pablo. There it stood. One lonely, wizened, gnarly old tree. After embracing the tree and enjoying the wind-driven vistas and views, we headed on foot; downhill and across the countryside to Parque Condor, a bird sanctuary and rehabilitation center. They held many beautiful birds of prey in big fenced-in areas. We walked through the park, checking out the birds. For me it was painful. Looking into their vacant eyes, they returned your stares with such deep sorrow. One voiced it’s opinion to me as I snapped a picture of it. I secretly harbored a fantasy as I walked through the park and pictured myself coming back after dark with a huge wire cutters. These birds should be proudly soaring high in the skies, over the Andes. One in particular, a big grey-barred hawk kept flying against the wire fencing which separated it from it’s freedom. Again, an image of wire cutters floated into my consciousness…
We left the bird prison and ventured our way straight down over the mountain. We wanted to save time and opted for the closest way, point A to point B, straight down. Cautiously, we were making our way down when I stepped on a bunch of acorns which sent me sailing in the air and I landed flat on my back. Kim started laughing hysterically, until she also hit the same patch of acorns and down she went. My turn to laugh now.
We followed a trail down off the mountain, crossed the creek and found our way back to our hotel.
7 PM found us sharing our dinner with Herb, an older gentleman from Atlanta, who travels here to export their textiles. According to him, we could have gotten our things for a lot less. But, we are happy and that is all that matters.
Sunday Sept 30- Another excellent breakfast of (the best) yogurt and fruit, and we are on our way, back into town by 8:30 AM. We have arranged a 6-hour horseback riding excursion to Cuicocha Crater Lake. The cost is $35 per person which includes lunch. We are picked up by Edgar, who takes us to a farm 10 minutes outside of town. Kim starts to fret and worry aloud as the horses are brought in. I assure her it will be alright. The horses are saddled and mounted and we are off. It is Edgar in the lead, me next, then Kim and lastly, Bryan. The horses are very well-mannered and respond to every click and nudge. Our path takes us down dirt roads, through tiny remote villages and we cross creeks and gallop past grain fields.
Edgar is amusing and fun to ride beside. Bryan, with patience of a saint, is assigned to ride next to Kim. Kim begrudgingly holds her horse back as Edgar and I take off at a full gallop! From there on out, our horses have full rein for the most of the day. What a day it is! We get to Cuicocha an hour earlier than expected. We turn the horses loose and head into the lodge for lunch and some cold Pilsners. Edgar continues to amuse us with his antics and not-to-subtle come-ons. Here we go again….
After an excellent lunch of roasted chicken, rice and broccoli, we head back to reclaim our horses and retrace our tracks back to the hacienda. The ride back is a fast and furious one! Dismounting my horse at the hacienda, I can tell tomorrow is going to be a painful one.
We are dropped off back in Otavalo by 3 PM. We check our email and then head back to La Casa Sol. While we wait for our dinner which is served nightly at 7, we drink tea and play a couple games of chess by the fireplace. Herb joins us and we share our day’s stories.
Monday Oct 1- We are moving slow this morning. Our bodies are stiff and sore. Every little motion and movement hurts. It hurts to laugh, which makes you laugh even more. Walking down stairs hurts. Herb joins us for breakfast and finds us highly entertaining, with all our aches and pains. We decide to spend our morning together, since this is our last day. We head into town and check our emails and then with Herb assisting us like a pro, we barter and banter our way through some last-minute shopping. I got a beautiful thick, heavy alpaca hooded-sweater for only $13. Kim gets 2 more t-shirts for $6 and I bought 4 super-soft alpaca shawls for $10. Now this is shopping! Herb, where were you earlier? We treat Herb to brunch and then we are back to the hotel, packing, and back in a taxi heading south for the equator and Quito.
Our taxi cab driver is a sweetheart. He doesn’t speak any English and we are very limited with our Spanish, so sadly we cannot converse with him. We wish that we could, because he seems like such a happy and friendly fellow. We are sitting in the back seat and I am catty-cornered to the driver. Kim and I are reminiscing and every time we laugh, I can see that he is laughing along with us. He actually grins the whole way to the equator. We had the hotel staff explain to him that we would be stopping at the equator. He delivers us to our stop and we tell him “Hasta luego!” His face lights up and his grin is priceless. Such a happy man! It is times like these that I really, really regret not being fluent in Spanish! He would be a very interesting person to get to know.
We take the predictable “straddling the equator” pictures and then we ask how to get to see the real equator. Deciphering what they told us, we then try to explain how to get to the “real” equator to our sweet taxi driver, who only becomes more confused. So we get into the car and slowly make our way up the road, with me telling him “mas, mas, mas” until we arrived where you enter the Museo Solar Inti Nan. He seems perplexed and drops us off. We invite him along, but he declines.
This is where it gets really cool! I highly recommend to everyone who visits Quito…you got to see this! The original equator was measured and located in 1736. It wasn’t till a couple of years ago when the whole GPS system came out that they discovered the equator is off 240 meters. So the Solar Inti Museum sprang up and the “real and true” equator is here, along with other odds and ends which prove that this is the one true thing. You can do water experiments, you can balance eggs on nails, you can do all kinds of cool tricks and exercises testing the centrifugal forces which force everything straight down, here on the real equator. It is worth the time and the $3 it cost to get in. While we were there enjoying all the little tidbits of information and trying the hands-on exercises, our smiling taxi driver appeared. We were delighted to see that he decided to check it out. Our guide quickly caught him up to speed in Spanish and he was truly as intrigued with everything as we were. Turns out he never knew it existed. We all had a great time and many laughs, and then we were dropped off back at La Casa Sol, in Quito. We tipped him 50% of the cost of the cab fare, since he was such a great guy!
Our last night in Quito. We headed up to the Shorton Grill for an excellent filet mignon dinner and then it is off to bed. Tomorrow morning, we fly out of Ecuador.
Ecuador is a fun and fascinating country. Beautiful and diverse, and that is only in the highlands which I have seen! That is excluding the Amazon and the Galapagos! I can honestly say that out of all the countries I have visited, Ecuador has the friendliest people I have ever met. Thank you all! Thank you, Ecuador!
October 1 - 8, 2006
Oct 1-We flew out of BWI at 11:35 AM to Houston. Arriving in Houston we set about looking for the closest bar. Kim needed a quick smoke so I told her I would walk down to the C wing and see if they had a nice bar. They did. I got us two seats at the bar, Kim showed up and we had a couple of Bloody Marys. Kim got up to go find a restroom and I am sitting there enjoying the moment, the delicious cocktail and anticipating Peru, when in walks this guy and even though the entire bar is empty he wanders down and sits next to me. My back pack is on the chair between us. This urks me for some reason...the whole bar is empty for crying out loud! I remove my back pack and this loosens his tongue and he starts talking to me. I am annoyed, but polite, and we make the usual chit chat, where are you heading...and I tell him Peru, thinking it should surely impress him or at least shut him up, when his face lights up and he says "no kidding, so am I!" Well, I am not too sure whether he is being honest or coming on to me, when Kim comes back and gives me this look, like what's up with this guy? I tell her he is going to Peru also, when he corrects me and says "no, I live in Peru." "But, you are an American" we both chime in together. "Yep, I am, and I am married to a Peruvian girl" he says.Turns out he is telling the truth and he is really cool. We have a couple more Bloody Marys and then head for our plane. Funny thing is...John, our new friend, has a seat next to us, of all things! The flight is a fun one, even though it is rather long. We met a lot of American men who were on that flight, who are married to Peruvian women. "This is where all the good ones got to" I tell Kim, implying what happened to all our decent men. We arrived in Lima at 10:40 PM and were through immigrations by 11:30 and looked everywhere for our hotel pick-up, but alas, nobody was there. After 17 hours of traveling I was tired and frustrated and felt like I was fighting off the pack of wolves that surrounded us offering their taxi services. Finally after giving up completely on our free hotel pick-up offered to us by Melodia Hotel, we opted for a taxi to take us there. The fumes and smog burned my nose and hurt my throat as we hurtled our way through the streets to our hotel. We complained to the receptionist about not being picked up, who rather roughly dismissed themselves for their own shortcomings and expected us to do the same. I was too tired to argue and all I wanted was to get some sleep before we caught our early morning flight to Cusco.
Oct 2-With barely 4 hours of sleep and bleary-eyed, we were up at 4 AM and on our way back to the airport. The grey early morning air was dense with diesel exhaust and vapors and I was anxiously looking forward to fleeing Lima to the cool clear skies of Cusco. We grabbed a deliciously-strong cup of coffee and a quick breakfast at the little cafe' while I happily got to watch Mana' on the TV behind the counter, in the airport, before we boarded the plane. Once in the air, we rose above the thick fog and were wrapped in the brilliantly blue skies above the magnificent Andes. Wow! Our TACA flight was pretty empty and everyone was out of their seats and roaming around, looking for the best angles to view the mighty snow-capped mountain peaks. What a fantastic preview of what’s to come!
