My Dad

In all the excitement of coming home from South America, I completely forgot the anniversary of my father's death nine years ago. And, of course, I didn't have my brother to remind me. He's gone too. Was there anyone that day that thought of my dad? I'm the only left who remembers how good he was, how strong and how completely dependable to every member of his family.

My dad...Old faithful, rock of gilbratar, steady eddie, lean on me, solid citizen, silent but deep. Handsome with thick black hair, a roman nose, elegant hands, long toes with ugly twisted toenails, hairy legs, except where his socks came up, pimples on his back and a pointed ear that he would wiggle for our amusement. Short sleeved dress shirts in the summer with pens in the pocket. White bucks or saddle shoes, sometimes. Bow ties that he proudly tied himself.

Down in his office, cabinets filled with needles, large and small. His desk a mess of papers, pills, prescription pads. Books and periodicals jumbled on the shelves behind and on the window sill a small statue of a boy peeing, probably a gift from a drug salesman. The back room, never open, never lit, is empty except for a large dark machine. Front room is the waiting room. The only window blocked by an air conditioner, the door open to the street in good weather. My father standing outside waiting for patients. A framed reproduction of Van Gogh’s sunflowers on the wall.

He’s always home, my dad. During Office Hours, down the steps seeing patients. After Office Hours, upstairs on the sofa or at the table for dinner. He picked me up at school for lunch during the week.

He was the bravest man I knew. For six months, he watched my mom slip away to death knowing in his heart the inevitable ending but doing all he could to protect her from that knowledge. At the end, he sat with her all day long in the hospital, a faithful soldier not saying anything but always there. She was grateful for his presence and I will never forget his constancy.

He couldn’t protect himself as with excruciating but inexorable slowness he lost his independence, his capabilities, his mobility. He was angry; he was sad; but, most of all, he was ashamed that this was happening to him. By the end, he was numb, beaten down by the decline of his body, the deadening of his mind, the loss of words.

I often wondered how he could go on, keep breathing, keep eating, get out of bed. Finally, he stopped.

I miss him.

Living the Good Life in Lima

We arrived in Lima on Saturday afternoon ready to be at sea level once again and to sample the pleasures of city life after our almost three weeks in the country.

How wonderful to be in a city where it's warm--time for sandals and sleeveless shirts--and the Pacific Ocean is right on your doorstep. Dinner that night was fantastico at Astrid y Gaston, a true temple of Peruvian food.

Next day, Sunday, we did like so many Peruvian families and strolled ever so leisurely along the cliffs above the ocean to Barranco, a district of wonderful old colonial architecture, some decrepit but others in various stages of restoration. We stopped for lunch--ceviche, of course--at a local restaurant with a view of the ocean below. That night, we met Rogelio, a friend of Jake's, and his girlfriend and sampled chifa, Peruvian chinese food. Pretty much like American chinese food but without the spice.

Today, we spent the morning being model tourists roaming around il centro or the historic district. Highlight of the morning was our tour of the catacombs of the monastery of San Francisco. Our tour guide for this particularly eerie expedition was a very nervous young man who spoke in rapid fire and low decibel English with a pronounced lisp rendering him completely incomprehensible to all of us on the tour.

We escaped the catacombs and took off for lunch at La Mar, a hip and happening spot for ceviche in Milleflores, an upscale area of Lima. The place was packed but we happily sipped our pisco sours while waiting for our table and a sampling of fabulous ceviche.

To view my photos of our all too brief visit to Lima, click here.

I SURVIVED THE INCA TRAIL!!

While Steve hung out in Cusco and the Sacred Valley, I had one of the most challenging and amazing experiences of my life—hiking the Inca Trail to Machu Picchu, a 26 mile, four day, three night trek over the mountains to the fabled Inca citadel. My companions were Edison, a namesake of the inventor but more importantly a wonderfully knowledgeable guide to Inca history and culture, and Ben and Jeannie, a delightful young couple from Mississippi who made me homesick for Liz and Giul. I was definitely the senior member of our little group and, in fact, most of the hikers I saw on the trail were in their 20’s and 30’s.

Our group also numbered eight porters, all of whom seemed ageless and incredibly fit. They carried our gear, set up camp, cooked our meals and even provided us with a snack each morning for the trail. While I trudged up and down the trail stopping to rest, take pictures, marvel at the foliage and views or look at Inca sites along the way, they powered their way along the trail carrying loads of at least 50 kilos on their backs. When we arrived at our final campsite for the evening, everything was ready for our arrival—hot water for washing up, our tents set up and dinner cooking.

The first day of the hike took place in brilliant blue sunshine with views of snow and ice topped mountains behind and before us and the Urubamba River below us. The trail wound gently up past farms and adobe houses. Along the way, women were selling bottles of water or Gatorade to passing hikers. If a house or stand had a pole with a red plastic bag tied to the end at was a sign that chicha—a kind of beer made from fermented corn—was available. I can’t tell you want it tastes like because I safely decided to stick to water. At night after hiking about five hours, we camped next to a cornfield. After dinner, I cuddled into my sleeping bag and was lulled to sleep by the sounds of a stream and the croaking of tiny frogs.

