Machu Picchu

July 23rd, 2006.
We rose from our bed at 4:12 AM, three minutes before our alarm clocks were to sound. Neither Jojo or I could sleep any more, and we confirmed with groggy musings that neither of us slept well anyhow, there was just too much excitement. Our outfits for exploration and adventure had been chosen and laid out the night before, as well as our provisions packed and my backpack readied for the day. Within fifteen minutes we were ready and assembled. A few last minute changes and additions and subtractions from our gear and it was time to go.

I told you in my last post about the Peruvian couple we´d met at the train station in Ollantantambu, and my discussion of an alternative, and free, route into Machu Picchu. I´d arranged to meet them at 4:30 AM in the plaza, but both Jojo and I had misgivings about this clandestine entry method, and when we´d gone to sleep decided to wait until the morning came to decide. In fact I had decided to let fate decide. I thought the fates had decided when we left our room 5 minutes late for a prompt meeting time. Well they fates were fooling with me and lo and behold the couple was there waiting. We joined them and began our walk towards the park, down the road from Aguas Calientes, through the train station. The lady from Peru needed to buy her train ticket so we stopped at the station... it was closed. So we ran/walked up to the new station, back the wrong way. We waited. The Fates played cribbage with my patience. Finally she had her ticket and we were off.

We walked down the lit road by the river surging nosily next to us in darkness, towards the entrance and the bus station that takes less inclined, and more monetarily endowed, tourists up to the actual park. We didn´t know how far or how long it would take us to ascend up to Machu Picchu but we were determined not to pay the $6 for a bus. The sky began to lighten as we walked, and shortly after the bus station we no longer needed our flash lights. This increasing light in the valley and the sky above exposed to us for the first time our surroundings. Everyone has seen the pictures of Machu Picchu with jagged and steep clif-side mountains lacerating the misty clouds in the Andean jungle range, but unless you go there you will never really appreciate the drama and intensity of the valleys and peaks of this sacred setting.

The pre-dawn light began to suffuse the air with a subtle glow. The light color of the gravel road showed us our way, and up above us the stars grew dim as the sky lightened. And this lightening exposed the silhouettes of the peaks all around us. Like opening your eyes for the first time from a dream we understood for the first time where we were. In every direction jagged but round, like tusks or the incisors of a sabre tooth tiger, mountains rose. The valley parallel with our road but turning around corners of sheer cliff filled with a frothy and flowing rapid. Our necks began a craning that would last the day.

Eventually we found the bridge that crosses the river, and on the other side the split of road and trail. Our travel partners, already huffing after a walk on a road, and mostly downhill paused to prepare themselves for the ascent. Like we´ve said, traveling from sea level to Machu Picchu is difficult and testing. Traveling to Machu Picchu from La Paz is like going to the beach. A simple sign pointed our way, and from the very first step the trail was stairs.

Stone steps placed into hard clay soil and verdant foliage all around. The steps curled upward in a zig zag, uneven and rough, but steadily and constantly climbing. The pictures of Macchu Picchu floated in my vision - a city atop a ridge nestled between peaks. How high would we have to climb? All of a sudden the claims of one hour and forty five minutes seemed more plausible. But we were not concerned. I had our pack and two liters of water to keep me company, and as a group we began to ascend.

As we climbed higher so did the sun, but still a long way off from visible. The mountains all around shielded us from his rays (The sun is the father in Incan tradition), and the valley and Macchu Picchu would not see direct sunlight for a good time yet.

Which turned out to be a very good thing for our sunrise viewing opportunity. After a very short while we all stopped together to remove our outermost layer, and shed some heat from the climb. Jojo and I were in front by a few steps and quickly stowed our sweaters in the pack (more weight, but the excitement was like a balloon on my back) and were ready to resume climbing the stairway to heaven. Our Peruvian buddies needed a bit more of a break. They were both short of breath and dripping with exertion. We waited with them again, and soon were off again. But this time I noticed a drop in their pace and after ever 50 or so meters gain in altitude they needed to stop for breath.

Well, the fates were meddling again and this time I decided to make the decision for myself, and for my own experience, precious as it was to me. I continued on. Jojo by my side, and more often than not in front of me. We plodded on. Lento, Contento, Left, Right, breathe in, breathe out, lento, contento (slowly, contentedly). My mantra of breath and pace, I plodded up the switchbacks and stairs slowly and evenly, step by step. It is a long way up.

After about fifteen minutes of climbing this way we both knew the Peruvians were a long way back. Jojo didn´t feel right in just continuing on without telling them so she headed BACK DOWN and left me to lento and contento on my own. We had decided, after much consideration and the intervention of the fates that paying entry to such a monument showed the respect we think it deserves. I continued on, climbing the stairs and the sky lightened and the valleys opened up to vistas of intense beauty. The day had begun officially and correctly, and our destination lay ahead and above, our ascent a confirmation of our desires and loyalty to see them through.

Jojo passed me shortly thereafter and continued at a jog up the stairs. She is a marvel of strength and resolution, of beauty and delight. Watching her ascend ahead of me, disappearing into the brush at a trot, the sky coloring to pale pink, i lowered my head and continued my ascent secure in my emotions and excitement that this show of dedication and respect on our part would repay us in a day of incredibly discovery and delight.
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Like a wave surging up out of the deep as it approaches the shore, and then crashing with inevitable clamor on the beach I emerged from the trail onto the arrival platform and entrance to Machu Picchu. My head had been bent down as Lento and Contento kept me company and assured me that the view they provided was like the wrapping on a present. When at last I raised my head at the end of the trail my destination greeted me and I was giddy.

There are very few signs in South America, and the biggest and most visited tourist attraction is no exception (how can this be!!! thousands visit this park daily, and yet there is no ENTER or EXIT sign posted, no TICKETS, or Don´t Feed the Pigeons.. nada, just follow the crowd). We followed the crowd, what else could we do. After much uncertainty we confirmed that the line we were now standing in was indeed the ticket line. Our soon to be guide had told me the night before we could buy tickets at the entrance, so we felt a certain sense of relief when that hope was confirmed. Concurrently it was fortunate for us that I saved our last cash on the off chance that the Biggest Tourist Attraction in South America didn´t accept credit cards. Well, almost all of one´s preconceptions are challenged and destroyed in South America and this as well was no exception. We even got in for .50 Soles off because the TICKET OFFICE DOES NOT HAVE CHANGE. I kid you not. This place is crazy.

But. But... But we got our tickets. In hand, whew.

Our ¨guide¨ with whom I´d made arrangements the night before in a personal meeting approached. We were to meet him at 6:45 AM outside the entrance and as he approached I looked him in the face, said ¨Hola¨ and he walked right on past without a trace of recognition. Mystified I watched him enter a bit farther in and begin to call people over to him for ¨Marco´s Group!¨ I had thought (from our meeting the night before) we would be getting a private tour, but apparently I was wrong yet again. Nothing would diminish this day though so we decided to proceed with the tour anyway. Jojo made yet another good call at this moment. It seemed there were two tours, one in Spanish and one in English. She said she´d rater go with the Spanish tour guide. And so we did.

We ascended immediately to one of the highest points in the park and were told to wait there for everyone else. Well, it turns out it wasn´t just to wait for the group but to also wait for this view.

The sun had just crested the mountain across the valley and rays of sunlight were carving lines through the sky, and projecting a glow upon the ruins. This is pretty much the first view of the ruins you see, and it is incredible.

After a few minutes we gathered a bit father back and up on some terraces. I have to diverge for a moment here and explain a little bit about the terraces. The Incas, and pretty much all of the ancient - and some current civilizations, in this area (a very large area) were terrace crazy! They LOVED them. They built them everywhere. Everywhere, i mean it. Look out the window on the train, terraces. Look out the window of your hotel, terraces. It´s steep country here, but even where it i­sn´t, terraces! Agriculture was goin´ off here for thousands of years, and man, it was a good time for terraces. I guess there was a lot of stone just laying around and to be quarried as well, but I think they would clear the land of stones and just use it to build walls for terraces. They got all funky and technological with them too, using gravity fed watering systems and micro climatology to grow different crops on different terraces. These people were smart, creative, hard working, and worked together on everything. Too bad they were mostly killed off by bastard conquistadors, no?

Anyhow we were told to wait here, yet again, and took some more pictures, but being novel adventurers and anarchists of a sort we couldn´t just wait when there was so much to explore. In fact, Jojo spied some llamas (her favorite creature on earth.. I think i come in somewhere in the top ten) and took off to say hi and take pictures. I joined Jojo as it became clear the guide wanted us to sit on the ground around her to wait for the rest of the crew, and upon inspection I discovered that the ground was wet.

