TravelStream™ news feed for member spocream on TravelPod's free travel blogs service http://www.travelpod.com/syndication/rss/spocream en-us Copyright ©2009 TravelPod.com Sun, 30 Aug 2009 19:40:43 -0400 http://www.travelpod.com http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/spocream/rubicon1/1251660716/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/spocream/rubicon1/1251660716/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/spocream/rubicon1/1251660716/tpod.html Sun, 30 Aug 2009 19:40:43 -0400 San Diego to Tierra del Fuego or bust. Carol & John's adventure for 2008

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Haines - to Prince Rupert , Alaska, United States

Boarding the ferry to Juneau from Haines the next morning the 28th, we met the biker crowd again. One couple was a woman State Department officer from Prague and her husband, now retired from the military. They are moving from Cracow to Prague for her next assignment, and they will have a great time in that excellent city. The couple from Tampa was there, along with a two-motorcycle set that had to tow one of the bikes to get its ignition started. Their boarding of the ferry was exciting, to say the least. One biker – Chris Williams – turned up again; we seemed to meet him wherever we went. We had excellent weather and fabulous pine-covered scenery on our way to Juneau. The ferry system provides lecturers on their passages: ours was a Chilcott Indian woman with a Ph. D., who gave us insight into the history of the area and information on the formation and lives of the glaciers. She was darling, too, so we tried to think of unmarried male friends who want to live in Alaska.We steamed on, ringed by forest, glaciers and snow-capped peaks. The water was crystal clear, unless it came down from the glaciers. Glacial melt contained silt dumped from the rivers that stream from the melting ice and looked muddy, unlike the characteristic blue tinge of the glaciers themselves. Arriving in Juneau from the ferry, we went straight to the Mendenhall Glacier, very close to Juneau and alive with foreign and domestic visitors. It was an excellent park facility with good information, lectures and films and paths around it for hiking. Some of them were marked "watch out for bears," so we took dead branches and rattled and knocked them together to make noise – surprised bears are more likely to attack, we were told. Of course, we saw not a one. But we did see the two streams that emptied into the glacial lakes as tumbling waterfalls, and shafts of mountain light falling through the forest. The glacier is receding – probably due to global warming – we felt lucky to see it on a beautiful day and accessible to us, and we tried to follow the motto (was it John Muir?): “First, do no harm.”There are no roads into or out of Juneau, the state capital of Alaska. Everyone and everything arrives there by ship or by airplane. The town itself is a strange mixture of port of call for the cruise ships, complete with shops for the tourists, and government offices and assemblies. On the east end of the island there was a stream that emptied into the ocean over a rocky bed, jammed with salmon trying to go upstream to spawn. The tide was low, the stream was low, and the salmon were fin-to-fin in suspended animation, gathering strength to make an attempt upstream. Periodically, a strong male would go for it – dashing 10 or more feet in a display of strength – then fall back into the crowd. We also drove out 40 miles west on the Glacier Highway to the end of the road, passing glacial streams and walking on deserted sand beaches, listening to the silence. Returning to the city, we checked the departure of our ferry to Sitka – it was delayed, due to a mechanical fault. So we planned to be at the ferry terminal the next morning at 6am to find the next best plan.July 30 – 31Luckily, the experts and parts were flown in and worked through the afternoon and evening, and the ferry left on time on the 30th. It's a high-speed craft, traveling at 34 knots and lifted off the surface of the water when planning. There was no real sense of motion at that speed. We finally had to slow down through the shallow and narrow channels - clearing the markers by feet on both sides - that twisted through the islands to Sitka on the western-most side of the Inside Passage.  Fir forests grew down to the water’s edge, with sunlight streaming through them and the occasional eagle. We landed and drove into town to find lunch, stopping at Ludwig’s near the port, but open only for dinner. The chef and/or waitress directed us to a small walkway and courtyard closer to the port where we could have lunch al fresco from the two food wagons positioned there – one of them manned our chef/waitress.Then we drove back toward the port to find our excellent B&B - An Otter’s Cove – perched on the edge of the ocean, newly built with fabulous facilities, including a fully equipped kitchen, laundry room, BBQ on the patio and a pit for late evening fires. The other guests were a couple from the Carolinas who come every year because she is a fanatical bear-watcher who gave us advice on every aspect of her craft and all the best local places.John went to the local supermarket to buy fish for dinner and could find only bits of rock cod and a few scallops. He asked at the check-out counter where to buy salmon and other fish, and the locals said: “Buy fish? - we get ours from our friends.”  Same experience the next day: we stopped at the fishing company in town, and the clerk gave us a large piece of exquisitely fresh salmon because they don’t sell any at retail. Everybody in town fishes; fish counters don’t exist.We experienced Russian Alaska on the 31, visiting two Russian churches and the residence of the Bishop.  The Russians came to harvest otter furs, which they traded to the Chinese for tea, and they dominated Alaska with power and sophistication. The Bishop’s residence, constructed by Finnish shipwrights, had beautiful wood and a complicated heating system, with excellent insulation, raised doorsteps between the rooms (to stop the circulation of cold air) and huge stoves in each room, some inter-connected, that were the equivalent of central heating. The Russian churches were replete with icons and religious art, and had screens before the altars, creating a private space between the congregation and priests. For the native experience, we went to the Sheldon Museum displaying all the original cultures of Alaska, but especially the Tlingit (pronounce 'Tl’ by putting your tongue to the top of your mouth and blowing air out the sides). These were sophisticated peoples, with defined cultural norms and excellent workmanship in their residences, garments and handicrafts. We saw traditional dances performed by a lively group of young people with gusto: the young woman announcer was clearly out of breath from the effort of dancing in-between her explanations. Then we headed off to Totem Park to see the oldest and largest collection of totem poles in Alaska, set among winding trails in the grandeur of a tall spruce forest interlaced with sunlit paths and sparkling streams. It was the site of the final battle between the Russians and the Tlingit – guess who lost - but is now an exceptional place of natural beauty. August 1 – 6Awake at 5am for our 6:45 ferry departure, we threaded our way back through the channels before turning south to Petersburg – but this time low tide that made the channel markers all the more important.  It seemed possible at almost every bend that we would run aground, but the captain clearly knew his channel.  It was a 13-hour trip by ferry, one stop on the way, so we booked an inside cabin, without windows, but with two bunks, and took turns going sound asleep.  While writing this in the forward salon on the ferry from Sitka to Petersburg, we had a whale announcement “on the port side” and saw four or five small whales – probably Orcas, according to my window neighbor. Their signature white markings on the underside of the tail were clearly visible when they dove.  Soon we were surrounded by whales in several different pods. (Whales travel in pods; fish travel in schools, but whales are smarter.) Some were Orcas, but there seemed to be two or three other varieties as well.  It was hard to count whales when they were diving all around the ferry and coming up on different sides, but we estimated that we saw at least twenty and maybe more.  Arriving at 8pm in Petersburg on the 1st, we found a small town built on the fishing industry, with an extensive natural harbor filled with working boats and the shores lined with fish processing factories. This was a working island, and most of the people were descendents of early Norwegian settlers. There were few tourists, no cultural sights and only one bar; everything was closed on Sunday. That gave us time on Monday to drive through the national park of virgin forests, mountain vistas and spectacular sea scapes. We traveled on gravel roads (hooray for the Jeep!), a circuit that took us around a third of the island without seeing more than two or three other cars. But we came across a school outing on a lake in the interior, which turned out to be children with disabilities enjoying the sunshine and the natural beauty. We also found a blind for viewing trumpeter swans, which migrate to the lake in the spring and seeing the pictures, wished we could return.   We checked our ferry departure Monday and found it delayed – not uncommon, as we had discovered.  But we were quite pleased, since that allowed us to arrive in Ketchikan at 5 am, instead of the scheduled 1:15am, and we had booked a cabin on the ferry.  Our Super 8 motel gave us early check-in as soon as they could, but it took a while. So we had breakfast and prowled the town. It is built almost completely on steep hills and alongside the river, with wooden boardwalks and hanging bridges connecting the hillsides, and a narrow strip of the present commercial town hugging the harbor. The original settlement was built on stilts over the river, which provided transportation and possibly sanitation at the same time. The old town is now a collection of artsy/tourist shops, connected by the hanging walkways, and the setting is picturesque. Forests and mountains rise up behind it. There is a 14-mile trek from the back of town through the forest to the other side of the mountain, with spectacular views after mile 7. Carol tried a bit of it, while John did some catch-up work (he telecommutes while traveling). A mile or so of steep uphill climbing on a narrow trail in the silent forest was fun; 14 miles – or even 7 – required advance conditioning.On Wednesday, we went salmon fishing on a well-equipped fishing boat with professional quality rods and reels and a guide who knew his stuff. We were a motley crew: a young father and his 8 year-old daughter; an older man who seemed almost too bent over to hold a rod; John who had never fished before; and Carol who had fished too much when young. But somehow we all managed to hold our own and caught 15 sockeye and 4 pink salmon in less than 4 hours. The rods and reels were state-of-the-art, rigged for trawling. We watched them in their rod-holders mounted on the railing of the boat until we saw a rod bend and then took turns reeling them in. This required a fair amount of strength and lots of guidance from the guide. The little girl had to hide inside the cabin while the guide administered the coup de grace with a nasty-looking metal pike; Carol almost joined her. We split up the catch upon returning to the dock, but the father and daughter contributed theirs to the rest of us. They were on a cruise ship and couldn’t take it with them or have it sent. We sent ours to the French household in San Diego – to arrive cleaned, filleted, frozen and packed in dry ice. Not a bad result for an afternoon’s work, and being on the waters of the Inside Passage had its own rugged charm. We had dinner and boarded the ferry at 10pm for Prince Rupert, leaving Alaska behind us. We pulled into British Columbia and headed southeast to rejoin Route 5. Towering mountains surrounded us as we drove beside lakes several miles long.  We re-entered the US at the same out-of-the-way border crossing   east of Vancouver - grateful for the lack of waiting time - and headed south for home.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/spocream/rubicon1/1249088488/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/spocream/rubicon1/1249088488/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/spocream/rubicon1/1249088488/tpod.html Sun, 02 Aug 2009 22:54:36 -0400 San Diego to Tierra del Fuego or bust. Carol & John's adventure for 2008

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Haines, Alaska, United States

