Monday, February 28, 2011
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Monday, February 21, 2011
Falling from a space ship…
So you’re way, way up there in your dream. You are the pilot of the spaceship, climbing, soaring and careening into dives that make your heart pound. Roller coaster butterflies thrill inside your stomach. You are totally in control. You look down and see interesting little specks below but out ahead is where the real rush waits. You pull on more power, master and commander of the universe. Suddenly and without time to prepare, the spaceship flips over and you begin falling. Falling. Falling. When you wake up you are miraculously unhurt and have somehow managed to land in the exact place that you have been trying to find in your dreams for years – but you could never quite ‘get there’ because the alarm always went off two seconds too early.
You pick yourself up and look around. Where am I, you wonder? I can’t be on Gilligan’s Island because it’s not tropical. The hills are brown and barren - sparse vegetation trying to grow in rills of sandy terrain. You notice that the line of mountains behind you are not majestic cliffs of granite, they are towering sand dunes intermittently gashed with deep canyons caused by run-off. This must be the rainy season you figure, because the day is cloudy, hot and very humid. Then you hear it. Then you see it. The sea. So noisy, continually rumbling and turning inside out, so frantic to rush in a hundred directions at the same time. Pelicans seem content with the roaring and commotion as they glide a few inches above the waves, but your prairie ears are not. And then you look down. Sand everywhere. In your clothes, in your toes, in your hair, You begin to brush yourself off but the sand grates against your skin like sandpaper and sticks like glue. Sand and sea everywhere you look.
Your eyes zero in and begin to focus as you look around – the scene is actually much nicer than you first thought. In spite of the noise and confusion the ocean is just gorgeous. It’s warm and playful and continually fills the air with mist and rhythm. As you watch, the colors on the surface of the sea are affected by the energy of every single thing in the area – the sun, the clouds, the wind, the time of day, the tide. In one millisecond the ocean can spin a thousand shades between green and silver. The beach is wide and inviting too, even though it is made of sand it is hard packed and easy to walk on, especially at low tide. You notice a few cabanas spread along the beach – they look so rustic and inviting with the emerald sea floating in the background. Another thing you notice – there’s no one around. Who knew there was a single place left on earth with such beautiful sea and sky, and no one there to enjoy it? Whoops, you hardly have time to finish that thought when you spot a lone figure and a dog walking along the beach in the distance. At least the place is not entirely deserted. Then you notice a few homes scattered in the hills and are surprised because some appear to be new and modern. You walk along the shore and there, in the distance are two dozen fishing boats pulled to high ground in front of a picturesque fishing village. Ha! There’s way more life here than you first thought. Then it hits you – the entire scene is surreal, mystifyingly surreal, like you’re a single color in a vast oil painting. Sun, sea, sand, sky, warm breeze, not crowded. Too good to be true. It reminds you of a gorgeous beach resort you visited a few years ago when you searched so hard for a postcard to send home, a card that perfectly described every detail: the place, the moment, the excitement and your feelings. You realize with a chuckle that you won’t have that problem here, the perfect postcard is all around. You don’t have to buy it and you don’t need a stamp.
But where are you? Then you see the sign, Kite Beach. Apparently the place is famous for kite surfing. You continue reading - Santa Marianita Beach, Ecuador. Now you know the name. You have identified the place that’s been missing at the end of your dream.
And we’re here too. You fell out of your space ship, we came on the bus. We did not know a place like this existed anywhere in the world. Even after years of travel, we have never imagined this setting. For the first two weeks after our arrival we felt like we were on another planet, the place is that unusual. One of the most remarkable things about Santa Marianita Beach aside from scenery and weather is Linda, an American woman who speaks almost no Spanish yet has somehow managed to reinvent herself in Ecuador. She owns a little guest house on the beach in Santa Marianita. She moved from Florida six years ago after suffering the loss of three family members in unrelated incidents. After four years in Manta she eventually built the two story beach house. The lower floor has two large studio apartments that are available for rent year-round and the top floor has a few bedrooms that she sometimes rents but they are usually occupied by ‘Helpx’ workers (more about that later). The studio apartments are fairly new, spacious, nicely furnished, well equipped and affordable. Linda is very laid-back, a one-woman organizer who suggests rather than commands, and she is at the core of a fairly large expat community. She pretty much knows everyone in the area who was not born in Ecuador. Her new life has made room for three loveable dogs (Vi and Dave may question the word loveable!) that she rescued from disastrous situations as well as eight cats. We never know who has the biggest smile, the animals or Linda. If you leave things alone long enough they will take care of themselves – Linda’s philosophy. She told us that sometimes when she’s driving in Manta people often give her a friendly wave, then she realized they were not waving, they were trying to tell her she was driving down a one way street the wrong way - she giggles about that and then adds, in Florida they shoot you for making a mistake like that. That’s why I love Ecuador so much, people only wave.
Since the beginning of February we have been catching our breath inside the dream. Most days we do nothing but read, write, think, walk and socialize. No phone, wifi yes, TV yes – but we never turn it on. The air in Santa Marianita is wonderful. No pollution. It is soft and moist and fresh on your skin and is always being pushed around by a pleasant breeze. Occasionally we sit in the sand, as close as we can get to Papua New Guinea, and have a toast to the sunset. We bring our own wine and wine glasses of course, because those are extras. Everything else in the theatre is supplied by Mother Nature. The flaming best sunsets on earth happen in Panavision right in front of our wondering eyes. Sunsets so vast you can see the backbone and the ribs of the sky as they support the weight of the most dazzling colors on earth. Our all time favourite sunset happened in Kuta Beach, Bali, in 2003. Good on us, now we have a tie.
Other things we have learned since we stepped off the bus – Linda arranges for people from an organization called ‘Helpx’ to work at the beach house. Helpx.net lists situations around the world where young people can assist with chores for four hours a day in exchange for free accommodation. The first Helpx we met was Brecht, a nice young man from Leuven, Belgium, who reminded me very much of how Caenen might look when he is the same age. Brecht is working his way around Ecuador until he starts university in September. Two days later, Dave from the UK and Bennie from Australia arrived, a couple who plan to work their way through South America until June 2011. Another Helpx is Denis, Linda’s right hand man. Denis is Ecuadorian and assists with language translation, computer problems, driving and everything else. Sadly for Linda, Denis is leaving in early March for a year of university studies in Germany.
On a more sombre note, just before we arrived at Linda’s a Helpx couple from Hungary fell in love with the sea and took ‘a bath’ several times each day. They were warned to be careful because the waves were unusually high due to a previous storm. On January the 29th they entered the sea at about 5pm and he was caught in a riptide and carried away. Sadly for everyone concerned, he drowned. His body washed ashore three days later and his fiancé started the process of taking his remains back to Hungary. Very traumatic for Linda and all her guests and a brutal reminder that life is as fragile as a wave.
What about the food in Ecuador? Sometimes we eat at the apartment, sometimes we share the cooking, sometimes we eat in Manta or at a beach restaurant. Groceries can be purchased from several large stores in Manta and while some food is very inexpensive (fruit and vegetables) other products are not. Most of the time the food in this part of Ecuador is excellent and affordable, especially if you like seafood and fish. But not beef or pork – almost always tough. The beer. Well it’s cheap and there’s plenty of it.
And what about the kites? Unfortunately for us the winds of kite season change in January so when we arrived on February 1st the party was over. We would love to have see them soaring over the ocean but it will have to be another time. During kite season there are three schools right near Linda’s Landing. People come from all over the world, but mainly Europe and South America, to participate. When it’s not kite season and it’s not a weekend, Santa Marianita is deserted.
Manta is twenty minutes by car from Santa Marianita. She is not a very pretty city and sometimes she smells quite fishy. She is the tuna capital of Ecuador. Manta is home to a fairly large expat community - many have lived there for years but more and more seem to be arriving every day. Do you know why? In September 2010, International Living Magazine declared Ecuador to be the best expat retirement country in the world. Many retirees are renting but most own real estate and reside permanently in Ecuador for exactly the same reasons that expats move to Lake Chapala or retirement communities anywhere. Climate, low cost of living and a strong social network. One thing we have noticed is that even though real estate is a hot topic, almost nobody talks about health care – quite the opposite to our time in Mexico. Thanks to Linda, we have met some mighty interesting people. Most of them live in Manta, most are permanent, some are snowbirds, many are in the process of doing retirement research. Folks from Florida, Texas, California, Washington, New York and the southern States, but the vast majority of old and new arrivals are Canadian. Americans cannot believe they are being outnumbered more and more everyday by Canadians in Ecuador. Our friends Vi and Dave, the best socializers in western Canada, live in the studio next door. If it weren’t for them we wouldn’t be here at all. They returned home last year raving about Ecuador so this year many of their friends have paid Linda a visit. Before we arrived in Santa Marianita we were quite worried about feeling trapped in such a tiny place, but that has not been a problem. On the other hand, when it is time to head to Peru at the end of the month we will be primed and ready for a boatload of new adventure. And do you remember Paul and Lindsey, the young backpackers we met on the Costa Victoria who later stayed with us in Buenos Aires? Well, they happened to be in Cuenca and took the bus to Manta. We met up again at Linda’s. They stayed several nights and entertained us with stories about their travels including a robbery in Peru. A delightful young couple we lovingly refer to as our parents because they keep checking up on us. Take a look at their blog if you want more information.
Well, there’s much more to tell about Santa Marianita but this postcard is long enough. We have turned your spaceship upside down and dropped you at the end of a dream, Hope you enjoyed the visit.
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
Sunday, February 13, 2011
Guayaquil, Salinas and Bananas
Guayaquil
Take a close look at photos of the interesting green characters hanging out in the park across the street from the Continental Hotel. They are the retired long distance bus drivers. It’s pretty common knowledge that after a career of driving the ear-splitting route between Quito and Guayaquil they heroically retire from the supremacy of sound to a life of peaceful tranquility in the park. We were told by a reliable source that they often reminisce about the good old days of music and fun on the road.
At more than three million, metro Guayaquil is huge, bigger than your city-scape imagination can handle without a headache – but unlike Quito the headache is not caused by high altitude because it sits at only 13.2 feet about sea level. We arrived at a secondary bus station, not the main fancy one, in rush hour traffic and fell off the bus in a daze, trying to scrape together a few spare ear drums. A taxi driver started hanging around like a persistent fly – we thought maybe he wanted to sell us his car. You should have seen it, a worn out Russian Lada from the early ‘80s. Even though we swatted him away a few times, after an in-depth discussion we finally realized he just wanted to drive us to the Continental Hotel downtown. In actual fact, the cost of the trip and the value of his car were the same amount – luckily we stopped him before he signed it over to us. We agreed on $7.00 for the trip and he got to keep the car. Later we found out the going rate was $5.00 so the driver single-handedly managed to thrust our love of taxi drivers into the bowels of snake pit again. It’s not that $2 is much money; it’s merely the fact that taxi drivers’ worldwide enjoy ripping people off – it’s their job. Oh well, we consoled ourselves, the guy took us right to the hotel and we didn’t have to keep the car. Twenty four hours of parking would cost more than the car was worth. Ha! Four hours of parking would cost more…
The best part of the entire day was the Continental Hotel. Richard wanted to stay there because of the high ratings on TripAdvisor website, and they weren’t wrong. Expensive but well located with a bathroom as big as some small countries, delicious buffet breakfast, friendly front desk staff and a fast internet connection in the room. We were so happy about feeling good again we immediately went out and bought a bottle of wine for a later celebration. Just to be able to hear and walk and kick up our heels again meant a lot. Later we strolled along Guayaquil’s malecon – designed and built in 2000. The 1.5 mile boardwalk has single-handedly transformed Guayaquil’s seedy, unsavoury riverfront from a dirty and dangerous port area into an upscale promenade with beautiful sights, shopping, classy restaurants, botanical gardens, museums, theatres and so on. We were pleased to be there and stretch our legs and our cramped minds at the same time. But the front desk staff at the hotel warned us to be off the streets in the area of the hotel by 10pm. – still dangerous after-hours apparently. We did what we were told but really, other than a few drug pushers, prostitutes, purse snatchers, muggers, corrupt police and armed bandits, what was there to be afraid of?
Next day we were out and about, walking, shopping, snacking and discovering. Didn’t take too long, even though the city is huge the tourist sights are compact in the malecon and downtown areas near the hotel. There are dozens of banks so getting enough cash to survive while keeping your feet on the ground was not a problem. We found a grocery store and bought enough food to eat dinner in the hotel room. So good, so good to not eat in a restaurant. We were extremely proud of ourselves because the Continental Hotel boasts the best gastronomy in Guayaquil. We’ll tell you why if you want to hear about it. Imagine paying more for a meal in Ecuador than in Calgary. That’s why.
All in all, Guayaquil is a pretty uneventful city.
Salinas
Salinas is only two hours by bus from the massive Guayaquil long distance bus terminal. It’s an enjoyable 150 kilometre ride that passes through miles and miles of banana plantations and ends at Ecuador’s most developed sea-side resort. Yes Salinas has an average yearly temperature of 80 degrees and the best time to visit is exactly when we were there. Every weekend the beaches are crowded, crowded and busy. It was fun to walk the promenade and see the sights, but Salinas has no power whatsoever to entice us back – not like Benidorm or Puerto Vallarta. We shared a beer at a sidewalk café across from the beach. We were hotter than fleas, sweaty and tired and a cold beer sounded perfect. The teenage waiter in his low lying blue jeans and dirty tee shirt arrived with the beer bottle already opened – a real no, no (they are supposed to open it in front of you so you know it has not been tampered with). Half an hour later we were ready to move on again but Donna wanted to visit the WC first. Well, that was a record breaker for sure. The most evil washroom of the trip. Filthy, I mean give you the willies filthy, broken toilet, no paper, no soap, no hand towels. I stopped by the kitchen to tell them the toilet didn’t flush and ha! that was the least of his worries. I saw the kitchen. The Kitchen! A dark and dingy work area, out of sight from the street, manned by a teenager who knew nothing whatsoever about sanitation. But he did know how to flush the toilet and that was not the first time he had been asked to do so. He left his food preparation and picked up a filthy pail which he then filled with tap water. Together we visited the toilet and I watched him pour the water until the toilet reached the flush level. Easy as pie. Then he went back to the kitchen to continue preparing, no I didn’t see him wash his hands. But even if he tried to be hygienic there was no soap or towels. I was so full of the creeps I couldn’t wait to get back outside in the sun again. Thank goodness we didn’t eat in that restaurant; we might have been back in bed again for a week. But you know what? Next day we walked by and there were lots of people eating lunch there. Yeeaahhhhhhhhhh.
In Salinas we stayed at the Hotel Caridi located about two miles from the beach. More like a hostal than a hotel, actually. Our room was barren, no bedside table(s) no closet, no writing table, one plastic green chair, bare walls and it was only $5 less per night that the beautiful Boutique Hotel Plaza Sucre in Quito. The owner of the Caridi is from Montreal and when we checked out she asked us to say a few nice things about her place on TripAdvisor. Well that put us on the spot, didn’t it?
Bananas
Did you ever wonder why you can go to the grocery store in Canada or the United States and buy a bunch of Ecuador bananas for less money than an equivalent weight of apples from British Columbia? We have.
What follows is one of many reports about Ecuador’s second largest industry. Sad but true.
Bananas - By Richy Richo
For many reasons, some complimentary, some not, Ecuador is referred to allegorically as a Banana Republic. The truth remains that Ecuador is the number one exporter of bananas worldwide and is said to produce some of the best tasting bananas.
Bananas were first cultivated on the fertile coastal region of Ecuador in the 1700's but the plantations were small. Bananas only became a major export item for Ecuador after World War II after the involvement of multinationals such as Dole.
The importance of bananas, to Ecuador and to the world, cannot be underestimated. Bananas are the fourth most important staple crop in world food production. Bananas are a primary source of income to the Ecuadorian economy second only to the revenue produced by oil.
Unfortunately, banana workers, especially in the larger plantations, "suffer from long hours, low pay, forced overtime, massive exposure to dangerous pesticides, and lack of job security. In many countries such as Colombia, Costa Rica, and Panama, workers have struggled to form unions and raise wages to as much as $11 a day. But in Ecuador temporary subcontracted labourers are not allowed to form unions and are earning an average of less than $6 a day." (Cited from Human Rights Watch publications, April 2002)
In addition, human rights groups have recently denounced many of the larger banana plantations in Ecuador for employing children sometimes even as young as 10 years old. For the land owner, this practice cuts down operating expenses, for the families of the children, sadly, it helps put food on the table.
The less attractive reality of banana production--the low wages of the workers and the presence of child labour--however, remains a reality that needs to be addressed. From talking to the small plantation owners, this problem is partly attributed to the price that they (being the producers) receive from the exporters. This sale price rarely covers production costs. For example, producers are paid $3.00 per box, whereas, at their point of destination, the same box of bananas is sold for as much as $40.00. In other words, the profit margin for the middleman is substantial while, for the producer, it is almost negligible. This discrepancy affects the labourers whose wages are unable to increase due to the narrow profit margin of their employers.
This unfairness in wage earning leads to the rich (i.e. the middlemen in Ecuador and the large multinationals) getting richer. Alternatively, it is those who work the labour-intensive positions who are forced to continue working for stagnating wages. Unfortunately, this state of affairs is not limited to banana production and is not endemic to Ecuador. Mass agriculture, in general, exploits its labourers. Under these conditions, bananas have come to represent a less than complimentary image of Ecuador as being a Banana Republic. By addressing wage and labour concerns, Ecuador's agricultural wealth can be more fairly distributed amongst its inhabitants. The resulting social equity would serve as a tribute to "pacha mama" (mother nature) who has allowed for the bountiful geographical position of Ecuador
Take a close look at photos of the interesting green characters hanging out in the park across the street from the Continental Hotel. They are the retired long distance bus drivers. It’s pretty common knowledge that after a career of driving the ear-splitting route between Quito and Guayaquil they heroically retire from the supremacy of sound to a life of peaceful tranquility in the park. We were told by a reliable source that they often reminisce about the good old days of music and fun on the road.