We returned shortly thereafter to begin the tour. It was educational and informative. If a bit authoritarian. But I enjoyed learning all that I could about the area and the history of it´s builders. We ascended to a point high up on the terraces on the mountain Machu Picchu, and learned about the construction of the stand alone buildings. The Inca´s use sloping walls, and trapezoidal windows and doorways, all narrowing towards the top. This construction technique has enabled their buildings to stand for hundreds of years in an incredibly active seismic area. Indeed the colonial buildings that have replaced or covered many of the Incan sites (or simply filled in the gaps) have fallen over repeatedly and the Incan buildings show only signs of weathering.

Our tour led around and across the site of Machu Picchu, past working quarries and stone fields to temples, terraces, complex solar calendars, ritualistic sites, and holy shrines. The shrines and calendars held my greatest interest next to the simple and constant awe inspired by the architecture and masonry. The Incas worshipped nature, and their most powerful representation was in a three part dynasty of gods; The Condor, representing the heavens and sky, The Puma, representing the land and realm of humans, and The Serpent, representing the underworld but not in a satanic or dark sense in any way. The Serpent represents wisdom and understanding. In another sense the Incas worshiped nature in general, and any aspect of nature that exhibited difference was respected and in some cases worshiped.

This respect extends to rock formations, geological formations, rivers, people, animals, and probably trees and plants as well. It is a very simple religion, and one of connection and cycles rather than differences (despite the respect for distinction, I can see how this would be confusing, but if you consider the inclusiveness of their worship it makes good sense).

We walked in a large group with the tour and eventually made our way to some very impressive temples with stones of incredible size and workmanship. It is hard to imagine the work and techniques they employed when standing there surrounded by tourists and cameras clicking away. We paused in one temple with three windows, and across from them three rocks of different size. Each window is aligned with a certain rock so that at different times of the year, at sunrise, each window casts a special shaft of light, and upon the rock a special shadow is in turn cast. It is a very delicate and simple method for understanding the year, and from all we know, empirically successful. The Incas were incredible agriculturalists and fed a large population equitably and successfully for many generations.

Next we came to a special rock with many strange protuberances and projections that was used at noon but for the same purpose as the windows described above. The most sacred temples at Machu Picchu were dedicated to these (mundane? only to us, with our modern systems that we rely on to a fault) systems of understand the calendar.

From there we progressed across the fields in the center of the site to the far end at the foot of Wainu Picchu, the tall pointy peak pictured on the far side of the ruins in the photo at the top of this blog. It is an incredible peak with a dangerous and steep trail to the top where there are more ruins and an incredible view. Our guide told us that we could climb it now, or wait until the end of the tour. Being hungry for more information and history we decided to wait. A mistake that will only be repaired at some unknown future return to Peru.

We continued circling back now towards our starting point going past an incredible wall that can only be described as a perfect blend between natural and man made. It is clearly of a different style and age, and predates the Incas. The stones are much more naturally shaped and of more varying size and to look upon this wall is to question all of your assumptions about the works of man.


Further on we passed through the main residential section of the site with many separate buildings with tall ends for peaked roofs. All of the wood and straw roofs are gone now, but the forms of the buildings echo their past, and the ghosts of the roofs were all I needed to call up visions of their ancient inhabitants. IN this area is a temple with two very low bowls in the floor made of stone. They look rather like ancient dog dishes, but in fact are water-mirrors used for reflecting the passages and positions of stars. A stone would be placed in the bowl at the position of a star as it rose, and another as it passed from view. In this way the Incas could track the positions of the stars and planets accurately and in a way much easier to understand than pointing to the sky.

Towards the end of our tour we visited the Temple of the Moon, and Temple of the Condor. Both located and built upon large natural boulders that had been carved only slightly, but accentuated in their form and importance. Our guide finished her spiel in a large room and insisted on taking our names down. This took forever and our impatience grew as the sun beat down and the minutes ticked by. Somehow we knew we had to get back to Waynu Picchu. Finally we were released and Jojo and I hurried back to the far end of the site.

We arrived at a line of about 15 people. We were the first from our group to arrive, and we began to wait patiently. Shortly an official came out an announced that we were nearing the daily limit of 400 hikers for the mountain. He proceeded to make a count of the people in line and lo and behold we were numbers 401 and 402. Dismay hit us like an intricately carved boulder, but we waited to see if the count might change. Other eager hikers arrived behind us, and a few, in incredible arrogance and with a rudeness unequaled in all our travels tried to cut in line right in front of us! We were in awe of their behavior but held back from forcibly pulling them out of the way by the simple fact that neither they nor us would likely enter... but... if the count were to change, justice would have been done.

Luckily and unluckily none of use were admitted and we had a good laugh at the expense of those rude cutters with some other hopefuls. So we left the waiting area (truly just a large clearing of rock and earth at the edge of an incredible cliff where the path was gated). Jojo and I decided it was time for a break and found a large boulder to mount and sit for a bit in the sun, basking in the incredible beauty of our surroundings.

The only real way to understand the beauty of this place, or any for that matter, is to go there. And I will add some more pictures to this blog as I can, but for now, just let your imagination go and if you ever get there, you will realize it is far more amazing, and bizarre than you could ever imagine. Jojo and I wandered through the ruins, retracing our earlier path and discovering other nooks and crannies. Mysterious caves, tiny rooms carved directly from living rock, and incredible systems of terraces, hydraulics, and architecture. We walked back across to where we started our tour and down a couple of levels to a terrace where we decided to stop for a while to nap, draw, and snack.


When I had finished my sketch (INCREDIBLY difficult to draw such an intricate and natural place, with such magnitude and majesty) and Jojo had napped sufficiently we gathered our belongings and ourselves and prepared to do an alternative hike to the other end of the site, to Portal Del Sol, up a long and continuously sloping trail traversing the mountain Machu Picchu. There are a couple of ruins along this trail including some gathered below a huge rock jutting up and out from the mountain side, much like Pride Rock in The Lion King. On our way up to Puerto Del Sol we passed by this incredible rock, eager to ascend to this high gate to the next valley.

At the top of the trail is a small ruin, that is a series of gates and perhaps a room or two that sit in a notch between two peaks, and is the entrance point for the Inca Trail to the ruins (or so we believe from the signs we saw). Looking back to Machu Picchu is an incredible open vista of the ruins and site, and the peaks beyond, and the river below. It was with a bit of surprise that we realized we were now higher than Waynu Picchu, the peak visible beyond the ruins! It is amazing the difference between a direct climb and a steady ascent. We sat and pondered this vista and the place we have been blessed to be able to visit.

It was with weary feet, grumbling stomachs, and a full day of delight that we began our descent back to the main part and ruins, and eventually, back to Aguas Calientes. As we descended and came upon the Giant protruding rock I described above a powerful desire, nay need, came upon me to get a bit closer and view the base of the rock and the ruins around. Jojo´s tired feet held her to the trail as I bounded at a run up the gentle steps through the small ruins. Immediately as I cleared the last step and looked up I was blessed with an incredible and sacred vision.

A Condor stood perching on a tree just twenty feet away from me as surprised at seeing me suddenly appear as I was at seeing her. She was an amazing site to behold. Powerful full body and profile, her neck curving down and up to a head the size of a baseball and a beak both powerful and graceful. Her tail feathers stood out in silhouette in a gap in the foliage of the tree. Her dark brown plumage disguised her form in the shadows beyond, but like seeing the sun blazing for the fist time in weeks (Portlanders, you know what I´m talking about here), or the moon rise above a distant horizon bright full and heavy she filled and shocked my vision.

I was in awe and my reactions were unschooled and perhaps uncouth. Instead of stopping and showing my respect I was drawn on, approaching like a child, curiosity dominating my mind. She looked at me, with her predators eyes, neck curving around, took my measure in full, turned and disappeared into the trees behind her, hopping down and out of site. I called ¨Jojo! A Condor! I just saw a Condor!¨ She came running up, but by that time the Condor was long gone.

I don´t wish that I´d behaved differently. I behaved out of instinct and awe, and in some way I know that was the most honest and wonder-filled reaction I could possibly have. Jojo declared immediately and correctly that I had been blessed by the spirits of the mountains and the sky, and I agree with her fully. I cannot think of any other way to have ended my experience at Machu Picchu better or with more reverence and appreciation for this place. As we descended further, through the ruins, out the gate, past the bus station, and down the long stair to the road this thought echoed in my mind and heart. A dream of seeing this most excellent example of human work and connection to nature had finally come to be, and in a way that I could never have imagined or hoped.

Indeed we did have a great day and as the descent stretched into the late afternoon hours we both rejoiced in our experience, culminating in a sweet and well deserved high five at the bottom of the stairs. We walked back up the road we had walked down that same morning, tired and hungry, and reentered the world of tourists. We ate dinner that night at Chez Maggie´s with an incredibly wonderful and welcoming host, and went to bed early, grateful and content. We had an early train the next morning, at 5:45 AM back down the valley to Cusco, and I am sure my dreams were quiet and peaceful.

