tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32816122815091860262024-03-05T12:37:05.191-06:00Randy's Travel BlogAction! Adventure! Etc!Randyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14428531478283627693noreply@blogger.comBlogger51125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3281612281509186026.post-49763970024848688662015-08-26T10:40:00.000-05:002016-06-26T10:37:01.401-05:00On Lake Titicaca<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJZkSIhskhTtjoQ9TimtAdKr3Mixz8pVQvu48V9ISwOJkc5xYcbLF84ZLUFICaFXvP814iOmET4SA1-YtEsgeWjDwss-7D21IoG7r712G7pIjsA1mWKTV_mMrOBLNz5fv-OUEZFW0nk9E/s1600/Lake+Titikaka+Island.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="242" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJZkSIhskhTtjoQ9TimtAdKr3Mixz8pVQvu48V9ISwOJkc5xYcbLF84ZLUFICaFXvP814iOmET4SA1-YtEsgeWjDwss-7D21IoG7r712G7pIjsA1mWKTV_mMrOBLNz5fv-OUEZFW0nk9E/s640/Lake+Titikaka+Island.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Lake Titicaca</b></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Most
sources agree that “titi” means puma in Aymara and “caca” (“k<span style="background: white; color: #252525;">arka” actually)</span> means rock. From that point there is a divergence as to
what “puma rock” means. Is the lake
shaped like a puma? Were pumas
particularly numerous in the region around the lake? Was there a rock in the lake where a puma
once lived? Or could it be that
“Titicaca” sounding like “puma rock” in Aymara is a mere coincidence. One could infer, for example, that
Washington, the US Capitol city refers to the cleansing of a heavy weight
(“washing” “ton”) —which is literally true, but also far-fetched. It is possible that the name “Titicaca” is
more ancient than the Aymara language.
One source I’ve found mentions that “titi” means sun in Puquina, a now
defunct language that was once spoken around Lake Titicaca. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Regardless
of the origin of its name, Lake Titicaca is an amazing lake. It straddles the border of Peru and Bolivia,
covers over three thousand square miles and is dotted with islands, and most
incredibly, the surface of its waters sit over 12,000 feet above the surface of
the ocean. It is the world’s highest
navigable body of water.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Our plan
is to navigate the lake over the next few days and we have chosen <a href="http://titicacaperu.com/">All WaysTrave</a>l to help us in that undertaking. The
leading sentence on the All Ways’ web site acknowledges both the rich culture
and tradition and the deep poverty of the people in the Lake Titicaca
region. This tour company, like any tour
company anywhere, helps support the local economy by facilitating visits by
tourists into the local area. But All
Ways assumes an even greater social responsibility by using some of its profits
to build and maintain libraries in local communities and by providing financial
support for the local schools. They also
try to break down barriers between tourists and locals by arranging for
tourists to stay as paying guests in local homes. We chose this company because of their
dedication to socially responsible tourism, but our experience with them proves
that we’ve made the right choice beyond social responsibility. Both the quality of service and the dedication
of their staff are first-rate.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">On this
morning, the All Ways Travel van picks us up from the Casona Colon lobby and we
drive to the dock. The van driver points
out the boat that we’ll be traveling on and suggests that before we board we buy
a gift for the host family that we’ll be staying with. There are vendor stalls by the dock selling
all manner of goods, so after perusing merchandise in several of these we settle
on some oranges and apples from a fruit stand.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">The boat
is a cabin run-about with a capacity of about twenty and there are maybe just a
few less than that number on board. Once
we’re all settled a smiling dark-haired young woman introduces herself as
Sylvia, our guide. She also introduces
Lloyd, the boat's pilot. Lloyd backs the
boat from its berth and we’re underway. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Our first
stop is a short distance into the lake from Puno at the Islands of Uros. This is a group of about fifty islands – the
number varies depending on who you ask and when you count because islands can
disappear and new islands can be formed on very short order. These unique islands are man-made – built of
reeds, occupied by the Uru people, and have been inhabited for perhaps as long
as a thousand years.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">One thought
is that the Uru people migrated to the Lake Titicaca region and built islands
in the lake when they found that all the land was already occupied by
others. Another theory is that the Uru
people moved into the lake for better defense.
The Uru traded with the Aymara people who occupied the shore around the
lake and intermarried to the point that they eventually lost their original
language and spoke only Aymara. Ultimately
they were conquered by the Incas and incorporated into that empire. But through all of that they continued to live
on their islands and maintain their way of life. Their traditional food sources have been fish
from the lake, the eggs of water birds, and the roots of torta reeds. It is these reeds that they use to build
their boats, their houses, and the islands they live on. The islands are made of interwoven layers of
reeds about six feet thick that are anchored to the bottom of the lake with
ropes. New layers of reeds have to be
constantly added to the top since the bottom layer is continuously rotting
away. As I walk around the islands, the
surface sinks slightly under my feet every time I take a step. It gives the very real sensation that I am
walking on a floating island.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2GeJ00tS0R_6g9hmJPfNtz-lrs-YaOs64ywpnjit0avGduFINDY6aX5hC1xznrPQf244bB_iLqrKir5UQPnHqIGgkSz55xs0SBbdR916IILM_sQAxX6EaW3EcaMniwmvpiNnVfpmw7Yo/s1600/Uros+-+reeds.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2GeJ00tS0R_6g9hmJPfNtz-lrs-YaOs64ywpnjit0avGduFINDY6aX5hC1xznrPQf244bB_iLqrKir5UQPnHqIGgkSz55xs0SBbdR916IILM_sQAxX6EaW3EcaMniwmvpiNnVfpmw7Yo/s640/Uros+-+reeds.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Reed Islands!</b></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">The
people are dressed in bright primary colors – the men in wool sweaters and reed
hats and the women in colorful vests, full skirts, and reed or traditional
Andean felt hats.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Everybody is friendly
and anxious to show us hospitality.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">One
young woman who speaks a few words of English shows us her home and her
handiwork.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I buy a couple of little
gourds from her that have been painted to look like owls and Kathy buys an
embroidered piece.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">One of the men
gathers us around to tell us a little of their culture.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">He tells us that modern life is finding its
way to the islands in the form of TV’s, radios, and solar panels. </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Cooking is still done over fires, which must
be built on top of rocks, since the entire surface of the islands is
flammable.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">There are “outhouses” on
small islands a short distance from the main islands – everybody just relieves
themselves into the lake and the lake disposes of the waste through dilution
and the natural process of decomposition.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">
</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">The dead, likewise, are buried in the lake.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjubc-WBrXYl1bpWUf2ZwSDGThnB3Z39sIgi_G0Blrg6w0FWaHlyFDM3Wp-rwZz4jzPCYB1Dp9r-kx3S-_0hpvQ2-he1D-Nd6qcSINLoU05rVhLJQzeC5BronpZXYb8Pjnf3onpHaFYH_w/s1600/Uros+4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="518" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjubc-WBrXYl1bpWUf2ZwSDGThnB3Z39sIgi_G0Blrg6w0FWaHlyFDM3Wp-rwZz4jzPCYB1Dp9r-kx3S-_0hpvQ2-he1D-Nd6qcSINLoU05rVhLJQzeC5BronpZXYb8Pjnf3onpHaFYH_w/s640/Uros+4.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Uru Women Attend a Fire</b></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">The
latest census indicates around 2000 Uros descendants – they are disappearing by
assimilating into the general population.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">
</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">The number of those 2000 still living on the islands is in the mere
hundreds.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">The economy of those remaining
on the islands is supported to a large extent by tourists like us, who visit
and perhaps buy a few handicrafts.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">So
while tourism has irrevocably changed the Uros lives, perhaps without it the
remaining people would move to the mainland and the islands would be gone.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">We
reboard the boat and continue across the water to Amantani Island. On the way, Sylvia explains to us that there
are about three and a half thousand people on the island divided between around
800 families and ten communities. Each
community takes its turn hosting overnight tourists. Any given community hosts, at most, a couple
times a week during high season. As we draw near to the island I experience a
sense of déjà vu because the small island with its steep hillsides, sparse
vegetation and grazing sheep reminds me so much of the Greek Islands in the
Aegean. It appears that most of the
community is on the shore waiting for our arrival. It also appears that everybody has put on
their best clothes to welcome us. The men are wearing white shirts, dark
trousers, dark vests and fedora-style hats. The women are garbed in white
blouses with brightly embroidered fronts, very full red skirts with multiple
under-skirts, colorful woven sashes, and black shawls that are elaborately and
colorfully embroidered on the ends. They are wearing the shawls draped across
their heads and down their backs. “How do they keep them balanced on their
heads?” Kathy wonders.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">We get
off the boat and stand in a group as Sylvia and village officials parse us into
groups and assign us to hosts. Kathy,
Madeline, and I, along with a young guy from Paris named François are assigned
to an older woman who is introduced to us as Innocentia. She does not speak any English. It is amazing how well we all converse over
the next day. The tools we have to work
with are a small card containing words and phrases in Quechua, facial
expressions, gestures, laughter, and an essential need and strong desire to
communicate.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Innocentia
starts walking up the steep hill to the village and her house. Any illusion I may have had about this being
like the Greek Isles evaporates as soon as we start walking. Our walk is not starting from the sea but
from a point about 12,000 feet above that.
My breathing is soon ragged.
Innocentia is walking very slowly—she obviously has done this many times
before and is used to tourists not being acclimated to the thin air. We pass a few knots of other tourists panting
by the side of the path—one young woman is both gasping and sobbing. This is hard work! At least we know what to expect having
recently walked the Inca Trail. As we
reach the edge of the village the dirt path turns to cobblestone. There is a small store and clusters of houses
spread out on large lots with vegetable gardens, and pens containing chickens and
sheep. We meet other villagers on the
path and are impressed that many of the women are knitting or plying yarn on drop
spindles as they walk along. Eventually
we arrive at Innocentia’s home—a cluster of several adobe buildings around a
walled courtyard. There is no evidence
of a husband or children—Innocentia apparently lives alone. She assigns rooms. She seems a little confused at first when I
go into the room with Kathy and Madeline but then she obviously realizes that
we are a family unit. Her guest rooms
are on the second floor and are accessed by a walkway that we reach by climbing
a rickety set of wooden steps. Our room
has a very low, small entry door, a tiny window, a rough wooden floor, three
beds, and no other furnishings. I
immediately claim one of the beds which is firm to the point of hardness—just
the way I like it—and I take a much needed short nap.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie9PvkGGEVnUe5RJLSSEH-FlZ1vaKKaH7Nl86AVGOuRrs3mlLVCFVd25Sc29MiK2Zn8-ZIeomqcj-eQZf9srpO7J3SimLMVaAYZvNfOMFqHUIG15ILrRRbJAPyEKv7V-v8CAlSODzPAcQ/s1600/Amantani+-+sheep+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="206" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie9PvkGGEVnUe5RJLSSEH-FlZ1vaKKaH7Nl86AVGOuRrs3mlLVCFVd25Sc29MiK2Zn8-ZIeomqcj-eQZf9srpO7J3SimLMVaAYZvNfOMFqHUIG15ILrRRbJAPyEKv7V-v8CAlSODzPAcQ/s640/Amantani+-+sheep+2.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Sheep Graze on Amantani</b></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">After my
nap, I go downstairs with Kathy and Madeline, we find François in the
courtyard, and then we all go into the kitchen/dining area where Innocentia
serves us a simple but filling and delicious meal.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">We start with a nice quinoa soup and follow
that with a plate filled with boiled potatoes and <a href="http://randystravelblog.blogspot.com/2015/08/august-16-sacred-and-peru-fane-seeing_16.html">oca, a pleasant tastingyellow tuber</a> that comes from a clover-like plant—it is an Andean staple.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">There are also shell beans, and sliced
cucumbers and tomatoes.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">After
lunch, everybody, both guests and hosts, congregate at a soccer/basketball
court in the center of the village where a group of young men and women, both
tourists and locals, play soccer. I am
amazed of the ability of the tourists to exert themselves at this altitude,
then find out that they’re a group of British youngsters who have been in Peru
on a service trip for a few weeks, hence they are probably used to the thin
air.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">There are
not very many level spots on the entire island and there is a continuous uphill
gradient from the shoreline to two high peaks which are named Pachamama (Mother
Earth) and Pachatata (Father Earth).
Each peak has an old Incan temple ruin.
The local population, like most of the citizens of Peru, are Catholic,
and like most of the citizens of Peru, their Catholicism overlays an
appreciation of older religions and rituals.
Consequently, these old temples are still revered, and offerings to Pachamama
and Pachatata are made on these peaks on specific dates, several times a
year. We are invited to climb to one of
the peaks to watch the sun set over the lake and we join the bulk of the
tourists in choosing Pachatata. It isn’t
quite as high as Pachamama, and the walk is also slightly shorter. Frequent stops to catch our breath also
allows us to appreciate the view of the island.
The island is filled with small terraced agricultural fields. Some are being grazed by sheep, but most are
filled with brown stubble, since we’re still in the midst of the southern
hemisphere winter. Sylvia tells us that
the farming is all subsistence level, and performed by hand. The crops produced includes barley, potatoes,
beans, oca, and quinoa—exactly the food we’d enjoyed for lunch. At the top, we rest, photograph the temple
ruins, and wait for the sun to set.
Since this is the tropics, once the sun nears the horizon, it goes down
hastily and dusk blends quickly into chilly darkness. We find our way down from the peak to the
soccer court and locate Innocentia who leads us back to her house for a dinner
of more quinoa soup and rice with a nice vegetable stew. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFSipQ12O__BjB_Tnyr0y01sfGgxmBUy8uKuuD1_Vtmm1PmCGtlVNzgMwxmLI_jSQe3igKt9_tn7pNGFIArIGFneTUbIyRF1KkK5LcTXusjPtpeFctPktQLJitfgfewZTqd08jG49lcQ4/s1600/Amantani+-+Sunset+from+Pachatata+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="278" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFSipQ12O__BjB_Tnyr0y01sfGgxmBUy8uKuuD1_Vtmm1PmCGtlVNzgMwxmLI_jSQe3igKt9_tn7pNGFIArIGFneTUbIyRF1KkK5LcTXusjPtpeFctPktQLJitfgfewZTqd08jG49lcQ4/s640/Amantani+-+Sunset+from+Pachatata+2.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>A View of the Sunset over Lake Titicaca from Pachatata</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">After
dinner, Innocentia brings out an armload of clothing and proceeds to dress us
in local attire.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">For François and me
this is an easy undertaking. It’s just a matter of us putting on ponchos over
our usual clothes.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Innocentia assists
Kathy and Madeline in the more difficult task of putting on embroidered
blouses, two skirts each, sashes, and embroidered shawls.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Then, incognito as Amantani revelers, we walk
to the local dance hall which is already filled with locals and tourists in
local garb, all dancing to Andean music.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">
</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Two excellent local bands provide the music, our Amantani friends
provide the beer, the whole crowd provides the energy, and everybody parties
into the evening.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Kathy, Madeline, and
I, who are all feeling a little exhausted from our busy day, ask Innocentia to
take us home long before the merrymaking ends.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5rJOULCe_bFSwenTNbtJ7SQo7JdFuJcYM5ydRGV8Q4lYVHQ9_MpRVZh9Pqi2i21CX-u18Vv9hdcX9_TT9Oz3Z__t29d-C_V-6KrUkvWLG-_WCCzlJFYwUnXcqPPjTOHk-KOk3ydkL7dA/s1600/Amantani+-+party+clothes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5rJOULCe_bFSwenTNbtJ7SQo7JdFuJcYM5ydRGV8Q4lYVHQ9_MpRVZh9Pqi2i21CX-u18Vv9hdcX9_TT9Oz3Z__t29d-C_V-6KrUkvWLG-_WCCzlJFYwUnXcqPPjTOHk-KOk3ydkL7dA/s400/Amantani+-+party+clothes.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Madeline and Kathy Disguised as Amantani Revelers</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Back at
Innocentia’s we take off our party clothes and transform back into American
tourists then get ready for bed.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">There
is a small building next to Innocentia’s house that contains a shower, a
toilet, and a sink.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">It looks like it has
never been used and I suspect that there has been some sort of issue with
plumbing or water supply.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">The building,
in fact, is filled with corn and shelled beans—it has become a storage
shed.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">The “sanitary facilities” in use
actually consist of a water spigot and a pit latrine, both located in the
donkey pen.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">The mom donkey is tied but
the baby donkey is free and is very interested in our toiletries.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">We have to shoo him away on a regular basis
and he is not very shoo-able.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">But on the
other hand he is fairly adorable.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Soon, we
switch off the bare bulb hanging from the ceiling of our room and I lie on my
wonderful firm-to-hard bed under a mountain of wool blankets. As the temperature drops throughout the night
in our unheated room, I feel snug in my nest of covers. At some point I during the night my bladder
tells me that it needs some attention. I
think about the dark, the cold, the rickety stairs, the pit latrine, and the
donkeys. Then I think about how warm I
am in my cozy woolen citadel. Then I
tell my bladder to forget it. I close my
eyes and sleep peacefully the rest of the night.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Then
another Peruvian morning arrives. It is
six o’clock when I get up and make a fast and desperate trip to the
latrine. The morning is clear and
brisk. I feel rested, happy, and hungry
so am grateful when Innocentia announces breakfast a mere half-hour later. </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">She
serves pancakes, which are tasty and gratifyingly warm on this cold
morning. After breakfast, Kathy gives
her our gift of fruit and also pays her for our stay. She gives Kathy a big hug, kisses her on both
cheeks, and appreciatively tells us “Gracias, Mama, gracias Papa!” I really appreciate the system that All Ways
Travel has established that allows paying guests to stay in people’s
homes. The brief relationship we’ve
developed with Innocentia is closer and more tangible than what it would have
been had someone built a hotel on this island and Innocentia had wound up
working there as a cook or maid. And
while there is bound to be some artificiality when there is a continual stream
of tourists, the relationship is still more personal at this level. We’ve been able to experience the intimacy of
her home and her hospitality, and we’ve become “Mama and Papa” to her!</span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHnJlfLlrApaFAZMGIRZ1krqce5nYbg2SlCTMCu8ZFyElrhjIY4lqZJxx1kNmCJXkH404MfZNRzuSW8UkJ5Ndl591U85dUcYTBVzLFCXxwvQ_qEb9-3edJoSieUpqPlQOp8jPu42e1w2E/s1600/Amantani+-+with+Innocencia.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHnJlfLlrApaFAZMGIRZ1krqce5nYbg2SlCTMCu8ZFyElrhjIY4lqZJxx1kNmCJXkH404MfZNRzuSW8UkJ5Ndl591U85dUcYTBVzLFCXxwvQ_qEb9-3edJoSieUpqPlQOp8jPu42e1w2E/s400/Amantani+-+with+Innocencia.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>With Innocentia</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Innocentia
walks us down to the shore and boat.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">
</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Downhill this time, and quickly!</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">
</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">There are more hugs at the dock, and pictures, then good-byes.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">By eight o’clock we are on our way to the
island of Taquile.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">The trip
to Taquile is short but rough. Like
Amantani, Taquile rises steeply from the shore to a peak and it also reminds me
of a Greek Isle. It is an island of
around two thousand people who live by fishing and farming, supplemented by the
income generated by the visiting tourists.
Taquile is known for its fine handwoven textiles, which many regard to
be the finest in Peru. From the dock, we
have to spiral around the steep hillside of the island for a significant
distance to reach the central square of the town. Sylvia tells us it will take an hour. The path is quite steep at the beginning and
is a hard climb in the thin air, but eventually the grade becomes more gradual
and we actually reach the town square in about forty-five minutes. According to Sylvia, all of the textiles made
on the island are pooled by the families that make them and sold through a
cooperative store. The store, right on
the main square, is indeed filled with knitted and woven items that are
beautiful and high quality. Sadly, since
we are approaching the end of the trip we already have many souvenirs so we
don’t have the need or the cash to buy any more.</span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWERuXETdIKOVsYwoP5BMUgMnK-EwYLGEEQ-ebLgDiu-R7i3qg0j6fpUyHBbSxDI5Fi6vPLBP9l-nzJVmJ-spTO_mNV6UfsBz_NFSGEhqL07S4vzJaMcEpqRDcqhh31r3ZznZIp_dC6Fg/s1600/Taquile+-+sheep+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="482" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWERuXETdIKOVsYwoP5BMUgMnK-EwYLGEEQ-ebLgDiu-R7i3qg0j6fpUyHBbSxDI5Fi6vPLBP9l-nzJVmJ-spTO_mNV6UfsBz_NFSGEhqL07S4vzJaMcEpqRDcqhh31r3ZznZIp_dC6Fg/s640/Taquile+-+sheep+3.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Sheep Graze on Taquile</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Other
than the store and a small museum, there’s not a lot to see in the square, so we
finally just find a shady spot to rest.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">
</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Eventually, Sylvia gathers the group together and we walk through town
to a restaurant where we have a nice communal meal featuring trout on the pleasant
patio.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">During the meal two Taquileños
demonstrate spinning, weaving, and knitting, then Sylvia gives an interesting
short talk about the island and its culture.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">
</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">She tells us that the colorful local garb, which is similar to what we’d
seen on Amantani, is not worn to impress tourists, but is actually what
everybody on the island chooses to wear on a daily basis. </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">The attire a person wears actually indicates
information about them, including marital status, and that information could not
be conveyed should everyone stop dressing in the traditional manner. It is the
men that knit on Taquile, and they knit a specific color of hat for themselves
that indicates they are single or married. The women weave, and when they get
married they weave a very elaborate sash for their husband. The unmarried men
wear a plain sash. </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">The matrimonial
tradition on Taquile includes a trial marriage.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">
</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">A couple will live together for several years to make sure that they are
compatible before officially marrying.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">
</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">However, since most residents are Catholic, once they’re married, their
religion doesn’t allow them to divorce.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Like
most Peruvians, the residents of Taquile have harmonized the ancient religion
of their culture with their Christianity.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">
</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">As is the case on Amantani, offerings are made to the Pachamama to
insure a good harvest.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguiu_EN3FFvNaNAdhWWZ1YHH8oCLZibrWFotXJXZ7xEQaZB4uPhWNGtarRXiFNX3UfA6BMIzzvqj-7MpsdnGbh7yg5GiI6OTxZZ0XiHu1zhqb1u-QbdT9dlqS91GbppjDnR8HalRmUUCI/s1600/Taquile+-+weaving+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguiu_EN3FFvNaNAdhWWZ1YHH8oCLZibrWFotXJXZ7xEQaZB4uPhWNGtarRXiFNX3UfA6BMIzzvqj-7MpsdnGbh7yg5GiI6OTxZZ0XiHu1zhqb1u-QbdT9dlqS91GbppjDnR8HalRmUUCI/s640/Taquile+-+weaving+3.jpg" width="498" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>A Taquileños Man Knitting</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">The
wealth on Taquile is controlled by a communal collective, and the moral code is
based on the Inca dictate of “</span><i style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">ama sua,
ama llulla, ama qhilla</i><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">”—Quechua for “do not steal, do not lie, do not be
lazy.” Taquile and Amantani are governed
as one unit. Since Amantani has more
people, the mayor usually comes from there.
The men of Taquile are required to perform specific community service
obligations and take turns serving for a year at a time. Over his lifetime any given man probably
spends four years performing these community service roles. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Sylvia
also mentions that there are no dogs on Taquile, making it perhaps one of the
few places on Earth where man’s best friend can’t be found. The islanders rationalize that dogs' main
function is to act as protectors, but since Taquile is so safe, there’s nothing
to be protected from, so dogs aren’t necessary.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">After the
meal and Sylvia’s talk, we walk directly back to the boat, climb on board, and
head for Puno. We are back in port by
three o’clock and settled back in our room at the Casona Colon Inn a short time
later. We use the remainder of the
afternoon to repack our suitcases and prepare for our trip home, and except for
an excursion to a pizza restaurant, still don’t have a chance to see very much
of Puno. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Then
another morning in Peru arrives—this one is our last! This day is a blur of travel combined with
interminable waiting. First we travel by
taxi for an hour to the Juliaca airport—Puno doesn’t have an airport. Then we
fly to Lima and hang out for hours in the airport food court before finally
taking our over-night flight to Atlanta, going through customs and flying on to
Minnesota. We arrive home early in the
afternoon of the next day—exhausted by travel yet energized by an incredible trip
filled with experiences and memories that will last a lifetime! <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixKe7G8Ge2qoYpI28QvfLVE1P-MIm0wNQtCP9JrOYGdQbbGB9BGJiZZOOs0eFLhyBP5y-su-q9nanZc_nfgWOUvFHNl-sudaJlykB8aWj-OEVxjqn2uLl8TXYYGE6Cns0I65V9b927QdQ/s1600/Inca+Kola.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><b><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixKe7G8Ge2qoYpI28QvfLVE1P-MIm0wNQtCP9JrOYGdQbbGB9BGJiZZOOs0eFLhyBP5y-su-q9nanZc_nfgWOUvFHNl-sudaJlykB8aWj-OEVxjqn2uLl8TXYYGE6Cns0I65V9b927QdQ/s400/Inca+Kola.jpg" width="283" /></b></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>One Last Inca Kola at the Lima Airport</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
Randyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14428531478283627693noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3281612281509186026.post-64381360252876915202015-08-25T14:52:00.000-05:002016-05-25T11:15:19.755-05:00Traveling Through the Andes to Lake Titicaca <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">The route from Cusco to Puno on Lake Titicaca is through
the Andes, so it is both rugged and high altitude. Nevertheless, there are several options for
getting there. You can board a train: </span><a href="http://www.perurail.com/trains/andean-explorer/"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Perurail offers a 10.5
hour trip aboard the Andean Explorer.</span></a><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"> There is also a modern, well
maintained highway, Highway 3S, that snakes 250 miles through the mountains, so
you have the option of driving or taking a bus.
If you choose a bus, you can do a straight-up passenger bus that drives
straight through in about 6 ½ hours or a tour bus that stops at interesting
points along the way and takes a little over 10 hours.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">We’ve considered all the options, and decided on the tour
bus. Thus, on this day we take a taxi to the </span><a href="http://www.inkaexpress.com/"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Inka Express</span></a><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"> bus
terminal and are on the bus before 7:00 AM.
This bus has five stops and essentially moves backwards in time. The first two stops are at old churches built
by the Spanish in the 1500’s. Further
down the road and further back in time is the town of Raqchi with its Incan
ruins that include the impressive Temple of Wiracocha. Then after a lunch break and an early
afternoon stop at La Raya Pass, the highest point on the journey, the bus stops
for a visit to the museum in Pukara.
Pukara was a large and remarkable population center in the Pre-Inca “Late
Formative Period” (500 BC- AD 200). Here
are the highlights of the day’s passage:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Andahuaylillas: <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">We spend most of the first hour getting out of Cusco. It seems like we’re barely underway when the
bus pulls over in the town of Andahuaylillas.
This little town is famous for The Church of San Pedro Apostol de
Andahuaylillas, which has been called the “</span><a href="http://www.smithsonianmag.com/travel/the-sistine-chapel-of-the-andes-18514649/?no-ist"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Sistine
Chapel of the Andes</span></a><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">,” or even the “Sistine Chapel of the Americas.” It was built by the Jesuits in the 1500’s and
like so many other Spanish buildings it was built on top of a preexisting Inca
structure. In this case, this Christian
church was built on top of a huaca – a sacred place. A bit ironic, but in fact probably quite deliberate
on the part of the Spanish.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">We are not terribly impressed with the exterior of this
little church but when we get inside we immediately understand the Sistine
Chapel reference. Every square inch of
every surface is covered with murals, silver, gold-leaf or mirrors. . And the artist was quite definitely not Da
Vinci. Or maybe it was Da Vinci - only on
hallucinogens. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Actually a large group of artisans contributed to the
adornment of this church over a period of more than a century. The interior of the church was decorated
throughout the 1600’s and 1700’s by teams of itinerant local artists. Murals were an effective way to reach the
local population. Most of the local people
were illiterate and many didn’t speak Spanish.
Quechua, the language of the Incas, was the language spoken by most of
the population and is still the primary language in many parts of Peru
today. So since the church couldn’t
reach its audience with spoken or written words, a picture was worth a thousand
words, a mural was worth a million words, and an entire church filled with
murals was worth….well you get the idea.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">While the church now contains numerous framed paintings on
canvas, the original artwork was entirely painted on the walls. The first mural we observe as we enter the
church is a huge scene with a cast of millions depicting the battle between
Heaven and Hell. The vast multitudes in
the mural seem to be oblivious to the battle, but as they go about their daily
routine, they are surrounded by devils and angels duking it out for their
souls. For any uninitiated non-Christian
entering the church, it would certainly serve as a conversation piece and would
undoubtedly initiate a few questions. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">The entire ceiling of the nave is painted in red, dark blue
and gold-leaf geometric diamond shapes with a floral motif. It reminds me a lot of an M. C. Escher
etching, only on a grand scale. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">The interior of the church is decorated with so much
chromatically and emotionally overwhelming art, that after a while I am longing
for a blank wall so I can rest my eyes.
But no, there is no rest for the weary sinner in this church. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Unfortunately, photography is not allowed inside the
church, so I’m not able to capture my visual experience. There are a few interior shots </span><a href="http://www.go2peru.com/peru_guide/cuzco/photo_andahuaylillas.htm"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">here</span></a><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">, but
they hardly do justice to the experience of seeing it live.</span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV3pr0WSA_w9IoJHPqnv0fPTknFaagB8Fx5cqOUG_0fdB7e0dMY7AL-vomxtpOlROM2ODaIrYquEzl1PWhyphenhyphenIxf7VKW5tS4gUb2G5lXOyjrZMI_6y3jv7RC2_ddHiTbEnMoBiIAehN2Res/s1600/286+Andahuaylillas+Church+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="390" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV3pr0WSA_w9IoJHPqnv0fPTknFaagB8Fx5cqOUG_0fdB7e0dMY7AL-vomxtpOlROM2ODaIrYquEzl1PWhyphenhyphenIxf7VKW5tS4gUb2G5lXOyjrZMI_6y3jv7RC2_ddHiTbEnMoBiIAehN2Res/s640/286+Andahuaylillas+Church+2.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>The Church of San Pedro Apostol de Andahuaylilla</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNAH-LMBkgqpmHSWUqRkHk83CEfn8trtGzwfyKNuoE3F70qDr3OTMq-1Ry0fs83OiyViKYdU6moC9cyIRhSAoPmH90upHbhTr0yGXLeALFb_i1o-wybkK6uyVEKC4cmTljqexdaiUBIQg/s1600/284a++Andahuaylillas+Church+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="328" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNAH-LMBkgqpmHSWUqRkHk83CEfn8trtGzwfyKNuoE3F70qDr3OTMq-1Ry0fs83OiyViKYdU6moC9cyIRhSAoPmH90upHbhTr0yGXLeALFb_i1o-wybkK6uyVEKC4cmTljqexdaiUBIQg/s640/284a++Andahuaylillas+Church+2.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Artwork Around Church Entrance</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Huaro</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">After maybe only another fifteen minutes on the bus, we
stop again, this time at the village of Huaro to visit another church – this
one is </span><a href="https://www.wmf.org/project/san-juan-bautista-huaro-church"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">The
Church of San Juan Bautista</span></a><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">, similar to the </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Andahuaylillas church
in that it was built by Jesuits in the
1500’s. Also, like the other church, this one is filled with
murals. Over the years since the church
was built, church officials commissioned local artists to paint murals and
decorate the church. When a new composition would be painted, the artist would simply paint over the top of a preexisting
one. This continued, layer after layer,
until the last works were painted in 1802 by Tadeo Escalante. Escalante, a local artist who descended from both
Incans and Europeans, covered over ten thousand square feet of wall and ceiling
surfaces with biblical scenes in explicit and gaudy detail: Salvation, damnation, ascension, rapture,
angels, devils, and the urgent need for Christianity to save the collective
mortal soul of humanity. While this
church is similar to the Andahuaylillas church in theme and the enormous
quantity of the art, there is perhaps a more unified feeling in this church
since the bulk of the art is by one prodigious person. Escalante followed a school of Peruvian art
called “The Cusco School.” One of the
distinctive features of this school was the representation of Roman Catholic
saints in the image of indigenous Peruvians.
That style is obviously represented in the murals in Huaro and it was a
perfect style for Escalante to follow since it allowed him to remain true to
both branches of his heritage. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Once again, we do all of our photography outside since
cameras are not allowed in the church.
In addition to our photographs, Kathy does a nice sketch of the church.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuJ3Xu-y7xFFrUM1QhWDsUv-kf7BbpEX3kEJ7N6idgPJmJWmXev0pzminLUOtUW5AeJDR37avcufJhfAU8TKlrO6HZsi4c1sCSwGO146E3kV7N4anuSSVzB14oe97f_UpwA7MB5cIDIaI/s1600/Huaro.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="572" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuJ3Xu-y7xFFrUM1QhWDsUv-kf7BbpEX3kEJ7N6idgPJmJWmXev0pzminLUOtUW5AeJDR37avcufJhfAU8TKlrO6HZsi4c1sCSwGO146E3kV7N4anuSSVzB14oe97f_UpwA7MB5cIDIaI/s640/Huaro.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Kathy's Rendering of The Church of San Juan Bautista in Huarao</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Raqchi</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">After spending the first half of the morning visiting Spanish
churches, our late morning stop at Raqchi is to tour ruins from the earlier
Inca era. It is interesting to remember
though, that most of these ruined Incan buildings were built just a little over
a hundred years before the Spanish churches we had just visited. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Archeologists have found evidence that there was a village
on this site prior to the Inca expansion, but it was during the Inca period
that it grew to the large and prominent outpost it was when the Spanish
arrived.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">According to Inca myths, the great creator god, Wiracocha,
came to this region but the people who lived there didn’t recognize him and
attacked him. In response, Wiracocha made
fire fall from the sky to burn the land.
The people went to Wiracocha and begged his forgiveness, so he
extinguished the fires and then revealed his true identity to the people. They built a shrine on the spot where he
stood and from that point on they worshipped him and brought him offerings.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">In the late 1400’s the emperor </span><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Huayna_Capac"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Huayna Capac</span></a><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">
traveled through, noticed the shrine and asked about it. When the local people explained the story of
Wiracocha, he was so impressed that he dictated that a much larger place of
worship be built here. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">The </span><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Raqch%27i"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Temple
of Wiracocha</span></a><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"> was a huge rectangular two-story building
measuring over 300 feet long by over 80 feet wide, constructed of adobe on a
foundation of high Inca stonework. It
was the largest known building ever constructed by the Incas. In addition to the temple there were eight
rectangular buildings around a courtyard – these may have provided lodging for
travelers or perhaps they were barracks.
There were also 220 circular buildings which very likely were
storehouses. The entire complex is
surrounded by a perimeter wall about two and a half miles in length. Just beyond the wall is a dry moat to make
the complex even more defensible. The
nearby hillsides have been terraced for crops and include irrigation
channels. There is a spring that runs
through the complex and it has been enlarged to form a pool near the
temple. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">The Spanish, of course, did their best to destroy all of
this, which is why the churches we have just visited are extant and this complex,
a mere 100 years older, is in ruins. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">We do our best to see this huge site in the small time
we’ve been allotted. The enormous temple
is intact enough for us to appreciate its scale. The roof and interior are gone, but much of
the exterior adobe walls are still standing.
Preservationists have put terra cotta roof tiles on top of the walls to
protect them from rain. Many of the
storage structures are still partially intact, some of the perimeter wall is
standing as well, and of course the terraces remain. The courtyard is now filled with tourist stalls
and while one could view them as tawdry, they are no doubt an important part of
the local economy. I buy a ceramic soap
dish inscribed with the Southern Cross from one of the vendors.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbDmJtapoERBbz5-ZdgNjsjV91AEpFaJO8gBpXdrHKWAIzYxW_fs-Kn2grfXSvy1LHRVYgSZOULWNtn-VM84i5Hxizx7LQx9ZbfRpuPivgxeAIGZa6Z55shz-OYZTleeGyI0F3r5P2SF4/s1600/Temple+of+Wirachcha+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbDmJtapoERBbz5-ZdgNjsjV91AEpFaJO8gBpXdrHKWAIzYxW_fs-Kn2grfXSvy1LHRVYgSZOULWNtn-VM84i5Hxizx7LQx9ZbfRpuPivgxeAIGZa6Z55shz-OYZTleeGyI0F3r5P2SF4/s640/Temple+of+Wirachcha+2.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Exterior Wall of Temple of Wiracocha at Raqchi</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz993k7x5s-1aKZUv2NaFfGuKFnmoFsdqqL44sMUapq9xngudz-UPqYXU2dPNsmGJ4x38mhiGhYDOqe_gPrXLDMovaDN3axE_aK0RGUnGfHlkAaEGhWoqzI5O1p5ME3jUf7M90ZYPaXY8/s1600/Temple+of+Wirachcha+5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz993k7x5s-1aKZUv2NaFfGuKFnmoFsdqqL44sMUapq9xngudz-UPqYXU2dPNsmGJ4x38mhiGhYDOqe_gPrXLDMovaDN3axE_aK0RGUnGfHlkAaEGhWoqzI5O1p5ME3jUf7M90ZYPaXY8/s640/Temple+of+Wirachcha+5.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Storehouses</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6AfcwsONluans0uq0Oht_FUbiaFNF4RSuvtgB8SLrpmFAgV-sVvSphl4LWOqO2pcPlu4IrZBhER-NXjilwGsjYbRTWLi6ZuZAMcmBwSv-5-GgGQK-DMtaTE22gX5qVIjCnN8aIpZs8a0/s1600/Temple+of+Wirachcha.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6AfcwsONluans0uq0Oht_FUbiaFNF4RSuvtgB8SLrpmFAgV-sVvSphl4LWOqO2pcPlu4IrZBhER-NXjilwGsjYbRTWLi6ZuZAMcmBwSv-5-GgGQK-DMtaTE22gX5qVIjCnN8aIpZs8a0/s640/Temple+of+Wirachcha.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Temple to Wirachocha</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">La
Raya Pass</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">We have been gradually gaining altitude during our entire
trek and by the time we stop at the town of Sicuani for lunch we’ve reached
12000 feet. After lunch our ascent
becomes more rapid and when we stop at La Raya Pass, we’ve reached over 14000
feet – the high point in our journey.
The pass is a watershed, with water flowing in one direction to the
Sacred Valley and in the other direction to Lake Titicaca. The mountain scenery here is as breathtaking
as the altitude. We drink in the view
but we are also distracted by the ubiquitous vendors selling tourist stuff. I’m pretty set on posing Madeline for a
picture with a woman and her llama and lamb.
Unfortunately, everybody else wants a picture with her too, so the line
is long, the time is short and I totally fail in this endeavor. Kathy, meanwhile is drawn in by several
vendors selling yarn. She’s captivated
by the beautiful colors and amazed by how cheap it is. She also runs out of time due to her
indecision regarding what use she would put the yarn to and how much she should
buy. After the fact she admits that
there was really no way to determine the fiber content and that it could have
all been acrylic for all she knew – the standard problem with yarn and fabrics
here. I could say with certainty that
the lamb and llama posing with the woman were garbed in 100% wool but when the
fiber isn’t directly attached to their bodies, it becomes anybody’s guess. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1MZsNe16hR6Hy0txDBQPWaiQOdY937z70LLdmY53B32UYuRK9lzUimvICyUbT_WvQ25OIQErn7SQ8vBhMDVau2tEvAkbG1V7YIuCUqhb2UCF4rmm_T2OrsvLwpDKLNnpddJiqINmRvt0/s1600/La+Raya+Pass.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1MZsNe16hR6Hy0txDBQPWaiQOdY937z70LLdmY53B32UYuRK9lzUimvICyUbT_WvQ25OIQErn7SQ8vBhMDVau2tEvAkbG1V7YIuCUqhb2UCF4rmm_T2OrsvLwpDKLNnpddJiqINmRvt0/s640/La+Raya+Pass.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Scenic View of Mountains at La Raya Pass</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Pukara</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">We reach Pukara around 3:00, and continue to fall back in
time. The museum at this last stop
before Puno contains local artifacts that are older than anything we’ve seen
today. While it was merely an outlying
province under the Incas, <a href="http://www.pukara.org/">Pukara was a large
population center in the Late Formative Period</a> (500 BC- AD 200). It covered nearly 250 acres at its peak and
was home to thousands of people. The
fact that Pukara dominated or at least traded with a large region is evidenced
today by frequent discovery of pottery in the Pukara style over wide areas of
Peru and Chile. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Pukara
pottery is unique because of its style and the production techniques that were used
to make it. The pottery varies in color from dark red to brown and is painted yellow,
black, grey or red decorations set apart by narrow lines carved in the pottery.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Today, Pukara
is still renowned for its pottery. After
we’d been in Peru for a while we started to notice the two small bulls that
seemed to be on top of the roof of every house.