We landed in Cusco and were serenaded by the haunting lilts of panpipes as we claimed our bags and sought the fresh air and warm sunshine. We were promptly picked up by our hotel Rumi Punku as promised. Rumi Punku was a piece of heaven for us road-weary warriors. After entering the original Incan stonework entrance you are immediately in a quiet, peaceful tiny plaza which then leads to a little garden. We were shown to our rooms and offered cocoa leaf tea. I greedily accepted since I was already feeling the effects of high-altitude sickness. I felt like I had just blown up a whole roomful of balloons. I was dizzy, lightheaded, had ringing in my ears and a bit woozy. The tea helped a bit and we dispatched our burdens and headed down the street in search of a more substantial breakfast. Jack’s Grill was in our sights and we had a wonderful huge breakfast and I had another pot of tea. The tea is helping. We spent the rest of the day slowly making our way through the streets of Cusco, stopping for more tea when needed and goggling the Incan walls, the cobbled streets and cathedrals, and the many, many eye-catching Alpaca sweaters laid out before us. Cusco is a shopper’s paradise. We ate dinner at the Witches’ Garden, a sinfully-divine little place in San Blas. Called it a day and turned in early.
Oct 3-Up bright and early and ready for our breakfast which is included with our room. Scrambled eggs with ham, fresh fruit and coffee and we are once again on our way, through the streets of Cusco. We are off to purchase our “tourist ticket” and then to the Museo de Arte Religioso del Arzobispado and Koricancha, “the temple of the sun.” The day is beautiful, sunny and very warm. We trek around town touring the ancient artifacts and then for $40 sols we hail a taxi to spend the rest of the day visiting Sacsayhuaman, Q’enko, Puca Pucara and Tambomachay. High in the hills above Cusco, I find myself sadly thinking about Manco Inca and his desperate attempts to regain his hostaged empire, as I climb the steps of Sacsayhuaman. Everywhere you turn there are tragic reminders of a long lost magnificent kingdom. I am humbled by all this terrible beauty. Returning to Cusco, we dine at the Inka Grill. It is comes highly recommended in the Lonely Planet guidebook and does not disappoint us. We return to our hotel's rooftop patio and sit under the stars. It is a crystal clear night and to my delight I "see the Southern Cross for the first time! You understand now why you came this way. 'Cause the truth you might be running from is so small, but it's as big as the promise...the promise of the comin' day." Thanks to Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young that song was in my head for the rest of the night. After tiring our eyes of stargazing, we climb up the steep streets to San Blas and the Muse Bar. From there we head next door to listen to the local musicians perform. They were great and gladly played my Santana request "Oye Como Va." I grew tired and wanted my bed, so I left Kim with the band and headed back down the cobbled steets and to the comfort of my bed. Two o'clock in the morning I rolled over, looked over at her bed and no Kim, three o'clock still no Kim, four, five...six o'clock I hear her scratching at the door, wanting in. I wasn't too happy with her, after laying in my bed for hours on end worrying about what might have happened to her, and not knowing where to even start looking for her. She promptly passed out which only made me madder. I got my revenge the next morning when I went for breakfast and she missed hers. :)
Oct 4-It’s Wednesday already and we are off to Ollantaytambo. Kim is hungry and hungover, I am satisfied and smiling contentedly in the back seat enjoying her laments. The hotel we are staying at in Ollantaytambo has sent a driver and we are chauffeured through the Sacred Valley and stop in Chinchero, where I huff and puff my way up to the church for some fantastic photo shoots. Ailing Kim stays behind with Victor, our driver, and when I return I find her with puppets on each finger which she bought from a delightful little girl named Cindy, who spoke very good English and entertained her while I was gone. Kim took a picture of Cindy for her two daughters and we wished her our best and were on our way. Once in Ollantaytambo, we arrive at El Albergue Bed & Breakfast and are thrilled with both it and the town, itself. The ruins lie high over hill at the edge of the town and the late afternoon sun is adding a golden glow to everything. We grab a pizza and some Inca Kola in town and then it’s off to explore the ruins. It is 4 PM when I start to climb. The glimmering rays of sunlight blindingly glance off the sharp edges of the terracing and cast a dreamlike haze over the lush green valley far below. The wind has kicked up immensely, as if offering one last bit of resistance to all who ascend here. Along with her fear of heights, Kim stays below and leaves me to wander alone through the maze with the ghosts of the Incas. It is here that I feel an incredible sense of lost and desperation as I scan the valley and try to imagine what it would have been like. To be driven from your rightful empire and seek shelter in this fortress, only to be forced once again to flee, this time into the jungles of the Amazon. It was here that Manco’s favorite wife was captured by the Conquistadors, stripped naked, tortured and killed and her body was then sent down river to be received by Manco’s own people. There is so much anguish and sadness in this place. Maybe I read too much. I descend to my friend and tell her nothing and remain silent as we trod our way back to our hotel. Kim showers and goes to bed. I sit alone on the porch with my thoughts and conjure up the feelings I had today, in Ollantaytambo.
Oct 5-We are up by 6 to catch the train to Aguas Calientes and Machu Picchu. We bought the tickets last night at the train station, without a hitch, and we are soon winding our way along the Urubamba River via PeruRail. I never had a train ride, so I sit back and enjoy the clickety-clack, slight rolling pitch and the gorgeous views. We arrive in Aguas Calientes and are greeted by our hotel. We are staying at Rupa Wasi Eco Lodge and it is a cute little cabin perched on the side of a steep cliff. Climbing the stairs to the cabin is literally breathtaking and we huff and puff our way to the top and deposit our belongings, make a quick run to buy tickets to Machu Picchu and we are on the bus! I had read everything I could and done so much researching and now I am living my dream! We are winding our way up the dusty road with all its hairpin turns and switchbacks and finally arrive at Machu Picchu! Our tourist tickets are punched and we pass through the gate and follow the steps to the long trail. Up and up we go! Kim is getting leery, but is determined this time. We arrive at the top by the caretaker’s hut and the view is unbelievable! I am here! We are here! And, so are the llamas! As you make your way down into the actual ruins, you have to descend each dizzying, narrow terrace and I suddenly realized my fear of heights, also. Wow! This can’t be. I came all this way. I got to do this! It’s not there…it’s not there…I tell myself over and over again, referring to the gaping abyss far, far below. I make my way pass the llamas and down into the ruins. I left Kim somewhere back with the llamas and continue my way up to the hitching post of the sun. The place is packed with people. The ruins are explored and photographed, the hours pass and the crowds thin and I once again find Kim. She takes me to this other part of the ruin where she had seen a small animal, but can’t identify it. It is gone now, but she shows me the picture she had taken of it. It is a chinchilla. We spent the rest of the afternoon wandering the ruins and left around 5 PM. The late afternoon sun makes for incredible lighting for the magnificent ruins. If you can’t make it there in the early morning, at least stay till the end of the day for the soft golden glow of the late day sun. We caught the bus and ate at a very good restaurant in Aguas Calientes. I can’t remember the name of it and the entire menu was in Spanish, like most places are. Luckily for us, we took the Lonely Planet’s Latin American Spanish phrasebook which one must have, if you speak little or no Spanish. You will be lost without one!
Oct 6-Woke up at 5:30 to the smell of fresh baked bread and the sound of raindrops on our tin roof. Turns out; we are next door to a bakery and it is now starting to pour. The comforting aroma of fresh bread and the sound of the rain put me right back to sleep. When I awoke around 8, the rain had stopped and the misty morning was breaking loose of it’s overhead clouds. The sun was burning through. Looks like another fabulous day! We ate our breakfast downstairs and learned of some waterfalls about an hour’s hike away. Kim and I both opted for a flat-land hike today, after the exhausting day we had yesterday. We set off west along the train tracks, following the river through the lush and shallow valley. We saw many Amazon parrots along the way and three blue-crowned motmots. When we found the path to the waterfalls, which is marked with a small-handwritten wooden sign, we threaded our way through thick ferns, moss-covered rocks and vines, hydrangeas, pineapple plants and banana trees. It is a beautiful area! It is very peaceful and quiet. We traversed the path, talking quietly, when this vicious little dog came from out of nowhere and made us scream! Somebody lives back there and we could now make out the hut. We passed by undisturbed. The waterfalls were very nice and the walk was refreshing and free. We were each going through our cash supply faster than expected. That evening we walked up to the hot springs and soaked our aching bodies and then ate another excellent dinner. Once again, the name of the restaurant escapes me. Later, we sat in the plaza under a full moon and watched the antics of the local children as they ran and played, around the fountain.
Oct 7-Today is Saturday. We leave for Cusco this afternoon. Kim suggests to me to try and climb the path up to Machu Picchu. Just to say that we did it. I fall for it. Off we go down the road to catch the stone path which goes straight up the mountain. I don’t know how many people actually do it. I would think that the smart ones don’t, since most people take the bus. But we weren’t actually going into Machu Picchu again; we just wanted to do the path up to it. So...off we went. I had read about the “oompa boys”, the boys who race the buses down the mountain and it wasn’t long till we met several of them. It is true! They do race the buses! And, they do beat them. They ran like maniacs down that steep path, never stopping or wavering at anything! We huffed and puffed our way pass them, hearing their loud and shrill “oompas!” at every twist of the road. Their “oompas” echoed off the sharp canyon walls and trailed through the valley below, long after the buses had made their turns. We finally made it to the top after an hour and 45 minutes and then we had to come back down. That was the hardest part! I had ACL surgery 4 months ago and with every step of the way back down, my knees were hurting! I regretted it the whole way down. What was I thinking? We made it down and just in time to gather up our belongings and catch the train back to Cusco. The train followed the Urubama River once more, back through the Sacred Valley, just as the darkness fell across the land. After countless switchbacks, we descended into Cusco with the full moon rising over the city. We spent our last night in Cusco with an expensive but scrumptious dinner at the Inka Grill.