July 20-23We left Fairbanks and headed south towards Anchorage and the Kenai Peninsula, passing by Mount McKinley on the way, as we knew we had reservations to return. Smoke from forest fires hung around us and shrouded the scenery as we passed through smaller mountain ranges. Much of the fire is started by lightening; it seemed to us that acres were burning. On the Kenai, we traveled with scores of campers and mobile homes and made our way to Soldotna, where we found a wonderful cabin outside of town, complete with its own BBQ. The salmon were running, and all the rivers and streams were full of fishermen in waders, many of whom were taking home 2-3 foot fish. The son of the owner of our dinner restaurant - the Bearclaw - caught 20 salmon that afternoon in the 2 ½ -3 foot range. A beautiful, lush fog shrouded the scenery, and Cook Inlet was wreathed in clouds and mist as we made our way back to our cabin.On Tuesday, we reserved a room at Hooligan's in Soldatna and then headed down the peninsula to Homer, at the very tip. The coast road was cloudy and foggy again. We drove out onto a spit of land at the very end, where we had lunch at the Little Mermaid, a combination restaurant, B&B an bookstore. Wandering the aisles stacked with books, I came across a multi-volume translation of Plato's works by Benjamin Jowett, a famous scholar at Oxford. What scholar or dreamer brought all those volumes to the tip of an Alaskan peninsula? (He was satirized by his students: "My name is Benjamin Jowett. I'm the master of Baliol College. If it's knowledge, then I know it. If I don't, it isn't knowledge.")In Kenai, we visited a Russian Orthodox Church, dating from the 1890's, complete with retired Orthodox priest in full regalia as keeper. He was charming and earnest, and the little church with the onion dome seemed quaint and fragile in its seaside setting, making us wonder about the future. Kenai also provided us with a solution to our automotive problems. The right rear taillight went out, and the excellent manager at Carquest found a replacement unit, which we had thought quite difficult, and helped John install it. With new wiper blades as well, we went our way feeling much safer and grateful to an excellent salesman. We had dinner at the local Italian/Mexican restaurant, recommended to us by our Carquest friend. This family restaurant is strongly supported by the local community because of its history. The mother had kidney failure and was on dialysis. Her young daughter gave one of her kidneys to her mother as soon as she reached the age of consent.Wednesday, we drove to Seward - at the tip of the Kenai Peninsula - to see this major freight port. A certain amount of time was spent poking around the wharves and looking at boats, and John got a great picture of a sea-going trawler. We were surprised, however, to see a Holland-American cruise liner in this little port, especially knowing that the passengers were probably locked out of the ship and wandering around in the rain and mist. We headed north, stopping on the way to provision for Mount McKinley. We found our log cabin hide-away sitting beside a sparkling stream just south of McKinely Park and on Thursday took a 3-hour hike on the Three Lake Trail. Climbing up above the lakes and trekking along paths that crossed the ridges, we could see mountains all around us. We scrambled down to the first lake and found a beaver lodge on the edge that measured 15 feet across. No beaver in sight, but pristine mountain air and water and unspoiled beauty - and a chance to stretch and use some muscles, after sitting in the Jeep. On the way back to our log cabin, we checked out the Visitor Center in Mount McKinley/Denali to see where we go tomorrow to get our bus. Private vehicles are not allowed in the Park beyond a few miles, and all visitors have to take organized tours. We're spending 13 hours on a bus to see Denali Park and the mountain itself. We also saw a film from the 1920's of the early opening of the park before it was declared a "national monument" and the work of the people who made it possible. The building of the road was its own story, and the old-fashioned equipment and outfits of the early workers a trip back in time.July 24 - 30Standing in line at 7:30am at the McKinley Visitors Center to board our bus, we represented several foreign countries - even Uruguay - and every region, shade and hue of the US. The bus itself was a classic school bus - somehow recycled - with a woman driver who would also be our guide. We came to appreciate her more and more as the hours rolled by. She was extremely knowledgeable and enthusiastic about every animal and rock formation we saw. And she had one of her best days ever - we saw more animals than we could have hoped for. It started with a lynx, not 10 miles from the visitor center. Then we saw our first grizzly high on a mountain ridge; he turned the corner and was gone. Next a mother grizzly with a sleeping cub, tenderly protective, on a hillside. We learned the drill to shout "STOP" whenever we saw anything that might be an animal. A lone caribou with a heavy rack of velvet antlers was standing stock-still in an upland meadow, trying to avoid the botflies that get into their noses and lay eggs there. Two female moose cows grazed contentedly on the shoulder of a hill. One mother grizzly with two cubs - one honey-colored and the other darker brown - munched berries by the side of the road, with our bus stopped not five feet from her. The cubs were swatting and tumbling over and under each other, playing like any young creatures and having a grand time, while Mom kept a watchful, if somewhat berry-stained eye on them. We saw male and female caribou, both sexes carrying large, heavy racks of antlers that seemed impossble to hold up. Other caribou were wandering on the road as we made our way towards the turn-around point at Kantishna, 85 miles inside the park. There were beaver lodges on our way, and trumpeter swans and snowshoe rabbits. We finally approached Denali (Mt. McKinley) itself; it was, unfortunately clouded over, so we couldn't see the summit. But looking across Wonder Lake to the foot of the McKinley Range gave us some sense of the awe and majesty of these mountains. It also made us grateful to the far-seeing park pioneers who recognized the worth of this mountain range to the country and made sure it remained in the public sphere and open to visitors from any corner of the earth. On Saturday the 25th, we left our Denali hotel and took the road not-traveled: 13 miles straight across mountain ranges on a gravel road to rejoin the road to Haines Junction. We drove 135 miles through uplands plains surrounded by mountains, glaciers and kettles (the ponds formed in the permafrost as the glaciers recede). We met very few cars and a few campers or trailers parked in the pristine landscape and came out the other side on the road to Haines Junction, where we had reservations at the gourmet Raven Restaurant. On the way, we came upon a biker in the road standing stock-still and couldn't figure it out until we the bear he was waiting for to cross. In Alaska, we learned, bikers are sometimes called "mobile snacks." The Raven was even better than advertised. It's still a puzzle why it's in an out-of-the-way small town, but its reputation is well-deserved. We ate duck breast on hand-made pasta with fresh herbs and rare lamb shishkabab and understood why diners come from miles and reserve well in advance.From Haines Junction on the 26th, we drove to Haines itself - the top of the Inside Passage. On the west coast of Canada, the Inside Passage is part of Alaska that extends southwards and was part of the original purchase of Alaska from Russia in the middle of the 19th century. We had our first views of the ocean waterways from the top of the hill where our motel lay and walked down to the large freight harbor to get the lay of the land and find the one restaurant in town where we would have all our meals while there. Then we drove out to the Lake Chikut (?) forest preserve to see the local natural sights and on our way found a small crowd standing on rocks next to a tumbling mountain stream. Curious, we climbed the rocks, too, and saw a medium-sized grizzly in the water, swatting salmon out of the stream with his (her?) paws and tearing them into bite-sized strips. The lake is the spawning ground for salmon returning upstream and a virtual buffet for a bear with agile paws. We stayed in Haines on the 27th as well, so John could do some work (someone has to) and Carol could see the local museums. The AAA-rated motel was a small haven for motorcyclists, so we met several of them, one couple having traveled on one bike from Tampa FL - and you think we're crazy? We stayed in Haines on the 27th, so John could get some work done and we could repack and organize for the Inside Passage.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/spocream/rubicon1/1248049694/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/spocream/rubicon1/1248049694/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/spocream/rubicon1/1248049694/tpod.html Sun, 19 Jul 2009 22:36:46 -0400 San Diego to Tierra del Fuego or bust. Carol & John's adventure for 2008

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Prudhoe Bay, Alaska, United States

ON THE ROAD AGAIN: PRUDHOE BAY OR BUSTJuly 6 – 11Leaving San Diego after the 4th of July celebrations, we drove Highway 5 north and found the usual traffic jams in LA. How do they stay so patient? "Tubular, dude!" The Central Valley growing regions looked drier and less productive than usual and were adorned with signs referring to the recent changes mandated by Congress to share agricultural water rights with new suburban housing developments. “Congress created this desert,” they screamed. California is 797 miles south to north; we ended up in Redding in northern CA on the 6th and crossed into Oregon to Portland on the 7th, with some quick shopping at a Lowe's for necessities.  By Wednesday night, we were eating at the only Chinese restaurant in Cache Creek, British Columbia, and getting a swim and sun tan at the motel pool at 7pm – the sun stayed up later and later as we drove north.We had a reservation at the Best Western in Prince George, BC, but the outstanding manager there let us switch to the next one in Chetwynd since we had time to do it. A superb drive along four lakes, each longer and more beautiful than the last – one was 60 miles long - connected by sparkling Canadian rivers among the Rocky Mountains. We saw snow in the northern-most crevasses of the Rockies, snow-capped and awesome, as we approached 3000 miles north of our starting point.  Moose, deer, reindeer, buffalo, bear and mountain sheep wandered the roadsides and sometimes crossed the road along the way. We encountered the entourage of a solar-powered car and its chase vehicle, making a statement, between beautiful forests of 60-foot tall birch and spruce. In Whitehorse, the Gold Rush Inn sent us to the locally owned and operated Sanchez Cantina for dinner, where we had the best salsa we’ve ever had anywhere and the best Mexican food north of the Mexican border: local fresh halibut and superb black beans.  Whitehorse was the jumping-off place for gold diggers to get to Dawson in Klondike gold rush.July 12 – 16On July 12, the sun didn’t set; it was the end of its journey to the north and the longest day of the year. Luckily, we packed our sleeping masks, garnered on many a trans-Atlantic flight. We drove 600 miles to Fairbanks, the second largest city in Alaska, wherein lies the University of Alaska and some very interesting museums of history, natural science and art. On the way, a chocolate-brown moose leapt across the road in front of our Jeep, but we managed to avoid him (good for us – so messy; better for him). We met a biker from Austria named Thomas at one of the rest stops; he is cycling from Prudhoe Bay on the Pan Am Highway to Ushuaia, Argentina and climbing every mountain along the way; he had just climbed Mount McKinley. His goal was raising money for Doctors without Borders as he went; we think he was a physician himself. We’re thinking of sponsoring him and will let you know if it’s a good cause. Settled into our hotel near the airport, we had dinner on the river and 9 pm sunburn. On Monday, we organized ourselves for the Dalton Highway and Prudhoe Bay and visited the sites.  The University of Alaska garden center had the largest cabbage imaginable; all the plants were oversized due to 20-22 hour days. The art and history museums covered the World War II internment of the Japanese with honesty and gave a strong sense of the courage and survival skills involved in early settlements. It also explained the permafrost and had some great grizzlies. From there we went to the 'historic’ (i.e., old) downtown and a saloon with a true local character as host and an excellent crab-burger. Dinner that night was on the Chena River again, this time on the northern bank, so that we looked south and were not blinded by the 9 pm sun; fabulous salmon (my favorite food, you will have guessed by now) and excellent prime rib.Tuesday the 14th found us moving out bright and early heading for the dreaded Dalton Highway. The Dalton is 414 miles long and was originally built as an industrial highway to bring in equipment for the development of the Prudhoe Bay oil fields. We have read and heard many a story about this last stretch of road including a story of a friend of ours who turned back with only 100 miles to go on a motorcycle. Our guess is the stories are from at least 5 years ago. While the road does have its bad spots, we have seen and driven many a worse road. Our trip plan called for 2 to 3 days each way.  We easily made it to the half way point by 3 in the afternoon. We found our cabin in Wisman after a little bit of looking, about 3 miles off the road near a beautiful river Kyoikukuk, in which we waded and splashed, skipping stones across the surface of the water. We had been forewarned that no restaurant was within 20 miles so we had brought  - you guessed it - salmon to cook for dinner. Breakfast was provided for us at the owners’ cabin. Wednesday the 15th - D Day - After a hearty breakfast of sourdough pancakes and eggs over easy we headed north for the final 225 miles - roughly 50 miles more required in fuel then our gas tank holds. You may remember from other writings that our tank is 15 gallons and on a good day we get 12 miles a gallon. Our gas cans were full and it only takes a little siphoning to cure the problem.  By 3 o'clock we had arrived at the end of our journey - Prudhoe Bay. These last 225 miles took us through the Brooks mountain range and down the North Slope. Hopefully our pictures will give you an idea of what the area is like since words really do not do it justice. We drove through the snow-capped mountains and vast plains of tundra – the stillness broken only by sights of a few caribou or musk oxen on the horizon, and the gravel road humming beneath our wheels. We had fears of the long semi trucks blocking out our vision with their dust and forcing us to the edge of the road, but the truckers were very considerate and gave us plenty of leeway.  We arrived in Prudhoe Bay in late afternoon and had time to drive around the industrial/oil complex that makes it up. Every name in the history of the oil industry was represented from BP to Schlumberger. It’s heaven for fans of construction and oil equipment, some with tires as tall as small buildings.We left without regrets the next morning, glad to have reached the end of our personal journey on the Pan American highway from one end to the other, approximately 17,560 miles. The sun was shining on the tundra as we retraced our route over the Brooks Range and back to Weisman for another stay in a snug log cabin surrounded by fir trees next to a sparkling Alaskan river.So far on this final Alaskan leg of the Pan Am, we have found people as nice and helpful here as in Ushuaia and . If anyone saw any hesitation in what we were trying to do, they immediately asked if they could help. It is also useful being an old gray haired couple. We have also found new meaning in the phrase “The land of the midnight sun”. Yes, we all know what that means – it is light up here most of the time. What we do not realize is that the sun does not set for a period of time during the summer and when it is up the hottest time of the day it is between 7 and 9 at night. You really can get a sun burn at 9 pm – no kidding. The temperature has been in the high 70’s and low eighties most of the time – even in Prudhoe Bay. Yes, the pipeline has spoiled the scenery to some extent, but from what we have seen it has not spoiled the environment. Where possible the pipeline runs underground where no permafrost exists and it is concealed behind trees again where possible. It is hidden from view about 30% of the time. We also learned why the Arctic Circle, which is 150 north of Fairbanks, advertises it has no hiking paths. When you take a walk through the forest or across open meadows you find yourself treading on a foot of sponge. As you pass through an area, your footprints disappear. This is permafrost. It was also amazing to discover that not all the pumping stations pushed the oil forward. They in fact were slowing it down. Apparently, the 4,400 drop from the Brooks Mountains to the ocean really gets the stuff moving like a runaway locomotive.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/spocream/rubicon1/1246211275/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/spocream/rubicon1/1246211275/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/spocream/rubicon1/1246211275/tpod.html Sun, 28 Jun 2009 14:12:38 -0400 San Diego to Tierra del Fuego or bust. Carol & John's adventure for 2008