It turns out that these bulls are ceramic, are made by artisans in
Pukara and are called “The Two Little Bulls of Pukara” or just “The Pukara
Bulls.” These bulls are usually
displayed along with a cross, small vessels for holding chicha or coca water, and
sometimes a Peruvian flag or other iconic items. The significance of these ornaments and their
history has turned out to be difficult for me to sleuth out. Every source seems to have a different and
sometimes contradictory story. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Here’s <i>my version</i> of the truth on this
subject. Please don’t take this as the <i>definitive </i>truth. One source, after discussing this very topic,
stated that when he is in a foreign place and encounters an unfamiliar custom,
he asks the first passerby about it and then accepts that person’s explanation
as the truth. He emphasizes that it is
important never to ask more than one person, because he may encounter
disagreement and then he’s stuck doing further research. My approach differs slightly in that I have
looked at several sources and when there is disagreement, I have chosen the one
I like best. So here’s <i>my</i> truth:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">These
bull figurines are placed on the roof to bring good luck, to insure bountiful
crops and fertile livestock, and to bring general prosperity to those who live
within the house. They are often given
as house warming presents.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
tradition supposedly goes back to the Incas, thus it predates the Spanish and
Christianity. Obviously if that is the
case, the cross, which is an ever-present part of every display, would have
been added after the Spanish arrived. Cattle,
of course, arrived with the Spanish as well, so the bulls themselves couldn’t
have been part of the preconquest arrangement.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">The Incas
did use talismans called <i>Illas. </i>Illas were small stylized alpacas carved in
stone. They were kept in the houses of
herdsmen, wrapped in special fabric, given food and drink as offerings, and
venerated as minor <i>wacas</i> or
gods. In return the Illas would engender
the fecundity of the flock and provide protection. Over time, apparently, the function of Illas
expanded to include protection of crops, and then of dwellings. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I suppose
when Spanish Catholicism became predominant, anyone who wanted to continue the
tradition of the Illas would have to do it in such a way that the Christian
rulers would find acceptable. Naturally
a display containing a cross would put a patina of respectability on this
dubious pagan tradition. And as cattle
became the de facto grazing animal, replacing alpacas, it would be natural for
bulls to replace alpacas in these displays. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Perhaps
the Christianizing of this Inca custom was not even a blatant act of subterfuge,
but simply a matter of continuing a life-long tradition by those who converted
to this new religion. Religion as it is
practiced today in Peru today is Christianity flavored with the Inca religion
that existed there before it arrived. A
prime example of this blend of religions is right across the street from the
museum in Pukara. Santa Isabel Church,
an old Spanish church built in 1767 is protected by a wrought iron fence. It is further protected by a perimeter of
pillars - each pillar is topped with little ceramic bulls. Beyond religion, Inca elements show through
the European overlay in Peruvian language, customs, cuisine, and mode of dress
and probably all other aspects of Peruvian culture. This is almost surprising considering the
time and effort the Spanish put into trying to erase all of it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5NddsLL9K3hMYpMYuzOloAG0v-ZKKdqtUTfnd12Zam-M04gLHqbCts0dhwc2wCeMLqPi-JXInvxpfqlVk9sA0HfXcDJLH_pwHcMephjTxhnbx571BPSfGiX66CyH2kmuCIWdrt4ZnNeE/s1600/65+Two+Little+Bulls+of+Pukara-+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5NddsLL9K3hMYpMYuzOloAG0v-ZKKdqtUTfnd12Zam-M04gLHqbCts0dhwc2wCeMLqPi-JXInvxpfqlVk9sA0HfXcDJLH_pwHcMephjTxhnbx571BPSfGiX66CyH2kmuCIWdrt4ZnNeE/s640/65+Two+Little+Bulls+of+Pukara-+2.jpg" width="528" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>"Two Little Bulls of Pukara" on a Rooftop</b><b><br /></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXybNffW1smKSIHGvNQ19uhmrgK3EXOyVX1a48Gc4RgvHBdLLy8VpehGGTZ5xJQ_52SeK-jsHgbYbHvDfxdXF7WES5Oxqyd6RO2cQIPYCjcCcWG6qLAA6VTrQkzrg4Lzem4pcNKJfhP_M/s1600/Pukura+bulls+around+church.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: justify;"><img border="0" height="222" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXybNffW1smKSIHGvNQ19uhmrgK3EXOyVX1a48Gc4RgvHBdLLy8VpehGGTZ5xJQ_52SeK-jsHgbYbHvDfxdXF7WES5Oxqyd6RO2cQIPYCjcCcWG6qLAA6VTrQkzrg4Lzem4pcNKJfhP_M/s400/Pukura+bulls+around+church.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;"><b>Bulls Around Santa Isabel Church in Pukara</b><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6p-HBpK-FsjmTV6jtlrdrgf3rprn6x4_wR4AS4oC9krhX2VdDdqgnIu_4wdRhZaEN0hAWgoKbIEdD5MI71JkB7TMVDIWYL3vPC57mNDFMJeIgfidf4ZvH9BJuHDefLxO5udY5c59WJ6M/s1600/Pukura+bulls+around+Santa+Isabella+Chuch+in+Pukura.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6p-HBpK-FsjmTV6jtlrdrgf3rprn6x4_wR4AS4oC9krhX2VdDdqgnIu_4wdRhZaEN0hAWgoKbIEdD5MI71JkB7TMVDIWYL3vPC57mNDFMJeIgfidf4ZvH9BJuHDefLxO5udY5c59WJ6M/s640/Pukura+bulls+around+Santa+Isabella+Chuch+in+Pukura.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;"><b>One of the Santa Isabel Bulls</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<b><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Puno</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">We arrive
at Terminal Terrestre, the Puno bus station around 5:30 and take a cab to our
hotel, the <a href="http://www.coloninn.com/english/index.php">Hotel Casona Colon
Inn</a>, a very nice, quaint, and historic hotel with a strange and quirky
name. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">This
paragraph is entirely a digression about the hotel’s name. If you wish to continue with the last bit of
narrative for this blog post you may skip this paragraph entirely, but I really
<i>wonder</i> about the unfortunate
name. When I look at the English and
Spanish translations of the hotel’s website, the name is the same, so this is
not a case of some sort of mistranslation from Spanish to English. So what are they trying to tell us? <i>Hotel </i>and
<i>Inn</i> are both English words and they
both mean the same thing. <i>Casona</i> is essentially the Spanish
version of <i>Hotel</i>. So far we’ve been told that this is a
hotel. That leaves <i>Colon. Colón</i>, in Spanish is
the last name of Christopher Columbus, i.e. Cristóbal Colón. But this word has no tilde – so this word is
English and means "large intestine", and this, literally is the “Hotel Hotel
Large Intestine Hotel.” <i>It really is very nice, quaint and historic! </i>Maybe I’m missing something on the name<i>.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Our first
impression of Puno: It seems more modern
than Cusco – the streets are wider, and the buildings are newer. But it also lacks Cusco’s charm – the streets
are wider and the buildings are newer.
Even though Puno is in the mountains, it sits on a plateau, so it’s
flat, thus there are none of the hilly cobblestone streets like we encountered
in Cusco. But of course Puno does have
Lake Titicaca, the vast high altitude lake stretching westward from Puno for
miles and miles. In general, Puno is
much less touristy than Cusco. There
aren’t throngs of tourists filling up the streets, nor are there throngs of
street vendors trying to sell stuff to tourists. It also seems like there are fewer people here
that speak English than Cusco – perhaps also related to fewer North American
tourists. We aren’t able to get
impressions beyond our first ones since evening is coming and we need to get an
early start tomorrow for our excursion across Titicaca to visit some of its
islands. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">We have a
late dinner in the hotel restaurant, which is every bit as quaint and historic as
the hotel, with delicious food, and an endearingly sweet waiter who does not
speak English. We really don’t have too
much trouble communicating our order, but the trouble comes when he tries to be
conversational. I do need to point out
that while his English vocabulary is small, our combined Spanish vocabulary is
even smaller. We are stymied for a while
about one question he asks us, but finally figure out it is, “Where are you
from?” “Oh! We’re from the US,” we tell
him. He seems confused and asks, “Where
are you from?” “The US,” we say, “The
United States.” He pauses, then asks,
“Where are you from?” Maybe he wants to
know where in the United States.
“Minnesota,” we offer. A look of
confusion. “Minnesota….Center of the
country in the north.” I draw a map in
the air with my finger. “Northern Midwest.
By Canada.” He brightens. “Canada?” he ventures. “Yes, right across the border – very cold in
the winter. Brrrrr!” He smiles and leaves. I’m sure we look mildly confused. What was that all about? Our looks of mild confusion disappear immediately when
he returns and they are replaced by looks of utter and complete confusion as he
happily plants a small Canadian flag in the center of our table then wanders
away with a smile on his face. I look
around the dining room and realize that several other tables have small
national flags as centerpieces. Over
there next to the wall are the Brazilians, and a couple tables over sit the French,
and here we are, the happy Canucks, having a nice dinner at our Maple Leaf
festooned table. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">But it is
a <i>nice</i> dinner. And it is a lovely, quaint and historic hotel. And our waiter, actually, is competent,
friendly, and very, very memorable.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
Randyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14428531478283627693noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3281612281509186026.post-11413360777334606042015-08-21T22:06:00.000-05:002016-04-12T19:35:43.749-05:00The Rain, the Forest, and Other Tropics<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; color: #252525; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Colds are called colds because folk wisdom dictates that one
acquires them by being exposed to cold weather.
In fact, a cold is an upper respiratory infection caused by a number of
different viruses. I had disproved folk
wisdom by acquiring a cold in tropical Peru, and on this day this particular Peruvian
virus has tightened its grip on my body, twirled me several times around its little
virus head, and slammed me into a brick wall.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; color: #252525; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; color: #252525; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">I’ve somehow managed to get myself to breakfast, but when
Michel starts talking enthusiastically about a morning hike I decide that the
time has arrived in the progression of my disease to opt out of the hike, to rest,
and to see if I can muster the strength to fight back against the virus.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; color: #252525; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; color: #252525; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">So when everybody else leaves on the hike, I set up my “sick
room” in the hammock on the veranda in front of our room. The set-up is simple: Me in the hammock, a book, Mr. Mustache Man
the cat for company, and a nearby chair holding Kleenex, Tylenol, and a glass
of water. First I take a great nap, then when I wake up I continue to lie in the
hammock and read my book. The book is </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/s?ie=UTF8&page=1&rh=n%3A283155%2Cp_27%3AMarianne%20van%20Vlaardingen"><span style="background: white;">“Talking About Manu – Exploration of a Virgin
Rainforest”</span></a><span style="background: white;"> a book I have mentioned
in a <a href="http://randystravelblog.blogspot.com/2015/08/into-cloud-forest.html">previous post</a>. The book is authored
by Marianne van Vlaardingen, the founder and owner of </span><a href="http://pantiacolla.com/"><span style="background: white;">Pantiacolla</span></a><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span style="background: white;"> Tours </span></span><span style="background: white;">and is a great guide on the flora and fauna of the
Manu Reserve. It also contains a brief
discussion of the human inhabitants. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="background: white;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">It
is amazing to consider that in the present day where it is possible to connect with
practically anyone almost anywhere, and where “the shrinking world” is a catch
phrase, that entire cultures exist that have had little or no contact with
the outside world. There are at least
two such groups in the Manu reserve. One
is called the Kogapacori the other is called the Mashco Piro. These are names that outsiders have given
these groups. Nobody knows what they
call themselves. There have been
sporadic sightings of these groups over the years – usually from a helicopter
or boat, but very few close encounters.
One close encounter Marianne discusses in the book took place in the
early 1990’s. Three women speaking a
language nobody understood showed up at an outpost on the Manu River. Because some of their words resembled words
from the Mashco and other words seemed to be from the Piro, both indigenous groups in that area, people
started referring to them as the Machco-Piro women. Then that name was transferred onto the
entire group that they came from. The
three women lived on the banks of the river for a number of years and subsisted
on roots, fruit, and the eggs of birds and turtles. They showed a great deal of hostility to
anybody who would happen along the river and would often run after the boats
yelling and throwing things. Finally
they incorporated themselves into a group of Machiguenga Indians and left the
area.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">An
epilogue to the information about the Machco-Piro people in the book is the <a href="http://news.nationalgeographic.com/2015/10/151013-uncontacted-tribes-mashco-nomole-peru-amazon/">recent
information that has been appearing in news reports</a>. Starting just last year the Machco-Piro
people have made sporadic and increasingly frequent contacts with the outside
world, and those contacts have not all been peaceful. They often appear singly or in groups,
seemingly out of nowhere, and demand food or gifts. Some people who have not been compliant have
been killed with arrows. The village of Diamante
has been an epicenter for contacts, and because of the potential danger posed
by the Machco-Piro the local eco-tourism lodge has been closed, which has
created economic hardship for the village.
The Peruvian government is doing its best to keep control of the
situation – trying both to protect the local villagers from the Machco-Piro
natives and to protect the natives from diseases carried by the locals to which
they have had no exposure and thus have no immunity. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">I
lie in the hammock, read the book, nap, join the others for lunch, and then go
back to my hammock, book, and lap cat while the others take an afternoon
hike. Mid-afternoon, I’m awakened from a
nap by an unearthly noise that would be difficult to describe, but may be close
to the sound that would be produced by the Mormon Tabernacle Choir if they were
all high on LSD and being attacked by a truckload of rabid swine. I find out later that I’m hearing a group of
howler monkeys. But as I’m listening to
it, there’s nobody around to ask. So I’m
just awake and wondering if I’m safe or if the marauding drug crazed songsters
and disease addled hogs will stampede from the forest and kill me . And since I am awake anyway, I take stock of
my personal health and decide that a day spent with hammock, book, and cat have
served me well. I’m not cured, but I’m
improving and able to rejoin the land of the living. The cold continues the rest of my time in
Peru, but I do feel a little better every day.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b><span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgddkXBrJ299kGD0fZS8FEqG9oWmSrRSigFKSods-ulpeeAP7SCdZ3OgNZnqRvTVt6Nf_2GcUrw3HQWMZp13lQOM7epaj6oH656rUZ9O0QBWONEDW1k8VYBT-a8qAxPd6zqzFszt0LjVMk/s1600/Howler+Monkeys.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgddkXBrJ299kGD0fZS8FEqG9oWmSrRSigFKSods-ulpeeAP7SCdZ3OgNZnqRvTVt6Nf_2GcUrw3HQWMZp13lQOM7epaj6oH656rUZ9O0QBWONEDW1k8VYBT-a8qAxPd6zqzFszt0LjVMk/s400/Howler+Monkeys.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Howler Monkeys Thinking About Hogs and Songsters</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b><span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Our
remaining time at Pantiacolla Lodge consists of day-trips and hikes punctuated
by Hubert’s excellent meals. In no
particular order here are some of the highlights:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b><span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Ants:</span></b><span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"> I mentioned bullet ants in a <a href="http://randystravelblog.blogspot.com/2015/08/into-rainforest.html">previous
post.</a> They pretty much keep to
themselves in the trees where they live, but we often encounter amazingly long
columns of army ants and leaf cutter ants.
We carefully step over them and allow them to continue on with their
business while we do likewise. All of
the buildings at the lodge are on stilts and each stilt has a ring of poison to
block ants from entering the building.
Somehow, though, ants find their way into our bathroom – perhaps they come up the
pipes. Fortunately, they only come at
night. I am more than a little surprised
the first time I make a nocturnal bathroom visit and see that the toilet is
swarming with millions of ants. Happily,
they do confine themselves to the bathroom and mostly to the toilet, and
happily, as a male I can use the toilet even though it is swarming with
ants. But there's no way that I ever
could or would sit down on that toilet!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b><span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">The clay lick: </span></b><span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Macaws and parrots in the western Amazon region, and <i>only </i>those birds in that region, eat
clay. Some biologists believe that they
eat clay to make up for a dietary vitamin deficiency while others feel
that they eat clay to neutralize toxic or caustic chemicals present in some of
the foods that make up their diet.
Regardless of the reason, macaws and parrots show up in the hundreds at
specific “clay licks” on cliffs and river banks every day to devour clay. Very early one morning we travel by canoe up
the river to a clay lick. As soon as we
arrive we notice a lot of macaws and parrots circling high in the air and occasionally flying closer to check out the situation on the ground.
They seem nervous and never actually land at the lick. Michel notices a bat falcon sitting for a
period of time on a dead branch. Bat falcons are small and pose a danger only
to parakeets, but its presence is apparently making all of the birds
nervous. The birds also seem to be having issues with several nearby vultures –
part of a group of vultures that are keeping track of a dead capybara near the
shore on the other side of the river.
None of the macaws or parrots ever land so we are never able to see any
of them close – so the expedition is a bit of a bust. On the other hand, we are standing on the
shore of a river in the Amazon rainforest watching flocks of parrots and tons
of macaws. Perhaps they’re a bit far
away, but not as far away as they would be had we stayed in the US.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b><span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Flora and fauna</span></b><span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">: One day we see a jaguar print in the mud.
This is as close as we get to any jaguar - as far as we know. Other than a
capybara that swims right in front of me in the river one day we don't see a
lot of large mammals. They exist, but
there's a lot of foliage to hide in. On
our hikes and expeditions into the rain forest we mostly we take note of the
plants and flowers, insects, and small animals.
In the rainforest, where there are so many species of living things
and where there is so much competition for survival, it seems like everything
either has thorns or is poisonous. An
example – One day we go to a hot spring to swim and relax. When we get out of the water, Kathy puts her
shirt on over her swimsuit and I notice that there is a caterpillar on the
shirt. In my attempt to brush it off, I
push her shirt and the caterpillar right next to her skin. She immediately
screams in pain and within seconds a large red welt has formed. The defense mechanism of this caterpillar is
to concentrate the toxins of the plants it eats into the hairs that cover its
body. We immediately tell Michel about
the caterpillar exposure. He shrugs
sympathetically and tells us that Kathy will not die.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_zKkrX3Gug_mj6ofo3PfBUFY8wE-bGDGXZ4RTguc8ZWfPYldHZTbAEgxdtQoB7kP_GY7a6xqsBBL2lRO62N8EXj-94peLYJ0RwLyTrysQD8Sgl9nsa628wzwWuoja30pTFCdMT6EcUF8/s1600/Cane+Toad.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_zKkrX3Gug_mj6ofo3PfBUFY8wE-bGDGXZ4RTguc8ZWfPYldHZTbAEgxdtQoB7kP_GY7a6xqsBBL2lRO62N8EXj-94peLYJ0RwLyTrysQD8Sgl9nsa628wzwWuoja30pTFCdMT6EcUF8/s320/Cane+Toad.jpg" width="283" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6dc1KKpZ5O4PtxBJ9BdulSyYdlnYbm7EToz_DUR-78boES8-Ni2RhR5-1l0CF0AqRbR6fYABwVsIXIL4RgkIOY_Trk5gRAtqBMr1bVmf5pMTtYKPCNIQLi65bF_BIvCU0TE2fDilL1ew/s1600/thorns+on+walking+palm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6dc1KKpZ5O4PtxBJ9BdulSyYdlnYbm7EToz_DUR-78boES8-Ni2RhR5-1l0CF0AqRbR6fYABwVsIXIL4RgkIOY_Trk5gRAtqBMr1bVmf5pMTtYKPCNIQLi65bF_BIvCU0TE2fDilL1ew/s320/thorns+on+walking+palm.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>Above left: Thorns on a walking palm - Above right: Cane toad - this large terrestrial Amazonian toad has poison glands. Its tadpoles are also extremely toxic </b></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEideE1FspbjV88-lx5AhjN9YPiusOauTPMSdJO8ujpmmFbDw-QzILh2kTSW5tp8lyK7TYIhV5mDLfwcYGQ9JH1O9R3Ocp5PG12OSSP6DhdYX1pNxcuSnionUXITyErfIFpHYleuctlrY7U/s1600/Poison+Dart+Frog.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEideE1FspbjV88-lx5AhjN9YPiusOauTPMSdJO8ujpmmFbDw-QzILh2kTSW5tp8lyK7TYIhV5mDLfwcYGQ9JH1O9R3Ocp5PG12OSSP6DhdYX1pNxcuSnionUXITyErfIFpHYleuctlrY7U/s320/Poison+Dart+Frog.jpg" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ0-laIgtF6hnWRqVlRLu9JLEBIAmqahlPiUNzeM3jAM-s4ZfmlF_p7l3UeDKyEpOnMbwWWAWpN5ZGYDcH9AzGZ8PbPzmH51CnoK28TmgfYZWv3bHOVhlJpKdmHXw6Yy5M2zc73vlM9iA/s1600/caterpillar+mass.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ0-laIgtF6hnWRqVlRLu9JLEBIAmqahlPiUNzeM3jAM-s4ZfmlF_p7l3UeDKyEpOnMbwWWAWpN5ZGYDcH9AzGZ8PbPzmH51CnoK28TmgfYZWv3bHOVhlJpKdmHXw6Yy5M2zc73vlM9iA/s320/caterpillar+mass.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b>Above left: These caterpillars move en masse as a protective strategy. The caterpillars on top go over the leading edge and the trailing edge caterpillars climb on top and move over the mass. Above right: A poison dart frog. The lipophilic alkaloid toxins in its skin are used to poison the darts used for hunting by various Amazon cultures. Scientists have extracted a variety of medically useful compounds from these toxins including epibatidine, a pain killer 200 times more potent than morphine.</b> </div>
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZctx06lf5xx6JkOmepgH7V6Q2JxUhaPt2NOUPAceu8PNtt-lwjY1gW-H4k4pSshJCmTvIdyGc8oK714CAgsCzfMlPmi0Kw91hM50lshJv-jW06NKwxCdfDIaQs1V2crGUNoAYbNwfBbQ/s1600/Moths+on+fern.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="632" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZctx06lf5xx6JkOmepgH7V6Q2JxUhaPt2NOUPAceu8PNtt-lwjY1gW-H4k4pSshJCmTvIdyGc8oK714CAgsCzfMlPmi0Kw91hM50lshJv-jW06NKwxCdfDIaQs1V2crGUNoAYbNwfBbQ/s640/Moths+on+fern.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Moths on a Fern</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH5o7tuISR7e0eFRXnj09keIFWriDCKXo_VkIpeB_LgqVTW250cvcQ35hyVuLUTMLiU2KKvXs8Q8LhJOCpT7oYURsUR4a16LPN4Nub30ZckHVjxbJi38STUt-9HOFKrlhmNoQHDbc05Ow/s1600/Butterfly.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH5o7tuISR7e0eFRXnj09keIFWriDCKXo_VkIpeB_LgqVTW250cvcQ35hyVuLUTMLiU2KKvXs8Q8LhJOCpT7oYURsUR4a16LPN4Nub30ZckHVjxbJi38STUt-9HOFKrlhmNoQHDbc05Ow/s640/Butterfly.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Butterfly</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; text-align: justify;">I
can’t leave the topic of rainforest hikes without mentioning that the heat and
humidity range from uncomfortable to unbearable, depending upon the day, the
situation, and one’s frame of mind. Bear
in mind that we are outfitted in long sleeves and pants to prevent mosquito
bites and we are wearing large rubber boots so we can navigate the rain forest
muck. It is possible to swim in the
river to cool down, but the river itself is bathtub warm. During the hottest part of the day, the best
approach is to just hang out – move around as little as possible and siesta in
the nearest available hammock!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b><span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">The Fantastic Food</span></b><span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">: I have already mentioned the great culinary
skills of Hubert, our cook. He continues
to produce delicious meals every day, three times a day for the entire excursion. Our traveling companions come up with a plan
to bring him back to Belfast and open a Peruvian pub where he will be the
cook. For one lunch he serves his version
of a Peruvian layered potato dish called <a href="http://www.whats4eats.com/vegetables/causa-rellena-recipe">causa rellena</a>. We all unabashedly consume huge amounts
because it is so good. Then we discover that this is only the appetizer when he follows up with an equally wonderful
stew of rice and meat. We can’t do the
second course justice! For dinner one
evening he serves <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lomo_saltado">lomo
saltado</a>, an interesting fusion dish created by the Chinese who settled
around Lima. It is a stir-fried stew of
beef, onions, peppers, peas, and tomatoes flavored with soy sauce, and is served
with rice and fried potatoes. We always
look forward to mealtimes, and we never leave the table hungry or disappointed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b><span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Genipa_americana">Huito Fruit</a> Tattoos</span></b><span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">: The huito is a small tree that grows in the
Amazon region. The juice of its immature
fruit is clear, but produces a chemical reaction with skin that results in a permanent
dark blue color that only fades after several weeks have passed and that layer
of skin is sloughed off. The natives of
the rainforest use the juice of the huito fruit to paint elaborate patterns on
their bodies.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">While
I am in the rainforest I’m adopted into a native Amazonian group. In the adoption ceremony they use sticks
dipped in mashed huito fruit to make a pattern on my arm. The rest of the
ritual involves days of fasting, hallucinations, virgins, jaguars, condors,
serpents....all the usual stuff.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Of
course the preceding paragraph is entirely a bald-faced lie that I make up when
I get back to the US to explain to my friends why there is a huito fruit tat
covering my arm. The truth is slightly
more mundane but no less entertaining. </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">One
afternoon, Michel presents a huito fruit that he has picked up in the forest
and asks our Irish friends if they will grate the fruit into a bowl for a
project that he will explain in detail later.
The guys each take a turn grating and then present the grated fruit and
the leftover portion of the fruit it to Michel.
He shakes his head and says that he really needs the whole fruit
grated. So they get back to work, and
after Michel gives his approval of the completely grated fruit, we all go off
to take our afternoon siesta. I wake up
from my nap to the sound of great exclamations of consternation coming through
the wall from the room of the Irish gentlemen.
Their hands, of course, have all turned a very dark shade of blue. Michel is very amused at his joke. That evening, Michel offers to paint tattoos
onto anybody who is interested and we all volunteer. It is, in fact, several weeks before my tat
completely disappears. What a great
souvenir to bring home! </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Evenings at the
lodge are fun. We play cards a lot. There’s also a game table in the lodge that
has holes on the top and a drawer underneath.
In addition to the holes on top there’s a brass frog with an open
mouth. The game is to attempt to toss
brass coins into the frog’s mouth. This
is apparently a popular bar game in Peru.
It is very challenging but also lots of fun! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfipxKvMKvac-Ll1bdAptAaeL9tv8xMbCSu6NaDuUbb8xFXFTphMH0-qAEhaH9Hx8y-BhYisG00BhUmOD_IG_HRD9zuo0Y0IH7rvCHfEVUa4iz5iTgSxHRNNQleBtPOJbq-cR6ZgLCukY/s1600/Peru+tat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfipxKvMKvac-Ll1bdAptAaeL9tv8xMbCSu6NaDuUbb8xFXFTphMH0-qAEhaH9Hx8y-BhYisG00BhUmOD_IG_HRD9zuo0Y0IH7rvCHfEVUa4iz5iTgSxHRNNQleBtPOJbq-cR6ZgLCukY/s640/Peru+tat.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>My Cool Huito Fruit Tat</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Up the river:</span></b><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">
The day arrives when we have to get back in the canoe and head up
river. Our route back is exactly the way
we went in since there is only one route.
Going against the current takes longer than when we were going downstream,
but we eventually arrive at Atalaya where we climb aboard the Pantiacolla van
and continue back into the cloud forest.
We spend the night at Posada San Pedro, where we had stayed on the way
down. The next day we stop in
Paucartambo and have lunch at the same little restaurant where we had stopped
before for breakfast. They serve a
lovely beet, bean, and pea salad with a rice and vegetable pilaf. It is market day in Paucartambo and it’s much
livelier than it had been on the trip down – we enjoy observing the commerce along
every street and appreciate the opportunity just to people watch.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxnRTzcl8u9-iiVDDjfDoQdOrBk41olVTmfdNYWD2C_cGx_jU-nmkOa6s7e03ZbB6hmEbpOrXPSbYz5s4q9xn02sD4VpImEYGtbA_XdiE11QODsKdfuOpWuT_fIToiISsZLlWrDXAsK5s/s1600/Paucartambo+Market+-+alpaca.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxnRTzcl8u9-iiVDDjfDoQdOrBk41olVTmfdNYWD2C_cGx_jU-nmkOa6s7e03ZbB6hmEbpOrXPSbYz5s4q9xn02sD4VpImEYGtbA_XdiE11QODsKdfuOpWuT_fIToiISsZLlWrDXAsK5s/s640/Paucartambo+Market+-+alpaca.jpg" width="578" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Market Day in Puacartambo: A Cartload of Dressed Out Alpacas</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">We arrive in
Cusco late in the afternoon. I am
embarrassed to admit that the first thing we all do is link to wi-fi after the
hardship of having been disconnected for nearly a week. We also assemble a large mountain of dirty clothes
to be laundered. Kathy is under the
weather – perhaps an altitude issue after having spent time at almost sea level
in the rain forest. So she rests while
Madeline and I peruse Cusco for dinner options.
The really pleasant reality is that we have nothing booked for tomorrow,
thus we can spend an entire day in Cusco doing whatever we want to!</span></div>
</div>
Randyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14428531478283627693noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3281612281509186026.post-15143832942551040042015-08-20T18:18:00.000-05:002016-03-28T14:16:30.031-05:00Into the Rainforest<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; text-align: justify;">Cloud forests
and rainforests are both extremely humid and both have considerable rainfall,
but beyond all that moisture, they are fairly dissimilar. Cloud forests occur in the mountains at high
altitudes and consequently tend to be cooler than rain forests. Because they’re cooler, mist or fog is often
visible – which is why, of course, cloud forests are called cloud forests. Because cloud forests are in the mountains
there can be substantial differences in altitude from one part of the forest to
another, which allows for a variety of microclimates. Rainforests, though, don’t vary much in
altitude so have a more uniform climate.
The uneven terrain of cloud forests creates small rapidly moving rivers
and waterfalls. Rainforest rivers, on
the other hand, meander slowly through the flatness and are wide and silty. All of these differences mean that rain
forests and cloud forests support very different types of plants and animals.</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">On this day we
travel from Posada San Pedro Lodge in the cloud forest at around 5000 feet to the
village of Atalaya in the rainforest at 1500 feet. At Atalaya we’ll continue on in a large
motorized canoe on the wide and shallow Madre de Dios River.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">We need to get
an early start so we’re out of bed at 5:45 – early but almost slothfully late
compared to the last few days. I do a
systems check of my body and determine that my cold has not improved – the
landscape of my bed beneath the mosquito netting is littered with soggy
Kleenexes. As a matter of fact, one
immediate crisis that I have to face is a Kleenex shortage. I also do a systems check on my camera. The moisture that was fogging over the lens
and mirror seems to have dissipated for the most part. I flip on the power and note with some
concern that the monitor is strobing on and off while the camera is emitting a
soft crackling sound. Then the camera produces
a loud pop and the monitor goes black.
Not a good sign. The next ten or fifteen minutes are a period of
manipulation and investigation infused with a certain amount of swearing. I finally conclude that the monitor is never
going to monitor anything ever again. Also,
the telephoto lens will not electronically link to the camera. The really
important question is, “Can this camera take pictures?” The shutter works but is the camera
collecting images? There’s no way to tell since I can’t review pictures on the
monitor. I finally decide to be
optimistic and assume that the camera is really taking pictures. The other alternative is to continue to
travel through this visual wonderland with only my phone to record it. As the journey continues over the next week,
my optimism varies depending on the day and the time of day, thus at times I
take pictures with my questionable camera using the standard lens and at other
times I rely entirely on my phone. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">My waterproof
camera bag would have prevented this tragedy.
Or my rain poncho. Or a simple Ziploc
bag. The Girl Scout’s motto is “Be Prepared.”
I have no choice but to blame this tragedy on my cursed and capricious
fate for having been born a boy, thus never having been in Girl Scouts to learn
their motto.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">As we walk from
our cabin to the dining hall we notice a variety of hummingbirds flitting among
the flowering shrubs by the path. Michel
tells us that we’re seeing sparkling violet ears, wire crested thorn tails, and
spectacled hummingbirds – great descriptive names for these little guys! Sadly, I have no working telephoto lens to
get their pictures.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">After breakfast
we take down all of our wet hanging clothes, stuff them into plastic Ziploc
bags and pack the bags into our packs – little fungus incubators, to be sure! Kathy and Madeline had stuffed towels into
their wet shoes before going to bed, but their shoes are still very wet. They put them on. They have no choice. We’re back on the road by 7:30. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">By mid-morning
the road and the countryside around it begin to flatten out – we’re moving out
of the mountains and into the flatlands of the Amazon basin. We start to see
occasional farm fields, houses, and even small villages along the road. Michel tells us that one of the crops grown
here is coca. The Colombian cartel used
to be a very active buyer in this region and in one village we see an overgrown
grass runway where cartel planes used fly out the crop. The Peruvian government, according to Michel,
has successfully combated the drug trade by cracking down on the illegal trade
in cocaine and also by supporting efforts to market </span><a href="http://www.cocatea.com/" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">coca tea, candy, cosmetics, energy bars and
other non-refined legitimate coca products</a><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">.
Coca in any form, of course, continues to be illegal in the US.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">William pulls
the van over at the small sleepy town of Pilcopata so we can stock up on food
and supplies. The town extends for a few
blocks along the road and does not widen out much beyond the main drag. There are a few dusty little shops that turn
out to be stocked with everything that we need.
I’m overjoyed to discover a stack of Kleenex packages in the display
case of one shop. The Irish lads all find
and buy rain ponchos, flashlights and plastic sandals. Kathy and Madeline get rain ponchos as
well. There are perhaps more animals
than people along the main street and Madeline gets right to work making
friends with the local felines. <a href="http://randyschickenblog.blogspot.com/">My passion is chickens</a>, so I’m
very pleased at the large collection unusual ones clucking and pecking along
the street. I try out try my camera, sans
monitor, for the first time on these chickens, but I’m unsure, with no monitor,
if I’m really getting pictures. (Spoiler
alert: The camera is, in fact, capturing
images – take note of pictures in this blog - though it no longer links with
the telephoto lens, and the monitor is toast.
I would later determine that it was not repairable.)</span></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhntsarXAJ8df9fbQDhSuDw7FkKKL8yeLIknHToYXM9bRIoEDBEjmZ6-RBsy4VlBIwAB8aRC3OLSCSSlRacHQuqGTmzH6TNONrgPyGqPSjJhOtOLxaQ8ryoDvZrNai_OB6lfEaivYuDkOA/s1600/Pilcopata+-+chicken.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="390" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhntsarXAJ8df9fbQDhSuDw7FkKKL8yeLIknHToYXM9bRIoEDBEjmZ6-RBsy4VlBIwAB8aRC3OLSCSSlRacHQuqGTmzH6TNONrgPyGqPSjJhOtOLxaQ8ryoDvZrNai_OB6lfEaivYuDkOA/s400/Pilcopata+-+chicken.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Animal Residents of Pilcopata Found Along Main Street</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkUWbmOcR7x0e_Qh8lRMoCuq8pdPZ8_Ux9_qlgJQjgc_Sy-XPNxBwmfxVTsrWOzzKgbxDVYk_6fuTYAHRHMAuk4vhkI2EAJa1cjoAGmfCskgTzlrl1Cbj_wpNQsW1wx0jMGe2LEUJ2rlc/s1600/Pilcopata+-+pig.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="280" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkUWbmOcR7x0e_Qh8lRMoCuq8pdPZ8_Ux9_qlgJQjgc_Sy-XPNxBwmfxVTsrWOzzKgbxDVYk_6fuTYAHRHMAuk4vhkI2EAJa1cjoAGmfCskgTzlrl1Cbj_wpNQsW1wx0jMGe2LEUJ2rlc/s400/Pilcopata+-+pig.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">A bit down the
road from Pilcopata we stop at an animal rehabilitation center that supposedly rescues
injured and illegally poached rainforest animals and returns them to the
wild. I say “supposedly” because the
animals I see at this facility appear to all be unfearful of, and perhaps even
imprinted on humans. They are not caged
or abused, and appear well fed, but I doubt any of these animals will ever live
in the wild again – which would, in fact, make this facility more of a zoo than
an animal rehab center. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">The courtyard
contains a tapir and peccary and a number of monkeys. There are no barriers separating them from
each other or from the guests. Shortly after we arrive a fierce looking little
tamarin attached himself to Michel’s ankle and started scrambling up his
leg. I fully expect biting, screams, and
blood, but Michel just shakes his leg and the little guy detached himself and
scampers off into the bushes. Then a
large group of school children arrives.
They are amped up, bouncing around like they just chowed a week’s worth
of candy and are way under-chaperoned.
They are definitely more than the one staffer and one intern at the
rehab center can manage. Some of the
kids start jumping up to grab the monkeys in the trees by any appendage they
can reach so they can drag them down.
The monkeys fruitlessly try to get away and one starts biting the
children grabbing him. If this were the
US, this is where the lawsuits would come into play. One poor persecuted little woolly monkey
finally decides Madeline is a safe haven from the children and climbs up to her
head where he remains for the rest of our visit. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHb6bsu1hDxWbr74wg8fMVk9FHzepQ2tTjrmIn1wQMiQblgYc928D5PRK6OqiXltTBVtRf0F5ghYqVyW-CnWlskMzoSwn-xRoaZM6epKycDIwmqBW4cBW9PPadGSmpeOIBOh0JW_4wzFw/s1600/Animal+Rehab+-+tamarin+crawling+up+leg.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHb6bsu1hDxWbr74wg8fMVk9FHzepQ2tTjrmIn1wQMiQblgYc928D5PRK6OqiXltTBVtRf0F5ghYqVyW-CnWlskMzoSwn-xRoaZM6epKycDIwmqBW4cBW9PPadGSmpeOIBOh0JW_4wzFw/s640/Animal+Rehab+-+tamarin+crawling+up+leg.jpg" width="598" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Above: Tamarin Attached to Leg<br />Below: Wooly Monkey Seeks Refuge </b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrHEW0bf7R9BWLQSlXpRsdprCiuM77x42qlxgA8KfUrAxvUNFWia0Sqb-1SGTo48FpZtDVqXNpvlVYwPFVzI-Wx46sWP8anGRVEAC-OioVHUciFQEguf-5PALm78ttSKO_zhSU4T-3CEk/s1600/Animal+Rehab+-+Wooly+Monkey.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrHEW0bf7R9BWLQSlXpRsdprCiuM77x42qlxgA8KfUrAxvUNFWia0Sqb-1SGTo48FpZtDVqXNpvlVYwPFVzI-Wx46sWP8anGRVEAC-OioVHUciFQEguf-5PALm78ttSKO_zhSU4T-3CEk/s640/Animal+Rehab+-+Wooly+Monkey.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">In addition to
the animals in the courtyard, there are some parrots and macaws in a
building. And that’s about all there is
to see, except for the plot of coca plants in the back. Apparently in this part of Peru the small
plot of coca plants out back is as common as the small backyard herb garden that
is ubiquitous in the US. Michel tells us
that many of the farm workers and the Inca Trail porters chew the leaves for an
energy boost and to suppress their appetites. Unrefined coca compared to
cocaine is perhaps like beer compared to pure ethanol. While the US drug policy is to make all
things containing coca illegal, maybe a better policy would be to follow the
ancient wisdom inscribed on the Temple to Apollo at Delphi: “<span style="background: white; color: #252525;">μηδέν άγαν – nothing to excess.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #252525; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">At our next stop in the small river town of Atalaya the road
ends – To continue, we must travel by river.