Oct 8-Flew out of Cusco at 8 AM and into Lima. We have a 12 hour-layover in Lima, so we put our luggage in storage at Lima airport and headed for Miraflores. It is another fabulous day! Sunny and warm! We ate lunch at Mangoes and then went to the Lima zoo to kill some time. I am not fond of zoos, but it was relatively cheap and something to do. After the zoo, we had coffee in the park and toured Miraflores till it was time to head back to the airport. We flew out of Lima at midnight.
Peru is an incredible country! Big, bold and beautiful! Anyone who is thinking of going there will not be disappointed! I loved Cusco! Yes, it is touristy, but it still remains quaint, somehow. We never once felt any kind of danger during our time there, and yes, we had gone separate ways a couple of times. So, for any women traveling alone, it is perfectly safe. Ollantaytambo was my personal favorite! More so than Machu Picchu. I guess because of it’s history. Maybe it is because historically, Machu Picchu is all based on speculation. Nobody really knows… Don’t get me wrong, Machu Picchu is awesome! Aguas Calientes is a cool little town for shopping and eating.
February 23 – March 2, 2005
Day 1- I flew from Baltimore to Houston to Belize City, and then Tropic Air to San Pedro. Once I got into Belize, everything went as smooth as silk. Arrived on the island around 4 PM and was picked up by Orlando, my fast-found friend, who delivered me to Hotel del Rio. I absolutely loved my Cabana Chica! It was clean, comfortable and quiet and I had the best air-conditioning ever invented. The all-natural kind! I could literally lie in bed and watch the sun rise. (Not that I did) As soon as the sun breeched the surface of the sea, I was out of there, stumbling around looking for my camera, and fumbling with the door handle! Got excellent sunrise shots!
It is shortly after 8 PM and I am sitting in paradise, collecting my thoughts of the day. What was a rough beginning has ended with a perfect evening. I am now on my cabana’s porch with a full moon rising overhead and the constant Caribbean breezes caressing my tired body. Out across the sea I can see a cruise ship which is all lit up. There is no noise here but the sound of the wind blowing through the palms. The moonlight is bouncing brilliantly off the sea. This is truly a perfect evening.
Today was a long drawn-out ordeal. We were delayed on the runway in Houston for an agonizing hour, because of a thunderstorm. I got into Belize later than expected.
San Pedro is a charming, lovely and quaint little seaside town. I walked down to the grocery store immediately after I got here to buy some Caye coffee and creamer for the morning. Walked the beach to Mangos and ate mango-lime chicken while Dennis Wolfe played his guitar. After two Belikins and my dinner, I strolled through town checking out shops and trying to memorize where the good little restaurants are. Little children are everywhere, laughing and playing in the sandy streets. I am going to love this town. No one bothers you, no one hawking their wares like they do in Mexico. Exquisite wonderful little boutiques line the streets. I liked the sign “please don’t let the cat out” on the Emerald Mines jewelry store door. Too cute! By the way…I couldn’t see the cat anywhere in the store.
I got back to my cabana just in time for a bakery run. I will sleep well tonight with the breezes blowing through my louvered windows. Sweet dreams.
Day 2-The wind had kicked up during the night, and for awhile I worried that my cabana and I would be blown right off of the island! Woke up at sunrise, made my Caye Coffee and enjoyed my sugar cookies from the bakery, which is only one block behind the hotel. Mercy me! Walked the beach down to town and booked an afternoon snorkeling trip to Hol-Chan and Shark Ray Alley through Searious Adventures. Stopped by the Blue Water Grill for breakfast and worked my way back to my hotel. I rested awhile catching some rays on the dock, before I headed down to hook up with Searious, for my afternoon snorkeling trip. We arrived at Hol-Chan Marine Park, and like an idiot, I was so excited I jumped in forgetting my underwater camera. It was the most beautiful place I have ever snorkeled! Later at Shark Ray Alley, I did remember my camera, and petted the sting rays and nurse sharks, and enjoyed the many schools of blue tangs, black jacks, groupers, angelfish, grunts, parrotfish, yellowtail snappers and various other fish. Back by 4:30, showered and treated myself to French onion soup, filet mignon, Chilean wine and key lime pie at the Stained Glass Pub, all for $42 w/ tip included. That was my big night out! It is a beautiful full moon, tonight. The barefoot children and their dogs are playing in the sandy streets. It reminded me of better years; a long, long time ago, back home. I walked the beach back to my cabana, with the velvet, moist tropical breezes caressing my body with light butterfly kisses and loving every moment of this enchanted moonlit evening on the island.
Day 3-Woke up with the gorgeous sunrise, and had my morning coffee on my porch. Walked back to Papi's Diner for the best breakfast yet! Walked downtown to email everybody back home and to tell them I am staying here (just kidding). Wish it was true. Hiked the beach back to my hotel, where I booked a trip to Lamanai for tomorrow. It is very hot with only a slight breeze today. Went swimming by the dock and up at the beach by the playground. It is very hot and I am getting very red, so I spent most of the afternoon reclining on my palm-shaded porch. I watched the crabs and tiny chameleons scurry around in the yard and the mother with her baby sleeping in its hammock next-door on the beach, while her oldest child played on the docks with their protective dog. I went for another swim out by the dock and their dog swam out to me. Cool dog! This is a dog-lover’s country! The very first day here, at the airport while everybody waited for their luggage, a very enthusiastic, happy, yellow lab sporting a red bandana for a collar came through the curtain on the luggage belt, making everyone laugh! He was obviously a “sniffer dog” but you could tell he loved his job! I knew at that moment that this was going to be a great trip! He was so excited and such a happy dog! Whenever the animals are happy, you know the people are truly good people…
Seeking supper, I headed into town and ended up at the Spindrift Hotel. Once again, like an idiot, I had left my camera behind. My theory was that I had already over-killed San Pedro with photo shoots...how many more did I need to take? Duh! It was Friday night at the Spindrift! I should've known better. The chicken drop was ready to start, and I didn't have time to get back and pick up my camera. After silently insulting myself, I got a front-row seat upstairs and ate my excellent chicken tostados while I watched the people come in. Tickets were sold and the lady with her basket of chickens brought them over to the bingo board. A ‘birthday-girl” was picked out of the crowd to grab a chicken, and she turned the chicken upside down and delicately blew on it’s rear-end and tossed the chicken onto the board. We all waited with much anticipation for the chicken to poop. The red hen finally squatted and pooped on #40 and the crowd cheered. I had to laugh. What a simple, but uniquely-inspired idea to bring in a crowd of people. Afterwards, with a smile on my face, I headed back up the beach, where I met a doggy friend, whom accompanied me for awhile, before taking off after a more fetching fellow. I love it here! Got a big day tomorrow, so I retired early.
Day 4- Slept very little last night due to a bad belly ache. Met my tour guide at Seven Seas dock at 7 AM and we went by boat up the river through the mangroves. It smelled so good! Better than any perfume you could ever buy. The boat ride and the wind in my face makes me feel a little better. We saw little blue herons, green herons, great blue herons, tri-colored herons, white ibis, snowy egrets, northern jacanas, kingfishes, a jabiru, a roseate spoonbill, limpkins, snail kites, vultures, osprey and even a laughing falcon! Wonderful trip! We saw little bats hanging on trees, an iguana and a crocodile.
Then we went by bus to the New River. Bus ride was terribly bumpy and dusty as we drove by places that used to grow marijuana. Belly started up again. I was glad to get off the bus and back on a boat at New River. From there, we sped past little “man-drowners” filled with Mennonites. I found it amusing that they eyed us “tourists” suspiciously, but gladly greeted the tour guides with smiles and spoke in Spanish to them. From New River, we parked at Lamanai and walked the grounds with our wonderful guide. Our guide is a handsome young father who has an autistic 4 year-old son. One girl on our tour is from New York and is studying her doctrine in autism. They talk a lot together as the others go off exploring and climbing the temples. He told her she has given him “hope.” I find it strangely funny how life comes together as tiny pieces of a rather large puzzle, as I travel through it, and watch others figure out their pieces of the puzzle. It all comes together. Everything has it’s purpose! I truly believe that!
Along with the ruins, we saw a blue-crowned motmot, bat hawks, pileated woodpeckers, a troop of coatimundi crossed the path ahead of us, and while we were spotting the howler monkeys overhead, a grey fox slinked across the path, behind us! For an instant I felt like I was in a National Geographic special! What a wonderful opportunity! I have seen more wildlife here in Belize, than I did in Costa Rica! By the time we made it back to the boat landing to have lunch, I was feeling rather ill, again. I could not eat anything. They gave me papaya juice on the boat. It is supposed to help the stomach. I felt much better as we made it back down the river. Heading down the river, we saw a crocodile, lazing on a sand bar. This is awesome! After arriving back on the island by, I made another quick bakery run, and called it a day.
