Escape From Reality

Day 1: Arusha

2011-07-28T11:51:00.001-07:00

We’re off on the trip of a lifetime; a safari in Africa. Our party will include my parents, George and Carol, my sister Julie, her husband Jim, their two daughters Anna and Sophie, my two children, Zak and Maya, and myself. A few years ago my father began expressing some interest in going on a safari. The rest of us figured, why not and, if why not, why not now? We debated on East Africa as opposed to South Africa and decided on Tanzania in the hopes that we would find more natural scenic beauty, in addition to animals, than in South Africa (we weren’t disappointed). At that point we found a tour guide: The East African Safari and Touring Company and booked some flights. The tour company and we decided on an itinerary consisting of the Ngorongoro Crater, the Serengeti, and the Tarangire National Parks (again, no disappointment; in fact, after talking to others while in Africa, we would highly recommend this itinerary to anyone who might be interested). This is a journal/blog of that trip. This is primarily intended as a record for us of our travels but you are welcome to read along if you like, feedback is appreciated.

Our flight took us from San Diego to Atlanta and from there to Amsterdam where we would meet up with the Minnesota contingent (my sister' s family and our parents) for the final leg from Amsterdam to Kilimanjaro International Airport. The KLM flight was so pleasant I might book my next flight to Minnesota through Amsterdam. We arrived in Tanzania in the late evening (midday in San Diego) and we all made it through the visa and customs smoothly before meeting our guides Ezekiel and Bone. We were loaded onto two Land Rovers of indeterminate age. The vehicles were a bit more rugged and seasoned (read "beat up") than many of the other safari vehicles we would encounter on safari but they proved to be extremely functional on the rough African roads. The vehicles resembled mechanical rhinoceri from which, I understand, they derive their nickname. Nevertheless, the African roads took their toll. By the end of the first week, we had blown two tires and could no longer open the back doors on one of the vehicles. The rim on one of the spares was so beat up the tire could no longer hold air. Grandpa joked to the staff at the Boundary Hill Lodge, much to their amusement, that the dents in the rim were the result of actual rhinos ramming into the back of the vehicle.

From the airport, we drive to Arusha. This is the second largest city in Tanzania and ground zero for its burgeoning travel safari industry. The road to Arusha was lined with small shops and stalls, much like every less-developed-country I've ever seen. One highlight was a stop at a gas station so Anna could make a potty stop. This was Anna’s first time out of the U.S. and she was a bit shocked by the squat/pit toilet but apparently need overcame prissiness and business was accomplished. One interesting aspect of travel is the necessity of adapting to how other people deal with bodily functions such as eating, drinking, etc. The dirt road off of the main road to our hotel, the Ilboru Safari Lodge, was in pretty tough shape. We passed a truck with loudspeakers inviting the locals to some kind of Christian religious gathering and passed a couple of lodges that looked a bit dodgy but ours turned out to be super nice. The guest rooms each occupied one-half of a traditional circular building, the common facilities looked nice, and we had some nice food and drink before heading to off to our mosquito net covered beds on our first night in Africa.

Day 2: Arusha to the Ngorongoro Crater

2011-07-28T11:23:00.000-07:00

After a great breakfast at the Ilboru and an opportunity to practice my Swahili with the waitress (who was, no doubt, quite impressed with my language prowess). We stopped and changed money and hit a small market next door. Arusha was crowded and bustling.

After meeting with Simon (our tour operator) and stocking up on some basic supplies, we were off to the Ngorongoro Crater, our first National Park destination. As we drove through town we found the streets of Arusha bustling with motos and buses and land rovers and men pulling two-wheeled wooden carts. The sides of the roads were filled with people working, selling goods, and just hanging out. The drive to the Ngorongoro passed through many small towns and over many massive speed bumps, some combination of which cost us one tire on the way. Along the way we passed many Maasai villages consisting of small round thatched huts. The Maasai are a regal looking people who subsist largely on their cattle. The staple food is a combination of cow’s milk and blood, drawn from a nick on the jugular of a cow. Their society is structured by age group. Every 15 years all who have reached puberty since the last initiation go through the process. Any male who cries out during the five minute circumcision process (no anesthesia is used) is ridiculed as a coward and his parents are spat upon for raising one. Girls may marry after going through the ceremony but males must wait until the next group is initiated. Out of wedlock and extra-marital relations are condoned and any children resulting are raised by the husband for whom many children (and many cattle) are a source of wealth and pride. polygamy is practiced. We saw one large complex, with its own school, for one wealthy witch doctor and (supposedly) his 50 wives.

The Ngorongoro Crater was spectacular! From the first view of the crater until the time we left the floor, the sheer volume and proximity of wildlife in front of the magnificent backdrop of the crater walls was simply amazing. As we entered onto the valley floor we were literally surrounded by scores of zebra and wildebeest. Interspersed among those were warthogs, hyenas, crowned cranes, ostriches, bustards (the world's heaviest flying bird), while flamingoes waded in the shallow lake nearby. We also saw a golden jackal, five lions, a cheetah, a hippo, an elephant, and even a black rhino. Spectacular. We are staying at the Ngorongoro Wildlife Lodge which is quite nice itself. Each room has a view of the crater floor as do the dining room, the bar, and, of course, the observation deck. The review I read earlier mentioned the views and the somewhat utilitarian styling of the 1970s government structure. The former still impress and the latter have been pretty much eclipsed by the addition of glass discs, hip lamps, and mirror mosaics. After enjoying the view, we ate, played a little farkel (dice game), and hit the hay. We were all pretty beat but very satisfied.

Day 3: Ngorongoro to Serengeti

2011-07-28T10:46:00.000-07:00

Zak was amped to get going this morning. He said he knew we were going to have a good day of game viewing and we did. We saw tons (literally) of animals including close ups of hippos, cheetahs, lions, and others. We even saw a female lion stalk and (unsuccesfully) charge a group of zebras and wildebeest. Around midday we left the Ngorongoro and headed West toward the Serengeti. The main road running East and West between Ngorongoro and the Serengeti is surreal. The distance is not all that great - it would be a short drive on a paved freeway – but we all spent enough time bouncing along in old land rovers over interminable washboard gravel to start considering the odds on the likelihood of shaking loose a filling. As we survey the lion colored grass stretching to the base of distant dark hills, we wear sunglasses, but more as a protection from worldly dust than heavenly sun. Out of necessity we cover our noses and mouths with bandanas but the windows remain open to let in the breeze and let out the dust which only seems to hang more thickly in the car when the windows are closed.

We travelled to the Seronera Valley area of the Serengeti. Everyone has heard of the Serengeti and for good reason; it was as spectacular as it was purported to be. The scenery was striking - broad grassy plains dotted with flat-topped "umbrella" acacias - and the concentration of animals is simply amazing. I expected to see many of the varieties we encountered - elephant, giraffe, cheetah, hyena, zebra, gazelle, and even two leopard - but I was surprised by how much we saw in a relatively small area. The most spectacular animals for me, from a sheer oddity perspective, are the ostrich and giraffe, followed closely by the starkly-striped zebra. Then, of course, one also has to consider the warthog, the elephant, the hippo, and the hyena. It's almost like Dr. Seuss was the artistic consultant for the animals of Africa. The most spectacular animal from the perspective of lithe beauty: the leopard.

We arrived at our tent accommodations on the Serengeti only to find them not quite up to what we were expecting. However, given the lack of alternative lodging, my mother and sister decided that, as long as they could have a warm shower, a decent bed, and we could play games in the dining tent at night, they would be OK. Their concerns were not without some justification. This is third-world Africa and we really were pushing the boundaries of their comfort levels. We guys were of the opinion that camping with beds and servants was just fine and the kids thought the whole experience was just great. The staff had their own cook tent nearby where they prepared wonderful meals over a small propane stove and baked bread and pizza in an old metal pot on the coals of a wood fire they kept going much of the time. We also had a waiter, Emanuel, who was unfailingly polite and smiling and was quick to provide whatever we needed.

As the sun was setting that first night on the Serengeti, from the door of our tent we were able to see a pride of baboons walking on the other side of the dry riverbed directly in front of us. They walked off single file from left to right and then all roosted in a single yellow-fever acacia, so named because this type of acacia grows near water and the early settlers attributed their illness to the jaundiced-barked trees rather than the mosquitoes that lived nearby. I joked with Anna about what reason the baboons might have for getting up off the ground and into the safety of the trees before nightfall - with the implication that maybe we should share their concern about what might come out at night - but she appeared to remain relatively unconcerned.

Day 4: Serengeti

2011-07-28T10:29:00.000-07:00

We were pretty beat after the long, hot, dusty drive and, personally, I slept great in the fresh air; so much so that I missed out on many of the night noises save for the hoot of some hyenas against the background of crickets. A simple (new) foam mattress on a wrought iron sure bed beats a sleeping bag on the ground any day. I awoke just before dawn and listened as the birds greeted the sun in a variety of hoots and screams and whistles; nature's alarm clock. Soon after dawn we saw a herd of impala just running back and forth across the wash in front of the tents. They were wheeling and darting at full speed between and around the brush seemingly for the sheer joy of it. I suppose they need to stay fit; a fat and lazy herbivore is a dead and bloody herbivore. When Zak woke he spied a large column of big black ants that flowed toward the river wash splitting and rejoining paths as they passed around obstacles like water trickling inexorably along gravity's path. Even the ants are larger in both size and volume here. On the morning game drive, we saw a lioness pacing right near the road. They are such beautiful animals. As she looked off in the distance the black spots on the back of her ears were quite prominent. I speculated that the evolutionary advantage of the incongruous dark patches might be to help the cubs to follow her through the grass. Ezekiel (our guide) agreed and added that they also use the spots as a signal to coordinate the movements of other lions while they hunted as a group.

Soon thereafter we came across a hippo pool in which a couple was actively engaged in amorous activities. Actually all we could see was the male with half of his body out of the water. It was Maya who commented that it seemed unfair that the female was the one held underwater. However, the setting was beautiful. The sky was blue and studded with white fluffy clouds. The surrounding grass was green and the glassy water reflected both the sky and the trees. In addition to us tourists, a crocodile lay on the bank seemingly indifferent to the two-ton love nearby. A bit further down the road we parked next to a rock outcropping or “kopje” on top of which a male and female lion are perched. The male was standing almost as though he were posing. Ezekiel says that a male and female will leave the pride like this and go off by themselves in order to mate in some privacy except, of course,

for all of us tourists with our cameras. The spot was so picturesque, I was not the least surprised at their intentions. Or, perhaps I should congratulate the male for his prowess in choosing a setting to set the proper mood. There were even colorful butterflies fluttering by (Ezekiel says this is a sign of impending showers). As the lions moved to the other side of the outcropping (the male with his nose closely following the raised tail of the female, the old dog) we, and the other voyeuristic camera-toting tourists, dutifully followed them around to the other side of the rock. Perhaps the animals become so habituated to the land rovers simply because they have no other choice.

The word of the day seemed to be love and the impalas have a variation on the theme. One lucky male will take care of a large harem of females while a group of bachelors hang out nearby waiting for an opportunity with a female or perhaps even to challenge the male and take over the whole bevy of beauties for themselves. It all sounds a little stressful to me. I think I'll follow the lead of the dik diks and hang out exclusively with one mate for life. Ah, the beauty of true love.

Jim said this first morning game drive on the Serengeti was his favorite of the trip. He liked the big expanses of the plains. Carol said there were too many Thompson's gazelles (by which I'm sure she means she can't believe the massive numbers of gazelles on the plains).

That afternoon we went to the Retima Hippo Pool. Very beautiful. The sunlight was shimmering on the water as it splashed over the rocks behind the hippos while they splashed about leaping and frolicking (honest) in the afternoon sun. The resonant grunts and calls were otherworldly and the hippos themselves certainly need to be considered contenders for the animal oddity category. With their bulbous eyes, nostrils perched on stalks on the top of their snouts, and curled ears that swivel back and forth, Julie says she can't decide if they are cute or ugly. George worked on perfecting his hippo call which he would occasionally use throughout the remainder of our trip on safari, much to the delight of Ezekiel our guide.

Day 5: Serengeti

2011-07-26T11:27:00.000-07:00

We were awoken in the middle of the night last night by hooting, screaming, and squealing from across the river. George's theory was that this was a not uncommon case of a domestic dispute; probably teens that come home past their curfew from the dance or the party and were catching heck from their Dad. However, in this instance it wasn't local high school miscreants out with Dad's car but wild baboons in the heart of the Serengeti. My tent may not have all the promised accoutrement, but this has been a wonderful experience getting a perspective on nature I never would have gotten had we been sleeping in more luxurious accommodations.

This morning Zak got me up to see - silhouetted against the dawn in their acacia tree across the river - the troop of baboons we had heard the night before. They were waking and stirring, warming themselves by leaping from branch to branch in the early light before heading down to ground level once the sun was fully up. The transition to the ground was punctuated by two large baboons chasing a smaller animal who ran away screaming loudly; perhaps he was the adolescent who had caused so much disruption the night before and the parents were getting in one final lick.

We are driving back East from the Serengeti and we just visited the Olduvai (or as the docent stressed Oldupai) Gorge; very interesting. The girls have been making up nicknames for all of the members of our party and grandpa is now known as Oldupai George. On the drive West, Oldupai George made the mistake of riding in the rear right (driver side) seat of Bone's old green Land Rover. We later learned this was the roughest seat in either vehicle so we made sure the folks were in the other vehicle on the return trip and we put the little girls in the back. They couldn't have cared less and spent much of their travel time trying to sleep on top of each other in various positions. On my and Anna's side of the car on the return (the passenger side which is on the left here) we see a line of six giraffes moving sedately over the plain. To pass the time we are in competition with George and Zak for which side of the car passes prettier animals. Repeatedly gazelles dart in front of the car from the right to the left, no doubt in order to bolster Anna's and my pretty animal tally. Occasionally the scenery is punctuated by a colorfully-robed Maasai striding along purposefully toward some destination. They are a striking people made more so by their purple or red wraps and ornate beads and silver earrings. They have long muscled blue-black limbs and shorn heads. The men carry long sticks and the women are often in the company of children. Today we pass a number of young males whose faces are partially covered by white beaded masks indicating their status as recent initiates into manhood.

Day 6: Tarangire

2011-07-26T10:35:00.000-07:00

It was a Long drive yesterday from the Serengeti to the Boundary Hill Lodge on the edge of the Tarangire National Park. We caught some good paved road East of the Ngorongoro but the last hour and a half was on four wheel drive ruts over the red dirt. We passed many poor little farms and more than a couple small children dressed in little more than dirty rags out shepherding goats. To my surprise, people really do live is small grass huts here and termite mounds abound. I suspected that the guides were avoiding the National Park and the accompanying fees but, it turns out, we were on the main trail to our accommodations. This was clearly not a drive to the local Sheraton. Things are much more primitive here. It's not just that this feels like we are heading to some remote third world destination… we are heading to a remote third world destination. To top off the whole experience, we pass seven elephants at a water hole not far from the entrance to the lodge. The big ones raise their trunks in warning and moved off a short distance until we moved on.

The lodge is half-owned by the local Maasai and exudes a rustic charm with lots of interesting alcoves, archways, walls, and stairs of natural stone, wood, and cement in earthy muted colors. There are eight separate cottages all built directly into the granite rocks of a ridge overlooking plains peppered with massive baobab trees. From our vantage above, the trees look like miniature thick-stalked broccoli florets. In each of the cottages, all of the rooms, including the bath, are situated to take full advantage of the magnificent views. I love a toilet with a good view! Very civilized. George and Carol's cottage even has a claw foot tub directly on their large patio deck. I had a great soak with the wide Tarangire plain spread out below my toes while I was serenaded by the

tinkling of the Maasai cowbells in the distance. Who cares if the hot water was tinged brown with rust? The dining and social area of the lodge is likewise situated to maximize the available vista. There is an open air fireplace set in a stone wall fronting a stone patio; comfortable chairs and sofas sit under overhanging roofs; and the open air dining area features views of the plain through brick framed arches; very nice.

This morning we headed out on a walking safari directly from the lodge entrance. We had two guides: a 26 year old dark-skinned, lean-limbed Maasai named Oloah (or Luis) with ritualistic circular scarring on his cheeks and Moses the "old man" who is 10 years younger than George and looks 10 years older. Not 20 minutes out from the lodge we came across a small herd of elephants. They are something to see from a land rover but something else entirely when you are on your feet at ground level and less than 40 yards away from such massive animals. After snapping a few pics, the seriousness and potential danger of the situation was underscored when the guides made sure we veered well off the path to give the elephants a very wide berth as we headed on our way. It felt good to stretch our legs after spending so much time on planes and in Land Rovers but after awhile Grandma and Grandpa and the girls returned to home with Oloah while Julie and Jim and Zak and I continued on with Moses. We passed massive baobobs, one with pegs pounded into the trunk to enable the natives to climb up and harvest honey from bees that enter their hive through small holes in the trunk. Some trunks were so hollowed out all four of us could comfortably stand inside. Porcupines and hyenas carved dens under some trees; the entrance to one hyena den was littered with zebra bones. There were actually many bones scattered about the plains. This is not a zoo, nature is fairly unforgiving. As any of you know who have hiked with me, I find that you can find out a lot about the local fauna by looking at the scat on the ground. What's brown and sounds like a bell? Dung! We found hyena and jackal scat, droppings from the Maasai cattle and, of course, the ubiquitous elephant dung. We also passed many termite mounds with trees growing out of them. Apparently the savannah becomes so hard-packed during the dry season that tree seedlings have a hard time getting started. The termites aerate the soil with their mounds and tunnels creating conditions in which young tree roots can find some purchase. A similar situation occurs in and around the rock kopjes in the Serengeti. Of course trees face the additional risk here of being pushed down by elephants, which apparently the elephants like to do. For part of our walk we were joined by two young Maasai boys who seemed to be looking for little more than a little diversion from the monotony of herding cattle all day. As we neared the lodge, we came upon another group of elephants forcing us to again circumnavigate our intended path for our own safety. We enjoyed a good two hour walk and when we returned we discovered that Oloah called a vehicle to come pick up the group that returned first and while enroute they passed two small elephant herds, one of which was no doubt the same one we saw on our return.