We get out of the van and visit the Pantiacolla offices where we’re
issued rubber boots for our treks in the rain forest over the next couple of
days. I am relieved that they do, in
fact, have a pair of boots that will fit my size US-14 feet. We say goodbye to William, our excellent van
driver, and board a large motorized canoe then head down river toward the
Pantiacolla Lodge. The canoe is just
large enough to accommodate us: Kathy,
Madeline, me, the three Irish young men, Michel, Hubert, the boat pilot, and
his assistant<b>. <o:p></o:p></b></span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmYU5pcFUcBSfLZcaRa-lGQ7-yR3tXiVch7aygyUH7nOD0qvM9mZXbR2OUu_i86QnxQcwK6IZfzD3q08ktRvPCfmMtsYSDkBLjjWhhCSix7gBhfD9wmkamMAdJTJe718QMGpZUiReBgg4/s1600/Tour+Group.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmYU5pcFUcBSfLZcaRa-lGQ7-yR3tXiVch7aygyUH7nOD0qvM9mZXbR2OUu_i86QnxQcwK6IZfzD3q08ktRvPCfmMtsYSDkBLjjWhhCSix7gBhfD9wmkamMAdJTJe718QMGpZUiReBgg4/s640/Tour+Group.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>The Group/The Canoe</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Rio Madre De Dios (The Mother of God River) starts in the Andes and then winds
for miles through the rain forest. Its waters eventually reach the Amazon
River. It is wide and shallow,
changeable, and hard to navigate. This is the time of year when the river is
quite low – there are a lot of rocky beaches, sandbars, and rapids. The pilot's
helper uses a pole to keep us away from sandbars. Michel explains that if we get hung up, the
pilot will attempt to back up and take another run. If we get </span><i style="color: #252525; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">really </i><span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">hung up, people will have to go
overboard and attempt to push the boat over the shallow spot - starting with
the boat operators, but not exempting the guests. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbK4R6mZod0WCfSZ7KFd7pFgFGQh-rFUvZyfo_Tf3TL4t2r6rxzT8nhrkkCfY_fnEXc7CKsAousI3oqMooZKFackFNBONnG-G2H7_Pzx2-3efDNguU6TG2XWHIZOssaUmmItiptP-8zhQ/s1600/Madre+De+Dios+River.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbK4R6mZod0WCfSZ7KFd7pFgFGQh-rFUvZyfo_Tf3TL4t2r6rxzT8nhrkkCfY_fnEXc7CKsAousI3oqMooZKFackFNBONnG-G2H7_Pzx2-3efDNguU6TG2XWHIZOssaUmmItiptP-8zhQ/s640/Madre+De+Dios+River.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Above: Rio Madre De Dios<br />Below: Poling Away from Sandbars</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTGG89Xu1qUgR9VRAqriIKwVEaKPo5GDb72fe0RQQy055Ulqt6cl-5ZvlHNM4lYRmZH_xLAS_ivxt5yAVG3w8YFVTyhlBSR1hcBRWICUpUr3ODndjft9t7h7o6188GalGDD8mzhJM0Z9Q/s1600/On+the+Madre+del+Dios.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="558" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTGG89Xu1qUgR9VRAqriIKwVEaKPo5GDb72fe0RQQy055Ulqt6cl-5ZvlHNM4lYRmZH_xLAS_ivxt5yAVG3w8YFVTyhlBSR1hcBRWICUpUr3ODndjft9t7h7o6188GalGDD8mzhJM0Z9Q/s640/On+the+Madre+del+Dios.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Once we’re underway, Hubert whips together our lunch right on
the canoe – a fantastic chicken salad with fresh fruit. We notice men stacking large bunches of
bananas along the shore to be picked up by boats and hauled up river. There is also an abundance of birds – Michel
points out yellow headed vultures, Amazon kingfishers, tiger herons, cormorants,
black vultures, turkey vultures, Cocoi herons, and snowy egrets. They are all photogenic and I regret this
time and every similar occasion for the rest of the trip that I don’t have a
functioning long lens for my camera.</span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #252525; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #252525; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">It starts to rain – an occurrence we are becoming very
familiar with. The canoe has a canopy,
but the wind is driving the rain right under the canopy, so the pilot’s helper
pulls out large plastic tarps for us to cover ourselves. After about a half hour the rain decreases in
intensity and almost simultaneously we arrive at Pantiacolla Lodge. We grab our packs and luggage, get off the
boat and climb a muddy path up a long steep embankment through the rain forest
and finally arrive at the lodge. The
lodge consists of a group of cabins, a dining hall, and some ancillary building
in a mowed clearing in the forest. There’s
a large tree </span><span style="background: white; color: #252525; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">filled with </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Oropendola"><span style="background: white;">oripendola nests</span></a><span style="background: white; color: #252525;"> </span></span><span style="background: white; color: #252525; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">in the middle of the cleared area </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="background: white; color: #252525;">and the oripendolas’
calls fill the air almost continuously.
The buildings are wooden with tin roofs and on stilts. Each stilt has a ring of poison to keep out ants. Our cabin is divided into four separate units
by walls that go up about eight feet but end quite a bit shy of the roof. There’s a veranda along the front of the
building and a hammock is hung on the veranda by the door to each unit. Each room has a back door that accesses a
“bridge” that connects to a separate building about ten feet behind the cabin
that contains the bathrooms for each unit.
Our room furnishings are basic but quite adequate – a couple bare bulbs
for light during the few hours the generator is running, a mirror on the wall,
two mosquito-netted beds, a small wooden table, and a couple of wooden chairs.</span></span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtmkHaVt0iHMFevjwNCn6ikuSZCZAMRekLGMkIXNPtmAzUiXT_S3DBr4qOxwHSBRv47fu6oRBSxjj_swLTrEX1nUfgx-rgbcpJVyrA0Xh03d_iGXKc7NxRlpgaeAXXEGDJMDgObctVa7o/s1600/Pantiacolla+Lodge.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtmkHaVt0iHMFevjwNCn6ikuSZCZAMRekLGMkIXNPtmAzUiXT_S3DBr4qOxwHSBRv47fu6oRBSxjj_swLTrEX1nUfgx-rgbcpJVyrA0Xh03d_iGXKc7NxRlpgaeAXXEGDJMDgObctVa7o/s640/Pantiacolla+Lodge.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Our Cabin at Pantiacolla Lodge</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFSDO_3KBJwI9oG9TFYnxT8hQki6-rotQ64saBwuRxu8ro_vw4-V0l5d5u9U_GiHfb7f61WZDbuq8LwVL3-oSJYTGwAyBK9_svbZc2b7LuYmVatIkHkDHzJcO8NWApwCAY-GIFc7a5GKM/s1600/Pantiacolla+Lodge++-+complete+w+hammock+%2526+cat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFSDO_3KBJwI9oG9TFYnxT8hQki6-rotQ64saBwuRxu8ro_vw4-V0l5d5u9U_GiHfb7f61WZDbuq8LwVL3-oSJYTGwAyBK9_svbZc2b7LuYmVatIkHkDHzJcO8NWApwCAY-GIFc7a5GKM/s640/Pantiacolla+Lodge++-+complete+w+hammock+%2526+cat.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>The Veranda - note hammock, lounging cat<br />& wet clothes hanging from rail</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVtoek1L2q8KYB_La_cRYSoBbzyzEaEAhfHCNlhDRKSiC6uUqw6QE5GWmZKhmG-60RUjYjJxK5NHjw_2KoOj8vfPKpOCNKK9kHcyCkdheDxRby_AN6xvqVBpvlucTyc7xHtZZA28AHsYc/s1600/oripendula+nests.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVtoek1L2q8KYB_La_cRYSoBbzyzEaEAhfHCNlhDRKSiC6uUqw6QE5GWmZKhmG-60RUjYjJxK5NHjw_2KoOj8vfPKpOCNKK9kHcyCkdheDxRby_AN6xvqVBpvlucTyc7xHtZZA28AHsYc/s320/oripendula+nests.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Oripendola Nests</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">We unpack – starting with the bags full of wet clothes which
we hang over the veranda rail. While we
unpack the two local black and white spotted felines introduce themselves. The cats have Spanish names but I rename them
“Holstein” and “Cow”. Those names don’t
stick. In the end, we are all calling
them the names that Madeline gives them:
One becomes “Mister Mustache Man” because of the black mark on his upper
lip. “Scabby Head” gets his name
because…well, you get the picture. We
all wonder who or what he’s had a fight with.
Both cats are very friendly and obviously enjoy hanging out with the
lodge guests. Before we’re done
unpacking, we see a troop of saddlebacked tamarins moving through the trees right
along the edge of the lodge grounds. It
drives home the realization that we </span><i style="color: #252525; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">really</i><span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">
are in the rain forest and are surrounded by all sorts of cool rain forest
plants and animals!</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfyjQVwJ467Ps8Bn6D6CJBN9roEnWhbs6SBt-OUH153rn8-iB66DYlKCdccSeNZDXSYBJspMI1_bIv1qiJWMA61dUykIupGCN2i3x6L_CTxs-YpMMAENQeX4StkHntiJWPoNGgtK5xLSM/s1600/Pantiacolla+-+Madeline+and+Scabby+Head.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfyjQVwJ467Ps8Bn6D6CJBN9roEnWhbs6SBt-OUH153rn8-iB66DYlKCdccSeNZDXSYBJspMI1_bIv1qiJWMA61dUykIupGCN2i3x6L_CTxs-YpMMAENQeX4StkHntiJWPoNGgtK5xLSM/s320/Pantiacolla+-+Madeline+and+Scabby+Head.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Madeline with Her Friend "Scabby Head"</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #252525; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">As we move into late afternoon, Michel leads us for a short
hike along some paths near the lodge and points out an astonishing number of
plants, birds, and insects. We see red
and green macaws, speckled chachalacas, Spix’s guans, strangler figs, chicken
foot trees, walking palms, and belly palms.
But the creature that makes the biggest impression on me is the bullet
ant – a largish black ant. Its sting is
ranked as the most painful insect stings in the world and has been described as
"waves of burning, throbbing, all-consuming pain that continue unabated
for up to 24 hours". Some who have
been stung by this ant, and who apparently have also been shot, have
described the pain of the sting as equal to the pain of a bullet, thus the ant’s
name.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0GQ_MmK6lS2qDYEtBb6bgNvZsHWWFWulJ56DHnP19cZCVypIw8WIveqcDejon7IIx_9whQksS1repDzqIW2O8cjVLErAkuYp2ENjJBZLI-ooL9ba1e2oUD0dHBvYFbGEUL9dvuxw-qKc/s1600/Pantiacolla+Lodge+-+our+room.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0GQ_MmK6lS2qDYEtBb6bgNvZsHWWFWulJ56DHnP19cZCVypIw8WIveqcDejon7IIx_9whQksS1repDzqIW2O8cjVLErAkuYp2ENjJBZLI-ooL9ba1e2oUD0dHBvYFbGEUL9dvuxw-qKc/s320/Pantiacolla+Lodge+-+our+room.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Our Room</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="background: white; color: #252525; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">So, of course, there would have to be an Amazonian tribe that
uses the ant’s sting in its initiation rites.
They dump the ants in some sort of natural sedative and then weave
hundreds of them into a large mitten.
The boy undergoing the rites must put the mitten on and keep it on for
ten minutes. It sounds like it’s one of
those things that doesn’t kill you but makes you wish you were dead. When the victim finally takes the mitten off,
his arm is temporarily paralyzed and his body shakes for days. He finally recovers and then he is considered
a true man by everyone in his tribe.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #252525; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Ha-ha – just kidding. As
a matter of fact, he has to undergo the mitten thing nineteen more times before
he is considered an official manly dude.
The tribe, by the way is the </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sater%C3%A9-Maw%C3%A9" title="Sateré-Mawé"><span style="background: white;">Sateré-Mawé</span></a><span style="background: white; color: #252525;">. So if you run across
any of these folks and they ask you to join their tribe, you now know what to
expect.</span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcTHofoMGFk6UpyOsjDCD0_GQiT3KYaUY5VERQonnOKapZyZlVGLMrvwG48w2m9HdA-danY-3RMXDmzqYloSLpJaSWHco0u4j7NR0Xz3LG1ojhyphenhyphenhsZ5DUkV2L7UEtd3o4YIUknAWQWEno/s1600/Bullet+Ant.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcTHofoMGFk6UpyOsjDCD0_GQiT3KYaUY5VERQonnOKapZyZlVGLMrvwG48w2m9HdA-danY-3RMXDmzqYloSLpJaSWHco0u4j7NR0Xz3LG1ojhyphenhyphenhsZ5DUkV2L7UEtd3o4YIUknAWQWEno/s320/Bullet+Ant.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>The Notorious Bullet Ant</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="background: white; color: #252525; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">It is growing dusk by the time we finish our hike. We have dinner in the dining hall, then head
back to our cabins. My head and lungs
have become quite clogged from my on-going cold, so I almost immediately call
it a day crawl beneath my mosquito netting.
It turns out that for me at least, it will be a very short night. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
Randyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14428531478283627693noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3281612281509186026.post-46430486767440385342015-08-19T13:46:00.000-05:002016-03-12T11:03:21.854-06:00 Into the Cloud Forest<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">The </span><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Man%C3%BA_National_Park"><span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Manu National Park</span></a><span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"> in southeastern Peru
is 4.5 million acres of rain forest and cloud forest. It’s a place of towering trees, meandering
rivers, 15,000 species of plants, vast numbers of mammals, reptiles and
insects, and over 1000 species of birds – more species than are found in the US
and Canada combined. It is inaccessible by
road and because of its remoteness and protected status it remains one of the
few pristine places left on the planet.
In addition to its designation by Peru as a national park, it has been
designated </span><span style="color: #252525; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">a </span><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/World_Heritage_Site" title="World Heritage Site"><span style="color: #0b0080; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">World Heritage Site</span></a><span style="color: #252525; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">by UNESCO. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="http://www.amazon.com/s?ie=UTF8&page=1&rh=n%3A283155%2Cp_27%3AMarianne%20van%20Vlaardingen"><span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">“Talking About Manu –
Exploration of a Virgin Rainforest”</span></a><span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"> is a slim but excellent travel guide about Manu written by
Marianne van Vlaardingen. The thumbnail
biography of the author that appears on the back of the book explains that Marianne
went to Peru in 1988 after completing her Master’s degree at the University of
Utrecht in the Netherlands. Her mission
was to study the Tamarin monkeys in the Biological Station of Manu Park. She obviously found her life’s purpose and
meaning in the Peruvian rain forest, since she has never left. She has built a rain forest lodge in the Manu
Cultural Zone and founded an eco-tourism project called </span><a href="http://pantiacolla.com/"><span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">“Pantiacolla</span></a><span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">”. Pantiacolla’s
mission is to share the unique Manu rain forest with tourists in an
Earth-friendly way, and it is so dedicated to reducing the human footprint on
our planet that the company brochure even provides travelers with information
on how they can engage in a tree planting project to offset the carbon
emissions produced by the airplane that brings them to Peru.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">We’ve booked
a five-day trip into the Manu Reserve through Pantiacolla and on this day we
leave Cusco and head toward the cloud forest.
We’re out of bed at 3:45 AM. The
word from Pantiacolla is that there is a bridge being repaired on the Manu road
and that said bridge is open for traffic only for an hour at noon each
day. Our early start is so we can be at
this bridge at the right time to get across.
I’m not getting used to these inhumanly early mornings. A cold now has full possession of my
body. I unsuccessfully attempt
breakfast, then we grab our packs and stumble down to the San Blas Plaza to
wait for our ride.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">At 4:30
the Pantiacolla van pulls into the plaza and a man hops out and introduces
himself as Michel, our guide for this adventure. He seems amazingly cheerful and energetic for
this early hour. He introduces us to the
other occupants of the van: William the
driver, Hubert the cook, and three fellow tourists – Adam, Alistair, and
Martin, all in their late twenties and from Belfast. We make a brief stop to pick up supplies then we are
on our way. Shortly after leaving Cusco
we run into some serious road construction, so it is slow going. But before too long, the early hour, the
darkness, and the gentle rocking of the van lull all of us off to sleep. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Then we
hear Michel announcing that it is time to wake up. It is still dark. The van is coasting to a stop by the side of
the road. Michel pronounces that we are
near the village of Ninamarka and that we are going to explore some chulpas;
cylindrical above ground tombs. These
funerary structures were built in pre-Incan times by the Lupaca culture. It is just starting to get light enough for
us to tell that we are on a mountainside and that everything is encompassed in
a thick fog. There is not much to see
other than this cluster of now empty circular tombs, but the fact that they
were built hundreds of years ago to hold the dead of a culture that is itself
now dead creates a peculiar effect that is further enhanced by the dark, the
quiet, and the fog. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg17LRS0Zq6ZHDPXJAVdP5g5Z6F80nofieshHnzqb5rGGUqTcJfq61_8qXajX3Xxp4U9vbGOAnK3JfouuA7vHcgNAn9djyyXlabMPQS0lzig-nzXug042Y3xA8bPmVkHn4BR1hjEN5_aJw/s1600/Ninamarka+-+Into+the+cloud+forest+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="425" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg17LRS0Zq6ZHDPXJAVdP5g5Z6F80nofieshHnzqb5rGGUqTcJfq61_8qXajX3Xxp4U9vbGOAnK3JfouuA7vHcgNAn9djyyXlabMPQS0lzig-nzXug042Y3xA8bPmVkHn4BR1hjEN5_aJw/s640/Ninamarka+-+Into+the+cloud+forest+2.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>The Pantiacolla Van Parked on the Fog Shrouded Mountainside</b></td></tr>
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<span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">A little
girl appears out of the mist and offers to sell us woven bracelets from a
basket she carries. Both Madeline and
Kathy buy a bracelet and then the girl walks away into the mist. I assume that she’s an enterprising youngster
who lives in the nearby village who gets up really early to sell her bracelets
to passing tourists. Interestingly, when
I check Google Maps later, I can’t find any village named Ninamarka or Ninamarca
or Nina Marka. I find the tombs, but
there doesn’t appear to be a village nearby.
Perhaps Ninamarka is like Brigadoon and only coalesces out of the mist
one day every one hundred years. In the next couple of days both Kathy’s and
Madeline’s bracelets disappear, so there’s no proof that the interaction with
the girl ever happened except for my pictures of the eerie chulpas in the fog<b>. <o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7KZ_Bxyoc07Et9RZRDt4XJ14ZBCm2VFDva1aLu4eLuQC2F0LnXLXUnHfDhXJubw2youBSztLE7-3do7_ohapYZScx_u9edtZUk1CtZg-DNUO3vp-Pf2dY77uH2YJxaIXSTunehphrbVE/s1600/Ninamarka+-+Preincan+chullpas.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7KZ_Bxyoc07Et9RZRDt4XJ14ZBCm2VFDva1aLu4eLuQC2F0LnXLXUnHfDhXJubw2youBSztLE7-3do7_ohapYZScx_u9edtZUk1CtZg-DNUO3vp-Pf2dY77uH2YJxaIXSTunehphrbVE/s640/Ninamarka+-+Preincan+chullpas.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Chulpas</b></td></tr>
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<span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">After we
are back in the van and on the road again, the sun rises above the mountains, the
fog burns off and we are able to see the countryside that we’re traveling
through. We’re losing altitude. We had started at over 11,000 feet in </span>Cusco<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">
and are headed toward the village of </span>Atalaya<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"> which is at 1500 feet. As we go down, the mountains become richer
with foliage. And we are definitely in
the mountains. We are often traveling on
a road that has been inscribed into the side of a mountain with a sheer wall
thousands of feet high on one side and a sheer drop of thousands of feet on the
other side. The road is dirt/gravel, full of ruts, and essentially single
lane. This is problematic since the
traffic is two way. Meeting a vehicle
means that one vehicle has to back up to a "wide spot" and park
with wheels right on the edge so the other vehicle can pass. In some places the road is more like a
half-lane since the road has crumbled into the abyss in a landslide. There are
also occasional rocks on the road that have fallen from above. I am awestruck by the scenery but a little
freaked out by the driving conditions.
My life is in the hands of God – and William, the driver. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5E-p4NLEeAEoFOnytFZ8pQY1YtSuuyR4DEwPf9itYz3T4CUoBLjUpe_BHG87-SDhngZtI0ZsuK5u-q4oBjox3ICaBi4QgN4oW6g8-xq9Pw4p2K239xFOvLC8q1cFB03Jjl3cymZq_ZdQ/s1600/road+thru+cloud+forest.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5E-p4NLEeAEoFOnytFZ8pQY1YtSuuyR4DEwPf9itYz3T4CUoBLjUpe_BHG87-SDhngZtI0ZsuK5u-q4oBjox3ICaBi4QgN4oW6g8-xq9Pw4p2K239xFOvLC8q1cFB03Jjl3cymZq_ZdQ/s640/road+thru+cloud+forest.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Above: The Road Through the Cloud Forest<br />Below: The Road Snakes Through the Mountains</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHKCvMMd9mrZ5qhoIGsOU_AvECt6Y46mDILFEnUUrHk3jUZNE6dOAziYq_Xw3akgI0PY6XCNnrabivxXC7U6MaRMi_Nb43PECCXcSl_FvPhNgz-DaO4fKmE0lmqPtZdNVsQ-2FHelRMTk/s1600/scenic+vista.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHKCvMMd9mrZ5qhoIGsOU_AvECt6Y46mDILFEnUUrHk3jUZNE6dOAziYq_Xw3akgI0PY6XCNnrabivxXC7U6MaRMi_Nb43PECCXcSl_FvPhNgz-DaO4fKmE0lmqPtZdNVsQ-2FHelRMTk/s640/scenic+vista.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Eventually
we dip into the Paucartambo River Valley at about 9000 feet and enter the picturesque
(sorry, there’s no better word!) market town of Paucartambo, a town of
whitewashed buildings with blue trim and tile roofs, cobblestone streets and an
18<sup>th</sup> century arched stone bridge across the river. Everybody piles out of the van and we gather
around a table in a little restaurant for breakfast. Afterward we stroll through the town to a
bakery where the baker and his helpers are baking flatbread in a hug brick oven. Since the oven retains its heat for so long
after it gets hot, there is a whole queue of items to go into the oven when the
bread is done – ranging from baskets of potatoes to trays of guinea pigs. This
oven has been in the baker’s family for over 200 years and is still baking
delicious bread. We buy several bags of
bread and enjoy some of it warm and fresh.
Hubert, our cook, will continue to serve us that bread over the next
several days. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_Dz-C78hTSiXHOpSzr1RP6ajYzxdE6N__Yay8iFmFgZ2EVwOyrDd_GOh7Bdru0pMZ5fINpEwiTUqLt95LpmZmLwSUfoV5bW3C4yN88BfWwm-5i6r6NXEGJ9S9-K30ijrbe5wcibc8NTg/s1600/Paucartambo+-+baking+in+brick+oven.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="290" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_Dz-C78hTSiXHOpSzr1RP6ajYzxdE6N__Yay8iFmFgZ2EVwOyrDd_GOh7Bdru0pMZ5fINpEwiTUqLt95LpmZmLwSUfoV5bW3C4yN88BfWwm-5i6r6NXEGJ9S9-K30ijrbe5wcibc8NTg/s400/Paucartambo+-+baking+in+brick+oven.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Massive Brick Oven</b></td></tr>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh345P5kpEEEDBDkzjd-SiOAyxkgcxQBjGk1SaB3hhULdM3pS-d5IY2QsB7reN1T7YsXD5ho83SUZN4fLvPnvbDmVdbf_bQHzh1kNiEzATn8bDadkF7aRa0nZqIlHx_ip3hmyS9h-9D4Gk/s1600/Paucartambo+-+brick+oven+w+bread.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="260" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh345P5kpEEEDBDkzjd-SiOAyxkgcxQBjGk1SaB3hhULdM3pS-d5IY2QsB7reN1T7YsXD5ho83SUZN4fLvPnvbDmVdbf_bQHzh1kNiEzATn8bDadkF7aRa0nZqIlHx_ip3hmyS9h-9D4Gk/s400/Paucartambo+-+brick+oven+w+bread.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Bread in Oven</b> </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0fYN-sQ2Rt1GbodmJPqcKMhbIruPUCuQ1fnlKJypqW1VlgZl_ew_4dUjsSmSbNLD2-jpZAuw0bjIq99WJZuJQ1L_7oSnf61pb-50uSMjHqVp6k3U-t2vToGDK2jzBiXWXtUH9sJbtito/s1600/Paucartambo+-+potatoes+%2526+cuy+ready+for+the+oven.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="508" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0fYN-sQ2Rt1GbodmJPqcKMhbIruPUCuQ1fnlKJypqW1VlgZl_ew_4dUjsSmSbNLD2-jpZAuw0bjIq99WJZuJQ1L_7oSnf61pb-50uSMjHqVp6k3U-t2vToGDK2jzBiXWXtUH9sJbtito/s640/Paucartambo+-+potatoes+%2526+cuy+ready+for+the+oven.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Potatoes and Guinea Pigs Waiting for the Oven</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Paucartambo
has a small but first-rate museum and we spend some time there. A significant part of the museum is dedicated
to the </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">annual Festival of Our
Lady of Mt. Carmel that draws tens of thousands of visitors to Paucartambo
every year from July 16 to 20. The more
I learn about the festival the sadder I become that we hadn’t planned our trip
a month earlier so we could participate in this spectacle. </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Depending on
who you ask, the festival either started in 1640 and celebrates the patron
saint of </span>Paucartambo<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">, the Virgin of Carmel, or is much older and originally was
a </span>pre<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">-colonial festival celebrating the </span>Pachamama<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">, Mother Earth. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">This is
ostensibly a religious festival and the church is packed around the clock when
the festival is underway. But beyond
that it is a festival of revelry, parades, music, theatrics, street food,
drinking, and general crazy fun. There
are seventeen dance troupes that perform specific traditional roles during the
festival. The troupes are made up of
local people who spend the entire year making their costumes and perfecting
their routines. Each troupe represents a
specific group or tradition important in Peruvian culture. The C’apaq Ch’uncho,
for example, represent the indigenous rain forest tribes, the Cápaq Negro represent
African slaves, the Cápaq Chuncho are warriors who form the honor guard of the
Virgin who is carried around the town on July 16 and again on July 17 when she
is carried to the bridge where she performs a blessing. </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">After parading
through town all day, each troupe finds its way to its own house for an evening
of feasting and drinking. And the tens
of thousands of visitors who pack the town do likewise. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">The version of
Paucartambo we see is a pleasant market town going about its business. We can only visualize in our minds eye what
it would be like during the festival, although to help us visualize it, there
is a group of seventeen statues near the museum that represent the seventeen
troupes. </span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDs9YV76Qbjp1tF1Ip827lCLwAxO7uXQtuEKjjMpJr8UdfZY9kfrnpIdXrhO1rx8k3JixIc37RGuVFfaUfHFZ2-vshoogBv9IThUhyphenhyphenYEMfdtCWvvYSowefLgMo8Rpyy-Y8UXnlCAvlw0s/s1600/Paucartambo+-+statues+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDs9YV76Qbjp1tF1Ip827lCLwAxO7uXQtuEKjjMpJr8UdfZY9kfrnpIdXrhO1rx8k3JixIc37RGuVFfaUfHFZ2-vshoogBv9IThUhyphenhyphenYEMfdtCWvvYSowefLgMo8Rpyy-Y8UXnlCAvlw0s/s640/Paucartambo+-+statues+2.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Seventeen Statues</b></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">After
</span>Puacartambo<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">, we continue on the meandering mountain road and eventually reach
the bridge under construction that had caused our early departure. We are right on schedule and join a line of
vehicles crossing over the narrow single lane that is available for use. Shortly after crossing the bridge, we pull to
the side of the road and Hubert fixes our lunch. We sit on a roadside guard rail and eat while
appreciating the natural surroundings and keeping an eye on the grazing cows
who amble past. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Cow</b></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">After lunch we
hike along the road for a while and Michel effortlessly tosses off the names of
all the birds and plants we encounter.
(In this short walk we see a Golden Headed </span>Quetzal<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">; a Andean </span>Pootoo<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">, a
Slate </span>Throated<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"> </span>Redstart<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">; a Masked Tanager; a Russet backed </span>Oripendula<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">; an Olive
</span>Oripendula<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">; a Lemon </span>Browed<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"> Flycatcher; a Tropical </span>Kingbird<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">; and a Green Jay.)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Back in the van
for more mountain driving, I quickly fall into a slumber. I wake to Michel’s
announcement that we have arrived at a viewing blind for Cock-of-the-Rocks. The plan is to spend some time in the blind
and then walk for an hour to the lodge where we’ll spend the evening. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">The
Cock-of-the-Rock is the Peruvian national bird and to call it colorful would be
an understatement. We are overwhelmed by
the display we see from the blind. Cock-of-the-Rocks
are polygamous and the males all gather together in communal groups called
“leks” where they engage in display rituals for the females. A “confrontation display” involves two males
jumping and flapping their wings at each other while squawking and basically
trying to act macho. Eventually the
female shows up and the males notch it up to an even higher level of crazy. Finally the female decides which male has the
hippest moves and they fly off wing-in-wing for some Netflix and chill, while
the other male sadly goes home pops a beer and plays video games. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDY6km6WGtiWtyfg9Hb8JRIQIL-yomZDGu6RoqRjxFwvA0KwjsNCkqLgRNsf24VTf-lvcNIpQmCyDhuYgth0Fx4HHzzCtplnTbLcyYJ_ncVmolkGSAsA9WZYhDS_oNhpvvzHyvCVwdwhY/s1600/cock+of+the+rock+5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="504" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDY6km6WGtiWtyfg9Hb8JRIQIL-yomZDGu6RoqRjxFwvA0KwjsNCkqLgRNsf24VTf-lvcNIpQmCyDhuYgth0Fx4HHzzCtplnTbLcyYJ_ncVmolkGSAsA9WZYhDS_oNhpvvzHyvCVwdwhY/s640/cock+of+the+rock+5.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Cock-of-the-Rock Being Outrageously Colorful</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">After being
wowed by the birds for quite some time, and getting some fantastic photographs
we leave the blind and start our hour walk to the lodge. It is only then that we take note of the
</span>troublingly<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"> dark clouds over our heads.
Hmmmm…..it looks a lot like rain.
Hmmmmm…..this is the cloud forest where it rains a LOT. I have a rain “resistant” jacket. My rain poncho is in the van and the van is
already at the lodge. I also have my
camera and the waterproof camera bag is also in the van. </span>Hmmmmmm<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">It starts
pouring rain. My rain resistant jacket
is soon soaked through. I’m holding my
camera under my jacket and water is streaming off of it. Then it starts raining harder. The only good
thing I can say about walking in a downpour is once you are completely wet you
can’t get any wetter. Eventually, we
forlornly squish into the Posada San Pedro Lodge. Kathy and Madeline are carrying packs and
they’ve had the foresight to pack all the contents in the packs in plastic
bags, so the contents are dry but the packs themselves are soaked. My pack and the suitcase containing the bulk
of our clothes is, fortunately, in the van.
The clothes we’re wearing are, of course, completely soaked. I am the only person with dry shoes because
my shoes are waterproof (note the important distinction between “waterproof”
and “water resistant”!). Our Irish
friends are apparently not well prepared.
They have no rain gear and no other shoes to wear but their soggy
ones. (They didn’t bring flashlights,
either!)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">We strip out of
our wet clothes, wring them out and hang them up. Note that I didn’t say “hang them up to dry.”
Since we’re in the always-humid cloud forest, there isn’t much chance of
anything actually drying. I towel off my
camera as best I can. The lenses are all
completely fogged with moisture, so I open the camera as much as possible and
decide to let it dry overnight before taking a further assessment. I hold onto a thread of hope for my camera
since it is touted as being water resistant.
But again, note the distinction between “waterproof” and “water
resistant”.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Posada San
Pedro Lodge is a pleasant collection of thatched cabins with mosquito-netted
beds, a building with showers and toilets, and a dining hall. The power comes from a generator and the
generator only runs for a couple hours. But
the lights are on in the dining hall as we gather for the delicious dinner of
fish, rice, salad, and fruit that Hubert has prepared for us. Then we all go back to our cabins and climb
into our beds beneath our dry, warm blankets.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih8Zk4yGAT7nLuwYz-AhiEiMOspsUJSPGaQZGgW7M-l9Z2JNy1wIfHt1wGB5O19iWl4qySdtj20iPAZkcbF6gIk3naNhjy2bSX637HlxN37NrO-r8MozRRfsoLZS3k8QDbp33vRiOx3pQ/s1600/San+Pedro+Lodge+in+cloud+forest+-+Kathy+%2526+Madeline.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih8Zk4yGAT7nLuwYz-AhiEiMOspsUJSPGaQZGgW7M-l9Z2JNy1wIfHt1wGB5O19iWl4qySdtj20iPAZkcbF6gIk3naNhjy2bSX637HlxN37NrO-r8MozRRfsoLZS3k8QDbp33vRiOx3pQ/s640/San+Pedro+Lodge+in+cloud+forest+-+Kathy+%2526+Madeline.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Kathy and Madeline by Our Posada<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: small; text-align: justify;"> San Pedro Lodge Cabin</span></b></td></tr>
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Randyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14428531478283627693noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3281612281509186026.post-60507115322434671882015-08-18T20:41:00.000-05:002016-02-16T21:24:35.469-06:00 Machu Picchu: Conjecture, Speculation, Assumptions, Imaginings, Guesses, and Suppositions<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl0LZRp5JbXdYF5tj2XEte4vGa_FxSfL3RkxKYsgKkCrWvKOtQr6u0sqGEa3wMSSPTWnGwbB7q69kI0_eIMM8VPs_eZ6lBdR-FtmU4yo6B7ySLdBTS4gqlTVsSS2LR_7n49k4S8cHXuvU/s1600/MP+04.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="489" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl0LZRp5JbXdYF5tj2XEte4vGa_FxSfL3RkxKYsgKkCrWvKOtQr6u0sqGEa3wMSSPTWnGwbB7q69kI0_eIMM8VPs_eZ6lBdR-FtmU4yo6B7ySLdBTS4gqlTVsSS2LR_7n49k4S8cHXuvU/s640/MP+04.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><i>It was a fine morning
at </i>Machu Picchu<i>. Emperor </i>Huayna Capac<i>
sat at the breakfast table, coffee cup in hand, deeply immersed in his </i>Inca
World News<i>. His favorite son, Atahualpa,
sat across the table spooning down a huge bowlful of Frosted </i>Quinoa<i> Flakes. The emperor’s son </i>Huáscar<i>, heir to the realm,
stood across the room humming loudly, his back to his father and his head
buried in the recesses of a storage niche.
</i>Huáscar<i> stopped humming and turned to give his father a somewhat
unfocused look. “Father, when I hum in
the storage niche, I can hear the sound of Mother Earth humming back to
me.” Atahualpa made a choking sound and
rolled his eyes, “Hey, Pops, I think Huáscie’s been hitting too hard on the
coca leaves again.” </i>Huayna Capac<i> stifled
a smirk. “Ata, you need to respect your
brother. Now, listen, I’m going to round
up a retinue and go consult with the priests about the Spring Planting
Festival, then I’m going to head down to the Temple of the Condor. You can come along if you would like. Atahualpa eagerly followed his farther
outside. “Wow, Pops! Way cool!
Hey! When we get to the temple, can I pet the condors?” </i>Huayna Capac<i> laughed. “Ata, your enthusiasm amuses me, but the
condors can be very unpredictable and dangerous. Let me show you what I mean. He stretched out his arms and abruptly shape-shifted
into a condor. Then he flapped his wings
until he was airborne. He circled once,
then serenely glided off toward the alien saucer hovering on the horizon. <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<i><span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">You’re
probably wondering if this travel blog has been reassigned to the sci-fi
channel. Actually, I’m merely conjecturing
about Incan life at Machu Picchu. If my
conjecture is a little on the edge of fantastic, let me assure you that it’s on par
with some of the stuff that’s out there.
But my point is that everything that anybody has ever said about Machu
Picchu is only conjecture, speculation, assumptions, imaginings, guesses, and
suppositions.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">By
the time Hiram Bingham brought Machu Picchu to the world’s attention, the last
person who had ever lived there had been dead for hundreds of years. There was
nobody left to remember why Machu Picchu was built or what its purpose was. And there was nobody left to remember the
real function of any of its structures. The
names we use for its buildings were all made up by Hiram Bingham or those who
came after him – their real names and functions are lost forever. Mainstream archaeologists have made solid
educated guesses about the function of many of the buildings based on their
method of construction, the artifacts found within them, and their form. Large, roughly constructed buildings with
lots of sunlight likely were workshops.
Smaller enclosures with no windows were perhaps animal barns, or maybe
prison cells. Some structures closely aligned with the path of the sun and
other Inca sites probably functioned to determine the time of year and no doubt
also had a religious/ceremonial function. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Archaeologists
realize that this is a labor of best guesses.
The descriptions of the function of Machu Picchu and its structures
range from these logical deductions by mainstream academics downward to the pet
theories of amateur sleuths that are mostly devoid of any factual support, and
further down to the wild-eyed fantasies of kooks who don’t understand the
science of archaeology but who nevertheless are quite competent at writing books
and creating websites. It is in these
websites and books that one is likely to see terms like “aliens”, “portals”,
and “energy fields”. (As in “When I
stretched out my hand I could feel the primal energy field of the </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">Intihuatana</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">!”
My response, “Um, y<span style="background: white;">eah, of course you can
feel the energy. The Intihuatana is a massive
rock that‘s been sitting in the sun all day.
That energy is called ‘radiated heat’.”)<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="background: white;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">On
this day, we find ourselves crawling out of bed before four AM. Emilio has told us that it is important to be
on the first bus up the mountain to have best experience. The ruins have become cursed by their own
popularity and are usually tourist-infested beyond reason by mid-day. I feel dazed – this is the fourth night out
of the last five when we’ve had five hours of sleep or less. This morning I’ve finally hit a wall. My eyes seem gummed shut, everything sounds muffled,
my mouth is dry, and there is a cracked, tingling sensation that creeps down my
throat every time I swallow – all the early signs of a cold. Nevertheless, we repack our backpacks and
stumble down to the hotel lobby to check out.
While the hotel normally provides breakfast, we are checking out long before
the dining room will open so we don’t have any illusions that we will get
breakfast. So we’re very pleasantly
surprised when the desk clerk proffers three brown paper bags for us: Breakfast to go in a bag!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">The
stop for the buses that will be driving the Hiram Bingham Highway up the
mountain is practically right outside our hotel, so we don’t have to walk far
to find the queue. And there is indeed a
queue already at 4:30 AM. A long
queue. But then we see that Emilio is in
line holding a place for us. He says he
has been there since 3:30 AM. Emilio is
amazing. So then we stand in line and
eat our bag breakfasts and wait to board the bus that will take us up the mountain
to spend a day among these stupendous ruins.
I’m getting a cold but life is good.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">We
board the bus in the dark around 5:15 AM and watch the sun rise during our
half-hour trip up the mountain. When we
reach the top, the gates are still closed and a crowd begins to form as buses
continue to arrive. When the gates
finally open, the crowd from the first several buses moves <i>en masse</i> through the gates and then fans out once inside. Having spent some time on the higher levels
the day before, we now follow Emilio to the lower levels. Emilio takes us through the ruins for the
rest of the morning and shows us the important features and describes their
structure while providing us with his conjectures, speculation, assumptions,
imaginings, guesses, and suppositions regarding their function. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<h3 style="text-align: justify;">
<b><span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Our tour includes: </span></b></h3>
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<b><span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">The upper and lower class residential districts:</span></b><span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"> In addition to the agricultural terraces and
the large public areas, there are areas that appear to have been residences. Scientists have speculated that there are
upper and lower class districts. This
makes sense since the finely crafted, tightly fitted stone masonry used to
construct one section is of a higher quality than the rougher, mortared
technique used in the other one. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b><span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">The Guardhouse: </span></b><span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"> A three-sided
prominent building high on the upper slopes of the compound. Its structure and location would suggest a
guardhouse. Is that the purpose it
really served? Speculation, conjecture,
etc. <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpe5rfjjQ0yFSVsGyDr47ppW-nTvpwFSgGj7c9cSD0Mr1X60kJn3QUHsrDnDXIGL6XjsmynGSoTDXFtWvhmpc1O8ddgprIUMvCvr8zQ6WMm3wLa_PNDU9bONgeF1rXDxCiN7XXNbcwyrs/s1600/Guardhouse.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="608" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpe5rfjjQ0yFSVsGyDr47ppW-nTvpwFSgGj7c9cSD0Mr1X60kJn3QUHsrDnDXIGL6XjsmynGSoTDXFtWvhmpc1O8ddgprIUMvCvr8zQ6WMm3wLa_PNDU9bONgeF1rXDxCiN7XXNbcwyrs/s640/Guardhouse.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>The Guardhouse Sits Atop Terraces</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</span></div>
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<b><span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b><b><span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">The Torreon: </span></b><span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"> The Torreon or The Temple of the Sun, is built
upon and encircles a large granite rock that is a natural part of the
mountain. One may speculate and assume
that this building served a ceremonial/religious function. On the day of the winter solstice, the sun shines
through the central window directly onto the large central rock. </span></div>
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<span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw3knA1LqH7aJRUZQhuZRarOgWIR5VojLuerFDhlsgYfBnrSBj3YZVfQyKGWVEDd5y6bQgoFGpxF8fM50fRnBCKJSus9mK5pDj_z-MOAtx867tC6shJ9oaMs1AvkLphhrfTBHLDxtdgwE/s1600/MP+temple+of+the+sun.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw3knA1LqH7aJRUZQhuZRarOgWIR5VojLuerFDhlsgYfBnrSBj3YZVfQyKGWVEDd5y6bQgoFGpxF8fM50fRnBCKJSus9mK5pDj_z-MOAtx867tC6shJ9oaMs1AvkLphhrfTBHLDxtdgwE/s640/MP+temple+of+the+sun.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>The Torreon With its Curved Wall Surrounds a Large Natural Rock</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</span></div>
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<b><span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b><b><span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Mirror basins:</span></b><span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"> One room in the Temple
of the Sun contains two basins sculpted out of solid rock. Some have suggested that these represent the
“eyes of the Earth Mother”. Others
suggest that when filled with water, these shallow basins become excellent
mirrors. Did Inca Pachacutec use these
when he would shave in the morning? Were
they mirrors for observing the sun or the stars in the night sky? Speculation, conjecture, etc. </span></div>
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<span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgViUcBpq-YQzfAOpwwrKhM8-hX-bCL4rg3Ay6yqbyKq5k1B34wGgGBzJgXLb1-oUpvNO587xe-h1fxwepcKIV_mSqYHOnC7l1GSZOme7pGpZO6DkB7Da6gLWivBi2QKFmPDirPpk8Gc3s/s1600/Mirror+Room.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="404" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgViUcBpq-YQzfAOpwwrKhM8-hX-bCL4rg3Ay6yqbyKq5k1B34wGgGBzJgXLb1-oUpvNO587xe-h1fxwepcKIV_mSqYHOnC7l1GSZOme7pGpZO6DkB7Da6gLWivBi2QKFmPDirPpk8Gc3s/s640/Mirror+Room.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Were These Water Basins Used For Mirrors?</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</span></div>
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<span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><o:p> </o:p></span><b><span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">The Mausoleum</span></b><span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">: The Mausoleum or Royal Tomb is a natural opening directly
under the Torreon that has been enlarged by hand carving a large amount of
solid rock. Hiram Bingham speculated
that this was the tomb of the Inca Pachacutec, the emperor who built Machu
Picchu. Others have suggested that it
was a burial place for many members of the royal family while yet others
suggest that it was not a burial place at all.</span></div>
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<span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeS2FFxiHgtPUgQlKV3zjhYF9ssqMKrZ9I2MNfJe7DeTVwl9lT2bjPQRh19r_VC77Uscjnfd_kRmi-m6P9YLpk-2bAl-IjXTBz9M3H-cpP8LQU2zuYKplfUv3BjkVyAWxU1GiMYS8ChO4/s1600/Mausoleum.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeS2FFxiHgtPUgQlKV3zjhYF9ssqMKrZ9I2MNfJe7DeTVwl9lT2bjPQRh19r_VC77Uscjnfd_kRmi-m6P9YLpk-2bAl-IjXTBz9M3H-cpP8LQU2zuYKplfUv3BjkVyAWxU1GiMYS8ChO4/s640/Mausoleum.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Was This Enlarged Cave Beneath the Torreon a Royal Mausoleum?</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><o:p> </o:p></span><b><span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Temple of the Condor:</span></b><span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">
While function is only speculation and assumption, this structure seems
incredibly obvious. The shape of the
natural rock suggests wings and that suggestion has been enhanced by the
addition of a delicately hand-carved head below the wings. It is obviously a bird, and one would
naturally assume it is a condor, since the condor was one of the Incas’ sacred
animals. Under the temple is a cave and
behind the temple is a structure that contains a number of small niches, each
large enough to hold a human. Incan
prisons were documented to have exactly this sort of configuration – prisoners
were shackled in the niches for days while awaiting their fate, which could
potentially be death. Did the carved
condor’s head function as a sacrificial alter?