At more than three million, metro Guayaquil is huge, bigger than your city-scape imagination can handle without a headache – but unlike Quito the headache is not caused by high altitude because it sits at only 13.2 feet about sea level. We arrived at a secondary bus station, not the main fancy one, in rush hour traffic and fell off the bus in a daze, trying to scrape together a few spare ear drums. A taxi driver started hanging around like a persistent fly – we thought maybe he wanted to sell us his car. You should have seen it, a worn out Russian Lada from the early ‘80s. Even though we swatted him away a few times, after an in-depth discussion we finally realized he just wanted to drive us to the Continental Hotel downtown. In actual fact, the cost of the trip and the value of his car were the same amount – luckily we stopped him before he signed it over to us. We agreed on $7.00 for the trip and he got to keep the car. Later we found out the going rate was $5.00 so the driver single-handedly managed to thrust our love of taxi drivers into the bowels of snake pit again. It’s not that $2 is much money; it’s merely the fact that taxi drivers’ worldwide enjoy ripping people off – it’s their job. Oh well, we consoled ourselves, the guy took us right to the hotel and we didn’t have to keep the car. Twenty four hours of parking would cost more than the car was worth. Ha! Four hours of parking would cost more…
The best part of the entire day was the Continental Hotel. Richard wanted to stay there because of the high ratings on TripAdvisor website, and they weren’t wrong. Expensive but well located with a bathroom as big as some small countries, delicious buffet breakfast, friendly front desk staff and a fast internet connection in the room. We were so happy about feeling good again we immediately went out and bought a bottle of wine for a later celebration. Just to be able to hear and walk and kick up our heels again meant a lot. Later we strolled along Guayaquil’s malecon – designed and built in 2000. The 1.5 mile boardwalk has single-handedly transformed Guayaquil’s seedy, unsavoury riverfront from a dirty and dangerous port area into an upscale promenade with beautiful sights, shopping, classy restaurants, botanical gardens, museums, theatres and so on. We were pleased to be there and stretch our legs and our cramped minds at the same time. But the front desk staff at the hotel warned us to be off the streets in the area of the hotel by 10pm. – still dangerous after-hours apparently. We did what we were told but really, other than a few drug pushers, prostitutes, purse snatchers, muggers, corrupt police and armed bandits, what was there to be afraid of?
Next day we were out and about, walking, shopping, snacking and discovering. Didn’t take too long, even though the city is huge the tourist sights are compact in the malecon and downtown areas near the hotel. There are dozens of banks so getting enough cash to survive while keeping your feet on the ground was not a problem. We found a grocery store and bought enough food to eat dinner in the hotel room. So good, so good to not eat in a restaurant. We were extremely proud of ourselves because the Continental Hotel boasts the best gastronomy in Guayaquil. We’ll tell you why if you want to hear about it. Imagine paying more for a meal in Ecuador than in Calgary. That’s why.
All in all, Guayaquil is a pretty uneventful city.
Salinas
Salinas is only two hours by bus from the massive Guayaquil long distance bus terminal. It’s an enjoyable 150 kilometre ride that passes through miles and miles of banana plantations and ends at Ecuador’s most developed sea-side resort. Yes Salinas has an average yearly temperature of 80 degrees and the best time to visit is exactly when we were there. Every weekend the beaches are crowded, crowded and busy. It was fun to walk the promenade and see the sights, but Salinas has no power whatsoever to entice us back – not like Benidorm or Puerto Vallarta. We shared a beer at a sidewalk café across from the beach. We were hotter than fleas, sweaty and tired and a cold beer sounded perfect. The teenage waiter in his low lying blue jeans and dirty tee shirt arrived with the beer bottle already opened – a real no, no (they are supposed to open it in front of you so you know it has not been tampered with). Half an hour later we were ready to move on again but Donna wanted to visit the WC first. Well, that was a record breaker for sure. The most evil washroom of the trip. Filthy, I mean give you the willies filthy, broken toilet, no paper, no soap, no hand towels. I stopped by the kitchen to tell them the toilet didn’t flush and ha! that was the least of his worries. I saw the kitchen. The Kitchen! A dark and dingy work area, out of sight from the street, manned by a teenager who knew nothing whatsoever about sanitation. But he did know how to flush the toilet and that was not the first time he had been asked to do so. He left his food preparation and picked up a filthy pail which he then filled with tap water. Together we visited the toilet and I watched him pour the water until the toilet reached the flush level. Easy as pie. Then he went back to the kitchen to continue preparing, no I didn’t see him wash his hands. But even if he tried to be hygienic there was no soap or towels. I was so full of the creeps I couldn’t wait to get back outside in the sun again. Thank goodness we didn’t eat in that restaurant; we might have been back in bed again for a week. But you know what? Next day we walked by and there were lots of people eating lunch there. Yeeaahhhhhhhhhh.
In Salinas we stayed at the Hotel Caridi located about two miles from the beach. More like a hostal than a hotel, actually. Our room was barren, no bedside table(s) no closet, no writing table, one plastic green chair, bare walls and it was only $5 less per night that the beautiful Boutique Hotel Plaza Sucre in Quito. The owner of the Caridi is from Montreal and when we checked out she asked us to say a few nice things about her place on TripAdvisor. Well that put us on the spot, didn’t it?
Bananas
Did you ever wonder why you can go to the grocery store in Canada or the United States and buy a bunch of Ecuador bananas for less money than an equivalent weight of apples from British Columbia? We have.
What follows is one of many reports about Ecuador’s second largest industry. Sad but true.
Bananas - By Richy Richo
For many reasons, some complimentary, some not, Ecuador is referred to allegorically as a Banana Republic. The truth remains that Ecuador is the number one exporter of bananas worldwide and is said to produce some of the best tasting bananas.
Bananas were first cultivated on the fertile coastal region of Ecuador in the 1700's but the plantations were small. Bananas only became a major export item for Ecuador after World War II after the involvement of multinationals such as Dole.
The importance of bananas, to Ecuador and to the world, cannot be underestimated. Bananas are the fourth most important staple crop in world food production. Bananas are a primary source of income to the Ecuadorian economy second only to the revenue produced by oil.
Unfortunately, banana workers, especially in the larger plantations, "suffer from long hours, low pay, forced overtime, massive exposure to dangerous pesticides, and lack of job security. In many countries such as Colombia, Costa Rica, and Panama, workers have struggled to form unions and raise wages to as much as $11 a day. But in Ecuador temporary subcontracted labourers are not allowed to form unions and are earning an average of less than $6 a day." (Cited from Human Rights Watch publications, April 2002)
In addition, human rights groups have recently denounced many of the larger banana plantations in Ecuador for employing children sometimes even as young as 10 years old. For the land owner, this practice cuts down operating expenses, for the families of the children, sadly, it helps put food on the table.
The less attractive reality of banana production--the low wages of the workers and the presence of child labour--however, remains a reality that needs to be addressed. From talking to the small plantation owners, this problem is partly attributed to the price that they (being the producers) receive from the exporters. This sale price rarely covers production costs. For example, producers are paid $3.00 per box, whereas, at their point of destination, the same box of bananas is sold for as much as $40.00. In other words, the profit margin for the middleman is substantial while, for the producer, it is almost negligible. This discrepancy affects the labourers whose wages are unable to increase due to the narrow profit margin of their employers.
This unfairness in wage earning leads to the rich (i.e. the middlemen in Ecuador and the large multinationals) getting richer. Alternatively, it is those who work the labour-intensive positions who are forced to continue working for stagnating wages. Unfortunately, this state of affairs is not limited to banana production and is not endemic to Ecuador. Mass agriculture, in general, exploits its labourers. Under these conditions, bananas have come to represent a less than complimentary image of Ecuador as being a Banana Republic. By addressing wage and labour concerns, Ecuador's agricultural wealth can be more fairly distributed amongst its inhabitants. The resulting social equity would serve as a tribute to "pacha mama" (mother nature) who has allowed for the bountiful geographical position of Ecuador
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Quito Quito rhymes with mos quito
We arrived Quito at 3:15pm January 21st but maybe you don’t know what that means. First we had to listen to irascible complaints from Thelma and Louis because they had been tossed into the baggage hold of the plane and then hundreds of fat relatives were stacked on top. They had not been seen the inside an airplane since the 26th of November but after this trip they looked really bad. Second, we had to take Taxi number two on the same day. Trauma in the Wallet! News Flash, Trauma in the Wallet! We didn’t know whether to shoot the wallet like a horse with a broken leg, or just give it a transfusion of cash positive ‘C+’. Third, the taxi driver was stressed and unhappy about driving us into old town where traffic is thick as thieves and the roads are thoroughly anorexic - but he reluctantly agreed and transported us for $8 when everyone else wanted $12. And then of course there was Donna, whining and nit-picking about breaking the No Taxi Rule two times in the same day and ‘how can we ever live that down and still consider ourselves frugal travellers?’
We had pre-booked a gorgeous but inexpensive boutique hotel for three nights on Expedia thinking that after Quito we would head north to Otovallo or south to Banos. The Hotel Plaza Sucre was absolutely beautiful, a converted hacienda with a large central lobby open to the second floor, a wide and inviting interior veranda with beautiful detailed railings, classy furniture, colourful walls and amazing artwork. (The best art we have seen in Ecuador to date.) Our room was well equipped with safe, satellite television, comfy bed, window that opened to the front street, hot shower and even included breakfast – a gorgeous little posada perfectly situated in the heart of old town, within easy walking distance of everywhere. In fact Donna states emphatically that the Boutique Hotel Plaza Sucre is one of the top hotel bargains of their entire travel career. But little did we know when we checked in that we would not be leaving after three nights, we would be hanging around for almost a week. We both suffered serious bouts of food poisoning after dinner in La Rhonda the first evening and we were down and out. Incapacitated. One day we bounced back a little and started stuffing Quito’s sights into the gaping hole in our travel addiction. Here’s what we saw - Hectic with a capital H! Think of thousands of people running into a hockey game all at once to get the best seats. Think of narrow, crowded sidewalks, incredible architecture, lush and busy open plazas, little tiny short indigenous people scurrying everywhere, towering church steeples, taxis beeping and blasting continuously, bus after bus swishing so close to the sidewalk and your body that you think your nose, or your arm, or your purse is gonna be ripped off, up hills, down hills and off in the distance more hills tightly stacked from top to bottom with houses and cars and people. Whew! A lot of Hectic. Quito was declared a UNESCO "World Heritage Site" in 1978, thanks to its historic center, which is the largest and best preserved in Latin America. A treasure trove of baroque art and architecture, including buildings, churches, monasteries and narrow streets that reflect Ecuador's unique blend of indigenous and Spanish cultures. The city’s central square in old town lies at 2,800 meters (9,200 feet) so Quito is the second highest capital city in the world, beat out by La Paz, Bolivia. But it is the largest highest capital city in the world closest to the equator because the city limits have spread to about one kilometre from zero latitude. Sights of old town rammed our headaches (caused by the high altitude) and blasted our tunnel vision with perpendicular perspectives, beautifully painted buildings, dark skinned indigenous people in colourful clothing, businessmen, poor people, well dressed young people, school kids in uniforms, nuns, tourists – they were all there. Every one of them would have loved to climb inside our camera, but did we let them? We did not. Photos were the last thing we cared about until we got better. Next day Richard was back in bed again with more problems.
One day we climbed out of bed and took a day trip to la Mitad del Mundo. We rode two very crowded local busses (total return cost for two 80 cents) and spent time examining the monument and the park dedicated to the Equator and the centre of the world. In fact, Ecuador means Equator in Spanish. We have a photo of Richard standing with one foot in the northern hemisphere and one foot in the south. If he’d had one more foot it might have been in the seat of my pants because I dragged him to so many places when he wasn’t feeling well but fortunately for my butt, both his sandals were grounded. After visiting both hemispheres at the same time Richard was completely worn out and went back to bed again. It took another two days, even with me feeding him yogurt and bananas, vitamin pills and Gatorade for the electrolytes, to be well enough to venture forth. He hung on to being sick as long as possible but on day five he was finally tired of the bed. We visited the handicraft market in the Mariscal Sucre district. We took the bus there and walked back. It was at the market that we spotted the little boy mentioned in the last blog. We found lots of things to buy at the market, fabulous deals on woven scarves and tablecloths and shawls, also tee shirts and creative silver jewellery, but alas Thelma was already packed tight with worn out clothes and Louis felt the same. So even though our hotel was nice, the next day Richard wanted out of Quito, not because it was a bad place but because it made him sick. So we took a taxi to the bus station, about 10 miles from old town and caught the first bus available for Guayaquil. We had spent so much time in Quito that it was too late to head north and too rushed for Banos. Guayaquil it would be.
The bus trip took about eight hours and was really quite uneventful except for going deaf. That’s right; all Ecuador busses are equipped with impressive speaker systems installed by hearing aid manufacturers. The speakers continually explode music and Spanish sound tracks into your head in machine gun fashion and there is only one way to turn them off or down - suicide. We are talking noise louder than anything you have ever heard before. When you need an ear drum transplant you know something was too loud. Once you’ve gone deaf after riding the bus for only eight hours, why would you worry about an upset stomach? Of course, Richard wasn’t sick any longer, he was deaf. We snacked on goodies we brought with us but we should also mention now that the very bus company with the loudest music in the world was also generous with lunch – a bag of chips about the size of a package of geranium seeds, and a bottle of pop about three inches high. Whew! We were so full but unfortunately in our eardrums, not our tummies. Many long distance busses in Ecuador have a conductor who takes the tickets and unlocks the washroom when you need it. Yes, the room is locked at all times in case you go in there and try to hide from the music. So you tap on the front window and indicate you need to use the facilities and the conductor will go back and unlock the bathroom door. But he waits outside because if you take too long he knows you are trying to install ear plugs and they are illegal on the bus. He then takes remedial action. Also, like in Mexico, the driver and conductor are separated from the passengers by a sound-proof wall with a locked door and in their compartment the sound is turned off. But the ride was good and at least we didn’t lose our eyesight….
We had pre-booked a gorgeous but inexpensive boutique hotel for three nights on Expedia thinking that after Quito we would head north to Otovallo or south to Banos. The Hotel Plaza Sucre was absolutely beautiful, a converted hacienda with a large central lobby open to the second floor, a wide and inviting interior veranda with beautiful detailed railings, classy furniture, colourful walls and amazing artwork. (The best art we have seen in Ecuador to date.) Our room was well equipped with safe, satellite television, comfy bed, window that opened to the front street, hot shower and even included breakfast – a gorgeous little posada perfectly situated in the heart of old town, within easy walking distance of everywhere. In fact Donna states emphatically that the Boutique Hotel Plaza Sucre is one of the top hotel bargains of their entire travel career. But little did we know when we checked in that we would not be leaving after three nights, we would be hanging around for almost a week. We both suffered serious bouts of food poisoning after dinner in La Rhonda the first evening and we were down and out. Incapacitated. One day we bounced back a little and started stuffing Quito’s sights into the gaping hole in our travel addiction. Here’s what we saw - Hectic with a capital H! Think of thousands of people running into a hockey game all at once to get the best seats. Think of narrow, crowded sidewalks, incredible architecture, lush and busy open plazas, little tiny short indigenous people scurrying everywhere, towering church steeples, taxis beeping and blasting continuously, bus after bus swishing so close to the sidewalk and your body that you think your nose, or your arm, or your purse is gonna be ripped off, up hills, down hills and off in the distance more hills tightly stacked from top to bottom with houses and cars and people. Whew! A lot of Hectic. Quito was declared a UNESCO "World Heritage Site" in 1978, thanks to its historic center, which is the largest and best preserved in Latin America. A treasure trove of baroque art and architecture, including buildings, churches, monasteries and narrow streets that reflect Ecuador's unique blend of indigenous and Spanish cultures. The city’s central square in old town lies at 2,800 meters (9,200 feet) so Quito is the second highest capital city in the world, beat out by La Paz, Bolivia. But it is the largest highest capital city in the world closest to the equator because the city limits have spread to about one kilometre from zero latitude. Sights of old town rammed our headaches (caused by the high altitude) and blasted our tunnel vision with perpendicular perspectives, beautifully painted buildings, dark skinned indigenous people in colourful clothing, businessmen, poor people, well dressed young people, school kids in uniforms, nuns, tourists – they were all there. Every one of them would have loved to climb inside our camera, but did we let them? We did not. Photos were the last thing we cared about until we got better. Next day Richard was back in bed again with more problems.
One day we climbed out of bed and took a day trip to la Mitad del Mundo. We rode two very crowded local busses (total return cost for two 80 cents) and spent time examining the monument and the park dedicated to the Equator and the centre of the world. In fact, Ecuador means Equator in Spanish. We have a photo of Richard standing with one foot in the northern hemisphere and one foot in the south. If he’d had one more foot it might have been in the seat of my pants because I dragged him to so many places when he wasn’t feeling well but fortunately for my butt, both his sandals were grounded. After visiting both hemispheres at the same time Richard was completely worn out and went back to bed again. It took another two days, even with me feeding him yogurt and bananas, vitamin pills and Gatorade for the electrolytes, to be well enough to venture forth. He hung on to being sick as long as possible but on day five he was finally tired of the bed. We visited the handicraft market in the Mariscal Sucre district. We took the bus there and walked back. It was at the market that we spotted the little boy mentioned in the last blog. We found lots of things to buy at the market, fabulous deals on woven scarves and tablecloths and shawls, also tee shirts and creative silver jewellery, but alas Thelma was already packed tight with worn out clothes and Louis felt the same. So even though our hotel was nice, the next day Richard wanted out of Quito, not because it was a bad place but because it made him sick. So we took a taxi to the bus station, about 10 miles from old town and caught the first bus available for Guayaquil. We had spent so much time in Quito that it was too late to head north and too rushed for Banos. Guayaquil it would be.
The bus trip took about eight hours and was really quite uneventful except for going deaf. That’s right; all Ecuador busses are equipped with impressive speaker systems installed by hearing aid manufacturers. The speakers continually explode music and Spanish sound tracks into your head in machine gun fashion and there is only one way to turn them off or down - suicide. We are talking noise louder than anything you have ever heard before. When you need an ear drum transplant you know something was too loud. Once you’ve gone deaf after riding the bus for only eight hours, why would you worry about an upset stomach? Of course, Richard wasn’t sick any longer, he was deaf. We snacked on goodies we brought with us but we should also mention now that the very bus company with the loudest music in the world was also generous with lunch – a bag of chips about the size of a package of geranium seeds, and a bottle of pop about three inches high. Whew! We were so full but unfortunately in our eardrums, not our tummies. Many long distance busses in Ecuador have a conductor who takes the tickets and unlocks the washroom when you need it. Yes, the room is locked at all times in case you go in there and try to hide from the music. So you tap on the front window and indicate you need to use the facilities and the conductor will go back and unlock the bathroom door. But he waits outside because if you take too long he knows you are trying to install ear plugs and they are illegal on the bus. He then takes remedial action. Also, like in Mexico, the driver and conductor are separated from the passengers by a sound-proof wall with a locked door and in their compartment the sound is turned off. But the ride was good and at least we didn’t lose our eyesight….