After a little r and r, we boarded the vehicles for a visit to a Maasai boma or family complex. The one we visited was the home of one man with seven wives, each of which had constructed her own stick and mud hut/house within the perimeter of the stick and thorn wall fencing in the compound. The interior of the huts were small and dark and hot and encompassed a cooking fire and two small sleeping platforms; only one fist-sized opening offered ventilation and that was usually plugged with a rag out of fear of snakes. The man visits each house in turn for a week at a time. If a friend comes to visit he is given a house and a wife for the duration of his visit which has apparently exacerbated the spread of AIDS among the Maasai. In the middle of the compound is a thorn corral where the cattle are kept at night and within that a smaller corral for goats. With the animals come the flies. They are everywhere: clustered on the moist corners of the eyes and lips of the children, in our faces, and covering my hip pack. We shoo them away but the Maasai children are clearly resigned to their condition and their fate. Grim.

Days 7 and 8: Tarangire

2011-07-25T15:08:00.000-07:00

After dinner last night Geo and Carol and Zak and Maya and I joined Moses and Edward, the driver, for a night drive in a Range Rover specially equipped with elevated stadium seating for those of us in the back. Moses was diligent with the spotlight and we found a chameleon, dik dik, rabbits, zebra, impala, black-backed jackal, bat-eared fox, and spring hare which resemble a small kangaroo with a long black-tipped tail. Maya fell asleep on the way back and we retired dusty and drowsy and content.
In the pre-dawn dark of 4:30 this morning I was awakened by the sounds of trees cracking and brush crunching. The weather is so temperate here all of the rooms here have alternating glass and screen windows. I went out on the balcony and, although the moon was a couple days past full and the night was fairly dark, I could just distinguish the bulk of an elephant just below me in the vegetation. I returned to bed and was awakened by Zak just after dawn who pointed out the elephant tearing up clumps of grass about fifteen feet down directly below the balcony. It was so close I could have leapt on its back without much effort. I know we'll see more in the park but it's pretty cool having one just outside your room. I mentioned this encounter later to Lazaro, our waiter, who said that occasionally he awakes to find elephants just outside his door preventing him from leaving and getting breakfast started on time.
We are now in the Tarangire National Park where there are scores of elephants. We are competing to see which side of the vehicle will pass the most elephants. Julie and I have 168, Zak and Geo have 142. Most of ours were along the Silale Swamp while they had a herd of 50 animals heading through the trees. We also saw many giraffe (including a beautiful pair of yearlings with long fluttering eyelashes), dik dik, warthog, waterbuck, a mongoose, and other animals.

Sun 6/19 Fathers Day

We stopped at the Tarangire Treetops Lodge on the way back to Arusha. The main lodge was built up around a couple of massive baobab trees and each of the units are essentially treehouses. It's very nice and very deluxe. There is a small swimming pool below the lounge deck and, beyond that, a rock watering pool for the animals so the guests can sit and sip their cocktails while viewing wildlife from the comfort of their lounge chairs.

The guys are in the back vehicle with Bone who pointed out a spitting cobra in the grass on the right side of the truck. In appreciation for his generous Father's Day gift I asked Zak to pose next to it but he wisely declined.

Day 9: Arusha

2011-07-25T13:53:00.000-07:00

The main mechanized mode of transportation in Tanzania seems to be small motorcycles or motos of uncommon brands (Lingkin, Skygo, Toyo, etc.) although there are plenty of buses - both big and small - as well as, of course, large slow-moving trucks grinding their way up the grades. A couple of communities are buzzed by a number of small three-wheeled motorcycle “tuk-tuks” for hire but these are not common elsewhere. Most of the trucks and busses sport odd English names across their windshields: the "Obama Air" bus, the "Weekend Love" or "Reality Bites" truck, the "Hollywood City" mini bus, etc. Bicycles are also common although most people seem to travel on foot with many of the women stately balancing - with the gait and grace of runway models - large plastic buckets or baskets of goods or even bundles of firewood on their head (check out the two women in the photo, the one on the left is on her cell phone while her friend carries a bunch of bananas on her head). Women generally wear long wrap-around skirts with nice tops and often with their hair wrapped up in a scarf. Men wear long pants and collared sport shirts with the occasional sport coat thrown in for good measure. We are repeatedly amazed at how clean and neat they keep their clothing in rather dirty, dusty, and even muddy conditions. Once you get out to the small farms in the rural areas, the clothes, particularly on the kids, becomes much more dirty and raggedy. The most common footwear are cheap plastic sandals although some people make their own from cut motorcycle tires and rubber straps. There is lots of hustling and bustling along the road wherever we go. Hair salons and bars seem to be the most common enterprises, I suppose they are relatively inexpensive to start up and maintain, but there are also many shoe shine stalls (that also sell rubber sandals for those without shoes), roadside fruit sellers, even people selling small bundles of charcoal in crumpled paint cans. Note the photo of the "Hillary Clington Shop" and the "Obama Hair Cuting Saloon" with the termite mound in front and the Masaai mingling outside. As for light manufacturing, there are a number of small cement works, metal fabricators, and furniture shops. These are all easily recognized by the men working in front of the shops with shovels, saws, hand planes and the like. Interspersed among the shops are small plots of corn, herds of goats, and the occasional cow.

We were supposed to head up to spend two nights at the Mt. Kilimanjaro View Lodge tonight but we didn't quite make it. Bone got us up to within two kilometers of the lodge when we passed some road construction and the maroon dirt road got so greasy muddy we were worried we would end up in the river below. Through one particularly dangerous stretch point we had to disembark while a group of local kids gleefully ran alongside the vehicle pushing it up the steep sections and keeping the back end from sliding down the steep ravine and into the river. At this point, we decided to turn back. We maybe could have made it to the Lodge but we were worried we could be stuck there as a result of further predicted rains. The Osterbergs were a bit surprised to see us get out of the Land Rover when Bone pulled up back at the Ilboru Safari Lodge but we all enjoyed a drink and a snack before Bone turned around to bring them to the airport.

Day 10: Arusha to Zanzibar

2011-07-25T11:26:00.000-07:00

Maya was feeling a little under the weather yesterday afternoon. Last night she was talking in her sleep a bit more than normal and this morning she woke up at about 4:00 am with a fever. I knew there was a small but distinct chance of malaria so I checked with the receptionist at the hotel this morning who recommended that I get her checked so Dad and I brought her to the Lutheran Medical Center hospital. It seems like a pretty modern and efficient place funded by a number of Lutheran donors from the Midwest of the United States. No malaria was detected but the doctor prescribed an antibiotic and some rehydration mineral salts to treat her illness. Between Maya's illness and the rain, I'm glad we decided to head back to Arusha yesterday.

After the trip to the hospital, Maya seemed to be feeling better so we loaded up in Bone’s Land Rover and headed off to the airport to fly to Zanzibar. We were met at the hotel by a representative from the tour company with our plane tickets. Unfortunately there were only four tickets for the five of us. This prompted a dash downtown to the airline office to arrange for another ticket; to add to the excitement, after a bit of bouncing in the back of the Land Rover Maya puked out the window and onto the truck's steps and the road. We finally got a ticket, but by now we're getting pretty worried about making our flight but at least we were moving in the right direction...only to run out of gas en route. At this point Carol literally has her head in her hands; this is not the way things work in Waconia, but here Bone remains cool. He coasts to the side of the road, pulls a plastic container out of the back, and flags down a motorcycle who gives him a ride to the next petrol station for some fuel. He returns quickly (the station turns out to not be far down the road) and puts some diesel in the tank. That turns out to be enough to get us to the station where Bone gets some fuel and tops off the oil (a frequent and necessary task). We're back on our way but by now thinking we're not going to make the flight. Representatives from the airline met us at the curb, hustled us through security, and we made the flight with literally only minutes to spare.International travel is fun and exciting and that also means stressful. This is why people don't travel internationally and, if they do, they stick to first world countries or go with a tour. When I think back on all of the times I've had to deal with illness, injury, broken down cars, lost airline tickets, cancelled flights, late arrivals, missing passports, poor sleep, jet lag, etc., etc. while on the road it's a wonder I ever leave home myself. At least the food has been pretty good on this trip. The food on safari was pretty much western fare: soups and breads, rice or pasta, some kind of meat or stew. I finally got to try some Swahili food at the Ilboru Safari Lodge in Arusha and I liked it. We met the head chef last night and again his morning. He's a very jovial and friendly European who was quick to share credit for the food with his "team". The local alcohol is Kanyagi, a typical clear distilled drink. You can buy it at the Ilboru for about $1 per "tot". There are a few choices for beer, all of them fairly good: Safari, Kilimanjaro, Serengeti, Castle, etc. They are sold in cans at the store or in half liter bottles in restaurants for two or three dollars. South African wines are also available. We brought a few on safari and they were quite good.

Zanzibar

Just the word Zanzibar evokes the exotic even if, or perhaps partly because, most of us are unable to locate it on a map. Zanzibar is, in fact, a collection of islands off the East coast of Tanzania in the turquoise blue waters of the Indian Ocean. From the air it is not hard to locate what look like fantastic snorkeling reefs studded with the white sails of dhow boats, which are, according to my guidebook, traditionally made without nails.

Until the early 1960s, Zanzibar was under the control of the Sultan of Oman who moved his court from Muscat to Zanzibar to better control trade, including that of slaves, from what was at that time the economic and political hub of the African continent. As a result, the population is about 95% Muslim and a distinctly Arab vibe pervades the tropical African sultriness. The first part of our stay in the island is in the old “Stonetown” section of Zanzibar City, now a UNESCO world heritage site that remains every bit a bustling city although one that is long past its prime.

Our hotel, The Abousa, is very nice but it must be a couple of hundred years old. Everything is wood framed with some stained glass over the windows and doors. Our first night in town we ate at Livingstone's, a beautiful beachside restaurant. We enjoyed cold beer and sodas by candlelight under the mangroves while, just to our right, a rusty old transport ship sat with its front loading door opened directly onto the beach. A large gang of young men muscled large bundles, bicycles, and even small trucks over the soft sand and onto the ship; no giant cranes here.
After our meal we walked up to the night open-air food market but after seeing the flies covering the vendors’ fish earlier in the day, we decided to pass.

Day 11: Stonetown, Zanzibar

2011-07-12T17:46:00.000-07:00

Stonetown is an ancient but fascinating maze of narrow cobbled streets and alleys winding past shops, bazaars, mosques, palaces, and numerous old houses with massive brass studded doors in ornately carved frames. Men in fez hats ride antique bicycles or Vespa scooters while women in buibui robes walk or ride side-saddle on the back of scooters sometimes with a helmet squashed over their hijab head scarves. Occasionally we had to back against a wall to allow a Vespa or bicycle to pass by. Mom never really did get the hang of moving to the side when we heard a high-pitched horn or bell and I had to pull her out of harm’s way more than once. The atmosphere is one of tropical African decay. Whitewash walls are streaked with water stains and plaster crumbles from ornate Arab stonework. Far from a pristine museum for tourists, it's a bustling place of both poverty and vibrancy. The worst part are the "papaasi" (Swahili for flea) street hustlers who are constantly trying to sell you a tour or shirt or taxi or handicraft. They are annoying but there is so much poverty here - this is third world Africa - that it must be next to impossible to avoid viewing us as walking bags of money in their midst. At one point, a man tried to sell me a "handmade" hat. It looked like something Mary might like but upon closer inspection I noticed a wear label on the inside of the cap. This seemed odd on a handmade hat, particularly since, upon closer inspection, the wear label and the inside of the hat wear dirty from previous wear. Clearly the hat was used. He had probably stolen it or found it and was trying to sell it. As another guy told me later in the night, "life is hard in Africa."
Highlights of our stay in Stonetown included a visit to the Anglican Church which was built on the site of the old slave market. The altar is purportedly situated directly over the whipping post. Our guide also showed us the old slave holding cells under an adjoining building. Very grim. We also visited a nearby covered market but the smell from the fish stalls turned our group away. Once we were “touristed out” we headed to the beach for a couple of beers and a game of Farkle at Mercury's on the beach. Did you know Freddie Mercury was a native son of Zanzibar before attending boarding school in India and from there on to England?We dined tonight at Archipelago's, a Muslim-owned restaurant that, consequently, doesn't serve alcohol. We compensated for the lack of beer and wine by watching the house geckos catch bugs on the walls of the restaurant. It was actually more fun than it sounds.

Day 12: Zanzibar

2011-07-12T17:19:00.000-07:00

We enjoyed a little shopping this morning on our last full day in Stonetown followed by lunch at the Tower Top Restaurant. Good food and incredible views. After lunch we wandered over to the Old Arab Fort, a brick structure of castellated battlements and towers surrounding a large central courtyard. It built by the Sultan in 1698. Currently, the fort is playing host to the Zanzibar International Film Festival. As a result, I was able to hang out and watch an incredible reggae band playing their own tunes with this awesome female vocalist. I’m assuming they were practicing for an evening concert as there were hardly any spectators in attendance. This certainly didn’t stop me from enjoying the music while I sipped a 2000 schilling ($1.33) Tusker lager; awesome. It helps to get relaxed and centered once in a while traveling. Just to underscore how differently things work here than in the States, comic relief was provided by a small group of men trying to raise a movie screen up the face of one of the fort’s towers, presumably for the evening film festival entertainment. The screen was attached at the top and the bottom to long wooden poles or sticks. Two men were trying to raise the screen from the top of the tower by means of two ropes which were attached to the top pole. Of course, the top of the screen caught on a stone outcropping and, of course, the men simply tried to free the screen by pulling harder on the ropes resulting in, of course, one of the ropes breaking and the screen tumbling back to the ground. I like Africa.

Day 13: The Beaches of Zanzibar

2011-07-12T17:02:00.000-07:00

For the second part of our stay, we moved over to the Kilima Kidgogo lodge on the East side of the island. Our host is a matronly South African woman named Dina. She is wonderfully sweet and almost plays a bit of a self parody with her rolled r's and hooted o's, “Looovely Maya”. It was nice to see another part of the island on the drive over to the East Coast but we were really struck by the limited economic circumstances of the population. Much of the transportation of goods, and pretty much all transportation of agricultural products such as wood, grasses, and the like is done by oxen pulling home-built two-wheel wooden carts. People get around on foot, by bicycle, by moped, and by small buses built onto the back those little snub-nosed Japanese transport trucks. What little work there is available is done by hand. We just passed a gang cutting roadside grasses by hand with machetes. It looked to be hot, sweaty, dusty work. As we get closer to town we pass people with roadside fruit stands but most people seem to be just hanging out chatting and smiling. On the way to and from the airport we pass the Jazuri forest, the one place in the world that is home to the red colobus monkey. They don't survive anywhere else in the world. They must like showing themselves off as we've seen a couple quite close to the road every time we pass by.

The white sand beach over here is fantastic. The shallow water inside the reefs reflects many shades of blue and is warm but refreshing. The lodge is open to the beach and has a wonderful outdoor bar and dining tables directly on the white sand. I'm currently sitting in a wood and rope bench swing with Mom and Dad while sipping beer and wine and looking at the white breakers far out on the reef. Earlier, we walked North along the beach to a bar built on pilings far out over the water in front of the Spice Island Resort. One of the most beautiful picturesque settings I have ever seen for a bar and beer and wine were only $3/glass. We’re celebrating Mary’s birthday in absentia.Electricity has been an issue throughout our travels; everywhere we have gone we have had to deal with power outages. On both the mainland and on Zanzibar, the power went out for extended periods of time although generators were used at hotels in both cases to soften the inconvenience. Even at the Kilimanjaro International Airport, the lights would flicker, go out, and then come back on again. This can be a bit disconcerting when the ticket agent is working at a computer terminal trying to book both yourself and your luggage halfway around the world. At other times we were simply off the grid. Even the Ngorongoro Crater Lodge, a large relatively high-end hotel of at least 30 years, operated on a combination of solar and generator and the power was shut down for everyone between 12:00 midnight and 5:00 a.m. We were in tents in the Serengeti and obviously without electricity. Our Boundary Hill Lodge, near the Tarangire, was out in the middle of nowhere and was yet very comfortable. However, the lighting was powered by the sun and if it were cloudy or you left a light on in your room during the day, as Mom and Dad did, you would be out of power that night. All of this served to heighten rather than diminish the pleasure of the trip. The power outages underscored the fact that we were in a distant and foreign land where the things we rely on back home don’t necessarily hold true. At other times, the use of hurricane lamps or candles served to heighten the ambience as the electric lights dimmed. If nothing else, it’s a good reminder to always carry a headlamp when you travel!

Day 14: Snorkeling in the Indian Ocean

2011-07-12T16:29:00.000-07:00

We just got back from an awesome snorkel outing. The scenery was beautiful, the snorkeling was some of the best I've ever had, and for lunch we had fantastic fruit and seafood including a full lobster for each of us. Wow. George and I and the two kids were joined by Thomas and Soizik, a nice young couple from France. We started snorkeling on a pristine isolated sand bar and from there we moved to two different open water snorkeling spots. At each spot we found fantastic coral and abundant sea life including a few creatures we had never seen before, such as a Giant Clam shell and, most incredibly, a large moray eel weaving its nasty looking head out of a rock hole about 15’ down. I must have gotten a little too close on one dive as about 2 1/2' feet of it's body came out of its hole toward my facemask (I don't know how long the creature was in total). It was all muscular and rippling and speckled with black spots over shimmering electric blue skin. It was an incredibly awesome experience and only in retrospect did I consider the fact that perhaps I should have been a bit scared. For our party of six passengers there were five staff on our boat: Hadji, the tour “operator” and his young driver/assistant who wore an elaborate cream-colored pillbox type fez with intricate gold stitching above an old Seal Beach Volleyball Club shirt and cutoff black pants. The rest of the crew was similarly attired in mismatched second-hand clothes with either chewed-up rubber footwear or none at all. Their jobs seemed to be pretty limited, a lot of sleep was caught up on during the hour-long ride out and back from the snorkeling area; one guy even curled up on some sacks under the cover of the small prow. As Dad said, "there's not a lot of work but they don't work very hard." Out in the middle of the water we spied two separate fishermen in fins and masks hunting with spear guns. Each was trailed by a little buoy that marked their passage. We agreed that this would be fun sport but it must be a difficult way to earn a living. Our island shore lunch was prepared by a different group of guys who seemed to provide food for all of the parties on the beach. They cooked over coals on the sand in a grass shack just behind the thatched roof shelters under which we ate. They did amazing work in such primitive conditions but, of course, garbage was strewn in an unused area near the cook shack and tree rats prowled among the refuse and around the mangrove trees near the beach. This is Africa.