Machu Picchu and the Sacred Valley

Machu Picchu
Originally uploaded by eliahusevenseven.

It´s not easy to sleep the night before any great event, and even harder when it´s an event you´ve been looking forward to for longer than you can remember. I´d like to add here that it gets even harder to sleep when you are in a strange bed with loud music thumping through the walls and a strange smell in your nose, but above all, the excitement of visiting Machu Picchu kept me up most of the night.

Jojo and I left Qusqo on saturday morning on a tour bus to the sacred valley. It was a slightly rocky start, with a false boarding of one bus and a quick shuttling to another, and then a false report of a second bus change that never happened. But off to the sacred valley we went, a bit against our original plans, but the fates were guiding us, and we accepted our tour bus fate.

It turned out better than we thought though. Our guide was very knowledgable, spoke very clear and slow spanish so I could understand. We sat in the front right next to the guide and he was accesible for my swarm of questions. We visited Pisaq first, a town and agricultural center atop a small ridge in a beautiful valley. Snow capped peaks lined the horizon. Jojo and I asked our guide if we could go off ahead and meet them at the next spot for explanation. He understood our desire and our advante: we´d been living at nearly 4,000 meters for 3 months straight, and playing futbol and capoeira, so the high altitude that affects most tourists was actually a low altitude that is a relief to us! We took off hiking at a ¨Debbie and Rolf¨ pace (you´ll have to read my earlier posts on hiking with my aunt and uncle Debbie and Rolf to fully understand this reference, but they both walk at one speed - fast) and explored the ruins in a combination of solo wonderment and well guided information.

Next stop was lunch where we had the customary free Pisco Sour and a beer in the sun of the sacred valley floor at a road side resturant. There was a donkey eating hay behind the building. After lunch we fell asleep in the sun pouring through the windows of our bus, and on the occasions I did open my eyes I found our guide joining us in this welcome siesta. We awoke to our next stop, Ollantantambo, another series of incredible terraces with temples on top.

The terraces are between rocky outcroppings, covered with cactus and moss, and a steep stair ascends to the top of the ridge where giant (3 by 4 by 1 meter thick) stones are perfectly aligned and arranged to make temples to the sun, moon, and nature (Pachamama). We returned to the bus with our group to get our bags and belongings, this was to be our last stop with them for from Ollantantambo we were to travel to Aguas Calientes by train.

Aguas Calientes is a small town growing as fast as it can be poured into forms and covered with
brick and stucco, at the foot of the park of Machu Picchu. If you are going to Machu Picchu, this is where you stay, eat, and hopefully relax in the thermal springs the town is so aptly named for. We waited in Ollantantambo for three hours for our train and enjoyed a nice dinner in the fading light of day of the ruins above. By the time we were to go meet our train we both had a nice buz from the local beer and good spirits in the valley. Jojo had the good intuition to call a hostel and make reservations in this meantime, and we emptied the contents of her digital camera´s memory card to a cd. While waiting in line for the train we met a Peruvian couple from Lima who are both artists, also traveling to Machu Picchu, in fact there is an incredible multitude of people from all over the globe, speaking every language immaginable at this station, and on the train, as well as a totally unnecessary crush of bodies in the scramble to and from the train.

The train ride was quiet and mellow, with the thickening dark outside, we were unable to stare in awe at the incredible contryside, and instead read in peace for the hour and a half to Aguas Calientes. I had acquired a book at a cafe we had breakfast at that day, The Dispossesed by Ursala LeGuin, a local Portland Sci-Fi author who is absolutly incredible, and read in fascination the entire way. We arrived in Aguas Calientes at 9:30 and found our way to the central square and our hostel just off the square. I was innitially dissastisfied with the room and price (50 Soles/night, about $17) and instead of settling in for the night, and a short one at that, set off to see if I couldn´t find a more suitable room for the next night. I was wrong on all accounts. Thank you Jojo for being such a wonderful and intuitive person. I love you.

I was out walking the night looking around and instead of finding a cheap perfect room found the Peruvian couple from earlier. They couldn´t find a room for less than $30 per night, and they were locals!! I walked with them to help them find a room, and in case they couldn´t to guide them to our hostel in hopes they would get a room there for less. Eventually they did find a room for 30 Soles, but no hot water. They walked with me to the square and we arranged to meet the next mornign at 5 AM to hike up the Machu Picchu together. I returned to our hostel to apologize and bestow Jojo with compliments. When I got there Jojo was still up and told me our hotel host was about to return to ask us if we wanted a guide for the next day. We decided to take him up on the offer and I went with the host to meet the guide outside.

I didn´t like the guide innitially and he added to our information slightly when I asked him how long it would take to hike to the park. We´d received various answers to this question and as usual in South America there are almost no signs, and very little willingness to tell you anymore than you absolutly have to know. Some of the answers to this question were ¨An hour and a half, no less¨, ¨An hour to an hour and forty five minutes¨, and from our guide ¨An hour and forty five mintues.¨ I explained how we´d been living in La Paz and this didn´t seem to faze him, but every time Jojo and I heard an answer like this we´d exchange looks with a raised eyebrow or two and confer silently that we could do it in one hour flat. I arranged to meet our guide at 6:45 AM outside the entrance the next morning, now only 7 hours and 45 minutes away.

Shortly thereafter the couple from Lima saw me and motioned me over covertly to a bench in the square. I joined them and they told me conspiratorily that they´d met another Peruvian who´d told them of an alternate route into the park that bypassed the entrance and therefore the fee! They insisted we meet at 4:30 am at the same bench and hike in this way... discomfort settled in along with confusion, strange but common bedfellows indeed. How would I meet the guide outside the entrance if we´d already sneaked in? Was this right to do? The admission is a pretty high $25 but doesn´t that money go to preserving and restoring the park? Or is it a jacked up number to fund the economy of Peru that is now in the hands of a former ruler that was once exiled! I returned to our room to sleep but by now I was confused as well as excited and sleep seemed unlikely and a long way off.

Once inside and in bed I told Jojo of my encounters and plans with the guide. We discussed in growing discomfort and confusion the ethical issues and excitment we now shared. Along with these substantial sleep inhibitors a loud thumping bass music seemed to be growing along the walls and ceilings of our room. A strange smell and an uncomfortable bed added to these factors and unable to come to a conclusion as to what to do tomorrow, tomorrow came and sleep slipped in and out of our night like a fly in a peaceful scene.

I decide that instead of deciding I would let fate take the reins and eventually drifted into and out of dreams of unknown peaks and clouds obscuring fantastic views...

Living in La Paz

La Paz is a city, unique and beautiful and full of suprises. This week Jojo and I moved out of our apartment and into Ceprosi´s community center. This move was insipired by many factors including money, security, convienience, and location. This is the same building where our capoeira classes are, where we gather to watch the World Cup, and where we end up some nights to play games and enjoy the local brew Pacena.

We have a room up on the roof patio with fiberglass ceiling that admits the strong morning light and windows all around. It is cold up there at night, but where isn´t it cold at night in La Paz? Now where. That´s where.

I opened the door this morning onto the patio saying as I did so ¨I love our room because when you leave, you are on a roof.¨ This is true. I have always wanted to live on a roof terrace and now that dream has come true! The morning light is strong and bright. The sky a pure even clear blue, and the tile or metal rooftops shine brightly, contrasting against the blue of thin and clear atmosphere.

In the distance the hill that surrounds La Paz, really the inside of a crater, is clustered with adobe or painted stucco cubes and rectangles. The dominant color is the pale brown adobe, the same color as the clay and stone rich soil from which these houses are hewed.

There is a small bathroom and an outdoor sink which gushes forth icy cold water with aplomb. I wetted my hair this morning under the glacial stream and shook out my lengthing curls like the shaggy dog i´ve become. The sun sparkled off the droplets as I experienced the sting of morning awakening and a ritual i´ve come to use as the mark to begin my day.

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Jojo and I walked out the front door of Ceprosi and down the hill to the right. Everything in La Paz is either up or down. It´s like a cartesian coordinate system tilted on it´s side and wrapped around a wash basin. There´s the centro, down in the drain, and all around, up from there, or out the pipe and south towards the ritzy neighborhood of Zona Sur. We walked down down down five blocks to the Prado, which runds north south, and up to the north through the centro. A small cafe embreced our breakfast desires on the sunny western side of the Prado, with large windows and a subsequent warmth that toasted the day´s opportunities.

Unfortunately not all opportunites are without their challenges. After breakfast we discovered that the process of moving out of our apartment has been delayed yet another day. This saga begins last week when we hired Don Hugo to paint the walls of our house. This is a tradition here and makes sense. Since all the buildings are made of concrete, brick, and sutcco paint is a standard solution to the starkness of buildings interiors. It is almost universally applied here and the colors are based on a simple scheme. An off white or cream color for walls, with white on ceilings and most wood trim or doors.