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Chicago, Illinois, United States

It has been about a year since we returned to Chicago - July 2nd 2008 to be exact. We stayed put for about two months then headed out to Baniff-Lake Louise, Vancouver, and then San Diego.Once back in San Diego we removed much of the equipment from the jeep and placed it in storage. We then headed out to Europe for a little over a month returning to Chicago in the first week of Nov. We left again on Nov. 20th to head to Houston to visit son and daughter-in-law and their new home, which was great. Thence to San Diego for Thanksgiving and Christmas. Carol headed back to Antiqua, Guatemala in early January for a two week immersion course in Spanish while I suffered alone in San Diego. We both ended up in Chicago by the first part of Feb. and here we have stayed for the most part - with several excursions to San Diego, planning my 70th birthday party (it was a great party with tons of family and friends) and our finally completing our drive of the Pan Am hightway. We leave Tuesday for San Diego where we will have the jeep reshod i.e. new tires and give it a complete health check up. Then it will go to Off Road Warehouse to be completely rerigged for the trip. When those two steps are done we will pack the jeep with all the necessary equipment including an increased supply of emergency food. Seems Carol has read an article about the Dalton Highway - the final 430 odd miles from Faribanks to Prudhoe Bay which recommends carrying a two week supply of food to help you through the odd summer blizzard. We will compromise and carry 4 or 5 days. If all goes as planned, we will leave San Diego on July 6th and return on August 12th or there abouts. We will drive the Alcan highway to Fairbanks and then the Dalton Highway to Prudhoe Bay. Our return trip will include Denali National Park and trips by ferry down the Inside Passage visiting places like Juneau, Sitka, Ketichan, etc. We hope to meet many interesting people and take a ton of pictures of moose, grizzly( from a distance), elk, etc. The next entry should be from Canada.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/spocream/rubicon1/1214667000/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/spocream/rubicon1/1214667000/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/spocream/rubicon1/1214667000/tpod.html Sat, 28 Jun 2008 11:32:34 -0400 San Diego to Tierra del Fuego or bust. Carol & John's adventure for 2008

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Panama, Brazil

Hi all, since the site has a mind of its own I'm using it to move the map pin while I add more photo's.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/spocream/rubicon1/1213800660/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/spocream/rubicon1/1213800660/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/spocream/rubicon1/1213800660/tpod.html Sat, 28 Jun 2008 10:56:32 -0400 San Diego to Tierra del Fuego or bust. Carol & John's adventure for 2008