Day 5- Slept 13 hours and feel 100% better today. Where is the time going? I was having coffee on my wonderful porch, when Marca came over and asked me if I was interested in doing another snorkeling trip? I said sure! She said they are leaving at 9 AM from Reef Adventures dock. I looked at my watch. It was 8:30! I thanked her and grabbed my gear! Made it to the dock and we headed out to Coral Gardens and Tuffy. Tuffy was my favorite of the two. We saw an old wooden shipwreck, three sea turtles, and a spotted eagle ray! Got back around 11:30 and swam out by the dock till 1:30 PM. Cleaned up and headed into town. Being Sunday, most of the shops were closed, so I ate an excellent lunch of hot wings, salad and key lime pie at the Jambel Jerk. After refueling my hunger tank, I walked over to Tropic Air, and booked a trip to Tikal, for tomorrow. Walked my favorite path (the beach) back to my hotel and turned in early, for my big day ahead.
Day 6- Tikal! Taxi picked me up promptly at 6:15 AM and was at the airport by 6:25. I shared my sugar cookies and coffee, with the great guy who booked my trip the day before. I boarded at 7 AM, along with a family of four, and we took off for Belize City, and then to Guatemala. Once again, everything went as smooth as butter, as we slipped through the borders. In Flores, I was greeted by David, my tour guide. David found our driver and we were whisked away down the road on our way to Tikal. I was so caught up in the excitement that it didn’t dawn on me till we were almost to Tikal, that I was a lone American woman in a car with two Guatemalan men, total strangers, and we were heading down some road in the middle of the jungles of Guatemala. My head started to reel and my mind was racing. What if? There were so many things went through my mind. I don’t know if David sensed my apprehension all of a sudden, because he smiled at me and said “today we will see a lot, since it is just the two of us. Today will be a good day. You will see.” It turned out to be one of the best days of my life.
We stopped at different places along the way for pictures and stopped at a roadside market to watch locals hand carving their woodwork. I smiled as I caught a whiff of gunja. David pretended he didn’t notice.
Upon entering Tikal, you enter a protected area where you see trees which are estimated to be 300 years old or maybe even older. I was in awe of the magnificent tall timbers. I went a little crazy with my camera and we are not even at the ruins yet. The first sighting of the ruins literally stops me in my tracks. I am speechless. Tikal is worth the money I was so hesitant to spend!! Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful!!!
Nicest ruins I have ever seen! And, the ruins along with the ancient trees and the birds make it remarkably extra-ordinarily special! I heard and saw the ‘weaver bird”, the Montezuma oropendula, which is the largest bird in the oriole family. The Montezuma oropendula makes the strangest and eeriest sci-fi sounds. All which somehow seemed quite fitting for these ‘other-wordly” and mystical surroundings.
David showed me gum trees, ancient cedars, ceiba trees and I hugged a mahogany tree; one of the few survivors left. He showed me a tree which grows spikes on its bark to protect itself from predators and he showed me the “give and take” tree. It looks like porcupine quills and the leaf has an antiseptic for the quill “wounds.” David crushed up clove tree leaves and had me smell them.
David was only a young man, I’d say in his late 20’s, but very interested and educated in the Mayan history. He explained all the different temples and the main acropolis to me, as we wondered around and he pointed out the many trees, plants, birds and insects, knowing each species’ names and he directed my attention to the trails made by the leaf-cutter ants. Bending down for a closer look you could spot the little guys scurrying along with their tiny parcels.
We climbed to the top of temple IV and it is there that he surprised me and pulled out of his backpack two carefully packed lunches for us to eat. We dined on top of the temple, high above the canopy, enjoying a hovering hummingbird and the vastness of our jungle view which was spread before us. Amid our lunch and as if on cue, the silent air was abruptly pierced by the screeching of howler monkeys! David’s face lit up and he said “the howler monkeys are waking up from their naps!” What a racket they were making! We quickly packed away our unfinished lunches and scramble down the stairs to the jungle floor to go in search of the awakening monkeys.
By this time, the monkeys high in the trees overhead had drawn in quite a crowd of spectators, below them. David immediately found his element in which he lives and loves and started imitating the male howler monkey. This caused quite a stir amongst the troop and the male screamed back at his “rival.” The howl of the male monkey is something one cannot begin to describe. It was something so primal, so bone-chilling, that I had goose bumps all over me, as we all watched the angry raging male thrash around in the treetops, loudly voicing his resentment at us, far below. The crowd slowly broke apart and we were all silently smiling as we sought out our guides.
We had all experienced Tikal today, and it was everything we had hoped it would be. No disappointments here. David had promised a good day and Tikal had delivered it into our hands and our hearts. As we walked the rest of our way through the ruins, making our way back to the entrance, I told David about how we as Americans have a huge misconception of Central America. He told me I would have to go home and tell everyone how wrong we are. I promised him I would. David led me back to the pick-up point and found another man who got me into a shuttle van and we were once again whisked back out of the jungle and on our way to the airport. Tikal is a must-do, for all those interested! At the airport, I was quickly processed and walked out to the little Cessna. The pilot was the same one I had on my flight over from Belize and when he saw me he smiled and motioned for me to climb up into the co-pilot’s seat, next to him. I was amazed and quickly took advantage of such an honorable offer! It was incredible! I was flying shot-gun next to the pilot, with a thousand and one gauges in front of my fingers. I sat back and enjoyed the awesome ride!
Central America! What a beautiful blend of small countries and immense cultures! This has got to be the most perfect day of my life! We arrived back to the island by 6:30. I walked over to the internet café and sent a quick email to everyone, and grabbed another duplicate of wings and salad at the Jambel Jerk! Tired, dusty and extremely content, I made my way back just in time for another bakery run, and then to my cabana and a very much needed hot shower. What a perfect day!
Day 7- This is my last full day on the beautiful island. Woke up early and went outside to get some more great sunrise pictures! I had left my door ajar and when I came back in…I had a cat. I made some coffee and sat outside (with my cat) and ate sugar cookies. (The cat is kind of annoying...guess I'm a dog-person...) Walked downtown to email (whine about having to come back home) everyone, and bought some fresh pineapple, papaya, cantaloupe and watermelon along the way. Stopped at grocery store for more bottled water, and hit the bakery for fresh cinnamon bread. I don't know why I didn't do this right away. The fruit is scrumptious and the baked goods are divine, plus it saves a lot of money for other things. After a brunch of fruit and bread, I swam out by the dock till 1 PM. Showered, ate more fruit and bread and walked back behind the bakery and rented a bicycle for the rest of the day. Crossed the cut and rode my bike up to Journey's End. A “Northern” has blown in today and it is overcast and extremely windy. Stopped by the Jalapa Bar for a quick coke, and then back across the cut, stopping at Riverside Bar & Grill for supper. There I was served my chicken quesadillas and salad by wonderful and charming Somas! Great guy and good food! Returned my bike and had to stop and ask for an extra blanket at my hotel's lobby. It is down-right chilly tonight!
Day 8- The time has come to bid goodbye. I will miss this beautiful place. I will miss the smiling people and the happy, laughing children playing in the streets. A “Northern” blew in yesterday and it is almost chilly. Mostly overcast and windy. I polished off my fresh fruit and some chocolate cake with the rest of my Caye Coffee. Packed my bags and Orlando came by to take me back to the airport.
Things I will miss the most:
#1. The laughing, happy children playing in the streets, till late in the evening
#2. The wonderful ever-constant breeze
#3. Streets of sand, bicycles and golf carts
#4. Going barefoot, everywhere
#5. My cabana
#6. My porch
#7. My porch's view
#8. The sound of the wind through the louvers at night…ahhhh
#9. Wondering what day it is?
#10. And…The bakery!
Leaving Ambergris Caye...http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7qKxmKYBgDA&feature=related
April 14 – 21, 2004
Day 1- I arrived in Philadelphia airport shortly after 4 in the morning, to catch my 6 o’clock flight to Liberia, Costa Rica. This will be my fourth trip flying solo, and after years of anticipation of visiting Costa Rica, I find myself standing in line at the ticket counter, with butterflies in my belly, and a thousand images in my head. What will it be like? I sum up all the things I want to see while I am there, Arenal Volcano, Monteverde Cloud Forest, the beaches and rainforests. Oh, and I want to see the Resplendent Quetzal, too!
When I had turned 30, I mentally made up a list of things I wanted to do and see, before I died. I wanted to walk through a rainforest, visit an active volcano, go on a whale watch, and dive the Blue Hole. These things had all seemed so distance and unattainable at the time, but I had always enjoyed a good challenge. When I was diagnosed with Non-Hodgkin’s Lymphoma at the age of 40, that mental list suddenly became very clear in my mind’s eye, and I realized the only thing I got accomplished on that list was the whale watch, and other than that, I hadn’t considered it in a long time, and I needed to speed things up a bit, so to speak.