Sunday, February 6, 2011
Jayden Jayden Everywhere a Jayden
1. Rip my heart out and run over it with a lawn mower…
December 24, 2010. At 10:00am Christmas Eve morning in Buenos Aires we rolled through Park Las Heras on our way back to the apartment after an early morning power walk. It was a gorgeous sunny day and our hearts were filled to the brim with an elixir of happiness and love, the kind that bursts from your chest at Christmas. We were talking about our Vernon and Calgary kids as we hurried along, knowing that they would be almost ready for the Christmas rush with lots of company and turkey and presents stacked as high as dreams can fly. We talked about our toddler grandkids, Jayden and Kinsley, and knew that their Christmas excitement would be priceless, filled with Santa Claus and wrapping paper and presents as big as they are – such is the privilege of the land from whence we come. We were really missing our grandkids. We were moving fairly fast when we rounded the corner. And there they were. That family of four.
The first person I saw was a grimy little boy about Jayden’s age. He was sitting on the sidewalk leaning against the outside wall of the bank. It looked like he had been crying – or did I only imagine that? He had a juice box in one hand and an almost empty bag of chips in the other. Junk food for breakfast on Christmas Eve morning. He looked at us with eyes that said something I had never seen before – and it sent jolts of electricity into every valve and vessel in my heart. Nearby lay his mother and two sisters. Sprawled on the sidewalk in front of the bank. They were all asleep – sound asleep with arms entwined for company, or protection. Mother, daughter about twelve and daughter about eight. All those people - sound asleep. My God! My eyes surveyed the scene again in disbelief. Who was watching the little boy? Worry churned inside my stomach. Who on earth was watching over this little boy on Christmas Eve morning while he ate junk food? At that age for sure our grandson, Jayden, could not be trusted to sit still, or stay where he should or do what he should. And what if he wandered off or was lured away by someone, this grimy little boy who did not seem to have a home? Who of these sleeping people would even know? The churning in my stomach made me feel sick. My eyes started leaking. A hand covered my mouth and then quickly brushed the tears away. We walked past. Imagined or real, I could feel the ire of the little boy’s circumstances boring into every aspect of my plush life and ripping it to pieces. How dare we all have so much when he has so little on Christmas Eve morning in sunny Buenos Aires? How dare we?
By the time that train of thought thundered down the tracks inside my brain I couldn’t even talk and when Richard looked down to see why I hadn’t answered his question he realized in shock that the person he was with had transformed from an upright woman of adventure into an emotionally distressed grandmother who had just been kicked in the face by the boots of reality.
I mean, out of control. Crying like a baby.
“We’ve got to do something to help these people!” I wailed. “It’s Christmas Eve!” …said like, it’s Christmas EEEvvvvee! “What can we do to help them? What can we do?” Richard wanted to know. “I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe we can give them some money, but that little boy deserves more for Christmas than he has right now. He didn’t ask for these terrible circumstances!” So we devised a plan to give them a fair amount of money – I know, I know, there are better ways to handle these issues, we’ve been told that a million times and we’ve told others that a million times. But at that emotional exclamation point in our lives there was nothing else we could think of to do. That family needed a gift for Christmas, end of story.
We calculated our cash situation and dug into the wallet. Richard walked toward them. I stood partially hidden in a doorway and watched because, embarrassing as it was, I could not stop crying and I didn’t want the little boy to see me. Richard woke the mother and handed her the wad of cash. She must have been bewildered beyond words. Tears still rolled down my face and my one and only Kleenex was reduced to the size of a soaking wet marble. The caretaker came out of the building and stood in the doorway beside me. He quickly looked around to see what was going on: foreign woman bawling noisily in his doorway, tall, grey-haired man trying to wake the mother sleeping on the sidewalk, the grim and grimy little three year old suspiciously watching the stranger trying to wake his mother. Satisfied that everything was okay, the caretaker said in broken English. “It’s all right.’ I looked at him with astonishment on my face and he said again, ‘don’t worry, it’s all right.’ I thought he was an escapee from a mental ward. In fact I probably had the same look in my eyes that I had just seen in the little boy’s eyes only moments before! ‘What is all right?’ I wanted to scream at him. What on earth could be all right when a mother and her children are sleeping in the street on Christmas Eve morning and her little boy is sitting by himself eating junk food? What one thing about that is all right? I was so upset I wanted to smack him. But of course, he was just trying to be kind and calm me down. Maybe it was his way of saying that this is the way they live, so everything for them is all right. I don’t know. I don’t know.
Richard managed to hand over the wad of cash. I’m sure the mother never understood what the whole thing was about. We never saw them again even though we walked past that corner almost everyday for the next month. What happened to them we do not know, we just hope they shared a special little something for Christmas.
2. Rip my heart out again…
January 25, 2011. Quito, Ecuador. Stranded in Quito for days because of food poisoning but on this day we finally had enough energy to take on an impossibly crowded city bus. And the handicraft market. It was a good-looking, sunny day and we were happy to be mobile. While we were at the market a tiny indigenous lady in traditional clothing with a tiny, tiny black haired baby strapped to her back, asked us to buy some gum. These gum sellers are everywhere. We said, ‘no gracias’. The imploring look on her face and in her eyes read as an entire volume about motherhood, vulnerability and indigenous poverty but we are hardened to that - we said no again. After she left I said to Richard that I changed my mind. I wanted the gum after all. Guilty conscience? I don’t know. I ran after her and bought the gum. Of course she ripped me off and never thought twice about it, that’s what they do. Even though they are vulnerable, they are sales people and it’s their job. Everyone knows that. On the way back to find Richard I spotted Jayden.
His mother worked in a stall at the market, the last booth at the end of a long row. The little boy, same age as Jayden, was sitting by himself at the side of the stall, completely out of sight from his mother or any caregiver. He sat cross legged on the sidewalk and leaned against the canvas wall of the stall. He was comfortable in that place and had probably spent time there everyday for most of his life. Dozens of people walking by had to move out and around him. He was happily eating by himself and had placed his breakfast playfully on the sidewalk. On the filthy sidewalk. A half eaten croissant. While I watched he picked it up, pulled a bite and then tossed it back down on the cement.
I arrived back where Richard was waiting with tears in my eyes again. But I didn’t want another breakdown so merely mentioned that the little boy over there was using the sidewalk as his breakfast table. I quickly wiped away the signs so Richard wouldn’t notice. We looked back at the space on the sidewalk. It was empty. The little boy had disappeared and taken the croissant with him.
As people who love to travel and have been doing so for years, we have witnessed disturbing events in many countries, wealthy and poor. We lived in Mexico for 2 ½ years for goodness sake! Even though countless of our experiences have been sad or painful or upsetting, I have usually been able to handle them in an adult way. But on this trip it seems that children who remind me of my grandson, Jayden, little boys who are vulnerable and underprivileged, set off an emotional alarm in my head that I have trouble turning off. We cannot fix all the broken bits in the world; we know that. I know that. But…
December 24, 2010. At 10:00am Christmas Eve morning in Buenos Aires we rolled through Park Las Heras on our way back to the apartment after an early morning power walk. It was a gorgeous sunny day and our hearts were filled to the brim with an elixir of happiness and love, the kind that bursts from your chest at Christmas. We were talking about our Vernon and Calgary kids as we hurried along, knowing that they would be almost ready for the Christmas rush with lots of company and turkey and presents stacked as high as dreams can fly. We talked about our toddler grandkids, Jayden and Kinsley, and knew that their Christmas excitement would be priceless, filled with Santa Claus and wrapping paper and presents as big as they are – such is the privilege of the land from whence we come. We were really missing our grandkids. We were moving fairly fast when we rounded the corner. And there they were. That family of four.
The first person I saw was a grimy little boy about Jayden’s age. He was sitting on the sidewalk leaning against the outside wall of the bank. It looked like he had been crying – or did I only imagine that? He had a juice box in one hand and an almost empty bag of chips in the other. Junk food for breakfast on Christmas Eve morning. He looked at us with eyes that said something I had never seen before – and it sent jolts of electricity into every valve and vessel in my heart. Nearby lay his mother and two sisters. Sprawled on the sidewalk in front of the bank. They were all asleep – sound asleep with arms entwined for company, or protection. Mother, daughter about twelve and daughter about eight. All those people - sound asleep. My God! My eyes surveyed the scene again in disbelief. Who was watching the little boy? Worry churned inside my stomach. Who on earth was watching over this little boy on Christmas Eve morning while he ate junk food? At that age for sure our grandson, Jayden, could not be trusted to sit still, or stay where he should or do what he should. And what if he wandered off or was lured away by someone, this grimy little boy who did not seem to have a home? Who of these sleeping people would even know? The churning in my stomach made me feel sick. My eyes started leaking. A hand covered my mouth and then quickly brushed the tears away. We walked past. Imagined or real, I could feel the ire of the little boy’s circumstances boring into every aspect of my plush life and ripping it to pieces. How dare we all have so much when he has so little on Christmas Eve morning in sunny Buenos Aires? How dare we?
By the time that train of thought thundered down the tracks inside my brain I couldn’t even talk and when Richard looked down to see why I hadn’t answered his question he realized in shock that the person he was with had transformed from an upright woman of adventure into an emotionally distressed grandmother who had just been kicked in the face by the boots of reality.
I mean, out of control. Crying like a baby.
“We’ve got to do something to help these people!” I wailed. “It’s Christmas Eve!” …said like, it’s Christmas EEEvvvvee! “What can we do to help them? What can we do?” Richard wanted to know. “I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe we can give them some money, but that little boy deserves more for Christmas than he has right now. He didn’t ask for these terrible circumstances!” So we devised a plan to give them a fair amount of money – I know, I know, there are better ways to handle these issues, we’ve been told that a million times and we’ve told others that a million times. But at that emotional exclamation point in our lives there was nothing else we could think of to do. That family needed a gift for Christmas, end of story.
We calculated our cash situation and dug into the wallet. Richard walked toward them. I stood partially hidden in a doorway and watched because, embarrassing as it was, I could not stop crying and I didn’t want the little boy to see me. Richard woke the mother and handed her the wad of cash. She must have been bewildered beyond words. Tears still rolled down my face and my one and only Kleenex was reduced to the size of a soaking wet marble. The caretaker came out of the building and stood in the doorway beside me. He quickly looked around to see what was going on: foreign woman bawling noisily in his doorway, tall, grey-haired man trying to wake the mother sleeping on the sidewalk, the grim and grimy little three year old suspiciously watching the stranger trying to wake his mother. Satisfied that everything was okay, the caretaker said in broken English. “It’s all right.’ I looked at him with astonishment on my face and he said again, ‘don’t worry, it’s all right.’ I thought he was an escapee from a mental ward. In fact I probably had the same look in my eyes that I had just seen in the little boy’s eyes only moments before! ‘What is all right?’ I wanted to scream at him. What on earth could be all right when a mother and her children are sleeping in the street on Christmas Eve morning and her little boy is sitting by himself eating junk food? What one thing about that is all right? I was so upset I wanted to smack him. But of course, he was just trying to be kind and calm me down. Maybe it was his way of saying that this is the way they live, so everything for them is all right. I don’t know. I don’t know.
Richard managed to hand over the wad of cash. I’m sure the mother never understood what the whole thing was about. We never saw them again even though we walked past that corner almost everyday for the next month. What happened to them we do not know, we just hope they shared a special little something for Christmas.
2. Rip my heart out again…
January 25, 2011. Quito, Ecuador. Stranded in Quito for days because of food poisoning but on this day we finally had enough energy to take on an impossibly crowded city bus. And the handicraft market. It was a good-looking, sunny day and we were happy to be mobile. While we were at the market a tiny indigenous lady in traditional clothing with a tiny, tiny black haired baby strapped to her back, asked us to buy some gum. These gum sellers are everywhere. We said, ‘no gracias’. The imploring look on her face and in her eyes read as an entire volume about motherhood, vulnerability and indigenous poverty but we are hardened to that - we said no again. After she left I said to Richard that I changed my mind. I wanted the gum after all. Guilty conscience? I don’t know. I ran after her and bought the gum. Of course she ripped me off and never thought twice about it, that’s what they do. Even though they are vulnerable, they are sales people and it’s their job. Everyone knows that. On the way back to find Richard I spotted Jayden.
His mother worked in a stall at the market, the last booth at the end of a long row. The little boy, same age as Jayden, was sitting by himself at the side of the stall, completely out of sight from his mother or any caregiver. He sat cross legged on the sidewalk and leaned against the canvas wall of the stall. He was comfortable in that place and had probably spent time there everyday for most of his life. Dozens of people walking by had to move out and around him. He was happily eating by himself and had placed his breakfast playfully on the sidewalk. On the filthy sidewalk. A half eaten croissant. While I watched he picked it up, pulled a bite and then tossed it back down on the cement.
I arrived back where Richard was waiting with tears in my eyes again. But I didn’t want another breakdown so merely mentioned that the little boy over there was using the sidewalk as his breakfast table. I quickly wiped away the signs so Richard wouldn’t notice. We looked back at the space on the sidewalk. It was empty. The little boy had disappeared and taken the croissant with him.
As people who love to travel and have been doing so for years, we have witnessed disturbing events in many countries, wealthy and poor. We lived in Mexico for 2 ½ years for goodness sake! Even though countless of our experiences have been sad or painful or upsetting, I have usually been able to handle them in an adult way. But on this trip it seems that children who remind me of my grandson, Jayden, little boys who are vulnerable and underprivileged, set off an emotional alarm in my head that I have trouble turning off. We cannot fix all the broken bits in the world; we know that. I know that. But…
Monday, January 24, 2011
Adios Buenos Aires
Jan arrived safe and sound in BA on January 6th. She is a friend from Calgary who winters in Palm Springs with her husband and dozens of close friends. Jan is just the best house guest ever; she is physically fit, has an unfailing sense of humour, is ready for whatever comes next and she loves to shop. Ha, ha, let’s not get carried away, let’s just say she takes shopping to a higher level than normally can be seen with a telescope. At one point we joked about buying a sturdy leather leash and collar like the dog walkers use in Buenos Aires. To hold her back from scourging the inside every dress store in the city. Every single dress store.
There are more dress stores in Buenos Aires than fire hydrants.
As I said in a previous post, Buenos Aires has many faces and some of them were ignoring us. Of course, BA is ‘Tango’ and Jan is a big fan. We attended three shows at the Borges Cultural Centre which is attached to the Gallerias Pacifico Shopping Centre on Florida Street. One was flamenco dance (ho hum) and the other two were tango (yee ha!) These shows are held in small theatres without flossy sets and are sold at bargain prices. The tango shows have a dancing cast of eight, a live orchestra and a Carlos Gardel type singer. The dance is edge of your seat remarkable and every complex step demonstrates the intricacy and intensity of the teamwork – they are the best in the world. A four inch heel could spike distress into a partner if timing is just a little off. We also visited the Carlos Gardel museum to discover the central history of the tango. Carlos was a singer, songwriter and actor who’s voice lifted the sultry music out of the brothels of la Boca and on to the world stage. The internet is filled to the brim of Gardel’s hat with information about his biography and the dispute about where he was born and the origins of the dance. If you are interested please read the attached Wikipedia link.
Another museum that caught our attention was so brand new it opened while we were in BA. The Beatles Museum. But make no mistake; nothing about the Beatle’s Museum was easy for the wimpy Spanglish. There were a couple of small write-ups in an English online newspaper but the location was sketchy and we had asked at an information booth the day before about the new museum, but the rep didn’t know anything, made a phone call and still knew nothing. After a great deal of online research we were pretty sure we could find it, so off we went on foot – a very long walk along overcrowded streets on a sizzling hot day. Pouring hot coffee over a ten mile chain of confused army ants would be a fair description of the walk. We stopped for help at another tourist information booth and bingo – this one knew the drill. Unfortunately she marked the museum in the wrong place but had the right street so we eventually found the entrance after a rather undainty walk of about 76 blocks in the wrong direction. Inside Paseo de la Plaza we asked one of the maintenance men for the exact location of the museum. He did not know. Even though it was only a few feet away, he just did not know! Hot. Did I mention that by the time we arrived, Jan was ready to rewrite It’s Been a Hard Days Night into It’s Been Hell All Day and then murder the Fabulous Four as well as the not so fabulous two. Honestly, she was good sport about anger management even after we found out the museum did not open until 5pm. Alas we were turned away and again slunk off into the searing melee with our tempers bumping along behind. We were Day Trippers gone bad. But now this! We returned another day and everything was so easy. What was all that fuss about anyway? The museum boasts the largest collection of Beatle memorabilia in the world. It includes a brick from The Cavern Club, the original club in Liverpool, a check for £11 signed by Ringo Starr and even a box of condoms branded with the names of John Lennon and Yoko Ono. The collection is the work of Rodolfo Vazquez, a 53-year-old accountant who became a fan at the age of 10 when he got their album Rubber Soul. Since then he has collected everything he can related to the Fab Four and has amassed more than 8,500 items. In 2001 he was recognised by Guinness World Records as having the planet's largest collection, with a hoard of 5,612 items. But his haul has kept growing and his museum, which opened on Avenue Corrientes is attracting tourists from all over the world. Imagine how busy it would be if people could actually find the place!
We stopped at many other tourist sights that were also entertaining. The Steel Flower was inaugurated in April 2002 and become one of the icons of Buenos Aires. Officially the flower goes by the name of Floralis Generica, but since nobody remembers the 'scientific' name it is called the Big Steel Flower. And big it is at 23 metres high, weighing 18 tonnes. The petals used to open and close but the mechanism broke so lately it has been stationary. When the petals are open they span 32 metres and the flower sits in the middle of a pond to enhance the reflection. Interesting!