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Manaus, Brazil

June 1-3           Brasilia, the City of the Future  Good roads led us to Brasilia, created from scratch in the middle of Brazil in the 1960's, the dream and realization of President Juscelino Kubitschek , a far-seeing futurist  who realized that Brazil needed a new capital to set its face to the future, not unlike the decision to create Washington DC to bring north and south together after the American revolution. The city itself rises from the central plain, designed in the shape of a 727 airplane as a symbol of technology and the future. We arrived in the early afternoon and spent the rest of the day driving the 'wings' of the airplane (where commercial activity is concentrated) and walking the central corridor to see the monuments, museums and buildings from the outside. In our usual way, in one of the 'wings,' we stumbled onto one of the few (maybe the only?) Chinese restaurants in town, newly opened and run by a naturalized Chinese, who was an excellent cook. After several days of Brazilian barbeque, it was a real treat - fresh, crunchy vegetables and all.  We devoted the next morning to finding a new hotel, since we didn't like the one we had reserved, and discovered that the hotels and restaurants are all in the two hotel and restaurant sectors - one north and one south - where commercial activities are grouped. Then we set off to find the father of our friend from St. Charles. He was in Brasilia for medical treatment, staying with his son, our friend's brother, who is currently a Senator from Fortaleza, on the northest coast of Brazil. Their house was outside the airplane plan, across one of the arms of the artificial lake that was created, in a very interesting planned development. Moroni, Chris' brother, has represented his district for some time, but is now leaving the national government and running for Mayor of Fortaleza. We wish him well; he is a formidable politician and a gracious gentleman. Chris' father Joao was a delight and a treat for us, speaking six languages and sharp as a tack. He promised to come see us in St. Charles, and we intend to hold him to his promise. We spent the late afternoon and evening hours with a travel agency, arranging our airplane tickets, once we give up the Jeep to ship it to Florida, and a boat trip up the Amazon to see the jungle. The agency recommended to us, because they spoke some English (and our Portuguese is not strong), was in a large vertical shopping complex in one of the 'wings'. It took quite a lot of time to identify the best flights, book the seats and get the tickets authorized by email, so they could be printed for us to take with us. We also set up the boat trip and got vouchers, all this in a combination of English and Portuguese, none of us truly fluent. By this time, it was dark, and with great relief, we returned to our new and better hotel and collapsed. The Jeep, as usual, was parked right in front of the entrance, where the front desk could keep an eye on it throughout the night. Tuesday, we walked the central 'fuselage' of the airplane, where all the major monuments and museums are located on a long, wide strip of green grass. It was an awe-inspiring trip. President Kubiktschek promised "fifty years of economic and social development in five," and created a new national motto: "Order and Progress." The teams of northeastern Brazilian workers were led by urban planner Lucio Costa, architect Oscar Niemeyer and landscape engineer Roberto Burle Marx, all of whom created a city of the future that lifts your heart when first you see it. It's impossible to describe the total effect, but here are some of the pieces: The cathedral of the city, "Our Lady of the Appearance," shaped like a bulb of garlic with a crown of spikes from white curved columns and lovely blue stained glass interior, flanked on the outside by large, "haunting" statues of the four Apostles The memorial to Kubitschek, shaped like an elongated question mark, with a statue of the president standing in the curved portion, marking his mausoleum and photos/documents of the construction of the city The monument to the migrant workers Os Candangos, who came from the northeast of Brazil to build the city, shaped like modernistic human figures with large thighs and shoulders, but strangely small heads, holding straight-lined implements that might be tools The Supreme Tribunal Federal, with repeating right-angle exterior panels, curved on the inside edge The headquarters of the Brazilian army that looks like a space ship about to land  After we walked through and around all these and other spectacular buildings on the central esplanade, we went up to the top of the TV tower to get a bird's-eye view of everything we'd seen. Upon descent, it was a short walk back to our hotel, where we gratefully collapsed, uplifted by the coherence and graceful modernism of the vision of this city, created more than 40 years ago. June 4-6           "On the road again..."  Now we had to get from Brasilia in the center to Fortaleza on the northeast corner of Brazil, whence the Jeep will depart by ship, with any luck, for the east coast of Florida. We had talked to the shipping company and its local agent there and were relatively confident that it was possible. But there were small details, such as: what kind and size of container, what contents can we leave in the Jeep, how does the rack on top come off with all its equipment (mostly for emergencies that never happened) and where does it all go? We pondered these questions as we drove towards the coast.  We were up and out early, heading north through beautiful ranching country, rolling hills and mountains on either side of the highway. Taking interior roads, we experienced little car traffic, but lots of trucks, whose travel pounded some of the roads to pieces. We came to know truck stops pretty well and relied on them for information about the road ahead. Whenever the map showed the road as bad, it turned out to be good. And when we hit route 20, which angled northeast to Fortaleza, it was shown as an excellent highway. In reality, it's one of the worst roads we've seen in this entire trip. There were potholes that a car could have fallen into, and we dodged and wove around the worst of them, cursing quietly every time we hit something we wished we could have avoided. We found hotels by asking at gas stations, and in this way found ourselves almost in the middle of a large party for third-graders one night. Thankfully, their party ended at 9 pm. June 6-8 We approached Fortaleza late in the day on the 6th, when it had turned dark. Thankfully, the last stretch of Route 20 was decent surface, and we managed to find our way into the city and find a large gas station, where we could ask for directions to the Ibis. As usual now, a customer paying for his gas volunteered to drive us closer to our destination and put us on the right road. We followed him through some twists and turns; then he got out of his car and pointed us on our way. Somewhat nervously, we followed the signs to Iracema Beach and found ourselves in the old port on the street that runs past the Ibis. We like this hotel chain in France and were pleased to find it in Brazil. We know its ways - it has everything you need, is reasonably priced and pretty efficient, even if you do have to pay for breakfast. This one is two blocks off the beach and has its own swimming pool and a co-located beauty salon, which was just the right thing for my scruffy finger- and toenails after months on the road. We first explored the old port to the west, seeing how the urban decay is being slowly reversed by restoring old facades and turning the buildings into restaurants and shops. We went a little beyond the boundary of restoration and found the urban ghetto along the shore of the bay, so we were glad to turn back to the restaurants and shops on the beach. Strangely enough, in one newsstand, I found a magazine in Portuguese, devoted philosophy, with articles about Kierkegaard, St. Thomas de Aquinas, determinism and relativism, ethics, Hobbes and - strangely enough - Bernard Malamud. Do beach-goers in Fortaleza stop and pick up an issue on their way to play volleyball and work on their sun tans? I studied philosophy in college and graduate school, but have never seen a glossy magazine on a beachfront newsstand before. There must be more to these Brazilians than we thought. We had a lovely dinner of very fresh fish at a restaurant on the beach just two or three blocks from our hotel, complete with a complimentary 'caiparinha' - a Brazilian drink that will curl your toes. Sunday we walked the beach to the east, towards the ritzier part of town, and found the usual beach scene. There were lots of families, games of soccer, beach-front restaurants and watering holes on the beach, sun, surf and sand all shining under a wonderfully blue sky. We walked for 3-4 miles along the waterfront enjoying the activity and the wide pavement for strollers. Returning to our hotel, we decided to take the Jeep and explore in order to find our destinations for Monday morning: the Jeep dealer for service and the shipping company to finalize its return to the US. Then we drove out west to check out another hotel and see what that side of town is like. The hotel was very nice, located on a yacht harbor, but so isolated that it didn't appeal to us. We pushed on a bit further west and found the seamier side of life, the poorer area on the coast, with buildings in various stages of deterioration. So we decided to head back to our Ibis haunts along the coast road. On the way, we came back into the restored old port and a small grocery store we had noticed on our first walk, so we stopped to buy some water and yogurt. John was outside in the parked Jeep, and as I returned to the car, a man came out of an apartment building across the street and in perfect American English asked what in the world we were doing there. He turned out to be a retired US State Department Foreign Service officer, married to a Brazilian, who now lives here in Fortaleza. He looked out his window and saw our California license plate and came out to see who we were. He insisted on giving us his telephone number and invited us to dinner, so amazed was he that we had driven all the way from California. So we'll give him a call and see what happens.  June 9 -13   Shipping the Jeep Monday morning bright and early we turned up at the office of HamburgSud, that well-known German shipping company, and found our contact Gary, happily with excellent English. As we discussed the terms and conditions, and the date of payment for the shipping cost, we also learned the vagaries of Brazilian ATM's. Those that will do international withdrawals are few and far between, and all are limited in the amounts they will dispense. But having some cash management experience, however ancient at this point, we found ways to get it done. It was like stepping back in history. To get money with a VISA cash station card required going to the foreign exchange department of Banco do Brasil (a commercial bank), where a functionary behind a counter filled out forms in duplicate and made copies of the Visa card with carbon paper and an old-fashioned credit card machine. To be fair, he did have a computer and used that as well, but the pieces of paper were flying pretty fast before the cash was handed over. We also called our banks to alert them to the withdrawals to make sure we didn't end up on the black list of possibly stolen cards with multiple withdrawals.  Dinner with the retired US diplomat and his Brazilian wife was charming. They invited us to stay with them, which we will do this week-end, when we know the Jeep is locked and loaded.  Such kindness to take in complete strangers! But that's been our experience throughout this trip. Our next tasks were to get a part replaced in the Jeep steering and to negotiate with the customs broker, who arranges for the Jeep to pass customs and be loaded into its container at the new ocean port of Pecem, some 50 miles west of Fortaleza. John took care of the difficult parts, stuffing the Jeep into its container -20,0052 miles  from San Diego - this was the first vehicle ever shipped from the Port of Pecem, finalizing the shipping, costs and customs requirements, getting everything done in record time. Naturally, he made friends with the custom broker along the way. In fact, the broker took us to dinner with his girlfriend and other friends. Carol went to see the local museum of history and the cathedral. Fortaleza was a significant port of entry in the second half of the 19th century, and the pictures and old post cards show a thriving colonial town. As times changed, the historical city fell into disrepair and is just now being revived. A large modern high-rise city rises to the east of the old port, with wonderful beaches stretching between the two, lined with hotels and restaurants of every sort. It's winter here, now, so the weather is alternately very hot and sunny, usually in the morning, then cloudy and humid, with occasional, but brief tropical storms. The beaches were packed on Saturday and Sunday mornings, but quiet during the week. The temperature hits 90 just about every day, but they tell us it doesn't heat up a great deal more in the summer - it just has more hours of sun.  