So here I am, standing in line, thinking about all the bugs and spiders and snakes, which you always see on the television shows about rainforests. Well, I will just wear heavy socks, along with a good pair of hiking shoes, and definitely watch where I walk, I think to myself. And, if I happen to get bitten by something ominous and poisonous, I will just die there. I am sure there are a lot of worse places to die! I somehow reassure myself with this philosophy, and smile at the lady taking my ticket.
Upon boarding, I locate my despicable aisle seat, and try to make myself as comfortable as possible. Much to my dismay, I had woke up this morning with a horrible cough, which luckily for me is the only symptom, but to the dismay of all those around me, a very annoying one. It is going to be a very long flight, for everybody involved.
Some 5 hours later, after constantly getting bumped by aisle carts and guzzling as much coffee and orange juice that the flight attendant can hand out, I am buzzed and antsy, ready to get out of this horrid seat and cramped quarters. The pilot makes the prepare-for-landing announcement, and the plane dips and tilts hard to the left, and I catch my first glimpse of Costa Rica. What? My heart leaps from my chest, into my throat, causing me to almost choke! Did I miss something? Am I on the wrong flight? Were we diverted to another airport, in another country, and I wasn’t paying attention and missed the announcement? The glimpse I caught of the land below us looked more like the way one would expect the Serengeti or the outback of Australia to look. Not Costa Rica! Everything was parched and dry. The trees are bare and there is hazy smoke rising somewhere off in the distance. My heart sinks low, along with the plane, as we prepare to land.
Due to the time changes, it is only going on 10:30, when we arrive in Liberia, and we are quickly processed through the airport, which is really nothing more than a Quonset hut. Once through, I am greeted by the hotel representatives, and taken to the shuttle van, which I immediately climb into, to escape the blazing hot sun and scorching wind. Sitting under the cooling vents of the air-conditioner, I wait for the rounding up of the others, who will be going to my hotel. The driver climbs in and waits with me. “Why is everything so dry and brown?” I ask, trying hard to hide my disappointment. He smiled and said “it is the end of the dry season here; next month the rains will come.” He then explained about the two seasons they have here in Costa Rica, the rainy season which is from mid-May till the end of November, and the dry season, December till May. I am trying really hard now, to be optimistic, and I sit back and relax a little bit, when he explains how it is always lush and green, up in the mountains. Looks like I got a lot of roads to travel ahead of me, here in Costa Rica.
The other people are tracked down and climb into the van. “Hi!” I say and smile at them, already knowing the questions in their heads, by reading the expressions on their faces. They too, ask almost simultaneously, about how dry everything is. I smile, nod and keep silent, as the driver once again, has to explain his country’s weather conditions. We all settle in and listen to a brief summary of facts and history of Costa Rica, as we are chauffeured to our hotel. Questions are asked and answered by our accommodating hosts, and we learn how even though the trees all look like dead wood, they will bloom again in all their greens, once the rains come, up here in the dry region of Guanacaste, Costa Rica. Much like our deciduous trees comes back to life every spring, here in the northern part of the United States.
We are dropped at our hotel around noon, and being that our rooms won’t be ready till 3 PM, I walk down to the beach with my backpack, and find a small amount of shade under one of the many trees, on the beach. It is HOT! There is a steady strong wind blowing, and I lie down on a chaise lounge, and allow my brain to absorb the total mind-numbing misconception, of my idea of Costa Rica. I have just dozed off, when I hear a lot of voices around me, and being that the beach was nearly deserted when I arrived, I look up, a little annoyed at being aroused from my nap. There are roughly a dozen people standing not 20 feet away, talking quietly, pointing and looking up into the trees. Hmmm. I grab my camera, and go over to them, and look where they are all pointing. What is it? Monkeys! I am here, not even an hour, and monkeys have come down to the beach, to me. Wow! This is going to be good. I shoot a couple of pictures before the white-faced monkeys head for higher ground, and with a song in my heart and even higher spirits, I head up to the hotel’s restaurant to get something to eat.
After stuffing myself on fresh, succulent watermelon and pineapple, I check into my room, access it, find no bugs, spiders or snakes, wash my face and change into fresh clothes. I remembered the driver telling us to take a walk along a path, out by the road. He said that later in the day, you might get to see some of the wildlife, such as monkeys, iguanas and different kinds of birds. I grabbed my camera and went. I was once again immediately assaulted by the hot arid wind, and the searing heat. Mental note; I must remember to wear lots of sunscreen, down here. I found the path. It was more like a dusty dirt road, and I walked roughly a half-mile, before I started to worry about how big the wildlife might actually be, which I might encounter. I remembered reading other people’s trip reports of how the male howler monkey can become very aggressive, if he feels his troop is being threatened. I have never seen a howler monkey. I do know that they are hairy, black and make a lot of noise, but that is all I know about them. The dirt road dipped low, farther down into the dry forest, and the sun was sinking below the surface of the tree line, and I started to see a lot of black shadows, everywhere. It’s time to turn around, I think to myself. I headed back up the road, straining hard to see something, anything alive, but seeing only a couple little, tiny birds twittering around in the brown brushes. They moved too fast to focus on, so I gave up on my wildlife sightings for today, when something unseen stung me, on the back of my calf, with such ferocity I have never felt before! Son of a gun! MAN, did that hurt!! Scorpion, I thought! I looked everywhere and saw nothing. I had a red welt rapidly rising on my flesh, and a burning sensation that felt like I was getting stung over and over again. It was too high up on my leg to be a scorpion, it must have been a wasp or some kind of a bee, I thought to myself, as I limped back to my room. I showered and applied ice to my sting, and went to dinner. My appetite is low, my cough has gotten much worse, everybody is looking at the sick woman in the room, and my leg hurts badly. I ate very little, went back to my room, took my Zyrtec and some Tylenol, and went to bed at 8:30, thinking this is great, I got stung by some vicious insect first day here, in Costa Rica, and now I am getting sick, on top of everything else.
Day 2- Woke up at 5:30, feeling refreshed and 100% better! Made a pot of the best Costa Rican coffee in the world, and took a cup along with me, as I ventured out and sat on the patio. I listened to the plain-breasted ground doves cooing, and the pale-vented pigeons humming along, as the sun crested the horizon, over the patch of palm trees, down along the bay. Ahhh…The sights and sounds of Costa Rica rising.
By 7:30, I am ready for the infamous all-you-can-eat breakfast buffet, and believe you me, I am going to get my bellies worth, this morning! I am famished from my lack of appetite, the night before. After a scrumptious breakfast, I hike the strenuous walk back up the hill, to the lobby to meet my Apple Vacations representative at 9:00. I book three day-trips for the remaining of the week, plus the half-day shopping trip into Liberia at 1:00 this afternoon. Got just enough time to don my bathing suit, jump into the pool and become enlisted in the pool volleyball game until 11:30, whereas I must excuse myself from the game, and head back to my room to shower and change. There are nine of us who climb into the van and head back to Liberia. We visited the local tourist’s shops along the way; I bought some Guatemalan purses, a pair of handmade Costa Rican rope sandals, and watched a local firing their signature black pottery next door, while drinking a cold Imperial beer, under a heavily-laden mango tree. This is going to be GOOD after all, I thought, as I tried hard not to smile. People will think I’m loony, if I walk around with this big smile on my face, all the time. We were then driven into town, where we visited the local grocery store. I wandered through the store, with my mouth hanging wide open, trying hard not to look like a tourist, but in amazement at the biggest fruits and vegetables I had ever seen in my life! They looked hugely obscene! Being that the grocery store was so crowded, I didn’t take any pictures, but now I wished I would have. By this time, I had made friends with a lady traveling alone, from Chicago. We were in search of the “1860” coffee we heard so much about on the ride here, and after locating it, I went in search of some good Cuban cigars. With our purchases in hand, we all met up, at our appointed place and got back into the van. On the way back to our hotel, we past a field consumed in flames, and black smoke was ascending high into the evening air. The driver explained that they are burning sugar cane. They must burn it, before they harvest it. It is to tough to cut, plus there are a lot of poisonous snakes hiding in the fields. This way, it is easier and much safer for the harvesters to do their jobs, and it doesn’t hurt the sugar cane. I remembered the hazy smoke-filled skies, I saw from the airplane. Very interesting. Once again, I smile as I rest my head on the window.
Back at the hotel by 5:30, I change into fresh clothes and head down for dinner. The bountiful buffet is excellent, and tends to be more of European-influenced recipes, than the spicy-Mexican related food I had expected. After eating my fill, and relaxing with a nice glass of red wine, I tipped the waiter, said “Buenos noches” to the wonderful host, and slipped like silk into the tropical night. I wandered over to the watchtower, overlooking the resort and climbed the spiral wrought-iron stairs up to the top. There is a strong, constant wind blowing across the bay, and from the top of the tower, the night sky looked like black velvet sprinkled with diamonds. I sat down on the bench next to me, and listened to the wind, and the light laughter coming from the restaurant far below. It is amazing how extraordinarily quiet this place is. I reflected back to the buzzing traffic noise in Acapulco, two short months ago. The blaring of horns and screeching of brakes, the fumes of gas, oil, soot and the smell of diesel smoke. Down here, you are in another whole different world. I smiled to myself, and made my way back down the spiral staircase, with the tropical winds, whipping at my skirt. I hiked back up the hill, to my room, with a buzzing of another kind, in my ears. The sounds of night; insects, crickets, cicadas, and the other things that go buzz in the night.