Did the dead prisoners become food for condors kept on site? Speculation and conjecture, etc. </span></div>
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<span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4mlEFTQQoBD6VpFFgHRS3xAW8f9jQuqtXjbH28mcSyc5su514vTkL8jTz5UllB-KRalWglBvC8VpKO7j8ueXsFp0kbtZYlLjBMvf0aUoU0bpCyG0iLFnqVLlhYZM6eT_E99PMoXh2NKA/s1600/MP+Temple+of+the+condor.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4mlEFTQQoBD6VpFFgHRS3xAW8f9jQuqtXjbH28mcSyc5su514vTkL8jTz5UllB-KRalWglBvC8VpKO7j8ueXsFp0kbtZYlLjBMvf0aUoU0bpCyG0iLFnqVLlhYZM6eT_E99PMoXh2NKA/s640/MP+Temple+of+the+condor.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Above: Natural Rocks Form Condor's Wings<br />Below: The Sculpted Head of the Condor</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</span></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ1_95jejBq3LxaPicvqinSpVF6_h6svcckdx6tj20snVk3R5DWnMKk9pAb8ur7OPCTS6QBZ_P2rNjLufrVST7ODpqqSVjZnPUUr7e7HYsFOwq8xnIscNxll3sqpFTy1CNfIqPuxrTDAs/s1600/MP+temple+of+the+condor+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ1_95jejBq3LxaPicvqinSpVF6_h6svcckdx6tj20snVk3R5DWnMKk9pAb8ur7OPCTS6QBZ_P2rNjLufrVST7ODpqqSVjZnPUUr7e7HYsFOwq8xnIscNxll3sqpFTy1CNfIqPuxrTDAs/s640/MP+temple+of+the+condor+2.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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<b><span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">The Intihuatana: </span></b><span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Many Inca sites contain
stones similar to the one found at Machu Picchu, although most of the other
ones are not intact because they were destroyed by the Spanish who felt they
were pagan idols. The word
“intihuatana”, while Quechua in origin, may have been applied to these
structures by Hiram Bingham. The literal
translation is “an instrument to tie up the sun.” Or more commonly, “The
Hitching Post of the Sun”. While we can
only speculate regarding the religious significance of the Intihuatana to the
Incas, we can make this very concrete observation regarding it: At noon on the vernal and autumnal equinoxes,
the sun is perfectly above the stone pillar, and the pillar casts no
shadow. On June 21<sup>st</sup> the pillar
casts a long shadow directly to the south, and on December 21<sup>st</sup> it
casts a short shadow directly north. The
Incas have constructed a perfect sundial to divide the seasons! <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7a6od4zPwGNhwn7scXiTrLwyl6u8cMqVIIPd4s0tzaEZZU8VwC3pPoHk70vSWAMYGDKpnDpyU8Ife-dSaPc4H8-LDR1f3j6i41OGotUu9zasodv1mOwjUkDR89Rwl5Pimpsiumo23VZc/s1600/Intihuatana.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7a6od4zPwGNhwn7scXiTrLwyl6u8cMqVIIPd4s0tzaEZZU8VwC3pPoHk70vSWAMYGDKpnDpyU8Ife-dSaPc4H8-LDR1f3j6i41OGotUu9zasodv1mOwjUkDR89Rwl5Pimpsiumo23VZc/s640/Intihuatana.jpg" width="633" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>The Intihuatana: A Seasonal Calendar</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</span></div>
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<span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><o:p> </o:p></span><b><span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">The Temple of the Three Windows:</span></b><span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"> The high quality of the stonework suggests
that this building was indeed a temple and the three large trapezoidal windows
give the building its name. One website
I perused suggests that the three windows are highly symbolic of the three
children of the creator god Viracocha who, according to Inca legend, stepped
through holes in the earth near Lake Titicaca.
This same website goes on to speculate that these children of Viracocha
were actually aliens from another dimension and the “holes” were in fact
wormholes through space and time. There
is evidence that this structure once contained five windows but that only three
remain. So there you go. </span></div>
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<span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0XscBkoSGpZLXQsLuJPTX-GLFo6qjvwtpHs21vsWwZ_gRKYZLr7bxCIJ5DmF_31XWNdoOrdWecxVqnTyrfzwZg9pBGvBzybDiPNxYjd_bCEQ_mwE1H1EpjRDP3rs-fX7MnOnRwnwWZvU/s1600/MP+temple+of+the+three+windows+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0XscBkoSGpZLXQsLuJPTX-GLFo6qjvwtpHs21vsWwZ_gRKYZLr7bxCIJ5DmF_31XWNdoOrdWecxVqnTyrfzwZg9pBGvBzybDiPNxYjd_bCEQ_mwE1H1EpjRDP3rs-fX7MnOnRwnwWZvU/s640/MP+temple+of+the+three+windows+2.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Above: The Temple of the Three Windows<br />Below: The Temple of the Three Windows from inside</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</span></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY3v9Jjp8NxmHmxi8vxe-G8aMvmMYkyuYFNEx76tpVm5UoK7Ihzkv0XFxByKKJ3t7frLmzZXmSMikcILm4SRN3PIVuwnt9DMgsPTMVAy3fk4KuyhmrApgHpJGdBeOKLTsts84eJqz2zqQ/s1600/MP+temple+of+the+three+windows.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY3v9Jjp8NxmHmxi8vxe-G8aMvmMYkyuYFNEx76tpVm5UoK7Ihzkv0XFxByKKJ3t7frLmzZXmSMikcILm4SRN3PIVuwnt9DMgsPTMVAy3fk4KuyhmrApgHpJGdBeOKLTsts84eJqz2zqQ/s640/MP+temple+of+the+three+windows.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<b><span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Echoing niches: </span></b><span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">A popular activity for
tourists is for them to stick their heads into the niches built into the stone
walls and hum or sing. These niches do
produce interesting echoes and reverberations.
Were they constructed to do that or are they merely for storage and
display? I have noted interesting echoes
and reverberations when I have put my head in a barrel and hummed. Did the Incas ever put their heads in these
niches and hum? Speculation, conjecture,
etc.<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1r78BzL6SNd33LYm9JV9DlIoNICp-b7eXvZMNnkdAcfkvRUWlqGYL65pdnhCUc8B0R7uW6M52MP64ixHPZqH5ROXyWja2qzrDBnuKl_yd6exVgD8B-yre2-sBKwzN9r1KLmWxP2vfe9Y/s1600/MP+steps.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1r78BzL6SNd33LYm9JV9DlIoNICp-b7eXvZMNnkdAcfkvRUWlqGYL65pdnhCUc8B0R7uW6M52MP64ixHPZqH5ROXyWja2qzrDBnuKl_yd6exVgD8B-yre2-sBKwzN9r1KLmWxP2vfe9Y/s640/MP+steps.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: small; text-align: justify;">Above: Since </span>Machu<span style="font-size: small; text-align: justify;"> </span>Picchu<span style="font-size: small; text-align: justify;"> is Built on a Mountain, It Contains Over 3,000 Steps Linking Its Many Different Levels<br />Below: </span><span style="font-size: small; text-align: justify;">Some Steps Are Carved from Solid Rock</span><span style="font-size: 12.8px;"><span style="font-size: small; text-align: justify;"> </span></span></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</span></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgQDfqxXCu4ufJahlQxyfzR9o408Ng3Vp-4W3TPK8A6q4OGv-UGVtKwJ7ut1g0-zoZI8wusQ18VvLvadf2GmuQvhAf-v8gVfM9i5vAusEhAsnKbgmsydl7krSk738VSGsdzX-qxXx-udw/s1600/MP+stairs+carved+from+solid+rock.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgQDfqxXCu4ufJahlQxyfzR9o408Ng3Vp-4W3TPK8A6q4OGv-UGVtKwJ7ut1g0-zoZI8wusQ18VvLvadf2GmuQvhAf-v8gVfM9i5vAusEhAsnKbgmsydl7krSk738VSGsdzX-qxXx-udw/s640/MP+stairs+carved+from+solid+rock.jpg" width="426" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
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<b><span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">After showing
us around </span>Machu<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"> </span>Picchu<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"> for most of the morning Emilio abruptly announces that
it is time for him to leave us. We thank
him for his services and bid him farewell.
Emilio really was a great guide.
He understood our limitations on the trail and slowed his pace to
accommodate us without making us feel too foolish. He also seemed to possess an all-encompassing
knowledge of the Incas and </span>Machu<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"> </span>Picchu<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">.
There are probably a gazillion wonderful guides in Peru, but if you are
planning a trip, you won't go wrong if you book through </span><a href="http://pmexplorers.com/" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Pachamama Explorers</a><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">
and ask for Emilio.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">After he
leaves, we find a grassy spot in the residential sector of the ruins and
Madeline lies on the grass and naps in an attempt to make amends for our
shredded sleep schedule. Kathy pulls out
her pad and starts to sketch. I wander
off with my camera, find some chinchillas among the ruins and get some shots of
these fascinating little creatures. Then
I get way into the llamas that are allowed to wander among the ruins to keep the
grass trimmed – the group of llamas includes a baby who is tiny, woolly,
photogenic, and basically too cute for words.
As I’m going down a set of steps to get a shot of the group of llamas on the
plaza, I hear a shrill whistle and turn to notice a uniformed guard blowing his
whistle and gesticulating at me. I
apparently am wandering into a section where I’m not allowed. I shrug and start back up the steps toward
the guard. When I climb past a path that
intersects the steps, he starts whistling and gesticulating again. He points to a small “<i>Salida</i>” sign by the path.
Apparently he’s telling me I have to leave. The spot where I’m standing is probably a
good ten-minute’s walk to the exit. I
point in the other direction past him and tell him that’s the way I want to
go. Nope. He is quite firm that I have to leave. Apparently this exit path is one-way and
going the other way would be criminal behavior.
“But my wife and daughter are back there!” I explain to him. Nope.
No dice. He makes a circuitous
gesture with his arm. I apparently am
required to make the ten-minute trip to the exit and then re-enter. Well, since
he seemingly has no English, and since I have no Spanish there is no arguing
with him. So I walk to the exit and then
re-enter. There is also the possibility
that he is throwing me out permanently because he thinks I’m a trouble-maker –
either situation could be the case and my confusion is complete. But twenty minutes later I’m back practically
in the same spot and chatting with a couple of Australian ladies who’ve asked
me to take their picture when along comes my guard, who gives me a big smile
and saunters on past. So obviously he is
fine with me leaving and re-entering. Has
he just been messing with me? Speculation, conjecture, etc.<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmngdH7lve_7YIVq573nqH77VXd2K1Bc-yBLyBJhWI2jxYvKbF_bH32fBogPOdpP8ZQuZuV5qYfAPMQFoAjt7BecYI__2QtPfkODfkNr7SZSygitHQHBWkfxr1dM7UrTeK8OvDh6f7lqc/s1600/Machu+Picchu+-+2+chinchillas.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="558" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmngdH7lve_7YIVq573nqH77VXd2K1Bc-yBLyBJhWI2jxYvKbF_bH32fBogPOdpP8ZQuZuV5qYfAPMQFoAjt7BecYI__2QtPfkODfkNr7SZSygitHQHBWkfxr1dM7UrTeK8OvDh6f7lqc/s640/Machu+Picchu+-+2+chinchillas.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Chinchillas</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</span></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1ycaKxNIF4cO5eSkYmyiHwonkJmQJ7RFYX6I8i6h9BBlKtam5pDY6bHy3aOZdJibSxYKGDBtTvCcJKX_NCl4Smye2kYLF11zSv1NpAfISNaBvhzapI17HJh97DTekMFnUoFDS7RF0lW0/s1600/MP+llama+6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1ycaKxNIF4cO5eSkYmyiHwonkJmQJ7RFYX6I8i6h9BBlKtam5pDY6bHy3aOZdJibSxYKGDBtTvCcJKX_NCl4Smye2kYLF11zSv1NpAfISNaBvhzapI17HJh97DTekMFnUoFDS7RF0lW0/s640/MP+llama+6.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Above and Below: Llamas</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5U5pqhjpOJJIKU5WvdNttdf1MVATdNnpDGdBG9lOTZE4nOLeAeY5nXnPkzM3VbcDJKPq1N7lpkIVN-gxYItM31C3ZPc6SThizNo4ZSOGz3tZjPCejIO4PB2rbMQn960GmEO_TrV7y0lo/s1600/MP+llama+8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="628" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5U5pqhjpOJJIKU5WvdNttdf1MVATdNnpDGdBG9lOTZE4nOLeAeY5nXnPkzM3VbcDJKPq1N7lpkIVN-gxYItM31C3ZPc6SThizNo4ZSOGz3tZjPCejIO4PB2rbMQn960GmEO_TrV7y0lo/s640/MP+llama+8.jpg" width="640" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">
<o:p></o:p></span>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">I rejoin Kathy
and Madeline and take my own short nap among the ruins. Then we walk to the exit. We’re all ready for some refreshments at the
small café just outside the gate. There’s
only the one café on top of the mountain and it’s crowded. Fortunately, we find a small table right by
the long queue that snakes out the door and a bit down the road. As we enjoy our snacks and chat, a woman comes
up and asks Madeline in German if she speaks German. Madeline is very surprised since we are
conversing in English, but replies in German that she does speak German. Such a strange and random question! The woman explains that she was standing in
line for the café with her daughter and husband, noticed that we are about
done, and hoped to nab our table. She
had also decided that Madeline was a native German speaker since she sounded as
though she was speaking English with a German accent! We tell the German lady that we are more than
happy for her to have our table, so the couple continue to hold their place in
the line but plant their teenage daughter at our table as insurance. We have a nice conversation with the daughter
who speaks good English and is apparently also fluent in several other
languages. She tells us that her parents
are dentists and come to Peru on a regular basis to work at a rural
clinic. When the German dentists arrive
at our table, we give it up to them and go to find a bus down the mountain.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Before getting
on the bus, I turn to get one final glance of Machu Picchu and wonder if the
timeline of my life will play out in such a way that I will ever find my way
back to this unique spot. The future
doesn’t look bright for these ruins. First,
there are two nearby fault lines. Then, Machu Picchu is too famous and too
popular. The pressure placed on it by
the number of daily visitors is tremendous.
And the number of visitors has skyrocketed in the last twenty years as
Peru’s economy and political situation have stabilized. Additionally, the stewardship of this site by
the government has not always been completely responsible. A good example: In 2000 a <a href="http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/americas/923415.stm">crane smashed into the
Intihuatana</a> and broke a chip from it while a US ad agency was filming a
commercial for a Peruvian beer.<b> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU5GP1rRE33Nk6VpNQs8her4BMDWX-e5L27X_P2dbp3xT_vrCX_SRab4Y1ZbIrpvMCs_VnE1B4563MRf3DDtFb9JuvgUHMM5XP9CoF8sTHjc6ov02xi0rEGDFpccHxEQhWxQs5fiygwbc/s1600/Tourist+Infested+Ruins.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU5GP1rRE33Nk6VpNQs8her4BMDWX-e5L27X_P2dbp3xT_vrCX_SRab4Y1ZbIrpvMCs_VnE1B4563MRf3DDtFb9JuvgUHMM5XP9CoF8sTHjc6ov02xi0rEGDFpccHxEQhWxQs5fiygwbc/s640/Tourist+Infested+Ruins.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Tourist Infested Ruins</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">In the
mid-1990’s, two landslides occurred on the Hiram </span>Bingham<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"> Highway and some
geologists worry that a landslide could send the ruins plunging from the
mountaintop into the </span>Urubamba<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"> River.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">A
concession that would allow the construction of a cable car that would carry
tourists to the mountaintop was awarded by the Peruvian government in 1998, but
fortunately was subsequently cancelled in 2001 when it was determined that the
cable would sit atop one of the most unstable regions and that the vibration
from the cars could trigger landslides.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Machu Picchu is
on the list of <a href="http://whc.unesco.org/en/list/">UNESCO World Heritage
Sites</a> – those places that are considered to be the most important areas in
the world because of their exceptional cultural or natural significance. In recent decades there has been sporadic
discussion of placing it on the “<a href="http://whc.unesco.org/en/danger/">World
Heritage Site in Danger</a>” list. Sites
are considered in danger if they are significantly deteriorating due to human activity
or changes in climate, geology, or environment.
Finally in the early 2000’s Peru’s government got serious about saving
Machu Picchu and the area around it.
Steps were taken to <span style="background: white;">deal with
garbage, sewage, and Inca Trail maintenance.</span> And limits were placed on the number of tourists. However, many feel that the current limit of </span>2500
visitors per day is not sustainable without damaging the site. It is ironic that Machu Picchu was neither
found nor destroyed by the Spanish but it may be destroyed by the
tourists. Perhaps future regulations to
protect the site will mean that tourists will no longer able to enjoy them the
way we have this day – to walk among them, on the very paving stones placed by
the Incas, and even to lie down and doze within their walls. But if these regulations protect this unique
and beautiful site for future generations then it is important that they be
enacted. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">We get
off the bus in Aguas Calientes early in the afternoon and then wait until after
four to catch the Vistadome back to Ollantaytambo. Once I’m comfortably situated on the train, I
fall into an exhausted sleep. I don’t
wake up until we are nearly to the Ollantaytambo station. Kathy and Madeline report that I have slept
through a bizarrely amusing fashion show staged by the train attendants that
included somebody costumed as a “<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KctsJhIJJ1w">devil spirit” prancing up
and down the aisles</a>. After the show
the alpaca woolens that had been shown were available for sale to the
passengers. They were nice but quite
expensive, Kathy reports.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Once we
are off the train at Ollantaytambo, the driver provided by Pachamama Explorers meets us
and drives us back to Cusco. He is very
friendly and talkative and we learn quite a bit about the upcoming <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Peruvian_general_election,_2016">Peruvian
elections</a> and recent political history in Peru. He also stops the car so we can try to get a
good look at the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Crux">Southern Cross</a>
away from the city lights, but it isn’t a good night for star observation due
to clouds.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">We get
back to our hotel in the early evening and Kathy and Madeline go off in search
of a restaurant for dinner.</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">I go
directly to bed, feeling tired and fog-brained perhaps because of my long nap on the train
but more likely due to my developing cold.</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"> They get back
around nine, bearing water and Kleenex, which is exactly what I want and
need.</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Then we spend the next hour
packing for our trip into the rain forest and finally crawl into bed at 10:30,
knowing that once again morning will come much too early.</span></div>
</div>
Randyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14428531478283627693noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3281612281509186026.post-553603947345989732015-08-17T10:53:00.000-05:002016-02-16T21:24:56.112-06:00Inca Trail: The Royal Road, Breathlessly<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY6ak83RlZ8G8FTQ_7CUsAhfT8LUtg2PRb00W4kn2T_lHRzUVjDbbxQijTefXF115x-j7TCLfxmFtFqfVqyQdLKrrcFRkPPZYNF5XtFR9PEWfho7zflCUnFCMWOUqnlwUVcJO7GiV18SM/s1600/Machu+Picchu+panorama.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY6ak83RlZ8G8FTQ_7CUsAhfT8LUtg2PRb00W4kn2T_lHRzUVjDbbxQijTefXF115x-j7TCLfxmFtFqfVqyQdLKrrcFRkPPZYNF5XtFR9PEWfho7zflCUnFCMWOUqnlwUVcJO7GiV18SM/s640/Machu+Picchu+panorama.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">My
view from Machu Picchu is astonishing. I
am standing in the midst of intricate stone ruins on a mountaintop in a saddle
between two peaks. Around me is the army
of mountains that form the Andes. They
surround me in ranks, some green all the way to the top, the higher ones
snow-capped, some obscured by fog that is really the bottoms of clouds punctured
by these high peaks. I cannot discern
the horizon. Instead I see rank after
rank of mountain peaks fading into the distance. It is late afternoon and most of the tourists
have left Machu Picchu. It is a good
moment to be quiet among the stillness of the ruins. Soon we will have to take one of the day’s
last buses down the mountain. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">I
think about the enigma of the ruins surrounding me. Unlike so many other old Inca sites, Machu
Picchu was not destroyed by the Spanish.
They were completely unaware of it.
The Incas built it in the mid-1400’s, lived there for about 100 years,
and then just left. The complex of
buildings, walkways, and walls has stood silently on this mountaintop ever
since, a warren of stone and mystery.
Where did the Incas go? Why did
they leave? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">1532
is the year that is often referred to as the beginning of the end of the Incas.
That was the year that </span><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Francisco_Pizarro" title="Francisco Pizarro"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Francisco Pizarro</span></a><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"> and a handful of Spanish soldiers
captured and executed the Inca Emperor </span><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Atahualpa" title="Atahualpa"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Atahualpa</span></a><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"> which ultimately led to the complete
conquest of the Inca Empire. But long
before the Pizarro’s soldiers made an appearance the Inca Empire was in
decline. The Spanish were preceded by
their diseases. A large segment of the
Inca population had succumbed to smallpox, measles and other European diseases
that had been working their way through the Americas since the first European
contact. The Empire was also in
political turmoil. Atahualpa’s father
had succumbed to a strange disease (perhaps smallpox) in his prime and had died
without naming a successor. Consequently,
the Empire had been weakened by a prolonged civil war between Atahualpa and his
brother </span><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hu%C3%A1scar" title="Huáscar"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Huáscar</span></a><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">.
It is perhaps because of these unusual disruptions that Machu Picchu became
depopulated and then forgotten.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Why did the
Incas build this large settlement on a remote mountaintop? What was its purpose? Who were the people who lived here? Was Machu Picchu, as many scientists now
believe, a “country estate” for the Inca royal family and other nobles? Was it a religious site as its uncanny geographic
alignment with other Inca sites might indicate?
Was it a trade hub? Any person
who could answer these questions is long dead.
And the stones are silent.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">When the Yale
professor <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hiram_Bingham_III">Hiram Bingham</a> happened upon it in 1911, he thought he had discovered the lost city of the
Incas – a secret place where the Incas maintained their culture after the
Spanish conquest. Professor Bingham and
his “discovery” became an overnight sensation and helped make the relatively
new magazine that published his accounts the iconic National Geographic that it
is today. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Later came the inevitable
revisionism. First, it was proven that </span><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vilcabamba,_Peru" title="Vilcabamba, Peru"><span style="background: white; color: #0b0080; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Vilcabamba</span></a><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"> was the location of the “neo-Inca
State” and thus was truly the “lost city of the Incas.” Also, it eventually became obvious that
others had visited Machu Picchu before Bingham happened along – including the
locals who grazed their sheep among the ruins.
But Bingham did provide the model for Harry Steele, the character played
by Charlton Heston in the 1954 movie “Secret of the Incas,” <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=20TAGRElvfE">[full movie here]</a> whom some have credited as being the template for Indiana Jones. And Bingham retains the honor of being the namesake of </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">“The Hiram Bingham Highway;” </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">the five
mile long road that zig-zags up the mountain from </span><span style="background: white; color: #303a4f; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Aguas Calientes</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"> to Machu Picchu. And it is aptly named. It was, after all, Bingham who started Machu
Picchu on the road to the worldwide acclaim it has today.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Our quest for Machu
Picchu begins in the early hours of this day when we crawl out of bed at 4:30
AM. Thus far, our Peru experience has
involved incredibly early mornings and very short nights – completely our fault
for attempting to experience as much of Peru as we possibly can in two
weeks. We grab some fruit and a cup of
Nescafe at the hotel then hurry down to the San Blas plaza where we meet the driver
that we’ve arranged through <a href="http://pmexplorers.com/">Pachamama Explorers</a>.</span> <span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">He hands us bag lunches for later in the day then drives us back to the
Sacred Valley where we had spent the previous day – to the train station in in
Ollantaytambo. One can start this trip by
train from Cusco, but almost everybody going to Machu Picchu picks up the train
in Ollantaytambo since it is much quicker to travel between Cusco and
Ollantaytambo by road than by rail. From
Ollantaytambo onward there are no roads, so the only options are by rail or by
foot on the trails. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">There are
several trains available from Ollantaytambo.
We’ve booked tickets for the <a href="http://www.perurail.com/trains/vistadome/">Vistadome</a>,</span> <span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">a train operated by Peru Rail, and we climb
aboard around seven o’clock. The
Vistadome is appropriately named. In
addition to large windows, it has large glass panels on the ceiling so we can
enjoy the mountain peaks that surround us.
We sit on comfortable upholstered seats and are served a nice breakfast
with real plates and silverware and coffee in real cups. Score one for ambiance, Peru Rail! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">The train
tracks snake their way through the mountains along the Urubamba River and eventually
come to an end at the little tourist village of Aguas Calientes at the base of Machu
Picchu Mountain. From Aguas Calientes
there are buses that take a half-hour trip up a narrow switch-back filled Hiram
Bingham Highway. This is how the
majority of tourists get to Machu Picchu.
It is not what we do.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">About the time we finish our
breakfast the train stops. There is no
station – we are definitely in the middle of nowhere. We grab our backpacks and get off. We are the <i>only</i> people who get off. All the other passengers are giving us strange
looks. I’m not sure if they don't understand what we’re doing, or if they know
exactly what we’re doing and are judging us to be complete idiots. The train departs and we are left holding our
packs all by ourselves with just river rushing by below us, the mountains looming
above us, and next to us a lonely sign proclaiming “KM 104.” There is a dirt path that leads toward the
river from the railroad embankment. We
follow the path to a narrow bridge and cross the river. On the other side we meet Emilio, who will
guide us through mountains and Inca ruins on a day-long hike that will end at
Machu Picchu. </span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMDRsXhonsqqNGdrSQnpgJXMrtRP0hHBnxrsF5z1p9X9LUM9IO6sa9zAbiFzVzkh3SOxo7vSjvMHT8LXASICM4dV-iMvNYD_GYiI0MImCFhCD6lIyiK62g8ZwrzL3UQ6jsnAMk4Klh2Z0/s1600/Inca+trail+-+KM+104+Bridge.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMDRsXhonsqqNGdrSQnpgJXMrtRP0hHBnxrsF5z1p9X9LUM9IO6sa9zAbiFzVzkh3SOxo7vSjvMHT8LXASICM4dV-iMvNYD_GYiI0MImCFhCD6lIyiK62g8ZwrzL3UQ6jsnAMk4Klh2Z0/s320/Inca+trail+-+KM+104+Bridge.jpg" width="261" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>On the Bridge</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Most tourists who visit Machu Picchu
take the train to Aguas Calientes. Then
there are those who are appropriately hardy or insane who hike there on a
six-day excursion over the Inca Trail.
Being over sixty, and perhaps somewhat sane, I have chosen the middle
ground: A day-long hike from KM 104 on
the railroad to Machu Picchu. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Emilio leads us
up a path to a check point where a guard examines our permits that allow us to
access the protected area around Machu Picchu.
He stamps our passports and we walk on.
We walk for less than an hour to reach the ruins of Chachabamba. We have the ruins to ourselves. While Machu Picchu often reaches its 2500 tourists
per day quota, there are countless other Inca ruins that are perhaps less
spectacular, and definitely less accessible and less known that are rarely
visited.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0zMDmfAz8Nkur3jdlgZjTp4EEdS95yhiO3b7BpAIlkp3sgCOd5x7mwHSeyWcXAULFc7By4Uo76avZnSzJpm_tsS30OcyS_PhBWwnNAe7Z-371wIC4f9ndjtocPzawREzFjQyw4XbxfUw/s1600/Inca+trail+-+Chachabamba+Kathy+%2526+Madeline.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0zMDmfAz8Nkur3jdlgZjTp4EEdS95yhiO3b7BpAIlkp3sgCOd5x7mwHSeyWcXAULFc7By4Uo76avZnSzJpm_tsS30OcyS_PhBWwnNAe7Z-371wIC4f9ndjtocPzawREzFjQyw4XbxfUw/s640/Inca+trail+-+Chachabamba+Kathy+%2526+Madeline.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Madeline and Kathy at Chachabamba</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">We spend some
time exploring the ruins. Emilio tells
us that that the style of stonework suggests that Chachabamba was built in the
same time frame as Machu Picchu. It is
felt that Chachabamba had some sort of religious significance for the Incas. It also, no doubt, served as a gatehouse for
the trail leading to Machu Picchu. A
cool misty rain begins as we peruse these ruins. Finally we walk on and the trail takes a noticeably
upward slant. The trail is paved with
irregular stones – the very stones that were laid down by the Incas hundreds of
years ago. This is part of the thousands
of miles of trails that connected the Inca Empire from what is now Colombia and
Ecuador in the north; through Peru; Chile and parts of Argentina, and into
Brazil and Bolivia. This vast network of
trails were engineered for the llama and are very different from mountain
trails in Europe and Asia that were built for horses. The trails, especially in
the mountains, are steep, and contain high steps - exactly the sort of terrain
that llamas can easily traverse. This portion
of the trail was the route along the south side of the Urubamba River to Machu
Picchu and is part of what is now called “The Royal Road” or “The Sacred
Highway” since it is felt that it was not a trade or commercial route, but was
used strictly as a pilgrimage or religious route.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5xP_Ilc5J8ba9cVbmKWvvqX3rU_GzjVP053AdPrY1DY5HNu1Z1Cn_FLVYoKmZHgj3WyZZ8Jqp9S6B5oSBqqTH3uTOXKVycDNS0hPkVaADd1cQgLlFC9Rr9NlgQA7HpF3zO7v_Q-oHsfU/s1600/Inca+Trail+-+Randy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5xP_Ilc5J8ba9cVbmKWvvqX3rU_GzjVP053AdPrY1DY5HNu1Z1Cn_FLVYoKmZHgj3WyZZ8Jqp9S6B5oSBqqTH3uTOXKVycDNS0hPkVaADd1cQgLlFC9Rr9NlgQA7HpF3zO7v_Q-oHsfU/s640/Inca+Trail+-+Randy.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Walking the Royal Road</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">The trail is
rugged with numerous ups and downs and countless stone steps. We had crossed the river at 7000 feet and
have been going upward ever since. I’m
quickly out of breath and Kathy seems to be lagging as well. Our altitude meds and a mere one day in the
Sacred Valley are not enough to acclimate us to this degree of exertion at this
altitude. Eventually Emilio allows us to
pass him. “I will stay behind to push,”
he tells me. He does not push. I’m sure that his main reason for bringing up
the rear is to collect my lifeless body after I die from altitude
sickness. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">The misty rain
fades away and the sun comes out. We
continue climbing and as we do the mountain scenery becomes spectacular. The mountain drops off steeply on one side and
the other side is at times practically a vertical wall. We can look across the abyss that starts at
the trail’s edge to other mountain peaks.
<span style="background: white;">And we are surrounded by the vegetation
of the cloud forest – exotic ferns, moss, bromeliads, and orchids. Emilio seems to have no trouble answering our
questions about the plants, although sometimes his answer is “That is an
orchid,” or “That is another orchid.” </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="background: white;"><b><br /></b></span></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVjD2SkkLeX-PZn71Lt2hSmtYXwz1jxHWfc5XhMawLwQArHYJRQjgxCKCdarAqG9wdkUjhZ8GhgCIBr1DZ2wHLxfckR_q0grwFC11mZTIZzCasYI0s26CnnLJ5Keit5lxD0NajRICljxU/s1600/Inca+Trail+-+Scenery+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVjD2SkkLeX-PZn71Lt2hSmtYXwz1jxHWfc5XhMawLwQArHYJRQjgxCKCdarAqG9wdkUjhZ8GhgCIBr1DZ2wHLxfckR_q0grwFC11mZTIZzCasYI0s26CnnLJ5Keit5lxD0NajRICljxU/s640/Inca+Trail+-+Scenery+2.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>The Scenery Becomes Spectacular</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4kShFeuV4I61-_T7GXTKNi1UJRwB680zBCF2iXMMpOufJhD-I7AFDiu2BLGLWwUdmnRMF7hv1-_hFY9rqrR_CXnTPkSEIW5sTavp3JyGppoyDQ7L7kY-N7vE_fLAmMjMTnep80ztqbzo/s1600/Inca+trail+-+waterfall.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4kShFeuV4I61-_T7GXTKNi1UJRwB680zBCF2iXMMpOufJhD-I7AFDiu2BLGLWwUdmnRMF7hv1-_hFY9rqrR_CXnTPkSEIW5sTavp3JyGppoyDQ7L7kY-N7vE_fLAmMjMTnep80ztqbzo/s640/Inca+trail+-+waterfall.jpg" width="426" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>A Small Waterfall</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0GHRP2SbT3hb27h2Ii7stmDB2Aoexqz2Mxpbu8caRp7y_SG8l5GOUovAVlvWMo2dTigP12NQuYIm0DKhOHKQ8gcfl-lhwNwmvRY6dK3bZ_C828p-YBseuy7k5spyq2eUNdlywQB6KIeY/s1600/Inca+trail+bridge.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0GHRP2SbT3hb27h2Ii7stmDB2Aoexqz2Mxpbu8caRp7y_SG8l5GOUovAVlvWMo2dTigP12NQuYIm0DKhOHKQ8gcfl-lhwNwmvRY6dK3bZ_C828p-YBseuy7k5spyq2eUNdlywQB6KIeY/s640/Inca+trail+bridge.jpg" width="552" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>A Bridge by the Waterfall</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">I slow my pace
to get my gasping breath under control and eventually settle into a steady
panting rhythm. Madeline seems less
affected by the thin air than Kathy and I.
She is young.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I stop occasionally to catch my breath and to enjoy the
scenery. I can </span><span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">see the Urubamba River
winding waaaay below me between the mountains.
And when I look closely I can see the railroad tracks following the
river. I know that somewhere on those
tracks is the train that we had been on.
No doubt all the passengers are enjoying the view, having cocktails, and
are not panting. I continue on.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">By
early afternoon we reach the large spectacular ruins of Winay Wayna clinging to
the side of the mountain at 9000 feet. Winay
Wayna means “forever young” in Quechua and is named after a pink orchid that
can be found around the site. This is a
large, impressive complex with a huge array of agricultural terraces that seem
improbable given the altitude and steepness of the mountainside. There is also a set of habitations that
afforded the Incas who lived there an incredible view of the narrow Urubamba
River valley directly below. There are a
large number of baths – perhaps used for ritual cleansing at what was no doubt
the final resting place for Inca travelers before they reached Machu Picchu. Also,
between the agricultural terraces is an impressive set of steep steps running all
the way from the bottom to the top. I am
even more impressed when I realize that we must climb the entire set. We have arrived at Winay Wayna on the bottom
side and we must continue on from the top.
I’m thinking how exhausted I am, but I have yet to learn what
“exhausted” means. I dig deep for some
positive attitude and finally move forward in a “little Incan that could” frame
of mind. A journey of a thousand stone
steps starts with the first one<b>.</b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi56h1rGqlsz7OFDfdj7-jw7zKqvNs-6zGXfS1gYrweXaKkNz_-znbIv89lzRnMmb5GC6UvjhdrAxDw-rVFnw0RRapGWLDA-YJMsv7Vc1DRAJYKtxWRI8HOWaCSAgGSrLmYsxk93d60BiA/s1600/Inca+trail+-+Winay+Wayna+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi56h1rGqlsz7OFDfdj7-jw7zKqvNs-6zGXfS1gYrweXaKkNz_-znbIv89lzRnMmb5GC6UvjhdrAxDw-rVFnw0RRapGWLDA-YJMsv7Vc1DRAJYKtxWRI8HOWaCSAgGSrLmYsxk93d60BiA/s640/Inca+trail+-+Winay+Wayna+2.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Above & Below: The Agricultural Terraces Cling Improbably to the Mountainside</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjamu1DuNihQNaVBLSvrCJF90puyKI5wC3oExNKtAc_t7Hff9XlqUKgKB2jYVy1omyL6MbjARGsdvG-wlPeigMP8YgfIyiE6fk6oAE5N0_0vt99hc8HV7AQYf2HMG86ocvPlZuWVg4I4_Y/s1600/Inca+trail+-+Winay+Wayna.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjamu1DuNihQNaVBLSvrCJF90puyKI5wC3oExNKtAc_t7Hff9XlqUKgKB2jYVy1omyL6MbjARGsdvG-wlPeigMP8YgfIyiE6fk6oAE5N0_0vt99hc8HV7AQYf2HMG86ocvPlZuWVg4I4_Y/s640/Inca+trail+-+Winay+Wayna.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgllH1hnXbL7b1mbWTbjrGAYNncTyCoM4SLHe7OYfWBfAofxi_imCwyGPCDP3RHS-_4wYSAeFP-Bt3nysYnCtdD4b9p3kxY0CjpxPDCnhuIsYJY8wcUTMun00TuaSRIGWYWofevTlwA-Y/s1600/Inca+trail+-+Winay+Wayna+Randy+ascends+steps.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgllH1hnXbL7b1mbWTbjrGAYNncTyCoM4SLHe7OYfWBfAofxi_imCwyGPCDP3RHS-_4wYSAeFP-Bt3nysYnCtdD4b9p3kxY0CjpxPDCnhuIsYJY8wcUTMun00TuaSRIGWYWofevTlwA-Y/s640/Inca+trail+-+Winay+Wayna+Randy+ascends+steps.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>The Infinite Steps of Winay Wayna</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaJhIwfAPymUFihyYp7YagyKTr3pKJ-51_R9ZtgrtHirIE10wQFEGIgwM4cYRxBP-FkMtVpWG8ewLZXZ56CC60w9sn3eGIXwwB9iIKX4L-goLSJvWRyrbBiBGUcl7_1OggiFZSUC24qxQ/s1600/Inca+trail+-+Winay+Wayna+Randy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaJhIwfAPymUFihyYp7YagyKTr3pKJ-51_R9ZtgrtHirIE10wQFEGIgwM4cYRxBP-FkMtVpWG8ewLZXZ56CC60w9sn3eGIXwwB9iIKX4L-goLSJvWRyrbBiBGUcl7_1OggiFZSUC24qxQ/s640/Inca+trail+-+Winay+Wayna+Randy.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Almost to the Top</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">I
do eventually reach the top. “Will there
be any more climbing?” I ask Emilio.
“What do you think?” he asks me.
I think there will be. I am
right.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">We
pant onward, up several more inevitable sets of steps and past more spectacular
cloud forest scenery along the contour of the mountain and eventually come upon
a flight of fifty extraordinarily steep steps.