Don Hugo did most of the painting last week, but needed to come back to do some touch up... I´ll not bore you with all the details of how his NOT showing up when he said he would, or at all, has delayed our hand over of the keys to our Landlady (Dueña) but suffice to say, it is now Thursday and we were supposed to be out of there Monday. But don´t worry my friends and family, Don Hugo´s misbehaviour will not go unpunished. He will not be paid for his work, and we will be reimbursed for our exteneded and unwanted stay. Ahh, retribution is sweet when flavored with justice.

So the ups and downs of living in La Paz expound and expand. My feet feel the street and the nibble of cold. My lungs heave and breathe, the ups increase their pace and downs sooth their constant desire for more of this thin Andean air. Do you feel my roller coaster ride through the days and nights of living abroad? I wonder, do the ups and downs of La Paz make their way through the internet and my bouncy words to your own lungs and legs?

These waves and rythems of life and land, the days and nights, the passing of time-now growing short as our return grows immenent on the horizon. Up and down, my desire for home, my grwoing feeling of loss when I leave, these oscilations of emotion, of body, of time and place begin to form in my mind a picture of this trip. What does it mean to live in another place, another culture, or another time? There are lessons learned that are different and unknowable from the lessons at home. Lessons that are valuable and transmittable, and lessons that will forever be accesible only by living in La Paz.

Tiwanaku

DSC_2417-m.jpg
Originally uploaded by The MediaMentor.

Jojo and I visited Tiwanaku less than a week before my camera was stolen. I got some amazing shots and reveled in them afterwards. Well, since I do not have those photos currently, I have found a plethora of great photos online. This is a photo of the Puerto Del Sol, through which the locals recently celebrated the new year, on the Solistice. If you click on this photo it will take you to his online gallery, and you can see some more photos of this supurb site.

Tiwanaku is an ancient city and gathering/worshiping center. It is nearby to Lake Titicaca, and was the center of a great civilization. There are many sites in the area, and some have truly monumental stones, statues, and monoliths, all carved with amazing detail using technology we would consider impossible for an undertaking of this magnitude.

I plan on writing more about Tiwanaku but will do so at a later date when i can focus better on the profound effect it had on me.

Bolivian Nights

La Paz por la noche
Originally uploaded by goitaca.

It is winter in Bolivia and the sun shines brightly every day. Every night as the sun drops behind the rim of the giant crater, cold falls upon La Paz. As the light of sunset fades the air is already crisping with a cold dry ferocity that saps the heat from even the hardiest Pacenan. The air is clean and pure, frozen from the mountains, and swept off of empty plains. It is winter here.

As the sun rises over the crater rim every morning, the cold begins to lift. Reluctantly at first, and then in a rush. Tendrils of cold creep into corners, and seek out shadows, even finding some shadows deep enough that even this high Andean sun cannot penetrate. This cold lurks in it´s stillnes, reaching out to chill your leg should you pass too close.

The buildings and landscape merge into one another here, all of the same hard material - the very earth from which La Paz is carved, is bundled, mixed, baked and poured back into itself, and up into crusteacous caveties. Every building is concrete and brick. These hard and dense materials emblematically and directly display this very same cycle, day into night, heat into cold.

The walls floors and ceilings soak up the sun craving the heat and eventually fading into pastels of their former selves. But this fleeting heat fades even faster than the light reflecting off the opposite crater wall. Pause too long against a wall, or sit even briefly on a shaded concrete ledge or bench and the bite of the night nips all too closely.

Our apartment hides in the shade of adjacencies, orients itself somehow always out of direct sunlight, and therefore is always cold. Even in the middle of the day, under the direct and close sun. We are moving out of the apartemnt this weekend for a variety of reasons, and this hot topic is a very important reason.

Have you ever slept in a sweater and hat? Inside? I imagine you have, as most of us at one point or another in our lives experience a cold night´s sleep. For us this has become a routine, and not one that we dislike. There is coziness and care in the embrace of a warm hat, or a soft sweater. Bundled under blankets of fleece, and horizontal on a thin mattress we find slumber deep and dark, just like these Bolivian Nights.

How far is far?

If I called you on the phone, our voices would mingle like seaweed in the tide. If I tried to reach out and give you a hug, I would be grasping only thin air. This distance from home I am speaking so metaphorically about is walloping me over the head at the moment as I reel in surprise at how far I have actually come. And Gone. A recent loss, due to theft of my portable electronics gear (worry not! I will not go into detail now, but I am hopeful and believe that some closure and perhaps return of said goods is near) has forced me to relocate my self existentially within this space I am occupying here in a foreign land. I am overcomplicating this language as a ploy, to show you how confused I am, and how confusing it can be, to be somewhere alien. You see I was here in La Paz for months, but not entirely. Wherever we go, we bring with us screens, shields, and protections from home. We protect ourselves from the unknown with devices employed unknowingly for that purpose. Yes we open ourselves, for that´s the point of travel, to experience something new, but we hardly ever open ourselves beyond a certain point. Some level of personal protection is vital to the stability of self and of self-image, and some people do willingly go beyond that point, but this is not about those rarities. I am of course speaking from one very limited perspective, my own, but I believe I have encountered something true from this latest experience. I had brought my computer with me, and in so doing brought with me all of the music I cared to bring, photos, videos, and the capacity to view movies. I brought my own entertainment, and not until this device was forcibly taken from me (from my house, for I was not there) did I realize that I had been concealing from myself a portion of Bolivia. I provided my own, and lost opportunity to allow Bolivia to provide for me. Perhaps this is obvious to you, but I think it may only be obvious to me now. I did not consider my computer to be a tool for blocking or preventing, but one for enabling. I was wrong. Now when I wake up and the silence of my room echoes with the birdcall of the court, I cannot turn on my favorite song. Nor when I come home at night can I fill the evening with the laughter of a favorite movie. I have been forced to confront and experience to only options available. And that is culture.

March 24th - 25th 2006, Qhuhui, Chile

We awoke in Quemchi and motored out of our anchorage to set sail East under a light wind. The sun was shining and we were heading for a small island with a bay in the middle and a tight opening like the neck of the bottle. We sailed between islands and openings into the large body of water which is the gulf between Isla Chiloe and the main land of Chile. The wind wouldn’t make up it’s mind weather to blow just hard enough to sail, or just too soft to sail. But eventually we cleared a peninsula to our south and the wind leaped into life and we sailed a beat, strong and steady, beautiful and smooth on an even sea.

Islands jump out of that pure blue sea into a fresh and lively air. Covered in dark green foliage of forests and shrub, and clearings dotting the land clearly marking settlements, with pastoral beauty and imagined lives. Growing up on a farm with the ocean at your doorstep, a horse as your best friend and your only neighbor across the water on the next island over. We enjoyed tea and coffee with fresh baked cake Deborah made with an expertise gained by baking for years at sea. The sun moved across the sky as we tacked south east to south west. Sea birds took flight at our approach, running across the water as they flapped their wings in a long and ripple strewn take off. All I could think of was the Windego, as their ripple inducing footsteps lengthened and separated until with an almighty winged effort they took to the sky, avoiding any contact with our innocent aims.

We approached Quehui from the north, and made oru last tack turning east parlell with another island, to sail into the bay that is formed by the small island. Check out the blowup to the right, you can see the small bay with the bottleneck, and the island mass to the east. Now, this chart is not entirely accurate and we discovered that neither the charts nor the seamap program on Deborah and Rolf’s computer were truly accurate. Isla Quehui’s bay extends almost all the way to eastern side of the island with a low and narrow ridge tying the northern and southern ridges together. These north and south ridges (running east-west) are high and steep, and fully covered in plant life. As we sailed into the neck of the bay the town appeared on the northern shore, and an ancient wooden church dominates the skyline rising beautifully above the smaller homes and shops.
As we came around the peninsula (and we had to give it wide berth due to shoals and sea weed) we made our tack to the south, heading down towards the western end of Isla Quehui, and the bottleneck opening to our anchorage. The sea was a strong blue, and the wind on our nose, but Northern Light holds a strong vector and we were all comfortable and enjoying the serene views offered by the landscape and sea life all around.

We lowered the sails and started the motor as we came through the neck and curved around to the north to our anchorage just off the shore of the town of Quehui, from which vantage point I took the photo at the beginning of this post and this photo. I’ve no experience with which to compare the feeling of arriving at a place you can only reach by boat, except perhaps for arriving somewhere by foot after a long hike. The feeling of isolation and exploration, of newness and possibility are intense and very gratifying. The small town lay before us, her shore exposed, and hidden mysteries just out of view behind hills and treetops. We secured Northern Light, and relaxed aboard ship all evening, enjoying dinner and desert, with tea before bed. We slept that night in the calm of the harbor, after a full day of sailing, and on full stomachs.The next morning the fog rolled back from the sea and we were greeted by an amazing view of placid life and calm waters. We had a later and longer breakfast of pancakes bacon and jams, and afterwards inflated the dingy, and headed ashore with a shopping list and our hiking shoes on to stretch our legs after a relaxing morning.