Day 3- Got up at 6:00. I did my morning deal of coffee on my patio, while listening to the pigeons and morning doves. I am going to miss this. Down for a quick breakfast and then hiked back up to the hotel’s lobby, to join the rest of the people at 8:00, for our day trip up to Monteverde Cloud Forest. Just in case you noticed, there is a lot of hiking here at this wonderful resort. It is literally built on a very steep hill, and the hotel units are on different levels, which are situated almost like landings on a staircase. They also run a 24 hour shuttle van around the resort, but I always opt for the healthy way, and hiked it.
I climbed on board with my backpack filled with my digital camera, a waterproof disposable camera, CD player headset, water bottle, binoculars, and insect spray. I am ready to see a real live rainforest!!! Got my hiking shoes and thick socks on, too! Didn’t know it yet, I would by the end of my day, that I was the only American on the tour. The rest were all Canadians. I had brought along my CD player, thinking I would put it on, and take a nap, while listening to my favorite tunes. I would arrive well-rested, and in a peaceful state of mind. Well, I am finding out in my life, that sometimes the things we don’t plan for are the things which bring us the greatest joy. Our guide was insistent on giving us our money’s worth, and we had frequent stops along the way, with him picking the fruits from cashew trees, and passing them around to us. They are similar looking to a red bell pepper, they have a waxy feeling to them, and they stink. At the very bottom of this fruit-like thing is one cashew. It’s no wonder they are so expensive! He also picked different seed pods along the way from different trees (a couple of these pods I still have in my kitchen) and we also stopped when he spotted a troop of spider monkeys! What was I thinking? I wasn’t going to get any rest! I put away my CD player, put my sunglasses on and got ready to enjoy the ride! By this time, my Canadian co-riders were all in full force with stories and laughter, but I was still silent and in my shell. As we got higher up in the mountains, the scenery started to take on another whole different color. Everything was getting green! It was almost like you were slowly flipping through the pages of a calendar, with every 20 miles or so, another flip of a page, and another month closer to summer. We arrived in Santa Elena, right after a rain shower. We drove through this tiny town which was surrounded in rainbows! There were rainbows in the sky; there were rainbows dancing off water puddles, and rainbows reflecting in the windows of the houses. Once again, my jaw fell south. I wanted to take pictures of everything, but the van kept moving. They apparently now had a rigid schedule to keep, and there was no stopping now. As we continued on towards Monteverde Cloud Forest, the driver suddenly pointed at something up in the tree, and everybody went to one side of the van, and I had to think of being in a boat, and how it would have tipped over. Our guide said “okay, we all get out now”, and we did, and we finally saw what it was that the driver had seen. I said finally, because it took forever to pick it out. It was a sloth, who was hanging motionless upside down in the tree. When you have never seen a sloth before, it is hard to know what to look for, especially since it doesn’t move an inch. He or she blended in with the lush foliage so well, that only a trained-eye could spot one. Our guide explained to us that they live their whole life up in the tree, and only come down to the ground, once a week, to defecate. Now that is what I would call, a much-deserved bathroom break!
After the many jokes of the constipated, sluggish sloth from the raucous Canadians, we climbed back in the van and within ten minutes, we were finally at Monteverde Cloud Forest Reserve. A Cloud Forest is exactly what it sounds like it is. This area of land produces and makes its own weather systems, and is entirely engulfed in clouds, 98% of the time. It sits 4,500 feet above sea level and straddles the Continental Divide. It was cool and misty, and I was glad I had the forethought to pack a light waterproof jacket. We all donned our gear, and one by one, dissipated into the foggy, fragile, wet, mystical netherworld of the rainforest.
It was everything I hoped it would be. Except for the constant dripping from the wet cloud-kissed canopy high overhead which only added to the ambience, the only thing you heard were the cheeps, tweets, whistles, chirps, and peeps of the many, many birds, of whom are guide was judiciously looking for. We all followed, in single file, in silence and awe, staring up and around and under at wherever he pointed, with our mouths all hanging wide open. The path was wet, slick and tricky, and occasionally, someone would stumble, because of course, we forgot to watch where we were walking! That would set the Canadians off with fits of giggles and laughter, and then we were on our way again. Forty-five minutes into our journey, we made it to the suspension bridge, floating high above the canopy, and we were all on the bridge looking down on the canopy, when the greatest thing happened! All along the trail, our guide kept telling us he heard the Resplendent Quetzal. Now, I had seen pictures of this strikingly-beautiful green bird with the scarlet chest and long transparent tail feathers. But, I didn’t know what to listen for, and I take it the others didn’t either, and we had all kind of resigned to the fact that maybe, just maybe, our guide was making it all up. Well, anyway, here we are all on the bridge looking down on the canopy, when who flies right overhead of us, and lands on the thick, moss-covered bough above? A male Resplendent Quetzal in all his glory! Binoculars were quickly traded back and forth, cameras were clicking, oohs and aahs were whispered, and he seemed totally aware, that he was the star of the show. It was magical. As if in cue, when cameras and binoculars were all spent, he took flight, off into his damp, dense, lush, tropical paradise, which I hope and pray, will always be here, for generations to come. We were all silent as we made our way back off the bridge. I do believe we all realized, just how special of a moment, we had all been blessed with.
Once we exited the Cloud Forest Reserve, we walked over to the Hummingbird Gallery, which was located next-door, and were once again treated to an extraordinary tranquil scene of lots and lots of humming birds, of all sizes and colors, buzzing around the many different feeders. I saw a bright violet humming bird, a brilliant blue one, and one that was very large, about the size of a sparrow. They buzzed us like miniature fighter jets, darting and dive-bombing each other, their wings moving faster than the eye could follow.
We all climbed back into the van, which we are really getting good at by now, and made our way to the lodge where we were scheduled to have lunch. We sat at a long table and dined on chicken in a mushroom cream sauce, which was excellent! I was invited to join the crazy Canadian girl, who had happened to step on a tiny trail of little red ants, in the rain forest, and being she only had sandals on, had been bitten many times, on her toes. This too, had set the Canadians off in fits of squeals and laughter, which at the time had annoyed me, and I thought why in the world would someone wear sandals in a rain forest? But, she survived, as we all did, and now I was thoroughly enjoying the antics of these delightfully funny people. After lunch, we attired to the front porch and rested on rocking chairs, overlooking and enjoying the view of the forested mountains and valleys.
It was now well after 3PM, and it was time for us to leave this deliciously lush, wet, green world, and make our way back down to the hot, arid region of Guanacaste. By now, we felt like we had all known each other for years (maybe it was because of the sacred moments we shared) and talked of our homes and shared stories, joking with each other as friends do. This was where I found out I was the only American on board and the other 13 people were Canadians. They poked lovingly at me, and teased me with questions about Canada, and told me of the Canadian TV show called “Just ask Americans.” It is a reality show where they (a Canadian) ask (an American) they meet on the street a simple question, about Canada. And, of course, we (Americans) never know the answer. Because, we as arrogant Americans, were never taught Canadian history in school. I guess our society never saw a need for it? Well, anyway, we had a wonderful trip back home. We saw another rainbow in a valley, as we wound our way back down, out of the mountains, and other than almost hitting a horse which was standing in the middle of the road, when we came around the bend (which set off the Canadians again) the trip back to the hotel was a time of remembering and reflecting, on our sights of the day.
It was going on 8PM by the time we reached the hotel, and everyone climbed out and we said our goodbyes, for the day. We were all tired and needed showers, and as for me, I get to do another day trip again, tomorrow. Exhausted and happy, I hiked back down to my room.
Day 4- I had my morning wake up call for 6, and was showered and having coffee once again, on my patio by 6:30, along with the mourning doves and cooing pigeons. This is something I will always want to remember, I tell myself. This peaceful moment in time. Another perfect day. Watching the pinks and peaches in the dawning sky, break away to the bright baby blues. I check my watch and head down for another quick breakfast, before making my climb back up to the hotel lobby. I should be in pretty good shape, by the time I have to go back home, with all the exercise I am getting on this trip. I make my way to the top of the hill, to the lobby, and see a large crowd of people meandering around, everybody waiting for something. I see a couple of my crazy Canuck friends from yesterday, and make my way over to them. Unfortunately, they are doing a different trip than I am, and soon get in a van with a half dozen other people, wave good bye to me, and off they go. I see the lady from Chicago, whom I went grocery shopping in Liberia with, and she waves at me. She is doing the Arenal Volcano trip too, and we wait together for our ride to appear. Soon, a noisy gaseous, smoke-blowing Greyhound bus arrives, and we are all surprised to learn that we are traveling in that humongous thing. About twenty of us climb on board, with everyone spreading out. Toni, the lady from Chicago claims the front seat on the passenger side, and since the driver’s side is already taken with the tour guide’s gear, I sit in the second seat directly behind Toni. We are than briefed on the day’s activities and off we go towards Liberia. It is funny how quickly you learn directions and start to recognize places, and I remember the road from the shopping trip two days ago. I remembered there is a John Deere implement company not too far up the road and I have my camera ready, hoping to get some shots of John Deere in Costa Rica, for my brother. (My brother has been employed by John Deere for over 30 years and is a huge fan) We are moving way too fast, and I miss any photo opportunities, so I sit back and relax, letting the day take me where it will. Which is not too far up the road, and then we pullover, at this little rest stop area? Everybody sits up and looks around. Why are we here? The tour guide explains to us that #1. We have some people on this bus that are on the wrong bus. #2. We are picking up more people here. And # 3. Bathroom privileges should be used up here. Restrooms are visited; the exchange of our hostages to their rightful tour guides are made, and we are soon joined by another large Greyhound bus. Our tour guide announces that we should all move forward and condense our things to make room for the fifty people who will be joining us. I am now in the front seat with Toni, and I have the best seat in the house. What a view of the road, and everything around us! I smile and think to myself, it is funny how things always work out.