Day Two was the real challenge. We woke up at 6am and by 7:30 were on the trail going up and up and up to Dead Woman’s Pass at an altitude of almost 14,000 ft. My heart was pounding, my legs were aching but turning back was never an option. After some five hours climbing huge granite steps to reach the pass, it was another two hours down those “evil steps” ever so carefully, until I arrived at camp for the night. After dinner, I put on just about all my clothes, climbed into my sleeping bag and slept like a baby in the cold mountain air.

The next day took us for hours through a lush cloud forest featuring amazing varieties of orchids, bromeliads, mosses and ferns. After lunch, the trail also featured four hours of torrential rain, effectively soaking all my clothes, my backpack and my shoes. My tent that night smelled like a high school gym since I laid out everything--including a sodden wad of Peruvian money--next to my sleeping bag in a vain attempt to dry out my belongings.

On the final morning, we woke up at 4 am to get ready for the final push to Machu Picchu. The rain had stopped but the clouds remained. When we arrived at the Sun Gate after some three hours of hiking, Machu Picchu was lost in a lake of swirling clouds--a true fantasy kingdom. By 10, the sun appeared and the clouds vanished to reveal the truly incredible grandeur and beauty of the site. Machu Picchu is indeed a wonder of the world but for me the real value and meaning of the experience was getting there over those four days. I am unashamedly proud of my accomplishment.

For some of my photos of the hike and Machu Picchu, click here.

Cusco

We arrived in Cusco last night after a 10 hour train trip across the Andes. We started out in the freezing cold--ice on the ground and no heat on the train, meandered slowly over the Andes passing through several small towns each featuring a market selling everything from engine parts to sneakers and then slowly wound our way through lush green valleys along the river to Cusco. Incredible vistas the entire way but it was a long trip.

Cusco seems very lively--full of tourists all wearing the same clothes--convertible trekking pants, tee shirts, fleeces and, of course, cameras. There seems to be a lot of Brits here. The train was full of them, complaining about the high price of a beer which was not included in the "package."

Tonight I went for the orientation for my hike of the Inca Trail. My group is just me and a young couple from Mississippi. So much for their romantic experience. I just hope I don't slow them down too much. I'm leaving Steve in the hands of Ruben, our local guide here in Cusco. We will meet again at Macchu Pichu on Thursday.

To see my pictures from Lake Tititcaca click here.

Lake Titicaca, part 2

Last night at Lake Titicaca. I am having my new favorite drink, a pisco sour, nibbling on local cheese and fried fava beans (heavenly!!). I´ve just watched another multi-hued sunset. The sky here is incredibly dramatic and everchanging. Huge white clouds hug the mountains; then miles and miles of piercing blue and in the distance huge rolling grey stormclouds that look like a whole other world to explore.

We are the only people tonight here except for young Peruvian woman and her mother who have been our companions on two excursions to islands in the lake. Yesterday, Armando, our guide, took us to see his family on one of the floating islands, artificial islands made of reeds, where we were hugged and kissed and entertained by his mother and sisters. And today we went to a rocky island about an hour away where we had to climb up a steep hill to enjoy a lunch of potatoes and corn roasted in the fire and quinoa soup while overlooking terraced farms descending all the way to a sandy beach. And, yes, Steve made the trip up and down!

Of course, yesterday I had to get a little exercise in preparation for my hike up the Inca Trail so in the afternoon Armando and I walked up from the hotel to a rocky point overlooking the penisula. We walked past rows and rows of quinoa (did you know it was a beautiful purple plant?), fava beans and of course potatoes. No cars and no motorbikes just the sounds of the animals--donkeys, pigs, cows and lots of stray dogs. At the top we sat and watched as the people walked up the hill and back to their homes leading herds of sheep or donkeys carrying loads of alfalfa to feed the animals. It seems a hard life here in the Andean highlands but no one is starving. The real poverty is in the cities down below.

I feel incredibly lucky to have experienced this place and this life if only for a short time.

Lake Titicaca

I am on complete sensory overload. Today we are on the shores of Lake Titicaca in the Andean highlands some 13,000 ft. above sea level. We left La Paz yesterday and drove for seven hours to arrive at sunset at a magical hotel sitting alone on a penisula jutting out onto the lake.

The drive started in Bolivia and took us up and down and around the lake with snow covered mountains always in the background. Our Bolivian guide was a passionate and eloquent spokesperson for his country, always talking with reverence about his president, Mr. Evo Morales, and his concern for the native people.

After lunch we arrived at the border with Peru and mucho paper work--lots of stamping of papers on both sides by officials in dusty green uniforms in offices that looked unchanged since the ´50´s complete with a few tired dogs outside.

Then it was a few hours more past incredible vistas. Miles and miles of farmland--quinoa, corn, alfafa, fava beans, potatoes--stretching all the way out to the shores of the lake.