The boats and scenery were worth the trip themselves. The whole scene reminded us a lot of the Krabi Peninsula in Thailand. Long wooden boats appeared to be suspended in crystal clear water alongside pristine beaches backed by bright green mangroves and banyan above sharp coral rock. Our charter boat, the Jambo Mambo, was about 25' long, relatively narrow and constructed of wood; the frame was constructed of hand-hewn tree limbs over which was laid a plank floor. The superstructure, including the mast, consisted of tree limbs which were lashed together with nylon line in lieu of nails. The anchor was made from large-diameter rebar which had been cut, bent, and welded together to form an effective set of flukes that held just fine on the sandy bottom. While anchored we were passed by a man paddling, from a standing position, a small pirogue-type boat that looked to have been carved from a single log. We saw more of these from shore. Most were supplemented with an additional gunwale along the top to give the craft some greater depth and some were supplemented with outriggers, again lashed on with line. The shallow water behind the coral reefs are vulnerable to changes in tide and when we landed we had to disembark and walk about half a mile, over shallow tidal flats and around other boats lying on their side with their keels almost indecently exposed, in order to reach shore.

Day 15: Zak's 15th Birthday

2011-07-12T16:14:00.000-07:00

Dina, our hostess at the Kilima Kidogo Lodge, did a wonderful job with Zachary's birthday party tonight. We were joined by Thomas and Soizik, which was very kind of them. Each of us kicked in some money and Dina bought a number of local handicraft gifts and wrapped them in elaborate banana leaf and flower arrangements. She also baked a chocolate cake with chocolate icing and placed it on a table in the middle of more leaves and flowers. Between the bar and the beach was a double palm leaf arbor adorned with vines and colorful bougainvillea blossoms. We had some photos under the arbor and then we were joined by a group of Maasai who did a high-pitched warrior whooping dance in which they took turns jumping up and down and then charging the audience. I can see where this would be very intimidating to their enemies. Zak was entreated to join the dance and he was a good sport about the whole thing. After the dance the Maasai spread out their wares and made a few sales. We were then served dinner. Maya and I split the seafood platter for two and it was enough for four. I laid waste to a crowd of fish and shellfish. Maya had a crab with the largest pincer I have ever seen on a plate. I could not crack it with the cracker and had to resort to beating the thing against the leg of the table to get at the meat inside. We then played "Givers and Grabbers" in which we rolled two dice and any combination of five or a five showing allowed the roller to open a gift. Once all the gifts were opened we had fifteen rounds to steal. Maya and Dina and Soizik went back and forth over a carved ebony pumba (warthog) and Thomas and I over a game. It was great fun and we all took something home we liked; a wonderful birthday party that will be remembered by all.

Day 16: Out of Africa

2011-07-06T13:45:00.000-07:00

We have embarked on our two day trip back home.To get to the boarding area at the Zanzibar airport you basically had to walk through one of the check-in stiles where you would normally weigh the luggage. This is the main entrance to the airport. As we passed through security a woman in a head scarf pulled Maya's bag aside and made a show of looking through it. She found the big shell Maya won the night before and talked about it not being allowed but then gave me a wink so I assumed she was just goofing with Maya. But, when I tried to take the bag and go she stopped me and asked me for a “tip”. I told her I had already spent all my money and just left. Once through security we found the waiting room to be rather hot so we headed for the dining area which was behind glass so we hoped it might be air conditioned. It turned out to be even more of a sauna and when I went to pay for my espresso and Maya's passion fruit fanta, they didn't yet have enough money to make change from my 10,000 shilling ($6.66) note. We found some portable AC machines in the lobby that turned out to be little more than enclosed units with a fan blowing over a block of ice. At any rate, it was pleasantly cool when the fan swung in your direction so we played a little UNO and did a little shopping. After hanging out for about an hour, Zak went back to buy something from the dining area and they still didn't have small notes for change. A short while later the manager came out of the snack bar to inform Zak that change was now available but Zak had already purchased some local chips at the gift shop. Things work a little different in Africa than in The States.

Do you supoose this smoke is from the previous flight to take off from the Zanzibar airport?

Our Precision Air flight took us first to Dar Es Salaam from where we would fly on to Kilimanjaro International Airport. I assumed we would stay in the same plane as our itinerary showed us leaving Zanzibar at 12:35 and Dar at 1:30. However, when we landed in Dar we were loaded on a bus and brought to the international arrival entrance as the flight had originated in Mombasa, Kenya. Carol grabbed a Precision Air employee, I showed the employee our itinerary and she motioned for us to follow her. We followed, like ducks in a row, past everyone filling out their arrival paperwork; through the immigration checkpoints; around a corner and down a dimly lit hall marked SwissPort Cargo; through security and then up to the ticket window where we got our boarding passes and were urged to hurry to the gate as our plane was boarding. We hustled up the stairs only to find another security check before we were again escorted on to the tarmac and out to our plane. We made all our other connections and arrived home a bit rumpled but no worse for wear. We had a great trip but it’s always nice to come back home!

Laos, Bangkok, Korea, and Home

2009-03-20T13:25:00.001-07:00

Even though we had two months to begin with, travel time was growing short so we decided to bypass the overland trip through Laos and across southern Thailand and opted for a flight from Luong Prabang to Thailand. We ended up flying Lao Air, in spite of their less-than-stellar reputation for safety. Luckily, I was able to do a brief visual inspection of the plan as we walked across the tarmac to board and I could see for myself that the duct tape on the wings seemed pretty secure.

We only had a short time in Bangkok with Mary but we spent a great day along the Chao-Phraya River. The lady sitting next to Maya in the photo below even shared her sweet rolls with Zak and Maya. We visited the pottery-decorated Khmer-style Wat Arun, enjoyed some cocktails at a small restaurant on the Chao-Phraya River, and prowled the shadowy-warrens of the Amulet Market. We also visited the Golden Temple at Wat Saket and hit the touristy Kaosan Road market where we picked up a variety of souvenirs. We went into nearby Chinatown for dinner on our last night in town. Zak was feeling pretty chipper on the walk over but started feeling a bit peckish when we got to the restaurant and the meal progressed. We decided to cab it back to the hotel and Zak really got the cabby’s attention when he leaned his upper body out of the cab at a red light and projectile vomited all over the median. Zak continued to be ill in the hotel as the kids and I packed up, (in a bag) in the back of the cab on the way to their, in the airport as we waited for boarding passes, etc. I was a little worried they wouldn’t let him on the plane while he was violently ill but, luckily, he seemed to have depleted himself by the time we got to the gate and he and Maya passed out pretty hard for an hour or so until we got onto our 1:15 a.m. flight. We all slept well until we arrived in South Korea the next morning. Mary would be following on a later flight.

We had a long-layover in Seoul so the kids and I got to spend a great day kicking around in Seoul. It was cool there, brown grass, bare trees but above freezing and no snow on the ground, quite a change from the heat and humidity of Bangkok. We spent the day in the Insa-Don area of Seoul, a cute little warren of narrow lanes, art galleries, old tea houses (one in which birds flew around freely), hip little shops, etc. We had lunch at this great restaurant called Sanchon. The owner/chef learned his "temple cooking" during his 18 years as a Buddhist Monk. The cuisine is all drawn from fresh vegetables gathered in the country's woods and mountains. The restaurant itself was spectacular but the food was amazing. We just followed a small group heading back down this twisty narrow little lane and stumbled on what I would be willing to bet is one of the best meals you can get in all of Korea.

George and Carol met us at the airport back in San Diego. Dad had made a very clever poster with drawings of the different events we did on the trip. The kids both promptly ran off to their respective friends’ houses. 24/7 with Dad and sibling for two months is enough for anyone; now I know why some animals eat their young.

Luong Prabang

2009-03-18T16:23:00.000-07:00

We are now in Luang Prabang, Laos. Before we arrived I had heard that Luong Phrabang had been designated a UNESCO World Heritage Centre in part because of the blend of traditional Lao and French colonial architecture and that, until the Communist takeover in 1975, Luang Prabang was the royal capital of Laos. I’m not sure exactly what I was expecting but I was surprised by just how undeveloped the city was. It was as though it had suffered from decades of neglect and tropical decay which is, I suppose, what follows in the wake of decades of colonial rule followed by decades of Communism. However, from our perspective, we found ourselves in an incredibly charming, laid-back town that time forgot. There are numerous Wats and a royal palace and many French-colonial buildings but the European-built buildings are struggling against decay and sit cheek by jowl with old wooden houses with canted floors and rusted metal roofs. Poverty and charm all wrapped up in one.

The cuisine was a bit of polyglot as well. We enjoyed Lao salads, fruit shakes, a Mekong seaweed dish, small cooked "bird," water buffalo, and other exotic dishes as well as incredible French baguettes, baked goods, and coffee. We ate baguette-sandwiches at primitive restaurants overlooking the Mekong, fine cuisine at fancy, but reasonably-priced restaurants, and particularly enjoyed dining at the bustling food stalls on the side streets of the night market. Each evening, the main street was made over into a lively street market selling handicrafts and cheap T-shirts to the tourist while the addition of small kitchens, tables, and chairs transformed the side streets into good, cheap eateries. Periodically the lights of the entire downtown area would cut out, but the vendors were clearly used to this state of affairs and had candles ready again, decay and charm in one. In keeping with the theme, we all ended up with upset tummies to some degree. Maya has the constitution and digestion of a dog; nothing seems to bother her that eating a little grass won’t cure. Mary, on the other hand, spent an entire day moving between the Reclining Buddha pose on the bed and the Praying to the Porcelain Buddha pose in the bathroom.

In the morning we would get up to watch long lines of saffron-robed monks walk down the street with their offering bowls. The good people of the city sit on the sidewalks and make offerings of rice, bananas, and other food to the monks as they walk by. The Lao women looked particularly exotic in their brilliantly-patterned long straight silk skirts and sarongs and the orange robes of the many monks shone brightly in the early morning light.

One morning, after doing our own part to gain merit by making offerings to the monks, we walked to the top of the Phou Si hill in the middle of the old city to watch the sunrise over the mountains. The city is bordered by two big rivers (the Mekong and the Nam Kahn) and from the top of the hill, it almost looks like the whole city is floating. The entire peninsular area is easily traveled by foot although we rented a bicycle to help get us all around.

On two different nights we enjoyed a great Lao Massage (about 46,000 Lao Kip/hour or about $5) and a session in a Lao herbal steam sauna. For the sauna they burn wood to fire up a big boiler of water and herbs, the steam from which is piped directly above to two small dark wood sauna closets, one for men and one for women. The key is to sit in the sauna for a bit, then get out and have some special herb tea, then back in the sauna, etc. On our last full day in town we, along with some others, hired a small truck to take us to the waterfalls outside of town. The water of the rivers was a milky-blue and the water provided a welcome relief from the tropical heat. Zak and I had fun jumping off of rope swings and down waterfalls; he is quite the water boy. Of course, on the way back, the little truck broke down but after a bit of tinkering and a little assistance, we were back on our way.

Down the Mekong

2009-03-13T11:18:00.000-07:00

The trip down the Mekong was amazing! We were loaded on a long wooden “slow boat” with about 100 other backpacker types. The average passenger is 20 years our junior and Maya and Zak are the only kids on board. We got a late start and are loaded well beyond the maximum seating capacity. Many of the kids are sitting on the gunwales. One has a guitar and softly provides a pleasant soundtrack to the images of water buffalo on the shore and young monks splashing in the river while their companions perch among the orange robes on the rocky beach. The trip turned out to be one of those zen parenting (parenting by not parenting) moments. For two days the kids were exposed to a cosmopolitan pile of young adults laying about, playing cards, and drinking Thai Whiskey and Beerlao. Our kids, outgoing and attractive as they are, were soon enlisted in the card games and even sent from one party to another to beg or steal bottles of Thai Whiskey when supplies began to dwindle; I’m not sure whether I should be proud of their forthrightness or embarrassed by the activities. In either case, we had two beautiful sunny days for cruising down the Mekong. Laos is the only landlocked country in SE Asia and the poorest. The Mekong snakes along and through the entire country. It provides food, water, transportation, and ties the country together. I was surprised at how rocky and narrow the river was in places and not at all surprised that boat traffic shut down at night. We spent the night at the little river town of Pakbeng. Pakbeng is the kind of rural outpost where the power is only on from six in the evening until midnight. In Pakbeng I was again reminded how the Laotians do not display the same type of pleasantness as the Thais. I was lied to by touts trying to get me to visit their hotels, lied to by touts trying to get me to buy boat tickets, etc., etc. Life must just be harder requiring more guile.

The next day it was back on the river. It was hard to believe I was actually on this big old wooden boat, floating down the Mekhong, drinking beerlao, sharing Billie Holiday with Mary on the ipod, looking at the jungle and the water buffalo and the Lao kids on the banks; transcendent.

Laos

2009-03-13T10:45:00.000-07:00

We are in Laos! We took the bus this morning from Chiang Mai to Chiang Khong, about a 5 hour ride. Once in Chiang Khong, we boarded a motorcycle rickshaw/tuk-tuk (motorcycle in front and two benches facing each other in the rear) to get to immigration on the banks of the Mekong. From immigration we headed down the fancy (not) border crossing at the beach where we got on a long long-tail for the ride across the river. This boat was an inboard with a fixed drive shaft going below the boat and no gearing. I was a little disappointed to finally land on the Laotian shore as the day was incredibly hot and humid and the breeze offered by the boat ride was quite refreshing. We broke a good sweat walking up the hill to immigration; heck, I had a serious sweat going just filling out the immigration documents. We bought tickets for tomorrow’s slow boat to Luong Prabang and booked a room at the Sawadee Hotel. After paying for the boat tickets and hotel and visas (1500 baht or about $45 each), I was a little low on cash so I hit the local ATM for some Laotian Kip. As near as I can tell the exchange rate is about 10,000 kip to the dollar. There are no coins in circulation and the bills go down as small as 500 kip. I wanted to pull out about $200 but I was limited to 700,000 kip per transaction which turned out to be just as well because this ATM apparently dispensed no bills smaller than 20,000 kip. This made for a serious wad of cash. So much so, I was unable to fold my wallet and, for much of the time in Laos, carried my money around in a big roll held together with a rubber band.

Once we settled in we headed over to an herbal sauna and massage place in the Red Cross building in town. The Red Cross apparently runs these throughout Laos as a means of raisign revenue for the good work they do. Mary and Zak and I first got an hour-long massage. The masseuses used a tiger balm/mentholated balm as they needed our back and muscles. There was a bit of tweaking and twisting but this was not the same as a Thai massage. After the massage, we showered and entered the herbal sauna, one for women and one for men. The saunas were heated by a large wood fire on the lower level that boiled an herbal water mixture that was vented directly to the saunas above. The idea was to spend 10 minutes or so in the sauna and then come out and drink some herbal tea. Both the herbal mixture in the saunas and the tea are unique to each spa and supposedly held in strict secrecy. There were other Laotians enjoying the sauna as well and the Lao girls looked quite exotic in their sweaty sarongs. Maya was not able to get a massage and didn’t want to sit in the sauna for long but she enjoyed running around in her sarong and playing with a younger girl who was the daughter of one of the women working there.

Elephants, etc.

2009-03-13T10:09:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, Mary and I went for a two hour run up at the reservoir before we all headed over to Grace’s for an outing of elephant riding and other adventures. First stop was the elephants. This time, Zak and I were allowed to ride on the heads of our elephants. Every time they would walk downhill we would have the sensation of an imminent fall over the front and then, presumably, under the feet which would make for a horrible slimming technique. However, as long as we kept our legs lodged behind their ears it would have been almost impossible to fall off. I was wearing shorts and I can attest that elephants are very bristly. While on the elephants they were allowed to feed on some young bamboo growing at the edge of a deep gully. They can really rip that vegetation out; wow. After the elephants we went to a waterfall where our guide Jimmy and Zak and I went swimming. The day was hot the water was not to cold which made for a welcome and refreshing dip. Jimmy jumped off about a 25 foot ledge into the pool and we had fun trying to walk upstream against the force of the water at the base of the falls. After we got back to the red songthaew truck, Zak mentioned it sure would be fun to ride on the roof. Jimmy readily agreed and up the two scrambled; so much for seat belt laws. Luckily it was not far to the bamboo raft put in point. We had a great trip downstream past elephants and through the rapids. We had a great time.

That evening, back in Chiang Mai, all four of us loaded up on the scooter and drove over to the Wararot Market on the bank of the Ping River. I bought a big Kum Loi (floating paper lantern) and we headed up on the foot bridge over the river to launch it. Mary had not yet mastered the art of crossing the busy Thai streets but we were eventually all assembled. When we launched the Kum Loi, it first dropped (very bad luck) down to just above the surface of the river before it started to rise (good luck). There is a lesson there for us I am sure. After watching the Kum Loi join the stars, we headed out on the Riverside Restaurant Ping River cruise. It was very nice. The last photo is of all four of us on our main mode of transportation in Chiang Mai.

Cooking School

2009-03-13T09:52:00.000-07:00

Mary arrived yesterday – Yeeaah! After getting her settled in, all four of us got on the scooter and drove to a nice restaurant overlooking the waterfall just past the zoo. From there, we got on a red truck and headed up to Doi Suthep. For dinner we headed over to the Riverside but were unable to get on the dinner cruise boat so Mary and I enjoyed a small bottle of Sam Sang with fresh juice before heading over to the Night Bazaar for food and shopping.
This morning Mary and I got up for a little run and then we were picked up by the Thai Farm people for an all-day cooking class. They took us to a market to discuss the food we would be using, then we went out to the farm where they showed us some of the food growing, how to prepare the rice, how to prepare the various dishes, etc. We ate everything we cooked and had a great time.