June 14-18 With everything done for the Jeep that could be done, we moved in with the American diplomat and Brazilian wife - into a high-rise on the beach in the old port, with a panoramic view of the beaches of Fortaleza and a hammock on the terrace for enjoying it. Lunch was a spectacular charrascaria full of locals, where we ate more kinds of barbequed meat and fowl than I knew existed. We also met a young student who will spend the next year in St Joe Indiana - next to Notre Dame - as an exchange student, and we promised to introduce him to our friends who live there and help him out. It's a small world... Sunday we went to the beach east of town, a beautiful curving white sand beach, covered with small beach-front restaurants consisting of an open-air kitchen and tables, chairs and umbrellas on the beach. We ate fish straight out of the water that morning and splashed and swam in the Atlantic for the first time on the trip. Monday we got the final documents for the Jeep's shipment, the original bill of lading that allows us to reclaim it from the shipping company. We took our hosts to dinner at a new restaurant on the beachfront, which looked almost Norwegian inside with all the wood and was shaped like a ship. Tuesday we moved back to the Ibis for one night because our plane left for Manaus the following day at 6:30 am, and we had to be at the airport by 5. Vanya, our Brazilian hostess, arranged for a taxi she knew to pick us up at the hotel at 4:30, which was re-assuring, given the empty streets at that hour and the range of taxi drivers one might meet. Our flight took three hours, stopping at Belem, so we had vistas of the Atlantic Coast and the Amazon as we approached Manaus.Manaus was once the rubber capital of the world, a very prosperous 19th-century city with a spectacular opera house. Then a dastardly Englishman managed to steal some seeds of the rubber tree and took them to Malaysia. Manaus lost its monopoly and declined, but is now revitalizing, due to tourism and that it is a duty free port thereby attracting manufacturers from all over the world. It's the starting point for most Amazon River tours, and also an ocean port for shipping, since the Amazon is large enough to accommodate ocean-going freighters and cruise ships. We wandered around the town and through the thronged shopping streets of the center, past the exterior of the famous opera house, now restored. The town is clearly on the upswing, favelas (slums) are being replaced with public housing, which is red brick and fairly attractive. The port area is jammed with warehouses, offices and everything to do with ships and shipping. June 19-22       Sources of the Amazon  The Amazon is actually the confluence of two rivers, which join together just below Manaus. The Simoës River rises in the Andes and flows east towards Manaus, picking up lots of brown soil as it goes. The Rio Negro flows south from the northern part of Brazil and is tinted black by the acidity and decay of the leaves that fall into it along the way. We started out from the port in Manaus and headed up the Rio Negro, which has better wildlife and plants and fewer mosquitoes - also due to the acidity of the water. Our boat was a Brazilian version of The African Queen, a triple-decker with railings, painted blue and white, but somewhat the worse for wear. We were the only passengers - due to low tourist season - with a crew of three and Conrad, our excellent Brazilian guide and translator, who speaks several languages. It took a few hours of steaming to get to the upper reaches, where the jungle closed in around the river and its tributaries. We got into a very small and unstable wooden canoe and perched on wooden seats in the exact middle, while the guide and one of the crew paddled us through small passages between the jungle trees growing out of the water. The river has two seasons - rainy and dry - and in rainy season the water rises more than 15 meters from its summer level. Islands and inlets are submerged in rainy season, with only the tops of the trees rising from the water. We floated quietly among the tree tops. The water was so still that the trees were reflected perfectly on its dark surface, and we seemed to be flying through the air with trees above us and trees below us. Dinner on board the boat, tied up to a small landing place, two or three hours of generator power and air conditioning to dry out enough to crawl into bed. The next morning - our 30th wedding anniversary - we took a jungle hike on small, almost invisible paths, lead by our Brazilian guide. We found a rubber tree, and our guide slashed with a machete to show us the pure latex that flowed onto his hand. The white, milky liquid, rubbed between his fingers, turned into crumbled eraser pieces. The next tree had bark that produces iodine when slashed, and John had some put on a cut on his leg. The monkey vine came next: its bark, when boiled in water, produces medicine that cures upset stomachs. The quinine plant and the cinnamon tree came next, the latter smelling wonderfully.  Then we saw a plant that produced menthol, and after that, the dolphin vine, whose bark can be used to stimulate abortions. Our tour was like going to the drugstore - all you needed to be cured was a machete. There were also plants to avoid, as Carol discovered when slipping on a rock and getting stung by dusty white-green thorns whose tips stayed in the palm. Conrad managed to get most of them out, and the rest will come out in time, he said. Late in the afternoon, we took another, longer canoe trip to see wildlife at dusk. We saw and heard howler monkeys in the distance and squirrel monkeys up close. We pulled up to the shore where tree branches leaned down into the water, and a tribe of 15-20 squirrel monkeys came and sat in the branches right next to the boat. They had grey bodies, orange arms and legs, and white faces, with black rings around their eyes, noses and mouths and red splashes of color on their faces. Conrad said he'd never seen them come so close or so many of them. They seemed to enjoy sitting with us for a while. We explored more inlets and streams, floating in the dusk and the reflections on the water. We saw a sloth hanging upside down in a tree and several species of jungle birds. As dusk started to fall, we fished for piranhas and caught several, using raw beef as bait, and carefully avoided their razor-sharp teeth. In the dark, we searched for caimans (a kind of freshwater crocodile) on the shore with a flashlight. The light clearly shows their red eyes in the vegetation, and Conrad captured a small one - maybe 6 months old - and showed us its features. The young stay with their mothers for 3 months after they hatch; then they're on their own. We paddled back to the boat through the jungle night, glad to be returning and really glad to get off the narrow wooden seats, but moved by the beauty and diversity of the flooded river environment. On the 21st, John's 69th birthday, we visited a native village well known to Conrad, who grew up in one very much like it. First, we found the communal cooking place by the path up from the river, where native women were making giant pancakes of manioc flour on a kind of griddle 3-4 feet in diameter. They spread them on leaves to dry and store them until eaten. Apparently, manioc is high in protein. Further up the path, the ground leveled out to a collection of houses on stilts around a common area that also served as a soccer pitch. The village had 140 people; there was a church and a school and a souvenir shop, where we bought redwood souvenirs and a pair of earrings made of feathers, to thank them for their hospitality. We had planned on a charrascaria (BBQ) on the beach at the Rio Negro. Arriving at the spot, we found the river was too high this season, and the leaf-thatched structures for both eating and sleeping were under water. So we canoed back to where the boat was tied up to a grassy area and built our fire there. Sitting on logs around a fire, somewhere in a tributary of the Amazon River, we watched the dusk fall suddenly, as it does in the jungle, and listened to the sounds of the insects, birds and creatures around us. The next morning, we cast off from the jungle and headed down the Rio Negro to see where it joins with the Simoës to form the Amazon proper. The captain took a short-cut from the Rio Negro, the northern tributary, to the Simoës through a very narrow channel that connects the two, with a placid lake in the middle, upstream of the actual confluence. We saw the river banks quite closely, some occupied with riverside homes and others dense with trees and undergrowth. As the channel narrowed even further, the jungle brushed the sides of the boat as we pushed out way through, finally coming out on the southern tributary and sweeping the leaves and tree branches off the decks. The "meeting of the rivers" that forms the Amazon was quite long and an interesting natural phenomenon. The difference in the height of the river banks (the Negro is quite a bit higher) speed, acidity and organic matter in the waters keeps them from mixing together for several miles. Semi-circular patterns form at the edge of the black and the light brown water running together and run downstream. The Amazon is many miles wide at this juncture, and there is a constant stream of ocean-going and river craft, some carrying freight and others tourist boats like ours. The sheer size of the river and level of freight and other activity was impressive, especially since we were at least 750 miles inland from Belem, the nearest port on the coast. For anyone looking for adventure on the Amazon, we would heartily recommend contacting Conrad to act as guide. His email is: fariasconrado@hotmail.com. After spending the night at our previous hotel in Manaus, we saw the town proper and the interior of the splendid opera house, the Teatro Amazonas. It was built at the end of the 19th century in grand Renaissance style with a pinkish exterior, white trim and balconies made of finely cut Portuguese stone. It also has an impressive cupola on top, added at the insistence of the then-mayor, made of 36,000 ceramic tiles imported from Alsace-Lorraine, all in the yellow, green and red colors of the Brazilian flag. Those rubber barons spared no expense while their monopoly lasted. The opera house continues full seasons of music, drama and dance; Margot Fontayne performed there, and left a pair of ballet slippers behind as a memorial. We also enjoyed the Municipal Market, built in 1902 from a design by Gustave Eiffel - (yes the same one as of the tower, and two steel churches fame - seemed appropriate to end our adventures with him since he joined with us in the Baja. ) based on Les Halles in Paris and the many splendid mansions of the rubber barons.    June 23 - 25   Return to Panama and the US At the end of the day, we headed to the airport and to Panama, on our way to Miami, checked into the hotel we already knew from our trip down. It seemed eons since we had first passed through, worrying about shipping the Jeep to South America. We didn't have the time then to see the Panama Canal and the locks, so we stopped off to see them on the way back. It was really worth the overnight stay to see one of the engineering marvels of the world, especially at that time. And great fun to stand on the observation deck over the Miraflores Locks and see the huge boats going through the locks with what looked inches to spare. We learned that another set of locks will be built 2014 alongside the original ones to accommodate the need for ocean transshipment and hope to come back and see them one day. We had time to see a little more of Panama and its suburban development and urban redevelopment. It's a sophisticated city, with a growing US retirement community, due to the climate, and relatively inexpensive. Tomorrow we fly to Miami and start our trek back to St. Charles, picking up the Jeep in Jacksonville and driving home. No more dictionaries and detailed maps, asking questions and hoping to understand the answers, just interstate highways and home before the 4th of July. As it always does, this travel has changed us in ways we didn't anticipate and made us appreciate the growing world in the Western Hemisphere below our borders. We'll be paying more attention from now on to the changes and opportunities here and wishing these spirited peoples and countries the best of luck as they continue to develop.    We have enjoyed sharing our travels with you through our words and pictures. However, as we learned in Granada, "Our words have holes in them," as do our pictures. They have only provided a snap shot of life in Central and South America, which deserves far more then just our brief blog. It is worth your time to take a trip to the various countries, one, two, or three at a time to experience for yourself the people, scenery and culture. You need not be afraid because you now know the area. It is the unknown that puts people in fear of travel.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/spocream/rubicon1/1212617280/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/spocream/rubicon1/1212617280/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/spocream/rubicon1/1212617280/tpod.html Wed, 04 Jun 2008 18:10:21 -0400 San Diego to Tierra del Fuego or bust. Carol & John's adventure for 2008