Once on shore we secured the dingy and walked into town. I looked back at what had brought us to this amazing and rare place and took the photo below.

You can see the far end of the bay where a narrow strip of land connects the south (more shown here) ridge to the north, and Northern Light, our portal to new and different worlds, sits peacefully in the arms of Quehui. We walked east along the bay side of the northern ridge, across a rickety wooden bridge, past farms and farmhouses, along a dirt road.

We walked to the far end of the island where the bay dries into salt marsh and cows swim across the shallows in open peaceful herds. Slipping through a barb wire fence we came to a meadow just above the marsh, and on the other side a beach looking out into the expanse of the gulf, and across the gulf mountains twinkled in the light, blued by distance.

On our walk back to the dingy and the stores where we would buy a whole chicken for dinner the sky began telling us a tale begun in the arctic, where 70 knot winds were swirling through drake passage and penguins darting for fish. It was a tale of ice and air, pressure and the tides, of seasons and change. The sun shining and moving steadily like an iceberg through those great southern waters became obscured by clouds and the tale evolved into a threat of weather and unknown, and as the tale reached it’s climax the sun was obscured by a great building cloud and the sky told us this tale of ice in the sky.

Jojo ran ahead and got in a much needed jog as Deborah, Rolf, and myself walked back to the town and a whole local chicken we intended to purchase for dinner. When we got there the local bird was gone but a frozen one had take it’s place. Oh well, we decided, and took the bird and some other provisions and rowed back to Northern Light for dinner, desert, and our now customary cup of tea before bed. Always sleepytime. The town was peaceful and quiet, the boat gently rocking in the tidal swell, and we were lured off to sleep in dreams of nature, isolation, and the freedom of living off the land, in a place such as Quehui.

March 23rd, 2006, We Awake to the Sea

I don’t know if the sun was up yet when we were awoken by Deborah in her soft, high, peaceful voice. “We’ve got to start the motor, so why don’t you move to the main cabin” she told us, and as we were on her boat, it was not a question, and not a command, but to be performed without question. It was clear already to us that what they requested of us was for our good, and they certainly always new best. We grabbed our blankets and pillows out of courtesy to them, to go back to sleep on top of their bedding, for they had already given us their bed, and we did not want to take any more.

It became clear to us later, and I’m not too sure how much later, that the wind had picked up and shifted, making our anchorage unsafe. I was giddy laying there with Jojo, our adventure underway, it seemed like something new and exciting lay around every contour, or wave, or night’s sleep. I do think I fell back asleep giggling and grinning, because I remember waking up to a sudden change and Deborah’s face… the absence motor noise must have noticeable even to my dormant body, because as soon as my eyes were open I knew what was happening. We were under way, and under sail.

Jojo and I pulled on our foul weather gear.
I must pause here for a HUGE thank you to Charlie Adams, Jojo’s father, and an extremely knowledgeable outdoors man. It was at his urging and advice that both Jojo and I purchased our own foul weather gear (which means high rubber boots, warm socks that stay warm when wet, durable waterproof bibs, and jacket. We both also brought good sunglasses and strings to keep them on, warm wool hats (although Jojo acquired another one from Yoyo in Santiago.. another story already told), and our warmest gear. Charlie not only did research himself but contacted friends and other knowledgeable individuals to consult, and thankfully we followed his advice.

So Jojo and I now bedecked in our bright red (and a yellow jacket for me) gear we made our way on deck for our first true glimpse of sailing. The wind was at our back and the sky was as grey as the sea. White tips blew off in strings of mist and flattened ripples. The learning began in earnest, and this is what I learned today: A sailboat is not pushed like a kite, or blown like a leaf. It is controlled like a wing, and if understood and known and loved, like the wing of a great raptor, streamlined and precise. But when the wind is at your back you fill your sails like the first breath of autumn in your lungs, and unleash the hull to it’s most willing desire, that of surging and pushing, lunging and slicing through the backs of waves that crash, rolling behind.

Of course all of this is dependant of the wind. At the right wind speed (and direction as this was solely a downwind experience) the sails are as full as they can be and unfurled all the way to achieve maximum speed. We were flying “wing and wing” with the main sail and boom pushed all the way out to one side, perpendicular to the boat and direction of travel, and the genoa pushed all the way out to the other side with the fly boom. Now this is some tricky sailing. The fly boom is a tubular piece of steel that attaches to a sliding hook on the front of the main mast. Using the boom gets the bottom point of the front sail way out to the side to catch as much wind as possible, however it also makes for very difficult jibing because the lines and the boom all have to be switched.

Later that day we hoisted the gennaker, a sail that is large and light, most like a kite, in place of the genoa. It’s full (and nearly symmetrical) shape, and it’s bright yellow color warmed us as we were pelted by rain and wind. The gennaker is the foremost sail and attaches to the front mast at the top.

The wind was blowing 20 knots and we made excellent time the whole day. But sailing is a lot of work, it’s draining at times and requires full concentration in daunting conditions. So we made sure to enjoy tea and coffee, with treats occasionally, and by the time we made it to our anchorage the weather had calmed, and the skies cleared.

We anchored in Quemchi, a small port and village in a protected bay on Isla Chiloe, the largest and main Island of the Gulfo Ancud. Again we were neighbors to a fish farm, but this one was serviced by a fish processing center, which seemed to be a significant part of the industry. Nearby was a dock that serviced this center, and the farm. Jojo and I decided it was time for our first adventure from the boat. Rolf showed me how to pump up the dingy, and the proper way to tie her up, and position our bodies for optimal rowing and safety. Once inflated Jojo and climbed in with our backpacks and set off, I rowing, and she sitting in the stern giving bearings and headings.

We made it to the dock after a fair amount of wandering and swerving, thanks to my inexpert rowing, tied her up, and set off towards town. As soon as we had exited the driveway of the processing center Jojo set off on a jog, and moments later a pickup truck can speeding along, and stopped next to me. A man from the Armada (the Chilean maritime authority) got out and began to question me in Spanish. Since I do not speak Spanish fast or fluently, it was very difficult to understand, but I got his meaning. Whomever the captain of the sailing boat we had just arrived from had better radio the Armada and report. Aye aye. Yo no soy capitan, soy marinero.

I continued walking in on the curving, hilly road typical of the Chiloean coast, and had many excellent vistas including this on of Northern Light, anchored below. The town and outlying buildings were diverse and interesting. A cobbled mixture of new and old, shanty, shack, and familiar. Some truly beautiful and interesting examples of working with what you have, and paying for what is standard. The contrast was blurry though, perhaps due to the slow, steady, pace of life that everyone there shares. This house had a beauty all it’s own;
and that beauty was accented by it’s conspicuous lack of a satellite tv dish, which was so very common throughout the area, regardless of apparent wealth. Another point of beauty, and sadness were the many and obviously loved shrines to deceased family members on the side of the road. Seeming casualties of the high speeds and blind curves exhibited even during our short stay in Quemchi.

We walked into town together after Jojo finished her run. Quemchi is a quiet town, with a small dock and a terraced plaza in the center. Across the water to the island that bisects the bay sits an old run down mansion with tall tapered deciduous trees on either side creating an image of symmetry and order. We imagined the colonial lord overlooking the town of locals, kicked out many years ago, his manor abandoned to the native elements, and the wear of the sea and ages.

We walked back to the boat with a few goods we purchased in town. Rowing back was easier but I almost capsized us getting in. That night we cooked dinner on board and relaxed afterwards with tea in the quiet comfort of Northern Light. Jojo and I were feeling much better by then as well, and I felt normal and slept well that night. Our first day of sailing had been excellent, with high winds and a fast passage, with more on the horizon.

Check out this short but growing list of sailing terms to help you out

March 22nd, First Day Sailing

My fond friends family, and fans, I have been finding it very difficult to write about my experience sailing. This is not because it was a difficult experience, quite the contrary, it was an amazing and uplifting experience that I want desperately to put into words and share with you. However, because it was such an amazing time it is very difficult to contain in words. But I will do my best. I think I’ll use a form to make it easier. At the beginning of every day’s post I’ll write the basic facts, and below I will expound on my thoughts and discoveries of that day, and anything else I can think of that I want to include.

The sun was already shining when we woke up in the aft cabin. It was time to go. We used the fancy facilities of the Marina one last time and prepared to untie. The process of uniting is not difficult, but this event set a good example for how Jojo and I were to learn, participate, assist, and stay out of the way during our time on Northern Light. On a boat, there is a very clear chain of command, and the Captain of this boat is Rolf Bejalky, and he is a very experienced and capable captain. With the engine on we pulled away from our berth in a single turn, and my astonishment began. Northern Light can turn in a tight arc, much tighter than I expected.