The Golden Triangle

2009-03-12T19:50:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was Valentine’s Day and we celebrated with a visa run to Myanmar. This time we chartered a tour to see some other sites along the way. Our first stop was at some hot springs where we boiled some eggs and bought some pumpkin chip snacks from one of the many vendors at the site. We continued on to the White Wat, a contemporary temple built by a famous Thai artist in his home town. The contemporary spin on some classic themes - such as the hands reaching from below in the photo to the right and the contemporary levels of Hell including nuclear bombs and other technological "marvels" on a mural in the interior - were quite powerful. From there we headed to the Golden Triangle where Burma, Laos, and Thailand meet. We chartered a small boat to take us across the Mekong River to Laos. Note the attention to detail on safety gear in the photo to the left. Life on the other side of the river was starkly different than that in Thailand. Clearly this was a much more impoverished community. There were some open-air shops selling knock-off designer clothing bottles of alcohol containing snakes, scorpions, tiger penises, armadillos, etc. Now I’m always up for a libation but this stuff was enough to turn my stomach. However, there were fellow travelers braver than myself and the man offering samples was downright drunk; good for him. We returned to the boat and headed up the river along the Burmese shore. In both Laos and Myanmar/Burma, Chinese entrepreneurs had started ventures including a large casino in Burma (where no one ever wins according to our guide) and a large neo-classical hotel complex in Laos. On the Thai side of the triangle there was a huge seated gold Buddha statue on a boat-like base. The statue had been was a combined gift from Laos, Myanmar, and China to celebrate the Queen of Thailand’s birthday.

We then got back in the mini-van and headed North to Mae Sai and the official border crossing into Myanmar. Interestingly, as you can see by the photos of the clocks on the wall, the time in Myanmar is one-half hour behind the time in Thailand. I couldn’t help thinking this was more reflective of how Myanmar is one-half hour out of step with the rest of the world. After renewing our entry visas into Thailand, we stopped by an Akha hill tribe village. The older woman in the photo is wearing her traditional garb and her teeth are stained from chewing betel nuts. The older man is smoking from an opium pipe. The last photo is of me standing, on level ground, next to a woman from an ethnic Chinese community.

Thai Massage

2009-03-12T16:22:00.000-07:00

Yesterday we finally made it over to the Women’s Correctional Institute for a massage. That’s right, the women’s prison not only sells handicrafts but the inmates also have a shop where they offer traditional Thai massage. How often do you have the opportunity to get a massage at a women’s prison, right? So the three of us headed over there and we were not disappointed. These women did not possess the typically thin Thai female body type, dainty they were not. They did however act like a typical Thai with smiles, giggles, and a lot of joking and laughing, which created a surprisingly pleasant atmosphere. I’m guessing that the woman who worked on me was in for assault and battery. She had homemade tattoos on her arms and she probably strangled her philandering husband with her bare hands. One popular technique was to lean hard on the artery pressure point at the top of the thighs. The woman working me held the point until my legs went numb and then continued to hold for what seemed like a couple of more minutes. I was starting to become concerned about the long-term health consequences of cutting off my blood flow for this long when she released the position and I could literally feel the blood whoosh back into my legs; we were clearly not in for a pleasant rub down. To make matters worse, once she rolled me over on my back (now don’t get jealous) she started saying, “I like you” and I don’t think she meant my snappy threads as we were wearing what amounted to prison pajamas. I didn’t want to lead her on but I didn’t want to burst her bubble and risk suffering a burst lumbar disk so I adopted a non-committal silence except for when I was unable to refrain from grunting in pain as she would sit behind me, put me in a full nelson, a wrestling move illegal in all civilized countries pin my feet to the ground, and crank my torso up over her knees, past her shoulder, and around her back or contort me in some other seemingly physically impossible maneuver. Every time she would say, “relak, relak, relak” (relax, relax, relax) I would endeavor to do so because I know she was about to perform some contortion on my body that was either going to break a limb or tear a ligament if I tensed up at all. Meanwhile, Maya is over there giggling as her masseuse is gently prodding Maya’s little twig arms and legs while teaching her to count to 10 in Thai. Zak described his massage as, “rough, but very good.” He says he enjoyed it very much. I have to agree that it was a very good massage even if I did feel as though I had been run over by a small truck.

Chiang Mai Climbing

2009-03-12T15:57:00.000-07:00

Happy Birthday to me! We ended up going rock climbing today at Crazy Horse Buttress which, coincidentally, is basically the same limestone formation that contains the Muong On Cave we visited last week. Everyone did great and we had a good time. I rented gear from Chiang Mai climbing adventures and led a number of really good routes. Zak belayed me while I led and then I belayed Zak and Maya. The kids did great. This was Maya’s first time climbing and you probably won’t be surprised to hear that our little lean bundle of muscle did great on the rock.

On the ride to and from the climbing area we got to know Ta, one of the guys from the climbing shop who was guiding another client at the crag. Afterward, we joined him and his girlfriend from Princeton at their favorite market food place down by the Chiang Mai Gate - great grub for about about 35 baht ($1) per plate. We then went back to the hotel and invited Mao, the hotel manager, and her daughter Ploy to join us at a hip ice cream place - iberry - for dessert. A very nice day was had by all.

Doi Inthanon

2009-03-09T16:23:00.000-07:00

After the Flower Festival we made our way over to Doi Inthanon, a national park and the highest point in Thailand. We were going to take a charter but decided to go by local transportation. We made the drive over in the back of a songthaew, basically a pickup truck with benches running across both sides of the be with a high shell over the top. They are essentially privately-owned people and package delivery vehicles. Red ones are for in town and yellow ones go to surrounding communities. You flag one down and if they are going the direction, you want to go, you hop in. They will also pick up and drop off packages along the way. The fare depends on how far you go. For the three of us on an 1 ½ hour trip, it cost 80 baht (about $2.30). Ours was fairly crowded so I spent the first part of the trip standing on the back platform standing outside of the vehicle. It was sort of like snowboarding on land. Once we got to Chomtung outside of the park, I tried to get on another songthaew to go up the mountain. My guidebook and the tourist office said this would be relatively easy but there were no songthaew to be found except to essentially hire one and a drive at what I felt were exorbitant rates. So, we looked around and found a place renting motorcycles. We got a little Honda scooter and headed up the mountain. They place was beautiful. We saw some incredible waterfalls and the mountain itself was covered in jungle and shrouded in mist. Finally, with much huffing and puffing and for much of the trip in first gear, the little scooter brought us to the very highest point in Thailand. Very cool.

Upon returning the scooter we learned that it was “Buddha Day.” So that evening, after returning to Chiang Mai, we went to Wat Chedi Luong and, under a full moon, joined the masses walking around the Chedi three times. Everyone carried flowers and candles and incense. It was quite beautiful. They also had some blast furnace things going in which I think they were firing some type of statue molds, probably of Buddhas, but I'm not exactly sure. Interesting nonetheless.

Chiang Mai Flower Festival

2009-03-08T17:27:00.000-07:00

The evening after kayaking we headed down to the Buak Hat Public Park for the first night of the Chiang Mai Flower Festival. I wasn’t sure what to expect and I was mildly surprised to find the place packed. On the moat road, which was closed for the event, we browsed the bromeliads and ogled the orchids. I’m partial to orchids and I was quite impressed with both the variety and the vibrancy of the selection. There were also a number of food stalls and, inside the park, a stage, more food, some rides for the little kids, and games of chance. On stage we were first treated to some live jazz and then the contest for the Chiang Mai Flower Festival Queen 2009. The girls were of course beautiful but what was particularly spectacular were the incredibly opulent costumes, many featuring elaborate flower garlands, head ornamentation and black hair piled incredibly high. We ate and browsed and then headed over to the games of chance. Zak and I knocked down a couple of bottles of orange sugar water with the pop guns but we failed miserably trying to pop 7 balloons with 7 darts. Maya and Zak won an eraser and a kid’s hankie by scooping up floating plastic eggs but Zak’s real success came in knocking down a pyramid of cans with tennis balls. He won a large stuffed panda bear which he gave to Maya. Very fun.

The next day was the Flower Festival Parade. It was similar to parades in the U.S. in that there were marching bands, floats, and festival queens. The floats were opulent and entirely covered with flowers. The marching bands had the same absurd uniforms and the festival queens had their long black hair sculpted into incredibly elaborate structures. There were also hill-tribe dancers and music and other interesting entries, such as a group of young-women dressed as flowers and young-men dressed as plants and a sort-of song and dance troop extolling the seven virtues of Thailand. What was perhaps most novel aspect for me was the much more relaxed attitude toward the delineation between spectator and participant. People would just walk in front of a float to get a good photo or even pose their kids next to the flower queens for that perfect shot. Little care was given to accommodate the size of the floats or the bands and, on more than a couple of occasions, I saw people nearly run over or trampled upon but nobody seemed to care. They were all there to enjoy themselves as performers or spectators and did their best to help each other to that end. As a result the parade would move forward in bursts. The progress of one group might be thwarted by the crowd and then they would rush to catch up as soon as they were able. My Western mind was at first put off by the lack of order but I soon came to appreciate the relaxed nature of the whole endeavor. I guess it is kind of like the difference in attitude toward zoning regulations. Here in Thailand, you might find a simple cement-block structure added onto a house willy-nilly but if the family needs a bathroom and that is the only way they can afford to put one on, why sweat it?

After the parade, we headed back to the Flower Festival where we inspected the floats. Maya enjoyed one of her favorite Thai treats, and ice cream sandwich. This may not sound very exotic except that the ice cream sandwiches here are actually small scoops of vanilla or vanilla/coconut ice cream served between two slices of white bread. Yum. The kids also got on a small Ferris Wheel which was set up for the day. They were latched in and, little did we know, they were in for the longest Ferris Wheel ride in history. Other kids would be let on and then let off. The Braunwarth kids continued to go around and around. At some point, I had to sit down and I was just laughing every time they would pass through the bottom of the circle and start up again. They literally must have been on for forty minutes before Zak got the attention of the operator and got let off.

That night we came across more Flower Festival activities at the Tha Pae Gate near our hotel. The music and dancing were marginal, at best, but there was a particularly prolific fire breather. Nothing like the potential for self-emoliation to liven things up.

Running and Kayaking

2009-03-08T16:50:00.000-07:00

I’ve been keeping up with my training for the Catalina Marathon next month but it has been a challenge finding a place for long runs. The first time, I tried running along the river, thinking there might be some kind of a path, but found myself largely avoiding traffic and choking on exhaust. After the run I felt like I had smoke a pack of cigarettes which seemed to kind of defeat the purpose of running in the first place. For the next couple of runs, I headed up to the sprawling grounds of Chiang Mai University. This was much better and had the added benefit of putting me right over the wall from the zoo during the morning feeding rounds. There is something kind of viscerally gripping about being all alone at dawn and hearing a tiger roaring just on the other side of a line of trees. Then, breakthrough, the kids and I headed up to the Huey Tueng Tao Reservoir North of town. The lake was nice and looked like it would be great place to run. The lake was ringed with little resorts. We lunched at one on a little bamboo platform over the water, fished for some fickle fish and played a few hands of Uno. We decided to start keeping score which makes the Uno a little more interesting. Maya "the Master" is, of course, way out in front. Zak has "a system" so he is, of course, losing. At one end of the lake was large gold Buddha statue standing palms out. From where we sat, we could just see his head poking through over the trees. For my last couple of long runs I took the motorcycle up to the Reservoir which, in addition to the road around the lake, has a great running path leading to and from the reservoir. When Mary arrived we went for a run around the reservoir and picked up the company of a little black and white dog with one of those funnel collars that kept it from chewing on stitches or whatever. He started running with a litter mate but the funnel kept him from noticing that his brother had turned back and he ended up following us half-way around the lake until he was spanked by some other dogs after straying onto their turf.

I’m always big on new experiences but reluctant to go with the established tours/tourist type of outing. So, rather than sign up for the Ping River Cruise, we headed down to a kayak rental place on the River behind the Fa Ham Wat. We were able to rent two kayaks for 240 baht (about $7). We paddled upstream to ensure an easier trip back but the river was fairly slow and shallow. We passed larger and larger houses and met a couple of river tour boats but this time of year the river did not seem to be navigable to much larger vessels. Maya did great and Zak has become a very strong paddler. We put out on the floating docks and I was pulling the kayaks out of the river when I heard a large splash behind me and turned to see Maya coming up out of the café-au-lait water, between the two floating docks, her two plastic shoes floating by her side. She quickly scrambled out, no harm done.

After kayaking, we hit the Hopf Coffee House for a little homework. It’s nice for us because Zachary can rent computer time to get his reports typed up, they’ve got wifi for me that I can use while I help Maya with her homework. The only problem is that it is a little too nice. The only locals here are working behind the counter. Oh well, we can afford a little indulgence for the sake of homework.

Markets and Food

2009-03-05T21:04:00.000-08:00

Every Sunday evening, the brick road that runs past the end of our block is transformed into a large "walking street" market, that mainly serves the locals. It's fun to rub shoulders with the masses and eat all of the street food. The Sunday walking market is much more interesting than the famous Chiang Mai Night Bazaar to the SE of the old town. The Sunday market caters much more to the Thais although there is plenty to appeal to the tourist as well. One of the central attractions for us are the many food stalls in the courtyards of the Wats branching off from the main street. From banana rotis to squid kabobs to sushi, we eat like kings for just a few dollars. The photo on the right is from the courtyard of the Wat just down the street from our hotel. The one below that is of Zak with the two vendors from whom he purchased his Buddha necklace.

Ode to a banana rotee:

So brown, so sweet So delicious, what a treat,
You elicit great flair, when skillfully created, You are as fluffy as air, when savorly ated,
Your bananas are mushy but not overly so,
Your sugar it sprinkles like new fallen snow,
Then of course there’s the milk, condensed and sweetened,
When drizzled on rotis, it's soon to be eatened.

We've also learned that pretty much any kind of food can be sold from a cart mounted on the side of a small motorcycle scooter. I've seen them with meats on ice that can then be cooked over braziers mounted right on the motorcycle. Another popular treat is an ice cream sandwich although in this case, the ice cream is scooped directly between two slices of white bread - literally a sandwich.

The picture on the left is of a typical small open-air restaurant. This one overlooks the Ping River next to the Wararot Market. Perhaps not uncoincidentally, Zak is essentially passed out suffering from a stomach ailment. Maya and I tried not to let him get in the way of our meal.

One of our favorite food outings is to a buffet-style restaurant called Samsabai. The picture to the right is of us there with a group of friends. The main feature of the meal is to pick out the meat you want and then grill it on the aluminum grills in the middle of the table.

Thai Language

2009-03-01T15:29:00.001-08:00

I have not picked up much Thai while staying here. I figured I wasn’t going to be here that long and I really wouldn’t have much use for it later. Besides, it seems pretty difficult. I have picked up a few phrases, really just basic stuff but the Thai people seem so amazed that I know anything. I'll just say hello (Sawasdee Khrap) and how are you (Sabadee Mai) in Thai and they say, "Oh you speak you Thai" with just a hint of amazement and I'll say no (mai) in Thai and they'll say, "Oh yes you do," it's really pretty funny. But honestly I just know a few simple phrases and run through the entire set of them in about four minutes.
I haven’t had the chance to use my Thai phrase book much or the following conversation at all, but I thought it interesting that the book gave the following translations under the “drinking up” section and I tried to image someone using the phrases with the aid of the book. Here is the list of phrases from top to bottom:

Cheers!
This is hitting the spot.
I feel fantastic!
I think I’ve had one too many.
I’m feeling drunk.
I feel ill.
I think I’m going to throw up.
Where’s the toilet?
I’m tired, I better go home.
Can you call a taxi for me?
I don’t think you should drive.

Pretty much everyone does speak English, some obviously better than others. Most of the people who interact with the tourists are quite fluent and almost everyone wants to show off their English and practice a little bit. For instance, when we pass kids, they will generally say, "Hello, how are you" in that stilted second-language manner people have. Maya makes things interesting. Most people assume she is Thai and speak to her in Thai and we have to explain that we are from the States and she only speaks English. I have also had to learn the term "Luk Sow" or daughter which, somewhat surprisingly, everyone seems to accept without question. You do come acrossing some interesting translations on signs. At least the bathroom signs are fairly explicit. The sign at the bottom of the pole on the left advertises "the most beautiful toilet" and this is at a Thai Air Force pubic installation. It seems that the Thai Royal Police and the Military are two entities that are well funded, in no small part as a result of their own "entrepreneurial" initiative. The picture at the bottom rignt is from a food stall at one of the night markets where we commonly eat. Instead of KFC chicken, it's KFG chicken which stand for "Kentucky Fried Guy" because Guy is the Thai word for chicken. For some reason that one just tickles my fancy.

Sankampaeng Hot Springs

2009-03-01T14:42:00.002-08:00

Yesterday (Thursday), after a little morning homework, we drove out toward the Sankampaeng Hot Springs. The drive on the scooter took about 45 minutes. Near the hot springs, we stopped at the Muang-On Cave. You had to climb up a number of stairs to the entrance of the cave and then once inside, descend a series of concrete stairs to the chambers below. Various large alcoves and niches were occupied by gold-leaf statues of the Buddha.

The hot springs were pretty cool as well. Our first stop was a hot spring resort with beautifully manicured grounds, geysers, etc. The place was more of a spa specializing in massage, individual mineral baths, etc. The clientele primarily consisted of foreigners; in particular, we noticed a number of Korean tourists. We boiled some eggs in the source pool, ate, and played some farkel before heading over to the main Sankampaeng Springs. Again, there was no opportunity for soaking in natural pools but they did have a very nice mineral pool with a waterfall we could use for a nominal fee. This place catered more to the locals with the comforting corresponding degree of kitsch. You may have noticed that boiling eggs is a popular pastime at Thai hot spring and I can certainly understand why. It’s kind of neat to take some raw eggs, dangle them in some boiling cauldron of water and end up with perfectly done eggs. We’re partial to the medium done eggs. In our opinion, the only good yolk is a runny yolk. Besides, it’s so much fun to slurp up the gelatinous goo through pursed lips. We, like the Thais, prefer them with soy sauce. These hot springs featured an homage to the boiled egg in the form of a fountain featuring, you guessed it, a whole clutch of eggs.