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Brasilia, Brazil

Sorry, had a problem uplolading photos
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/spocream/rubicon1/1212613380/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/spocream/rubicon1/1212613380/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/spocream/rubicon1/1212613380/tpod.html Wed, 04 Jun 2008 17:42:57 -0400 San Diego to Tierra del Fuego or bust. Carol & John's adventure for 2008

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Brasilia, Federal District, Brazil

May 13 - 14 Our next adventure was a stay on an "estancia," a ranch in the middle of the pampas northwest of Buenos Aires. Leaving the club, we drove straight out highway 8, which ran past the club and all the way to San Antonio de Arecha, the center of gaucho life. Our host met us at the local Esso station, and we followed him down dirt roads that went on forever, arriving finally at a lovely rose-colored ranch house straight out of the 19th century. Two couples were just finishing lunch under the vine-covered table outside near the very large brick barbeque grill, fueled by wood. They turned out to be members of the International Women Forum (to which Carol used to belong in business days), who had just attended an international meeting in Buenos Aires. They had loved staying at the ranch and were just leaving to catch airplanes home.  We settled into our room and then into lunch under the arbor as well. There was no sound around us except the gentle sound of the wind across the plains. We could see nothing but open fields and clumps of trees along the creek. Our host was an Argentine of some 60 years, who spoke English from birth with a perfect, but old-fashioned British accent. It felt as if we had stepped back into the 19th century.  After lunch, we had a quiet horseback tour of the surrounding area and then a small siesta. Drinks on the covered arcade surrounding the house were followed by dinner in San Antonio at a lovely restaurant on the 18th-century town square. Returning to the estancia, we shared a brandy with our host in front of the fire, feeling like Victorian visitors to another world, one described by Jane Austen, who would have been at home here. The next day, we visited the town and the small but perfectly restored church of the same era. The afternoon gave us a real taste of gaucho life. We took more spirited horses into the fields around the estancia and cantered across the pampas with hair flying (John's) and around herds of other horses. The horizon was wider, the sky bluer and the wind softer than any of our previous rides, and we felt almost lost in the countryside. More drinks on the arcade, followed by a dinner of local beef in front of the fire, and we fell into bed, feeling that we had experienced a small piece of mythic Argentina. May 15-16   One chance in a million? Work has to follow pleasure, so we returned to Buenos Aires to figure out how to get the Jeep shipped home and to pick up our Brazilian visas. Returning to the same private hotel - a door in the street with a small plaque above the buzzer - and the same French restaurant, where we had gotten to know the owner, we felt as if we were habitués. At lunch, we sat at a table for two, next to an Argentine businessman at another small table, and started telling our French hostess about our adventures since our last lunch there. As we described to her the Hurlingham Club, the gentleman next to us said: "I'm a member of the club. I was there on Sunday and Monday as well. I saw the Jeep in the parking lot and wondered whose it was." We tried to figure the odds of that happening, but the calculators didn't go that high. John finally identified one shipping company that works out of Fortaleza in Brazil to ship the Jeep to the east coast of Florida, although we couldn't finalize the details. We were now dealing in Portuguese, not one of our languages, so communication was more difficult. But we did manage to identify the person we needed to contact in the Fortaleza office of the shipping company and duly sent off emails in English, hoping we would get a response. There was nothing else to do but wander through the pedestrian streets of central Buenos Aires, checking out stores, restaurants and lots of local color and itinerant vendors. Then we returned to our favorite gaucho restaurant and ate "parilla" - pronounced 'pahreejah', an overload of grilled meats, sausage, chicken and various parts, guaranteed to give you instant cholesterol problems.   May 17-21   Uruguay Our three and one-half hour car ferry across the River Plata left at 9am, and we had to be there an hour ahead of time. Luckily, the ferry dock wasn't far from our little hotel, and we pulled into line with everyone else. The tourist deck was above the first class one, but it seemed to us we had better views. The Plata is immense, and once away from the shore, it seemed like the ocean. We couldn't see land on any side for most of the crossing.  The entertainment was a singing group, all Argentine women, who sang in perfect English, without accent, every hit song I could remember from the 1960's, but apparently couldn't speak it at all. We landed in Colonia, a foothold of the Portuguese in colonial times, and headed to Montevideo, settled by the Spanish. Our immediate impression of Uruguay was of a peaceful and prosperous landscape, with tree-lined highways and rolling fields of grass and crops. Montevideo was obvious from afar with a super-high telecommunications building, at whose feet gathered a modern waterside city mixed with an ancient port. The central square was full of a week-end fair, with roads blocked off. As we parked the Jeep and got out to reconnoiter, we met our first hotel 'dispachante,' a well-dressed man who recommends hotels to tourists for a living. We were to meet more in the days ahead. Hotels will pay them if they genuinely do direct business to them. We checked out a few hotels, including the one he recommended and decided on it, partly because the garage was very secure and just high enough for the Jeep to fit. As we left the hotel to go to dinner, our dispachante asked us to tell the front desk that he really did direct us there. They weren't going to pay him unless they were sure - a very interesting perspective on the economic situation in Latin America and what people have to do to make ends meet. We usually wander around cities by ourselves, but with limited time we took a city tour and were glad to have done so. Montevideo is quite large and spread out across many hills and valleys, with a number of very interesting ethnic areas. The Germans had settled one part, the Dutch the next and so on. The architecture and atmosphere changed with each settlement, and we saw some lovely churches and riverside beaches that seemed like the seashore. We ended up at the old port for Sunday lunch around 2 pm; the old market building had been turned into a warren of upscale shops and restaurants. We were joined by one of our fellow tour members, a consulting engineer who does ISO inspections around the world. We sat on the second floor veranda of a restaurant overlooking all the market and port activity, drinking sangria and thinking all was right with the world.  Instead of driving up the coast into Brazil, we headed straight north from Montevideo and through the central plains, enjoying the rolling countryside and the obvious prosperity compared to Argentina. There are only 3.2 million people in Uruguay, and the hinterland is ranch country. We saw real gauchos herding cattle, wearing their baggy trousers, high boots and hats that look like fedoras, but have wider brims. The middle of the country has a major hydro-electric project creating by damming a river to create a reservoir. All our information about the country was now coming from a German guidebook I acquired from our hotel in Buenos Aires, so we turned down side roads to find the one hotel recommended in the whole area on the shores of the lake. It was a lovely hotel in a perfect setting - and totally occupied by some company's off-site retreat. So we back-tracked to the main road (itself somewhat obscure) and headed for the next town to see what we could find. We pulled off the highway into town and found it completely dark - there were no street lights, no lights in stores, no lights at all, except the headlights of cars. Obviously, a major power failure. Nonetheless, we found the one hotel noted in the German guidebook by asking every few blocks as we went. Wondering how bad this night was going to be, Carol went up the steps with a flashlight to inquire about shelter - just as the lights came back on.  On Tuesday, thanks to the German guidebook, I dragged John north of town down rugged dirt roads to a "microclimate" among the rock outcroppings. A weather-beaten man led us across the fields towards what looked like a grove of small trees. It turned out to be a narrow valley two hundred feet deep at points with a natural spring and stream that created an atmosphere completely different from the surrounding land. The temperature dropped ten or more degrees as we climbed down the side, and the vegetation became lush and almost tropical. Plant species exist there that can be found nowhere else on earth. Apparently, there are several of these in Uruguay, for reasons no one has explained - or I have found out. Our weather-beaten guide was very proud of this national treasure and his role as its guardian. Then we headed for Rivera, the border crossing into Brazil, and found it to be the funniest town. The border runs right through the middle of town, people wander back and forth across it, doing their shopping and errands. There are duty-free shops everywhere.  I saw the most upscale landowner, wearing gaucho trousers, perfectly pleated in beautiful grey material, tucked into the highest and most elegant tan leather boots, a crisp white shirt with silk scarf tucked in and a beautiful leather jacket and cap. Uruguay is doing well, thank you very much. We managed to find the passport control office in the local police department, but when we asked about customs for clearing the Jeep into Brazil, no one knew what to do. Finally, they sent us to the "dry port" out of town, a facility where truckers go to get customs clearance for their loads. But no one had every crossed with an American car. The young customs official couldn't find a form on the computer system for anything like it. He called various other offices and managed to find a paper form that he had to fill out by hand. It took him quite a while, since he'd never done it before, but we finally got our piece of paper. It was clear we could have driven off into Brazil without it, but doubtful whether we could get the Jeep out at the other end. So we headed off finally to find the road to Porto Alegre on the coast, where we were supposed to meet up with the family of one of our neighbors in St. Charles. She's Brazilian, from Porto Alegre, and married a man I went to high school with. It was a tough drive, and we arrived in town far too late to do anything but find a hotel - with the help of another 'dispachante' - and fall into bed.  May 22-24   Porto Alegre with the Bings  Chris' cousin Beto found us and moved us to his parents' house, where we were instantly charmed. Walt and Sole Bing are not English speakers, and we don't speak Portuguese, so we searched for common languages. Walt has spoken German from birth, like many in Porto Alegre, and Carol managed to remember hers from college days in Stuttgart. So we communicated after a fashion, mixing German and Spanish and throwing in an English word or two. Beto, his family and his brother and sister speak perfect English, of course. We were quickly taken to a wonderful churrascaria owned by Beto's friend [email Beto, get details and names and publicize the restaurant] for a holiday feast [get holiday?] of beef, chicken, pork, sausage and other dishes that kept arriving at the table, all of them delicious and none to be missed.  The restaurant was full of holiday family tables, children everywhere, and a neat play room in the back for them, with closed-circuit TV to keep the parents' eyes on them. We staggered back to the Bings' to rest until supper, in which we were joined by Beto's brother Ever. On Friday, Beto's sister Carla kindly took the whole day to drive us and her parents to Gramado, a German town north of Porto Alegre, complete with Bavarian-style buildings and restaurants, set among Alpine mountains. It was strange to hear blond, blue-eyed Germans speaking fluent Spanish. We had a wonderful lunch, lots of wondering through shops and a visit to a fantastic forest preserve with a tall observation tower overlooking the alpine slopes of green forests. Saturday, Sole kindly arranged for her hairdresser to cut my shaggy hair, while John and Walt picked up the Jeep from the Chrysler dealer, where it had been serviced and the warranty book stamped. We had lunch with the whole Bing family at Beto's house. John and Walt by now had figured out how to speak Spanglish together and were having a great time. Carla and Carol decided that Carla has to come visit us in France in October. It was a family occasion, full of warmth and humor, and we felt so enfolded in it that it was very hard to leave. But we had to get on up the coast to keep to our itinerary and meet the projected shipping date for the Jeep from Fortaleza on Brazil's northeast coast. So we jumped in the Jeep and drove up the coast to Torres, where, on Walt's advice, we stayed at a lovely beach-front hotel. Thank you, all the Bings, for taking us in and making us feel so completely welcome.     May 25 - 28                             Iguacu Falls Continuing up the coast, we spent a night in Florianopolis, a rolling island cum beach resort, surrounded by lovely bays and spectacular mountains. Lunch the next day was at the furthest tip we could find at a restaurant on the edge of the bay, and the freshest fish we've ever eaten. Then we headed up the coast to Curituba and started our drive across Brazil to Iguacu Falls, at the junction of Brazil, Argentina and Paraguay. We checked out the town and decided it was too touristy and too expensive, so we took a chance and drove 15 kilometers out of town in the dark to find the youth hostel listed in the guidebook. No, we're not youth, but old people can stay there, too. In fact, we met an Australian couple about our age who were doing yet another walk-about. We all spent the entire next day seeing the falls, which involved crossing back into Argentina because the views and the access are much better than the Brazilian side. Our youth hostel arranged a bus and guide to take us there, a guided tour through the rain forest, and a boat trip on the lake at the bottom of the falls.  How to describe Iguacu Falls? There are dozens of waterfalls descending from the huge lake on the border of Paraguay and Brazil, tumbling and crashing down over immense rocky cliffs into two or more rivers hundreds of feet below. The air is constantly full of spray and the roar of the water falling. On the Argentine side, you can get up close and personal with many of the falls by walking on the intricate web of steel walkways that cross over and under them. We first took a boat ride to for a close view of the bottom of one of the falls, and went right in underneath it to get soaking wet - except for those of us who had bought cheap plastic ponchos at the grocery store on the way. Then we climbed up from the lake surface to the web of walkways on the stone steps carved into the cliffs and hiked for miles over, around, under and up to waterfall after waterfall. At some points, the falls were just a few yards under our feet, and we could see the water falling far below us. We rambled up and down and around the many waterfalls, met the local raccoon equivalents, who had much longer and sharper claws and had unfortunately become accustomed to getting food from the visitors, and ended up semi-exhausted at the Sheraton Hotel in the park (just how did they get the exclusive right to be there?), where we sat on the veranda, admiring the broad extent of the falls and having a cup of tea. Exhausted, satisfied and slightly soggy, we met out guide and the rest of our group from the hostel at the park entrance, dropped off three young English girls at a hostel in Argentina, and headed back across the border to our Brazilian hostel. After dinner with the Australians on the patio next to the pool, we fell into bed, more than satisfied with our encounter at the falls.  May 29 - 31 Now we had to get from the Argentina/Paraguyian/Brazilian border to the center of the northern plains, where far-seeing Brasilian President Juscelino Kubitschek created a national capital from scratch in the 1960's. This required driving north through the center of Brazil, far from the coast and super-highways, on two lane roads often heavy with truck traffic. Our passing skills improved measurably, and we found interesting places to stop or sleep. Our hotel one night, outside Irati, a medium-sized town, was a large white castle, complete with turrets and towers and surrounded by fields full of grazing horses. It was the Brazilian equivalent of Blackberry Farm, selling products from the land - fruits, jellies, grape juice, etc. We tried to get a glass of wine without success - we kept getting the grape juiced instead. The next day we stopped for gas at the SuperHulk station and restaurant in San Jose, a small town in the middle of nowhere and found the attendants speaking English. Inside, the restaurant manager was even better - an accomplished linguist who had taught himself American English and Spanish by 'Wizard' courses on the Internet. He spoke the fastest English we've ever heard in a completely authentic American accent. He was going to come to the States and work, but fell in love and decided to stay in his small home town, where he seemed to be perfectly happy. The entire staff of the Super Hulk loved the Jeep and the fact that we'd driven it all the way to Ushuaia and back and presented us with a bright orange SuperHulk sweatshirt to take home. We continued through bucolic countryside with bright red soil and rolling hills. The two-line highway and truck traffic greatly improved our passing skills, and we arrived in Goiana in good time to find the Ibis. But it was a pretty large town and hard to understand complicated directions in Portuguese, so a very kind woman got in her car and led us to it. Another example of the extra-ordinary kindness we've met everywhere we've traveled.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/spocream/rubicon1/1210632180/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/spocream/rubicon1/1210632180/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/spocream/rubicon1/1210632180/tpod.html Mon, 12 May 2008 19:22:54 -0400 San Diego to Tierra del Fuego or bust. Carol & John's adventure for 2008