Each step is so narrow and high that Kathy who is about a foot shorter
than me has to use her hands to clamber from one to the next. Still, she reaches Emilio and Madeline waiting at the top while I am barely half way up, standing still and gasping
for breath. When I finally make it to
the top, the others wordlessly gesture to the right. There in the distance is Machu Picchu,
familiar from pictures but amazing beyond description in real life. We have
made it to Intipuncu - The Gate of the Sun - an entrance to Machu Picchu! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVg1dQT74WvttGwKxTLkC4tRe3VEBmf9m8Xd-voTW5I9d1PkdllNjRUevWc-VPNe7F3BVF7ou9qOJhwAK6fG0Mb_wb5YeAbbjIwQm3kaFHXaYsgDFYEi4e5t8dZ-WhJfJFHDj_rGK00VU/s1600/Inca+trail+-+more+steps.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVg1dQT74WvttGwKxTLkC4tRe3VEBmf9m8Xd-voTW5I9d1PkdllNjRUevWc-VPNe7F3BVF7ou9qOJhwAK6fG0Mb_wb5YeAbbjIwQm3kaFHXaYsgDFYEi4e5t8dZ-WhJfJFHDj_rGK00VU/s640/Inca+trail+-+more+steps.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>The 50 Steps at Intipuncu</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXe0l0WW8I4waqQYGzj50i-KxXROLo368vHXEJnCkTffZGD9LebFIqHJc0kExO9wCOgXbN-jPl3xUcxPdBlY_TjPwUcvIt1baHPgBJfmGISAn-OTXr2rAO1bflhfrcwLD0n6C-Rbj_wr0/s1600/Machu+Picchu+-+Randy+Kathy+%2526+Madeline+at+Sun+Gate+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXe0l0WW8I4waqQYGzj50i-KxXROLo368vHXEJnCkTffZGD9LebFIqHJc0kExO9wCOgXbN-jPl3xUcxPdBlY_TjPwUcvIt1baHPgBJfmGISAn-OTXr2rAO1bflhfrcwLD0n6C-Rbj_wr0/s640/Machu+Picchu+-+Randy+Kathy+%2526+Madeline+at+Sun+Gate+2.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>We Rest & Enjoy the View at the Sun Gate</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0MYEZrMe7SiBum9UGN2kySIoUCGf6-fPElMT9OU0sUlr913j_E9v0lmUkbRt9YGo7wWQ0p7pInGtazshmvT90QcnRorcwqZekXzURTlqYI71o0NWAJCL50TMHObhwodxWyVdcaxUIkW8/s1600/Machu+Picchu+from+Sun+Gate.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0MYEZrMe7SiBum9UGN2kySIoUCGf6-fPElMT9OU0sUlr913j_E9v0lmUkbRt9YGo7wWQ0p7pInGtazshmvT90QcnRorcwqZekXzURTlqYI71o0NWAJCL50TMHObhwodxWyVdcaxUIkW8/s640/Machu+Picchu+from+Sun+Gate.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Iconic!</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">From
this point on, the trail is actually a constant, gradual downward slope. We get
to the ruins near the end of the day. Most of that day's tourists have either
left or are leaving, so we have it mostly to ourselves. We explore and tap into
Emilio’s encyclopedic knowledge of the place. Then we catch one of the last
buses down the mountain to Aguas Calientes, where we find well deserved food, drink
and rest! The plan for the next day is
to go back to Machu Picchu with Emilio for a full day at the site. To avoid the crowds Emilio suggest we try to
catch one of the first buses. There will
be a line and we should try to be near the front of it. “Meet me at the bus stop at 4:30 AM,” Emilio
tells us. Another short night and early
morning are in front of us.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</div>
Randyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14428531478283627693noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3281612281509186026.post-62532981134042394882015-08-16T21:22:00.000-05:002016-02-16T21:25:57.016-06:00The Sacred and the Peru-fane: Seeing the Sacred Valley from a Giant Tourist Bus<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="background: white; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Rio Vilcanota, the river that wraps around the base of Mount Machu Picchu, forms a large river valley about an hour from Cusco. This river valley was the heart of the Inca Empire and today is called “The Sacred Valley.”
We are up early on this day to join a bus tour of the Sacred Valley that
we’ve booked through <a href="http://pmexplorers.com/">Pachamama Explorers</a></span><span style="background: white; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">. Unless
you are traveling with Ken Kesey and the Merry Pranksters or touring with the
Grateful Dead, riding around in a huge bus is not the best way to experience
anything. Everywhere you go you bring a large
gaggle of fellow passengers with you.
You are, in fact, one of the gaggle.
Plus you only get to see what your guide wants you to see in the time
frame he wants you to see it in. But
looking at it from the other side, if you have time constraints or don’t want
to hassle with the arrangements yourself, it is a cheap and easy way to see the
highpoints. We could have paid more for
a smaller more personalized tour of the Sacred Valley – all the way down to
hiring a car and driver, but cutting corners here does allow us to splurge a
little later in the trip, and in the end, it is okay.</span></div>
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<span style="background: white; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">This is our first opportunity to see the countryside
around Cusco and we are impressed with how many of the mountainsides are
terraced to allow agriculture. Many of
these terraces no doubt date back to Inca times. After about an hour’s drive we stop at a
small tourist market for a bathroom break.
The market is selling snacks and bottled water but the most noticeable
merchandise is the colorful rugs, shawls, hats, and other handmade woolen items
piled high on wooden tables. We also notice
the vibrant clothing worn by the women, especially the older women, in the
market – full skirts, colorful sweaters, and high hats. After we’d spent more time in the countryside
we would realize that this was the traditional Peruvian dress and it while it
was less evident in the cities, it was standard in the countryside.</span><br />
<span style="background: white; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><br /></span>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8alekbiydBsBZZX1xySlBP24xKTsRBdo3sG0JEz61FkYUFBcq4rek-ODkVS31rH0f7CkXURXxz7tBU29uG-3jbJR7Ep0WCnJzGgOIkmt8l41JbelbopXFgvYYuWaYY6-rXBGGLV3A-Yc/s1600/Sacred+Valley+-+market.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="342" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8alekbiydBsBZZX1xySlBP24xKTsRBdo3sG0JEz61FkYUFBcq4rek-ODkVS31rH0f7CkXURXxz7tBU29uG-3jbJR7Ep0WCnJzGgOIkmt8l41JbelbopXFgvYYuWaYY6-rXBGGLV3A-Yc/s640/Sacred+Valley+-+market.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Roadside Market</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="background: white; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">The public </span>baños at this stop charge a fee. This will be pretty much the case for
every other public toilet we will encounter in Peru. There is a teenaged attendant outside the
door who collects my money and then provides me with some toilet paper which he
unrolls off a roll in his hand. When I
have used the toilet paper, I deposit it in a small garbage can situated by the
toilet – the expected custom. Toilet
paper is never flushed--a practice that, I assume, preserves a fragile sewage
treatment system.</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
We get back on the bus and continue to the small town of Pisac.
There are extensive ruins on the outskirts of Piscac – a hilltop
citadel built by the Incas in the mid-1400’s.
The Spanish under Pizarro destroyed the citadel in the 1530’s and the
modern town was eventually rebuilt by Viceroy Toledo in the 1570’s. The ruins at Pisac consist of four groups of
buildings, hundreds of tombs – which are now just empty holes in the rock face
due to plundering by grave robbers over the centuries, and colossal
agricultural terraces. </div>
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</div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1ccC7V1xlmS_7Iq7Q3u6C8eak4sqDTzgbkpTTGsn64Jb6h1g1U073upR5Xb8G3Eh93bYwG5fCLYsKLnZgUZOzzvTSg6RDakmhP8kyqm9sjdzVIHgJNoE0I2F4ZzDiiltAKKl8gjsogvE/s1600/Pisac+-+Incan+tombs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1ccC7V1xlmS_7Iq7Q3u6C8eak4sqDTzgbkpTTGsn64Jb6h1g1U073upR5Xb8G3Eh93bYwG5fCLYsKLnZgUZOzzvTSg6RDakmhP8kyqm9sjdzVIHgJNoE0I2F4ZzDiiltAKKl8gjsogvE/s400/Pisac+-+Incan+tombs.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Above: Tombs at Pisac<br />Below: Agricultural Terraces at Pisac</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="text-align: justify;">Agricultural
terraces are standard features at many Incan sites.</span><span style="text-align: justify;"> </span><span style="text-align: justify;">They are always impressive in their scale and
they have remained intact to the present day because of the quality of their
workmanship.</span><span style="text-align: justify;"> </span><span style="text-align: justify;">The terraces at Pisac were
in use until 2010 when severe rains and flooding caused them to partially collapse.</span><span style="text-align: justify;"> </span><span style="text-align: justify;">Terraces are built with rock retaining walls
and the area behind the walls is backfilled with layers of stone, gravel,
sand, and finally soil.</span><span style="text-align: justify;"> </span><span style="text-align: justify;">All the
materials for the terraces from the rocks to the soil, are laboriously hand-carried
up the mountain.</span><span style="text-align: justify;"> </span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj41SYd1JqyCjWR1_zQT9spu0Hnyu1Q2PfDMdBsZ1THFe_4fhlIyFIvm5jBYx78xWRzfs9u2t-BIJWcr6CP4k4f7AiaIrVmDT_o2SNGtSufkTRp60sOEtdxNx8eC2AddWV4dByv3uEOYAQ/s1600/Pisac+4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="425" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj41SYd1JqyCjWR1_zQT9spu0Hnyu1Q2PfDMdBsZ1THFe_4fhlIyFIvm5jBYx78xWRzfs9u2t-BIJWcr6CP4k4f7AiaIrVmDT_o2SNGtSufkTRp60sOEtdxNx8eC2AddWV4dByv3uEOYAQ/s640/Pisac+4.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEAU4jzTAd7pLzK7xg52345KSRwrsXvzMB0pU36h9djmCUSzfLrgc9SBueOgsF4jTakpQpo8ilEP0iHq1hEaV_vuMkqiPSOojRPdKXuTvqeac7Be2t3SL4C2PJ2fkUL5iLhFUhBgTEizk/s1600/Pisac+-+terraces.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEAU4jzTAd7pLzK7xg52345KSRwrsXvzMB0pU36h9djmCUSzfLrgc9SBueOgsF4jTakpQpo8ilEP0iHq1hEaV_vuMkqiPSOojRPdKXuTvqeac7Be2t3SL4C2PJ2fkUL5iLhFUhBgTEizk/s640/Pisac+-+terraces.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Agricultural Terraces at Pisac</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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The Incas were
superb agriculturists and domesticated an astonishing number of plants. At the time of the Spanish conquest the Incas
were farming as many species of plants as the farmers of Europe and Asia
combined. Potatoes were one of their big
achievements. Today there are 3800
varieties in Peru, with a wide range of shapes, sizes, colors, textures and
tastes. In addition to potatoes, the Incas grew corn,
beans, sweet potatoes, peppers, tomatoes, cashews, squash, cucumbers, carob,
and avocados. They also produced a
variety crops that are only now becoming more commonplace outside of Peru, such
as quinoa, amaranth, and cherimoyas. On top of that, they planted hundreds of interesting plants that have never become
widespread including oca, a hardy clover-like plant that produces wrinkled pink
to yellow pleasant tasting tubers – a main staple in parts of the Peruvian
highlands even today; maca, a plant related to cress that produces sweet, tangy
roots; ulluco, a plant that produces waxy red, yellow, and striped roots; pepino, a large yellow fruit with purple
streaks that tastes somewhat like melon; tamarillo, an egg-shaped fruit that
looks somewhat like a tomato but has its own unique taste and that grows on a
small tree, and a long list of others.
And the Incas also domesticated a number of nonfood plants with their own
unique uses – including tobacco, coca, and cotton.</div>
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<o:p></o:p><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinKBgTfqzEwGivs1olNngICpWArP_sk-ISjp4q2mej6PG6TFwQ3dD14RJP48c5uRAGa22BQsZwci0IsLypmedb9EBM0Zsah9He4gzdtYzJNz0d0UP7ks0Kn_kXPYd74yMG4CTG-VMQ4UA/s1600/Incan+fruits+and+vegetables.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinKBgTfqzEwGivs1olNngICpWArP_sk-ISjp4q2mej6PG6TFwQ3dD14RJP48c5uRAGa22BQsZwci0IsLypmedb9EBM0Zsah9He4gzdtYzJNz0d0UP7ks0Kn_kXPYd74yMG4CTG-VMQ4UA/s400/Incan+fruits+and+vegetables.jpg" width="333" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><br />Above: Unusual Peruvian Fruits and Vegetables<br />Below: Terrace Wall</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisBoa5GR5TgP7mtEGjamsK67Dsq7yGl2L_wbg4cH84MxPZi9bfY0M8WOCJrG83J6hgUzCPW3C5fxUzfXtoL9utMzUxAcuYuSvE3uJ18f_rya8qj7Xb8bNtwfbZ1x2-5H0pprUaddiEjY4/s1600/Pisac+terrace+wall.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisBoa5GR5TgP7mtEGjamsK67Dsq7yGl2L_wbg4cH84MxPZi9bfY0M8WOCJrG83J6hgUzCPW3C5fxUzfXtoL9utMzUxAcuYuSvE3uJ18f_rya8qj7Xb8bNtwfbZ1x2-5H0pprUaddiEjY4/s400/Pisac+terrace+wall.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<b><br /></b></div>
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In addition to this
wide range of domesticated plants the Incas domesticated animals that included
alpacas, llamas, and guinea pigs. Domesticating
this cornucopia of plants and animals was an impressive agronomic feat. But the Incas also developed the ability to
duplicate a variety of growing conditions with agricultural terraces that
climbed the mountainsides. They also
developed good agricultural practices that included crop rotation and fertilizer. All of these agricultural practices combined
gave the Incas the ability to feed a population approaching 15 million and to maintain
a surplus so large that they had to build and maintain a huge system storage
facilities. And all of this bounty was
produced in an inhospitable, cold, mountainous region.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
The Spanish destroyed
this carefully balanced system, brought in European animals and crops, ignored
and even despised most of the local crops – calling them “peasant food” and
created a nonfunctional system that resulted in hunger, starvation and a
population crash. The human population
in the Andes is probably only now reaching the pre-conquest levels.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
But I digress. The several paragraphs above describe the
“why” of the agricultural terraces. Any
settlement required food and food production required terraces. As we stand on the terraces at Pisac, our
guide gives a thumbnail version of this explanation. Mostly we view them and deem them to be
impressive in their scale and amazing when we consider that they were built entirely
by hand.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
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The modern town of
Pisac is famous for its large market.
Our tour guide seems to have his own agenda and herds us into a store
selling silver jewelry. We are not
allowed any time to see the rest of the market, but silver store does turn out
to be interesting. There is a man demonstrating
how to cut and polish shells and stones for inlay work. And the silver mines are located nearby, so
everything is reasonably priced. Kathy
and Madeline buy a number of items.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFFsEMjYsxMq8PWi9Xc1bKCe413-cpBxRRG2GLkUzszXQBm4kVOnc0lAbs2yLzTiZ2L5g2WejCfkIUPoUJs2cs0hOShg4rlEnPy5R5NUOMu-D0Yw_00MIyo47J8Gl8AAd4E7n72fUnJY8/s1600/Pisac+-+Silversmith.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFFsEMjYsxMq8PWi9Xc1bKCe413-cpBxRRG2GLkUzszXQBm4kVOnc0lAbs2yLzTiZ2L5g2WejCfkIUPoUJs2cs0hOShg4rlEnPy5R5NUOMu-D0Yw_00MIyo47J8Gl8AAd4E7n72fUnJY8/s640/Pisac+-+Silversmith.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 9.5pt; line-height: 107%;">Pisac
Silversmith Demonstrates Polishing Shells and Stones for Inlay Work</span></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
We stop for lunch
at a tourist buffet outside the village of Urubamba. The food is tasty and it seems authentic, but
the huge institutional building and the parking lot filled with tourist buses seem
a bit tawdry and sterile to me. When it
comes to local color and experiencing Peru this is a bit like eating in a Walmart. We are saved from utter blandness by a duo on
Andean flute and guitar who take the stage and play some outstanding Peruvian
music. When they take a break to hawk a CD,
I happily buy one. They call themselves
<a href="http://incamusic.narod.ru/yawar_inka/yawar_inka.htm">Yawar Inka</a>. By the time I have filled my stomach
with a delicious lunch and my ears with exceptional Andean tunes, the experience
no longer seems so insipid. Oh, and the baños here are free of charge – so it’s
all good! </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
After lunch we
drive to Ollantaytambo a small town that has been continuously occupied at
least since the 13<sup>th</sup> century.
In the 1500’s Ollantaytambo temporarily became the Incan capital. The Spanish had already taken Cusco and Manco
Inca, the leader of the Incan resistance, fortified Ollantaytambo and set up
camp there. In 1536 he defeated a
Spanish expedition that was advancing toward Ollantaytambo and then blocked
their advance by damming the river to flood the plain. He did not feel he could hold the Spanish
back indefinitely, though, so he finally fled with his followers to Vilcabamba
in the rain forest where he founded the “Neo-Inca State.” The Spanish finally caught up to him in
1572. They killed Manco Inca, destroyed Vilcabamba,
and the Incas passed into history.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Ollantaytambo is home
to some extraordinary ruins. To view them
we climb beyond some impressive agricultural terraces to the top of a
promontory known as “Temple Hill.” The
ruins at the top may have been a military fort or a religious temple, depending upon which source you cite.
Most likely over the centuries they functioned as either or both. The large structure at the center of the
“temple complex” is the Sun Temple, an unfinished building featuring the Wall
of the Six Monoliths, a wall of six large slabs of stone. That it is unfinished is obvious by the huge slabs
littered randomly around the area—building material. This building is shrouded in mystery. Who built it?
Was it the Incas? Or did it, as
some suggest, predate the Incas by many centuries? Or was this one of the many ancient sites
actually built by aliens as <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Erich_von_D%C3%A4niken">Eric Von Daniken</a> suggests in his “Chariots of the Gods” series—a theory fervently believed by
many in the tinfoil hat set.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfokiO8Qxb9LAk7pL33TDmxZb6w72rpSgdmZlurVNCDMYMrzTEWe4cNEbQEWPCy1wsAhCJcyVI3N3mGooNqD-Q_JYoGwbyMNEoAPkEK5x2Fs22_w2jLI2Z6mT62-CpKgOewQfAZwNm-g8/s1600/Ollantaytambo+-+terraces.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfokiO8Qxb9LAk7pL33TDmxZb6w72rpSgdmZlurVNCDMYMrzTEWe4cNEbQEWPCy1wsAhCJcyVI3N3mGooNqD-Q_JYoGwbyMNEoAPkEK5x2Fs22_w2jLI2Z6mT62-CpKgOewQfAZwNm-g8/s640/Ollantaytambo+-+terraces.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 9.5pt; line-height: 107%;">Agricultural
Terraces at Ollantaytambo</span></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
An unfinished
“stepped diamond” motif is carved on one of the monoliths - a design occasionally seen in Incan
textiles. Does this represent the
Southern Cross, as our guide suggests, or does it have some other meaning? This same motif can be seen carved in stone
in the Tiahuanaco ruins in Bolivia, which have been dated to around 1700 BC –
well before the advent of the Incas.
This design can also be found incorporated into textiles and other
objects for sale to tourists in practically any tourist shop throughout
Peru. If you ask the shop owner for an
explanation, he will tell you it is called a “chakana” and that it had great
mystical and religious significance for the Incas. In fact, applying the name “chakana” to this
shape is a modern invention and may date to no earlier than 2003 with the
publication of a “New Age” book entitled “<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Andean-Awakening-Inca-Guide-Mystical/dp/1937462048">Andean Awakening</a>.” The
significance, if any, of this design to the Incas is unknown. Its significance to souvenir shop owners,
however, is monetarily profound. <b></b><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYMHVumeiKerQF8abCGLVpXf4LiS9iZPnSj6TOwlpBfDHHm6TwaEg0tQ1oTv1TXXmAtXJdyljpxr6rW6ok5tiJYl6SLPcya4_-5nAdQDbgLElLNhbODdQqD0d0ZoRXTmCtQI8X6Q6MHyQ/s1600/Ollantaytambo+-+monoliths.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYMHVumeiKerQF8abCGLVpXf4LiS9iZPnSj6TOwlpBfDHHm6TwaEg0tQ1oTv1TXXmAtXJdyljpxr6rW6ok5tiJYl6SLPcya4_-5nAdQDbgLElLNhbODdQqD0d0ZoRXTmCtQI8X6Q6MHyQ/s640/Ollantaytambo+-+monoliths.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 9.5pt; line-height: 107%;">Above:
Six Monoliths at Ollantaytambo<br />Below Left: "Stepped Diamond" Motif Inscribed on Monolith</span></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWP3CL4Sh8BuiApvXLpzRQPhyphenhyphenPomGGHjKb1V-M5dP_ygaWrG2ZshFZ7M_ltIXJDpXdoLs40pa1Z-ICMBH-F24UJ8_EI3XrDn1oWiV1WUZxMPwPhRBQVMLq3Lu2FU2SYiCvQ-5n22vM5QM/s1600/Ollantaytambo+-+Incan+cross+on+monoliths.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWP3CL4Sh8BuiApvXLpzRQPhyphenhyphenPomGGHjKb1V-M5dP_ygaWrG2ZshFZ7M_ltIXJDpXdoLs40pa1Z-ICMBH-F24UJ8_EI3XrDn1oWiV1WUZxMPwPhRBQVMLq3Lu2FU2SYiCvQ-5n22vM5QM/s320/Ollantaytambo+-+Incan+cross+on+monoliths.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
The largest of the
six monoliths is 13 feet high, seven feet wide, and six feet thick and weighs
over 50 tons. Some of the other stones
scattered around the site are even bigger, so the fact that these huge slabs of
rock did not originate here, but were actually carried to the top of this large
hill by human muscle is incrdible. While
it is unclear exactly who built the Sun Temple, scientists have been able to
piece together some evidence regarding the construction. They know, for example, that these stones
were quarried at a site about 2.5 miles away on the other side of the
valley. The stones were partially carved
at the quarry site and hauled to the bottom of the valley to the river. In order to cross the river, a second channel
was dug parallel to the main channel.
The river was diverted into the new channel and the stones were hauled
across the dry original channel. Then
the river was diverted back to the original channel and the stones were hauled
across the new channel and onward. To
get to the temple site, a giant inclined plane was built into the side of hill
– this feature can still be seen from the bottom of the valley today. The assumption is that the workers would have
used log rollers in addition to ropes, pulleys, and
levers. Even then it would take hundreds
of men to move one of these huge stones.
There are dozens of stones littering the landscape between the quarry
and the temple that never made the complete journey.</div>
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From the hilltop we
have a panoramic view of the modern town of Ollantaytambo in the valley below
and of the mountain Pinkuylluna on the
other side of the valley<i>. </i>There are ruins on the steep face of Pinkuylluna
and we are told that these are Incan food storage buildings. The cool breezes on the mountainside helped
preserve the food stored there. Ventilation
systems built into the structures enhanced the effect of the breezes. The need for such large storage facilities reinforces
in my mind what outstanding agriculturists the Incas were to produce such
bumper crops. We also see rock features
on the side of Pinkuylluna that resemble a giant face. Local legend has it that this is the face of Viracocha,
the Inca creator god.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgisaItvE3Br-lUkQ0ceRtJ4qIFv2_bj4DjewrMRVx09iTQCAF0JrWM1fofSs8Y2KYjhRK3INpxzFX7_-48rYtpv2Bx6G1dGsCvND-EmP96LedKEjJ0FvBYozowZKRC7HyNZXiWy1jjCGE/s1600/Ollantaytambo+-+Face+of+Wiracochan+%2526+storehouse.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgisaItvE3Br-lUkQ0ceRtJ4qIFv2_bj4DjewrMRVx09iTQCAF0JrWM1fofSs8Y2KYjhRK3INpxzFX7_-48rYtpv2Bx6G1dGsCvND-EmP96LedKEjJ0FvBYozowZKRC7HyNZXiWy1jjCGE/s640/Ollantaytambo+-+Face+of+Wiracochan+%2526+storehouse.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 9.5pt; line-height: 107%;">Visage
of Viracoccha and Mountainside Storage Building - Ollantaytambo</span></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
From Ollantaytambo we travel to Chincheros. While there are Incan ruins here, we do not
visit them. Instead we spend all of our
time at Chincheros at a local weaving cooperative. It is well worth the visit. The cooperative was formed not only to
preserve the ancient techniques of spinning, weaving, and dying fabric, but
also to economically improve the lives of the people in the area.</div>
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Chincheros is a farming village and the people who live there grow
quinoa, beans, potatoes, and barley in a manner very similar to the way their
Inca ancestors did. But this traditional
way of life is challenged today by the lure of a more modern life in the towns
and cities. The cooperative has provided
an economically viable way to stay in Chincheros. Traditionally, the men farmed while the women
cooked, took care of the children and weaved.
Now, the men and women still perform these traditional tasks, but the women
also run the cooperative. And the
cooperative has become the main source of income for the participating
families.<o:p></o:p></div>
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We enter the cooperative, a large adobe building on a hilltop, and walk
through a showroom filled with a colorful display of hats, sweaters, and
tapestries to a courtyard where we take seats on wooden benches and are offered
cups of coca tea. Then we are given an
hour-long demonstration by the women of the cooperative on the process of making
the knitted and woven products. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Wool shorn from llamas, alpacas, or sheep is washed using water
and the pulverized root of an indigenous plant called sacha paraqay. The root functions as a
detergent, and after just a few minutes of hand washing the wool becomes quite
clean. After the wool is dried, it is spun
using a device called a drop spindle – which looks a little like a toy top. It
appears to me that the bundle of wool assembles itself into yarn totally by
magic when it comes in contact with this spinning gadget. After the yarn is spun it is dyed using a variety
of local plants and minerals. The vibrant
red dye, however, is neither plant nor mineral.
It is created from the bodies of cochineals, insects that parasitize
cacti. The dyed yarn is then knit or
woven into the many items that are for sale.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgA-TZQ0DiJcWOPx5bsuHTMRFO9Rv1f9dc750AY1I4b8FPjniq8ixeEk_WduetYBC1D40TKUvDDfOCWm-Ue3fWHWmdn4uQnHUnA2grNpxmLT4_CLzilJuTl12PX9U5fRJrh3ZnLBcdDUU/s1600/Chincheros+-+wool+dying+demo+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgA-TZQ0DiJcWOPx5bsuHTMRFO9Rv1f9dc750AY1I4b8FPjniq8ixeEk_WduetYBC1D40TKUvDDfOCWm-Ue3fWHWmdn4uQnHUnA2grNpxmLT4_CLzilJuTl12PX9U5fRJrh3ZnLBcdDUU/s640/Chincheros+-+wool+dying+demo+3.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1FRQWgVD5zvEb3xcWl3nVL51rPNfncVIkd5E93k8ajOe9voxNwlI8n3JvGvGv9E0y4Ldf_aGwqgkb7bBdL9UqjrNbzK3Qgcq359G-A__4kopANV5MrCD9KSDMtaTQ1YaRqv5Ma7Yy-Ys/s1600/Chincheros+-+wool+dying+demo+4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="508" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1FRQWgVD5zvEb3xcWl3nVL51rPNfncVIkd5E93k8ajOe9voxNwlI8n3JvGvGv9E0y4Ldf_aGwqgkb7bBdL9UqjrNbzK3Qgcq359G-A__4kopANV5MrCD9KSDMtaTQ1YaRqv5Ma7Yy-Ys/s640/Chincheros+-+wool+dying+demo+4.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuIohUF9E5SygQpZaGwSJWcaRtzNMbVflorc5HFIhb9zc9HqfYG6NJqkmgAxgR5n_WPFuwLAt86eVAtgIbXbJJhjGMP1917mYVY1-iVPDB8e3KP1XsCLwCdEWClYt3lBjEA9Agu7QMh8c/s1600/Chincheros+-+wool+dying+demo+5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="338" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuIohUF9E5SygQpZaGwSJWcaRtzNMbVflorc5HFIhb9zc9HqfYG6NJqkmgAxgR5n_WPFuwLAt86eVAtgIbXbJJhjGMP1917mYVY1-iVPDB8e3KP1XsCLwCdEWClYt3lBjEA9Agu7QMh8c/s640/Chincheros+-+wool+dying+demo+5.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 9.5pt; line-height: 107%;">Top:
Spinning Demonstration<br />
Middle: Yarn Dying Demonstration<br />
Bottom: Natural Materials Used for Dying</span></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
We all buy sweaters. Our guide
tells us that not only are the prices better here than what we will find in
Cusco, but we can be sure that items said to contain alpaca wool here are authentic
while the items for sale in the tourist stalls in Cusco could be sheep wool or
even synthetic. While we appreciate the
chance to buy our handcrafted sweaters, value the opportunity to support this
venture, and appreciate the hospitality of the weavers and the knowledge we
gained from them, the highlight by far was seeing the tiny baby kitten fast asleep in
a basket of wool.<br />
<b><br /></b>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7hMR5DAwR80knkuNRo5PkrZ4pKogHNf4wEq9TShTpsX-XRmsK7DD9V1EHJAmcNDXqMDaXNVoeveM_z86_Oa3_ULnDQlBZOP02iZx28W_YhI7H54pUUzmBJTiwcqNDqic7o7hi4ffUlvg/s1600/Chincheros+-+Kitten+sleeping+in+bowl+of+alpac+wool.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7hMR5DAwR80knkuNRo5PkrZ4pKogHNf4wEq9TShTpsX-XRmsK7DD9V1EHJAmcNDXqMDaXNVoeveM_z86_Oa3_ULnDQlBZOP02iZx28W_YhI7H54pUUzmBJTiwcqNDqic7o7hi4ffUlvg/s640/Chincheros+-+Kitten+sleeping+in+bowl+of+alpac+wool.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 9.5pt; line-height: 107%;">Kitten
in Basket of Wool</span></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
After Chincheros, we return to Cusco and get off the bus at Plaza De Armas. We eat our dinner at a pizza place in the
plaza, buy a few snacks for tomorrow, then walk the few blocks up the hill to
the <span style="background: white; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Casona les Pleiades</span>. It is after eight o’clock by the time we
reach the hotel and we immediately set to work packing our backpacks for our
two-day Machu Picchu excursion that will have us crawling out of bed at 4:30
the next morning. We are out as soon as our
heads hit the pillow – with another short night in front of us.</div>
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Randyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14428531478283627693noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3281612281509186026.post-9573491875852158682015-08-15T15:44:00.000-05:002016-02-16T21:26:14.355-06:00 High in the Andes: Flying into Cusco<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">My daughter, my wife and I arrive in Lima after midnight on
an uneventful flight from Atlanta. We’ve
planned on not spending any time in Lima on this trip, so because of the late
hour and the fact that we’ve got an early flight the next day to Cusco, we’ve booked
rooms at the <a href="http://www.wyndham.com/hotels/peru/lima/wyndham-costa-del-sol-lima-airport/hotel-overview">Costa del Sol Wyndham Lima Airport Hotel</a> which is conveniently attached to the airport by a second floor walkway. You pay for the convenience – it is very
expensive by Peruvian standards. While
there are cheaper hotels a taxi ride away, I have heard that Lima taxis are
expensive, so perhaps when you factor that in, staying right at the airport
makes more sense. This hotel does not exude charm or local flavor at all – but
it fills its role as a functional airport hotel just fine. It provides Wi-Fi and a free breakfast and
the rooms are nicely appointed with comfortable beds. We don’t have much time to enjoy the beds
given our late night and early morning. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge-qR7i1Wj8m04DKSzrxL7Z5pv1X964qkKEzVgg4NZ-Al21zd2zgf9pEgjK9m5oTq-XyWnMduJUMLkIkRyfzGrEvRz4_4-pUjt1SZND8XQnwq9X93MXlOyKZlfMO7qIVF24o4q8KF9ZBg/s1600/Andes.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge-qR7i1Wj8m04DKSzrxL7Z5pv1X964qkKEzVgg4NZ-Al21zd2zgf9pEgjK9m5oTq-XyWnMduJUMLkIkRyfzGrEvRz4_4-pUjt1SZND8XQnwq9X93MXlOyKZlfMO7qIVF24o4q8KF9ZBg/s400/Andes.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">We are at the airport the next morning with plenty of time
to exchange some dollars for Nuevo Sols.
As it turns out, we don’t need to hurry since our Peruvian Airlines
flight to Cusco is delayed and then delayed again. From what I have heard, this is business as
usual for domestic flights in Peru. When
we are finally on the plane and airborne, it is a beautiful flight with the
Andes reaching up towards us from below.</span><span style="font-family: inherit;">It is afternoon by the time we arrive in Cusco.
We’ve arranged a ride from the airport to our hotel, the </span><span style="background: white; font-family: inherit;"><a href="http://www.casona-pleiades.com/">Casonales Pleiades</a>, </span><span style="background: white; font-family: inherit;">an attractive little hotel about a block from the Plaza San Blas. Our driver parks in the plaza and we have to
walk the last block to get to the hotel due to the narrowness of the street and
a set of steps. Taking that walk, and
going up those steps is my first reminder that Cusco is high in the Andes at
over 11,000 feet. Any exertion at all
has my lungs searching for every available scrap of oxygen! The Pleiades is positioned around a small,
charming courtyard that is open to the sky and at one end has a circular
staircase winding up to balconies that serve the second and third floor rooms. We check in and have a pleasant chat with the
desk clerk who offers us a refreshing cup of coca tea. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background: white; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpqxnGeJV6a2dU3_NzMqUs_FqiIW-ZmqrPwsGxpDkSKuIcXiz-qm6tv5lh1IvyrPx3p3jJJ3AGOh65d3v4IODMNBUt4LY1YLwRo1flMkBWyJanK3nIwvQj7k9DMKgstjluQl9SuZI0NwI/s1600/Circular+Staircase+-+Pleides.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpqxnGeJV6a2dU3_NzMqUs_FqiIW-ZmqrPwsGxpDkSKuIcXiz-qm6tv5lh1IvyrPx3p3jJJ3AGOh65d3v4IODMNBUt4LY1YLwRo1flMkBWyJanK3nIwvQj7k9DMKgstjluQl9SuZI0NwI/s400/Circular+Staircase+-+Pleides.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Courtyard and stairs at the <a href="http://www.casona-pleiades.com/" style="text-align: justify;">Casonales Pleiades</a> </span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit;">We spend the rest of the afternoon
exploring the areas around our hotel and central Cusco. First impressions: The </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit;">streets predate cars, and are very narrow – many streets are single lane
and cars hardly fit through! Many
streets are cobblestone and most are steep – we are in the mountains! A walk is like an aerobic workout! </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggYhCybLTfVkiVW9NhBhUE4-ZZN3rFa_kGFmz4H3SB_nAz6AU7Gb0-WxeCZ6_iGS7kGjwrjFjwF81dqAMAVzynFuY7Z0yI9GVzJ1VdVnk7DbcXm0B_HmcaP0L4Om5Va4fer8o1t6G6kks/s1600/Cusco.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggYhCybLTfVkiVW9NhBhUE4-ZZN3rFa_kGFmz4H3SB_nAz6AU7Gb0-WxeCZ6_iGS7kGjwrjFjwF81dqAMAVzynFuY7Z0yI9GVzJ1VdVnk7DbcXm0B_HmcaP0L4Om5Va4fer8o1t6G6kks/s400/Cusco.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">A Cusco Street</span></td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit;">In our brief foray around Cusco we are constantly
accosted by people selling stuff – this is a city that depends on tourists for
much of its income. My wife, Kathy, buys
a couple paintings from a young woman carrying her baby on her back. We also chat with some ladies in traditional
dress with a baby as well as a baby lamb, and the expected interaction takes
place – they pose for pictures and we give them money. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxkp78N7sekaiIRR2MVtXK6MeapVJy472dSn7ORDKo3ElHpgmvAwBmD1pKcrmhWyKP1W0jklV0vM6KlCUm32NWgzN7uCbiNFo3zwfTkaUhA0qO2Mn7KOIo2fNxNYbFgP08OzyPv5WXb2o/s1600/Quechua+Dress.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="425" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxkp78N7sekaiIRR2MVtXK6MeapVJy472dSn7ORDKo3ElHpgmvAwBmD1pKcrmhWyKP1W0jklV0vM6KlCUm32NWgzN7uCbiNFo3zwfTkaUhA0qO2Mn7KOIo2fNxNYbFgP08OzyPv5WXb2o/s640/Quechua+Dress.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Posing Ladies</span></td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit;">We are blown away by the Incan walls of 16</span><sup style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit;">th</sup><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit;">
century Spanish buildings – the Spanish destroyed the buildings then built new
structures utilizing the pre-existing walls. One such wall forms the outer wall of the </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #2c2c2c;">Museo Palacio Arzobispal (Museum of the Archbishop's Palace)</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #2c2c2c; font-family: inherit;"> and
is located on a street named “</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: inherit;">Hatun Rumiyoc” which is Quechua for “big stone.” The general assumption is that this wall was originally part of the palace of Inca Roca, who ruled in the 14<sup>th</sup>
century. The technique used to construct
this wall is called </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: inherit;">Cyclopean
polygonal masonry. It consists of
gigantic stones with multiple sides that are fitted together without mortar and
with absolute perfection – like a giant puzzle.
This wall contains <a href="https://es.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hatun_Rumiyoc">a large carved stone with twelve angles</a>. There are larger stones, and a few with more
angles that may be found in other Incan walls in Peru, but this stone has such
defined sides and it interfaces its neighboring stones with such perfection
that it is famous throughout Peru and a source of pride among the citizens of
Cusco. If you visit this wall, it will
be easy to pick out this stone. If for
some reason you don’t see it, there will be any number of people standing right
there on the street who will be happy to point it out for just a little money. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPbAh0RLh7r2wBEOpAjAtMgyri6B8T1MknRcFIlw8s_coICs1-zNGwiWYlSTNX5txyrHxdygRpPwOo_pc2FOg_q4brQ9FAYC4PozVZCIcria52hUEUembzot2K80AEU-0h2PHojYbc57s/s1600/Cusco+-++Inca+Wall+of+Palicio+Arzobispal.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPbAh0RLh7r2wBEOpAjAtMgyri6B8T1MknRcFIlw8s_coICs1-zNGwiWYlSTNX5txyrHxdygRpPwOo_pc2FOg_q4brQ9FAYC4PozVZCIcria52hUEUembzot2K80AEU-0h2PHojYbc57s/s400/Cusco+-++Inca+Wall+of+Palicio+Arzobispal.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPoItFwk3uCjV09CnhAjiuleS7N3c4rAERAwsL7Y6coxP4_b2lEnnj3OUek7cLBVrd5z0w4TBnjta6ULxqNVD0zQGC8QNy7cJju26VFuLOQqJbvrN4XCKcXspDdtGifBPBNadS2G7Yqxk/s1600/palacio+arzobispal+detail+-+close+fitting+stones.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPoItFwk3uCjV09CnhAjiuleS7N3c4rAERAwsL7Y6coxP4_b2lEnnj3OUek7cLBVrd5z0w4TBnjta6ULxqNVD0zQGC8QNy7cJju26VFuLOQqJbvrN4XCKcXspDdtGifBPBNadS2G7Yqxk/s400/palacio+arzobispal+detail+-+close+fitting+stones.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;"> Left - Tourists by Incan Wall on Hatum Rumiyoc </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Above - Wall Detail (note perfectly fitted stones)</span></div>
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<span style="color: #252525; font-family: inherit; text-align: justify;">After
wandering around central Cusco all afternoon, we have a nice dinner at a
restaurant near the San Blas plaza called <a href="https://www.facebook.com/pages/Pacha-Papa-Restaurant/161371343923496">Pacha Pappa</a> - </span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #252525; font-family: inherit;">a
restaurant with great </span><span style="color: #252525;">ambiance</span><span style="color: #252525; font-family: inherit;"> and delicious food. It has a large courtyard scattered with
dining tables and a huge brick oven where many of the delicacies are prepared.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; text-align: justify;">After dinner, we
return to the </span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Pleiades for our night’s rest,
knowing that we’ve got another early morning in front of us.</span></span></div>
Randyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14428531478283627693noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3281612281509186026.post-40898960560957147902015-08-12T19:49:00.000-05:002016-02-16T21:26:24.837-06:00Why Peru?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Peru has been near the top of my bucket list for a while and when I started discussing a 2015 trip with my wife and daughter, it quickly established itself at the very top. Historical sites, ancient ruins, mountaintops, beaches, jungles, and quaint villages and farms have drawn me to parts of Europe, Asia, and Africa. Peru has every one of the above mentioned draws in abundance, plus, it has the added benefit of being much closer than Europe, Asia, and Africa. And since you travel mostly south to get there, rather than east or west, you can arrive there with absolutely no jet lag.
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Everybody thinks of Machu Picchu when they think of Peru. Certainly you would be remiss not to visit these amazing ruins on a trip to Peru. But there’s a whole lot more to Peru than Machu Picchu. If you are into ruins, they are everywhere! Peru, after all, was the center of the Incan empire. There are Incan and pre-Incan ruins in the forests and mountains that are so inaccessible that they are rarely seen by anyone. There are ruins in small Peruvian towns that the locals don’t even notice because they live in and around them and they are merely part of the landscape of their daily lives. And there are ruins in the cities surrounded by more recent buildings. After the Spanish conquest, the Spanish destroyed many Incan buildings in an attempt to destroy the Incan culture. Often they then built new buildings on the Incan foundations. A severe 1950 earthquake in Cusco did major damage to some of these Spanish buildings while the underlying Incan bases were undamaged due to superior building techniques.</div>
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Then there are the Andes. Most of my time in Peru was spent at some serious altitude. Machu Picchu sits on a mountaintop at nearly 8000 feet. Cusco, the old capitol of the Incan Empire, is over 11,000 feet. The surface of Lake Titicaca, the highest navigable lake in the world is over 12,000 feet above the surface of the ocean. These mountains have created unique fauna and flora and unique human cultures. These mountains are the home of the chinchilla as well as the vicuña and guanaco the wild versions of the domesticated llama and alpaca. The hamlets and villages peppered throughout the country are filled with people living their lives in a manner similar to their ancestors and speaking Quechua, the language of the Incas.