Burma

2009-03-01T12:52:00.001-08:00

We just got back from Burma or Myanmar, as the currently military leaders of hte country prefer. We hired a motorcycle rickshaw tuk-tuk at the border to took us to some Wats and other stops. One of the highlights was a visit to a Karen (one of the "hill tribes") long-neck village. The women adorn their neck with these heavy brass rings, adding more and more over time until their necks appear to be incredibly elongated (I understand that it actually pushes down the clavicles and ribs with little ill-effect on the women). The kids thought it interesting but weren't blown away the way I thought they would be. I may just be cynical, and I didn't share this with the kids, but I couldn't help feeling that the whole experience was like going to a "human zoo." We had to pay an admission to go into the compound; the women performed some dance thing for the tourists; and then they stood around while we took pictures with them. It was kind of like going to see some exotic species at a wild animal park (although I've only seen the tigers do synchronize dance on rare occasions). There is, of course, a flipside. Civil war and economic strife have made it impossible for the women to survive in their homeland and this kind of existence allows them to survive without resorting to low-paying menial labor or something worse. We've encountered a lot of people on our travels that can't be making more than a dollar or two a day. Interestingly, you really don't see hardly any beggars at all in Thailand, however in Burma we encountered quite a few. The monks were even quite aggressive with the alms bowls, VERY different than in Thailand. The vendors in the market were also pretty in your face and a couple were selling what looked like ocelot pelts and horns from some endangered animal. For some reason the guys all wanted to sell me cigarettes and viagra, must be the receding hairline. The street kids we encountered on the bridge back into Thailand literally got into a fight over the 10 baht (30 cents) I was going to give one of them; I'm embarrassed to say I was frankly disgusted. The Burmese border city of Kachiliek is not that different than the Thai border city of Mae Sai in terms of the buildings, the markets, the food, or the physical appearance of the people, but I really picked up on a different kind of vibe. The people smiled and everything but it just didn't seem as laid back and free as Thailand. I was thinking that perhaps I was just hyper-sensitive as a result of my professional training but, interestingly, I was talking to a couple of Australian students in the passport line coming back into Thailand and they volunteered the exact same information. Kind of creepy. Anyway, we had a very interesting visit. Oddly enough, back on the Thai side we came across a statue of a giant scorpion on the grounds of a Wat; odd but not creepy. Ditto for the “yellow surprise” drinking water.

Mae Sai

2009-03-01T12:17:00.001-08:00

We are now in a little town called Mae Sai at the "northernmost point in Thailand" according to a sign near our guesthouse. We came up here because our entry visas for Thailand expire on February 1 so we are going to cross the border into Burma and return to get another 15 day entry visa. Since we have to come this far, we decided to spend a couple of days here and see the sites. We are staying at a cute little place on the river (the maesai guesthouse) overlooking the river separating Thailand from Burma. It’s very nice just hanging out next to the river playing a little Uno and watching a group of naked Burmese boys playing in the water and a Burmese woman wading into the river to dump her trash so it will flow downstream. Later on a group of older Burmese boys swam over to the Thai side and jumped from trees into a deep hole in the river. The next day we rented a scooter and drove down to some nearby caves. The first one (Tham Luang or Great Cave) goes a couple of kilometers into the mountain but we only made it a couple of score meters before the kids got freaked out because of the dark (even with our flashlights) and we had to leave. Being a quick learner, I took the kids to another cave (Tham Pla or Fish Cave). This one was on the grounds of a monastery with scores of monkeys running around and giant koi, carp, and catfish in a big pool fed by water flowing out of a small cave. We climbed about 300 steps to go into a cave set into the mountain. Inside was a temple to a large gold Buddha illuminated by shafts of light coming in from skylights far above and shrouded by the smoke from candles and incense lit by other penitents. The cave roof was dripping stalactites and fantastically sculpted folds of rock; very beautiful.

Chiang Mai Wats

2009-02-18T05:53:00.000-08:00

From our window on the fourth floor of the Na Inn, a large, old, crumbled brick Chedi (bell-shaped temple), with its mountain backdrop, dominates the view from our hotel balcony. It turns out this (Wat Chedi Luong) is the tallest Chedi in Thailand and is intentionally situated directly in the middle or the “navel” of Chiang Mai. Apparently, cities in Thailand were once considered to be like a body and were designed as such. Chiang Mai was created with a gate to the North flanked by elephants. This elephant gate was to the “head” of the city through which important elements would flow directly to the administrative and spiritual center of the Wat Chedi Luang we visited. Negative aspects of city life were prohibited in this Northern part of the city. Rather, things like the removal of the dead, were relegated to the Southwest corner of the city. The Eastern and Southeastern part of the city is flanked by the Mae Ping River and this was to be, and remains, the center for commerce and industry. The Western part of the city was relatively forested. This was to be the place for monks and meditation and to be the educational section of the city. It is in this direction that the large Chiang Mai University and other Universities lie today. In addition, Wats were established at the edge of the old city at each of the eight cardinal points from Chedi Luang in a system known as “thaksamuang.” The combined nine wats are important because, as you probably know, nine is an auspicious number.

There are, however, many more wats than nine in Chiang Mai. There are apparently as many wats in Chiang Mai as there are in all of Bangkok. Indeed, it is very hard to walk in any direction for long without passing a wat or a group of saffron-robed monks. I see many monks in the morning when I head out for my run as this is the time of day they circulate with their silver offering bowls. Thais offer food to the monks in order to gain “merit” in their reincarnation-path toward enlightenment. It is apparently important that the emphasis is on the donation of the food rather than its receipt by the particular monk. For instance, a monk may give a blessing to the donor, but would never give a personal “thank you.” Anyway, the abundance of Wats certainly adds to the color and vibrancy of the city. Wats are typically ornately decorated with gold and mirrored mosaics which makes for a dazzling site as lights pass over them at night.
One thing we’ve enjoyed in Chiang Mai is visiting the Wat’s for the English language lectures and the “monk chat” times when we can ask questions of the monks and the monks can practice their English.

The most important Wat in Chiang Mai is Wat Doi Suthep, on the mountain overlooking the city. We can see the lights of the Wat from our hotel and have driven up the mountain to the Wat on our scooter. This is apparently the second most holy site in Thailand and the temple is quite opulent. On our first visit, we entered the main temple and kneeled down, admiring the detailed paintings on the wall, noting the large number of clocks, counting the many Buddha statues in the hall (35+?) when a wizened old monk who had been sitting on the side of the temple began chanting and then dipped a split bamboo stick into some water and splashed it on the group of us clustered in front of the main altar. He then began tying small lengths of white string onto the wrists of the supplicants. An assistant tied string to the wrists of the women present as monks are not allowed to touch women directly. As the string was tied, a little prayer or comment was offered from the monk. However, when I reached the monk, he took one look at me and set to work with renewed vigor. He began chanting loudly and repeatedly splashed the holy water onto my back with the branch as I bowed before him. At some point he seemed satisfied, or at least resigned to the limitations of what he had to work with, and tied a piece of white string on my right wrist before sending me on my way.

Chinese New Year

2009-02-18T05:08:00.000-08:00

It’s the first day of the three-day Chinese New Year celebrations so, once we got going, we headed over to Chinatown for the festivities. There were a number of children’s groups performing dances and playing music on two stages set up a block apart on Soi Chang Moi (the main drag through Chinatown). Other streets were lined with food vendors and we enjoyed a variety of delicious delicacies and visited a crowded Chinese temple. We returned in the evening to find the place packed with people there for the big celebration. The climax of the night was when a very long Chinese dragon - consisting of one person at the head and many more supporting the body - “climbed,” corkscrew-like, up a large 30 foot metal pole with the aid of a number of daring young men who were suspended up and down the sides of the pole; very impressive. Maya loved watching the Chinese girls perform and stage but given the crowd and her diminutive stature, she was unable to see without moving up to the front of the crowd. A row of large padded shares was directly in front of the stage. These were unoccupied and presumably reserved for festival VIPs but that didn’t stop Maya from plopping down and watching the show. No one seemed to mind until I could see an official go to speak to Maya, presumably asking her to move as the VIPs were en route. Maya just smiled up at him, clearly not understanding his Thai, and returned her attention to the performance, leaving the official flummoxed. I could see what was going on but I was thoroughly hemmed in by the crowd so I sent Zak up and we retrieved Maya just as the VIPs were entering.

The next morning we three all had varying degrees of upset tummies, probably from eating the food stall food that had been sitting out in the hot sun all day. We decided to get out of town for some fresh air so we hopped on our rented scooter and drove up to the Mae Sa Valley North of town and visited, first an insect zoo (the butterfly aviary (would that be a butterflaviary?) was pretty cool), and then the Maesa elephant camp show. The elephant show was of course touristy but not bad. We first got to see them bathing in the river which they really seemed to enjoy and spent a lot of time dunking their heads and spraying themselves (and the crowd) down. Downstream, three women stood with plastic baskets catching any elephant dung that floated their way (what’s brown and sounds like a bell?). The elephants then played soccer, kicking a big soccer ball into a net (with and without an elephant goalie), played harmonicas and other musical instruments, gave one of the trainers a massage (did you know the sex organs of an elephant are on the bottom of their feet?.....if they step on you, you're f*cked), threw darts, stacked logs, and painted surprisingly good pictures (most were of flowers).

Umbrella Festival

2009-02-18T05:06:00.000-08:00

Our stay in Chiang Mai overlapped with the annual Umbrella Festival in nearby BoSang. We passed an enjoyable day first learning how the umbrellas were made and then enjoying the festivities and food. Maya purchased, and then released, a pair of sparrows that were caged in a small bamboo wicker enclosure. The birds aren't sold to be pets, the idea is to release them to begin with. Releasing caged birds brings merit and good luck. Obviously. However, there is something a little perverse about a cottage industry that captures birds so that others can earn merit by releasing the birds. If you lose merit by catching the birds, this would be essentially a zero-sum game; there would be no net gain in the end. However, upon reflection, this seems like a particularly rational/Western assessment. I suspect the Thais feel that capturing birds to bring others' good luck provides a valuable benefit to society... everyone wins! Except possibly the birds. But for all I know, they get a little food and perhaps they enjoy a brief respite from having to be constantly on guard against the hawks. Heck, for all I know the same birds keep getting captured over and over again. It is pretty cool to release the birds.

Tiger Kingdom

2009-02-18T04:39:00.000-08:00

While Mom and Dad were off on a tour of the Golden Triangle, we hired a van from Grace’s to take us to Tiger Kingdom. I was initially a bit reluctant to visit an establishment whose name all but said “tourist trap” but it’s not all about me and one must do things to keep the kids amused so off we went. As you can guess, I was pleasantly surprised. They actually let you in the cages with the tigers. Maya got to go in with the baby tigers and Zak and I got to go in with the 5 month adolescents and then also the young adults. There are keepers there to direct you and, assumedly, keep you safe but they were only armed with little thumb-thick dowels about one foot long that didn’t look like they would do much against a full-grown tiger. However, we just figured, “it’s Thailand, so it’s got to be safe.” Besides the tigers looked pretty complacent and I assume they were well fed. Actually, when I would lay my head on the stomach of one of the big cats, I could hear the food being digested. One thing I thought was fascinating was that tigers basically behaved the same as a house cat. We would pet them the same way we stroked our house cats back home. For example, when Zak would rub the belly of “New,” a big male, he rolled on his back and spread his legs to the sun for better access. Pretty cool. When we were at the Chiang Mai Zoo, Zak and Maya each got to feed raw meat to the jaguars off the end of a metal pole and I thought that was pretty cool but this was pretty out of hand. I’ve never been in a cage with a tiger like that and I presumably never will again, especially since, I heard recently, a tourist was mauled there sometime after our visit. Oh well, it was probably just a rumor.

Elephants

2009-02-07T21:46:00.000-08:00

Well, what do you do when you visit Thailand? Ride an elephant of course! In general, I’m kind of big on organizing my own trips, finding my own transportation, etc. but when the folks were here we chartered a day trip through Grace’s Boutique House and they took care of everything. The first stop was an elephant camp. The elephants were fitted with seats across their backs onto which we clambered via a raised platform. I realize this is going to sound profound but riding an elephant is very cool! It’s kind of like riding a horse but they are just so massive and oddly graceful. You’re so high off the ground and just sway back and forth as the beast lumbers along. At the elephant camp we saw a two-day old elephant that was still a bit unsteady on his feet. Even on animals this size, babies are just sooo cute!

After the elephants we visited a Karen “Hill Tribe” Village and saw some beautiful weaving on small looms before trekking down through jungles and rice fields to a nearby waterfall. On the way out, we hiked through a Hmong Village where the three generations of Braunwarth males took turns shooting a wooden crossbow used by the Hmong for hunting, while Grandma and Maya bought handicrafts. The Hmong houses and the Karen houses were interesting but different. The former are on the ground while the latter are on stilts. Both are extremely primitive compared to anything we have in the states. Such poverty must take a toll, particularly in the form of decreased options for future generations but there was something appealing about the simple life lived by the villagers. They seemed somehow better off than those living in squalor in the cities. Interesting if slightly posed-for-tourism time over, we drove a short ways to a small nearby river where we boarded bamboo rafts. The rafts consisted of a dozen or so 20 foot large bamboo pieces lashed to smaller bamboo crosspieces at each end and at the middle. Maya sat on the cross piece in the middle while Zak and I took turns guiding the raft from the back with a bamboo pole while a guide in the front did the same. George shared a raft with an Argentinian girl named Claudia Marina Campos who had joined us for the day. Good times were had by all.

Pai Shop

2009-02-07T06:12:00.001-08:00

We also visited some small communities surrounding Pai. One community, Baan Din Doi, was populated by the Lisu people, one of a few ethnically distinct “hill tribe” people who live in Northern Thailand. The women wore very colorful tops wrapped diagonally across their chests and long black skirts adorned with silver, very striking. Nearby was a community of ethnic Chinese who had initially fled China during the Communist takeover. The buildings were constructed of an adobe or earthen type of material and were situated around a central plaza. The food and faces were, of course, Chinese. We watched the men play a game where one would spin a large top by pulling quickly on a stick tied to the string that was wrapped around the top. Another would try to spin his top into the first. Once the tops collided, much running and shouting ensued although we couldn’t really figure out the point of it all. There was also a large wooden 4-seater human-powered Ferris wheel in the main square. I, of course, suggested a ride. Maya was game but Zak wouldn’t go near it. However, as it was the eve of Chinese New Year, Zak did purchase a string of 500 firecrackers (the 250 string just didn’t seem big enough).

Maya is a big hit with the locals who all assume she is Thai (she does look like she could be). This creates quite a few opportunities to talk to the locals, which is nice. I've picked up the basic "hello" "goodbye" "how are you" "see you later" "excuse me" “how much is that” "please" "thank you" and some basic numbers all of which also goes a long way to endearing ourselves to the natives. Zak’s been trying to blend in with native dress. His latest acquisition was a very stylish hand-knit stocking cap (brown with silver stripes) with ear flaps, chin ties, and a tassle on top. He bought it outside of a Wat in Pai that inside featured a depiction of a hell other than travelling without our spouse and mother.

More Pai Please

2009-02-06T02:50:00.000-08:00

One morning in Pai we stopped at an elephant camp and were invited to feed the elephants. However the elephants were a bit more affectionate than we bargained for and they quickly wrapped Zak and I up in their trunks. Luckily, our feet remained on the ground but the quiet strength of these animals was truly awe inspiring. After carefully extricating ourselves - we had to explain that we weren’t those kind of guys - we headed down the road for a relaxing soak in the Thai Pai Hot Springs. We were there fairly early in the morning so we could get a good soak in before the heat of the day and we had the pools to ourselves. From a distance, we could see the steam rising off the pools through the shafts of sunlight filtering through the overhanging trees. Idyllic. You could select your soaking temperature depending on which pool you chose, the cooler pools being further from the source of the spring. The source pools were awesomely hot, bubbling and boiling like a group of nature’s cauldrons. Zak bought a bag of raw eggs and carefully cooked them by dangling the bag in the water from a hooked bamboo pole.

Later that day, we cooled off with a swim at the base of the local Mo Paeng waterfall. Zak and I were two of only four souls brave enough to get into the chilly water. The other two were semi-intoxicated Aussies who were trying to impress two bikini-clad Montreal girls by climbing up alongside the waterfall then sliding down the falls over 25 feet of only moderately smooth rock into the pool at the bottom. At the same time, but between splashes, a young Thai bride and groom, in full formal attire, were having their wedding pictures taken at the base of the falls; we tried to blend in with the locals but only Maya was able to pull it off. It turns out that a lot of European youth have jumped on the tattooed/pierced white trash bandwagon and, presumably because they are unable as a consequence to find gainful employment in their home countries, many seem to traveling here in Pai. It's the kind of place with a lot of fliers advertising live music jams at various "bars" by the river until the wee hours. We stayed an extra day in part to attend a large reggae fest on Saturday night; it was kind of fun. Definitely a big production. I was about to say the bands could have been better but we were in a small town in Northern Thailand so what can you say; It is what it is.

Pai

2009-02-03T22:43:00.000-08:00

We just got back from a brief sojourn to Pai, a beautiful little town only a 4 hour twisty ride from our home base in Chiang Mai. Pai sits in a valley surrounded by green mountains. We visited waterfalls, hot springs, went fishing, I even found an old inner tube on the banks of the Pai river that Maya and I used to float through town. We had so much fun our theme for the visit was, "whoopity, whoopity" from a an old Simpson's episode. Pai is pretty and peaceful and popular with tourists, most of them Thais in for the weekend. Every evening the main street is transformed into a walking market, complete with drink carts and live music.

Every night we dined on street food whose common element was that it was either served on a sharp stick or was intended to be eaten with a sharp stick. This created some element of danger for Maya who came close to impaling her soft palate on more than one occasion but disaster was averted in part because she gravitated toward safer food such as corn on a cob (which was also served on a sharp stick). We also enjoyed cuttlefish and corn roasted over coals, dumplings, and rotis (banana and/or egg fried in a thin dough wrapper served with sweetened-condensed milk and sugar). For drinks we continue to enjoy, whenever possible, the wonderful fresh-fruit juice shakes (no sticks there). One of my favorite foods was a kind of salad crepe that was prepared on what I can best describe as a steaming drum head. There are also, of course, pad thais, noodle soups, chicken and pork sates, hot teas and, interestingly, waffles. Zak’s favorite are small doughy-custard things cooked in little cups set into a huge cast-iron skillet.