The famous Recoletta Cemetery also merits mention because it receives about 500,000 visitors a year and they can’t all be wrong. As one of the guide books states, you can spend hours wandering the grounds that cover 4 city blocks, full of tombs adorned with works by local and international sculptors. More than 6,400 mausoleums form an architectural digest. The most popular is the tomb of Eva "Evita" Perón, which is always heaped with flowers and letters from fans. To prevent her body from being stolen, as it had been many times by the various military governments installed after her husband's fall from grace in 1955, she was finally buried in a concrete vault 27 feet underground in 1976. Many other rich or famous Argentines are buried there as well, including a number of Argentine presidents.
Out of curiously Jan asked a guide at the entrance to Recoletta about the body of Juan Peron. Well that is an interesting story! Perón was buried in La Chacarita Cemetery in Buenos Aires. In 1987, his tomb was desecrated and his hands and some personal effects, including his sword, were stolen. Perón's hands were cut off with a chainsaw. A ransom letter asking for US$8 million was sent to some Peronist members of Congress. This profanation was a ritualistic act to condemn Perón's spirit to eternal unrest, according the book La segunda muerte (Peron's Second Death), which connected it to military officers involved during Argentina's Dirty War. The bizarre incident remains unresolved.
On 17 October 2006 his body was moved to his former summer residence in the Buenos Aires suburb of San Vincente. People were injured in riots, as Peronist trade unions fought over access to the ceremony. The police contained the violence enough for the procession to move to the mausoleum. This move of Perón's body offered his self-proclaimed illegitimate daughter the opportunity to obtain a DNA sample from his corpse. Martha Holgado, 72, had been trying for 15 years to do this DNA analysis, which, in November 2006, proved she was not his daughter. Martha Holgado died of liver cancer, on June 7, 2007. Before her death, she vowed to continue the legal battle to prove her patronage to Peron.
The Eva Peron Museum was also a highlight, and the lunch in the courtyard was one of our favourites. We also walked the length of Florida Street with its relentless pressure of dizzying crowds way too many times, shopping and visiting the Borges Cultural centre. We took a day trip by train to el Tigre, a charming area 17 miles north of BA. Tigre lies on the Paraná Delta and is a huge tourist attraction but it is also a residential destination as hundreds of beautiful weekend cottages are scattered along the banks of the canals. El Tigre sits on an island created by several small streams and rivers and was founded in 1820, after floods destroyed other settlements in the area. We took a one hour boat ride along the canals and enjoyed insight into the priveleged lives of rich and famous Argentines. A wonderful way to spend an afternoon except for one thing. Jan took a tumble, a bad one. We thought she broke her glasses, nose and front teeth. Alas, you simply cannot keep an old travel agent down. She was back up in no time, not complaining, whining or moaning and, after a quick clean up, went on about the business of being a die hard toursit. Nose, lip, knee and elbow all with collateral damage. Yikes! Poor Baby! After that, we were all more careful.
We rode the subway, waited for busses, strolled and ran and sometimes we even walked in the right direction. We visited shopping malls, grocery stores, market stalls and thousands of small dress shops; we went to San Telmo twice, La Boca three times, visited Puerto Madero and strolled along Avenida Santa Fe (and a few hundred other Avenidas). We had dinner in an overpriced restaurant on trendy Baez Street, we ate breakfast in the apartment and at our favourite sidewalk cafe, we enjoyed many dinners at our beloved empanada restaurant and at our affordable and delicious state of the art vegetarian restaurant. We were there in the crowd, on the street to welcome the back the participants of the Dakar race - almost as exciting to see them finish - and a once in a lifetime thrill for us all. In fact we did a lot more than this report could ever reveal, but you are quite tired of reading and enough is enough.
We left the apartment at 6am on January 21st by taxi headed for the airport, but good old reliable Jan stayed behind to clean up our affairs. At 2:30pm she met with a representative of the landlord for the outgoing inspection and accepted on our behalf, the return of our US$300.00 deposit, then took a pre-arranged taxi to the airport herself. Her flight wasn’t until 8pm. What follows is her email sent to us in Quito, but it is so good I asked for permission to add it to the blog. She’s an excellent writer and after years of being in the travel industry (she managed a large agency in Calgary with about 15 employees) she knows bad service when she meets it face to face. Enjoy!
There are more dress stores in Buenos Aires than fire hydrants.
As I said in a previous post, Buenos Aires has many faces and some of them were ignoring us. Of course, BA is ‘Tango’ and Jan is a big fan. We attended three shows at the Borges Cultural Centre which is attached to the Gallerias Pacifico Shopping Centre on Florida Street. One was flamenco dance (ho hum) and the other two were tango (yee ha!) These shows are held in small theatres without flossy sets and are sold at bargain prices. The tango shows have a dancing cast of eight, a live orchestra and a Carlos Gardel type singer. The dance is edge of your seat remarkable and every complex step demonstrates the intricacy and intensity of the teamwork – they are the best in the world. A four inch heel could spike distress into a partner if timing is just a little off. We also visited the Carlos Gardel museum to discover the central history of the tango. Carlos was a singer, songwriter and actor who’s voice lifted the sultry music out of the brothels of la Boca and on to the world stage. The internet is filled to the brim of Gardel’s hat with information about his biography and the dispute about where he was born and the origins of the dance. If you are interested please read the attached Wikipedia link.
Another museum that caught our attention was so brand new it opened while we were in BA. The Beatles Museum. But make no mistake; nothing about the Beatle’s Museum was easy for the wimpy Spanglish. There were a couple of small write-ups in an English online newspaper but the location was sketchy and we had asked at an information booth the day before about the new museum, but the rep didn’t know anything, made a phone call and still knew nothing. After a great deal of online research we were pretty sure we could find it, so off we went on foot – a very long walk along overcrowded streets on a sizzling hot day. Pouring hot coffee over a ten mile chain of confused army ants would be a fair description of the walk. We stopped for help at another tourist information booth and bingo – this one knew the drill. Unfortunately she marked the museum in the wrong place but had the right street so we eventually found the entrance after a rather undainty walk of about 76 blocks in the wrong direction. Inside Paseo de la Plaza we asked one of the maintenance men for the exact location of the museum. He did not know. Even though it was only a few feet away, he just did not know! Hot. Did I mention that by the time we arrived, Jan was ready to rewrite It’s Been a Hard Days Night into It’s Been Hell All Day and then murder the Fabulous Four as well as the not so fabulous two. Honestly, she was good sport about anger management even after we found out the museum did not open until 5pm. Alas we were turned away and again slunk off into the searing melee with our tempers bumping along behind. We were Day Trippers gone bad. But now this! We returned another day and everything was so easy. What was all that fuss about anyway? The museum boasts the largest collection of Beatle memorabilia in the world. It includes a brick from The Cavern Club, the original club in Liverpool, a check for £11 signed by Ringo Starr and even a box of condoms branded with the names of John Lennon and Yoko Ono. The collection is the work of Rodolfo Vazquez, a 53-year-old accountant who became a fan at the age of 10 when he got their album Rubber Soul. Since then he has collected everything he can related to the Fab Four and has amassed more than 8,500 items. In 2001 he was recognised by Guinness World Records as having the planet's largest collection, with a hoard of 5,612 items. But his haul has kept growing and his museum, which opened on Avenue Corrientes is attracting tourists from all over the world. Imagine how busy it would be if people could actually find the place!
We stopped at many other tourist sights that were also entertaining. The Steel Flower was inaugurated in April 2002 and become one of the icons of Buenos Aires. Officially the flower goes by the name of Floralis Generica, but since nobody remembers the 'scientific' name it is called the Big Steel Flower. And big it is at 23 metres high, weighing 18 tonnes. The petals used to open and close but the mechanism broke so lately it has been stationary. When the petals are open they span 32 metres and the flower sits in the middle of a pond to enhance the reflection. Interesting!
The famous Recoletta Cemetery also merits mention because it receives about 500,000 visitors a year and they can’t all be wrong. As one of the guide books states, you can spend hours wandering the grounds that cover 4 city blocks, full of tombs adorned with works by local and international sculptors. More than 6,400 mausoleums form an architectural digest. The most popular is the tomb of Eva "Evita" Perón, which is always heaped with flowers and letters from fans. To prevent her body from being stolen, as it had been many times by the various military governments installed after her husband's fall from grace in 1955, she was finally buried in a concrete vault 27 feet underground in 1976. Many other rich or famous Argentines are buried there as well, including a number of Argentine presidents.
Out of curiously Jan asked a guide at the entrance to Recoletta about the body of Juan Peron. Well that is an interesting story! Perón was buried in La Chacarita Cemetery in Buenos Aires. In 1987, his tomb was desecrated and his hands and some personal effects, including his sword, were stolen. Perón's hands were cut off with a chainsaw. A ransom letter asking for US$8 million was sent to some Peronist members of Congress. This profanation was a ritualistic act to condemn Perón's spirit to eternal unrest, according the book La segunda muerte (Peron's Second Death), which connected it to military officers involved during Argentina's Dirty War. The bizarre incident remains unresolved.
On 17 October 2006 his body was moved to his former summer residence in the Buenos Aires suburb of San Vincente. People were injured in riots, as Peronist trade unions fought over access to the ceremony. The police contained the violence enough for the procession to move to the mausoleum. This move of Perón's body offered his self-proclaimed illegitimate daughter the opportunity to obtain a DNA sample from his corpse. Martha Holgado, 72, had been trying for 15 years to do this DNA analysis, which, in November 2006, proved she was not his daughter. Martha Holgado died of liver cancer, on June 7, 2007. Before her death, she vowed to continue the legal battle to prove her patronage to Peron.
The Eva Peron Museum was also a highlight, and the lunch in the courtyard was one of our favourites. We also walked the length of Florida Street with its relentless pressure of dizzying crowds way too many times, shopping and visiting the Borges Cultural centre. We took a day trip by train to el Tigre, a charming area 17 miles north of BA. Tigre lies on the Paraná Delta and is a huge tourist attraction but it is also a residential destination as hundreds of beautiful weekend cottages are scattered along the banks of the canals. El Tigre sits on an island created by several small streams and rivers and was founded in 1820, after floods destroyed other settlements in the area. We took a one hour boat ride along the canals and enjoyed insight into the priveleged lives of rich and famous Argentines. A wonderful way to spend an afternoon except for one thing. Jan took a tumble, a bad one. We thought she broke her glasses, nose and front teeth. Alas, you simply cannot keep an old travel agent down. She was back up in no time, not complaining, whining or moaning and, after a quick clean up, went on about the business of being a die hard toursit. Nose, lip, knee and elbow all with collateral damage. Yikes! Poor Baby! After that, we were all more careful.
We rode the subway, waited for busses, strolled and ran and sometimes we even walked in the right direction. We visited shopping malls, grocery stores, market stalls and thousands of small dress shops; we went to San Telmo twice, La Boca three times, visited Puerto Madero and strolled along Avenida Santa Fe (and a few hundred other Avenidas). We had dinner in an overpriced restaurant on trendy Baez Street, we ate breakfast in the apartment and at our favourite sidewalk cafe, we enjoyed many dinners at our beloved empanada restaurant and at our affordable and delicious state of the art vegetarian restaurant. We were there in the crowd, on the street to welcome the back the participants of the Dakar race - almost as exciting to see them finish - and a once in a lifetime thrill for us all. In fact we did a lot more than this report could ever reveal, but you are quite tired of reading and enough is enough.
We left the apartment at 6am on January 21st by taxi headed for the airport, but good old reliable Jan stayed behind to clean up our affairs. At 2:30pm she met with a representative of the landlord for the outgoing inspection and accepted on our behalf, the return of our US$300.00 deposit, then took a pre-arranged taxi to the airport herself. Her flight wasn’t until 8pm. What follows is her email sent to us in Quito, but it is so good I asked for permission to add it to the blog. She’s an excellent writer and after years of being in the travel industry (she managed a large agency in Calgary with about 15 employees) she knows bad service when she meets it face to face. Enjoy!
Jan's Email
January 23, 2011
Hi you two,
I finally got home @ 1645 on the 22nd. Far cry from the original 1000 arrival. I went to bed at 1730 and woke up at 0730 this am. Yikes!
So sorry to hear about the food poisoning, what a disaster. Hope you are all better now. Did the medicine that Richard & I used in BA help at all? I do not think you will give the cute little restaurant a second chance. Probably had chipped cups as well!
No problems after you left the hacienda of Carlos. I went back to bed and got up about 1000. I started to pack using your roll method. It worked well. I had a leisurely shower complete with water perfection and none on floor...rah.
I thought to myself, self why not hang wet towel on balcony for a few minutes to speed drying of same . I was pretty sure it was rude and a no no, but I gave in to my impulse. I hung it, walked to the side of the bed and the phone rang. It was Carlos, telling me to get rid of the towel...not allowed. This brings rise to the question...where was Carlos lurking and had he been there all along??? Perhaps he was one of our buddies in the sandbox?
I'm not kidding, not even four minutes lapsed between hanging of towel and phone call. H'mmmm I decided only to dress in the bathroom, not the bedroom. Needless to say the towel as quickly removed from balcony.
I finished packing and even got the suitcase closed. Since it was only 1130, I went to the Arretta for cafe con leche and a scone. I had two of each (both coffees in a chipped cup) but they were delicious. The waitress was the cute (and very thin) one we had before. She told me the people who sat behind us while you where working on the internet were also Canadians. She (waitress) was very nice and her English was pretty good. It was a lovely morning and I was sitting outside and loving it all.
Man in wheelchair had different clothing on (I suspect he is really Carlos) and was looking quite presentable. Went back to apt. and changed in bathroom and awaited the "inspection". Carlos' sister arrived (very young, thin & gorgeous). Inspection took two seconds and I am now clutching your $300.00 (no penalty for towel). I may not have it by Mar 30th but we'll see. Sister called the taxi company for me and they arrived soon after. A very nice man took me to the aeropuerto, and I got there about 1515. I tipped him twenty pesos and he was pleased.
I could not check in until 1630 so finished my book and gave it to a woman who was travelling home to Wyoming. I whiled away the rest of the time by paying fifty pesos to have my bag wrapped in plastic. I was so paranoid that the cheap damn thing might explode in transit and then where would I be. It gave me GREAT peace of mind so it was worth it.
As I stood in the huge lineup to check in, I was wondering how you folks did, if you had enough time for all the line ups...it took forever. On to security, and another massive lineup, but finally got through. When I was eventually released into the departure area, I found it to be one giant duty free shopping area. You will be so amazed to learn that I did no shopping except for a bag of potato chips which I proceed to wolf down.
At last we boarded and off to Lima. The Lima airport is the best, once you get into the waiting area, the first thing you see is the H. Stern jewelry store. WOW....my credit card was trembling, but I calmed it and assured that would be more time later. There was a group of Peruvian musicians playing in the lobby. They were not looking for tourist money and they looked like they were having a great time. Lots of interesting shops to peruse, but by now was too tired to do more than look.
Finally on the plane to SFO. Stewardii acting like it was privilege for us to have contact with them, very superior, very haughty, very boring. I watched three movies but sleep would not come
My seatmate did not have the same problem I have never seen anyone sleep like that in a plane. Not even one trip to the washroom during the whole nine hour flight! Her kidney's were a lot younger than mine. I spent some time hovering around the staff area of the plane just to get some standing room. They did not like that much...did I care...NO!
Arrived in SFO at 0730 on time. Thought lots of time for my legal connection. Wrong...huge line up for customs where they gave the entire plane a thorough going over. Found plastic wrapped case (still intact) and headed for UA to get on flight to PSP at 0852. Only one clerk on duty and who had a PHD in WITCH and STUPIDITY. No one cared that I was missing my flight while she diddled around with some client who could not decide what she was doing. The clerk finally granted me an audience at 0815 only to tell me there would be no 0852 flight for me, I would have to wait until 1455 for the next flight. By this time I was almost hysterical with tiredness. Miss WITCH informed me that she was doing me a favour by not charging me a change fee for missing the first flight. She does not know it but she almost suffered a near death experience. I think she knew I was at the edge so there was no discussion about baggage fees.
I wandered around the terminal which I now know well enough to lead guided tours through. Had a hamburger...not nearly as good as the one on Libratador and twice as expensive. Read another book and moaned (not too) quietly. Listened to two Filipina UA uniformed staff members talk loudly in their first language (not English), laugh gleefully at their conversation, fiddle with an electronic device, talk on that (not in English), sit down, yawn, stand up, open strap on security gate, close it, sit, laugh, talk, and generally do nothing for three hours at least. I WANT THAT JOB.
Finally I am aboard the flight to PSP. Stewardess is named Sueann and must be in her sixties, very professional, very nice, not worried about picking up a rich old guy and ignoring all else. Why do they only put bimbos on international flights and check in counters and save the good ones for minor domestics?????
John was waiting for me when I got off the plane complete with a dozen red roses! I was so tired that the poor soul got little thanks or conversation. Got home...went to bed (alone) By the time I got up this am, he was gone. I know he said something about golfing with cousin George but I have no idea when!
It is great to be here but I am already planning my next trip to BA. Want to come?
Be safe and well and write me when you get this tome.
Thanks again for a wonderful time. I never would have made it to BA without you two.
Jan
Hi you two,
I finally got home @ 1645 on the 22nd. Far cry from the original 1000 arrival. I went to bed at 1730 and woke up at 0730 this am. Yikes!
So sorry to hear about the food poisoning, what a disaster. Hope you are all better now. Did the medicine that Richard & I used in BA help at all? I do not think you will give the cute little restaurant a second chance. Probably had chipped cups as well!
No problems after you left the hacienda of Carlos. I went back to bed and got up about 1000. I started to pack using your roll method. It worked well. I had a leisurely shower complete with water perfection and none on floor...rah.
I thought to myself, self why not hang wet towel on balcony for a few minutes to speed drying of same . I was pretty sure it was rude and a no no, but I gave in to my impulse. I hung it, walked to the side of the bed and the phone rang. It was Carlos, telling me to get rid of the towel...not allowed. This brings rise to the question...where was Carlos lurking and had he been there all along??? Perhaps he was one of our buddies in the sandbox?
I'm not kidding, not even four minutes lapsed between hanging of towel and phone call. H'mmmm I decided only to dress in the bathroom, not the bedroom. Needless to say the towel as quickly removed from balcony.