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Buenos Aires, Argentina

April 28 - May 2    Wetlands, glacier and Butch Cassidy Well, we thought we were at the end of the road, but there was a small grey line on the map leading east from Ushuaia to something called Lapataia. We decided to explore and found ourselves heading west from the center of town to a junction where the road turned to gravel. On the way, we stopped within 2 kilometers of a glacier, but the climb through the snow required better shoes than we had on. The views were spectacular of the Beagle Channel extending to the east and the west, and we wondered if Darwin ever made it to this point. We continue down the road to find out what Lapataia entailed: a wonderful natural park and the final end of the PanAmerican Highway, Route 3 in Argentina (see pictures), with a large sign proclaiming the end point. We met many travelers on our way who were going to Ushuaia, but no one who knew about Lapataia. We were amazed at the natural beauty of the low-lying forests, with many pools of water and tree trunks leaning where they had fallen. It reminded us of the forests in Alaska, with the same landscape and surrounding mountains. How surprising that the environs of the South Pole have the same look as the North Pole. Leaving Ushuaia the next morning, we found the snow had melted in the mountain pass, replaced by rain. That was much better, except for one stretch of black ice. The winds were pretty high when we took the ferry across from Terra del Fuego to mainland Chile, with waves of 6-8 feet, as we made our way back to the first border crossing from Chile into Argentina. There we were recognized by one of the border officials, who was especially fond on John's watch (that I was wearing). It's a funny feeling to know border officials well enough to joke with them when you're at the bottom of the world. The 75 miles of gravel roads were as hard as on the way back as they were on the way down, plus the wind was stronger, but we arrived at the ferry crossing at the right moment, waited only 15 - 20 minutes and were the third car loaded. The buses and cars have priority over the trucks, so the truck drivers sometimes have to wait for the ferry to go over and come back before they can load. With good timing, we made it to Rio Gallegos before dark and found a good 3-star hotel and a decent buffet restaurant - advertised as Chinese - not far away. It had Argentine barbeque - "parilla" - and just about everything else, but no Chinese food that we could recognize. Rio Gallegos was distinguished only by the history of Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, who stayed there with Sundance's girl friend Ella until the Pinkerton agents made it too hot for them. From there they moved west towards the Chilean border and finally met their end in the famous shoot-out at a remote cabin. Our real goal was El Calafate and the nearby glaciers and lakes of the national park. We drove across the pampas for the first time and found a great place to stay - Lonely Planet calls it "a log cabin on steroids" - with a warm atmosphere, friendly service and a resident dog, or so we hoped. There were so many stray dogs in town that our hotel had a collection box to start a shelter, and we helped them out. The next day was the 1st of May. I associate it with English girls dancing at dawn with flowers in their hair.  We spent it visiting the spectacular Perito Moreno glacier and watching it "calve." The national park had excellent wooden stairways built on the side of the hill facing the glacier and the lake it bisects. We were lucky to catch one spectacular calving. As the glacier moves, the snow is compressed into towers with spires, and in between the ice in the crevasses turn a pure shade of blue from compression. When the pressure builds up enough behind a certain spire, it simply collapses into the lake, with a giant cracking sound like a rifle report amplified many times, a booming hiss as the snow falls into the water, sending waves out in circles for great distances. We walked around the wooden viewing stairs for quite a while, then retired to the park restaurant for lunch and waited for the next boat trip out to the glacier's face. We didn't get close enough to the face to worry about, but we could hear the grinding and cracking of the glacier's movement and see the blue cathedral vaults between the spires - an impressive encounter with the force of nature. On the boat, we met an Italian in-between investment banking jobs. He had left JP Morgan in London and was joining another equally impressive house within the next few weeks, so he decided to backpack around Argentina. We felt bad that we couldn't drive him out to the bus stop, but we had taken the back seats out of the Jeep and replaced them with luggage and gear. Back in El Calafate, the driving need was to wash the Jeep. It had mud on both sides above the door handles and was getting hard to enter and exit. The local place wanted 80 pesos, nearly $30, so John borrowed the hose from our log cabin hotel. We had steak and excellent local trout for dinner and slept the sleep of the innocent who have breathed fresh air all day. The next morning we headed north on gravel roads and then turned east across the pampas. It was an experience in loneliness - one gravel road across a few hundred miles of empty upland desert, with one desolate small town and one gas station in the middle. It was obvious from the construction going on that the government is putting in a paved road, but we quickly learned how to avoid the gravel and drive in the ruts of dirt surface. If you drive just fast enough, the Jeep settles into a kind of planning over the bumps. With our satellite phone, we stopped in the middle of nowhere and called daughter Fran to wish her happy birthday before she jumped out of airplane sky-diving to celebrate. We were pretty relieved to arrive at the coast road - Ruta 3 - and make our way to Puerto San Julian on the coast, but very proud of the Jeep and ourselves for making the desolate drive across the pampas. May 3 - 7   Heading for Buenos Aires and staying ahead of the volcano ash We heard about the volcano El Cheiten erupting in the mountains of Chile, close to the border with Argentina. Then we began to see the effects ourselves. Easterly winds brought the volcanic ash to the Atlantic coast of Argentina, and we found our Jeep covered with a layer of ash two days in a row. The sky turned dark with the floating ashes. When we stopped, we saw pictures on TV of the town closest to the volcano. It looked like the North Pole, but the white stuff wasn't snow. The skies were grey and lowering on the coast road, with reduced visibility. We stopped in Puerto Madryn - a Welsh settlement originally and now a charming ocean-side town with a welcoming hotel on the oceanfront. Dinner was "white salmon" at an excellent restaurant on the water. We were so charmed that we took an extra day for R&R. One of the hotel staff became our buddy. He grew up in New Zealand and then returned to Argentina with his family, so he spoke perfect English and Spanish and was one of the many Jeep admirers. The ash, however, was chasing us up the coast, so we headed on to Bahia Blanca, a mainly industrial port with a romantic name. There we learned Argentine traffic laws: it's illegal to make a left turn off any Avenida. That forces traffic to go around several blocks in order to get anywhere. So we walked to the main square for dinner at a typical Argentine 'comedor.' At Bahia Blanca, we left the coast, which headed east, and we headed north to Buenos Aires. We didn't want to arrive in BA in the dark and rush hour, so we turned off the highway to a lake town San Miguelo del Monte. Persisting in following signs down dirt roads to a so-called Swiss inn, we found ourselves in a lovely resort, still open with only one room occupied until we got there. The service was excellent, the rooms lovely, our private dinner in the dining room very tasty. The staff and the one other couple there - two men - were watching the soccer finals on TV. May 8-12 Buenos Aires and the Hurlingham Club We approached BA around 10 am, which was good timing after rush hour, since the expressway system looked daunting on the map. But we made a perfect arrival to the "Microcenter," the very heart of BA and found our small hotel without even asking. It was very discreet: one glass door with a buzzer for admittance in a street off the main avenue. Without the address from The Lonely Planet guide, we would never have found it. They didn't have parking, although it was advertised as such, but there was one within two blocks that was high enough for the Jeep, reasonably priced and had security day and night. We checked into the hotel, put down our luggage and headed for the Brazilian consulate to start the visa application process. All we could do that day was enter our application into the computer before the consulate closed at 1pm. So we strolled down the main avenue, stopping at cafes and watching BA life. Back to the hotel, we needed to make reservations and get information, but it had no phones, so we learned to use the local Locutaria. It's a business: you go there to use the phone and pay by the elapsed time.  Friday we returned to the Brazilian consulate, finished the visa application, paid the required fee at a nearby bank and returned with the bank confirmation. Brazil is the only country where we've had to get a visa in order to enter. The actual processing by the consulate takes 5-7 days, but that's much better than the 30 days we heard originally. We celebrated our work with lunch at a charming French restaurant near our hotel, complete with a charming French woman. She and her husband joined their son in BA, who was enamored of an Argentine girl; the girl split, but the family stayed and opened a successful restaurant. Dinner was at a recommended "parilla" - pronounced pah - ree - ja - in the nearby pedestrian avenue. There we saw the biggest steaks of our lives. They arrived at the tables on serving trays surmounted on a bed of glowing goals that kept the meat warm and allowed each diner to let his food cook longer if desired.  The rest of Friday and part of Saturday were spent locating shipping companies for the Jeep's return to the US. It was a frustrating task; many shippers have stopped working with Brazil because their port procedures are so complex. We left it behind to go down to the "Boca" - the original port of BA where all the immigrants landed. It's old and scruffy, but has become artsy and a tourist destination. You still have to be careful if you get off the main streets. Saturdays, there are art fairs and lots of Tango dancers at the bistros, which set up their tables in the streets, so we joined in the local color. There is an excellent museum of modern art funded by a wealthy Argentine artist. We'd seen it on our previous trip to BA, but it had some new works and was worthwhile. Dinner was in the Puerto Madero, newer than the port in Boca, but also now restored and turned into chic stores and upscale restaurants. Scanning the menus, we picked one of many by its ambiance and price - not outrageous - and had one of the great dinners of our trip, the best salmon in years. Sunday morning we left BA and headed west - literally straight west on a street two blocks south of our hotel - for a suburb called Hurlingham and the Hurlingham Polo Club. It has a reciprocal relationship with the Oxford and Cambridge Club in London, to which we belong, thanks to Carol's student days. As we drove out of the city on this perfectly straight street, posh modern BA turned into upscale suburbs and then run-down areas along the train tracks. We managed to find our way to Hurlingham without much trouble, but finding the entrance to the polo club was a challenge. Not that many people play anymore? Finally, we drove into a guarded entrance in a long wall and found a vast expanse of golf courses, swimming pools, polo fields, stables for at least 200 horses, riding rings, tennis courts and  wooded pathways. The clubhouses have dining rooms, bars, sleeping rooms, billiard rooms and libraries, plus locker rooms and dressing rooms. It was started in 1888 and lies on the main railroad line west. It's not hard to imagine the Edwardian gentlemen and ladies strolling the paths and watching the polo matches. They still play polo, and we saw stables full of beautiful mounts, each with its main trimmed like a crew-cut, leaving one long strand at the nape. We surmised it's intended to keep the neck free for reins at high speed. So here we stayed Sunday and Monday, enjoying the peace and quiet of this huge expanse of grounds and trees, we were the only ones there  - we gave the help the evening off and also Monday. It is amazing to have 500 plus acres all to yourselves and 200 horses.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/spocream/rubicon1/1209323640/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/spocream/rubicon1/1209323640/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/spocream/rubicon1/1209323640/tpod.html Sun, 27 Apr 2008 15:34:09 -0400 San Diego to Tierra del Fuego or bust. Carol & John's adventure for 2008

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Ushuaia, Patagonia, Argentina