We moved slowly out of the docks, past myriad other sailing vessels, all tied up, and a feeling within me grew, of embarkation, of adventure, and of the unknown. Those shackled vessels a metaphor of the release going on inside me, and the constraints that were dropping from my corporeal form like leaves from the trees greeting fall, on the shore slipping by.

It was a short trip to the fueling station where we docked and tied up again (but temporarily) next to much larger and bulkier (and less elegant) fishing and industrial vessels. The diesel came quickly through the industrial strength hose and pump. Jojo paid and at last we were free! We untied and continued west under motor through the channel from Puerto Montt, and out….

The sun was bounding off small waves in the open bay we entered, but it seemed big to me (and upon our return, small and insignificant). There was no wind to speak of, so we continued to motor. Under this Iron Sail we continued all day in the sun, with clouds sailing past, and lessons, leisure, and laughing accompanying us the whole way. The first lesson was in coiling the lines we had used to tie up. Cheaper nylon lines with loops at one end and steel eye holes at the other. Rolf showed us how to feel the natural bend to the line, so that we could coil it the right way, and to leave enough at the end to loop around and through the coil so that the lines could be stowed on their hooks below deck in the f’o’c’stl (pronounced folk-sill, but short for fore castle [as we were learning all nautical terms have old and sometimes obscure roots]). We stowed the bumpers and lines and sat together in the cockpit.

Pictured here with Jojo at the wheel, the cockpit is the main gathering and sitting space above deck. We enjoyed tea a cake here almost every afternoon (and by tea I mean coffee for Jojo, Deborah, and Rolf, and then Jojo and Rolf again a few more times every day).

We didn’t sail too far that day, and since we we’re sailing the iron sail, we found a spot to anchor between two islands just off shore from a futbol pitch, and across the channel from a fish farm. Fish farms…. this is a relatively new industry in Chile, and has had some fairly dramatic effects, on the local economy, on the availability of fresh fish, and on the navigability of the channels. Fish farms are a big inconvenience for cruising (which is the term describing the kind of sailing we were doing) as well, because the farms operate best when anchored in about 10 meters of water, the same depth that is best for boats to anchor it. More on this later, and if I let Rolf have the keys here, you would be reading a very will argued and worded rant against the whole damn industry.

It was a beautiful anchorage, with a couple of fishing boats anchored nearby, and some truly beautiful birds of prey flying by, fishing, and perching on shore. We ate dinner and watched the sun go down, and prepared ourselves for our first night’s sleep out, in the relative peace of the anchorage we had chosen.

We both fell asleep quickly, to the quiet and tranquil rocking of the boat. Neither of us had experienced any seasickness, and the first day was as enjoyable as I could have hoped.

March 21st, 2006, Puerto Montt, Chile

Waking un on Northern Light became a ritual quickly. Almost every morning Deborah (sometimes Rolf) would partially remove the foam oval that filled the oval doorway into the pantry that leads to the aft cabin. "Time to get up" she would say in her soft, high voice, and almost invariably I would already be awake, laying there with my thoughts, reflecting, relaxing, and considering the still sleeping form of Jojo next to me. Deborah's calling voice would wake Jojo up or I would give her a little help, and we would lay in bed for a few minutes cuddling, because there was nothing pressing or imminent. Not rush of time or schedule, just relaxation and awakening to breakfast.

Jojo and I would dress to the sounds of Deborah and Rolf on the other side of the foam door as they went about their morning ritual, a slight deviation from the normal with us on board, of checking the weather, the boat, the anchor, disassembling their bed and reassembling it into the dining area, and cooking pooridge for breakfast. Deborah almost always did the breadfast cooking and we ate poridge with them almost every morning. It was oatmeal really, with rasins cooked in so they softened and were warm in your mouth and sweet. Dried milk and soymilk for Jojo and I, with other dry cereals to go on top. I am not the kind of person who eats the same thing every day, but doing so on board was easy. And enjoyable.

After breakfast that first day and a half Deborah and Rolf did all the dishes too (lunch and dinner in fact!) and told us that while we were getting settled they would take care of us. This first mornign on board I had very little poridge and no mild and no additives because I was feeling kinda funky. I felt better that morning, and so did Jojo, so we all got ready and took the bus to Jumbo which is true to it's name and is a gigantic super market much like Fred Meyer's in Portland, or Super K-Mart the world over. As soon as we got there I became quite sick again and spent the time between sitting on stools at various counters in the store and running to the bano. It took quite some time to purchase and pay for all of our supplies, and three hours later we all piled into two taxis and returned to the marina where we wheelbarrowed our goods down to Northern LIght.

At this point Deborah and Rolf decided that it would be best to treat whatever bug/problem Jojo and I had with a remedy I had never heard of but will now swear by - Activated Charcoal in a liquid form. It comes in a squeeze bottle like liquid soap, and you take it by the mouth in spoonfulls. It actually has a kind of pleasant taste, is totally black and makes your mouth look like a black hole. I took three table spoons and Jojo two. This was the beginning of our 60/40 split that would mark the provisioning and doling of resources on the boat. Deborah and Rolf practice this and I will be forever grateful for my "boy's sized" pieces of cake.

The charcoal seemed to work and I began to hold liquids again, and my dehydration ended. Disaster was averted, and our departure was assured. I really don't remember much more of this day becuase I think I was simply so relieved to be feeling better, I am not sure if we ever ate dinner! But I do remember taking a long hot shower, and that first shower, at the end of an illenss is always a transformative experience. We fell asleep that night with the excitement of adventure and the unknown. A crecendo of dreams and wonder silently ringing in my head, what would we see? Where would we sail? What would happen to Jojo and me when faced with that isolation only undisturbed nature can provide? What wonders would occure and how would we be different in the end? All these questions peppered my dreams and in the middle of the night I awoke to the rocking of the boat, and the chirping of the rigging against the masts of all the boats in the harbor. I was a free man, free of the land, and free of myself. Ready to reinvent to whatever situation would arise, or whatever need I could devise. The excitement, I realized, reminded me of one thing; the first day of college. Embarking on a new adventure, a first for my life.

click here to be taken to the next day

March 20th, 2006, Puerto Montt, Chile

Waking up on a bus is a terrifying experience because you are NEVER in the same place you went to sleep in and that feeling of discontinuity is enormous. However as hardened travelers we had become accustomed to such displacement. When i awoke and saw a sign outside my window that said quite plainly "Welcome to Puerto Montt" I felt a bit harried as a began to rouse Jojo and gather my things. Indeed it was a short while later we pulled up in our last stop on that route, the terminal we had been awaiting for days.

We exited the bus, refreshed ourselves as best we could in the terminal bano and proceeded to inquire how to catch a local bus to Marina Del Sur. Deborah had given me instructions and they turned out to be very accurate and precise. "Catch a bus to the Stadium, across the street from the terminal" we did. We were let off at the stadium and it was only a hundred foot walk to the entrance to Marina Del Sur.

We had finally arrived and both of us felt the excitement and eagerness to begin this most unknown, and to me, anticipated, part of our adventure. The air was cool and clear, heavy with the moisture from the sea and soft fuzzy clouds lingering on land. Smells from the ocean we hadn't enjoyed since Oregon permeated our bodies, and clothes. As we walked down the sloping gravel road into the marina a large raptor glided silently directly over our heads, running the ridge and the warming morning terrestrial air. An omen of good fortune and cerebral awakening. We arrived at the gate house, and passed into the marina.

Northern Light sate abeam to the entry as we walked down towards the marina office. Her red paint gleaming in the morning sun. With each step the excitement and curiosity grew in my chest, filling me with anticipation, with questions, with wonder. What would it be like on the boat? How would I handle sailing? How would it be with Deborah and Rolf, my most distant and possibly least well know family members, but for whom I knew I shared many ideas, thoughts, and dreams. What would we see? Would Jojo be able to handle the confines and the sea? It was all about to be answered and I felt like a kid on his first day of school, all unknowns, and all excitement.

As we creaked and clunked our way down the long ramp attached to the floating docks Northern Light came into greater focus, her web of rigging, her masts and deck by far the most complex and intricate in the marina. She looked wider and more robust in proportion to the boats around her, including the immense and beautiful 100 foot plus yacht across the dock from her berth. We got to the bottom of the ramp and turned right towards N.L. and as we approached Rolf appeared on deck. I didn't feel like yelling out "Hallooo!" from a distance was right for that beautiful morning stillness and peacefulness, so we waited and approached. Rolf stepped over the railing on the boat and onto the dock and turned to face us. We were within greeting distance - and with the patience pulling tight over the bubble of anticipation that had been building ever since I clicked the mouse in Portland to purchase the plane tickets to Bolivia - I said "Hello Rolf."