The lake is so huge that it feels in parts that you are driving along the ocean. But here we see wmen in colorful native dress--brilliantly colored full skirts, bowler or straw hats, long braided black hair with huge pompoms at the end of the braids--
carrying loads of reeds or alfalfa or potatoes--there are over 100 varieties--wrapped in shawls on their backs.

The color, the air, the water--it is almost too much to absorb.

Jet Set

Three countries in one day! Must be a personal record. We left Chile this morning, flew to Lima, Peru caught a plane for La Paz, Bolivia where we will spend the night.

To view my photos of Atacama click here.

Adios Atacama

I am sitting at the Holiday Inn at the airport of Santiago which means I could be anywhere in the world. But I have just come from 4 days in Atacama in northern Chile which is truly unlike anywhere else I have ever been. My words and pictures can't really convey the magnificence of this area of the world--the silence, the majesty and the overall impression of endless, endless time. There is always a vista that sharply takes my breath away if only for a moment--seemingly boundless oceans of sand, a horizon studded with mountains and volcanoes streaked with snow and colored by the blowing salt and minerals in the desert or huge formations of sand that look like clay sculptures crafted on a superhuman scale.

Yesterday I took a hike along the river scrambling like a goat over rocks and only saved from instant death at several points by my guide. On one side I could see towering walls of sand and rock with age old cacti shooting up to the sky. Down below next to the river, there was a constant swath of pampas grass undulating along the curves of the riverbed. When we emerged from the canyon, an almost full moon was waiting for us along with the van.

Steve, of course did not go on this hike but he did go with me at sunset one afternoon to a lagoon where we saw flamingos and watched the water and the surrounding salt flat turn into an array of brilliant colors as the sun disappeared. It was almost as wonderful as a sunset in Maine!

Atacama

It's hard to describe where we are now--at the Explora Hotel in the town of San Pedro de Atacama, an oasis in the region of Chile which is the driest place in the world. The scenery is truly otherworldly. Mountains and volcanos surround us and the desert stretches out in all directions ever changing with the light. We are up at about 8000 ft. but are tolerating the altitude well--pounding the water as directed by everyone. Today we even took an excursion up to the alteplaine of Atecama some 15,000 ft. above sea level. It was a long drive but so worth it. The landscape is like no other we have ever seen--barren, empty, endless expanses of sand and rock but full of color and calm. The sky is a brilliant, brilliant blue; the mountains are brown but also streaked with color from the salt and minerals in the soil and sometimes with snow at the top. We drive for two hours and see maybe 3 other vehicles and finally arrive at a series of deep blue, truly azure lagoons ringed by the mountains and salt flats. We can see flamingos and vicuna along the edge. How amazing it is to have a picnic sheltered from the wind by of the rocks and to enjoy this incredible view in front of us.

Steve has truly risen to the occasion. Yesterday, our first full day, he took a hike with me in the morning that ended in a run down a hill of sand, a descent of some 200 meters. Yes, he can!

Hola!

So here we are in Santiago, Chile where I am torturing my limited Italian into a weird hybrid of Spanish but some how making myself understood...most of the time.

First impressions of Santiago (probably only impressions since we leave tomorrow for the Atacama region up north):

1. It's very clean. Even the subway sparkles.
2. Not too many blonds here but a lot of really good looking guys with dark, curly hair. Actually, all the young people look like Erica and Alex Frenkel.
3. The weather is fabulous...at least in the summer. Blue sky without a hint of a cloud, in the 80's and dry as a bone.
4. It seems very conservative. Just about everyone one is wearing a cross. Not a particularly stylish scene on the street either.

Naturally, our first thought after napping was for food so we headed to the center of town and the Mercado Central for a late lunch. The Mercado, sort of the Reading Terminal of Santiago but with an emphasis on fish, is located in a beautiful cast iron 19th c. building. Along the walls are stalls selling fish, produce, etc. surrounding a cluster of restaurants in the middle. We were immediately accosted by waiter who proudly escorted us to a table under an old black and white photo of Bill Clinton hoisting a beer. We figured this was the "American table" and we seemed to be the only Americans around. We feasted on baby eels in oil and garlic and then split a beautiful steamed king crab which came to our table fresh from the waters off of Patagonia, according to our waiter. Best part of all, we didn't have to do any of the work. Our waiter carefully removed all the meat from the legs and then opened up the body so we could wolf down the sweet meat without bloodying our fingers.

After lunch, we strolled through streets of the central Santiago basking in the warm weather. It's 7:30 now and the sun is still shining. What a treat after all that snow and cold to get a sneak peak of summer!

Adios Amigos

Off we go--if we can get out in this snowstorm--to South America for three weeks where my Italian will do me no good and I can't speak Spanish. Our itinerary includes time in Chile, Bolivia and Peru where I will be hiking the Inca Trail while Steve chills out in Cuzco without me. I'm looking forward to some amazing adventures and, of course, will try to blog about them whenever internet access is available.