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And there is the rain forest of the Amazon basin. While the mountains define Peru in many people’s minds, sixty percent of Peru consists of Amazon rain forest. Only five percent of the country’s population lives there and much of the area is trackless wilderness. This part of Peru contains tribes that have never had contact with the outside world. How many tribes and how many people living there is completely unknown, but there have been instances of individuals and small groups speaking unknown languages wandering out of the rain forest and making contact with villages on the edge. Peru contains more bird species than any other country in the world and is third on the list for mammal species, and it is the rain forest that gives Peru this biodiversity. Peru protects the land within the rain forest with a system of 75 natural protected areas comprising over fifteen percent of the country. The government does allow eco-tourists with the proper permits to explore parts of these reserves. While the tourism infrastructure in these areas is more primitive than most tourists are used to, those who venture there are able to see one of the last totally unspoiled areas in the world.</div>
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<b>Thinking about traveling to Peru? Here’s a to-do list:</b></div>
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Here’s a list of things I thought about or did prior to traveling to Peru. If you’re considering a trip there, this could make a good starting point for you as well.</div>
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<b>1 - Read this book: </b></div>
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<i>
“Turn Right At Machu Picchu - Rediscovering The Lost City One Step At A Time” - by Mark Adams (Penguin).</i> I was psyched about Machu Picchu prior to reading this book, but this informative, readable, and humorous book amped my enthusiasm even higher. I read it again after my trip with a completely new level of understanding. The second read was punctuated with lots of exclaimed “Oh, yeah!”’s by me when it discussed something I had encountered firsthand.</div>
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In 1911 the young Yale professor and explorer Hiram Bingham (whom Indiana Jones is at least partially based on) discovered Machu Picchu. The relatively new publication, National Geographic, latched onto this discovery and made Machu Picchu, Hiram Bingham, and National Geographic famous around the world.</div>
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In the intervening years, revisionism set in, and Hiram Bingham was painted as an outsider who “discovered” ruins that the locals knew all about – and were using as a place to graze their sheep. He has also been vilified as a plunderer who carried priceless artifacts out of Peru to stock museums in the US.</div>
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Mark Adams, after delving into the history of Machu Picchu and perusing Bingham’s trove of papers at Yale, concluded that perhaps Bingham was more complex than either National Geographic or the revisionists imagined, and that perhaps the mysterious city on a mountaintop was even more mysterious than anyone thought. To pursue the story, Adams, a magazine writer whose previous camping experience consisted of sleeping in a Sears Roebuck tent in his parents’ back yard, plunged into the Peruvian wilderness. This book not only provides the reader with solid background information on Machu Picchu, it also entertainingly educates about Peru itself and the people who live there.</div>
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<b>2 - Stuff to protect your health:</b></div>
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<ul>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Sunburn - Peru is close to the equator so it is getting a whole lot more direct sunlight than the temperate areas of the world. You may lose sight of that fact when you are in the relative coolness of the mountains. But the high mountains actually increase your sun exposure even more since the sun is being filtered through less atmosphere than it would be at lower altitudes. So wear sunscreen. Bring it along, or buy it in shops in the larger cities. You may even find it in smaller villages, though this can be hit or miss. Don’t just carry the bottle around, but apply it. Then reapply later. Then keep slopping it on. Also, wear a hat. Wear long sleeves. Bring your sunglasses. You will not be sorry. I encountered a certain number of human lobsters while traveling in Peru who did not follow this advice.</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Malaria and Yellow Fever - If you leave the mountains and go to the rain forest, you are entering mosquito country. Mosquitoes in these areas can carry Yellow Fever, Malaria and other bad things. So make sure your Yellow Fever vaccinations are up to date, and take antimalarials. Atovaquone-Proguanil was the drug that was prescribed for me prior to my trip. Also, when traveling in the rain forest, avoid shorts and short-sleeved shirts. There are tons of light weight pants and long-sleeved shirts made for the tropics and available on line. Google it – it’s that easy. Also, make sure that you sleep under mosquito netting in the rain forest. My experience has been that mosquito netting is pretty much automatically provided. I also suggest that you slather on the Deet and treat your clothing with Permethrin. </li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Altitude sickness - It probably won’t kill you, but it may make you wish you were dead. This is not to say that you’ll get altitude sickness, but the altitude WILL affect EVERYBODY. When you arrive in Cusco or Puno, you will find you will be out of breath just walking around town – a few stairs or a little hill, and you’re winded. We thought spending a partial day in Cusco and a day in the Sacred Valley would provide ample time for us to acclimate to the altitude prior to our Inca Trail hike. We were wrong. I was gasping for breath most of the time I was on the trail. This is a unique experience, so why not spend 3-4 days acclimating prior to doing the trail and actually enjoy the walk instead of panting all the time like I did? Get a prescription for Acetazolamide before you travel. It does help with altitude issues. Also the locals swear by coca tea and it did seem to help me. (Unrefined coca products, such as coca tea, leaves, and candy are legal and readily available in Peru. Just don’t take them out of the country if you don’t know their legal status in the country you are traveling to.) But in the end, your best bet is to spend the time to get acclimated. </li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Food and water borne illnesses - Drink bottled water. Avoid uncooked vegetables. When I was a lot younger than I am now, I did not follow these rules because I wanted to fully experience the country I was travelling in. Consequently, I fully experienced their gastrointestinal diseases as well. As an older, more cautious traveler I do watch what I eat and drink because I eventually learned that it sucks to be sick while you’re travelling. As a precaution I suggest that you get a prescription for Ciprofloxicin to bring along in case you get a food-borne illness. Keep in mind that Cipro will only help if you have a bacterial illness. Antibiotics will do nothing for norovirus or any viral illnesses for that matter. </li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Other stuff - The list of health issues you could encounter is endless. The list includes Dengue Fever – another mosquito borne disease, hepatitis, and other nasties that you are so remotely unlikely to come in contact with that I am not going to worry you by listing them here. For some of this other stuff, I suggest you take a look at the CDC’s web page for <a href="http://wwwnc.cdc.gov/travel/destinations/traveler/none/peru">Health Information for Travelers to Peru</a> . Also, it is important to make an appointment with your local travel clinic before doing this trip to get your <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Carte_Jaune">Yellow Card (International Certificate of Vaccination or Prophylaxis)</a>. And finally, don’t let this list of health precautions deter you from taking this trip. I caught a cold while traveling in Peru. That’s it. Most people leave Peru every bit as healthy as when they arrived – and perhaps a lot happier. </li>
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<b>3 - Let your credit card companies know that you’re traveling internationally:</b></div>
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When those first Peru charges show up you don’t want the good folks at your credit card company freaking out and cutting off service.</div>
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<b>4 - Think about your phone:</b></div>
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Phone technology is complicated and changing even as I write this, so read this and then contact your phone company. There are several phone technologies in use in the US. The system is set up so you can seamlessly contact your friends regardless of what sort of phone they’ve got. But, don’t assume that your phone will work in Peru without looking into it. About half the phones in the US use CDMA technology – which means there is no SIM card to ID the handset (with CDMA, the handset ID is embedded rather than in a separate SIM card.) Thus, if your phone is like this, you can't change out a SIM card to use it in Peru or any other country. Most of the rest of world plus about half of the services in the US use GSM – which do allow swapping out SIM cards – get the right SIM card in your phone and you are good to go regardless of where you are traveling.</div>
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But it is even more complicated than that: Almost <i>all </i>new phones in the US, regardless of service, do have SIM card slots – but they are for a new system called LTE. While there are some LTE systems in Peru, it is new (I’m writing this in 2015) and not widespread.</div>
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The good news is that there’s a company called <a href="http://www.intouchglobal.com/">InTouch Global</a> (phone: 800/872-7626) that renders all of my advice about phones moot, since they will advise you regarding if your phone will work in Peru or wherever you are traveling. If they determine that your phone won’t work, they’ll rent you a phone and ship it to your door prior to your trip.</div>
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If you do carry your phone and you can’t use it as a phone, bear in mind that it will still connect with Wi-Fi wherever you find a Wi-Fi hotspot. And also bear in mind that there are phone aps that work via the internet – such as Skype and Facetime - that will work just fine without a standard phone connection.</div>
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Also worth mentioning: You may have run across information that you can rent a phone at kiosk in the Cusco and Lima airports. These kiosks did not exist when we made our trip and when I checked with Information at the airport in Cusco, they told me that this company was no longer in business.</div>
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<b>5 - Think about your electrical needs:</b></div>
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Are you bringing along any electrical devices that will need to be plugged in or recharged? If so, keep in mind that the Peruvian electrical grid runs at 220 v. All of the electrical plugs I encountered while I was traveling there accepted both the flat, American style plugs, and round European style plugs (the Peruvian plugs have flat slots with round holes in the middle). If you are traveling from the US, you should carry a round to flat converter in case you run into a situation where the outlets only accept the European style plugs. But bear in mind, these plug converters DO NOT STEP DOWN THE VOLTAGE! Somehow my daughter missed this point and brought her electric toothbrush which she then carried around as useless baggage for the entire trip. Fortunately for her, she was able to purchase one of the old fashioned, human powered toothbrushes which were available everywhere. If you are traveling with phones or laptops that plug into a charger, chances are good that the charger will accept a variety of voltages and can be plugged into the 220 v outlets with absolutely no problem. This information should be printed right on the charger. For example, my camera charger says “Accepts 100 – 240 v.”</div>
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<b> 6 - Make a packing list: </b></div>
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Here’s mine -</div>
<ul>
<li style="text-align: justify;"> Yellow card (vaccination form) </li>
<li style="text-align: justify;"> Passport </li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Camera + equipment </li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Phone </li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Electrical plug converter </li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Some ziplock bags to keep things dry in the rain forest </li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Clothing – If you are going to be both in the mountains and rain forest, you don’t need two complete sets of clothing. Think layers! When you are in the mountains, put a sweater and/or a jacket over that lightweight tropical shirt. And you don’t even need to pack a sweater since everywhere you go everybody will be trying to sell you a wool sweater. And everybody will say that their sweaters are alpaca wool. And some of them really are! </li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Shoes – You’ll need hiking boots, or at least some heavy duty walking shoes if you’re doing the Inca Trail. And you should think about waterproof shoes if you’re going into the rain forest. Remember that you can combine both the heavy-duty and waterproof features in one pair of shoes. Then toss in a pair of flip flops and you’re good to go. Who wants to fill up their luggage with extraneous pairs of shoes?! </li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Rain jacket or poncho – a must if traveling in the rain forest! </li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Toiletries and all those meds I talked about in the health section</li>
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Randyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14428531478283627693noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3281612281509186026.post-79244131639787498292013-02-18T18:52:00.001-06:002016-02-16T21:28:53.657-06:00Antipodes <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
The geographical term antipode means two points on Earth that are connected by a line that goes through the center of the Earth. Thus, if you would take a gigantic pin and stick it into the Earth and through the center, where it comes out on the other side is the antipode to where it went in. As children we were all told that if we dug a hole deep enough we would come up in China. That, it turns out, is just another fable children are told. A hole from any point on the continental United States would come up in the Indian Ocean. The only place in the U.S. that has an antipode on dry land is Hawaii. If you would dig that hole on the Big Island, you would come up in the Okavango Delta of Botswana.
And since I was in the Okavango in 2009, it would serve my quest of traveling to all ends of the Earth if I were to go to Hawaii, thus we are booking the trip tomorrow. Hawaii, here we come! Stay tuned!</div>
Randyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14428531478283627693noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3281612281509186026.post-60639624565435469952011-06-20T17:12:00.000-05:002016-02-16T21:29:20.825-06:00Traveling Home & Onward <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
The Easter Sunday plan is to take the train back to Linz with Madeline, spend a little time there, and then travel on to Munich where we have hotel reservations. The first problem we encounter is that the ticket machine at the Westbahnhof won’t take our credit cards for reasons unknown to us. We eventually use most of the cash we have on hand to buy train tickets. I’m a little nervous to be essentially cashless on Easter Sunday, when the banks and practically everything else are closed.<br />
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We have a pleasant Sunday train ride back to Linz, then use our last few Euros to buy S-bahn tickets to get to Madeline’s apartment. On the way through the Hauptplatz we note that there are a couple of café’s open, so after Madeline gets unpacked and starts a load of laundry, we go back there for lunch. With anticipation, we ask the waitress if the café will take credit cards, since our cash is now completely depleted. It does not. So we spend the next 45 minutes trekking around the Hauptplatz to locate cash machines. We find a couple. Both are out of order—empty, I would assume. The “no banks or services on Sundays” deal is beginning to seem like a really bad idea to me. Finally, Madeline uses her bank card to enter the lobby of a bank. Within that lobby, secure from the demanding cash cards of the unwashed masses, Kathy is able to get cash successfully from that ATM. Whew! I have no idea how the average tourist, without a daughter living in Linz, is supposed to function on Sundays. <br />
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Cash in hand, we go back to the café and have burgers. With mayo, lettuce, tomato, and corn(?). Actually, it is not too bad! I finish with a gelato, and then we all take a little walk along the Danube. It is a beautiful sunny day. Spring has definitely arrived in Austria. There are lots of people out walking, sunbathing, and playing with their dogs and kids. Then we go back to Madeline’s apartment collect our bags, and head back, for the last time to the train station, where we say goodbye to Madeline and board our train to Munich.<br />
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The trip back to Munich is about two and a half hours with a short stop in Salzburg. Our hotel in Munich is not far from the Hauptbahnhof. Not the Elephant this time, but a different one: <a href="http://www.m-privathotels.de/seite-nicht-gefunden/">The Hotel Metropol</a>. Kathy and I both like the hotel. It is roomier than the Elephant, and, unlike the Elephant, we actually have a few more pieces of furniture other than beds. It is a small, family-run hotel, it is quiet, clean, not overpriced, near the Hauptbahnhof, and the staff is friendly, so has all the things you would like to find in a hotel. <br />
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Kathy wants to skip dinner. All the eating we’ve been doing is catching up with her. I’m never in favor of skipping meals, but since I don’t want to go to a restaurant by myself, and since many restaurants are closed, I finally just go to the Hauptbahnhof, buy a sandwich and bring it back to the hotel room to eat. We’re both ready to just take it easy and chill in our room, so we flip on the TV and end up watching Wallace and Grommit in German. It is great! Grommit, of course, doesn’t talk, and Wallace seems very authentic speaking German. Maybe he’s always been German and nobody knew!<br />
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Monday morning, we have a very good breakfast at the Metropol and then follow the expected routine—walk to the Hauptbahnhof, take the S-bahn to the airport, and catch our flight back home. Then unpack, and then go back to work. And finally, I go to the doctor and get the stent removed. I feel about a thousand times better almost immediately.<br />
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Once I’m back at work, I announce that I’m going to retire in November. The time has come in my life for the cane, the hearing aid, and the overweight miniature dog named “Mister Cuddles.” Maybe I’m kidding about the dog. Anyway, while I’ll most likely pick up a part time job, I’m looking forward to some free time, and hopefully will use it for more travel. I’ll keep you posted.</div>
Randyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14428531478283627693noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3281612281509186026.post-33760065970260395542011-04-22T21:11:00.000-05:002017-02-08T22:17:33.400-06:00Vienna: Hotel Hell (But the Habsburgs Were Swell)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Click <a href="http://www.flickr.com//photos/boabab/sets/72157626761959737/show/">HERE</a> for a Vienna slide show.<br />
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Vienna, like most European cities, was at one time a walled city. It was necessary to have walls to protect the city from invading Ottomans (the Turks, not the furniture), or any other marauding armies that happened along. But by the middle of the 19th century, the nature of war had changed and Austrian Emperor Franz Josef decided to demolish the city walls. (War had not ended, of course, it had just changed to the point that the walls were no longer protective. This was about a century before the aerial bombardment of Vienna by the Allies in WWII.) In place of the walls, he built the Ringstrasse, the wide boulevard that encircles old Vienna. Old Vienna is now referred to as “The 1st District”, and is the historic heart of the city, as well as the most expensive real estate. The villages and towns that encircled Vienna outside of its walls were incorporated into Vienna at the time the Ringstrasse was built and were given district numbers. I have been told that the lower the number, the more prestigious (and expensive) the district. While most the tourist sites are in the 1st District, I had decided that there was no reason to stay there, since hotels there are more expensive, and since public transportation is good throughout Vienna. <br />
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Thus, on this day, around six o’clock our train pulls into the Westbahnhof in Mariahilf, the 6th District. We get off the train and find our way to our hotel, the <a href="http://www.ibishotel.com/gb/hotel-0796-ibis-wien-mariahilf/location.shtml">Ibis Wien Mariahilf</a>, that we soon find to be an overpriced, 340 room, bland, uninspired tourist barn. I had reserved two adjoining rooms, each with a double and a single bed. What we find upon check-in is two rooms with double beds. After some back and forth with the desk, I am able to acquire a room with two beds for Mike and Madeline. By making the switch though, we no longer have adjoining rooms, and are not even on the same floor. <br />
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The weather has turned quite warm and we find that our hotel rooms are even warmer. Every other hotel that we’ve stayed at in Austria and Germany has had windows that opened. Not this one. The windows are locked and there are small signs explaining that opening the windows is not necessary since the hotel is air-conditioned. The air-conditioning does not seem to work. I call the desk about the stuffy, hot room and nonfunctioning air-conditioner. The young woman I speak with tells me that she will make sure that our problem is dealt with within ten minutes (signs in the elevator proclaim that guests problems will be addressed by the hotel staff within ten minutes). She says that she doesn’t know how to explain it in English, but the solution, nevertheless, is less than ten minutes away. In maybe nine minutes there is a knock at our door. When I open the door, a young woman is standing there, perhaps the same young woman I had spoken to on the phone. She is holding an oscillating fan. She hands it to me and says that this will solve the problem of my stuffy room. By the time I recover from my shock and disbelief, she’s gone, and I’m holding an oscillating fan. The weather cools down outside, but the room never cools. I use the fan. The air conditioning never works. By the second night, Mike and Madeline also have an oscillating fan.<br />
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Kathy is suffering from a cold that had been developing for the last several days, so she decides spend some quality time in our room with the oscillating fan, while Mike, Madeline, and I go out for dinner. Madeline mentions pizza, but we wind up at a nearby restaurant serving good beer and standard Austrian fare. It is late by the time we get back to the hotel, so we call it a night. <br />
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The next morning we have breakfast in the hotel’s charmless subterranean breakfast facility. The food is OK, but there are too many people crammed into the available space. <br />
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This is Mike’s last day in Austria, so we decide that he should choose our activities for the day. Mike decides that we will start at Schoennbrun, the opulent summer palace of the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/House_of_Habsburg">Habsburgs</a>, the family that ruled Austria for over six centuries, and also ruled over Spain, and numerous other countries. The Habsburgs collected countries (through conquest, marriage, midnight poker games, etc.) like other people collect stamps, Star Trek memorabilia, or rubber ducks. I’ve been told that my great-grandmother Svec was upset to her dying day that her immigration papers to the U.S. listed her nationality as Austrian. She was Bohemian. The Austrians were the conquerors. <br />
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We reach <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sch%C3%B6nbrunn_Palace">Schoennbrun</a> after a short ride on the U-bahn. I am immediately impressed with the sheer scale of the place. It is the sort of place where an emperor would live. The grounds cover 145 sculpted and manicured acres. The massive main palace has 300 rooms. If you include the rooms in the ancillary buildings, there are 1441 rooms in the entire complex. And this was the just the summer home.<br />
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This is the most visited tourist site in Austria, which is obvious when we arrive at ten o’clock by the long lines of people waiting to get in the palace. My guide books suggests that while most people start their exploration of Schoennbrun with the main palace, an alternative is to first climb the hill to the Gloriette, a small columned building on a hilltop, to get a bird’s-eye view of the grounds. Given the long lines to the palace, we choose that option. The hike to the Gloriette is not a short one. The day is already hot so we follow a path up the hill that keeps us in the shade of a line of trees. We pause at the elaborate Neptune Fountain at the base of the hill, and then make the climb to the Gloriette. Both Neptune’s Fountain and the Gloriette were added as part of the redesign that occurred in the 1770’s under the empress Maria Theresa. She was so fond of the Gloriette that when her corpulence and age prevented her from walking to the top of the hill, she would have litter bearers carry her to the top. Since we have to walk up on our own power, it is nice to find a pleasant outdoor café on the back side of the Gloriette when we get to the top. I have a wonderful coffee and ice cream treat. The others try to make me feel guilty by ordering water. But I do not feel guilty at all and have a lot more fun than they do. I can imagine Maria Theresa sitting in the Gloriette consuming large amounts of coffee and ice cream. Yay for being old and fat and enjoying life!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD0LkoEIvMdoQTLJZLmynljVRS0RF5SH-ndR1UbDmh5HBLkBZ6AMFj6X13ONq_Se2VtN0Plco6EYtAK3lnmVD0-wZKBraYmH57FHW-VrYLrmCPiBqPKdAMQvqyX-SKHOKYJtgn4GDb25g/s1600/Vienna+-+Schonbrunn+Gloriette+3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD0LkoEIvMdoQTLJZLmynljVRS0RF5SH-ndR1UbDmh5HBLkBZ6AMFj6X13ONq_Se2VtN0Plco6EYtAK3lnmVD0-wZKBraYmH57FHW-VrYLrmCPiBqPKdAMQvqyX-SKHOKYJtgn4GDb25g/s640/Vienna+-+Schonbrunn+Gloriette+3.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small; text-align: left;"><b>Gloriette and Neptune Fountain</b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYsAhsluVKnIo4-59KT8v8JsHf0LRjj52sXMSWpj3htcHnGl9N_zV9nBzuHFyUAYlkABYsT7P31FAu1V2dl6mdy4ngo0tx7Wx29aL6huh2nvVax3k2UY11iPxboKcE5GTXfPRooD3ZhDQ/s1600/vienna+-+schonbrunn+from+gloriette+6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="553" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYsAhsluVKnIo4-59KT8v8JsHf0LRjj52sXMSWpj3htcHnGl9N_zV9nBzuHFyUAYlkABYsT7P31FAu1V2dl6mdy4ngo0tx7Wx29aL6huh2nvVax3k2UY11iPxboKcE5GTXfPRooD3ZhDQ/s640/vienna+-+schonbrunn+from+gloriette+6.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small; text-align: left;"><b>Schoenbrunn Palace from Gloriette</b></span></td></tr>
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After spending a few minutes viewing the palace grounds from the high point of the Gloriette we start back down the hill. On the way down, we notice signs for the Tiegarten (Zoo), also located on the palace grounds. This was originally the royal zoo and has since become the Vienna public zoo. Prominently displayed on the zoo signs is a picture of an almost anthropomorphically smiling cute little baby panda. Madeline is completely entranced and it becomes obvious to her that visiting the Tiegarten and seeing the baby panda could be the most important thing that we do while in Vienna, if not in our lives.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMUTjpRT11-mEbnPkRqrDrD_75kM38qgIg3fM3K41sXZI-n1fwQZT3kQq3Om94WZdJC5ahwUGxGeX4wEVYPWYX2QJiUUPUKyWOrD0U2U9QMmi63gvr4BuqFGyO7j2aFaFYqMpaENihI-k/s1600/fu+hu.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="425" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMUTjpRT11-mEbnPkRqrDrD_75kM38qgIg3fM3K41sXZI-n1fwQZT3kQq3Om94WZdJC5ahwUGxGeX4wEVYPWYX2QJiUUPUKyWOrD0U2U9QMmi63gvr4BuqFGyO7j2aFaFYqMpaENihI-k/s640/fu+hu.bmp" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small; text-align: left;"><b>Anthropomorphically Smiling Baby Panda - As Seen On Zoo Sign</b></span></td></tr>
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So we detour to the zoo entrance where we discover that the Tiegarten is not free. It will cost nine Euros each to get into the zoo. After some discussion, we decided that anthropomorphically smiling cute baby pandas, while extremely important, are not 36 Euros worth of importance. We turn back once more toward the palace. On the walk to the palace, we see a cute little tufted-eared Austrian squirrel scampering along the path—absolutely free of charge!<br />
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Throngs of people surround the ticket offices for the palace, and once we make it to the front of the line, we find out that after buying tickets we will still have to wait another hour and a half to get into the palace. They only allow a certain number of people in at a given time and it is a busy day. Mike decides that waiting that long is a complete waste of time; so instead, we take the U-bahn to Stephansplatz in the 1st District.<br />
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As we come up out of the subway in Stephansplatz, the first thing we see is the impressive spire of the magnificent St. Stephan’s cathedral. But wait. On second glance it doesn’t look quite right. And on third glance, we see that it is undergoing some reconstruction work and is wrapped completely in fabric to hide the scaffolding, and on the fabric is a detailed, to scale, picture of the cathedral spire that it covers. Thus, tourists like us who will probably only be here once can at least get an idea of what the structure looks like in spite of the reconstruction. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQmdAeXXtOx_JCeQH50mmNu6n6sOpim4H0CvF4lr6RELYJGOjAzPPvHI_jFGipPvLKPbx3Y_a_3roZnPRWXrMJY6I-Sitgwp-kQuB99eZ91uiqXayVUjstKNL-wOXK_ij1FQwOrERxfSE/s1600/Vienna+-+Stephansdom+4.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQmdAeXXtOx_JCeQH50mmNu6n6sOpim4H0CvF4lr6RELYJGOjAzPPvHI_jFGipPvLKPbx3Y_a_3roZnPRWXrMJY6I-Sitgwp-kQuB99eZ91uiqXayVUjstKNL-wOXK_ij1FQwOrERxfSE/s640/Vienna+-+Stephansdom+4.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small; text-align: left;"><b>Stephansdom Spire Partially Covered with Renovation Facade</b></span></td></tr>
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It is lunchtime, so we find a little sidewalk café in the shade just off the square. I have a delicious salad and a Budvar.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small; text-align: left;"><b>-Lunch-</b></span></td></tr>
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After lunch, we wind our way through some little side streets to the Hofburg, the Habsburg winter palace. Along the way, we stop at an antique book/print shop and Mike becomes quite engrossed in looking at prints. He finally settles on a couple of nice small floral prints to add to the small art collection he seems to be acquiring on this trip, and then we wander on until we finally run into the huge Hofburg complex—far from the entrance. We are actually a little unsure where the entrance is. In our search to find it, we stumble across the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lipizzan">Lipizzaner</a> stables and get to see couple of the world famous white horses hanging out and chewing on hay.<br />
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We finally work our way into the palace, which is so huge and so filled with things to see that in sheer confusion and panic we wind up in the kitchenware and china museum. Case after case of teacups, salt wells, and stew pots. Proof once again that the Habsburgs had lots of stuff. I can’t imagine why anyone would want or need 4700 colanders. And I can verify that once you’ve seen 47000 colanders, you’ve seen them all. And once you’ve seen all 470000 of them, you become really bored and tired. <br />
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So to escape the colanders, we go up one flight of stairs and find ourselves in the royal family’s living quarters and a museum dedicated to the Empress Elisabeth, wife of Emperor Franz Joseph. The change in the museum presentation technique on the upper floor is a good thing. Tell me what someone thought and felt and you are giving me a better sense of history than you will by showing me their colanders. Elisabeth of Bavaria was affectionately known as <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Elisabeth_of_Bavaria">Sisi</a> to her family, and then to history. Sisi was much loved by her Austrian subjects, both when she ruled and yet today. She was a beautiful and tragic figure in Austrian history—so much so that several movies have been made about her. She wed Franz Josef in an arranged marriage at the age of 15, but from the very beginning, she abhorred the public world in which she lived, and rebelled fruitlessly against the Habsburg court protocol. She witnessed the death of her two-year-old daughter, and later had to face the demise of her son, the crown prince, from depression and suicide at age 30. From the day of his death, she always dressed in black until her own murder at age sixty at the hands of a deranged anarchist. After learning of his wife's death, the Emperor reportedly whispered to himself, "She will never know how much I loved her." <br />
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After we leave the palace, we buy some ice cream and sit on steps next to an archeological dig directly in front of the palace entrance and eat it. Then, on the way back to our U-bahn stop in Stephansplatz, we run across a great street entertainer doing a juggling show. The show goes on for a long time and probably contains more amusing banter than actual juggling, but we are sufficiently amused to leave a big tip. We are definitely more entertained and amused by the street juggler that we’d been by the colanders. <br />
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When dinnertime rolls around Madeline is once again excited by the prospect of pizza. I check on line for pizza recommendation for the area we’re staying in, but don’t come up with any outstanding suggestions. We'd noticed an Italian ristorante near the hotel, but we decide that we should ask ask someone at the hotel for a recommendation rather than just blindly going there. The young man at the desk suggests the same ristorante we had noticed. But, when Madeline asks if its good, rather than give a direct answer, he gives her the name of another place to eat—only a block from the hotel. Gasthaus Franceschi. So that’s where we go. It is a small, but welcoming looking place. As we go through the door, however we’re a little unsettled by the man standing in the entryway talking nonsense to us. No, wait—he’s not talking to us, he seems to be talking to himself. Well, actually maybe part of the time he’s talking to us. Turns out that this is Gary Franceschi, an American, who along his wife Inge, runs this establishment. They serve Austrian fare. The only thing Italian in the entire place is Gary’s ancestry. Gary seems a little unhinged, but probably (or hopefully) is harmless, and seems to spend most his time rambling around talking to the guests and maybe also talking to the voices in his head. He is quite amused with himself. This is obvious from the way he frequently laughs at things that he says to himself. He laughs like Curly from The Three Stooges, “Nyuk, nyuck, nyuck, nyuck!”<br />
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Madeline is not happy about the absence of pizza from the menu, but as it turns out, the food is excellent. Kathy has an outstanding salad and schnitzel while Mike and I both have bratwurst and kraut. All delicious, but, as Madeline keeps pointing out, none of it is pizza. Another strike against the Ibis, for steering us wrong.<br />
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Mike has to get up very early Saturday morning to catch his flight. He has an unbelievably tedious flight back to the States. First, he has to fly from Vienna to Dusseldorf, do a layover, then fly from Dusseldorf to Munich, and do another layover before connecting with a Munich to Chicago flight. After all of that, he has to catch a bus from Chicago back to Madison. I get up at 4:00 to see him off, but he’s caught an early cab, so is gone already by the time I get to the lobby. <br />
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This is our last full day in Austria. Madeline, Kathy, and I decide to try the Schoennbrun palace one more time, only early this time, to avoid the crowds. We get there as they are opening, and our strategy works. We get right in. Even so, before we’ve finished our walk-through, the number of people in the palace has grown exponentially. By the time we leave the palace we have lots of tour groups both in front and behind us—really restricting our ability to move around. Nevertheless, the palace is well worth our time and effort to see it. Around 40 rooms are open to the public, and each room has <a href="http://www.schoenbrunn.at/en/things-to-know.html">its own story and history</a>, from the Emperor Franz Josef’s study, which he furnished in a very Spartan style compared with the rest of the palace, and where he began work each day at 5 AM, to Hall of Mirrors, where in 1762 a six-year-old Mozart performed for Empress Maria Theresa and other assembled royals including the seven-year-old Marie Antoinette. <br />
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Finally, we leave the palace and once more heed the call of the anthropomorphically smiling baby panda. We unhesitatingly lay down our 27 Euros and enter the zoo. The zoo is pretty cool. It combines some of the old baroque zoo buildings with many more modern structures. Unfortunately, the animals are pretty much sleeping. We find the pandas. They’re asleep, too. And we don’t see any babies, anthropomorphically smiling or otherwise.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4BY2Y2OqR3-I1xmXjj0Kdq-_Rr-uTzefEVWWDzfmyGcrNwr2BL3WRfM7clnL_ibm-kNLpG8fda4bbzrNeSSSrYGNxzqYQt5mBetW1J5a6LknQXxBTyqIzvEw5OKq3H-EfMKoK4d7IOls/s1600/Vienna+-+Schonbrunn+zoo+panda.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="428" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4BY2Y2OqR3-I1xmXjj0Kdq-_Rr-uTzefEVWWDzfmyGcrNwr2BL3WRfM7clnL_ibm-kNLpG8fda4bbzrNeSSSrYGNxzqYQt5mBetW1J5a6LknQXxBTyqIzvEw5OKq3H-EfMKoK4d7IOls/s640/Vienna+-+Schonbrunn+zoo+panda.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small; text-align: left;"><b>Pandas As We Found Them</b></span></td></tr>
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It turns out that the baby panda in the picture is Fu Hu, was born in December, is definitely at the zoo, and <a href="http://www.pandasliveon.com/giantpandas/2011/01/fu-hu-is-breaking-new-ground-outside-of-the-den.html">as website pictures show</a>, is cuter than cute. I suppose Fu Hu was napping, just like all the other animals. We leave the animals to their slumbers and take the U-bahn back to the hotel for lunch and a nap. A nap seems like a good idea after seeing all the animals doing it. Madeline is determined to have pizza, so this time we go directly to Italian ristorante on the way to the hotel. It is closed. So we eat at the hotel. The food is OK. It is not pizza. Madeline is now deep in pizza withdrawal. After our lunch/naps, we take the S-bahn back to Stephansplatz and hike over to the MuseumsQuartier, a complex of museums housed in an amazing 250-year-old Baroque complex that was originally the Imperial Court Stables. We spend our time in the Leopold Museum looking at paintings by the likes of <a href="https://www.artsy.net/artist/egon-schiele">Egon Schiele</a>, <a href="https://www.artsy.net/artist/gustav-klimt">Gutstav Klimt</a>, and <a href="https://www.artsy.net/artist/edvard-munch">Edvard Munch</a>. I find it hard to imagine that all this fine art is hanging where almost a thousand Habsburg horses used to stomp and neigh.<br />
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We peruse the museum until it closes, and take the S-bahn back to the hotel, arriving around dinnertime. As we pass the little ristorante, we find that it is open! It turns out to be a cozy little place—just a few tables, but it is great! They’re having Asparagus Week, so we all get a bowl of cream of asparagus soup, then we all get pizza and some appropriate beverages. The food is good, the service is friendly, but I do not remember the name of the place. A later Google search is fruitless. Regardless, it is a memorable meal, and it is our last dinner in Austria.<br />
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The next morning, Easter Sunday, we have breakfast, check out of the Ibis, walk down to the Westbahnhof, and board the train for our trip home.</div>
Randyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14428531478283627693noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3281612281509186026.post-62426095704118256502011-04-20T19:21:00.000-05:002016-02-29T20:58:07.666-06:00Linz: Several Snafus, Seven Sorrows, and a Sumptuous Supper<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Click <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/boabab/sets/72157626703711559/show/">HERE</a> for a Linz slideshow<br />
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On Wednesday, I finally get clean clothes! My clean clothes situation was already getting a little dicey in Salzburg on the 17th. I had asked at the Europa desk about getting laundry done and was told that guest laundry was not handled on Sundays, and definitely not on Palm Sunday, because, after all, the laundry people deserved a day off, too. Sundays are considered sacrosanct in Austria—the country practically shuts down. This is an abrupt conceptual shift from service-oriented American business practices that I’m used to, but it is a reasonable approach assuming that one is used to it and can plan for it. If one is travelling, though, it can create problems—such as the need to wash one’s socks and one’s underwear in one’s hotel bathroom sink.</div>
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On Monday when we checked into the Wolfinger, I again asked about laundry. It was, I was told, not a service that the hotel normally provided. However, there was a nearby laundry where I could take my clothes. On Tuesday morning after breakfast, I asked the desk clerk where the laundry was located. Then Kathy asked if it was a laundry or laundromat. The meaning of her question was probably lost in translation. So she tried again. “Do we have to do the laundry or will it be done for us?” This question, I suspect, was also misinterpreted. The desk clerk sighed, “We will arrange to have one of our maids take your laundry to be done. Just bring it to the desk.” So we left it at that. She apparently thought the spoiled American tourists were asking her if they really had to trouble themselves with taking the clothes to be laundered. In fact, my original plan was not be troubled with dealing with laundry—so maybe I am a spoiled American tourist.</div>
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So Wednesday morning, garbed in freshly laundered clothes, we meet in the Hauptplatz with a guy named Johan who guides us on a walking tour of central Linz. Madeline had arranged the tour with Johan after participating in a tour he guided for the Austro-American Society. We find Johan to be personable, knowledgeable, and interesting. He shows us the Altes Rathaus, built in 1638, and spends some time in the Hauptplatz, and talks about how Hitler would draw crowds when speaking from a balcony overlooking the square. We see the Kepler Haus, where Kepler lived in the early 1600’s, and tour the Neuer Dom, the massive neo-Gothic cathedral built in the 1800’s. And we stop at a bakery to sample the locally famous Linzertorte and drink some coffee. During this stop, Johan sits with us and we have a pleasant chat. We find out that he has lived in Korea and the U.S., has a background in software, but is currently trying to establish a business as a tour guide.</div>
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<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Linzer_torte">Linzertorte</a> is OK—the guidebooks all say that no trip to Linz would be complete without sampling this treat, so I can say that my trip was complete. One Linzertorte claim to fame is that it is the oldest recipe in the world. A recipe in the Admont Abbey in Austria for Linzertorte dates to 1653. It is a crumbly, short pastry containing lots of ground hazel nuts and a little flour, some unsalted butter and egg yolks, and a little cinnamon for flavor. It’s layered with jelly or jam and served with big dollops of whipped cream. If I were into desserts, or if it were made of chocolate, I would have liked it a lot. Many people, I’m sure, would get really excited about this pastry.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7ciNz6x5P5iRdm8sB_wne7omRwfafZmjUZsjrRpmrV1n4z-3t9XaAKprHGGKeEi5UsSvoTkvwjl8CGerMbXljtCsLIxgtZ8h-DJukdXk1MnbVFeLOStnNJGa5rU-T03s8ZOxGXd118sA/s1600/Linz+-+Kathy%252C+Me%252C+kids+Post-Linzertort+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7ciNz6x5P5iRdm8sB_wne7omRwfafZmjUZsjrRpmrV1n4z-3t9XaAKprHGGKeEi5UsSvoTkvwjl8CGerMbXljtCsLIxgtZ8h-DJukdXk1MnbVFeLOStnNJGa5rU-T03s8ZOxGXd118sA/s640/Linz+-+Kathy%252C+Me%252C+kids+Post-Linzertort+2.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small; text-align: left;"><b>Post-Linzertorte: Outside Bakery</b></span></td></tr>