I finished packing and even got the suitcase closed. Since it was only 1130, I went to the Arretta for cafe con leche and a scone. I had two of each (both coffees in a chipped cup) but they were delicious. The waitress was the cute (and very thin) one we had before. She told me the people who sat behind us while you where working on the internet were also Canadians. She (waitress) was very nice and her English was pretty good. It was a lovely morning and I was sitting outside and loving it all.
Man in wheelchair had different clothing on (I suspect he is really Carlos) and was looking quite presentable. Went back to apt. and changed in bathroom and awaited the "inspection". Carlos' sister arrived (very young, thin & gorgeous). Inspection took two seconds and I am now clutching your $300.00 (no penalty for towel). I may not have it by Mar 30th but we'll see. Sister called the taxi company for me and they arrived soon after. A very nice man took me to the aeropuerto, and I got there about 1515. I tipped him twenty pesos and he was pleased.
I could not check in until 1630 so finished my book and gave it to a woman who was travelling home to Wyoming. I whiled away the rest of the time by paying fifty pesos to have my bag wrapped in plastic. I was so paranoid that the cheap damn thing might explode in transit and then where would I be. It gave me GREAT peace of mind so it was worth it.
As I stood in the huge lineup to check in, I was wondering how you folks did, if you had enough time for all the line ups...it took forever. On to security, and another massive lineup, but finally got through. When I was eventually released into the departure area, I found it to be one giant duty free shopping area. You will be so amazed to learn that I did no shopping except for a bag of potato chips which I proceed to wolf down.
At last we boarded and off to Lima. The Lima airport is the best, once you get into the waiting area, the first thing you see is the H. Stern jewelry store. WOW....my credit card was trembling, but I calmed it and assured that would be more time later. There was a group of Peruvian musicians playing in the lobby. They were not looking for tourist money and they looked like they were having a great time. Lots of interesting shops to peruse, but by now was too tired to do more than look.
Finally on the plane to SFO. Stewardii acting like it was privilege for us to have contact with them, very superior, very haughty, very boring. I watched three movies but sleep would not come
My seatmate did not have the same problem I have never seen anyone sleep like that in a plane. Not even one trip to the washroom during the whole nine hour flight! Her kidney's were a lot younger than mine. I spent some time hovering around the staff area of the plane just to get some standing room. They did not like that much...did I care...NO!
Arrived in SFO at 0730 on time. Thought lots of time for my legal connection. Wrong...huge line up for customs where they gave the entire plane a thorough going over. Found plastic wrapped case (still intact) and headed for UA to get on flight to PSP at 0852. Only one clerk on duty and who had a PHD in WITCH and STUPIDITY. No one cared that I was missing my flight while she diddled around with some client who could not decide what she was doing. The clerk finally granted me an audience at 0815 only to tell me there would be no 0852 flight for me, I would have to wait until 1455 for the next flight. By this time I was almost hysterical with tiredness. Miss WITCH informed me that she was doing me a favour by not charging me a change fee for missing the first flight. She does not know it but she almost suffered a near death experience. I think she knew I was at the edge so there was no discussion about baggage fees.
I wandered around the terminal which I now know well enough to lead guided tours through. Had a hamburger...not nearly as good as the one on Libratador and twice as expensive. Read another book and moaned (not too) quietly. Listened to two Filipina UA uniformed staff members talk loudly in their first language (not English), laugh gleefully at their conversation, fiddle with an electronic device, talk on that (not in English), sit down, yawn, stand up, open strap on security gate, close it, sit, laugh, talk, and generally do nothing for three hours at least. I WANT THAT JOB.
Finally I am aboard the flight to PSP. Stewardess is named Sueann and must be in her sixties, very professional, very nice, not worried about picking up a rich old guy and ignoring all else. Why do they only put bimbos on international flights and check in counters and save the good ones for minor domestics?????
John was waiting for me when I got off the plane complete with a dozen red roses! I was so tired that the poor soul got little thanks or conversation. Got home...went to bed (alone) By the time I got up this am, he was gone. I know he said something about golfing with cousin George but I have no idea when!
It is great to be here but I am already planning my next trip to BA. Want to come?
Be safe and well and write me when you get this tome.
Thanks again for a wonderful time. I never would have made it to BA without you two.
Jan
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
From the Sidewalk Cafe
Buenos Aires is Sidewalk Cafes. Forget everything else. The greatest happiness of your life is as follows; you see your favourite café from afar and spot an empty table in the shade. Your eyes squint to full zoom –yes, vacant. Your pace quickens. Like the devious and impulsive Mr. Bean, you look around warily to see if someone else also has an eye on your table - and $150 Nikes on their feet. You begin to really hustle - even though you didn’t actually see anyone else closing in, you can sense their presence and know they can run faster than you. Argentines can be so aggressive. You break into a full out run – it is imperative that you arrive before any and all competitors. Your finger touches the arm of the vacant chair. Home free, ha ha! na na! You look around with a wad of gloat smacked on your face and then spectacularly settle into the well-deserved winner’s seat. Puffed up and satisfied, even a little breathless, you don’t even notice that the chair is quite without back support and a tad uncomfortable, that there’s not much room for your legs under the table and that the table is rickety and wobbly. You completely disregard (for now) the delivery truck idling a few feet away, filling the area with fumes. The waitress comes out fashionably late. Young, slender, good looking, dangling earrings, friendly, speaks not a word of English. ‘Café con leche y tres media lunas, por favor’ – standard BA lingo for desayuno – breakfast of coffee with milk and three small croissants. From the winner’s circle you can now relax and gaze expertly over the rim of your cup as you lovingly polish the apple of your eye. You are ready. The real fun is about to begin.
A café junkie. Thousands of cafes line the leafy sidewalks and corners in BA and every one of them is busy – from morning until late at night. By city ordinance, the buildings on every street corner have to be cut at an angle to enlarge the sidewalk area and allow more light to filter through. The entire planet walks and drives past your wobbly table during a single café con leche and every passer-by is a ‘person of interest’ to your investigation. Let’s start with shoes. Because BA in summer it is so hot and humid, it is always worthwhile to see how well people’s feet are coping. Oddly enough everyone seems to be wearing shoes. Flip flops, sandals, high top sandals, wedgies, high heels, flat shoes, dress shoes, runners – you name it, they wear them. Well there’s nothing different about that, is there? The majority of people in the neighbourhood look European – they could be from France, Italy or Spain, Germany, on and on. For the most part though, they do not look Mexican, American or Canadian which you might think is surprising because how would we know the difference? Well it is almost impossible to not spot North American tourists; even though they try and blend in they look different. Portenos, as people from Buenos Aires are known, are slender – young or old it doesn’t matter, they are thin. It is a ridiculous physical condition and how dare they flaunt the fact that they eat less and exercise more than anyone else? Of course, Argentina is a world leader in implants and plastic surgery, so some of those slender gals with wrinkle free skin and more dangerous curves than a slippery slope are targets for nonchalant scrutiny from every sidewalk café in town. Generally, Argentines are not particularly tall, but some are. They do not seem to have a ‘defining set’ of features that would enable you to say, ‘this man or that lady is Argentine’. Not by hair color, facial features or bone structure. BA is an energetic young city and it appears that there are far more people in the neighbourhood wearing sexy jogging attire and $150 Nikes than people wearing housedresses and sensible shoes. Further to that, possibly because of the heat or possibly because of a reason that has never occurred to people who were born where the weather is cold 300 days a year, most women, young and old, wear dresses and skirts when they are not jogging or sun bathing, but not slacks or jeans. Some wear little bitty teeny skirts at that. Possibly related to that topic but maybe not, for some reason there are lots of women pushing baby strollers, lots of mothers walking with children, lots of families out for dinner on Sundays. Like their parents, Argentine babies do not have any defining characteristics except they love their soothers as much as their parents love sidewalk cafés. Like everywhere else except maybe Asia and India, some babies have blond curly hair, others are bald, some are blue eyed, etc. All of them stare up into your face suspiciously as they roll past. The baby strollers themselves are as varied and colourful as fruit at the market, all of them look expensive and a few appear to be sturdy enough for the Dakar. Some people may have even sold the baby in order to afford the stroller, which they then use for moving groceries. And that’s another thing. We find almost everything to be quite expensive including groceries – even with Canadian currency. A good steak dinner at a fancy parrillia (grill) restaurant starts at, let’s say 160 pesos. Divided by four equals CA$40. Last time we were here (November 2007) the exchange was a division of three – but the meal cost 90 pesos, about CA$30. Even with a strong Canadian dollar inflation has hit Argentina hard and porteno life is expensive. In fact Richard says he is running through cash faster than his legs will carry him to the bank. Maybe he needs new Nikes (and a sexy little jogging shirt).
Meanwhile, back behind the rim of the cup, the sidewalk café is busy and other patrons don’t seem to care who got to the vacant chair first. They are reading their newspapers, working on laptops, chatting with friends. A little dog is sometimes sprawled out and asleep at parton's feet. Not one person at the outdoor café realizes or cares that what they are doing at this exact moment is impossible everywhere in Canada. In an entire country. It is just not fair. The white coffee tastes yummy, better than hot chocolate even, but as it disappears, fear begins to dig its surly fingers into the complacency of the muse. The beautiful moment is rushing past like an out of control pendulum and the only way to prolong it is to order another cafe con leche. Yes indeed, you need more time. A dog nanny walks past with seven or eight dogs of varying sizes and colors strung together on sturdy leather leashes. They all seem to be having fun, these dogs. Instead of being locked up in a pen or inside an apartment, they go out and meet their friends’ and play in the park while their parents are at work. It’s a great system – a sane system because everyone has at least one dog. Meanwhile, the black and yellow taxis flit past, one after another after another like bumble bees pollinating flowers. A delivery truck double parks across the street and the driver leaves the motor running while he makes his delivery. It's not his gasoline. Everyone is carrying something as they wander by – a bag, a purse, a book, a backpack. Business suits, high heels, slinky skirts, shorts, long hair, short hair, well dressed, poorly dressed - they are all on the sidewalk, fenced in by the perimeter of the view, focused on their business at hand. And what is their business at hand? Well according to BA sources there are 40,000 taxis and all of them need at least one driver. There are 144 bus lines running thousands of city busses and many of them need drivers. The subway line covers 46 kilometres with 80 stations and they need drivers, ticket sellers, security, and maintenance and so on. There are thousands and thousands of apartment buildings in dozens of Buenos Aires barrios and each one requires maintenance and cleaners and security. So here’s the thing. Instead of ever-sprawling suburbs filled with high profit big box stores found in Canada and America, BA neighbourhoods are manageable and self contained. They have small and smaller grocery stores, small shops of every kind and plenty of them, expensive restaurants, sidewalk cafes, toy stores, hardware, laundries, bakeries, hospitals, clinics, drug stores, parks, transportation – in fact every neighbourhood is entirely self sufficient. In a city of millions you live and shop in your own neighbourhood and you don’t need to drive your car for basic necessities. You support your local business and the business in turn supports the neighbourhood. It’s a novel concept. Why didn’t we think of that?
For sure one of the quirks of BA city life is this. Garbage. How does a city of 13 million, give or take, deal with garbage? Well here’s what we have observed. Citizens carry their garbage to assigned corners and place their bag, or bags, on the street. I know, I know, it doesn’t seem realistic. Or hygienic. And what about sipping café con leche in your favourite restaurant behind piles of garbage? Well we recommend that you choose your café carefully. As day passes into night, the piles grow larger. And then, quite late every night men with little carts come along and look inside every bag and remove the cardboard and bottles and whatever else they recycle for cash. So the beauty of all this is, at 7:30am every single morning you can hear the unbelievably noisy garbage truck roar around the corner a block away. You wait patiently as the collectors’ work their way along, clinking and banging and slamming, closer and noisier by the second. You hold your breath until they are outside your building, and then you let it all out when they move on. Miraculous really – by the time you head for your morning coffee, it’s all gone. We have wracked our brains to try and figure a more efficient, more sanitary method for handling garbage in such a large city and we have come up empty headed. Life is so tightly packed all over BA – no back alleys, no extra room for anything and they have developed a system that works in spite of what we think we know.
One thing that is a bargain in BA is public transport - trains, busses and metro. But don’t think it’s easy. You have to share everything public with a few million others and there’s never any air conditioning. Regular gasoline costs about CA$4.60 per imperial gallon, much cheaper than in Europe, more expensive than in Brazil but similar to what we pay in western Canada. Since our arrival we have not seen a single Hummer or very many SUVs or trucks, mostly cars, many new. Lots of motorcycles, scooters and power bikes. Clothing is sometimes expensive, especially name brands, but shoes are not. Leather goods are less expensive, electronics are outrageous. When we were in BA three years ago, internet cafes were plentiful and cheap to use. Now they are pretty much gone completely. Every restaurant, café, library and public washroom has free wifi. If electronics are so expensive, how do so many afford them? We don’t know. Since or arrival, twice there have been rumours about bank machines being out of cash and television interviews of frantic people unable to make withdrawals. Also, we have seen long lines of automobiles waiting to buy gasoline – gas shortage or news hype, we don’t know. On January 4th a big story hit the news. It was about the bank robbery – just like the movie the Bank Job – look it up! From a building rented six months earlier, thieves tunnelled 98 feet into a BA bank during New Years and broke into and robbed 130 safety deposit boxes. Many Argentines began storing their cash and savings in safety deposit boxes after the financial crisis of 2001, when thousands of people with bank deposit accounts lost a lot of money. Well you gotta feel sorry for them – it’s a sad way to start the New Year.
Beside our apartment and across the street from one of the sidewalk cafés is a little park. When we arrived on December 22nd, the park was alone all night and only busy with moms and dogs and children during the day. Lately though, the park has been occupied full time by a couple of homeless men, one with a wheelchair because he only has one leg. They sleep in the park and they sit on the retaining wall all day. We’re not sure if they use the sandbox, but they have become as permanent in the neighbourhood as a sidewalk cafe. Sometimes we say hello to them on our way in and out of the apartment. They are quite friendly. They ask for nothing. They are very unwashed, seem intelligent and in fact they seem quite happy - but to us they are oh so vulnerable and helpless. It is such a heartache. We feel for their situation but, even though it is inexcusable to do nothing, we realize there are thousands more like them scattered around this massive city. How do we help them? We do not know.
Well, the second cup of coffee is gone and it's time to move along. Any minute now someone will spot the empty table from afar and hustle over with their little dog. It is always coffee time at the sidewalk cafes in Buenos Aires.
Another post will soon follow with information about Jan’s visit and the sights of Buenos Aires.
Hasta Luego!
A café junkie. Thousands of cafes line the leafy sidewalks and corners in BA and every one of them is busy – from morning until late at night. By city ordinance, the buildings on every street corner have to be cut at an angle to enlarge the sidewalk area and allow more light to filter through. The entire planet walks and drives past your wobbly table during a single café con leche and every passer-by is a ‘person of interest’ to your investigation. Let’s start with shoes. Because BA in summer it is so hot and humid, it is always worthwhile to see how well people’s feet are coping. Oddly enough everyone seems to be wearing shoes. Flip flops, sandals, high top sandals, wedgies, high heels, flat shoes, dress shoes, runners – you name it, they wear them. Well there’s nothing different about that, is there? The majority of people in the neighbourhood look European – they could be from France, Italy or Spain, Germany, on and on. For the most part though, they do not look Mexican, American or Canadian which you might think is surprising because how would we know the difference? Well it is almost impossible to not spot North American tourists; even though they try and blend in they look different. Portenos, as people from Buenos Aires are known, are slender – young or old it doesn’t matter, they are thin. It is a ridiculous physical condition and how dare they flaunt the fact that they eat less and exercise more than anyone else? Of course, Argentina is a world leader in implants and plastic surgery, so some of those slender gals with wrinkle free skin and more dangerous curves than a slippery slope are targets for nonchalant scrutiny from every sidewalk café in town. Generally, Argentines are not particularly tall, but some are. They do not seem to have a ‘defining set’ of features that would enable you to say, ‘this man or that lady is Argentine’. Not by hair color, facial features or bone structure. BA is an energetic young city and it appears that there are far more people in the neighbourhood wearing sexy jogging attire and $150 Nikes than people wearing housedresses and sensible shoes. Further to that, possibly because of the heat or possibly because of a reason that has never occurred to people who were born where the weather is cold 300 days a year, most women, young and old, wear dresses and skirts when they are not jogging or sun bathing, but not slacks or jeans. Some wear little bitty teeny skirts at that. Possibly related to that topic but maybe not, for some reason there are lots of women pushing baby strollers, lots of mothers walking with children, lots of families out for dinner on Sundays. Like their parents, Argentine babies do not have any defining characteristics except they love their soothers as much as their parents love sidewalk cafés. Like everywhere else except maybe Asia and India, some babies have blond curly hair, others are bald, some are blue eyed, etc. All of them stare up into your face suspiciously as they roll past. The baby strollers themselves are as varied and colourful as fruit at the market, all of them look expensive and a few appear to be sturdy enough for the Dakar. Some people may have even sold the baby in order to afford the stroller, which they then use for moving groceries. And that’s another thing. We find almost everything to be quite expensive including groceries – even with Canadian currency. A good steak dinner at a fancy parrillia (grill) restaurant starts at, let’s say 160 pesos. Divided by four equals CA$40. Last time we were here (November 2007) the exchange was a division of three – but the meal cost 90 pesos, about CA$30. Even with a strong Canadian dollar inflation has hit Argentina hard and porteno life is expensive. In fact Richard says he is running through cash faster than his legs will carry him to the bank. Maybe he needs new Nikes (and a sexy little jogging shirt).