The rest of the people board, and we are all situated comfortably, ready for the long trip ahead. Our tour guide picks up his microphone and I settle it to listen and learn, and watch the scenery unravel in front of us. We are now on the Pan-American Highway; the first and oldest highway ever built which runs from Alaska to Chile, spanning two continents. Pretty amazing stuff! Life is so interesting, even the smallest things that most people find so trivial. I keep watch as we roll on passing small towns, and mango tree-lined villages, further out into the country, pass rancheros with sleek, shiny horses, and farms fat with cattle grazing on lush, grassy knolls. Someone mentions how healthy the animals all look. I nod in agreement, remembering how starved the horses in Mexico always looked. Our tour guide says that Costa Ricans have a lot of pride in the breeding and care of their animals, and it surely does show! Yes, this is good, I think to myself.
We are now getting into the highlands, and our bus in chugging along, getting slower on the uptake, and we are now the leaders of a small parade of vehicles. The bus driver waves them by at an appropriate place, and then the tour guide called out and said something to the bus driver in Spanish, and now they are both rapidly talking and pointing at something up in a tree. Our guide tells us in English, that here, we can see a Toucan. I grab my camera and get a shot of the black long-billed Toucan. “This is wonderful” I say to Toni. She readily agrees with me, and we both smile.
As we get closer to the volcano, we learn about the huge 1000 acre manmade lake, which the government created in the ‘80’s, when they dammed up the valley below the volcano, and then flooded the valley. It is quite gorgeous and green, thick and lush with deep grasses and dense hills surrounding the beautiful lake. It is raining and the skies are heavy and grey, but it is still beautiful! I overhear someone behind me mention that it reminds her of when she was in Austria. We spend our next hour winding our way around the exquisite lake, and I now have the window seat and am shooting pictures, through the window, on the sporting mode, which is used for high speed shots. They are actually getting quite good, which makes me even happier. We are making our way around the lake, when the bus diver is craning his neck, looking up at the trees and abruptly, pulls over. Another troop of spider monkeys, high up in the trees. I wonder to myself, how can he see these things, plus keep his eyes on the twisting, winding road? Then, this little raccoon-like creature, a coatimundi, came wandering out of the tall grass beside the road, and stopped. He couldn’t decide whether to cross the road or not, and as he hesitated, I along with some other people, bounded off the bus and got some great shots of the little furry fellow. With grins on our faces, we boarded our bus and continued on our way. At the northern most part of the lake, immediately below Arenal Volcano, we pull off the road, and our guide allows us the time for more photo opportunities. And, once again, as if by cue, and a stroke of good luck, the sun briefly breaks through the clouds. It was only for about two minutes. But, that was two minutes more than I had imagined we would get, and I am extremely thankful for it. I got some good shots by the volcano, and even though you couldn’t see the top of it, because it was swallowed up by clouds, I was still quite pleased and happy. We were told it was time to go, and everyone climbed back on the bus, and off we went, again.
We chugged and chuffed our way through a tiny mountain village, and started our climb up a narrow deeply-rutted and poorly maintained gravel road. Then we stopped, and the bus driver started backing into a driveway which led to the Eco Lodge, where we would be having lunch later. Next thing you know, there was a loud, grating, screeching noise, and then it felt like we got stuck in a big hole. We were all ordered off the bus and as we walked around behind it, I could see that the bus’s rear left tire had missed part of the driveway and now the whole left side of the bus had sank down into the culvert and it was in up to it’s rear axles. “It looks like we might be here awhile” I said to Toni. And she laughed and replied “It looks like somebody has their work cut out for them today”. We were all herded up and led over to the Eco Lodge, where we received rain parkas, and then we were introduced to our new tour guide, whom we then followed around back, and down into the Coter Rain Forest. Our tour guide was a young girl, who seemed to wish that she was still back in her bed. It was much chillier here, than it was down in Monteverde, and I was wishing that I had brought along my rain coat. We were led through the rain forest, and I heard the distinct shrill pitches of some type of wren, and recognized a call of the clay-colored robin, which sounds very similar to our robin. There were all kinds of flowers, and I think I saw the tiniest little orchid, only about the size of your pinky’s fingernail. On our way back to the lodge, we heard this horrific yell off in the mists, and our guide quickly straightened up and for the first time, she looked excited! She said, “You hear that? That is a howler monkey!” I had my binoculars, and aimed them in the direction of the sound of someone being murdered, and spotted the huge, hairy, black mammal high up in the trees. He was looking our way and seemed to be yelling at us. Someone else called over to me, “there are more, behind him!” Sure enough, his whole family was there, swinging in the branches, and cradling a little one. This is awesome, I thought to myself!
As we found our way out of the rain forest, we were led down another little trail to some type of a thatched hut, where we were ushered in and sat down, forming a circle around the silent native Indians, which would be performing some of their ancient rituals for us. There was a fire in the middle of our circle and the smoke was thickening inside the hut. The Indians then blew their horns, and beat out a rhythm on their drums, and told us in broken English of their history and their means of living and survival, here in the rainforest. For some unknown reason, I got a whiff of smoke down my wrong throat, and it sent me into a coughing fit. Much to my embarrassment, I had to get up and move farther back, closer to the outside of the circle and the fresh air of the forest. After the last dance was performed, and we had the opportunity to purchase their handmade masks, which I didn’t buy, but later wished I would have, we moved back to the Lodge to have lunch prepared and served to us.
We ate our delicious lunch of chicken, rice and vegetables, while we were seated in front of a huge window which ran the length and width of the room, facing a large bird feeder, surrounded by amaryllis, irises and dahlias. We watched in awe, almost forgetting to eat, as birds of every color came to eat the bananas which were laid on the feeders. I recognized blue-gray tanagers, passerini’s tanagers, blue dacuis, and an acorn woodpecker. While we were eating, our bus backed up, (freed from its culvert clutches) into our view, signifying that we would be leaving shortly. We finished our meal, and made our way back out to our bus.
Winding our way back down and around the wet, green grassy hills and through the valleys, with my face pressed against the window pane, I stare out with wonder at the beautiful immense Arenal Lake. We are on our way to Arenal Volcano. We don’t know exactly what Carlos; our tour guide has planned for us, being that the rain has started up again. You can’t see the volcano and I had overheard them discussing what to do next, since the sky has darkened and the rain is not supposed to let up.
Carlos picks up the microphone and announces to all of us, we will be stopping at Tobacon Hot Springs for a couple of hours, to relax in the hot pools and waterfalls, and then we will have dinner there, before we get back on our bus and head back to our resorts. We were shown to the dressing rooms, where we changed into our bathing suits, and made our way down to the hot springs. There were five thermal mineral pools, and we were instructed on how to dip into the first and the least warm one, get accustomed to it, before entering the next one, repeating until you are in the hottest pool. The pools were layered-like, with an overflow of waterfalls, tumbling down from each one. The hottest pool was at the very top of the waterfalls. After climbing out of the hottest pool, you are to get under the shower spigots, adjacent to the hot springs, and take a quick cold shower, thereby closing up your gaping pores, sealing your body from any unwanted bacteria or air-borne viruses. I followed the procedure in all the correct steps, slipping into the first tepid pool and aahh it felt so good, as I slowly sank down and sat by the jets, soaking my body and freeing my mind. Rain drops kept finding their targets, as they fell from the dark clouds overhead. But I didn’t mind. I just slipped further down into the swells of the heated jets, allowing them to pulse on my back and shoulders. This too, is good, I say to myself.
After thoroughly soaking my body and soul, and taking a quick ice cold shower, I gather up my flip flops and towel, from under a palapa, and head back to change. Bright pink-skinned and in warm dry clothes, I wandered around the grounds. Dipping under trees along the paths to escape the rain; I came upon what I like to call the dreaming tree. It is a huge tree standing alone, in an open area. Its branches are large and heavy. So heavy, it seems that after spreading out high and wide, their very weight brought them back down to touch the ground. I stood in awe with my camera. The rain had let up for just a moment. An opportunity of a lifetime. I grabbed my shot. Then with another smile on my face, I walked back to the restaurant and found a large porch with numerous hammocks, and made myself at home in one, until I heard the call for dinner.