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Madeline works with a teacher named Ernst who has invited us to come to his house for a meal on this day. Ernst lives in the foothills of the Alps near the little town of Amstetten, which is maybe 30 miles east of Linz. We take the train to Amstetten and Ernst meets us there and drives us over some very picturesque winding roads to his house. Ernst and his wife live in an attractive old house that they’ve beautifully remodeled and added to. We have our meal at a table by a large picture window with a panoramic view of the woods and pastures stretching out in the valley below. The meal and the conversation are both fine. Ernst and his wife talk about their travels to Canada, Australia, and Alaska, and Ernst and Madeline tell us about some of the projects they have done with his classes. They serve a wonderful array of Austrian food: Fresh salads adorned with little flowers from their lawn, beef roulade, semmel knoedel (a type of dumpling), cranberry sauce and peach chutney. For desert, they produce two huge strudels— poppyseed, and cherry vanilla. We finish with some local pear cider and schnapps. Finally, Ernst drives us, well-fed and happy, back to the train station in Amstetten and we travel by train back to Linz. Kathy and I are back at the Wolfinger by nine o’clock and promptly go to bed.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfH0yPUjCW4L5STxk-w3ZIXvodlZAf2wiCggqZz64kyXC-D4KIGjNVh6gwIc-Q4D8Z2iACAteK3FwSE3_WiLNukAC6jG5I2S7OuExc-IR3xAipgqgbiNXAE0HXIyHyTn2Q4rmfEqAqmkg/s1600/Linz+-+View+from+Ernst%2527s+Window.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfH0yPUjCW4L5STxk-w3ZIXvodlZAf2wiCggqZz64kyXC-D4KIGjNVh6gwIc-Q4D8Z2iACAteK3FwSE3_WiLNukAC6jG5I2S7OuExc-IR3xAipgqgbiNXAE0HXIyHyTn2Q4rmfEqAqmkg/s640/Linz+-+View+from+Ernst%2527s+Window.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small; text-align: left;"><b>View from Ernst's Window</b></span></td></tr>
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Thursday morning is warm and sunny and after breakfast Kathy and I take a walk through the Alstadt, and up to the Schloss, a hilltop fortress, now a museum, near the Danube, and then along the Danube itself. The walk gets a little long for me but it is a beautiful morning.</div>
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The plan for the day is to visit <a href="http://www.linz.at/english/tourism/901.asp">Poestlingberg</a>, a hilltop overlooking the Danube and much of Linz. The day is not without its snafus. Snafu #1: Madeline and Mike had originally planned to meet us at our hotel before we went on our Poestlingberg excursion, but last minute, Madeline calls me on our hotel room phone and suggests that since her apartment is on the way to Poestlingberg, that we should meet them at her train stop. I, unfortunately, misinterpret the message and we end up waiting for a long time at two different train stops before we finally connect. Snafu # 2: We make a grocery store stop to stock up on provisions for the picnic. One item is olives packed in oil, which Madeline, understandably, has to sample. Unfortunately, she doesn’t properly seal the olive container, and by the time it is discovered to be leaking, there is oil all over the other food, the bag, and Madeline’s clothes. So Madeline becomes a little testy. But in fact, the weather is beautiful, the view from the hilltop is spectacular, the food is good, and the company, in spite of some testiness, is great. So it is a good day.</div>
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To get to the top of Poestlingberg we ride steepest non-cog rail line in Europe—a grade of nearly 1:10. At the top we picnic and enjoy the view, and check out the Sieben Schmerzen Mariens Church, a huge Baroque pilgrimage church built in 1748. Sieben Schmerzen Mariens translates as “The Seven Sorrows of the Virgin Mary.” Not being a Catholic, I didn’t realize that Mary had seven sorrows, but for the record they are:</div>
1. Hearing a prophecy from Simeon the Righteous when Jesus is still an infant that alludes to his crucifixion.<br />
2. The flight into Egypt to escape King Herod’s killing of infants.<br />
3. Losing Jesus in the Temple<br />
4. Meeting Jesus on the way to Calvary.<br />
5. Jesus’ death on the cross.<br />
6. Receiving the body of Jesus in her arms.<br />
7. Placing the body of Jesus in the Tomb.<br />
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The seven sorrows idea dates back to at least the 13th century and is a great teaching tool, but I think it is kind of stretch coming up with seven, just because that number has special significance. For instance, the story of losing Jesus in the temple and finally finding him sitting with the elders and wowing them with his wisdom is kind of a cute story. Why is this a sorrow? <br />
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Following on this theme, I try to compose the Seven Sorrows of Our Pilgrimage to Poestlingberg: 1-The Great Confusion of Meeting at the Streetcar Stop. 2-The Anointing of the Grocery Bag with Oil. 3-The Long Quest for an Ideal Picnic Spot. Nope. That’s only three. To come up with seven, I would have to stretch, too. The day just wasn’t that sorrowful.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9CfKEdSurATTJdfhbCQCblvULY1nWk6ofNGN4WvUPL3qVJkhCD4HAzteeCtIaxX9ktwZ4wbLYLLNBw6Shg8quDGM8jdNANgo8HUoEmrk3HZcdI3MJhmHruCC21zfUmgeRsRVWyzjyH_A/s1600/Linz+-+Kathy+%2526+kids+view+Linz+from+Poslingberg.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="428" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9CfKEdSurATTJdfhbCQCblvULY1nWk6ofNGN4WvUPL3qVJkhCD4HAzteeCtIaxX9ktwZ4wbLYLLNBw6Shg8quDGM8jdNANgo8HUoEmrk3HZcdI3MJhmHruCC21zfUmgeRsRVWyzjyH_A/s640/Linz+-+Kathy+%2526+kids+view+Linz+from+Poslingberg.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small; text-align: left;"><b>Checking Out the View from Poestlingberg</b></span></td></tr>
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Regardless, the church is spectacular. I can add this to the growing list of spectacular churches that I’ve seen in the past week.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6-akmkaBmC5Ujb5LuZyxOuRM3ubu_eOEeV62_DSEnm8ZLiY0SVIz0Zy3R0SlOebWS2X_v5oJI3F6P0iVmXqE1SJ5D0HxP6CnHjWFw1dnpMK5gvOY-bc97CnAQ0Dvn4Fy6oYlZPYetDGI/s1600/Linz+-+Sieben+Schmerzen+Mariens+Church.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6-akmkaBmC5Ujb5LuZyxOuRM3ubu_eOEeV62_DSEnm8ZLiY0SVIz0Zy3R0SlOebWS2X_v5oJI3F6P0iVmXqE1SJ5D0HxP6CnHjWFw1dnpMK5gvOY-bc97CnAQ0Dvn4Fy6oYlZPYetDGI/s640/Linz+-+Sieben+Schmerzen+Mariens+Church.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small; text-align: left;"><b>Sieben Schmerzen Mariens Church</b></span></td></tr>
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Also on top of Poestlingberg is the Marchengrotte Railroad, a 100-year old miniature railroad that runs underground through “a colorful world of dwarfs and other displays.” Is this whimsical or hokey? I am not able to find out since it is closed for the day.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4BKQPCEgsxD1WZ-26tyCJoqe5OJNsVLrMqg4Cig5Ixt3MQ-lsWf5g4EKYGLACMVZI9-Njnb4lCYtIjy4hrxJG-eD79Zr-KVpUXbm60rFJcSk7H6YItI45HETueMZ1najULxQtsqukdF4/s1600/Linz+-+Postlingberg+-+Scary+Clown.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><b><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4BKQPCEgsxD1WZ-26tyCJoqe5OJNsVLrMqg4Cig5Ixt3MQ-lsWf5g4EKYGLACMVZI9-Njnb4lCYtIjy4hrxJG-eD79Zr-KVpUXbm60rFJcSk7H6YItI45HETueMZ1najULxQtsqukdF4/s640/Linz+-+Postlingberg+-+Scary+Clown.JPG" width="428" /></b></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small; text-align: left;"><b>Scary Clown Figure Which Probably Has Something to do with the Marchengrotte Railroad</b></span></td></tr>
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We finish our Poestlingberg excursion by midafternoon, collect our luggage and board the train for Vienna.</div>
Randyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14428531478283627693noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3281612281509186026.post-69571366303896798092011-04-19T12:15:00.000-05:002016-06-26T10:13:44.746-05:00Linz: Dead Saints, Doeners, and Dangerous Grape Leaves<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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The trip to Linz seems short. We start a game of Euchre and don’t even have time to finish before we arrive. At the train station, we grab our luggage and hop on the S-bahn. Everything is painless and uncomplicated here since we’re on Madeline’s home turf—all we have to do is follow her lead. The plan for Linz is for Mike to sleep on Madeline’s couch at her apartment. Kathy and I have a hotel room. At the Hauptplatz, Kathy and I get off to find our hotel while Mike and Madeline continue on to Madeline’s apartment. It is a short walk across the square to the <a href="http://www.hotelwolfinger.at/">Hotel Wolfinger</a>. We find that the hotel entrance and reception area are on the second floor and, in light of our luggage/stent situation, we search vainly for an elevator. There is no elevator. The building predates elevators by several centuries. So we haul our luggage up the stairs to the small reception area, complete the check-in formalities, then cross a second-story walking bridge over a courtyard to our room. The room and its furnishings are—simply old—lots of antiques, but also some late garage sale items. But the plumbing is modern—a perfect blend of quaintness and functionality. The Hotel Wolfinger was originally a 16th century nunnery. Sleeping in a structure that was built just as the Middle Ages were waning and was formerly inhabited by nuns is a unique and new experience for me. </div>
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<b>Ensconced in Wolfinger Room</b></h3>
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The hotel faces the Hauptplatz, the largest public square in Austria. The most visually significant object in the square is the Dreifaltigkeitssäule, or The Pillar to the Holy Trinity, a 65-foot white marble column. The column was erected in 1723 in thanksgiving for deliverance from the Turks, the fire of 1712, and the plague of 1713. A collection of sidewalk cafes fills the east side of the square, and that’s where we go next. Mike joins us, since Madeline has a phone interview for a potential job. The weather is still a little cool, but pleasant, and we enjoy our coffee, conversation, and people watching.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoiijG33z8fgB3TuwhzC_pXpdnKOovnlf8I__qd8Ey_3hu8DiQaqwUXOaBjTO_d87TDt4KlEdMQ3oHlpSgPQciocZQhhYkICkJeEv26c4ZeZqj57IULcQ4kSWqpJDjxg4Vq-7-n8aYqhE/s1600/Linz+-+Dreifaltigkeitss%25C3%25A4ule+%2528or+Holy+Trinity+Column.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoiijG33z8fgB3TuwhzC_pXpdnKOovnlf8I__qd8Ey_3hu8DiQaqwUXOaBjTO_d87TDt4KlEdMQ3oHlpSgPQciocZQhhYkICkJeEv26c4ZeZqj57IULcQ4kSWqpJDjxg4Vq-7-n8aYqhE/s640/Linz+-+Dreifaltigkeitss%25C3%25A4ule+%2528or+Holy+Trinity+Column.JPG" width="428" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small; text-align: left;"><b>Dreifaltigkeitssäule</b></span></td></tr>
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Later, Madeline joins us for dinner at a Greek restaurant, “El Greco,” on the Hauptplatz near the hotel. We feel a little disjointed being Americans ordering Greek food in Austria. The restaurant has menus in English if you ask, but maybe someone unfamiliar with Greek food and not very adept with English wrote them. Or maybe they were translated from German to English with Google Translate. Baklava is listed in the English menu as “nut strudel”, strangely accurate, but also sort of amusing. “Grape leaves” appear on the English menu as “Hazardous Grape Leaves.” On Madeline’s German menu the operational word is “gef”, an abbreviation for "gefüllt," meaning "filled." But the English translator must have assumed that “gef” meant "gefährlich" which means "dangerous." Regardless, the food is great, and we all get a complementary shot of ouzo with our check!</div>
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Tuesday morning is low key. Kathy and I have an excellent breakfast at the Wolfinger. Since this is the week before Easter, our eggs are hard-boiled colored eggs. After breakfast, Kathy goes out for a wander—she spends some time hiking around the picturesque streets of the Alstadt and finally winds up by the Danube where she sees Mike out for a morning run, and some swans. I stay in our room—the walking thing is just not working for me.</div>
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We have our lunch at a doener place. Madeline has talked about doeners ever since her first experience in Germany. It’s probably the preeminent German fast food—and actually outsells sausages in Austria. <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Doner_kebab">Doeners</a>, while Turkish in origin, are a true German food in the same sense that hamburgers (hamburger original meaning = from Hamburg) and hot dogs (wiener original meaning = from Vienna) are true American foods. It’s a matter of controversy what exactly should be in an authentic doener, and I don’t claim to be an expert, but here’s what I came up with in my Google search: The basic ingredient is meat roasted on a vertical spit—same as you would use in gyros or shwerma. For a doener, the meat may be lamb, or it may be veal, turkey or even pork. The meat goes into fladenbrot. A direct translation of “fladenbrot”, I suppose, is “flat bread.” Google Translate translates “fladenbrot” to “pita bread.” But the doener I’m eating is not in pita bread—it is more like focaccia or ciabatta. Additionally, you may find lettuce, cucumbers, onions, red cabbage, white cabbage, tomatoes, garlic sauce and chili sauce in various combinations depending on where you buy your doener. All I can say for sure is that my one doener lunch experience has convinced me that they could be very addicting. Madeline, who has been craving various American foods that aren’t available in Austria will probably return to America and develop cravings for doeners.</div>
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The plan for the afternoon is to go to the little nearby town of St. Florian and visit the abbey there. I had read that <a href="http://www.sacred-destinations.com/austria/st-florian-abbey">St. Florian’s Abbey </a>was one of the premier examples of baroque architecture in all of Austria. But it is out of the way, I remain unsure of how we will get there, and the others are less than enthused about going. We take the S-bahn to the bus station and find that the buses run to St. Florian irregularly and they take a long time to get there because of frequent stops. So we take a taxi. I prepare for St. Florian’s Abbey to be totally lame, requiring my profuse apologies to the others for their expense and effort. I needn’t have worried. St. Florian’s turns out to be awesome, in the actual sense of the word. We are all awed.</div>
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St. Florian was a 4th century Christian martyr, a Roman official who would not renounce his faith even after torture and upon threat of death. He was finally dragged to a bridge and thrown into the river with a millstone tied around his neck. A pious matron dragged his body out of the river and buried him in a secret Christian graveyard. Around the year 800, a monastery was built at the site of his burial. Though the various buildings have been replaced or altered through the years, there has been a church and monastery on this site since then. The current baroque complex was built around a pre-existing gothic structure in 1686. In the intervening 300+ years, this complex of buildings with all of its statuary, gold, woodcarvings, and frescoes has survived the travails of time and two world wars and is every bit as beautiful today as when it was first constructed.</div>
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The church’s main pipe organ is a magnificent instrument with 7343 pipes. It is now referred to as the “Bruckner Organ” since it is the organ that Anton Bruckner played on as the church organist before he became famous as an organist and composer. Today he is interred in a tomb directly below the organ that bears his name. The phenomenal library, with its two-story high walnut shelves and frescoed ceilings contains 135,000 volumes, many of which are hand-written manuscripts that predate the printing press.</div>
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There is a small gift shop/book store in the Abbey where we are able to book a tour. Our tour guide is a local woman who is worried about her ability to explain things to us in English, since she usually does the tour in German. She is great. She carries around a big jangly ring of large old-fashioned keys and takes us behind locked doors to see, among other things, Bruckner’s tomb, an ossuary containing the bones of 6000 people who had chosen to be buried near the saint and whose bones were excavated in the 13th century, the imperial chambers—rooms for important guests, the Marble Hall with its monumental ceiling fresco, and the opulent library, where, unfortunately, photography is not allowed (but you can see it at <a href="http://www.valdosta.edu/library/blog/2009/03/13/panorama-austrian-monastery-library/">this website.)</a> </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaAh9MZAkf6IEewjH7abFsiq6Mvmagkqh3JDlAtwtjxmzefCIJdbkzOf7aCyu8VNBbL2_cIqX-kk8D7yPvtYoBhyphenhyphenQeiUorMcrLl6Rkv6MGV1K1ak-iUCiEe0TzNQXDwodFa4XwgM8tsy4/s1600/Linz+-+St.+Florians+Collegiate+Church+3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaAh9MZAkf6IEewjH7abFsiq6Mvmagkqh3JDlAtwtjxmzefCIJdbkzOf7aCyu8VNBbL2_cIqX-kk8D7yPvtYoBhyphenhyphenQeiUorMcrLl6Rkv6MGV1K1ak-iUCiEe0TzNQXDwodFa4XwgM8tsy4/s640/Linz+-+St.+Florians+Collegiate+Church+3.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small; text-align: left;"><b>St. Florians Collegiate Church Choir Stalls</b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small; text-align: left;"><b>Bruckner Organ</b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBdY32MkdvMDJ9NfWxq1Sb877ptUZ_Gn-E0dPx0iqPA98kTEpe42gBcOA6mVt91TlpNmTq00FVuIuBB_Fhc7RwlJqfQlorKAEHZlMQsOBc5TWRlFCiCjR5nPv4N7UU-_7QrX5gvMxZA9M/s640/Linz+-+St.+Florians+Randy+%2526+kids+in+Marble+Hall.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="640" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small; text-align: left;"><b>Touring St.Florians Marble Hall</b></span></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBdY32MkdvMDJ9NfWxq1Sb877ptUZ_Gn-E0dPx0iqPA98kTEpe42gBcOA6mVt91TlpNmTq00FVuIuBB_Fhc7RwlJqfQlorKAEHZlMQsOBc5TWRlFCiCjR5nPv4N7UU-_7QrX5gvMxZA9M/s1600/Linz+-+St.+Florians+Randy+%2526+kids+in+Marble+Hall.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBdY32MkdvMDJ9NfWxq1Sb877ptUZ_Gn-E0dPx0iqPA98kTEpe42gBcOA6mVt91TlpNmTq00FVuIuBB_Fhc7RwlJqfQlorKAEHZlMQsOBc5TWRlFCiCjR5nPv4N7UU-_7QrX5gvMxZA9M/s1600/Linz+-+St.+Florians+Randy+%2526+kids+in+Marble+Hall.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small; text-align: left;"><b>Marble Hall Ceiling Fresco</b></span></td></tr>
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While Madeline thoroughly enjoys the tour, I think the highlight of the day for her is her discovery and purchase in the bookshop of a crazy book called “Struwwelpeter”, a book of cautionary tales for children. “Struwwelpeter” obviously comes from the same culture that brought us Grimm’s Fairy Tales, where children are eaten by hungry wolves and thrown in ovens by evil witches. In this book, children suffer ghastly consequences as a result of misbehavior. The little boy who sucks his thumb has his thumbs cut off by a crazed scissors-wielding tailor (because tailors do that, right?) The little girl whose kittens warn her not to play with matches does so anyway and is reduced to a pile of ashes. (At least the kittens cry at the end—they could have said, “Told you so!”) And the little boy who refuses to eat his soup ends up starving to death. (That’ll teach him! Oh wait, he’s dead.) Anyway, this book is so bizarre that Madeline and Mike chuckle over it all the way back to Linz. Here’s a <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jp-vQF75eW8&feature=related">YouTube video</a> that gives you the flavor of the book.</div>
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<b>Reading Struwwelpeter at the Bus Stop</b></div>
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Shortly after getting back to Linz we have dinner at Chindia—this time around we are Americans eating Chinese and Indian food in Austria. At least this time it is a buffet so we don’t have to deal with menus translating Indian and Chinese food descriptions from German to English. Madeline’s friends William, Josh, and Ross join us for the meal. It is fun to meet some of the friends that Madeline has been telling us (<a href="http://inlinz.blogspot.com/2010/09/linz-at-last.html">and blogging</a>) about. The guys are great, and so is the dinner. We finish with a complimentary shot of schnapps then Kathy and I head to our hotel and bed, while all the young folk go in search of a bar.</div>
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Randyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14428531478283627693noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3281612281509186026.post-68883700651746022252011-04-17T20:25:00.000-05:002016-02-16T21:30:29.677-06:00Salzburg: Mozart Was Here!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Click <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/boabab/sets/72157626708085534/show/">HERE</a> for a Salzburg slideshow.<br />
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The Munich-Salzburg train is underway and we’re still wandering the aisles encumbered with all of our luggage (and a stent, in my case) trying to find four seats together. We can’t believe our good luck when we finally find a private compartment. We’re sitting there for a while when it occurs to us that our tickets are for regular passenger service and the compartment we’re sitting in is first class. That is when the conductor shows up and asks for our tickets. With trepidation, we hand them over. And he punches them and walks off. So then, we once more can’t believe our good luck. We spend the time on the train visiting and playing the famous name game. (Someone names a famous person, then the next person must name a famous person whose first name begins with the same letter as the last name of the famous person just named—and so on. There are no rules beyond that, although I am told that minor Nixon cabinet officials are not “famous”.) Having both my kids with me in the same place at the same time is a rare occurrence, so that by itself makes this a special occasion. On top of that, I’m riding in a first class train compartment and the German and Austrian countryside is rushing by outside the train window. We eat lunch on the train—sandwiches we had bought at the Munich station, and arrive in Salzburg in the early afternoon. </div>
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Our hotel is located near the train station, so the walk is short and it is easy to find. The <a href="http://www.austria-trend.at/Hotel-Europa-Salzburg/en/">Hotel Europa Salzburg</a> is a wonderful four-star hotel with 14 stories, but a mere 100 rooms. All of the rooms have windows looking out of the same side of the hotel (the hallway is on the other side) to accommodate the view. The view in this case, is all of Salzburg with the Salzach River winding through the middle, the Hohensalzburg, a medieval fortress, on a promontory above the city, and the snow-capped Alps spreading out behind.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small; text-align: left;"><b>View of Salzburg from Hotel Europa Window</b></span></td></tr>
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We spend the next several hours drinking in the view and unpacking. But finally, we’re ready to explore. The River Salzach divides Salzburg into the Alstadt, or old town, on the west and the Neustadt, or new town, on the east. “Old” and “new” are relative concepts here; this is Europe, not America, after all. The new town was originally developed in the 1600’s while the old city of Salzburg was built in the 8th century on the ruins of an older Roman town called Juvavum, which grew out of a collection of earlier settlements going back to the 5th century BC. The train station and our hotel are in the Neustadt, but most of the points of interest are in the Alstadt. Our route from the hotel to the bridge to the Alstadt takes us through the Mirabel Gardens. If you’ve seen “The Sound of Music”, you’ve seen the Mirabel Gardens. It’s the place where Maria and the kids sing the “Do-Re-Me” song. The gardens surround the Mirabel palace, originally built in 1606 by an archbishop for his mistress and their 15 children. The baroque formal gardens have been described as one of Europe’s most beautiful parks, and are filled with flowers, topiary, sculpture and fountains. I like the bronze Pegasus standing in a pool near the palace a lot. This horse is smiling! Mona Lisa, eat your heart out!</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEPeXbDK5su6-DRmhT0FWh6lIStnwu4Q_yNwraS52yJNrjnhWN40LfQx0xj4hcyUlmeffnMdthbVx5HYi1jil6pofIwCjIMtLHCN0YIgSaRazsvGCtm4ZIMKgh3hrPLJ3WodmIWaKTicA/s1600/Salzburg+-+Kathy+%2526+kids+in+Mirabel.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="428" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEPeXbDK5su6-DRmhT0FWh6lIStnwu4Q_yNwraS52yJNrjnhWN40LfQx0xj4hcyUlmeffnMdthbVx5HYi1jil6pofIwCjIMtLHCN0YIgSaRazsvGCtm4ZIMKgh3hrPLJ3WodmIWaKTicA/s640/Salzburg+-+Kathy+%2526+kids+in+Mirabel.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small; text-align: left;"><b>Walking Through Mirabel Gardens</b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small; text-align: left;"><b>Smiley Pegasus</b></span></td></tr>
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Having traversed the gardens, we cross the Salzach and plunge into the old town. Salzburg’s original historic importance was as a terminal in the salt trade, but in the late 16th and early 17th centuries, it became an important center of political power. During this period an incredible array of churches and public buildings were constructed. These historic buildings blend with the narrow brick-paved streets, the sculpture and fountain festooned plazas, the river and the mountains surrounding the city to create an awe-inspiring visual experience. The entire Alstadt is pedestrian only. Shops and restaurants line the narrow streets and cafes spill out onto the plazas, so it is a very pleasant place to amble around, or just sit and sip coffee and take in the view. Our first trip to the Alstadt is pretty much just a pleasant amble. We stop at the Tourist Information Center on Mozartplatz to get maps, advice on what to see and information on walking tours for the next day. Mike finds a street artist doing some nice, visually interesting watercolors. And we spend some time sipping coffee and soaking atmosphere.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small; text-align: left;"><b>Sipping & Soaking</b></span></td></tr>
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Then we walk back to the hotel and go to the nearby Stieglbrau Restaurant for some good classic Austrian food and a Stiegl beer before calling it a day.</div>
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The 17th begins as a bright and sunny morning. It is both Palm Sunday and my birthday! Breakfast is on the 14th floor of the hotel—a fantastic view of Salzburg and a wonderful breakfast buffet with all the usual things I’ve come to expect; eggs, sausages, assorted fresh fruit, pastries, breads, and cheeses, fruit juices, as well as coffee and tea.</div>
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Our first excursion for the day is trip to Fortress Hohensalzburg. While there is a walking path up the steep Festungsberg hill (essentially a cliff) on which the fortress is perched, most people, especially those with stents choose to ride the cog train. The view from the top is spectacular, and when we have spent sufficient time enjoying the view, we begin to explore the enormous and labyrinthine fortress. It was built originally in 1077 as a fortress and eventually became the residence for the ruling archbishops. Noteworthy among the many things to see in the fortress is a recently excavated Romanesque chapel dating back to the 11th century. There are fragments of colored plaster on the excavated walls. That plus the thousands of fragments found while excavating indicate that the interior of the chapel was originally richly covered with frescoes, which we can only speculate about today.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuFUzwu6QE5_oU0wohQUt-oBO0blc_5RVWAsF-sp5ry5m35ZXLkCD5IytqzaM9CJZTMWpZv38vEAXJ7IiSCnDnW5TKtullY3JAup0YXTOyMr0F-tcmJ-4k94Ryohdq298jwYNTFTynoy0/s1600/Salzburg+-+Hohensalzburg+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuFUzwu6QE5_oU0wohQUt-oBO0blc_5RVWAsF-sp5ry5m35ZXLkCD5IytqzaM9CJZTMWpZv38vEAXJ7IiSCnDnW5TKtullY3JAup0YXTOyMr0F-tcmJ-4k94Ryohdq298jwYNTFTynoy0/s400/Salzburg+-+Hohensalzburg+2.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small; text-align: left;"><b>Fortress Hohensalzburg</b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKK-2lGInCe4Tz8u88JpeMvrhSSE04ctwphC5TkgOnQdIFRc2IG7YwyZwXwaYIYSOialkticOafmVHKDgUb0jZYu3hy3ckkPQ-WO3MW4daDHokpieSAq9BQZKSYxrCmCWejAWe1hmQDbY/s1600/Salzburg+-+Hohensalzburg+Romanesque+Chapel.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><b><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKK-2lGInCe4Tz8u88JpeMvrhSSE04ctwphC5TkgOnQdIFRc2IG7YwyZwXwaYIYSOialkticOafmVHKDgUb0jZYu3hy3ckkPQ-WO3MW4daDHokpieSAq9BQZKSYxrCmCWejAWe1hmQDbY/s400/Salzburg+-+Hohensalzburg+Romanesque+Chapel.JPG" width="300" /></b></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small; text-align: left;"><b>Inside Romanesque Chapel Excavation</b></span></td></tr>
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It is almost noon when we finally take the cog train back down to the Alstadt. We had planned on the 12:15 walking tour of the Alstadt, but I am worn out from the morning exploration of the fortress, so we instead stop at a little café in one of the plazas and order salads, which turns into a long leisurely lunch. While I rest, Mike finds the street artist that he had visited the day before and buys a watercolor of Salzburg. He also buys some gourmet salt at a store specializing in that line of goods.</div>
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Eventually we stroll, enjoy the street musicians and sample Mozartkugel several times. (<a href="http://www.mozartkugeln.org/">Mozartkugel</a>: A confection originally invented in Salzburg in 1890. It consists of a pistachio marzipan surrounded by a layer of nougat, coated with dark chocolate and wrapped in blue foil featuring a picture of Mozart. Undeniably delicious!) Finally, at two o’clock we walk to the Tourist Center in Mozartplatz for the walking tour. The four of us are the only people on the tour, and our guide is a strange, asocial man. As far as I know, he doesn’t ever introduce himself or tell us his name. He also shows no interest in us personally and pretty much sticks to the facts. Also, there is the matter of the fee. When I present him with a large denomination Euro bill, he says he can’t make change, so Kathy and I have to spend time combing our wallets and pockets for smaller bills so we can pay him. He takes us to all the important sites in the Alstadt: the Residenz, the Dom, the Franziskanerkirche, Stiftkirche St. Peter, and winds up at No. 9 Getreidegasse, Mozart’s birthplace. I, unfortunately, run out of steam and become uncomfortable (the stent thing) shortly after the tour gets underway, thus once again, I am not focusing on what is being said and miss much of the detail. Lastly, for the final embarrassing moment of the tour, Kathy and I realize that neither of us have any small bills to tip the guide since we'd already given him all our small bills for his fee. So he stands around awkwardly for a few moments and finally walks off.</div>
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After our awkward guide leaves, we spend some time touring the apartments where Mozart was born and spent his childhood, which is now a museum, and then, continuing with the Mozart theme, we cross the river to the Neustadt and tour the house where Mozart spent his late childhood and early adulthood, also a museum. The museum is interesting—we tour with headsets for so we can listen to descriptions and lots of Mozart’s music.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivMfF7-Z91h19ceBVgc2GnbtExCJJSzDcIeXVT1UNvPM8A1m0xCf2KL7ulD9R_pSsvhDCT_3G1zw-xeyC0ovWKVwFks7MOVqwC_2hD08NojF3Z1D0k7iARVfmsIyIcrFOp53v9-J2TJ30/s1600/Salzburg+-+Mozart%2527s+birthplace+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivMfF7-Z91h19ceBVgc2GnbtExCJJSzDcIeXVT1UNvPM8A1m0xCf2KL7ulD9R_pSsvhDCT_3G1zw-xeyC0ovWKVwFks7MOVqwC_2hD08NojF3Z1D0k7iARVfmsIyIcrFOp53v9-J2TJ30/s640/Salzburg+-+Mozart%2527s+birthplace+2.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small; text-align: left;"><b>Mozart's Birthplace</b></span></td></tr>
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That night we go to an Italian restaurant near the hotel with a nice antipasto bar and everybody gives me a birthday card. It is a memorable birthday!</div>
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Monday, the 18th starts with another wonderful breakfast on the 14th floor of the hotel. Then we head, once more, to the Alstadt. First we stop at the Tourist Information Center, where I leave a tip for our awkward guide from the previous day. He isn't there, but I leave the money with one of the staff. She is very surprised. Then, Kathy's interested in seeing St. Peter’s cemetery, and especially the early Christian catacombs carved into the cliff below the fortress. </div>
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We find that the cemetery is open, but unfortunately, the catacombs are closed to the public for the day. The cemetery is both picturesque and interesting. It is small, squeezed between the base of the cliff and the church, and the graves follow one right after the other with no space between. The cemetery is well maintained and the graves are elaborately decorated with flowers and candles. All of Salzburg’s elite are buried here, including Mozart’s sister. But not Mozart himself. While Salzburg claims Mozart, Mozart rejected Salzburg for the brighter lights of Vienna, where he met an untimely end, and was buried in a mass pauper’s grave.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM5KBDU_rbLJHI-2LAtxLhyphenhyphenVBX_HMlGR1kMfFcvE24XGks6oFVk64ZiHDVCr38QSlgiKWcVPKryG_E884DLs3rJtv2IgFj-AOJxBqYrVswB5wJSlqMNH52zEsqqr74WIfgtOUxGoa9FMc/s1600/Salzburg+-+St.+Peter%2527s+Cemetery+6.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM5KBDU_rbLJHI-2LAtxLhyphenhyphenVBX_HMlGR1kMfFcvE24XGks6oFVk64ZiHDVCr38QSlgiKWcVPKryG_E884DLs3rJtv2IgFj-AOJxBqYrVswB5wJSlqMNH52zEsqqr74WIfgtOUxGoa9FMc/s640/Salzburg+-+St.+Peter%2527s+Cemetery+6.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small; text-align: left;"><b>St. Peter's Cemetery</b></span></td></tr>
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Our last stop in the Alstadt is at a grocery store where we buy massive amounts of Mozartkugel to bring home. Then we check out of the hotel, walk the short distance to the train station, and board the train to Linz.</div>
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Randyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14428531478283627693noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3281612281509186026.post-15458852559682101062011-04-14T15:27:00.000-05:002016-02-16T21:31:05.265-06:00Munich: Mechanical Jousting, Beer, and Other Cool Stuff<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Click <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/boabab/sets/72157626551853635/show/">HERE</a> for a Munich slideshow.<br />
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The first step in negotiating our way through Germany is finding our way to the S-bahn (subway/train) so we can get from the airport to our hotel. It is totally guesswork on my part that leads me to decide that the green signs showing a circled “S” are leading us to the S-bahn. Luckily, my guess is correct. Had the “S” signs actually signified the way to a stegosaurus or a slime pit it would have been a very unfortunate and disastrous guess on my part. I could always ask somebody. But that reduces the sense of adventure. At the S-bahn, I am baffled by the posted schedule. Fortunately, a nice man asks me where I am going and then says, “Let us figure this out together.” Thus, I am allowed to keep my dignity more than if he had said, “Stupid American tourist! Let me show you how obvious this S-bahn schedule is!”</div>
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So we get on the <i>right</i> train and in about 45 minutes, we find ourselves in the Hauptbahnhof (central train station) in the center of Munich. Our hotel is only a few blocks away, and following a map printed from their website, we find it in short order. The <a href="http://www.creatif-hotel-elephant.com/english.htm">Creatif Elephant Hotel </a>is quaint and has a lot of character. To some, I suppose, that would translate to “The Creatif Elephant Hotel is little and old.” But having stayed in some sterile, chain, tourist barns (see Vienna hotel), I prefer this sort of hotel. I had requested a room for three, since Madeline would be joining us, and unfortunately, the only reason our tiny room can be called a room for three is that there is a double bed and single bed in it. The single is shoved right next to the double and other than a small armoire, there is no other furniture in the room, nor is there room for any other furniture. To get out of the double bed, we discover that it is necessary to walk across the single bed. So that's quaint. But the hotel staff is friendly and helpful, the hotel is well kept, and we soon find out that the breakfasts are phenomenal.</div>
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Madeline meets us a couple hours after we've checked in, having come in by train from Austria. We do a quick walk-around the Aldstadt in the afternoon. Mainly we hang out in Marienplatz in front of the Rathaus (town hall) to watch the Glockenspeil go through its paces.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRJ9CAWkXNQdB-4OdCGyskBL95tnquIlVFwQUIPjRNReD1Xg2Th3jSZIFNAxdOXqMQXoLnfVsag009lkbVPsRP8mZsFCgduand0zb60aP4uiu9FtqaAaIIuALfZEeRig3EIOwEfNABsfk/s1600/Munich+-+Marienplatz+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><b><img border="0" height="428" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRJ9CAWkXNQdB-4OdCGyskBL95tnquIlVFwQUIPjRNReD1Xg2Th3jSZIFNAxdOXqMQXoLnfVsag009lkbVPsRP8mZsFCgduand0zb60aP4uiu9FtqaAaIIuALfZEeRig3EIOwEfNABsfk/s640/Munich+-+Marienplatz+2.JPG" width="640" /></b></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small; text-align: left;"><b>Marienplatz</b></span></td></tr>
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The Glockenspiel is a clockwork conglomeration of chimes and mechanical figures that goes into action three times each day. It was without a doubt, pretty amazing in 1908 when it was originally built, but in this day of computer-generated images, it seems a little lame. It is essentially mechanical puppets going in circles.</div>
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The Glockenspiel has two levels and tells a separate story on each level. The top-level figures enact the story of the marriage of Duke Wilhelm V (he founded the Hofbrauhaus, so he is OK in my book) to Renata of Lorraine. Part of the story involves a joust between two knights in honor of the wedding couple. Spoiler alert! The Bavarian knight wins! The crowd gasps as the other knight is knocked off his horse and then the Glockenspiel tells the second story: In the 1500’s Plague came to Munich and everyone locked themselves into their houses, afraid to come out lest they catch the disease. Well, the coopers (dudes who made barrels) were not happy that people had shuttered themselves away, since they weren’t out drinking beer, which would result in brewers buying barrels. So to convince everyone that it was OK to come out, the coopers did this crazy dance through the streets (The Schafflerstanz—it was kinda the Watusi of 16th century Munich). Everybody was so amused that they came rushing out of their houses. Then they all caught Plague and died horrible and hideous deaths. Well, no, actually, they all started doing the crazy dance too and the duke was so amused by the whole spectacle that he ordered that these crazy shenanigans should be reenacted every seven years. Go to Munich next summer and you can watch, or even participate in this crazy event.</div>
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So the mechanical coopers are dancing around a central scary clown figure (don’t know the significance of the scary clown—maybe one of Stephen King’s ancestors was involved in the design), and then about 15 minutes into it, everything stops and a tiny mechanical owl at the very top of the Glockenspiel hoots. Thrilling End of Show.</div>
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In the few days we are in Munich, we somehow manage to watch this show three times! This is delusional and abnormal behavior. After having seen it once, the time I spend watching the other two shows could have been spent quaffing a couple dunkel biers in the Hofbrauhaus.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_8fuMKJzVd-p-7lrY-wR81ex_lyagRToJ1C_Uk3yNyn17Q_YS6uX-0zn5UzzIGHKtqVWfiUQfatWZbEnwYm9E2vtlS05XySkly0upcKLNg8juywvym9o70dU0bEnXIIu6hEFpGKLErQA/s1600/Munich+-+Glockenspiel+3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_8fuMKJzVd-p-7lrY-wR81ex_lyagRToJ1C_Uk3yNyn17Q_YS6uX-0zn5UzzIGHKtqVWfiUQfatWZbEnwYm9E2vtlS05XySkly0upcKLNg8juywvym9o70dU0bEnXIIu6hEFpGKLErQA/s640/Munich+-+Glockenspiel+3.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small; text-align: left;"><b>The Glockenspiel In All Its Splendor</b></span></td></tr>
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The burgers (e.g. citizens, not beef patties) of Munich do like their beer. There are breakfast places that serve beer. So civilized! The Creatif Elephant does not serve beer, but the breakfasts, we discover, are excellent: Eggs, sausages, and a nice mélange of peppers, cucumbers, tomatoes, fresh mozzarella, and basil. As well as juices, coffee, tea, and cakes. We sit at breakfast the morning of the 15th and chat for a long time before finally heading back to the Alstadt for a walking tour. (Stent Man perspective: Sitting & chatting = good. Walking = bad) Our walking tour guide is a young guy from Wisconsin who has moved to Germany and does English language tours for a living. He is interesting and way into it, but after an hour my body is telling me “MUST….SIT….DOWN….!!!” so loudly and persistently that I can no longer hear what the guide is saying. We see lots of baroque churches including the Frauenkirche, hear about how much of the old buildings in Munich were destroyed by Allied bombs, and hear about a lot of Ludwigs and Maximillians. We walk through the Royal Gardens and on into the huge, expansive English Garden, and finally wind up at the Hofbrauhaus where I am able to sit my body down and drink a beer.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWPwxJPwoaqo5m9kdUZJarYyPkLQhDbfDeAtb7IGVKYQjYLXwv0CBaU0C-2FFITuo8RZr6PnZcPP5qCv8srBKj32adTSytpjqGZHGRzuPFp4j0tbcqEjkuBVL-TFxpBWpxNto2j1WbrT0/s1600/Munich+-+Randy+%2526+Madeline+in+Hofbrauhaus.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><b><img border="0" height="603" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWPwxJPwoaqo5m9kdUZJarYyPkLQhDbfDeAtb7IGVKYQjYLXwv0CBaU0C-2FFITuo8RZr6PnZcPP5qCv8srBKj32adTSytpjqGZHGRzuPFp4j0tbcqEjkuBVL-TFxpBWpxNto2j1WbrT0/s640/Munich+-+Randy+%2526+Madeline+in+Hofbrauhaus.JPG" width="640" /></b></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small; text-align: left;"><b>Hofbrauhaus!</b></span></td></tr>
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We discuss the possibility of a second tour later in the day that focuses on the Third Reich, but my Stent Man body tells me that it would not be a good idea. So I go back to the hotel to rest while Kathy and Madeline rent bikes and bike around the English Garden. When they come back, Madeline brings me a little wind-up inchworm. You can think of it as working on the same principle as the Glockenspiel, but simpler and more amusing, actually.</div>
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The morning of the 16th we have another great Creatif Elephant breakfast and then walk (Stent Man: “Aaarrrgh!”) around the botanical gardens. Then we pack our bags and walk to the train station to meet Mike. We position ourselves under the large Coca Cola sign in the front of the train station, our designated meeting spot. On the 15th I had used my Skype connection to call his cell phone voice mail to leave detailed instructions about getting to the train station from the airport, how to come up out of the S-bahn stop and go back into the train station, and where to look for the giant Coca Cola sign. His email reply, “Got your voice mail. It was a little garbled. Something about meeting by a Coke sign. I didn’t understand it all, but I’m not worried.” Yet amazingly, here he is walking across the train station! Hugs and greetings are exchanged & then we get on the train and head for Salzburg.</div>
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Randyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14428531478283627693noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3281612281509186026.post-6417743696413087672011-04-13T12:10:00.000-05:002016-02-16T21:31:24.810-06:00Austria - Some Context<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
These next few blog posts are about our family trip to Austria. Since, in real life, it is impossible to separate any event, be it a trip to Austria or anything else, from what comes before and what occurs afterward I’ll spend a couple of paragraphs providing some background and context for this excursion.<br />
Kathy and I traveled to Austria because of a cascade of occurrences that began in 1998, when Mike was in high school and took German as his foreign language choice. Five years later, when it was time for Madeline to choose a foreign language she also chose German. One of the main reasons for her choice was that Mike had taken German. As she tells it, this would allow them to share a secret language that neither Kathy nor I would be able to understand. A trip to Germany in high school continued her interest in German language and culture, then, German became one of her minor concentrations in college. A summer in Berlin allowed her to become more proficient in the language, and ultimately, after graduation, she pursued an opportunity to spend a year in Linz, Austria teaching English to high school aged kids. <br />