With those simple words a cascade of events and emotions began. "Oh hello! Yes, great!" Rolf replied back. He was instantly thinking as soon as he saw us. The greeting and planning all at once. We would find out later that it could take us two days to clear the red tape and begin sailing, and Rolf's mind is that of a true sea Captain, and with our arrival, early in the morning, the process could begin. Rolf welcomed us aboard with hugs and thoughts of logistics and planning, process and delight. He welcomed us into his home, his livelihood, his life and his dream. Northern Light is all of that and more to both Deborah and Rolf. It is the escape hatch with which they have created a life of their own design, outside the fervor and insanity of what most people consider civilization. They are nomads and hermits, messengers and prophets. They live a lifestyle different from anyone else in the world, and they have learned more about living through their alternative mode of living than it is possible to learn with your senses continuously assaulted by the life most people live. The life we call civilized.

Deborah appeared in the cupola (the clear dome at the top of the ladder to below decks) her wild curly hair filling the dome, and setting off her face which was smiling in surprise, and mirroring the same excitement and anticipation felt by Jojo and myself. Deborah came out onto the deck and greeted us with enthusiasm bereft of embarrassment that so many people feel about expressing their emotions. Deborah is an amazing and wonderfully loving person. She is unique in her perspective(s) and as many other ways as I could think. She is my mother's sister, and is bursting with excitement and passion. She is six feet tall, strong, and sure of herself, and has followed her dreams as much as anyone could ever hope to.

We were greeted as family, and as friends. A combination that would prove to be true over the next three weeks, and I am sure, for as long as we all live. Deborah and Rolf helped Jojo and I bring our gear below, and into the aft cabin where we would be sleeping. This is usually where Deborah and Rolf sleep but due to the realities of boat life they had decided to sleep in the main cabin where the sea berths go during their sailing, and where the dining table is during the day. This was a logistical choice as they are constantly on watch for the conditions of the boat and the weather, and need to be able to get to the controls and nav. desk quickly. It was also a very hospitable choice, and Jojo and I were very comfortable for the entire time on board, tucked away into the aft cabin, on the most comfortable bed (perhaps aside from our one night of luxury) I've enjoyed in South America. Thank you again to the hosts on Northern Light.

Once we were settled and changed the four of us walked the two miles into Puerto Montt's center to visit the Armada, which is what Chile calls their maritime authority. It is managed, like much of Chile, by the government. I'll leave it up to you to decide why this is, but I think it is a holdover from the past military government of Pinoche. Rolf was expecting to submit our paperwork and then have to wait a day or two until it was approved. To our mutual delight this was not the case and after about 45 miuntes we had our zarpa, which is an official document charting and allowing our passage in specific waters in Chile. Jojo's and my names were added to the crew list and just like that we were free to go.

But before we could depart we had to stock up on our supplies, for the three weeks we were allotting ourselves. We bought some barley flower from a wholesaler, ate lunch, and decided to spend the next day at Jumbo, a mega-super-market in town. We began our walk back to the boat, but decided to stop into in internet cafe for information, and coffee. I felt a pain in my abdomen. I rushed to the bano and began 3 days of sickness of the gastrointestinal type, common to travelers in foreign countries. I will not go into detail on this, but for the next three days I was not myself. I was forced to linger near banos and became fairly dehydrated. It appeared that this portion of our trip was to begin with similar challenges as our bus portion (remember that traffic jam that nearly made us miss our bus way back in La Paz? I still do.) Jojo was feeling the same way, but her symptoms had begun the day before. Perhaps we were contaminated at the same time, and her metabolism is just that much faster, but I think we'll never know.

We made it back to the boat no problem, and relaxed, settled in, and ate dinner. The Marina office building is very well equipped with excellent hot showers, clean facilities, and wireless internet. I can't say I slept all that well that night, because I had to run up the dock and ramp to the bano a couple of times, but at least we were there, and I as as happy and excited as a sick boy can be. And in reality, waking up and walking out on the dock in that still night air all alone gave me a glimpse of the peace and beauty I would be experiencing over the weeks of sailing that were now here.

I think you, my friends and family, will realize over the next three weeks of passages, that the life Deborah and Rolf have made for themselves is different, less comfortable (to the mind of a land dweller), and more challenging. It is also more honest, more real, and more beautiful than any life you can live in the 'civilized world.' Of course nothing I am saying here is new. It's been written and re-written over and over by great thinkers, and far far better writers than I. But this is my experience of a glimpse of a life far more true, and far more beautiful, than most people even dream.

Puerto Montt and a successful rendesvous

Jojo and i got off the bus in Puerto Montt this morning at 7.15 am, hazy from lack of sleep and a night spent on a bus. The ride was not bad, but we didn't have much time to prepare ourselves to arrive as we both were fast asleep when we arrived in town. But we made it off and gathered our things and our wits and began to figure out where to go next. Deborah (my aunt) had emailed me instructions for finding the marina del sur where Northern Light is anchored.

I followed her directions to catch a bus (Not a collectivo, for they can harbor fleas!) on the street heading west. We found a bus and got on. The winding roads of Puerto Montt mark this as a costal town as surely as the smell of the ocean, a robust fishing industry, and seagulls, but indications of a foreign land are just as prominent. Condors sail overhead and the people are friendly and weatherd. Puerto Montt is a bustling and growing place, and seems to be seeking definition as surely at it is seeking economic prosperity.

The bus driver let us off at the Estadium entrance just down the hill from the marnia entrance. Jojo and I made our way into the marina and stopped at the gate. It was a perceptual moment, and a rubicon of our trip. I put down the heavy duffel, and Jojo the bag of snacks and water we'd brought on the bus. Now adorned in only our backpaks we addressed the gate.

"Hola, estamos aqui por Northern Light."

The gate slid open. We gathered our bags and began to walk down the gravel road into the marnia. Silently and with grace unknown to human bodies a condor rose over the bluff on our left and glided over our heads. The wind was welcoming us to something new, and something unknown. We have traveled here with intention and excitement, and no expectations.

The man working the gate let us through, he was expecting us. We walked slowly and carefully down the ramp to the dock, through a world still silent in the morning, waiting for the moment of meeting to break the glass that seemed to hang around us, hoping, nervous, excited.

As we saw the boat our excitement peaked and as we drew closer Rolf suddenly appeared on deck. I got within a reasonable distanceso so as not to to have to shout, not wanting to distrub that clear morning air, and said hello. Rolf saw us and smiled back, the waiting was over. We'd made it. 3,000 km, one border, a mountain range, a desert, three bus rides and countless hours of anticipation.

Deborah popped up from below upon hearing our voices and we got on board Northern Light. The begining of one adventure, the end of another.

I am so excited to be here, with Deborah and Rolf, and i know Jojo is too. I am sure i'll write you more soon, but for now, just know we're safe, happy, and here.

Best wishes from the beautiful region of Southern Chile and the edge of Patagonia. I wish i could share this with all of you more, but I cannot. The quiet, peace, and nature we are about to experience requires a certain solitude, and I for one will be appreciating that solitude after living in the blur and hubub of city life for so long. Until we speak again.

Eli

March 19th, 2006, Santiago, Chile

We woke up in our bunks (I am starting to realize that by writing this blog 'journal style' almost every day begins the same way, please let me know if you are getting bored by that as well) and packed up for the bus trip to Puerto Montt that wasn't to depart until late in the afternoon, so we checked out and left our bags with the reception at Casa Roja.

On Sundays in Santiago, the museums are free so we decided to get some more culture by experiencing the Museo Chleno de Arte Precolumbino. The Museo Chleno de Arte Precolumbino is an amazing museum, and is small and located near the pedestrian mall and shopping center we visited earlier.. We walked towards downtown again, hoping to find some breakfast. But nothing was open, except for Subway. And we acquiesced, caving to the pressure of our stomachs. The sub was good, and we ate it on a bench on a plaza across from one of the main administrative buildings in Santiago. Once full and satisfied we found the museum and entered the permanent exhibit hall. It was amazing. Artifacts of all shapes and sizes, materials and construction. Some truly amazing pieces and all of them explained an aspect of the culture from which they came. Some of the most interesting pieces were;

A counting rope, that is a series of strings knotted and tied together to represent the populace of a region. Strings of different color and length are thought to signify different events or people of varying stature or families. When a new child is born a string was tied onto the cord representing the parent at a certain point to show when. The rope overall looks a bit like a grass skirt and I believe that is how it was worn by the person conducting the census.

A ceremonial bowl/plate (pictured below) showing a shaman dressed as a bird with a (presumed) dead animal below. This bowl was thought to be used in preparation of the ceremonial psychedelics commonly used in Peru. This sort of Hawk figure appears all over the world in shamanic traditions.



I also really like this hat.