We were seated at tables and served family style. The dinner was divine. We had grilled pork chops and mashed potatoes, tossed salad and fresh tropical fruit cup, and real lemonade. It was so good I had seconds of everything. Maybe it was the hike in the rainforest earlier, or the soak in the thermal springs, but I was ravenous. During the course of our dinner, we took our turns around the table, introducing ourselves and telling of where we were from. With the rain drumming a primal tune on the tin roof over our heads, we polished off our dessert of rice pudding laced with raisins and cinnamon and good Costa Rican coffee.
Satisfied and sedated, we got back on our bus. It is pitch black outside, with no signs of red-hot lava anywhere in the distance, and with only the sounds of the rain in the night; we set off down the road, leaving Arenal Volcano behind us. I am in the front seat watching the road ahead, and Carlos and our bus driver talk about the soccer game playing on the radio. They are speaking in Spanish and I watch their animated conversation, and smile at their reactions to the lively broadcast of the announcer, on the radio. Apparently, their team is winning. They are grinning widely and totally immersed in the game. Everyone around me settles in and they are all soon sleeping. I, along with Carlos and our bus driver, keep vigil of the night.
About an hour and a half later, we arrive upon a small sleeping village situated on a hill, with rows of short ranch houses and little bungalows. The town is dark and no one is stirring, as we drive up a steep street, lined with concrete sidewalks. From out of the darkness, and in dreamlike eeriness, I see a beautiful pure-white horse galloping down the hill, toward us. Staying on the concrete sidewalks, it silently continued pass us, disappearing into the night. I look at Carlos and our bus driver. There is no reaction from them. I turn and look back at all the sleeping occupants on the bus. Am I the only one who saw the horse? That was strange and bizarre. It reminded me of a rock video which aired on MTV, back in the ‘80’s. It was by Annie Lennox and went like this….”sweet dreams are made of these, and who am I to disagree, I traveled the world and the seven seas, everybody’s looking for something”… In the video in showed a pure-white horse wandering in a foggy dreamlike world. It was a surreal moment. I will never forget it.
We made it back to our bus stop and rest area. People are dispatched back to their original tour guides, with some of them having another hour’s drive ahead of them. I am one of the lucky ones. My hotel is only another 10 minutes away. We arrive at our hotel around 10 PM. I hike my way down to my room, and climb into bed. Today was an incredibly good day. Tomorrow will be a day of rest.
Day 5- I awoke at 7:30. It’s another beautiful morning; another beautiful day. The doves and pigeons are humming, in perfect harmony. I sit and sip my morning coffee. After another wonderful breakfast, I don my bathing suit, and head down to the beach. This is my fifth day here in Costa Rica, and it’s the first time I will be swimming in the bay waters, of the Pacific Ocean. Where have I been all week?
This beach is made entirely of black volcanic sand, which I have heard from others, gets extremely hot, in fact, too hot to walk on with bare feet. With flip flops on my feet, and snorkel gear in my tote bag, I drag a chaise lounge the whole way out to the waters edge. I have noticed here, that when the tide goes out, it goes WAY out, leaving an immense beach, and when it returns, it diminishes the beach by a quarter of a mile. So here I am dragging this chair. By the time I reach the water, I really need the seat. After a nice, long dip in the surprisingly cold water, I lie in the chaise lounge with the water lapping underneath me. Tiny little fishes and snails soon join me, in the water below. This is cool! I lie on my belly in my chair, and watch the fish.
The tide goes out further, my fish are gone, and I drag my chair back, further up on the beach. While I was lying on my belly, I noticed all the beautiful little shells, and decide to spend the rest of the morning, combing the beach. I walked the length of the beach, as far as it went, until it ended where the jungle crept to the waters edge. Upon my return, I was joined by a young Tico, who walked with me along the beach. Unfortunately, he knew only Spanish and my knowledge of Spanish is very limited, so it was a very short conversation. We arrived back to my resort’s beach area and he smiled and said “adios”, and continued on his way.
It is now lunch time and I chowed down on chips and salsa, a salad and some fresh fruit. Afterwards I made my way to the pool. This is my 5th day, and only the second time I actually get in the pool. The big beautiful pool! Reclining by the pool is a couple from Texas, whom I had met yesterday on the Arenal trip. We had dinner together up at the volcano. They are divers, and her husband is here on a dive. Sadly for her, she had some type of brain aneurysm a couple of months ago and isn’t allowed to dive with her husband and the others. So we hang out together and talk for awhile. She is funny and interesting. Later, her husband appears and he tells us they couldn’t dive because the water was too rough. They will try again, tomorrow.
I excuse myself from them as they float in the pool in a loving embrace and make my way back to my hotel room. I need a nap in an air-conditioned room.
After a 40 minute nap I arise feeling refreshed and much better. Time to get cleaned up for dinner. I then hike back up to the top of the hill to the hotel’s lobby and purchase a few souvenirs for me from their little gift shop.
Dinner time rolls around and I feast mightily on another scrumptious meal and ponder about tomorrow’s featured event. Tomorrow I am going up into Nicaragua. Ever since I can remember, Nicaragua conjures up images of violence and war, rebels and chaos. My heart skips a beat as I sit and think. What will it really be like, I wonder?
Day 6- Nicaragua! I am going to Nicaragua! I arise at 5:30 Am and make my coffee. No time to linger this morning. I grab all my gear and head for the lobby. There is a crowd of people all hanging out, waiting for our bus. The greyhound bus eventually appears and we all board. Once again, it is Toni and I in the front seat. Toni claims to get car sickness and always has to be in the front, which suits me just fine, since that means I get a front seat, also. Everyone is situated and we are on the way to Nicaragua. We cross the border of Costa Rica into Nicaragua and our bus is sprayed and fumigated with some type of a chemical, as we all sit inside the bus with windows closed and wonder just exactly what it is we are being sprayed with? Our tour guide makes a joke of how we are being sprayed for bugs, that bugs only cross the border on vehicles…they never cross by themselves. That makes us laugh. I am not sure why. Once we are sprayed, we get off and are processed through immigrations, a long and drawn out affair, with long lines of frustrated people. Back on the bus we climb and off we go, in to the Land of Volcanoes. Our tour guide starts with his commentary and I am quickly immersed into the bloody violent history of Nicaragua. We learn about William Walker and the Contra affair. We learn of the people’s trials, hardships and struggles and hear of a sure-heartedness which never gives up, in this yearning nation. It is so incredibly interesting and I listen with strained ears as I watch the countryside unravel, in front of us. Nicaragua! I am finally here.
We are winding our way through lush green fields of rice and sugar cane when up ahead I can see swarms of swallows of some kind, winging back and forth across the road. There are high banks on both side of the road and the swallows are bridging these banks with their missile-like dives and turns. The bus barrels through them and to my horror I hear many, many tiny thumps as their frail bodies plummet off the side of the bus, time and time again. It is a horrific sound. One that I will never forget. I look around and see the faces of the others, wincing at the sounds the tiny broken bodies make against the steel walls of the huge bus. I look at the tour guide. He never misses a beat in his narration.
After we pass through the swallow massacre, I try hard not to picture in my mind the mess we left behind. After all, this is Nicaragua. A hardened land which has seen far too much in its pass to shudder at what just transpired in this present time. We are first taken to Masaya Volcanic Park and we are allowed an hour or two to wander to our hearts content. I make a bee-line up to the highest part of the park, a dormant volcano sitting at the top and look back down over the very active “Santiago.” The entire park area is parched and dry and the sun is hot on this arid place. I snap off a lot of shots and head back down to board the cool shade of the bus. Everyone else gets on board and we soon arrive in Granada. It is a beautiful old colonial town, with brightly painted yellow buildings and a brilliant blue monastery, lying in the shadow of Masaya Volcanic Park.
We climb off the bus and are immediately surrounded by a score of hungry, pleading children. Our guide gives them some change from his pockets and they scamper across the plaza to buy ice cream, and quickly return to us, attaching themselves to us for the duration of the day. I have to wonder where their parents are. Do they know where their children are?
After touring Granada and the monastery, we are taken for lunch at a local restaurant which is decorated in vivid colors and lots of tropical plants and ferns. The cuisine is excellent and the Nicaraguan Tona lager I have is even better. We are serenaded by five handsome Nicas with their guitarras, as we sup and dine in delight.
After are wonderful dining experiences we are taken to Masaya for a quick shopping trip.
The sights and sounds of the buzzing marketplace are overwhelming and a bit intimidating, and I make a few purchases; Nicaraguan cigars, exquisite pottery pieces and a hand-woven chair, and board the bus. The chair is in the belly of the bus and my pottery prizes are on my lap. Everyone else is soon rounded up and we are on our way back to Costa Rica. The sun has disappeared and the day has darkened as we travel through the rolling hills and empty valleys. The night sky is black. It is hard to describe how black the night sky is to someone who has never been in far and remote places, before. There are millions upon millions of stars in the sky, available to the naked eye, down here. I sit back and enjoy the planetarium.