We went to Austria because visiting Madeline provided a reason for us to go. We planned a two-week trip, with the time equally divided between four cities, Munich, Germany, then Salzburg, Linz, and Vienna in Austria. Mike would join us for a week in the middle of the trip. Madeline, who was on Easter break, would meet us in Munich and travel with us for the entire time.<br />
A week before we were to fly to Munich, my left kidney decided to cough out a stone, which lodged about half way out. End result: Me experiencing excruciating pain followed by me experiencing laparoscopic surgery for stone removal—for the expelled stone as well as another cluster of stones the CT scan found in my kidney. I waffled for a while as to if I could make the trip, but I decided to go, and while it wasn’t the optimal experience, in the end I’m happy I went. <br />
To prevent post surgical swelling and blockage (not an ideal outcome, especially if I were to be somewhere in the middle of Europe), the urologist, during surgery, installed a stent. A stent is a device that resembles a long soda straw with curly-queues at both ends. The one end sits in the kidney & the other end goes into the bladder. I found that carrying a stent around Europe was not a good time. It ranged from uncomfortable when I was sitting, to borderline painful when I was walking around. It put me at a definite disadvantage when we would do walking tours. I partially focused on the tour, partially focused on how I felt and mostly thought about how good it would be to sit down again. <br />
Our plane from Atlanta to Munich was only partially full—a partially full trans-Atlantic flight is something I have not experienced for over twenty years, and it was wonderful. I claimed three seats and was able to lie down and get some quality sleep on the way over. Considering my subpar condition, the good flight over was a real plus, I actually had the stamina necessary to deplane, get luggage, get through the passport check, negotiate the S bahn into Munich, and start my European experience.</div>
Randyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14428531478283627693noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3281612281509186026.post-9225354232105867222011-01-15T17:47:00.000-06:002016-02-17T10:35:10.797-06:00A Brief Taste of Puerto Rico<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwFKgZMn-nEEv67hzQRBWmvDkhR65-xQkOP7cnVFzOWgYpfrYKC1m49WO2PhHtPa6B5J_ZchOzlw3KmRr8kAR4_peqGsmLC4_WDihSlRAXhckyRKirN32mpWe84SbVjXXGHt4O1luLfl8/s1600/From+our+balcony+2.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" height="428" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5568115597453964882" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwFKgZMn-nEEv67hzQRBWmvDkhR65-xQkOP7cnVFzOWgYpfrYKC1m49WO2PhHtPa6B5J_ZchOzlw3KmRr8kAR4_peqGsmLC4_WDihSlRAXhckyRKirN32mpWe84SbVjXXGHt4O1luLfl8/s640/From+our+balcony+2.JPG" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" /></a><br />
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This travel opportunity came out-of-the-blue when I got a phone call at work one day from Kathy, “I have to go to Puerto Rico for a few days for my job.” “Cool!” I said, “I’ll come, too!”</div>
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A few weeks later, we were on our way. I had no time for my usual meticulous (OK, maybe overly meticulous) preparation and flew there with little background or knowledge about Puerto Rico. It was pretty much a matter of throwing a few warm weather clothes into a suitcase & going.</div>
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The Wednesday we flew out, the whole country was in the throes of several major storms. The day before, Atlanta experienced major snow and thousands of flights had been cancelled. Our layover, of course, was in Atlanta. Fortunately, other than a few small delays, we didn’t have any trouble with our flights. When I looked out the plane window as we landed in Atlanta, my first impression was that we hadn’t left Minnesota—piles of snow everywhere!</div>
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I have no real first impressions landing in Puerto Rico since it was dark when we flew in. The first person to speak to us in Puerto Rico was a hustler/potential mugger. He accosted us as we e headed for the taxi stand, “Hey, you need a taxi? Come with me!” Like sheep, we started to follow him. Onto an elevator! Finally, I had the presence of mind to ask, “Where are we going?” “Oh, I’m parked in the parking lot. It’s OK. How are you? Are you OK?” Sure, I’m OK until you get us into the parking lot & take all of our money. Kathy and I gave each other a look and I told him that we would prefer to take a real taxi at the taxi stand. We got off the elevator, proceeded to the taxi stand, and took a taxi to our hotel with no additional problems.</div>
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We stayed at the <a href="http://www.marriott.com/hotels/travel/sjuiv-courtyard-isla-verde-beach-resort/">Courtyard Marriott </a>in a section of San Juan called Isla Verde. The hotel is near the airport and right on the beach. The hotel has a couple of nice restaurants and all the usual amenities. It seems that in Puerto Rico the usual amenities include a casino and a live band playing Latin music. </div>
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My real first impression of Puerto Rico was the following morning when I got out of bed, stepped onto our balcony and took this picture. </div>
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Ah, heaven!<br />
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The following two days, while Kathy worked, I, along with the husband of Kathy's co-worker who was along on the trip, spent some time exploring the historic forts in Old San Juan and Old San Juan itself. On the weekend, Kathy and I booked a tour and went to the San Sebastian festival in Old San Juan, which was in full swing.</div>
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Here are a few things I learned about or experienced while in Puerto Rico:</div>
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<strong>Cockfighting:</strong></div>
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The night we arrived, we drove by a cockfighting arena on the way to our hotel. We both said, “Wow, that’s legal here?” Turns out, that not only is it legal, many consider it to be the Puerto Rican “sport”. The fights start at noon on Saturday and Sunday and go continuously until midnight. A bird owner will bring his specially bred rooster to the arena where it will face off against another rooster and battle until one rooster stops fighting—usually because it is dead. The roosters’ spurs have been filed down and replaced by an artificial plastic spur, which is longer and sharper, thus making a spur strike more deadly. There are no betting windows like they have in mainland horse racing. Instead, you bet on an individual basis with those sitting around you. It is important to be careful what you say to whom and what hand gestures you use during the fight or you could end up making a bet you didn’t even know you were making. When the fight starts, the men watching (and they are mostly men) start to bet, cheer, and yell, and the beers flows freely. Ironically, chicken wings are also for sale.</div>
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I did not attend, nor would I have any interest in attending a cockfight. Most of my information came from a conversation I had with the tour guide who led the Saturday tour we took to Camuy and Aricibo. He, like many Puerto Ricans, raised fighting roosters when he was a teenager—pampered them, fed them special high protein diets, and ultimately sacrificed them to the pit. </div>
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Cockfighting has become illegal on the mainland U.S. on a state-by-state basis, with Louisiana being the last to outlaw it in 2008. It has a long history, however, in the U.S., Europe, and around the world. It obviously caters to the same emotions as violent movies and video games, only in this case the fighting, the blood, and the death are very real. Someone, I’m sure, has studied anthropologically why many of us find cockfighting to be morally repugnant, but have no problem with chickens being slaughtered for us to eat. </div>
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The birds, by the way, are referred to with the “c” word, and not as roosters. I’ve avoided that word here to prevent unwelcome hits from those Googling for a very different topic.</div>
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<strong>Forts of Old San Juan:</strong><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtBqdZwKw2_6Qq9Rjjzysp_qgy-6nRf4YqHcAbbEm6Fczvi0LpV0j0guWdxjKjOyhaXDHHMceD_rnDqA4vZp6vb05Z9ezI7FiD1hQqwUX9nILN2DJllP6pInP9-TJolFrGF8fUeCuSg3U/s1600/Fort+San+Felipe+del+Morro+4.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" border="0" height="428" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5568148066831826722" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtBqdZwKw2_6Qq9Rjjzysp_qgy-6nRf4YqHcAbbEm6Fczvi0LpV0j0guWdxjKjOyhaXDHHMceD_rnDqA4vZp6vb05Z9ezI7FiD1hQqwUX9nILN2DJllP6pInP9-TJolFrGF8fUeCuSg3U/s640/Fort+San+Felipe+del+Morro+4.JPG" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
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<b>Fort San Felipe del Morro</b></div>
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In 1493, Christopher Columbus claimed the island of Puerto Rico for Spain, much to the surprise of native Tainos who thought the island was theirs. Within fifty years, the Tainos were nearly extinct due to the hardship of slavery imposed on them by the Spanish and by European diseases, thus Puerto Rico truly became a Spanish island. Since it was the first land ships would encounter when sailing with the prevailing currents and trade winds from Europe, it was strategically important. Thus, in 1539 the Spanish began to build a fort, Castillo San Felipe del Morro, which occupied a promontory at the entrance to the harbor. The fort was occupied continuously as a fort until after World War 2, was modified on a regular basis, and is massive. Its impregnability allowed Spain to control Puerto Rico until it succumbed to a new generation of weapons and lost to the U.S. during the Spanish American war.</div>
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It is a masterpiece of military engineering—20-foot thick walls, six levels that go from sea level to 145 feet, and an open esplanade on the land side that would turn any land attack into a slaughter. After the U.S. took control, it continued as an active fort during both world wars, to protect American interests in the Caribbean, including the Panama Canal, and has the distinction of being the location of the first American shots fired during WWI, when American naval forces fired on a German supply ship. Since 1961, it has been a national park.</div>
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In 1598, the British managed to capture Castillo del Morro by attacking from the land side. They controlled the fort for a short time, but ultimately succumbed to dysentery and the Spanish regained control. This event did inspire the Spanish to build a second fort, Castillo San Cristobal, to protect San Juan and Castillo del Morro from attack by land. It was built over a period of 150 years and ultimately wrapped around the old city of San Juan. The fort itself covers 27 acres, making it the largest Spanish fort in the Americas. When the fort was built, walls were also built around the entire city, and stayed in place until 1897 when about one third of the walls were demolished to make way for the expanding city.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEXDTa5RpEVcGscgM0uiJVMFCXt214PybCo4Qhaidmr23T8lfzmQC7yj4IEtWbHOGT79JnS-p-iR9aUoasK9h9ZEbMKIKKzidAG9l32BP75TMrpiv7opNQepm0HwbmZ14tgYrfvFfMcgY/s1600/Fort+San+Cristobal+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="428" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEXDTa5RpEVcGscgM0uiJVMFCXt214PybCo4Qhaidmr23T8lfzmQC7yj4IEtWbHOGT79JnS-p-iR9aUoasK9h9ZEbMKIKKzidAG9l32BP75TMrpiv7opNQepm0HwbmZ14tgYrfvFfMcgY/s640/Fort+San+Cristobal+2.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b style="font-size: medium; text-align: left;">Fort San Cristobal</b></td></tr>
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<strong>Old San Juan:</strong><br />
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Old San Juan is composed of quaint, historic architecture dating back to the 16th century, charming public squares, fun shops, cathedrals, museums, restaurants featuring every type of cuisine, and miles of narrow, hilly streets paved with bluish bricks, all surrounded by the historic city walls, the harbor, and the old forts. </div>
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It is the original part of San Juan. It began as the town that served the fort and is located on a small island connected to the main island by two bridges and a causeway. Most of the central government buildings are here. </div>
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It is also home to a large population of feral cats. When the central government decided to destroy the cats, there was such a public outcry that they modified their plan to a catch, neuter, and release program.</div>
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Our time spent here consisted of visiting the forts, admiring the old buildings, getting up-close and personal with the cats, poking through the shops, sitting at outdoor cafes and quaffing cold beverages while people-watching, and attending the festival.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b style="font-size: medium; text-align: left;">Old San Juan</b></td></tr>
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<strong>Festival of St. Sebastian:</strong><br />
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In early January each year, a large part of the entire population of the island crams itself into Old San Juan for the four-day <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=stfg8N1wCgk">Fiestas de la Calle San Sebastian</a>, which marks the end of the Christmas season. During the day, the streets are jammed with people, stalls selling fried food, artists displaying their art, trinket vendors, and wandering musicians. In the evening the craziness gets cranked up to the next level with hundreds of stages featuring live music, parades of singing, dancing (and drinking) people, including cabezudos--people wearing giant peppier mache heads, and more people than you would think possible all crammed together in a marde gras sort of atmosphere. </div>
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If one is smart, one walks to this event, since it is virtually impossible to get there by car when it is in full swing. And forget parking. If one is almost 60, like this writer, it is advisable to go only during daylight hours and then interpolate regarding how much crazier it would be after dark.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRnciqQOt_Xj_812_INlVzjoJTukppEk60xldxfneQGPfrMCzmPhwTOhOssjSLNMsAoub8rq-wyvZuoNQ83sfbtfflRkZ7cViHVJijBy7MDc26W-n5N-1e-ccSFXA1jDxse1vFgyTDjlA/s1600/San+Sebastian+Festival+%25285%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRnciqQOt_Xj_812_INlVzjoJTukppEk60xldxfneQGPfrMCzmPhwTOhOssjSLNMsAoub8rq-wyvZuoNQ83sfbtfflRkZ7cViHVJijBy7MDc26W-n5N-1e-ccSFXA1jDxse1vFgyTDjlA/s640/San+Sebastian+Festival+%25285%2529.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b style="font-size: medium; text-align: left;">Fiestas de la Calle San Sebastian</b></td></tr>
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<strong>Camuy Caves:</strong><br />
Imagine this huge cave system under the rain forest that has collapsed in places forming giant sinkholes. Imagine descending by trolley into one of these holes on a path built corkscrew fashion around the edge to the bottom. As you descend, the rain forest surrounds you—above, below, and on all sides. Eventually you reach the bottom and the stalagmite and stalactite festooned entrance looms before you.<br />
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This was our experience when we visited Parque de las Cavernas del Río Camuy (Camuy River Cave Park). It was incredible to experience this natural wonder. It was so impressive that it is only proper that every fact I quote about the Camuy caves be followed by an exclamation point:<br />
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• The river Rio Camuy runs through the cave is the third-longest underground river in the world!<br />
• Cueva Clara, the chamber we visited, is so high that a 20-story building would fit inside!<br />
• A half-million bats live in the caves—13 different species!<br />
• The cave provide habitat for a species of fish that is totally blind!<br />
• The sinkhole Tres Pueblos is so large that the entire Fort San Felipe del Morro would fit inside!<br />
• Ten miles of cave have been mapped so far—probably a fraction of the total!<br />
• We stopped along the road for lunch after visiting the cave and had fantastic food!<br />
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<strong>Puerto Rican Food:</strong><br />
After visiting the caves, we pulled off the road at one of the little roadside restaurants that pepper rural Puerto Rico. The restaurants are called lechons. While a variety of food is served, it all centers on pigs roast on a spit. Traditionally the pig was a suckling pig (leche = Spanish for milk), but now more often the pig will be a medium sized adult pig. At our stop, the pig was cooking on a spit in front of the restaurant, and the food was served cafeteria-style inside. After filling our plates, we grabbed a soda, pulled a chair up to a plank table, and commenced to enjoy. Succulent, savory, and satisfying!<br />
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One night at the hotel, we had a scrumptious paella on the beach along with a couple of Medallas—the local beer. Medalla is a beer for the tropics; light, cold, and available everywhere!<br />
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At the San Sebastian Festival, there were millions of stands selling all sorts of fried snacks. Some of the ones we sampled:<br />
Mofongo: A mixture of fried plantain (or yuca, or breadfruit), mixed with garlic, and pork fat, and formed around a filling of vegetables, seafood, or beef. <br />
Pinchos: Roasted tostones (fried mashed plantain) and chicken or pork on a skewer.<br />
Alcapurria: A sort of turnover made from yucca, calabaza (a type of pumpkin), potato, or plantain filled with crab, chicken or picadillo.<br />
Bacalaitos: A fish fritter.<br />
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One evening we ate at Metropol, a family style restaurant right next to the cockfighting arena. The clientele seemed to be a mixture of tourists and locals. I ate a nice piece of beef complimented with congri (rice and black beans), tostones, and a tamale. All very delicious.<br />
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And then there are Mojitos—perhaps the main fuel of the San Sebastian festival. And why not! It is a great way to deal with the heat and humidity—the mint and lime are so refreshing and yeah, there’s rum, too! Wikipedia declares this to be the proper way to prepare a mojito: <em>“Lime juice is added to sugar and mint leaves. The mixture is then gently mashed with a muddler. The mint leaves should only be bruised to release the essential oils and should not be shredded. Then rum is added and the mixture is briefly stirred to dissolve the sugar and to lift the mint sprigs up from the bottom for better presentation. Finally, the drink is topped with ice cubes and sparkling water. Mint leaves and lime wedges are used to garnish the glass”. </em>I don’t think that the mojitos I consumed at the festival were made with this degree of finesse. But they were fine. Damn fine!<br />
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<b>Pinchos at San Sebastian Festival</b></div>
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<b>Aricibo:</b><br />
Imagine if somebody were to construct a giant radio telescope dish in one of the giant Camuy sinkholes so large that it filled the entire hole and then suspend from giant cables above the dish, a huge sci-fi looking collecting device. If you were to imagine that, you would be imagining the <a href="http://www.naic.edu/">Aricibo</a> telescope.<br />
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This installation is run by Cornell University and the National Science Foundation and has been used to among other things:<br />
• Determine the exact rotation of Mercury<br />
• Discover the periodicity of the Crab Pulsar<br />
• Discover the first binary pulsar<br />
• Image an asteroid, for the first time in history<br />
• Look for signals from extraterrestrial intelligent beings<br />
• Send signals into space as a message to extraterrestrial intelligent beings<br />
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It is jolting to see this huge complex in the midst of the Puerto Rican rain forest. And because of this, it has been used as a backdrop for two movies, Contact (the extraterrestrial angle) and GoldenEye (I think it was the source of a death ray the bad guy was going to use—Bond destroyed it).<br />
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The visitor’s center was great. One feature was designed to help us understand the relative distance of the planets to the sun. The “sun” was located in the parking lot. On the long climb up the path to the visitor’s center, which was on the brink of the sinkhole, we passed Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars, and Jupiter. Pluto beyond the sinkhole and the Proxima Centauri, the nearest star, was on a mountaintop on the horizon.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiV6gQLOttk7-lPz_QZOUeHRW0WzY4bks9SMXYRjVPyWbw55Tn-yz-CslLnI9VAuVcNMqx6GLDCU2_CLEy7MbLt3YiW125ygpa6Qj0oMoGwdNfzj1uOI9FdbMDrYmX_Q-8UwSYbRzlupA/s1600/Aricibo+%25281%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="428" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiV6gQLOttk7-lPz_QZOUeHRW0WzY4bks9SMXYRjVPyWbw55Tn-yz-CslLnI9VAuVcNMqx6GLDCU2_CLEy7MbLt3YiW125ygpa6Qj0oMoGwdNfzj1uOI9FdbMDrYmX_Q-8UwSYbRzlupA/s640/Aricibo+%25281%2529.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<strong>Statehood vs. Independence vs. Status Quo:</strong><br />
After our Camuy/Aricibo tour, the tour guide and I had a long discussion about this very interesting and complex issue. In the end, we arrived at our hotel, and sat in the car talking about this for another half-hour.<br />
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Puerto Rico has been under the control of the U.S. since we took it from Spain in the Spanish American war. Puerto Ricans have been U.S. citizens since 1917. There are strong opinions about what the future of Puerto Rico should be within the U.S. and Puerto Rican governments. Right now the pro-statehood forces are in control in Puerto Rico. But due to the complex process needed for statehood, it is unlikely to happen soon, if ever. It will be interesting to see what the future holds for this unique, beautiful island.<br />
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Randyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14428531478283627693noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3281612281509186026.post-731872064689258912011-01-11T20:53:00.000-06:002016-02-16T21:31:57.499-06:00Puerto Rico!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Off to San Juan in the morning! We're flying thru Atlanta, which is having major winter weather issues right now (This is Atlanta we're talking about--how bizarre!) They cancelled a lot of flights today, so we are hoping for an improvement by tomorrow or we may end up sitting at home, drinking rum, and pretending we're in Puerto Rico on the beach.</div>
Randyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14428531478283627693noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3281612281509186026.post-67041628152178010282010-05-17T20:30:00.000-05:002016-03-22T11:02:52.003-05:00Austria?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Madeline has graduated from college! She will spend the summer as a nanny & then plans to take an English teaching position in Linz, Austria. Seems like my travel MO has become following Madeline around the world, but that works. We will be traveling to Austria at some point in the next year.</div>
Randyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14428531478283627693noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3281612281509186026.post-50049242605053142772009-04-06T20:05:00.000-05:002016-03-22T11:01:52.598-05:00Gaborone and Home<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj35_7nuQGwDXoFN4AAatfbkDF9JMpvX0MQnGAmFy2ieuZyImde6xUOd6Xehu3SONTCmMM43J-e6aXugi5s2EprupnQ_-4YqRNYQMsAtawyvAzrUZ81Kiurdydl1DxbOX8z6zllVVUAU-w/s1600-h/Randy+%26+Madeline+Sanitas.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5349932744885309378" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj35_7nuQGwDXoFN4AAatfbkDF9JMpvX0MQnGAmFy2ieuZyImde6xUOd6Xehu3SONTCmMM43J-e6aXugi5s2EprupnQ_-4YqRNYQMsAtawyvAzrUZ81Kiurdydl1DxbOX8z6zllVVUAU-w/s400/Randy+%26+Madeline+Sanitas.JPG" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 300px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a><br />
After spending the morning at SOS on April 1, we finally did make it to Sanitas Restaurant. The food was OK and the ambience was very pleasant—outdoor dining amidst trees and plants. I, nevertheless, was overjoyed. That night was our last night at the Lolwapa. Madeline decided to spend our last night in Africa with us. On the morning of this day, we got up, packed up, bade Madeline farewell and taxied to the airport. Madeline was getting ready for her own trip to Victoria Falls—she would travel by bus over roads that at times became dirt tracks. It actually took her longer to reach Vic Falls than it did for us to fly all the way home. Our journey took us to Jo’berg, then on to Amsterdam and finally back to Minnesota.<br />
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My only regret was our inability to see any of the big cats on this trip. On my trip to Kenya in the 70’s I saw a leopard, a cheetah, and a multitude of lions and did not realize how lucky I was. I also would have liked to have come across mopane worms, just for the experience. <br />
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I’ll have to experience all of those things on the next trip to Africa.<br />
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<strong><em><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/boabab/sets/72157620088814592/show/"></a></em></strong><br />
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<strong><em><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/boabab/sets/72157620088814592/show/">Click here for a slideshow of African Animals.</a></em></strong></blockquote>
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Randyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14428531478283627693noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3281612281509186026.post-65486360406143342012009-04-06T20:04:00.000-05:002016-03-22T11:02:03.652-05:00Gaborone<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaK5JuuVWjBiPRJiefnkAxHcnhyrzU80Pvt4MzhIt2Y7sbJItbo44lw8L4rT1tOjLb8lS0OgNZ5zbKxyh2u9-Tn0ipmHKyBla6wfTWMGqQy3DOhGV2yMmoVIW5lbdH9a-92KzIzhcKcAM/s1600-h/IMG_0064.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5329349496671018546" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaK5JuuVWjBiPRJiefnkAxHcnhyrzU80Pvt4MzhIt2Y7sbJItbo44lw8L4rT1tOjLb8lS0OgNZ5zbKxyh2u9-Tn0ipmHKyBla6wfTWMGqQy3DOhGV2yMmoVIW5lbdH9a-92KzIzhcKcAM/s400/IMG_0064.JPG" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 300px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTI0C82NvoPBTaC_g0ksPoi0T1nBnAStYj7jNl87hjwNyM51fTwbjQDPai9V0Pxw2ZiFDBwNAeE-IYRAx66zXZS6iVLeAlo2JmyKPZftloYEF7O7ZlRlcnZnT6_lK8iC95N8PiZz8l_d4/s1600-h/IMG_0062.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5329349081078150418" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTI0C82NvoPBTaC_g0ksPoi0T1nBnAStYj7jNl87hjwNyM51fTwbjQDPai9V0Pxw2ZiFDBwNAeE-IYRAx66zXZS6iVLeAlo2JmyKPZftloYEF7O7ZlRlcnZnT6_lK8iC95N8PiZz8l_d4/s400/IMG_0062.JPG" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 300px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSwdrRNo8QDhw540DCjC4Wam-Oaj-OfM4seReDKj0Yk75IJEa7HgvvqAzhBMm25FtXKXlD08Ih3h6y6etH6r3rbVnC12g0mEmaP7kIvfMtELKt7ofosZMJBmFe3PkOpIL2UF411cGCzm8/s1600-h/IMG_0061.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5329348086573919042" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSwdrRNo8QDhw540DCjC4Wam-Oaj-OfM4seReDKj0Yk75IJEa7HgvvqAzhBMm25FtXKXlD08Ih3h6y6etH6r3rbVnC12g0mEmaP7kIvfMtELKt7ofosZMJBmFe3PkOpIL2UF411cGCzm8/s400/IMG_0061.JPG" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 300px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7YS9OH7K20lI40_MlnAKy49LNRK1NBRhAmZduEfqtR8iirepsCDYt5Rt4i7zEQd31jDpLOBR-4MazgJrM7exgZU54kuhppJpXfXRAfeDEhELaJ3wnuYS4aWzf9TWIwEBqM5PH-csZH1M/s1600-h/IMG_0060.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5329347763091477442" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7YS9OH7K20lI40_MlnAKy49LNRK1NBRhAmZduEfqtR8iirepsCDYt5Rt4i7zEQd31jDpLOBR-4MazgJrM7exgZU54kuhppJpXfXRAfeDEhELaJ3wnuYS4aWzf9TWIwEBqM5PH-csZH1M/s400/IMG_0060.JPG" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 300px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a><br />
We spent another morning with Madeline at SOS on this morning. Here are a few pictures from the day.</div>
Randyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14428531478283627693noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3281612281509186026.post-25986019706929242512009-04-06T20:02:00.000-05:002016-03-22T11:02:13.630-05:00Mokolodi and Bahurutshe<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwQX4Xl8xYp5vAqDW21J8xnlXF-3NHNp5Gf5MVfj829bcTvN9s3EsGkoPEp6_6k-VkTkIpf-OvzJoYAY1AJt-5LCjHjAjLMEGzHALZ6Lqqabg5Jk-ZGy9trLEgtrHEk4_Qe9G2YVYPfEM/s1600-h/Bahurutshe.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5349427839479782306" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwQX4Xl8xYp5vAqDW21J8xnlXF-3NHNp5Gf5MVfj829bcTvN9s3EsGkoPEp6_6k-VkTkIpf-OvzJoYAY1AJt-5LCjHjAjLMEGzHALZ6Lqqabg5Jk-ZGy9trLEgtrHEk4_Qe9G2YVYPfEM/s400/Bahurutshe.JPG" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 300px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZv_NRCdBQTtkHR2J3VkeIwWV5InPzNTvrCpqCMprkW9EaDKCAavmgbWnHIdms7bdV0y2FSYviO8uRrtsedgCB1dUdHTOsWFV1IFRqwjtFDi3AQrgvYXvrQ2IgloqSmjH42kZNo9q-e3s/s1600-h/Kathy+Bahurutshe+14.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5349427541258023266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZv_NRCdBQTtkHR2J3VkeIwWV5InPzNTvrCpqCMprkW9EaDKCAavmgbWnHIdms7bdV0y2FSYviO8uRrtsedgCB1dUdHTOsWFV1IFRqwjtFDi3AQrgvYXvrQ2IgloqSmjH42kZNo9q-e3s/s400/Kathy+Bahurutshe+14.JPG" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 300px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlbMy9jIWhYg8ESotZoQIlWe1Gu5xZRuUNMS5Vh5jft8inPJVo-llxSIJQroDrTf5J6b_ap88W5l1OO8b-YJCmbJBX7CX4LT_qmMtKCkHh9zjpVxppcFwexzKsIqZxHFhdipwQqFDyWnE/s1600-h/Kathy+%26+Randy+Bahurutshe+16.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5349427214430306514" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlbMy9jIWhYg8ESotZoQIlWe1Gu5xZRuUNMS5Vh5jft8inPJVo-llxSIJQroDrTf5J6b_ap88W5l1OO8b-YJCmbJBX7CX4LT_qmMtKCkHh9zjpVxppcFwexzKsIqZxHFhdipwQqFDyWnE/s400/Kathy+%26+Randy+Bahurutshe+16.JPG" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 300px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a><br />
On this day, Kathy and I hired a car and driver to take us to a couple points of interest near Gaborone, the Mokolodi Game Preserve and Bahurutshe Cultural Village. The <a href="http://www.mokolodi.com/sanctuary.php">Mokolodi Game Preserve </a>is a 30 square km nature preserve south of Gaborone. It was formed in 1991 as a preserve and a center for environmental education. There were already a variety of animals living in the area, including warthogs, steenbok, and kudu, when the preserve was set up. Zebra, giraffe, eland, ostrich, hippos and rhinos have all been reintroduced. We were driven around part of the preserve in the back of a pickup truck outfitted with seats and saw ostriches, kudu, warthogs, wildebeests, and zebra. We also saw a large group of giraffe. (Groups of giraffe are called jennies—how cool is that?) We saw a cheetah in an enclosure—they have two at Mokolodi that were injured and are there for rehabilitation. There were also elephants that were under the care of elephant handlers. No lions, though.They are doing good work at Mokolodi, but it was all a little too tame after having been to northern Botswana. <br />
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We left Mokolodi and drove to the <a href="http://www.bahurutsheculturallodge.com/">Bahurutshe Village </a>to find out about traditional Batswana village life. Madeline had visited the cultural village with her ACM group in January and had recommended that we go there as well. The purpose of the cultural village is to preserve Batswana tradition, and while it is great for tourists, it also is aimed at local school groups, to help them understand their past and their traditions in this rapidly changing, rapidly urbanizing society. <br />
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When we drove up to the collection of rondavels that comprise the village, there was a small group of elderly women ululating a welcome. I had expected other tourists to be there, but Kathy and I were the only people there. There were five or six elderly women and one old man there to facilitate the program. After it was explained that if we were following tradition, I would sit in a chair and Kathy would sit on the ground, we were both seated in chairs in the shade of an acacia tree. Then they performed a traditional wedding with song and dance, showed how the bride would go to live with the groom’s family, and help with the daily chores. The chores included pounding sorghum into flour, and spreading fresh cow manure on the doorstep every morning (with her hands—yes they really demonstrated that). They also demonstrated traditional games that the people of southern Africa play at social occasions and by the fire in the evening. <br />
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One game is <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Morabaraba">morabaraba</a> and is played mostly by men. Morabaraba is played on three concentric squares scratched into the dirt that are all connected at the corners with diagonal lines. Rocks, bottle caps, or similar objects are used as game pieces and are called “cows.” Each player in turn places a cow at the intersection of two lines. When a player has placed three pieces in a row (called a “mill”), he may “shoot a cow” by removing one of their opponents pieces from the board. Cows in a mill may not be shot. Once all the players have placed all of their cows, each player in turn may move cows from one intersection to an adjacent one to form mills. A player wins when their opponent has only two cows left or can’t move.<br />
According to Wikipedia, Morabaraba is derived from the English Morris and is based on a European game called “Nine Man Morris”, or alternatively Mills or Merrills in English, which was introduced by European settlers. This game ultimately came from a Roman game. Merellus, in Latin, means gaming counter.<br />
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A game favored by women is diketo, and requires timing and dexterity. Diketo, in principle, is like jacks. To play diketo, you draw a circle on the ground and place a bunch of pebbles within that circle. Each person takes turns tossing a large pebble, called a mguni or goon, into the air while taking pebbles out of the hole and placing them in a prearranged pattern (first one, then two, then three, and so on) on the ground before catching the large pebble. If you manage to get all the pebbles out, you continue by putting them back in the circle. If you manage to get them all back in, you’re done and you shout "Ndavala!" ("I'm finished!").<br />
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Finally, there was singing and dancing. Kathy was invited to participate. I, thankfully, was not. Then it was time for dinner. We were served seswaa (pounded beef), chicken, bean leaves (which were just that—the Batswana grow a large variety of beans, some for their leaves), bogobe (sorghum porridge), bread (which is not traditional), and some fresh greens (they called it lettuce, but if it was, it was not a lettuce I’m familiar with). The food was enjoyable, but bland. There doesn’t seem to be much variety in the traditional diet. It is centered on beef and either bogobe, or in recent times pap, plus a few vegetables. Disappointingly, they don’t seem to use much in the way of spices—quite different from other warm climate cuisines. <br />
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Visiting Bahurutshe was a good way for us to understand and appreciate the cultural background that formed the base for the modern Botswana that we were experiencing. I had hoped for mopane worms to be part of that experience, but they were not offered.</div>
Randyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14428531478283627693noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3281612281509186026.post-83088363260798523312009-04-06T20:00:00.000-05:002016-03-22T11:02:23.909-05:00Gaborone and Oodi<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrvvNwKPq0FxA3grgUEJKPdviDIK-WyZzvPlTaSiK3eLUvcem_eiiXnwMUqe2pqljOPaTu51hNxagYYZkbo2lYznlt-v3cPT_6ROGhmH-Z9-hWnqbhhFuBD_nLPL3npvk9R9_HHPqFq8w/s1600-h/Oodi+Weavers+17.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5341769845124152546" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrvvNwKPq0FxA3grgUEJKPdviDIK-WyZzvPlTaSiK3eLUvcem_eiiXnwMUqe2pqljOPaTu51hNxagYYZkbo2lYznlt-v3cPT_6ROGhmH-Z9-hWnqbhhFuBD_nLPL3npvk9R9_HHPqFq8w/s400/Oodi+Weavers+17.JPG" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 300px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9VWoFyrpvbrx4JD70VzcuFhEaGZ8RVsLmAGLvJcp7F-YpK0eHiZNVZlliuCjoi1S9xxZIoSAGrD0KRAPWzP4k8RSMkbinS9bC8M__bms1ozduMedKCf00dChSM-KW1ckrd6hb_XfjcRU/s1600-h/Oodi+Weavers+10.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5341769611456765474" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9VWoFyrpvbrx4JD70VzcuFhEaGZ8RVsLmAGLvJcp7F-YpK0eHiZNVZlliuCjoi1S9xxZIoSAGrD0KRAPWzP4k8RSMkbinS9bC8M__bms1ozduMedKCf00dChSM-KW1ckrd6hb_XfjcRU/s400/Oodi+Weavers+10.JPG" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 300px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB5EsNVVDxg2_VC8sTOVUVbvDomfFYAn3wPG1AUVQDhFfBp4vDPNE1NRj9pa4iIIPPWDs7rQTej91jdo2hp3pCCvw8DG72UATbQmtrNSI9M7Wm3oRAnJvXfcMNxYPtanH_avnGv8KZMUc/s1600-h/Oodi+Weavers+2.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5341769312128931010" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB5EsNVVDxg2_VC8sTOVUVbvDomfFYAn3wPG1AUVQDhFfBp4vDPNE1NRj9pa4iIIPPWDs7rQTej91jdo2hp3pCCvw8DG72UATbQmtrNSI9M7Wm3oRAnJvXfcMNxYPtanH_avnGv8KZMUc/s400/Oodi+Weavers+2.JPG" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 300px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a><br />
On this day, Kathy and I, along with Madeline and her friend Avery, traveled to Oodi, a little village near Gaborone to visit the Oodi weavers. To get to Oodi, you must turn off the main road and drive a couple of miles of rocky open range dotted with grazing goats and cattle. The village is a collection of thatched rondavels, small tin roofed houses of concrete block, dirt streets, scratching chickens and playing children. It seems an unlikely spot for a world-famous weaving enterprise. <br />
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The <a href="http://www.idrc.ca/en/ev-5125-201-1-DO_TOPIC.html">Oodi weaving cooperative </a>uses European spinning, dying and weaving on spinning wheels and looms imported from Sweden. The artisans have incorporated their own stylistic sensibility into the process, however, and their products, from the runners to the tapestries, are without a doubt, African. In 1973, two Swedish artists set up the coop here with the help of a small grant from <a href="http://www.cuso.org/">CUSO</a>. The coop, consisting of about fifty local people, mostly women, has thrived. The coop members hand spin the imported wool, hand dye the yarn in large iron pots, and weave the fabrics on a variety of handlooms. An individual co-op artisan designs each tapestry. They typically display scenes from Botswanan village life, or Botswanan wildlife. The runners and tablecloths that we saw in the show room were made from fine Merino wool, while the tapestries were made from coarser wool. <br />
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The coop’s main building was a large one-story wooden frame building divided into workrooms. One large room was for the looms, a smaller room contained the spinning wheels, and even smaller room had stoves and pots for the dying process. It was relatively quiet during our visit. There were maybe a half-dozen people at work at the looms and spinning wheels, and no other visitors. One of the workers showed us around the work areas and then led to a smaller adjacent building that contained the business office and a small show room. Kathy, Madeline, Avery, and even I had fun sorting through the piles of fabric and examining the tapestries on display on the walls.<br />
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The Oodi visit was enjoyable for me for the chance to see the process of making the weavings, and visiting the Botswanan countryside. More importantly, it was inspiring to see firsthand how this enterprise had provided income and empowerment for these village women. The project has become a source of local and national pride as the weavings have gone on display around the world. It has brought money into the local economy and it has provided a means of keeping people in this village, as other similar villages lose their population to Gaborone. <br />
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After our visit to Oodi, our driver dropped us at the university. It was lunchtime and Madeline decided that we must go to Sanitos, which she described as a pleasant outdoor restaurant in a plant nursery on the edge of Gaborone. So she called the taxi company.<br />
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“This is Mary. I need a taxi to go from the University to Sanitos….No, Sanitos. Sanitos, do you know it? Sanitos…. I can direct the driver. How long? Twenty minutes? OK. No. Mary….Mary”<br />
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A half-hour later, she called again. “This is Mary. I called a taxi a half hour ago and it isn’t here yet. Sorry?... Sorry?....No, Mary. Sorry? To Sanitos. Sanitos. Sorry? No, I can direct the driver. Ten minutes? OK.” With great optimism, we left her dorm room to wait on the street.<br />
<br />
Ten minutes later, she called again. “I called for a taxi and am wondering when it will arrive. Sorry? This is Mary. Yes. Two minutes? OK.”<br />
<br />
Five minutes later, she called another taxi company. “I need a taxi to go from the University to Sanitos. Mary….Sanitos…No, Sanitos. I can direct the driver. How long? Twenty minutes? OK.” A minute after that call, a taxi drove up. It was the taxi from the first company. The driver’s name was Francis. He had been waiting around the corner for “a while”—not the usual spot for taxis to wait, but it was his first day on the job. Madeline called the second taxi company back. “This is Mary. I called for a taxi a short time ago, please don’t send it. I have changed my mind. Sorry? No, we don’t need a taxi. I have changed my mind. Yes. Thank you.”<br />
<br />
We got in and Francis drove us across town as Madeline provided directions. Sanitos was definitely off the beaten track, but we got there. There was a wall on the front side of the nursery with a gate for cars. I could see a pleasant shady brick-paved area through the gate. Francis asked if he should drive through the gate or drop us at the gate. Madeline decided he could drop us at the gate, and we got out and paid, then Francis drove away. We walked through the car gate, across the shaded parking area, and up to the front door. It was closed. “Closed on Tuesdays,” the sign said. I ran to the gate to see if I could flag down Francis, but he was long gone. Madeline cursed and dug in her purse for cell phone. “We were just dropped off at Sanitos and they are closed. Could you tell the driver that dropped us off to turn around and pick us up? No, Sanitos. No, we were dropped off and we need to be picked up because it is closed. Yes. Mary. Yes. No, we’re at Sanitos Restaurant and it is closed so we need to be picked up. One of your drivers just dropped us off. Can he pick us up? His name was Francis. Yes. So can he pick us up? Twenty minutes? He was just here. Twenty minutes. OK.” She hung up. I suggested that perhaps the taxi dispatcher hadn’t understood her. She made a growling sound and called the other taxi company.<br />
<br />
“Hello, we are at Sanitos Restaurant and we need to be picked up. Mary. Yes, Mary. Yes, I did tell you I didn’t need a taxi. But now I need one because the restaurant we went to is closed. Yes, we need a taxi. But, I didn’t need one then. Sorry? Sorry?” She hung up and swore. <br />
<br />
Twenty minutes later a taxi appeared. It was from the first company. It was not Francis. When we asked about Francis, the driver didn’t know anyone by that name. Granted Francis was new, but it also strengthened my theory that the name some Batswana use with foreigners is not their real name. Madeline had the driver take us to the Game City Mall, one of the larger malls in Gaborone where we cast around for a half hour for a particular restaurant that Madeline wanted to eat at, but didn’t remember the exactly where it was located. It required some tense muttering and walking around but we eventually did find it and ate a very late lunch. After lunch, we went to a store called Botswanacraft to shop for artisan-made good from Botswana. Unfortunately, I was exhausted from too many activities, taxi hassles, tense muttering and walking around and found a spot to sit on the stairs while Kathy and Madeline looked around the store. <br />
<br />
Kathy and I had just enough time to go back to the Lolwapa and change clothes before it was time to go out for dinner. Avery, Madeline, and her friend Tswello joined us. Tswello was quiet and, I think, a little intimidated by us. He seemed like a great guy with an interesting background and some broad interests. <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-UurkBYClcs">Tswello is a rapper</a> and has a CD out in Botswana. His father is a farmer and raises ostriches, not the usual livestock in Botswana, where cattle are ubiquitous and where wealth was measured traditionally by how many cattle one owned. But talking about any of those things at length with a couple of old Americans was a little too much for Tswello. He did start to loosen up a little by the end of the meal. I would like to think that that we managed to draw him out with our charm and winning personalities. Or maybe it was the beer.</div>
Randyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14428531478283627693noreply@blogger.com0