Meanwhile, back behind the rim of the cup, the sidewalk café is busy and other patrons don’t seem to care who got to the vacant chair first. They are reading their newspapers, working on laptops, chatting with friends. A little dog is sometimes sprawled out and asleep at parton's feet. Not one person at the outdoor café realizes or cares that what they are doing at this exact moment is impossible everywhere in Canada. In an entire country. It is just not fair. The white coffee tastes yummy, better than hot chocolate even, but as it disappears, fear begins to dig its surly fingers into the complacency of the muse. The beautiful moment is rushing past like an out of control pendulum and the only way to prolong it is to order another cafe con leche. Yes indeed, you need more time. A dog nanny walks past with seven or eight dogs of varying sizes and colors strung together on sturdy leather leashes. They all seem to be having fun, these dogs. Instead of being locked up in a pen or inside an apartment, they go out and meet their friends’ and play in the park while their parents are at work. It’s a great system – a sane system because everyone has at least one dog. Meanwhile, the black and yellow taxis flit past, one after another after another like bumble bees pollinating flowers. A delivery truck double parks across the street and the driver leaves the motor running while he makes his delivery. It's not his gasoline. Everyone is carrying something as they wander by – a bag, a purse, a book, a backpack. Business suits, high heels, slinky skirts, shorts, long hair, short hair, well dressed, poorly dressed - they are all on the sidewalk, fenced in by the perimeter of the view, focused on their business at hand. And what is their business at hand? Well according to BA sources there are 40,000 taxis and all of them need at least one driver. There are 144 bus lines running thousands of city busses and many of them need drivers. The subway line covers 46 kilometres with 80 stations and they need drivers, ticket sellers, security, and maintenance and so on. There are thousands and thousands of apartment buildings in dozens of Buenos Aires barrios and each one requires maintenance and cleaners and security. So here’s the thing. Instead of ever-sprawling suburbs filled with high profit big box stores found in Canada and America, BA neighbourhoods are manageable and self contained. They have small and smaller grocery stores, small shops of every kind and plenty of them, expensive restaurants, sidewalk cafes, toy stores, hardware, laundries, bakeries, hospitals, clinics, drug stores, parks, transportation – in fact every neighbourhood is entirely self sufficient. In a city of millions you live and shop in your own neighbourhood and you don’t need to drive your car for basic necessities. You support your local business and the business in turn supports the neighbourhood. It’s a novel concept. Why didn’t we think of that?
For sure one of the quirks of BA city life is this. Garbage. How does a city of 13 million, give or take, deal with garbage? Well here’s what we have observed. Citizens carry their garbage to assigned corners and place their bag, or bags, on the street. I know, I know, it doesn’t seem realistic. Or hygienic. And what about sipping café con leche in your favourite restaurant behind piles of garbage? Well we recommend that you choose your café carefully. As day passes into night, the piles grow larger. And then, quite late every night men with little carts come along and look inside every bag and remove the cardboard and bottles and whatever else they recycle for cash. So the beauty of all this is, at 7:30am every single morning you can hear the unbelievably noisy garbage truck roar around the corner a block away. You wait patiently as the collectors’ work their way along, clinking and banging and slamming, closer and noisier by the second. You hold your breath until they are outside your building, and then you let it all out when they move on. Miraculous really – by the time you head for your morning coffee, it’s all gone. We have wracked our brains to try and figure a more efficient, more sanitary method for handling garbage in such a large city and we have come up empty headed. Life is so tightly packed all over BA – no back alleys, no extra room for anything and they have developed a system that works in spite of what we think we know.
One thing that is a bargain in BA is public transport - trains, busses and metro. But don’t think it’s easy. You have to share everything public with a few million others and there’s never any air conditioning. Regular gasoline costs about CA$4.60 per imperial gallon, much cheaper than in Europe, more expensive than in Brazil but similar to what we pay in western Canada. Since our arrival we have not seen a single Hummer or very many SUVs or trucks, mostly cars, many new. Lots of motorcycles, scooters and power bikes. Clothing is sometimes expensive, especially name brands, but shoes are not. Leather goods are less expensive, electronics are outrageous. When we were in BA three years ago, internet cafes were plentiful and cheap to use. Now they are pretty much gone completely. Every restaurant, café, library and public washroom has free wifi. If electronics are so expensive, how do so many afford them? We don’t know. Since or arrival, twice there have been rumours about bank machines being out of cash and television interviews of frantic people unable to make withdrawals. Also, we have seen long lines of automobiles waiting to buy gasoline – gas shortage or news hype, we don’t know. On January 4th a big story hit the news. It was about the bank robbery – just like the movie the Bank Job – look it up! From a building rented six months earlier, thieves tunnelled 98 feet into a BA bank during New Years and broke into and robbed 130 safety deposit boxes. Many Argentines began storing their cash and savings in safety deposit boxes after the financial crisis of 2001, when thousands of people with bank deposit accounts lost a lot of money. Well you gotta feel sorry for them – it’s a sad way to start the New Year.
Beside our apartment and across the street from one of the sidewalk cafés is a little park. When we arrived on December 22nd, the park was alone all night and only busy with moms and dogs and children during the day. Lately though, the park has been occupied full time by a couple of homeless men, one with a wheelchair because he only has one leg. They sleep in the park and they sit on the retaining wall all day. We’re not sure if they use the sandbox, but they have become as permanent in the neighbourhood as a sidewalk cafe. Sometimes we say hello to them on our way in and out of the apartment. They are quite friendly. They ask for nothing. They are very unwashed, seem intelligent and in fact they seem quite happy - but to us they are oh so vulnerable and helpless. It is such a heartache. We feel for their situation but, even though it is inexcusable to do nothing, we realize there are thousands more like them scattered around this massive city. How do we help them? We do not know.
Well, the second cup of coffee is gone and it's time to move along. Any minute now someone will spot the empty table from afar and hustle over with their little dog. It is always coffee time at the sidewalk cafes in Buenos Aires.
Another post will soon follow with information about Jan’s visit and the sights of Buenos Aires.
Hasta Luego!
Monday, January 3, 2011
Adios Costa Victoria, Hola Buenos Aires
Message posted on Facebook by Janet Beaucage Halada, January 1, 2011
In my next life I want to come back as you!! Oh what fun and how wonderful it is that you can see the world. You two are the matching pair of bookends! Thanks for taking me along on your odessy. Happy New Year to you both, I can only imagine what it will bring.
Love ya, Janet
Adios Costa Victoria
At the start of the cruise, passports were taken away from all passengers by the officers of the Costa Victoria and locked in the safe. There is a reason for that.
Here’s the main thing you should know about cruise ships – when they say the ship sails at 5pm, you better be on it or be ready to wave goodbye from the pier. As per marine protocol for tides, pilot boats and a myriad of red tape issues, even if passengers are delayed for important reasons the ship will sail on time. We spoke with Bob from Florida and he told us his story. He and his friend were taken to a different jewellery store in Rio, but they got caught in serious traffic and were not back by departure time. In fact when they heard the three long blasts they were still in traffic, sweating and turning themselves inside out with worry. Finally, agonizingly late, they arrived at the dock in time to see the Victoria sailing out of the bay. Costa ground staff at the terminal apologized for the fact that Bob and friend were stuck in Rio while all their possessions were floating to Ilhabela. Fortunately, because of the above rule, their passports had been left for them by the ship’s officers. Costa staff worked with them to find a solution and suggested a limousine. For US$800, a limousine and driver would take them in comfort to the ferry and across to the island of Ilhabela. If all went well, they could join up with the ship the next morning. The rest is history. They arrived in Ilhabela at 3:30 am and hung out until the ship dropped anchor at 8:00am. None the worse really, only their wallet had lost a few pounds. It’s a good story. It’s a good lesson.
We loved the people at our table on the ship – in fact they were all so much fun and so different that it was a race to get there every night. No one wanted to skip an evening meal because that would mean missing the laughter and fun at the table, especially from the Tom and Tom comedy team. Since we parted company, one by one we have been in touch with all our table friends through Skype. Nice people now scattered across the globe. Ships passing…
Paul and Lindsey, the young backpackers from California, spent two steamy nights at a hostel without air con before they moved in with us. Lucky us, they were our Christmas presents! (Along with the little red tree donated by Tom and the beautiful little photo album from Sheldon and Leanna). Christmas dinner for four – gourmet chicken sandwiches and fruit salad. If independent travel was a calculator, Paul and Lindsey’s mathematical numbers would reach the top; electronically savvy, energetic, cheerful, adventurous – two downright nice people. When they return home in April 2011, they will have experienced the majority of the world’s wonders in a single trip. Check out the link to their blog.
And as for us, well Buenos Aires is a high-flying Shirley cartwheel! It is the second largest city in South America with a metro population of 13 million but the city proper is much smaller. Two thirds of the residents live in apartments – that suits us fine. BA has suffered dramatically throughout her turbulent past – dictatorships, the dirty war that killed 30,000 and the New Year’s fire at the Republica Cromagnon Nightclub in 2004 that killed more than 200 people, bombings, on and on. But she has also thrived and for the moment she is one gorgeous babe all dressed up for a night out.
This time our apartment is in Palermo, an even better location than our 2007 apartment in Barrio Norte. Not too many tourists in Palermo, just a lovely residential area. Our apartment is on the first floor of tree lined Ruggieri Street where, within a three block radius there are dozens of little restaurants and side-walk cafes. BA culture is so comfortable; it’s like settling into your favourite chair to read your favourite book. Most people do not own washers and dryers, instead they use local laundry services, one on every block, to wash, dry and fold their clothes. Cost is 15 pesos per load, about CA$4. Every block has at least one bakery with fresh media lunas (small croissants with a sweet coating, shaped like little moons) and a myriad of tempting and delicious treats. Dulce de leche (sweet milk) is everywhere, in ice cream, in sauces, in jars and bottles, in baked products, you name it - in fact you could spread dulce de leche on a banana peel or mashed turnips and they would be worth eating. There are many grocery stores in the neighbourhood, Carrefour, Disco, Coto and more. Not as large as Canadian stores but they have a more neighbourly feel. Believe it or not, Disco offers home delivery service and every Disco store has half a dozen people filling delivery baskets and loading them in trucks. But did I mention pizzas? Well hold on to your tango shoes because you gotta hear this. There is at least one pizza / empanada restaurant on every block, sometimes two or three. Each restaurant has a delivery team, three or so employees who do nothing but deliver all evening long. Busier than Santa Claus on Christmas Eve. Some delivery boys ride bicycles. Some ride mopeds. But our favourite – roller blades. That’s right; they skate down the street at 200 miles an hour carrying boxes and bags of pizzas and accessories. ‘Oh my goodness Richard, did you see that?’ ‘See what?’ ‘That flash of red that just smoked past us.’ ‘Nope, didn’t see it – but it sure smells like pizza!’
The essence of Buenos Aires is ‘class’. It is not Paris but it is like Paris in some ways. It is not Italy but there are many Italian aspects. It is not always the tango in a slinky dress and heels, sometimes it is a slow waltz in sandals with your lover. Remember the movie, The Three Faces of Eve? Well Buenos Aires is The Million Faces of Eve. Our apartment is only a single block from one of the most beautiful boulevards in the world – Avenida del Libertador. Lined with parks, wide driving lanes, expensive apartments, consulates, museums, restaurants and dogs that are so elegant they have their own nannies. In the opposite direction a few blocks away is Avenida Santa Fe, filled with grocery stores, convenience stores, shoe stores and restaurants, the metro line, busses, shopping malls and pedestrians so thick you need a fly swatter. Buenos Aires is one of the best walking cities in the world, second only to Paris in our opinion.
And how about this! Since our years in the motorcycle business we have been aware of the Paris-Dakar race, one of the most gruelling off-road events on earth. In 2008 due to security issues in Africa, the Dakar race was moved to South America and now runs between Argentina and Northern Chile. It started in Buenos Aires on January 1st and will end on January 16th and will cover more than 9,500 km, including 5,000 km of racing. Dakar 2011 is a punishing route that crosses mountains and deserts and is specifically adapted for four different types of participating vehicles.
Total number of vehicles competing: 430
Cars: 146 - Bikes: 183 - Quads: 33 - Trucks: 68
51 nationalities
13 women, all categories included.
First-time participants: 64 bikes - 21 quads - 50 cars - 1 truck.
The staging ground for Dakar 2011 was Plaza Italia, an easy walk from our apartment. On December 31st all competing vehicles were smartly displayed for public viewing. Tens of thousands of people were there and so were we! Such a thrill to wander through the gut of thing! Nexr day, January 1st at 2:30pm, beginning with the motorocycles, one by one the competitors were sent on their way, spaced about a minute apart. They had to parade down Libertador, right near our apartment and eventurally pass the obelisk on Avenida 9 de Julio, the widest street in the world. Along the route the streets were lined with cheering fans for hours - the last vehicle passed at 8:30pm. Inside-out exciting!
But now hear this. It has nothing to do with racing but is proof that life is not always filled with little happy high-notes. I went for a haircut today, entered a nice little shop and told the nice little lady how I wanted my hair cut. She spoke not a single word of English. So I told her in Spanish. Well. Without one single letter, word, adjetctive, noun or pronoun to descriptive excess – there is absolutey no doubt whatsoever that she gave me the worst haircut I have ever had in my life. It is awful and I mean itl!!
So Alan walks in to the barbershop. The barber says, 'What will it be today?
Alan replies, 'Well I want it going with my waves on top, faded on one side, plug the other, and just make it all out of shape and messed up.' The barber answers frowning, 'Now why in the world do you want your hair cut like that?'
Alan says, 'That's how you cut it last time.'
Adios Amigos!
In my next life I want to come back as you!! Oh what fun and how wonderful it is that you can see the world. You two are the matching pair of bookends! Thanks for taking me along on your odessy. Happy New Year to you both, I can only imagine what it will bring.
Love ya, Janet
Adios Costa Victoria
At the start of the cruise, passports were taken away from all passengers by the officers of the Costa Victoria and locked in the safe. There is a reason for that.
Here’s the main thing you should know about cruise ships – when they say the ship sails at 5pm, you better be on it or be ready to wave goodbye from the pier. As per marine protocol for tides, pilot boats and a myriad of red tape issues, even if passengers are delayed for important reasons the ship will sail on time. We spoke with Bob from Florida and he told us his story. He and his friend were taken to a different jewellery store in Rio, but they got caught in serious traffic and were not back by departure time. In fact when they heard the three long blasts they were still in traffic, sweating and turning themselves inside out with worry. Finally, agonizingly late, they arrived at the dock in time to see the Victoria sailing out of the bay. Costa ground staff at the terminal apologized for the fact that Bob and friend were stuck in Rio while all their possessions were floating to Ilhabela. Fortunately, because of the above rule, their passports had been left for them by the ship’s officers. Costa staff worked with them to find a solution and suggested a limousine. For US$800, a limousine and driver would take them in comfort to the ferry and across to the island of Ilhabela. If all went well, they could join up with the ship the next morning. The rest is history. They arrived in Ilhabela at 3:30 am and hung out until the ship dropped anchor at 8:00am. None the worse really, only their wallet had lost a few pounds. It’s a good story. It’s a good lesson.
We loved the people at our table on the ship – in fact they were all so much fun and so different that it was a race to get there every night. No one wanted to skip an evening meal because that would mean missing the laughter and fun at the table, especially from the Tom and Tom comedy team. Since we parted company, one by one we have been in touch with all our table friends through Skype. Nice people now scattered across the globe. Ships passing…
Paul and Lindsey, the young backpackers from California, spent two steamy nights at a hostel without air con before they moved in with us. Lucky us, they were our Christmas presents! (Along with the little red tree donated by Tom and the beautiful little photo album from Sheldon and Leanna). Christmas dinner for four – gourmet chicken sandwiches and fruit salad. If independent travel was a calculator, Paul and Lindsey’s mathematical numbers would reach the top; electronically savvy, energetic, cheerful, adventurous – two downright nice people. When they return home in April 2011, they will have experienced the majority of the world’s wonders in a single trip. Check out the link to their blog.
And as for us, well Buenos Aires is a high-flying Shirley cartwheel! It is the second largest city in South America with a metro population of 13 million but the city proper is much smaller. Two thirds of the residents live in apartments – that suits us fine. BA has suffered dramatically throughout her turbulent past – dictatorships, the dirty war that killed 30,000 and the New Year’s fire at the Republica Cromagnon Nightclub in 2004 that killed more than 200 people, bombings, on and on. But she has also thrived and for the moment she is one gorgeous babe all dressed up for a night out.
This time our apartment is in Palermo, an even better location than our 2007 apartment in Barrio Norte. Not too many tourists in Palermo, just a lovely residential area. Our apartment is on the first floor of tree lined Ruggieri Street where, within a three block radius there are dozens of little restaurants and side-walk cafes. BA culture is so comfortable; it’s like settling into your favourite chair to read your favourite book. Most people do not own washers and dryers, instead they use local laundry services, one on every block, to wash, dry and fold their clothes. Cost is 15 pesos per load, about CA$4. Every block has at least one bakery with fresh media lunas (small croissants with a sweet coating, shaped like little moons) and a myriad of tempting and delicious treats. Dulce de leche (sweet milk) is everywhere, in ice cream, in sauces, in jars and bottles, in baked products, you name it - in fact you could spread dulce de leche on a banana peel or mashed turnips and they would be worth eating. There are many grocery stores in the neighbourhood, Carrefour, Disco, Coto and more. Not as large as Canadian stores but they have a more neighbourly feel. Believe it or not, Disco offers home delivery service and every Disco store has half a dozen people filling delivery baskets and loading them in trucks. But did I mention pizzas? Well hold on to your tango shoes because you gotta hear this. There is at least one pizza / empanada restaurant on every block, sometimes two or three. Each restaurant has a delivery team, three or so employees who do nothing but deliver all evening long. Busier than Santa Claus on Christmas Eve. Some delivery boys ride bicycles. Some ride mopeds. But our favourite – roller blades. That’s right; they skate down the street at 200 miles an hour carrying boxes and bags of pizzas and accessories. ‘Oh my goodness Richard, did you see that?’ ‘See what?’ ‘That flash of red that just smoked past us.’ ‘Nope, didn’t see it – but it sure smells like pizza!’
The essence of Buenos Aires is ‘class’. It is not Paris but it is like Paris in some ways. It is not Italy but there are many Italian aspects. It is not always the tango in a slinky dress and heels, sometimes it is a slow waltz in sandals with your lover. Remember the movie, The Three Faces of Eve? Well Buenos Aires is The Million Faces of Eve. Our apartment is only a single block from one of the most beautiful boulevards in the world – Avenida del Libertador. Lined with parks, wide driving lanes, expensive apartments, consulates, museums, restaurants and dogs that are so elegant they have their own nannies. In the opposite direction a few blocks away is Avenida Santa Fe, filled with grocery stores, convenience stores, shoe stores and restaurants, the metro line, busses, shopping malls and pedestrians so thick you need a fly swatter. Buenos Aires is one of the best walking cities in the world, second only to Paris in our opinion.