We left the museum and did a little last minute shopping for our sailing trip. I bought a bathing suite/running shorts and Jojo bought some conditioner because even on a boat, it's nice for us to have soft shiny hair, right? We walked back to Plaza Brazil, stopping for cheesecake and chinese food to take on the overnight bus trip we had ahead of us. The restaurant was grand but the food was lousy. We got back to Casa Roja, grabbed our bags, and of course, our ubiquitous plastic bag of food as well, and set off on the underground for our bus.

By this time we were used to busses and bus terminals, but the lady who scornfully sold us our tickets deigned not to tell us our bus departed from the terminal across the street, so we had to do some hot footing with all our gear to make it, which we did, but we were again a bit out of breath when we got there (which reminds me is a trend on this trip, starting waaaaay back in Miami airport where we had to walk well over a mile to get to our plane to La Paz... mmmm). But aboard we were, in the last row (the same ticket lady had deceived us on this topic as well, but we had more room to spread so it was ok) and ready for a bad night's sleep.

General Sailing Terms

General Sailing Terms:

Tack: to turn the boat and catch the wind from the opposite side of the boat, turning the bow through the eye of the wind (the wind direction). When the wind is in front of you, blowing against the direction you want to go.
Jibe: to turn the boat and catch the wind from the opposite side of the boat, turning the stern through the eye of the wind. When the wind is behind you, blowing the direction you want to go.
Bow: the front of the boat
Stern: the rear of the boat
Port: the left side of the boat.
Starboard: the right side of the boat.
Main mast: the mast that hoists the main sail and the genoa or jib, and has the boom for the main sail and is the middle of the boat. The boom is also attached to this mast, and the main sail is attached to the boom
Boom: A horizontal beam that attaches to the bottom of the main sail. It is used to tighten the bottom or foot of the sail.

Puerto Montt on the horizon

We´re in Santiago, and i'm sitting in a retrofitted spanish mansion in Barrio Brasil that is now an excellent hostel, albeit one for backpackers and partiers and most of the people speak some form of english. It's under construction a bit (but nothing like the internet cafe I slept in in Amsterdam, Tarek, George... you _might_ remember that). It's quite an amazing place actually with 16 foot ceilings and all the original trim and detiling. the doors are all tall double doors with windows at the top and every door and window has shutters over the glass. There are two inner courtyards and they are filled with white plastic porch furniture and recovering tourists. It's quite a contrast, but beautiful none the less.

Jojo and I leave in about an hour for Puerto Montt on an overnight bus. It was all we could find to fit our schedule and budget. Pretty cheap actually, considering. We should wake up in Puerto Montt sometime tomorrow morning early and so will begin our adventure with Deborah and Rolf. My plan is to get off the bus and onto another local bus to the marina right away. If all goes well we might be sailing by the 21st and then... who knows what?

I'm so excited to begin this sailing adventure that this last bus ride seems like it will be even longer than the previous 26 hour ride despite it being half that length.

Oh well, anticipation is always one of the strongest and most confuddling emotions. It warps time and importance and quickens the pulse. Our health is fine and our emotions high. Santiago has been an excellent experience overall and we have slept well, ate well, and expolore much of Santiago on foot. Last night we walked a couple of miles across town to meet some people we had met the night before. We didn{t meet them, and after waiting 45 min we decided we might be in the wrong spot, so we crossed a big busy street full of high speed busses and to our suprise found some capoeira!!!! It was a group called Sur de Bahia or something and they were quite good and very friendly. I was about to jump in after watching for about 20 minutes and making sure it was "my kind" of capoeira when the roda ended and they commenced with samba de roda, more of a dance, and the leader, a Professor de Capoeira, was hilarous and awesome to watch dance.

Well, i've got to get going and catch a bus, so it's goodbye for now. We might get a chance to write one last time but there's no guarentees in South America. Only Best Wishes!

Eli

March 18th, 2006, Santiago, Chile

Waking up in the comfort of a soft warm bed, with sunlight slanting in, gently lighting a space of volume and grace can cure even the most egregious ails. And as we awoke in such a state my smile and general feeling of well being was broad. We took our time that morning, and used the facilities included in our hotel bill to their fullest. Free breakfast, coffee, some sun on the roof deck and another hot shower for good measure. We packed our bags and checked out reluctantly. We did stick around however for a bit more, enjoying the comfort we'd purchased. One we were good and ready we walked down those stairs and out the door, down the block to the more budget friendly hostel we'd made reservations in the day before, Hostel San Patricio. We walked in and were delighted by the more hokey and surely less expensive atmosphere. It was around 2 p.m. and the entrance was warm, but a welcome refuge from the heat outside.

The matron came from the hall and told us "No room."
"But we have reservations" we protested.
"You must check in by noon" she told us with no small amount of disdain.
"You didn't tell us that yesterday" we replied, but to no avail. I told them "Gracias por Nada." and we left. I swore then and there to make sure that I tell the world of our mistreatment at Hostel San Patricio, and would not recommend it to anyone.

What to do next we wondered... go back to the lap of luxury? No, our wallets were not feeling that fat, and we had already been refreshed so the desire wasn't as strong. We proceeded to the internet cafe we had visited yesterday and called La Casa Roja, a backpacker's hostel according to the book, and only a block and half away. They did have room and were friendly on the phone. We hot-footed it there and check in with ease. They only had beds in a dorm style room as they call it. La Casa Roja is a party style hostel in an old colonial style mansion with the same high ceilings, but less modern refinery. It is beautiful though in it's one unique way, and it has a very lively atmosphere. We got our gear stowed and decided to head out and take in the culture of Santiago by eating lunch on Plaza Brazil.

After lunch we walked down Avenida Brazil to Avenida O'Higgins to a subway stop nearby. On the way I checked the map and noticed an interesting looking intersection nearby that we decided to check out on the way back. We took the subway to the University stop, which is also the bus terminal for south heading busses. There we bought tickets for the next day, for an overnight bus to Puerto Montt, that would get us there early on the 20th to meet Deborah and Rolf, my aunt and uncle, at Marina Del Sur to join them on their yacht Northern Light. Our destination and journey were beginning to feel like they might end, and on time too boot!

We took the subway back and walked towards the intersection I had noticed earlier. The street changed to cobblestone and the buildings began to change from a more modern flavor to colonial, and as we approached the intersection, to antique colonial with beautiful masonry and a human scale that has been abandoned by the needs and desires of modern building. The intersection was pedestrian only and had a fountain in the center, but it was small as well, perhaps 50 feet from building to building. There were benches and trees casting shade and comfort over the entire space. i was entranced and lingered as long as I could, my hands touching the stones that had been shaped and placed so purposefully and beautifully.

One of the buildings had been abandoned and appeared to be under some sort of renovation. A giant painting hung from the sill of a window on the outside, and a man was standing across the narrow street watching or waiting for something. I struck up a fragmented conversation with him and it turned out the building was being converted into a gallery for an opening one week later. We would be gone, but hopefully, back to see the finished product.



We continued to our hostel, took a nap and woke up in time to go meet our new friends. We decided to walk to Plaza Italia because we didn't know how far it was. It was FAR. All the way at the center of Santiago, Plaza Italia is a big and busy rotary, with an incredible amount of bus traffic, and is full of noises, smells, and people everywhere. It turns out Plaza Italia is a central meeting point for Chileans, and waited outside of TelePizza. I was hungry and bought one of the worst pizzas I've ever had.

We waited, and waited, and after 45 minutes had elapsed past our meeting point we decided to cross the big avenue and see if our friends weren't on the other side. As we crossed we found to our surprise and delight a Capoeira Roda (which is a game of capoeira played inside a circle of capoeiristas with music and song- if you want more information check out www.capoeiraregional.com) in progress! It is a testament to the noise and business of Plaza Italia that we didn't notice it earlier. The group turned out to be Sur De Bahia and they were very good. I was about to jump in after watching for a good 20 minutes to get a feel for how they play and how aggressive they were. However, at that same moment they switched to Samba de Roda (which is where everyone dances samba instead of playing capoeira). Oh well, but no big deal, I wasn't dressed for it anyway. We waited around for a minute and talked to some of the capoeiristas after and hoped to go to a class on our way back through Santiago after sailing.

After our friends didn't show Jojo realized she didn't have their phone numbers with her, so we took the metro back to Plaza Brazil. Santiago has a very nice metro subway system that is very easy to use and quite friendly and clean. Coincidentally a futbol match had just ended and the subway was packed with happy revelers celebrating a victory of the local team. The subway as resonating with chants and songs and everyone was radiant. The ebullient atmosphere was contagious and Jojo and I both joined in with big smiles of our own.

Once back in Plaza Brazil we found the phone numbers, but they didn't work as we found out later Diego's phone had died. Too bad for us, but we made the best of it and walked around Plaza Brazil, had a drink, and some desert and went to bed at a more reasonable hour than the night before.