At night we would float Kum Loi, large paper lanterns that would rise into the heavens when the torch at the bottom filled the lantern with hot air. We stayed on the Pai River that runs along town and the yellow flames of the burning lanterns drifting in front of the brilliant white stars was quite spectacular.

Our lodging in Pai cost 350 baht (about $10) for a raised bamboo hut facing the river. There were no screens so we slept under a mosquito net. You get to our place by crossing a rickety bamboo foot bridge from town to our side of the river and then a smaller foot bridge from the main group of Baan Pai Riverside "cabanas" to our place. We paid an extra 100 bhat for the river view, which was well worth it. An added feature was an attached bathroom. Any concern about men peeing on the seat was mitigated by the fact that on must conveniently lean the toilet seat against the bamboo wall when not in use. Like most toilets in Thailand outside of the large hotels, flushing was accomplished by a pouring a bucket of water down the toilet. At least the toilet had a drain (that went who knows where), the shower and sink simply drained to the corner of the bathroom floor and under the bamboo wall. We quickly learned to step back when rinsing our toothbrushes so that the drain water didn't splash on our legs. We loved it and we loved Pai. We also had some great neighbors. One one side was Jesse and Michelle from Vancouver. Michelle would play guitar while we sat around the campfire. On the other side of them were a couple of dreadlocked French guys, Stefan and Toni. Stefan had actually been backpacking for over two weeks with an excellent bottle of French wine in his pack and we were all kind enough to help lighten his load. God love the French. Americans are too concerned about carrying pepto-bismol and hand sanitizer to have room for wine. We were also joined by Troy and Chung, another couple of Australian hammerheads. Zak bought a 500 pack of firecrackers at the Chinese village and Troy, of course, had his own; I’m not sure which of two more enjoyed setting them off.

Chiang Mai

2009-01-28T22:27:00.000-08:00

We are now in Chiang Mai, Northern capital of Thailand. We are planning on staying here for five or six weeks. The idea was to settle down in a town using the “Cinderella principle”: not too big, not too small; interesting tourist sites, but not too touristy; local color, but not without some larger infrastructure. You get the idea, and I think we got the town. The layout of the town itself is quite interesting. The old part of town is surrounded by a picturesque rectangular moat and decaying brick walls with large gates in the middle of each of the four sides. A morning run around the moat takes about 45 minutes, perfect for my weekly routine. People drive on the left in Thailand and traffic travels counter-clockwise on one road inside the moat and clockwise around the outside; a surprisingly effective system. The resources I come across call Chiang Mai Thailand’s northern capital and the spiritual center of the country. The place does seem very “Thai” and not overrun by tourists but there are, of course, a number of food and lodging options catering to visitors. I’ve also met a number of expatriates who have retired here because of the pleasant climate, interesting town, and affordable standard of living. Some parts of town are definitely geared to tourists, such as the famous Night Bazaar, but it is not hard to find the shops and restaurants frequented by the locals. Basically, all the places you want to go are within walking distance and, if Maya isn’t up to the trek, it’s easy and cheap to hire a tuk-tuk (note the baby in the back seat of the one to the right) or songtheauw - basically a pickup with benches in the semi-enclosed truck bed – who gather riders together who are travelling in the same general direction. Most of the locals get around on scooters. We have rented them as well. We can all fit on one and Maya really appreciates not having to walk so far.

We first stayed at Grace's Boutique House which employed a large staff of intern guides with whom Maya got along swimmingly. Most of the locals first assume Maya is Thai (which she looks as though she could be); in general, it's very easy to meet people when travelling with kids. The picture of the right is of Maya and Pon and the dog Noman on Pon's bike. While the staff at Grace's was great, we moved two doors down to the Na Inn for a larger sunny room. The photo on the left is of the kids and Mao who manages the Na Inn, which is shown in the upper right photo.

Train to Chiang Mai

2009-01-19T18:25:00.001-08:00

We flew from Krabi back up to Bangkok and from there we boarded an overnight train to Chiang Mai. The train trip would take about 14 hours. We passed the time until dinner with a game of Farkle, a dice game “of guts and luck” according to the cover, which we have been playing frequently on this trip. The kids had never been on an overnight train and loved the little individualized sleeping compartments. We were settled in as others got on the train including a white-haired middle-aged European softly singing a little drinking ditty and clutching a large Chang beer. No worries I thought, he’ll just pass out and my earplugs will shelter me from any loud snoring. Sure enough, he fell asleep quickly but the ear plugs turned out to be little match for his snores which were punctuated with bizarre, small, sharp, nonsensical screams. Later, he sat up in his berth and, in some ambiguous state of consciousness, progressed to longer and louder screams or some inarticulate nature. He must have been in some state altered by something more than Chang beer, perhaps the “yaa baa” amphetamines that, according to the John Burdett novels I mentioned earlier, are apparently popular with some darker elements of Thai society. Luckily, and in no small part thanks to our esteemed train conductor on the left - who went for assistance only to find the train car locked at both ends for “safety precautions” - no harm more than some sleeplessness resulted. The kids and I actually got a decent night's sleep and enjoyed the scenery as the morning brightened and our crazed travelling companion slept. We arrived without further incident.

Tonsai Climbing and Eating

2009-01-19T02:08:00.000-08:00

Zak and I did get in a little climbing while were at Tonsai and it was fantastic. We set up an outing with “Ra” at the Tonsai Rock Shop. He was to supply all the equipment along with his guiding services. However, when we arrived at the predetermined time, Ra was still asleep in his hammock. He was apparently suffering from a bout of over-indulgence the night before and, even after a colleague stuck his ipod speakers directly under his hammock, consciousness did not appear likely in the near future. Instead, we were escorted by his colleague Dee who brought us over to the "Fire Wall" at the North end of Tonsai Beach. One of the wonderful aspects of climbing is that it takes you to beautiful spots that you might not have had reason to go to otherwise. Climbing at Tonsai brought me to one of the most beautiful spots I have ever seen, period. We climbed the “Groove Tube” route up a colorful limestone cliff with a beautiful blue bay at our backs. Zak did great, back-stepping and stemming up the tube like a pro which was no small feat given its grade (French grading system 6A or about 5.9/5.10 U.S.). By this time it was getting pretty hot on the Fire Wall so we moved to the Dum’s Kitchen wall right on the beach. We climed “Pahn Taaled” (Always Pass), another excellent 6A, that involved some big reaches to bomber holds. That was it for Zak for the day but Dee and I moved over to the Tonsai Roof right next to the Freedom Bar at the South end of the beach. I literally belayed Dee from the floor of the Bar. Our route, Cowabungalow (6B or 5.10 b/c), started above the actual roof and involved a number of delicate moves between hanging stalactites. I’ve never done any climbing like this and I can’t wait to do some more although I will have to work on my climbing as we completed a large portion of the climbs under a grade of 5.11. After climbing, Zak and I met up with the folks at Phra Nha beach where we were entertained by some monkeys before going for a refreshing swim; this place is like paradise. However, even in utopia there is myopia. Zak was trying to hand feed a corn cob to a young monkey, when the father(?) leaped up, bared his teeth, and hissed in Zak's face; presumably for teasing the youngster with a cob and no corn. I got Zak to agree that would be the closest encounter to a monkey on this trip.

Everything here is simply beautiful, including the monkey encounters. The beaches are incredible, the climbing is world class, the bars and restaurants are all some combination of picturesque, good, and cheap. The following picture is of the dining area set into a cave at the Rayavadee Resort, the next is of the family eating at a beachside restaurant, the next is where I was waiting for the kids after climbing, the fourth is breakfast at the restaurant for our bungalow “resort”

and the last is of the lunch place where the kids and I have been enjoying the best grilled chicken

and cold coconut milk.

Stumble Bum

2009-01-13T06:33:00.000-08:00

On our second full-day in Tonsai, I woke before the kids this morning and decided to go for my first run of the trip. I considered saving the legs because I had made plans to go climbing with Zak after breakfast but I figured what could a little warm-up run hurt, right? Besides, this was my first opportunity to do a morning run and I liked the idea if keeping the synchronicity with what Mary was doing back home. My route took me along a dirt path over steep hills through the jungle to East Railay Beach and back; beautiful morning, beautiful scenery, feeling great. I was almost back to the bungalow when I stumbled. Instinctively I tried to race my feet back under me but basically only succeeded in accelerating into the hard-pack dirt. I rolled to my feet thinking, "that wasn’t too bad" and looked down for a quick visual self-appraisal only to find that the fourth finger on my right hand took an unexpected 90 degree turn to the right at the middle knuckle. I of course showed off my new booboo to the only other person in sight, a kid who happened to be walking on the same path. Juvenile showmanship over, I quickly weighed the relative advantages of being able to clean my ear without raising my arm and the havoc a bent finger would play with my nascent, and largely hypothetical, career as a concert pianist. Reaching down, I grabbed the end of the finger, pulled it out, popped it back into place, and finished the run. I washed off the dirt and blood and treated the gashes with Neosporin. Perhaps slightly proud of my home doctoring, I simply changed the plans for the day from climbing to snorkeling. Those of you familiar with my home surgery prowess (appendectomy anyone?) may not be surprised to hear that the finger felt worse instead of better the next few days. The swelling increased, the wound kept weeping, and I started feeling worse. When the kids came in the room while I was resting and asked what smelled, suspicion rested first on the usual suspect (Zachary’s shoes) but when that possibility was eliminated I realized that the finger was infected and the smell of slow death was actually my rotting flesh. My Dad had some amoxicillin along so I start self-medicating but a quick internet search noted that this particular antibiotic was primarily prescribed for middle-ear infections and gonorrhea (I never did ask Dad why he carried them) so I decided to head to town with Zak to see a doctor the next morning. This required a combination boat and car trip to Krabi Town but the doctor quickly diagnosed the problem, prescribed the medication, and sold it to me on the spot. Total fee for doctor visit and medication (2 antibiotics, 1 anti-inflammatory, and 1 antibiotic cream): 500 baht ($15); the cost of transportation was double that but I was personally escorted and chauffeured by “An” and his wife who joined us for the farang (foreigner) paid trip to town. My injury hasn’t kept me from climbing completely but I have been subsequently limited in my ability to compete head-to-head with the group of K2-sponsored Chinese climbers who are always hogging the spectacular roof routes on the beach next to the Freedom Bar where the climbers all hang out.

Railay and Krabi

2009-01-12T20:00:00.000-08:00

Greetings from Paradise! From Bangkok we took a short plane flight to the beaches of Krabi on the West (Andaman/Indian Ocean) coast of the long tail of Thailand that runs down to Malaysia. From the airport, we hired a taxi to the beach at Ao Nong where we hired a long-tail boat to take us to Railay, a peninsula that is only reachable by boat. There are no cars on the Peninsula but the many "resorts" have motorcycles with side-car platforms to bring luggage to and from the beach (see the photo of Carol and Maya in the photo below). The coast down here is incredibly beautiful. Massive limestone cliffs in shades of white and tan and gray jut up through tangles of green vegetation. Some cliffs are separated by crescents of beautiful light sand, others jut directly from the ocean forming anthropormorphic-shaped islands all around. We are staying in a bungalow on Tonsai Beach. It turns out Tonsai is a Mecca for international sport climbing and has a groovy, laid-back feel. Commerce in Tonsai is consists largely of bungalow guest-houses, climbing shops, and open-air restaurants and bars scattered along the beach and through the jungle along rutted dirt paths. The restaurants and bars are all open air and all feature some type of colorful rope light/Christmas light illumination. Many have platforms on which you can lounge against triangular Thai pillows. Most have a slack line strung across the sand where patrons can display their feats of balance on a nylon-webbing tightrope. The whole place is evocative of a huge festival featuring climbing and diving and beaches instead of live music.

The beaches, framed by the limestone, cliffs are simply stunning. Because of the large limestone outcroppings, travel between the beaches requires some planning, generally the long-tail boat pilots are willing to ferry you for a small fee. Zak and I also walked between beaches at low-tide, swam at high-tide, climbed over paths, and even rented a kayak for an afternoon. The latter was particularly fun as we were able to explore various small sea-caves at the base of the limestone cliffs in the area.

Chinatown

2009-01-12T19:51:00.000-08:00

On our last morning in Bangkok we went to nearby Chinatown where we wandered through a maze of walking streets choked with vendors organized by product; various small purses and pouches on this block, wholesale zip-lock bags and boxes on another, children’s games on this one, kitchen house-wares over here. We made our way over to a heavily-used Chinese temple with many locals offering incense and flowers and fruit to the various altars inside. Just another day in the life of the Thais of Chinese-descent but very interesting and exotic to us farang (foreigners).

Soi Cowboy and Patpong

2009-01-08T03:08:00.001-08:00

In my research for the trip I came across a series of novels by John Burdett featuring a half-caste Thai police officer and his experiences in the seedy underside of Bangkok. The primary setting for the books is Soi Cowboy, a short strip of go-go bars named for an African-American vet who found the states too dull after the Vietnam so returned to Thailand and opened up his own club. I stopped by the street early in the afternoon before anything got rolling just to see the place. Very intereting. I had a beer at a sidewalk bar with Julian, Dave and another 50-60ish long-term ex-pat who were drinking off their hangovers from the night before and regaling each other about their exploits from the night before. Apparently Dave’s girlfriend came in last night catching him with another girl who he had stashed out on the balcony covering his tracks completely except for the interloper’s shoes which were sitting by the door. They were certainly a colorful group but I just couldn’t see a life of continuous adolescence in lieu of the rewards of a loving family and rewarding career. What impact will they have left on the world when they are gone? Before heading back to the hotel I stopped by Joe’s Bar where they were still in process of opening up for the night. Seeing they weren’t yet open for business, I made to leave but the proprietress insisted I be the first sale of the day in honor of my name.

The whole family ventured out to Patpong, a couple of subway stops from our hotel. This apparently used to be ground zero for go-go bars and touts advertising shows of questionable cultural value. While some of the clubs remained, the famous red light district of Bangkok had gone decidedly tourist. The central parts of Soi (street) Patpong 1 and 2 are transformed every evening into a night marked chocked full of vendors selling knock-off Rolexes and Cartier. We wandered under the neon lights through the confusion stopping for dinner from a food vendor who had set up shop outside of a bank. The main seating are consisted of a couple of plastic tables and some chairs set up in the fenced off area around the ATM machines. The food was fine and I was particularly impressed with my mother who must have been suppressing her concerns over cleanliness as she jumped right in and enjoyed the meal with us. The kids were really starting to get tired by this time so we dodged across another busy street to another brightly-lit “Joe’s Bar” where we could sit and have a drink alongside the street and enjoy the spectacle before us from a position of relative comfort.

The Floating Market

2009-01-06T20:20:00.000-08:00

Wooden canoes, laden with exotic and brilliantly-colored fruits and vegetables, ply narrow canals. Brightly-clad women prepare elaborate dishes and beckon potential customers as the heavy canoes of the both buyers and sellers bump past each with distinctive heavy "thunks".
The floating market of Damnoen Saduak began years ago with farmers selling their produce on the many canals that crisscross this area. At that time the river was the focus of the community. Water was the primary avenue of both transportation and commerce. The water was used to irrigate the crops and communities grew up around the river. While this is all still true to some extent today, for instance I did see locals selling goods from wooden canoes to residences along the larger canals, the primary reason this particular floating market retains its vibrancy is tourism. Which is fine. One could lament over the large covered shopping areas spreading out from either side of the main floating market canals selling wooden elephants and silk scarves but what would be the point? The floating market would not exists without the tourists and all parties benefit by their presence. I know that I personally loved it. All of it. The sights, the sounds, the smells, and the food.
The experience really began when we transferred from our bus to long-tail boats for a fast and loud trip down larger canals to the market. Long Tails are long, skinny brightly-painted boats powered by small automobile engines mounted on a kind of swivel in the back of the boat. A drive shaft runs through a pipe from the back of the engine to the propeller. The driver guides the boat by turning the entire engine from side to side and lifting the drive shaft and propeller in and out of the water. They’re noisy, colorful, fast, smelly, and not necessarily the most efficient looking watercraft I’ve ever seen all of which makes them, from my foreign-tourist perspective, wonderfully, distinctively Thai. From the long-tails we transferred to the smaller wooden canoes for a trip through the market canals. The kids and I were buying food and fruit from the other boats. None of us were particularly hungry; that didn’t seem the point. The food was delicious and it was particularly interesting to see the women prepare relatively elaborate dishes – such as small muffin/waffle things made from batter poured into molds on a large metal cooking surface, noodle soups of multiple ingredients, and small white semi-translucent turnovers made by spreading a batter on a white cooking drum-like surface which was then folded over the interior ingredients – right in the little wooden canoes. It’s all a matter of perspective but I’m beginning to realize that Thailand can be a real feast for the senses.

We have arrived!