And how about this! Since our years in the motorcycle business we have been aware of the Paris-Dakar race, one of the most gruelling off-road events on earth. In 2008 due to security issues in Africa, the Dakar race was moved to South America and now runs between Argentina and Northern Chile. It started in Buenos Aires on January 1st and will end on January 16th and will cover more than 9,500 km, including 5,000 km of racing. Dakar 2011 is a punishing route that crosses mountains and deserts and is specifically adapted for four different types of participating vehicles.
Total number of vehicles competing: 430
Cars: 146 - Bikes: 183 - Quads: 33 - Trucks: 68
51 nationalities
13 women, all categories included.
First-time participants: 64 bikes - 21 quads - 50 cars - 1 truck.
The staging ground for Dakar 2011 was Plaza Italia, an easy walk from our apartment. On December 31st all competing vehicles were smartly displayed for public viewing. Tens of thousands of people were there and so were we! Such a thrill to wander through the gut of thing! Nexr day, January 1st at 2:30pm, beginning with the motorocycles, one by one the competitors were sent on their way, spaced about a minute apart. They had to parade down Libertador, right near our apartment and eventurally pass the obelisk on Avenida 9 de Julio, the widest street in the world. Along the route the streets were lined with cheering fans for hours - the last vehicle passed at 8:30pm. Inside-out exciting!
But now hear this. It has nothing to do with racing but is proof that life is not always filled with little happy high-notes. I went for a haircut today, entered a nice little shop and told the nice little lady how I wanted my hair cut. She spoke not a single word of English. So I told her in Spanish. Well. Without one single letter, word, adjetctive, noun or pronoun to descriptive excess – there is absolutey no doubt whatsoever that she gave me the worst haircut I have ever had in my life. It is awful and I mean itl!!
So Alan walks in to the barbershop. The barber says, 'What will it be today?
Alan replies, 'Well I want it going with my waves on top, faded on one side, plug the other, and just make it all out of shape and messed up.' The barber answers frowning, 'Now why in the world do you want your hair cut like that?'
Alan says, 'That's how you cut it last time.'
Adios Amigos!
Saturday, January 1, 2011
From Savona to Buenos Aires
Well this update is a handful. How to compress three weeks of binging, port calls and associations with fly by night passengers who are forcibly gripping dining room cutlery, into a few hundred words of happy-go-lucky prose that will be enjoyable for all. Yes, even the Queen of England reads this!
Our first port city was Casablanca, Morocco. You remember Humphrey Bogart, don’t you? His 1942 Movie called Casablanca? The city is very proud of this famous association and even though Humphrey passed away in 1957, one year after Morocco gained independence from France, you can still sense his obscure presence loitering in the shadows of the street corner, wrinkled white suit, hat brim pulled down, cigarette dangling from thirsty lips, eyes wary and watching for voluptuous female operatives. So here’s the thing, 68 years after Casablanca hit the theatres, 68 years after Richard was born and 53 years after independence celebrations, the Costa Victoria sailed into Casablanca harbour at sunrise on a beautiful day. Richard and Donna disembarked soon thereafter and were delighted to wander the crooked streets of the medina, searching for anything and everything bargain related. Many passengers joined day tours to Marrakech or Fez but we chose to chat and bargain with the men in the little shops. All of them spoke Arabic of course, and French, but also English – just to put things in perspective. We found the men to be polite and full of sardonic humour. They are all good at bargaining, of course, that’s their job, and we had fun with two men in a little shop over the purchase of a spiffy new Prada handbag. Yes, the kind the devil wears, ha!
By early afternoon the medina became hot and overcrowded so we decided to soak up a few exhaust fumes on Main Street before running back to the ship for late lunch. The medina is in the oldest part of the city and is a permanent market where everything from pets to purses, fruit to frocks, shirts to shoes, haircuts to cut hares is sold. There are a couple of what appeared to be low-cost hotels inside the walls so we considered a future return, what do you think? There were no Moroccan women working in the shops in the medina, only men. To see photos of Casablanca (and all our port stops) you can watch the slideshows embedded in the blog. Also, you can click on ‘view all’ at the lower left corner of any slideshow and it will take you to our Picasa Web Albums where photos can be viewed in larger format. It’s easy – just give it a try.
Next stop was the island of Tenerife, the largest and most populous of seven Canary Islands. St. Cruz de Tenerife is a gorgeous, clean, well mannered Spanish dancer and we were delighted to explore her pedestrian streets and amazed to find that many items were priced lower there than in Benidorm. We rode the tram to the end of the line, about ½ hour, which took us to an outlying town called Trinidad. Quaint and charming streets lined with shops filled with German style traditional clothing and enticing food dishes – that’s Trinidad. Tenerife is a for sure return.
At 5pm when the Costa Victoria pulled up rope in St. Cruz and blew our ears with off with the traditional three long blasts, everyone aboard was a little excited because the next port would be Recife, Brazil – five full sea days away. How would Richard (and everyone else) manage if the seas were rough crossing the Atlantic? It was a worry. But here’s the surprise. The sailing was smooth as the skin on a new baby’s back. The further south we sailed the higher rose the temperature, the hungrier everyone became and the faster Richard and Donna power-walked deck 6. At midnight on the third day we crossed the equator so the captain and his staff of slaves hosted a late night Equator party on swimming pool deck, complete with buffet, Brazilian music and dancing beneath a colossal map of sparking diamonds. The glossy sea continuously rolled and smoothed itself out underneath our bow, silent and deep and mysterious. It was a remarkable night, an experience I hope we will always remember.
The Victoria visited five ports in Brazil, three of which were associated with H. Stern, a Brazilian jewellery manufacturer that distributes and sells some of the most expensive and exquisite jewellery in the world. Please see their link near the photos for more information. H. Stern operates on the same principle as time share sellers in Mexico. They will give you something free if you visit their retail store and look at their jewellery. Sounded like a fair deal to us. So their generous transfers, some with tours to various venues, allowed passengers including us to explore Recife, Salvador and Rio - a great saving compared to buying tours from Costa. In Recife, Allan, Margot, Richard and I were taken to the H. Stern store across from Boa Viagem, the sprawling and inviting beach that was alive with rolling surf and sand the color of your fondest dream. We walked to the shopping mall not far away but it seemed like miles because it was so hot. After returning to the ship for lunch we later walked into the core of Recife where life seemed dirtier, much more frantic, somewhat broken and somewhat steamy, yet when we sailed away, vast suburbs filled with high rise apartments planted themselves in our camera lens. Too bad for Recife though, we could not find any souvenir tee shirts so we left empty handed. And just one more thing - our Recife slideshow does not really reveal the truth about the city. About the heat. Or did I forget to mention it was hot?
Next port was Maceio, 259 driving miles south of Recife. We loved Maceio – it is a sophisticated, densely populated coastal resort city that boasts some of Brazil’s most delightful beaches. Nearby the ship was a handicraft market – good planning on the part of the merchants and even better, it had fans blowing the air into our faces as we panted, red faced and sweating, in front of them. Hot yes. Well stocked with souvenirs and tee shirts of all kinds. Lucky us, lucky them. Again we walked into the core of the city and took time to marvel at how busy the city really was. Pedestrian streets clashing with people - enough to do any city proud. We spent some time at an internet café and left satisfied that all was well at home – always a big thing in our heads when we travel. The color and flavour of Maceio was remarkably different from Recife and as the ship sailed away we fell in love with the clear emerald green waters. Brilliant. Maceio was just brilliant!
We had been hearing about the culture and rhythm of Salvador da Bahia for years so it was hard to believe we were actually there. When you enter the city, these are the words you read - Salvador da Bahia is the place where you breathe the history, soul and essence of Brazil. The city was founded on All Saints Day in the 16th century and boasts 365 churches - built by the determined Portuguese, one for every day of the year. But in the past the churches had to share Salvador with voodoo spiritualism from Africa, brought into Brazil by thousands of African slaves. Salvador is the ‘blackest’ city in Brazil and has a reputation for being unsafe, especially at night. In spite of the warnings we felt quite at home and literally fell in love with the revitalized heart of the city for its rhythmic music, unique black population, and outstanding central plaza – all located high on a hill that overlooks the port area. The easiest way to access the top is by an elevator that costs 15 cents, but you only have to pay one way. The line for the elevator was very long and never seemed to catch up with itself. Although H. Stern offered transfers to their store near the square, we chose to take the elevator and do our own exploring. As we sailed away, once again we were amazed at the urban aspect of Salvador with life spread along the contours of hills and beaches and implanted with enough high rise condos to make a concrete forest. Amazing, photogenic, colourful, world class Salvador da Bahia – we look forward to an early return!
How could your heart do nothing but stop when you realize you are sailing into Rio de Janeiro (River of January). Rio truly is one of the world’s most spectacular cities (population 7 million) and we saw enough outstanding sights to fill up Sugarloaf Mountain. But for the sake of your eyes we will keep the words down. Our little group took the H Stern advantage and were driven to Corocvado, the 2,300 foot granite mountain in central Rio that boasts the 125 foot statue of Jesus. Our lovely tour guide, Luiza helped buy our tickets and accompanied us to the top. In spite of having to share the space with hundreds and hundreds of equally eager tourists, standing beneath the world famous statue that towers high above the city was an outstanding highlight of our trip. Rio had experienced a lot of rain the day before so unfortunately when we arrived it was still misty below, but we didn’t care, we crammed our addiction for excitement right up to the highest mark. Next we were taken to lunch at a packed-out restaurant down the street from H Stern. Mmmm delicious food and we were introduced to the Brazilian specialty drink called a caipirinha. Our stop at H. Stern headquarters was interesting but took up too much time. Margot purchased a piece of jewellery from them and, wow, a lovely pendant it is. On the way back to the ship we became entrapped in the crazy, crazy traffic of Rio. We were able to see but not visit the famous Ipanema and Copacabana beaches and the billion dollar apartments that cling to their shores. We made the ship only twenty minutes before sailing. Rio! Ah Rio Rio Rio….
Last in Brazil was Ilhabela, a delightful sleepy little island as opposite to Rio as you could get in one country. Beautiful beaches, expensive yachts, sweeping bays, you name it, Ilhabela has it. One of our favourite sights was Nicholas and Lucas, identical twins from South Africa, being pushed along the path in their stroller. We found it remarkable (and slightly terrifying) that a young couple had enough finances and energy to take the two little boys on such a big trip. And therein lies the beauty of that - life is full of remarkables!
And finally, last port of the cruise before Buenos Aires was Punta del Este, Uruguay. It’s an expensive playground for the super rich from all around the world. Even Shakira has a summer home there. Spotlessly clean, beautifully maintained, it has free wifi in the town square but we paid to use a computer in an internet cafe. As we headed back to the ship, we were quite thrilled to see a naked sunbather at the yacht club. What do you think of her? Better take a look.
On December 21st at 8am the Costa Victoria docked at the port of beautiful Buenos Aires and settled in. We were allowed go off sightseeing for the day and return to sleep on board that night. But our exit was final on the 22nd. Kicked off. Our floating dream was already boarding replacements by the time we left to collect Thelma and Louis in the terminal. How hurtful was that? We knew where our rental apartment was – but therein lurked a big problem. Buenos Aires was stuck in the middle of a ‘red alert’ heat wave, the highest their scale goes. Smokin! So here’s the thing. It was too difficult to move Thelma and Louis up and down the metro stairs. It was too hot to stand outside and wait for bus 92 at Retiro station. It was way, way too hot and too far to walk. So with sinking hearts and a wallet full of dread we walked a few blocks away from the port and hailed a cab. Yes, that’s right, I said taxi! But it wasn’t air conditioned, if that helps. We agreed on a fare in advance with the driver - twenty pesos, about CA$5 and he dropped us at the door. He was a very nice man and went a long way to set our minds at ease about all taxi drivers being thieves. We spoke in Spanish on the way, ha ha, ha, and he explained a few things about his beautiful city. He was awesome. Then came the next problem. Thelma and Louis were outraged that they had been dumped in the hot trunk. They love to sight see too.
That’s it for now. More is sure to follow!
Our first port city was Casablanca, Morocco. You remember Humphrey Bogart, don’t you? His 1942 Movie called Casablanca? The city is very proud of this famous association and even though Humphrey passed away in 1957, one year after Morocco gained independence from France, you can still sense his obscure presence loitering in the shadows of the street corner, wrinkled white suit, hat brim pulled down, cigarette dangling from thirsty lips, eyes wary and watching for voluptuous female operatives. So here’s the thing, 68 years after Casablanca hit the theatres, 68 years after Richard was born and 53 years after independence celebrations, the Costa Victoria sailed into Casablanca harbour at sunrise on a beautiful day. Richard and Donna disembarked soon thereafter and were delighted to wander the crooked streets of the medina, searching for anything and everything bargain related. Many passengers joined day tours to Marrakech or Fez but we chose to chat and bargain with the men in the little shops. All of them spoke Arabic of course, and French, but also English – just to put things in perspective. We found the men to be polite and full of sardonic humour. They are all good at bargaining, of course, that’s their job, and we had fun with two men in a little shop over the purchase of a spiffy new Prada handbag. Yes, the kind the devil wears, ha!
By early afternoon the medina became hot and overcrowded so we decided to soak up a few exhaust fumes on Main Street before running back to the ship for late lunch. The medina is in the oldest part of the city and is a permanent market where everything from pets to purses, fruit to frocks, shirts to shoes, haircuts to cut hares is sold. There are a couple of what appeared to be low-cost hotels inside the walls so we considered a future return, what do you think? There were no Moroccan women working in the shops in the medina, only men. To see photos of Casablanca (and all our port stops) you can watch the slideshows embedded in the blog. Also, you can click on ‘view all’ at the lower left corner of any slideshow and it will take you to our Picasa Web Albums where photos can be viewed in larger format. It’s easy – just give it a try.
Next stop was the island of Tenerife, the largest and most populous of seven Canary Islands. St. Cruz de Tenerife is a gorgeous, clean, well mannered Spanish dancer and we were delighted to explore her pedestrian streets and amazed to find that many items were priced lower there than in Benidorm. We rode the tram to the end of the line, about ½ hour, which took us to an outlying town called Trinidad. Quaint and charming streets lined with shops filled with German style traditional clothing and enticing food dishes – that’s Trinidad. Tenerife is a for sure return.
At 5pm when the Costa Victoria pulled up rope in St. Cruz and blew our ears with off with the traditional three long blasts, everyone aboard was a little excited because the next port would be Recife, Brazil – five full sea days away. How would Richard (and everyone else) manage if the seas were rough crossing the Atlantic? It was a worry. But here’s the surprise. The sailing was smooth as the skin on a new baby’s back. The further south we sailed the higher rose the temperature, the hungrier everyone became and the faster Richard and Donna power-walked deck 6. At midnight on the third day we crossed the equator so the captain and his staff of slaves hosted a late night Equator party on swimming pool deck, complete with buffet, Brazilian music and dancing beneath a colossal map of sparking diamonds. The glossy sea continuously rolled and smoothed itself out underneath our bow, silent and deep and mysterious. It was a remarkable night, an experience I hope we will always remember.
The Victoria visited five ports in Brazil, three of which were associated with H. Stern, a Brazilian jewellery manufacturer that distributes and sells some of the most expensive and exquisite jewellery in the world. Please see their link near the photos for more information. H. Stern operates on the same principle as time share sellers in Mexico. They will give you something free if you visit their retail store and look at their jewellery. Sounded like a fair deal to us. So their generous transfers, some with tours to various venues, allowed passengers including us to explore Recife, Salvador and Rio - a great saving compared to buying tours from Costa. In Recife, Allan, Margot, Richard and I were taken to the H. Stern store across from Boa Viagem, the sprawling and inviting beach that was alive with rolling surf and sand the color of your fondest dream. We walked to the shopping mall not far away but it seemed like miles because it was so hot. After returning to the ship for lunch we later walked into the core of Recife where life seemed dirtier, much more frantic, somewhat broken and somewhat steamy, yet when we sailed away, vast suburbs filled with high rise apartments planted themselves in our camera lens. Too bad for Recife though, we could not find any souvenir tee shirts so we left empty handed. And just one more thing - our Recife slideshow does not really reveal the truth about the city. About the heat. Or did I forget to mention it was hot?
Next port was Maceio, 259 driving miles south of Recife. We loved Maceio – it is a sophisticated, densely populated coastal resort city that boasts some of Brazil’s most delightful beaches. Nearby the ship was a handicraft market – good planning on the part of the merchants and even better, it had fans blowing the air into our faces as we panted, red faced and sweating, in front of them. Hot yes. Well stocked with souvenirs and tee shirts of all kinds. Lucky us, lucky them. Again we walked into the core of the city and took time to marvel at how busy the city really was. Pedestrian streets clashing with people - enough to do any city proud. We spent some time at an internet café and left satisfied that all was well at home – always a big thing in our heads when we travel. The color and flavour of Maceio was remarkably different from Recife and as the ship sailed away we fell in love with the clear emerald green waters. Brilliant. Maceio was just brilliant!
We had been hearing about the culture and rhythm of Salvador da Bahia for years so it was hard to believe we were actually there. When you enter the city, these are the words you read - Salvador da Bahia is the place where you breathe the history, soul and essence of Brazil. The city was founded on All Saints Day in the 16th century and boasts 365 churches - built by the determined Portuguese, one for every day of the year. But in the past the churches had to share Salvador with voodoo spiritualism from Africa, brought into Brazil by thousands of African slaves. Salvador is the ‘blackest’ city in Brazil and has a reputation for being unsafe, especially at night. In spite of the warnings we felt quite at home and literally fell in love with the revitalized heart of the city for its rhythmic music, unique black population, and outstanding central plaza – all located high on a hill that overlooks the port area. The easiest way to access the top is by an elevator that costs 15 cents, but you only have to pay one way. The line for the elevator was very long and never seemed to catch up with itself. Although H. Stern offered transfers to their store near the square, we chose to take the elevator and do our own exploring. As we sailed away, once again we were amazed at the urban aspect of Salvador with life spread along the contours of hills and beaches and implanted with enough high rise condos to make a concrete forest. Amazing, photogenic, colourful, world class Salvador da Bahia – we look forward to an early return!