April 15th Continued? It was some of the best Indian food we've ever had. We walked around the Plaza des Armas - which for the US would be 4th of July Square - named for the men who fought valiantly against the Spanish for independence. Every town we have visited in Chile has a street named for Bernando O'Higgins, son of Irish immigrants, freedom fighter and first president of Chile, and one named for San Martin, a descendent of Spanish settlers who fought on the side of independence. The next day we did the historical tour around the Plaza des Armas, which took us into the museum of the history of Chile, starting with pre-Colombian times  3-4000 BC and working up into modern times, up to television and the Kennedy administration's role in Chile in the 1960's. The cathedral on the other side of the Plaza was immense, but not the original colonial one, which had stood some blocks off the square. Then we went to the best pre-Colombian museum in Latin America. It stands a block off the Plaza des Armas and houses incredible and innumerable displays of pre-Colombian art. This was not just gold trinkets we had seen in other museums, however admirable. It showed every culture from Mexico to the tip of South America and had pottery and artifacts from each of them. And each piece was more beautifully executed and proportioned than the last, which descriptions of the cultures and the role of the pieces in them. We spent three hours studying every display we could see and came away knowing that our view of what is humanity and what is culture had been changed forever. After that experience, we staggered back to our hotel to rest and absorb what we had seen, then took ourselves off to a lovely little, totally French restaurant called The Assassins (no, we don't know why), which had very good French cuisine and excellent crepes suzettes. Thursday the 17th , we fled the big city and headed for the coastal town of Valparaiso, so John could see the funiculars. They were wonderful: the town is made up of several steep hills around an extremely busy and large port, and people who came into town from their homes took the cable cars up and down as part of their ordinary life. It was like San Francisco, but more a normal part of life. The town itself is a large naval base as well, so we saw some incredible ships, including the first 4-masted sailing ship we've ever seen. It was inside a naval base, so we couldn't really get a tour of it, but immense and impressive. It must have been something in naval battle days to see one of those hove out of a fog bank. Our curiosity satisfied and our tank full of Shell gasoline, we headed southwest into wine country. We had reserved a tour in English of the Undurraga winery, founded in 1885, to learn about wine-making in historical Chile. The hacienda was white stucco and Spanish colonial style. That is, there was a central courtyard - in this case at least 2 acres large - around which the original buildings stood.  There were, of course, several other courtyards as well. We had an excellent English-speaking tour guide, who really knew her stuff, and took us through every detail of the process of wine-making, which we saw going on around us as we worked our way through the stages of crushing, ageing, bottling and ageing again. The original cellars were brick, cool and vaulted, and the modern stainless steel tanks were spotless. Much of the wine is still aged in the old way, in oak barrels - which are used for a few years only before they absorb too much wine to give an oak flavor and then have to be replaced. Having seen vineyards in Napa and in France, we were very impressed with the level of technology and with the quality of the wine. Undurraga has also started a bio/ecological line of wines that are produced without additives of any kind from grapes that are grown naturally, without chemicals. It was fascinating to see the level of care and knowledge that was being devoted to producing an ecologically sound line of wine.  The next day we started on down the road - the PanAmerican Highway # 5 - towards the south of Chile. It's like getting on InterState 80 only more so. It runs from the north of Chile down to the southern most lake district, where the highways run out altogether. Chile is a very long, narrow country, and the Pan Am connects it north to south. We feel like Jack Nicholson setting out in Easy Rider. Our first stop, however, took us back into history. It took some time and dirt roads off the PanAm, but we found the hacienda built in 1765 that was the home of one of the most famous families in Chilean history, including at least one president of the republic. The estate is now owned by the Chilean army - there's a story in there somewhere - and is in perfect preservation. We could imagine the slow tempo of the lives lived there, in the bedrooms that all connected and in the private chapel, large as some European cathedrals, in the stately dining room that seated thirty. And we saw a very small part of the actual estate. So we didn't press the issue of the army' involvement; we climbed back into our Jeep and over the dirt roads leading back to the highway and the 20th century. Naturally, then, we had to look for vineyards and followed a sign at random that pointed to the left off the paved road. Several kilometers later, the road turned from merely dirt to seriously rutted, dusty and hilly, and we were wondering where we had lost our senses. Climbing up and curving down between acres of grapevines, we were wondering how to turn around, when we finally came upon the vineyard nestled in the curve of a hillside and pulled around the back to find the tasting room. We'd come all that way, so we were at least going to taste their wine, whatever it was.   It turned out to be a major ecological establishment, dedicated to making wine without any additives or preservatives and in a way that brought together all the natural elements around it. We had an excellent lesson in natural wine-making and tasted four excellent wines that seemed smoother than other wines, but perhaps it was the beautiful scenery and the sunny day. The entire staff of the winery came by to see us out of curiosity at seeing our Jeep with US license plates, so we made friends and bought wine, toasted our health and set off back down the dirt road to the paved road that lead to the Pan Am. We stopped on the way in a provincial town and sat on benches in the central park, watching the high school students smoking after class and the young mothers wheeling their babies. Landing finally in Talca, on the PanAm, we used our Spanish guidebook to locate an excellent 3-star hotel in the center of town, just off the Plaza Mayor, with a lovely suite and secure parking for a modest price. And our US guidebook said the best restaurant in the Central Valley was just around the corner, so we managed to find the Ruben Tapio restaurant - after some confusion on my part with Ruben Dario, the poet laureate of Nicaraugua and now one of my favorite writers. We dined extremely well, managed to find our way back across the Plaza des Armas to our hotel, and so to bed.     January 19-26  The End of the Road! Heading on down the PanAmerican Highway, we stopped to see the local market at a small town. The usual 'guard' turned up as we parked and offered to watch the Jeep. We wandered the overstuffed stalls and displays of fruit, food, clothes, books and everything else a family would need, then headed for Los Angeles. Navigating by guidebook, we didn't realize that the PanAm had been re-routed around the town on the other side, but not changed on the page, so we had a few moments of wondering if we'd lost our sense of direction. Finally in the center, we headed for the local hotel, which turned out to have an interior garden restaurant, complete with rock-strewn waterfall and a fair amount of activity on a Saturday night. Sunday we headed for the Argentine border and found ourselves driving along the beginnings of the lake district, which begins in Chile and really gets going across the border in Argentina. The hotels along the lakeshore were either closed or way too fancy. So, in typical fashion, we took the Jeep down a dirt road with an hotel sign. The road just kept on going, getting rockier, but John never lost hope. We ended up in a brand-new, completely modern, 5 room hotel owned and run by a French couple, who had decided to leave France for Chile. The hotel style was modern Scandinavian, the views of the lakes on both sides from the hilltop were gorgeous, and the cuisine was excellent. If you go to the lake district on the Chilean border near San Carlos de Barriloche, be sure to stay at Taique Lodge. It's a little out of the way, but is definitely worth it. Tell Audrey and Mickael hello for us! As we drove to the border, it seemed to be a forest out of the Brothers Grimm. Beautiful pine and other trees, draped with moss and scattered among them log cabins. The crossing was easy - by this time, we have learned the drill and the number of stamps required on each piece of paper. Our passports are beginning to fill up from Chilean border crossings, and we still have several to go to get to Ushuaia and back. Barriloche turned out to be an Alpine town, either Swiss or German, modern buildings made of honey-glazed logs and stone, blonde, ruddy-cheeked men speaking nothing but Spanish. We toured along the lake shore to the famous hotel Llao-Llao (pronounciation approximately 'yawo-yawo'), a fabulous resort on the shores of the largest lake, surrounded by enormous golf courses and forests. The hotel is usually open to visitors, but had an event going on, so we wandered down the side roads in our all-terrain Jeep and ended up having a drink at a tea house for golfers, overlooking the lake and surrounding hills and watching putters on the green. On the way back, we took a funicular ride to the top of the highest Cerro (hill) and found panoramic views of at least 7 huge lakes, stretched out in all directions around us. It gives new meaning to "lake district."   Back to our friendly bed-and-breakfast, we found Andy our motorcycle rider from Central America standing on the doorstep. He and John had been exchanging co-ordinates for several days and figuring out that we could cross paths there. We heard his stories of Ushuaia, including the snowy mountain pass with scary trucks, and wished him well as he worked his way north. From the lake district, we headed south, through a little Swiss village up in the mountains, then descended into the Patagonian desert, ending up at another beautiful lake in Sarimento. It was quite dark, our destination B&B was at least 10 kilometers east on a winding road, and we didn't know for sure if it was open. We stopped at the local YPF gas station to fill up and ask directions. The three old guys inside gave us all sorts of advice about where to stay, and one of them just got up and drove us to the local hotel, then waved at us and drove off. Another example of how kind and helpful people have been to us all the way along our road. Pizza for dinner seemed the only option, complicated by Carol leaving her small purse on the back of a chair. But we called the next morning, and the owners promised to keep it for us until we got back from Ushuaia. No great loss, very little money and no documents, but a charming example of how helpful and kind people have been all along the way. Two full auxiliary gas cans the next morning as we headed further south into Patagonia and gas stations stretched out. The winds were high, lowering our mileage even more, and we were thankful for every sighting of fuel. We saw guanacos and rheas along the roadside. The rheas look like small ostriches, and the guanacos quickly became our favorite species. They are russet-colored on their backs, with beige legs, and their faces are black. Their ears stick straight up, long and very close together, which gives them a permanently surprised expression as we drive by, lifting their heads up to stare at us, then going back to grazing. We saw one Patagonian fox, a rare sighting - it ran across the road ahead of us. From the desert along the PanAm Ruta 3, we turned off to the coast to find a place to stay and ended up in Puerto San Julian, where we had a lovely dinner in this port town. We had a long drive to Rio Grande on Tierro del Fuego the next day. We had planned to stop before the ferry crossing to the island, but as we neared the turn-off, John saw a steady stream of headlights and figured the ferry had just arrived. That meant we could cross quickly onto Tierra del Fuego and make more progress towards Ushuaia. Tierra del Fuego is divided in half between Chile and Argentina. We planned to stay on the Chilean side at the border crossing, but everything was closed up tight, and we ended up crossing the border after all. There was nothing on the other side, so we headed in the growing dark for Rio Grande, a much longer drive than planned. Approaching the town, we had no idea where to find anything and no service stations in sight. But the pharmacies are always open and well-lit, and in addition to medicine, they give travel information - at least, when crazy Americans walk in and ask for it. Directed to the nearby YPF and cash station, with further directions to the 3-star hotel in town, life was good again. Thank you Argentinean pharmacists... The road to Ushuaia the next day was paved and ran between beautiful mountain chains (sierras) with snow-capped peaks and beautiful lakes. We were definitely in Darwin land, approaching the Beagle Canal, where Darwin learned about the local people and saw the bonfires lit on the hilltops signaling the approach of a strange ship. The English thought they were natural pheonomena, not man-made fires, so they called the island the Land of Fire (Tierra del Fuego). The road was good until we started over the pass, where we quickly drove into snow and ice. Naturally, we had to get out of the Jeep at the high point and take a picture of the lake and mountains behind it, ice-bound steps to the top of the look-out and a freezing wind. We passed many trucks coming the other way, mostly all using chains in order to hold to the road. By law, in fact, they have to have them. We did just fine with 4-wheel drive and Illinois snow-driving experience, cresting the pass and descending into Ushuaia. It's the southern-most town in the world you can drive to and a major port for the Antarctic cruise ships. So it's full of hotels and hostels, most of them closed, and lots of expensive stores selling leather goods, sweaters and chatchkies. We splurged on a hotel right on the port with gorgeous views of the sound and found an excellent restaurant 3 blocks away. We also found an interesting English couple, doing much the same as us, but not all by car. They had sold their house, car and most possessions, in-between one thing and another, and had been traveling around the southern hemisphere, Australia, New Zealand, South America for 6 months. So we're not the only ones. Here at the bottom of the world, the sun comes up very late and sets early, and it's only getting more so. We're taking a couple of days to rest up and get organized, before heading back up that snowy mountain pass and northwards to Buenos Aires and Brazil. We've accomplished our goal and are pleased with ourselves - and surprised at how little trouble we've had at any point. If you're thinking of driving to the bottom of the world, don't hesitate - lots of people do it, many on a motorcycle, and it's well worth the effort.    
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