2009-01-06T20:03:00.000-08:00

We have arrived and it’s great to be here. The Asiana Airlines flight to Bangkok was downright pleasant which was very nice as travel time totaled over 23 hours. The leg from LAX to Inchon, Seoul took 12 hours and the leg from Seoul to Bangkok another 6. This left plenty of time for sleeping, eating, and watching movies. We were supposed to get another hour on a United Express feeder flight from San Diego to Los Angeles but the fog was so thick on departure, they put us all on a bus and drove us up to LAX. My parents left about the same time as us from San Diego and arrived about the same time in Bangkok but on a Northwest flight via Tokyo. We hooked up at the airport early in the morning on January third and shared a cab into town.
We awoke our first morning to a Bangkok that at first blush appears big, crowded, dirty, and beautiful! Interestingly, two friends and colleagues of mine are in town as well. The three of us all were all hired at the same time and knew each other well both on and off campus. Mark is married to a Thai woman, Boon, and is staying in her family’s house with their four-month old child Benjamin. Also in the house are Boon’s mother and grandmother both of whom refer to the baby only as Heng-Heng (Lucky-Lucky). Mark had previously arranged hotel reservations for ourselves and Gwenyth very near Boon’s family house which is very centrally-located in the city. He kindly met us on our first morning and helped us get our bearings showing us first a small morning street market and a Chinese temple area near Boon’s family house. Properly oriented, he led us toward the nearby Chao Phraya River. The traffic is notoriously gridlocked in Bangkok (but, for some reason, always seems to be whizzing by fast and furious whenever we want to walk across a street) so we decided to travel by river shuttle as headed out to soak up the city.
We were packed onto a crowded boat, taking care to keep clear of the area explicitly set-aside for monks who always travel for free. Most men in Thailand enter the monastery for at least part of their lives. The monks are supported by the general population at large who gain merit for themselves by offering food to the monks who circulate with their offering bowls daily. We travelled upriver to the Ko Ratanakosin royal district. The complex encompasses many buildings and stupas (conical towers) all of the spectacularly decorated both inside and out. One of my favorites was Wat (temple) Pho which houses the largest reclining Buddha in the world. The Buddha is over 150’ long and seems almost too big for the ornate structure in which he is housed. The Buddha is completely covered in gold leaf and his feet are inlaid with complex mother of pearl scriptures. The angle of repose reflects the Buddha’s posture as he left this world and entered Nirvana which I suppose is why it looks like he is just kicking back rather than fighting the end in death throes. I offered coins to the 100 bowls alongside one wall of the temple asking for good fortune on our travels in return.
Already in need of a break we all piled into the back of a little tuk-tuk; an anamotopeic three-wheeled motorized rickshaw to the oldest part of town a little further upriver for lunch. Getting out, we soon found ourselves in a rabbit-warren of narrow aisles serving small shops and restaurants. The smoke from many small kitchens drifted through shafts of sunlight slanting around awnings and metal roofs. Bumping elbows with orange-robed monks shopping for religious amulets and ray-bans, we savored the spicy smell of the food being prepared. Everything was open air and most restaurants were narrow with only two rows of small tables along a central aisle. We picked on only because of the availability of a table on the water and were rewarded with great food and serendipitous entertainment. We had noticed the large number of carp-like fish between the mats of floating hyacinths in the cocoa-brown water in the river next to our table. It turns out they were waiting there for lunch as well. Soon, two men began throwing what looked like small pieces of fruit and what were possibly fish pellets into the water from a small covered platform situated over the water at right angle to the table at which we sat. Soon the water was boiling with literally tons of open, whiskered mouths gulping at the food. For my part, I was enjoying what we were served and tried to show slightly better table manners. After both we and the carp were sated, we walked back to the royal district to visit the nearby Grand Palace and Wat Phra Kaew while the carp swam off to Buddha-knows where. Wat Phra Kaew is the most revered Buddhist shrine in Thailand and is ornamented commensurately. The entire exterior of the main building is covered in gold and blue and mirrored mosaic tile. Many other structures are similarly covered in mosaics others entirely in gold while others in mosaics of colored glass. The overall effect is quite spectacular. The Catholics may have the corner on the stained-glass market but the Buddhists really do up the color.
Properly touristed out, we headed back to the hotel where the oldest and the youngest of the party crashed out while Zachary and I hosted Mark Goodman, his Thai family, and Gwenyth for dinner. They chose a local restaurant featuring karaoke. The place was only about one-third full but there was no lack of people lining up to take their turn at the mic. Everyone would clap as someone started singing, possibly for their astute musical selection as talent seemed not to be a material issue. The meal was overall very enjoyable but one is always struck by the differences from home, hence the interest of travel I suppose. For example, from my vantage near the window, I was noticing how the massive amount of dirty dishes for the corner restaurant across the small side street were done by hand by one woman squatting over tubs of soapy water on the sidewalk. Similarly, while there was a small kitchen in the back of the restaurant, much of the cooking was done at a large metal stove on the street at the other side of the establishment.

All Who Wander Are Not Lost

2008-12-29T21:44:00.000-08:00

The kids and I are off to Thailand on January 1st. We'll be there for the months of January and February, returning on February 28. We've no real reason to visit Thailand in particular but, after our great experience in Peru in 2006, we are anxious to immerse ourselves in another culture. We thought about other places, Nepal and Vietnam in particular, but kept coming back to Thailand. If it was just me, I would engage in my normal driven/manic mode and try to cover as much ground as was feasible; perhaps something like the standard backpacking tour through Thailand, Laos, Vietnam, and Cambodia. But with the kids, we are looking for depth in one area instead of breadth over a large area. One reason is that it is just more difficult to travel with children. But, perhaps more importantly, we want to immerse them in one area far away from the TV and video games that colonize so much of their lives here at home. We want to be somewhere where we can get to know some people and learn what it was like to live in another place. We needed a city that was big enough to have the instructure to make us comfortable if any contingency came up with the children and interesting enough to keep us engaged. The current plan is to set up camp in Chiang Mai in the Northern part of the Thailand and use that as a base for shorter outings.

My parents will be joining us for the first part of the trip and returning on January 19. While they are with us, we will go down to visit the beaches and islands in the South before heading up to Chiang Mai. My wife Mary will be joining us in mid-February for the last part of the trip but we will be missing her terribly in the meantime.

I'm still trying to wrap up work and get things packed. If you are so inclined, check back to see how we are doing in Thailand!

2008 East Mojave Spring

2008-03-31T17:14:00.000-07:00

My son Zak (age 11) and I had a great trip out to East Mojave the first couple of days of Easter Week. Zak's sister Maya had gone on to Braun Springs with her cousins so Zak and I were free to put in some heavy duty hiking and we were ready to go. The East Mojave is characterized by that breathtaking stark desert beauty that really sets apart the desert Southwest from so much of the rest of the country.Our first stop brought us to the Kelso Dunes. These are the second highest sand dunes in California behind the Eureka Dunes. The dunes cover an area of over 50 square miles but there is a fairly direct approach to the highes dune ridge. While they are impressive from afar (see the picture above), we weren't content to just look; so we set off to climb to the top of the highest dune. The high point is a little over 700 feet and the final approach to the summit ridge required a little four-point digging in but the view along the top was worth it. We topped out on a knife edge of shifting sand with the wind sculpting an undulating washboard along the windward slope abruptly dropping off on the dune's leading edge; perfect for huge running jumps down the face! The views from the top were spectacular as well. We were surrounded by large desert peaks, the most significant of which was the Providence Range just to the East. I had climbed the high point of that range some years before with great group from Grossmont College including Michael Golden, Brian Nath, and Peter White as well as Jesse Hartz, John Wilkerson, Al White and others non-Grossmonters. Those are limestone peaks richly embedded with marine fossils; quite a sight out in the middle of the desert.

One of the neat things about these dunes is that they are "barking" dunes. When you step down the face or otherwise move the sand down the slope, the sand particles moving over each other create a fairly loud low resonant booming tone; kind of like a bassoon or a didgeridoo.

We camped that night at the end of the access road to the Dunes and, in the morning headed up the Kelbaker road to the Kelso Depot. When I first stated coming to the East Mohave, some eight years back, the Depot had been abandoned and boarded up for what looked like decades. However, after the Preserve fell under the auspices of the National Park system, they completely revitalized the Depot and it now serves as the park headquarters.

We cruised North along the Kelbaker road turning off to the South/Southwest along the Aiken Mine Road. The road followed a sandy wash which added a certain level of adventure as we were travelling in the Honday Odyssey jeep and our ability to retrace our tracks up the wash through the soft sand was by no ways assured.

While we didn't have the wildflower display we had hoped for (we were a little early in the season for this elevation), we did find some beautiful flowers, especially in the washes.

We finally found the trailhead to Old Dad Peak; an ancient outcropping of limestone which was formed on the bottom of some long-gone sea. The rock was pretty sharp which, on the plus side, provided for some pretty firm foot and hand holds when needed. The harder you would hold on, the more it hurt, and the more secure you felt; sweet pain. Our intention was to climb to the summit but we were immediately led off-route by a huge rock marker or "duck" that someone had placed in some unfathomable desire to lead someone somewhere. Note to all of you Sierra Club Desert Peak Section people out there: if you don't know if you are on the correct route, don't mark it! We climbed up to the ridge, over terrain it is possible no one has ever trod upon, and made it up to the ridge only to spy the actual summit one-half mile to the North. We traversed along the ridge - beautiful views and exposure with no real danger to either of us - but our way was blocked by a signficant canyon essentially dividing the mountain into two. Unfortunately, we were not on the same side as the summit. Nevertheless, incredible sense of accomplishment. I was blown away at how strong and capable Zak was on the climb. We had a weird experience on the descent. We stopped on the descent for a sandwich and were soon greeted by a couple of curious bees, and then a couple more, and then more and before long we were surrounded by a horde of buzzing bees. It sounded like there was a cessna idling on the slope next to us. We must have sat down near their hive so we quickly wrapped up the sandwiches and continued our descent without incident.

From Old Dad, we drove NE on the Aiken Mine Road through a surreal landscape of cinder cones to a lava tube formed with the surface areas of a lava flow cooled and hardened while the inner core continued to flow. Part of the ceiling of the lava tube had collapsed, letting in shafts of light.

We continued NE along the lava flow forming the boundary of the Aiken Wash through a cinder "mine" to the unmarked Heritage Road turnoff into the wash. Parking at the end of the road, we crossed the wash to a Lava Arch which Native-Americans had left pictographs. All along the sides of the was, petroglyphs were carved into the lava. We even found a couple of morteros which had been used to grind some kind of food.

We spent the night, all by ourselves, at the edge of the wash. The next morning we drove North to Cow Cove. It took a bit to find it but after a 30 minute walk from the car we came upon a couple of large sloping fields of dark lava covered in petroglyphs. Spectacular.

On our way South we passed the Cima Dome, one of the largest and most symmetrical natural features in the world. It's summit would have to wait for another day.

East Ridge of Mt. Russell

2007-10-28T19:43:00.001-07:00

On Friday August 17, Jesse Hartz and I hooked up in the afternoon for a surf and swim session at Barney's surf break between Cardiff and Pipes. The water felt great, especially after the Tea Leaf Green show at Winston's the night before. After a little water refreshment we hit the road for Mt. Russell, just North of Mt. Whitney, in the Eastern Sierras. We didn't get it together far enough in advance to make back country or even campground reservations out of Whitney Portal so we spent the night in the back of the van. We woke up at 4:00 a.m. for a pre-dawn start on the East Ridge of Mt. Russell. We were on the trail by 4:50 and hiked up to Upper Boy Scout Lake in 3 hours. The Ebersbacher Ledges were no problem although there were other people on the trail so we didn’t have to do all of our route finding on our own.

It was quite the slog from the Upper Boy Scout Lake to the Russell-Carillon Col but we got some route advice from a fat crazy mustachioed hiker who told us about how he recently got helicoptered out of the Santa Monica Mountains. In spite of the suspect nature of the source, we hiked up a tough scree slope above the tree line and across the col to the start of the ridge. The approach up to the actual start of the climb involved a bit of exposed scrambling. Jesse didn’t care much for the drop offs but, after some discussion, continued to the start of the route.

Once we were on the actual route, over a couple of thousand feet of exposed slab to a lake below, Jesse's vertigo set in again and he decided to stay back. I, on the other hand, felt like I was really on my game and I went on to solo the route with only a bit of minor route finding issues on the way back. The route was spectacular with great exposure to Whitney on the one side and the Sierras to the North. The whole area was above the tree/shrub line.

We were pretty beat by the time we made it down to the cars. We ended up eating in town and sleeping in the van again before heading home early on Sunday. The drive home was painless and fast. We stopped at a Starbucks, in Adelanto of all places. Just a few years ago there was nothing but desert and desert rats around there. Even though it was Starbucks, it was still Adelanto and, in keeping with the flavor of the locale, a bum in the coffee shop hit me up for the remainder of my breakfast sandwich. Jesse, ever the good soul, credited the bum with helping to keep the place clean, etc. but, possible positive outcomes nothwistanding, I was somewhat pleased to see that some order in the worl remained and Adelanto was still Adelanto.

The Final Blog?

2006-06-22T08:11:00.000-07:00

Now that we’re back home in California and I’ve had a moment to reflect on our experiences, I felt that a some type of concluding commentary was called for. I guess the first question is: was the trip a success? Definitely. Cusco turned out to be an excellent choice. The scenery, the people, the architecture, the Incan ruins, the infrastructure, even the food all contributed to make this a wonderful place for us to stay for an extended period of time. We also made a number of friends which greatly furthered our ability to get to know the city from a perspective not shared by most tourists.

Was the time spent productive? Incredibly. Not only did we all learn a lot more Spanish, which has obvious practical applications, but both I and the kids learned about another culture, an experience that not only expands our knowledge of the world but, I hope, will help them to better understand and empathize with the situation of others. In my opinion there is no higher calling than the expansion of our boundaries. Some may say (and some have said) that I have a problem with boundaries but I think the problem is the boundaries. I want to take advantage of the opportunities we are offered and not forgo the opportunity to live life to the fullest.

Was the trip too expensive? Actually, as Mary keeps reminding me since our return, we were much cheaper to support in Peru than back home. Obviously, not everyone has the money or the time to leave town for months at a time but for others it is simply a matter of choices. The personal is the ideological and there’s a tradeoff between expanding your horizons and controlling your life and that of others. I always find myself driven toward the expansion of knowledge, of experience, of love, of laughter, of life. That’s why I feel that travel and education are the only two real reasons for going in debt. Is that new car or flat-panel television or ATV really going to enhance your life or provide enlightenment or, conversely, does the acquisition of yet more material items simply weigh you down? Those things will be either forgotten or left on the mental insignificance pile in the long run while living life directly, gaining experiences and sharing experiences with friends and family all contribute to who we are. I'm a believer in karma which, at a very basic level, simply means that you are what you do. If you sit around watching TV and eating junk food every evening, then that is, literally, who you are and what you do. Similarly, if you are always expanding your horizons, learning new things, reading good literature then that, correspondingly, is who you are. Our horizons have been expanded as a result of this trip.; Zak has spent 1.7% of his life in Peru; does that make him 1.7% culturally peruvian? I’ve spent .3% of my life in Peru and Maya has, to date, spent a full 3% of her time on this planet (at least in this lifetime) living as a Peruvian which, from the perspective of this social scientist, with a bent toward nurture over nature, makes her the most "Peruvian" of the three.

Of course, if one's horizon is going to be expanded, one has to be aware of whats going on. That’s why this blog has been such a valuable tool for me. Socrates once noted that an unexamined life is not worth living and while I think he may not give proper importance to the more basic and visceral pleasures of life, I think that, to a large extent, he is right. These missives have helped me to organize my thoughts and reflect on our experiences and how our boundaries have been expanded.

Will return to the Peruvian Andes? Indubitably. One reason is that in addition to the intrinsic beauty of the place, this area is one of the best adventure-travel destinations I know of. Not only is their world-class white-water rafting, there are an incredible network of mountain-bike trails, incredible hiking, mountains that inspire summit fever just by looking at them and, in addition to the mountaineering, the place is ripe for the development of some sublime rock climbing in superb settings all without the crowds and kitsch of similar "resort" towns in the U.S. While there are plenty of tourists in Cusco, particularly in their winter, by eschewing the familiar and seeking out the novel, there are many places to go to get off the beaten path. Then there’s the aesthetics. The place just has a good vibe. While in Peru, I was able, to a large degree, to escape the crass commercialism and chain-store consumerism with which we are constantly assaulted in the U.S. I’ve come to believe that the only unequivocal truth worth following is not religious or political (which is quite a statement from a political scientist) but the aesthetic. It's the attention to natural, architectural, and human beauty, at a more tranquil pace, that contributes to a much greater aesthetic appreciation of life.

Is this really the final blog? Probably not. We’ll probably continue to post various experiences of the Braunwarth family as our lives continue down their winding paths. Feliz Viajes!

Louie the Wonder Llama

2006-06-09T06:46:00.000-07:00

What would a trip to Peru be like without a few words on that most wonderful of cameloids, the llama. No horse by committee here, the llama needs no excuses. They’ve got a level of charm suitable to their disposition and just the right amount of fluffy fur for their size which, like Goldilocks, is neither too big nor too small. Llamas, in short, are cuddly and stately, furry and hip. Llamas are wooly but fashionably so; not so much cute as charismatic and cool; Jack Kerouac crossed with a koala to the advantage of each.

Llamas are willing to leave the fast pace vibrancy of the lower elevations to those who can’t handle the laid-back groove of the Andean Tropics. Llamas prefer the alta plana, high above the tree line, drinking the cool sweet water of the glacier runoff above the herd, before it’s sullied on it’s long descent to the Amazon. Only a cretin would accuse a llama of being standoffish. Llamas just have that laid-back groove. Like birds of prey, llamas know the score and behave accordingly; they are the ultimate high altitude hipsters. Llamas, no doubt, prefer the funk-jazz of the '60s – Miles Davis, Chet Baker, Grant Green – to the '80s American pop so oddly but widely popular in the bars and restaurants of Cusco. While llamas don’t have the chops for the sax or the digits for the keyboard, they do hum, I’ve heard them. (Perhaps they’re all potential Bessie Smith’s but just don’t know the words?). I have also heard them scream which can be a bit disconcerting when you're all alone at 13,000' on the alta plana and miles from the trailhead. Don't get me wrong, llamas don’t squeal like pre-pubescent girls when confronted with attractive boys, crashing waves, horses, or any other large thing they are fascinated by but over which they have little direct control, the scream of the wild and wily llama is kind of a cross between the shriek of a horror movie B-actress who's about to be skewered by her misogynistic stalker and theeerie sound of a loon on a lonely North Woods lake (waterfowl with chain saws?). Llamas are charismatic; they’re intelligent and curious, not skittish and flighty. One can’t imagine a llama yapping like a high-strung over-bred Shi Tzu who pees on the floor every time the doorbell rings assuming, of course, that llamas had doorbells.

As far as appearance goes, they exhibit a variety derived from a common mold: shaggier or scoobier, darker or lighter, solid or spotted. Although taste is an individual matter, I’m certain you would agree that the spotted ones are the most attractive. At times, older Quechuan women will doll up one of the more eye-catching llamas – I particularly like the red-tasseled yarn earings – and bring them into town for the amusement (and tips) of shutter-bug tourists. Rather than being degraded by their plight, like the burros in Tijuana painted in stripes so as to resemble zebras, the llamas, while looking slightly out of place outside of their natural environment, adopt the attitude that such crass commercialism is simply beneath them. Rather than balk or otherwise comment on their position, they simply ignore their indignities rather than acknowledge them and give them a reality of their own. It's sort of like how once you answer to the nickname, you’re stuck with it; llamas are just too smart to play that game

Theirs is not just form, but also function. They can haul loads of up to 100 pounds, their fur makes beautiful textiles, their dried dung can be used for fuel, they don’t degrade the plants and soils like the newer European imports, and they’re quite tasty! The llama is closely related to the Alpaca, which is slightly furrier on the hoof and more flavorful on the plate, and more distantly related the long-necked vicuna whose fur is even softer fur and more valuable as they are less prone to domestication.