How could your heart do nothing but stop when you realize you are sailing into Rio de Janeiro (River of January). Rio truly is one of the world’s most spectacular cities (population 7 million) and we saw enough outstanding sights to fill up Sugarloaf Mountain. But for the sake of your eyes we will keep the words down. Our little group took the H Stern advantage and were driven to Corocvado, the 2,300 foot granite mountain in central Rio that boasts the 125 foot statue of Jesus. Our lovely tour guide, Luiza helped buy our tickets and accompanied us to the top. In spite of having to share the space with hundreds and hundreds of equally eager tourists, standing beneath the world famous statue that towers high above the city was an outstanding highlight of our trip. Rio had experienced a lot of rain the day before so unfortunately when we arrived it was still misty below, but we didn’t care, we crammed our addiction for excitement right up to the highest mark. Next we were taken to lunch at a packed-out restaurant down the street from H Stern. Mmmm delicious food and we were introduced to the Brazilian specialty drink called a caipirinha. Our stop at H. Stern headquarters was interesting but took up too much time. Margot purchased a piece of jewellery from them and, wow, a lovely pendant it is. On the way back to the ship we became entrapped in the crazy, crazy traffic of Rio. We were able to see but not visit the famous Ipanema and Copacabana beaches and the billion dollar apartments that cling to their shores. We made the ship only twenty minutes before sailing. Rio! Ah Rio Rio Rio….
Last in Brazil was Ilhabela, a delightful sleepy little island as opposite to Rio as you could get in one country. Beautiful beaches, expensive yachts, sweeping bays, you name it, Ilhabela has it. One of our favourite sights was Nicholas and Lucas, identical twins from South Africa, being pushed along the path in their stroller. We found it remarkable (and slightly terrifying) that a young couple had enough finances and energy to take the two little boys on such a big trip. And therein lies the beauty of that - life is full of remarkables!
And finally, last port of the cruise before Buenos Aires was Punta del Este, Uruguay. It’s an expensive playground for the super rich from all around the world. Even Shakira has a summer home there. Spotlessly clean, beautifully maintained, it has free wifi in the town square but we paid to use a computer in an internet cafe. As we headed back to the ship, we were quite thrilled to see a naked sunbather at the yacht club. What do you think of her? Better take a look.
On December 21st at 8am the Costa Victoria docked at the port of beautiful Buenos Aires and settled in. We were allowed go off sightseeing for the day and return to sleep on board that night. But our exit was final on the 22nd. Kicked off. Our floating dream was already boarding replacements by the time we left to collect Thelma and Louis in the terminal. How hurtful was that? We knew where our rental apartment was – but therein lurked a big problem. Buenos Aires was stuck in the middle of a ‘red alert’ heat wave, the highest their scale goes. Smokin! So here’s the thing. It was too difficult to move Thelma and Louis up and down the metro stairs. It was too hot to stand outside and wait for bus 92 at Retiro station. It was way, way too hot and too far to walk. So with sinking hearts and a wallet full of dread we walked a few blocks away from the port and hailed a cab. Yes, that’s right, I said taxi! But it wasn’t air conditioned, if that helps. We agreed on a fare in advance with the driver - twenty pesos, about CA$5 and he dropped us at the door. He was a very nice man and went a long way to set our minds at ease about all taxi drivers being thieves. We spoke in Spanish on the way, ha ha, ha, and he explained a few things about his beautiful city. He was awesome. Then came the next problem. Thelma and Louis were outraged that they had been dumped in the hot trunk. They love to sight see too.
That’s it for now. More is sure to follow!
Sunday, December 19, 2010
Adrift at Sea
The Captain’s name is Massimo Pennnisi - can you guess where he’s from? He is 39 years old (a mere baby by our standards) and has worked with Cruise Lines since he was 18. He looks very handsome in his white uniform and is fluent in at least five languages. Ho hum…isn’t everybody? He says his wife is glad to get rid of him for five or six months at a time.
At dinner the second night the damage in the Fantasia had disappeared and it was business as usual. Everything related to the dining rooms: food, service, ambiance, menu choices, quality of china and cutlery are equal to any cruise line. The dining rooms are decorated with pleasing décor and abundant with comfortable chairs, a real bonus for people on the ‘gain’ plan (more about that follows). Linen table cloths, polished glasses, charger plates, three forks, countless knives and dozens of other pieces of cutlery are scattered around each setting – only Julie & Julia know what they’re for. Each course is served on a charger plate that is set on top of the permanent charger plate which is not taken away until desert is served. For example, a simple bowl of soup involves a large plate, a small plate, the bowl and the main charger. 2300 passengers times 3 meals a day plus tea, snacks, pizzas, occasional deserts and whatever else equals seven to ten thousand meals per day. Each meal involves countless plates, bowls, glasses, saucers, cups and cutlery. 750 staff from 80 countries times tree meals a day, many cooked specific to ethnicity – it just gets so complicated we often rush to the buffet just for comfort. Even with 25 full time dishwashers, how do they keep up? Mark, our head waiter and Philippe, our server produce five star service in white tux and tie every night and almost never make a mistake – no one knows how they do it. The crispness of their service makes us shudder at how wrinkled and unpolished we must appear, and how refined they are in their impeccable, supercilious way. A serious rubbing of Silvo would do budget travellers like us a world of good. On the other hand, no one knows the history behind these gentlemen when they are not working. Philippe is from Brazil and his contract will end in Buenos Aires. Mark is from the Philippines and his contract was also up in BA, but Costa asked him to stay on for another two months – a very hard decision because he is so exhausted and has not seen his wife and child for many months.
The dinner menu is presented in leather binding with the insert printed in a script similar to that of William and Kate’s wedding invitation. It takes time to read a menu printed in six languages filled with fancy words in sinuous script and unheard of ingredients. Course after course just for the asking and since it’s an Italian line, can you imagine the bread and pasta? We are being conservative at all times and try to keep food consumption, no matter how delicious, down to about 1,000 pounds per person, per day. It’s not that easy but we are determined. Remember the joke about my cruise clients coming onboard as passengers and leaving as freight? Well we don’t want to be lifted off by a crane…
What is not so much fun is the ‘butting in’ by the astonishingly aggressive Italians. It is something to see how they push or reach in front of you into a line or stop dead right in front of you when walking for no apparent reason. If two or three are walking abreast they will not move over but will ‘innocently’ ram you and carry on like nothing happened. Maybe it’s because Costa is Italian so they have first rights to everything. We notice some Germans and French are a little like that too so maybe it’s just people in general in small spaces. Breakfast is served in three areas, two are huge buffets. You should see what people shove into themselves, and we’re not kidding. All restaurants close for 1 ½ hours then lunch is served in three places with the same result. Afternoon tea with fancy food is served in two places and then of course, there’s dinner which is served in two or three places, depending on the day. One night we didn’t eat dinner in the dining room, we chose instead to go to the pizza parlour at 10pm. We could not believe the number of people who had eaten a fancy dinner and were there eating again! During breakfast with our Aussie friends, Allan and Margo, we were joking about the pushing and shoving Italians. Then the conversation wandered to the subject of crime and express kidnappings in Brazil, and Richard dryly added that the Italians would probably struggle and push to be at the head of that line too, ‘get out of my way, I wanna be first to go to the bank with these people’.
We share our table with some mighty interesting folk. One couple, Kevin and Shirley, (married 30 years) are from Durban, South Africa, very knowledgeable about the itinerary and ports because this is their third Trans Atlantic sailing between Europe and South America. When they finish this cruise they will fly to Florida from Buenos Aires and do a sailing on the Oasis of the Seas, Royal Caribbean’s massive new floating city. Another couple, Paul and Lindsey (in their 20’s), from California, are on an extended honeymoon and celebrated their 2nd anniversary on December 6th. By the time they boarded the Victoria in Savona they had been travelling the world for seven months, and I mean the world – high energy adventure travel with amazing accomplishments on mountains and seas on almost all continents, a result of immense planning and budgeting the bucks. They worked several jobs and saved religiously to pay for their one year journey and plan to be home in April 2011. Only young people make that kind of travel look easy. We should kill them.
Lindsey and Paul mentioned they were in Paris when they decided to book this cruise, so they went to the Brazilian consulate to apply for the visas. They had to give up their passports for a week which meant they could not leave Paris. OMG, stuck in Paris??!!! What bothered them about applying in Paris - apparently Brazil has a ‘pay back’ clause with the US and although it is not called a visa fee, Brazil charges US citizens US$140.00 per passport plus shipping for permission to enter Brazil – that’s if the application is made at a consulate in the US. Well of course they applied in Paris so the fee was in euros – 140 euros X 2 equals about US400. For Canadians the Brazilian visas are good for five years (because passports are only valid for five years), but not in their case. Theirs is ten. Bonus.
Lindsey and Paul told us that when they were checking in for the cruise in Savona they met a Russian couple from Florida who did not have the Brazilian visas. They were denied boarding and advised to take the first train to Milan, fly to Barcelona and find a hotel, taxi to the Brazilian consulate the next morning and see if the officials would expedite the visas, then transfer to the port and board the ship before it sailed at 5pm. Tremendous Travel Terror! They stood to lose everything. We later learned that twenty people in total (mostly Americans) were denied boarding because of the visa problem. Of the twenty, nine gave up in Savona and forfeited the cruise. Eleven did fly to Barcelona from Milan and they all went together to the Brazilian Consulate the next day. The queue outside the consulate was already huge by the time the doors opened so their chance of success was almost nil. Two more dropped out. After hours of dread and uncertainty and much later in the day the consulate decided to grant the visas. The remaining nine were able to make the ship in time for sailing. These folks paid the same for their visas, 140 euros, but they were only valid for 90 days. Imagine the collective sigh of relief when they set foot inside their cabins.
Third night at dinner the two empty chairs at our table were occupied by Tom and Tom. They are two wonderful guys from the Tampa area and wow, did they have a story to tell. They rented a car to drive three hours from their home to the Miami airport, cheaper than leaving their car in paid parking. They slowly moved through the queue and were asked for their passports at Air France check in. Well. Tom remembered he did not have his; he had left it in the photocopier at home. They knew there was no way they could make the flight so they rented another car and drove home, heartbroken and deflated because everything was lost, the cruise, the airfare, hotel and car expenses, everything. Then Tom realized they still had one chance – the Victoria’s first port of call was Barcelona and she would remain there until 5pm December 3rd. Tom searched for internet options and considered buying two new tickets on a routing that involved two changes, one in Warsaw, Poland, if you can imagine - about as far in the wrong direction in Europe as you can get. Then he called Delta and spoke with an agent who said, let me see what I can do. The agent was off the line for awhile and returned to say he had found a way to get them to Barcelona. It would involve only one transfer and Delta would only charge them a ‘change fee’ of $150.00 per ticket. YeeHaa! The Delta rep became the hero of the century. To make a long story short, they arrived in Barcelona and were at the port when the Victoria arrived - two of the happiest and most excited men on the planet.
December 4, 2010 the Victoria was abuzz with the news. Spanish air traffic controllers went on strike that day and shut down all of the airports (every single one!) in Spain for the entire day…
Horseshoes! Every one of those delayed people had horseshoes, that’s all we can say!
That’s it for now. Stay tuned, there’s more to follow – some if it may even be true.
Hugs from R and D adrift off coastal Brazil.
At dinner the second night the damage in the Fantasia had disappeared and it was business as usual. Everything related to the dining rooms: food, service, ambiance, menu choices, quality of china and cutlery are equal to any cruise line. The dining rooms are decorated with pleasing décor and abundant with comfortable chairs, a real bonus for people on the ‘gain’ plan (more about that follows). Linen table cloths, polished glasses, charger plates, three forks, countless knives and dozens of other pieces of cutlery are scattered around each setting – only Julie & Julia know what they’re for. Each course is served on a charger plate that is set on top of the permanent charger plate which is not taken away until desert is served. For example, a simple bowl of soup involves a large plate, a small plate, the bowl and the main charger. 2300 passengers times 3 meals a day plus tea, snacks, pizzas, occasional deserts and whatever else equals seven to ten thousand meals per day. Each meal involves countless plates, bowls, glasses, saucers, cups and cutlery. 750 staff from 80 countries times tree meals a day, many cooked specific to ethnicity – it just gets so complicated we often rush to the buffet just for comfort. Even with 25 full time dishwashers, how do they keep up? Mark, our head waiter and Philippe, our server produce five star service in white tux and tie every night and almost never make a mistake – no one knows how they do it. The crispness of their service makes us shudder at how wrinkled and unpolished we must appear, and how refined they are in their impeccable, supercilious way. A serious rubbing of Silvo would do budget travellers like us a world of good. On the other hand, no one knows the history behind these gentlemen when they are not working. Philippe is from Brazil and his contract will end in Buenos Aires. Mark is from the Philippines and his contract was also up in BA, but Costa asked him to stay on for another two months – a very hard decision because he is so exhausted and has not seen his wife and child for many months.
The dinner menu is presented in leather binding with the insert printed in a script similar to that of William and Kate’s wedding invitation. It takes time to read a menu printed in six languages filled with fancy words in sinuous script and unheard of ingredients. Course after course just for the asking and since it’s an Italian line, can you imagine the bread and pasta? We are being conservative at all times and try to keep food consumption, no matter how delicious, down to about 1,000 pounds per person, per day. It’s not that easy but we are determined. Remember the joke about my cruise clients coming onboard as passengers and leaving as freight? Well we don’t want to be lifted off by a crane…
What is not so much fun is the ‘butting in’ by the astonishingly aggressive Italians. It is something to see how they push or reach in front of you into a line or stop dead right in front of you when walking for no apparent reason. If two or three are walking abreast they will not move over but will ‘innocently’ ram you and carry on like nothing happened. Maybe it’s because Costa is Italian so they have first rights to everything. We notice some Germans and French are a little like that too so maybe it’s just people in general in small spaces. Breakfast is served in three areas, two are huge buffets. You should see what people shove into themselves, and we’re not kidding. All restaurants close for 1 ½ hours then lunch is served in three places with the same result. Afternoon tea with fancy food is served in two places and then of course, there’s dinner which is served in two or three places, depending on the day. One night we didn’t eat dinner in the dining room, we chose instead to go to the pizza parlour at 10pm. We could not believe the number of people who had eaten a fancy dinner and were there eating again! During breakfast with our Aussie friends, Allan and Margo, we were joking about the pushing and shoving Italians. Then the conversation wandered to the subject of crime and express kidnappings in Brazil, and Richard dryly added that the Italians would probably struggle and push to be at the head of that line too, ‘get out of my way, I wanna be first to go to the bank with these people’.
We share our table with some mighty interesting folk. One couple, Kevin and Shirley, (married 30 years) are from Durban, South Africa, very knowledgeable about the itinerary and ports because this is their third Trans Atlantic sailing between Europe and South America. When they finish this cruise they will fly to Florida from Buenos Aires and do a sailing on the Oasis of the Seas, Royal Caribbean’s massive new floating city. Another couple, Paul and Lindsey (in their 20’s), from California, are on an extended honeymoon and celebrated their 2nd anniversary on December 6th. By the time they boarded the Victoria in Savona they had been travelling the world for seven months, and I mean the world – high energy adventure travel with amazing accomplishments on mountains and seas on almost all continents, a result of immense planning and budgeting the bucks. They worked several jobs and saved religiously to pay for their one year journey and plan to be home in April 2011. Only young people make that kind of travel look easy. We should kill them.
Lindsey and Paul mentioned they were in Paris when they decided to book this cruise, so they went to the Brazilian consulate to apply for the visas. They had to give up their passports for a week which meant they could not leave Paris. OMG, stuck in Paris??!!! What bothered them about applying in Paris - apparently Brazil has a ‘pay back’ clause with the US and although it is not called a visa fee, Brazil charges US citizens US$140.00 per passport plus shipping for permission to enter Brazil – that’s if the application is made at a consulate in the US. Well of course they applied in Paris so the fee was in euros – 140 euros X 2 equals about US400. For Canadians the Brazilian visas are good for five years (because passports are only valid for five years), but not in their case. Theirs is ten. Bonus.
Lindsey and Paul told us that when they were checking in for the cruise in Savona they met a Russian couple from Florida who did not have the Brazilian visas. They were denied boarding and advised to take the first train to Milan, fly to Barcelona and find a hotel, taxi to the Brazilian consulate the next morning and see if the officials would expedite the visas, then transfer to the port and board the ship before it sailed at 5pm. Tremendous Travel Terror! They stood to lose everything. We later learned that twenty people in total (mostly Americans) were denied boarding because of the visa problem. Of the twenty, nine gave up in Savona and forfeited the cruise. Eleven did fly to Barcelona from Milan and they all went together to the Brazilian Consulate the next day. The queue outside the consulate was already huge by the time the doors opened so their chance of success was almost nil. Two more dropped out. After hours of dread and uncertainty and much later in the day the consulate decided to grant the visas. The remaining nine were able to make the ship in time for sailing. These folks paid the same for their visas, 140 euros, but they were only valid for 90 days. Imagine the collective sigh of relief when they set foot inside their cabins.
Third night at dinner the two empty chairs at our table were occupied by Tom and Tom. They are two wonderful guys from the Tampa area and wow, did they have a story to tell. They rented a car to drive three hours from their home to the Miami airport, cheaper than leaving their car in paid parking. They slowly moved through the queue and were asked for their passports at Air France check in. Well. Tom remembered he did not have his; he had left it in the photocopier at home. They knew there was no way they could make the flight so they rented another car and drove home, heartbroken and deflated because everything was lost, the cruise, the airfare, hotel and car expenses, everything. Then Tom realized they still had one chance – the Victoria’s first port of call was Barcelona and she would remain there until 5pm December 3rd. Tom searched for internet options and considered buying two new tickets on a routing that involved two changes, one in Warsaw, Poland, if you can imagine - about as far in the wrong direction in Europe as you can get. Then he called Delta and spoke with an agent who said, let me see what I can do. The agent was off the line for awhile and returned to say he had found a way to get them to Barcelona. It would involve only one transfer and Delta would only charge them a ‘change fee’ of $150.00 per ticket. YeeHaa! The Delta rep became the hero of the century. To make a long story short, they arrived in Barcelona and were at the port when the Victoria arrived - two of the happiest and most excited men on the planet.
December 4, 2010 the Victoria was abuzz with the news. Spanish air traffic controllers went on strike that day and shut down all of the airports (every single one!) in Spain for the entire day…
Horseshoes! Every one of those delayed people had horseshoes, that’s all we can say!
That’s it for now. Stay tuned, there’s more to follow – some if it may even be true.
Hugs from R and D adrift off coastal Brazil.
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