Then there’s the spit issue. As civilized people, and thanks to the ability to simply flush away any evidence to the contrary, we humans like to pretend we’re not really animals and we certainly, therefore, don’t spit. We’ve come to think of spitting on each other as degrading and much more likely to escalate a conflict rather than settle one but llamas harbor no similar misconceptions and, consequently, have settled on spitting as a reasonable, if not noble, way to settle a conflict. Hey, spit happens and it sure beats our more “civilized” ways of dealing with those we dislike such as torture, imprisonment, beating, gunplay, and nuclear warfare. To be fair, we were warned (while Zak was trying to sneak up on one) that, if threatened, a llama may respond by jumping on you. So, taking a page from the G.W. Bush playbook, Zak and I figured that, if given the opportunity, we would engage in a pre-emptive strike and jump on them before they could jump on us; alas we were never given the opportunity to put our plan into action.

For more information, follow the link below:

http://www.albinoblacksheep.com/flash/llama.php

Going to the Dogs

2006-06-09T06:27:00.000-07:00

There are lots of dogs in Cusco and, perhaps not inconsequentially, not a lot of cats although I did spy at least two pet monkeys. Most dogs are nominally owned, or at least have developed a relationship with a human where one provides protection in exchange for scraps of food, but then most dogs also spend much of their time running in packs with their buddies. It is neither uncommon to see dogs lazing about on the streets nor to see them trotting off somewhere as though they didn’t want to be late for an important social engagement. My father tells me that this was the case in the small Minnesota town in which he was raised in the mid-twentieth century and was a generally accepted part of life. Now, however, we’ve grown used to dogs being restrained and, for the most part, quiet. Such is not the case in Cusco and the slumber of both my mother and my wife were quite troubled by the barking and fighting and romancing of dogs in the night. Given both their propensity and lack of discretion in the area of romance (one can learn a lot from dogs – just sink your teeth into that ear and don’t let go, no matter what) I found the sheer variety of recognizable breeds to be of some surprise. After a few generations, one would expect a trend toward commonality. For instance, in Baja, Mexico, where there is also little attention given to vaccination or spaying and neutering, there is, not surprisingly, a strong genetic tendency toward long, yellow, short dogs. However in Peru there seems to be more interest in breeding and purchasing specific breeds of dogs. While we were in Peru, our neighbor bought the schnauzer you see in the picture above. In another picture you can see a tattoo parlor owner (dressed in black) displaying his hairless something or another (dog, of course); a breed that also seemed quite popular. I was attacked by what looked like a full-breed rottweiler and other breeds abound.

Getting around in Cusco

2006-05-22T10:49:00.000-07:00

Getting around in Cusco can be an adventure in itself. Given the general pleasant surroundings and amiable climate, walking is the preferred mode of locomotion but for slightly longer trips or when transporting loads or children or loads of children, taxis are preferred. Generally, a taxi will take you anywhere near the city center for two Sols (about $.60) during the day or three Sols (about $.90) at night. The taxis are almost all of two varieties. The most common are the Daewoo Tico which is not much larger or more powerful than an enclosed go-cart. The alternative is the Toyota Corolla wagon, which has the advantage of the cargo area in the rear for either goods or people. I’ve personally ridden in these taxis with over seven adults and more than a few kids. Both cars are hand-me-downs from abroad. The former were shipped to Cusco upon expiration of their useful life as taxis in Korea and the latter arrived after they exceeded their legal life as taxis in Japan. While some might be concerned about the condition of taxis which others have been decreed as too old and decrepit for safe public transportation, such fears are soon eclipsed by the driving habits of the Cusco drivers. Traffic rules in Cusco are much more fluid than those in the States. Signals are rare and stop signs treated as mere suggestions. Once traffic is flowing in one direction, it continues until stopped by another stream of traffic. Such a system is actually a bit more efficient as much less time is spent stopped at intersections. Drivers squeeze in wherever they can fit and traffic lanes are created on an as-needed basis. Right turns are often made from the far left lane across many rows of cars and, for some reason which I was never quite able to determine, left turns often have the right-of-way. In order to get the attention of drivers and encourage them to follow transportation ordinances, city workers would occasionally dress as clowns and station themselves at busy intersections sporting signs that read, “don’t honk your horn,” “use your seatbelt,” and “obey traffic laws.”

In lieu of a school bus, I arranged for the kids to be brought to and from school every day in a taxi with other children from the same area. Such a taxi is known as a mobilidad. The car was basically full of kids by the time it got to our house and then I would just shove in Zak and Maya, usually one on top of the other, and off they would go. Our mobilidad was a white Toyota taxi driven by Sr. Braulio who, although his own kids were among the passengers, I learned was one of the faster, scarier, and more-aggressive drivers with which I had the pleasure of riding. Although recent law required seat belts for drivers, they were not commonly used or even available for passengers. Subsequently, I forbade the kids from sitting in the front seat and made sure they were firmly ensconced in the back seat when I sent them off to school. I rode with the taxi on Zak’s last day of school and noted that the children seemed to be particularly attentive to the other traffic. This piqued my curiosity. When a police car was spied by the kids, a general alarm was sounded and all those sitting in the rear cargo compartment dropped to their sides, lowering their heads below window level. I figured that riding in the back was illegal and this was confirmed when we passed another mobilidad who had been pulled over by la policia who was writing the driver a ticket while a hordette of school kids stood and watched. While the taxis are interesting, it’s the driving that’s really exciting

Braulio was by no means the exception. At one point during her visit Mary noted that, just when you are convinced that no driver could possible be more aggressive, you take another ride and are proven wrong. One form of amusement for me was to put new visitors in the front seat and watch their reaction to the ride. I only got to try this once with my father, thereafter both he and my Mom refused to sit up front. I also had to keep reminding guests that pedestrians do NOT have the right of way in Peru. When crossing the street we get used to the idea that cars will stop but that is not the case in Cusco. I’ve actually ridden in taxis and had the sensation of the car speeding up when a pedestrian was crossing in the street ahead. The drivers seemed to have a bit of a fatalistic streak that was of scant comfort. All of the drivers would cross themselves when driving in front of a church and almost all of the taxis displayed a variety of religious icons, the most popular of which was Señor de Huaca, which depicted Jesus being flayed by Roman soldiers with a cat of nine tails. There were many times when I wished they were paying more attention to their driving in the here and now rather than cultivating their familiarity with suffering and the afterlife.

Chinchero Hike

2006-05-16T16:31:00.000-07:00

On Tuesday, I cut Zak loose from school so that he and Bart and I could try a hike I heard about from the town of Chinchero down through Urquillos toward the valley floor at Willcaibamba. I had heard the route was an exciting downhill bike ride but even I hadn’t bargained for the incredible scenery. Once we completed the majority of the downhill, we encountered the village of Urquillos where we found a chicharia in a local house. The proprietress spread a blanket on a plank on which we parked our butts while Bart and I enjoyed a chicha and Zak played with some baby geese. The kids were obviously intrigued by us gringos but too scared to come out from around the corner and talk to us. In Willcaibamba we passed both a witch doctor’s office and a giant statue of a farmer with a corn; I’m not sure which I found to be more disconcerting. While the Valley is decidedly untouristy, giant statues are quite popular; Calca features a statue of a giant woman (with giant blemishes?) in native dress while Urubumba has a decidedly unintimidating statue of a giant puma. From Willcaibamba we caught a VERY crowded bus to Calca (I may have accidentally squished a young girl en route) where we lunched in Calca before relaxing at the Machacancha hot spring North of town before heading home. Zak has really become quite the hiker although he says prefers riding horses; although any day off of school is a good day off of school.

Los Farroles Del Duke

2006-05-16T15:18:00.000-07:00

Cusco Climbing

2006-05-11T19:14:00.000-07:00

One day, as I was walking from Salumpunko to Ikiltambo, I was looking at all of the beautiful scenery and thinking about the untapped potential for establishing climbing routes in the area. I’ve got to get back here with my buddy Mark Williams. He and a friend were responsible for developing Red River Gorge in Kentucky and he has a lot more experience putting up new routes than I do. As I was mulling over these prospects, I looked to my left, at the backside of a large limestone outcrop whose facade was, in part, responsible for my current line of thought when I saw a line of new bolts leading up to the top. So, there were climbers in the area! That very afternoon, after a long and satisfying walk to a number of both Incan and natural wonders, I stopped at my local laundry, run by mother Marisol and daughters Jengele and Chaska, when I found a flier for Le Sommet, a bar/restaurant with an indoor climbing wall. If there is a place to meet the local climbing crowd, this must be it. The restaurant turned out to be closed until Sunday, April 30 but, sure enough, on my first visit I met the owner, a French woman named Danzella and Luis Quispe, a young Peruvian who had extra gear and agreed to take us out to some local routes. And, a week or so later, on Bart’s last full day in town, Bart and Zak and myself found ourselves hiking with Luis and a friend of his, a Canadian girl named Josie who was in Cusco escaping the cold of Baffin Island.

To my surprise, Luis led us directly to a rock immediately below the Inca Ruins of K’usillochayuj that Mary Walsh and Mary and I had hiked to some weeks prior. We were climbing directly above Inca terraces and potato fields that have been in use since they were first constructed by the Incas some 500 + years prior. Luis’ gear looked brand new. This could be good because it looked reliable but, since it obviously hadn’t been used much, it could be bad since it raised concerns about the reliability of the guide. While Luis set a top rope, I talked with Josie and learned that it was she who had purchased the gear in Canada on Luis’ behalf and brought it down to for use with his nascent guide service. So far so good; he had climbed a lot and was just now going into business, all questions answered. I volunteered to go first and was surprised to find the rock gritty and covered with lichen. Luis was putting in some gear on rappel on a route around the corner to the right and I was surprised to hear him hammering in pitons and clearing out some sizable bushes. I was later to learn that, while Luis had scoped out the rock before, this was his first trip to the spot with clients. Subsequently, I ended up completing three first ascents along the face of the rock although Luis deserves equal credit, of course. From left to right, they are: The Pisco Kid (El Nino Pisco) a 5.6 that ascends the left arrete; Joses a 5.8 that goes right up the center passing through left side of big red dish; and El Campesino Molesto, a 5.7 which goes up the right arête and then through the same red dish. The best route, however, was around the corner to the right directly above the creek. The direct start is as yet uncompleted but the start from the lower terrace (below the field and above the creek) is a stimulating 5.8 I call 1% Peruano that was an even more exciting 5.9 when I was cleaning the bushes out of a beautiful hand crack above the last piece of gear.

All in all, it was a great day climbing except for the intrusion of a grumpy old man (the campesino molesto) who farmed the fields below and for some reason was extremely offended that we were having fun and minding our own business on the rock abutting his field. This compelled him to vent his impotent frustration before we were allowed to finish our day. Who's got the time for all of this negativity? We did our best to ignore him and while he sputtered on Josie told me that it was quite common for the locals to behave in such a manner; upon reflection, such behavior jibed with my experiences retrieving soccer balls kids had accidentally kicked into yards adjoining the soccer field near our house.

That night, we met our Peruvian friends Yanet and Doris and Doris' daughter Carolina for dinner to wish Bart a happy Bon Voyage. Bart's original choice, was the hip and trendy Los Perros but we were unable to find a table so we found our way over to Los Farroles Del Duke down the street. Zak was so tired, he fell asleep before the dinner arrived. He was briefly revived for the soup course before falling back asleep, luckily not with his face in the bowl, while the rest of us danced to first an Andean band and then the salsa of Nancy Flores and her band. An excellent way to end an excellent visit.

Huchuy Cusco

2006-05-09T16:05:00.000-07:00

One of the places I have been hoping to visit before I leave Cusco are the ruins of Huchuy Cusco. These are not on a road but rather command an incredible and rather inaccessible vista about 1000´ above the floor of the Sacred Valley. The most direct route to the ruins is to hike directly up the switchback trail from the town Lamay in the Valley to the North and return on the same. Having always had something of a skepticism toward the direct approach – always forward, never straight – I planned a hike from the South that would take me cross-country to Huchuy Cusco and then out to Lamay. I chartered Jaime, of taxi fame, to bring me to the trailhead in the pueblo of Tauca, east of Chinchero. I then started looking for a good topographical map. No mean feat. The town is full of tourist maps that will guide you to the popular destination of your choice but other more obscure destinations remain shrouded in the mists of obscurity. I wanted to part those mists and I figured a little bit of route-finding would just add to the adventure. I wasn´t worried about getting lost as I knew I could just keep hiking to the North or West and get to a road. If I had to, I could collect dried llama dung for a fire, like the woman on the left in the second picture above, just below the silly looking guy who still thinks he can do 20-something adventures even though he is 40. I was set for the perfect hike… but then I decided to add a bicycle. I had been wanting to go mountain biking and I figured I would kill two birds with one stone but, like Sisyphus, the stone just about killed me. My route started at over 12,000´ and would take me to over 14,000´ but I was acclimatized to the elevation, so I figured I wouldn´t have too many problems. The hike was indeed spectacular and I didn´t suffer much by having to push a bicycle most of the way up. I ended up pushing it most of the way up because the route turned out to be much steeper than I anticipated and every time I would get on and pedal for a bit I would leave myself gasping for air. Almost the entire time I was well above tree line and treated to beautiful vistas of mountains and alpine lakes. I crossed two passes and then started downhill toward the ruins to the North. The basin I was following narrowed to a ravine which forced me stash the bike in some tall grass (there were no trees to lock it to) and continue downhill on foot. I had to share the path with a number of llamas who were in the creek bed of the ravine enjoying some cool water and green forage. They didn´t know quite what to make of me – I was the only human I´d seen all day and who knows when was the last time they saw a biped – and they were often a bit reluctant to make way. Eventually I crossed an Incan outpost guarding this approach to Huchuy Cusco, then some Incan terraces, and then a small plateu below which I was treated to a spectacular view of the ruins, way, way, below me. I´d come this far so I pushed on and I´m glad I did. The ruins were impressive, not because they were the most well preserved or constructed or largest, but because they were so remote and because I had them all to myself. As opposed to Pisac or Ollantaytambo or even Machu Picchu, Huchuy Cusco was primarily constructed of adobe over a stone base and has remained very well preserved. After enjoying the ruins, rather than heading downhill to Lamay, I was forced to retrace my steps back up, up, up to where I had left the bicycle then retrace my path over the two passes before I was able to put the bicycle to good use on the downhill all the way out. I can say, with a high degree of confidence, that I completed the first downhill descent on a bicycle from the pass above Tauca to the town itself and I don´t anticipate the route being repeated in the near future.

I originally had visions of perhaps riding all the way back to Cusco, but it was starting to get dark so I hired a beat-up old taxi that was riding on at least one “donut” spare. The spare was apparently losing air pretty consistently as we had to stop and refill it on the way back but that didn't deter my driver from trying to deliver his fare to Cusco at the highest possible speed; perhaps he was concerned about getting to the next air pump before the tire went completely flat? We made one other stop at a garage for what mush have been the original tire. As he carried it to the car, I noticed that there was a rather largish-looking blowout on the sidewall and the main "tread" was as smooth as my friend Will's pate. I jokingly asked what he was going to do with the old tire and he replied with a look that said, Duh, and told me very matter-of-factly that he was going to repair it and put it on the car. This got me thinking about the condition of the other tires which wasn't all bad, as far as trains of thought go, as it gave me something to think about other than the electrical system of the taxi which must not have been good as he would only turn on the headlights when we were approaching or overtaking another car. When we approached a vehicle checkpoint in the town of Poroy outside of Cusco, I also learned that he didn't have the proper license to legally transport paying passengers to Cusco so I joined him in a little celebratory cheer as we were waved through while he laughed at the driver of the big modern, tourist bus who was forced to pull over so the police could check his papers. To top the drive off, he refused to deliver me all the way to the central plaza, because of the risk of apprehension, so I got to end my journey with a little ride through the crowded but dark streets of the historic center of Cusco. I was beat, both mentally and physically, but it had been a great day.

Lares

2006-05-07T12:58:00.000-07:00

On Saturday, the kids and I went to Lares, a small town at the head of the valley by the same name a few hours North of Cusco. The original plan was to take a bus to Calca in the Sacred Valley and then the local bus to Lares on the same the next day. However, when I found we would have to leave our house before 5:00 a.m. I called Jaime, my friend the taxi driver, and arranged for him to bring us to the bus in Calca. However, when he arrived in the morning he told me he had never been to Lares and would like to go with us but he would have to return that night. I certainly didn´t want to deprive him of the opportunity so I agreed and off we went. Zak and I had originally hoped to take a four day hike to Lares with a friend but we basically ran out of time and Mom felt that four days was a bit too long to leave Maya with someone else in a foreign country. Lares makes a fine destination in no small part because of a series of hot springs just outside of town alongside a beautiful river. But, like many things in life, the best part is getting there. Both the road and the hiking path, cross a mountain pass at about 14,000 feet which allows for many miles of travel above the tree line to the accompaniment of scores of beautiful vistas. The locals primarily subsist by animal husbandry with llamas being the most popular stock at the higher elevations. Homes and corrals are constructed out of the same ubiquitous stones that make farming next to impossible. Current habitations are indistinguishable from the 500+ year old Inca houses save for the fact that those houses presently occupied are covered with thatch roofs. We had a great time in the hot springs although Zak and I burned our shoulders even though we liberally applied sun block; the sun at these elevations is brutal on us gringos. We ate dinner at a small local restaurant and Maya was so tired from playing in the springs that she fell asleep at the table so we returned a bit earlier than we had planned.

The Foods of Cusco

2006-05-07T12:55:00.000-07:00

One of the great things about Cusco is the food. Not only is Peruvian food great in itself, but, if you think about it, it´s kind of great to go to a place where they have a type of food. When´s the last time you went out for American or Canadian? While there are, of course, different types of food, also of considerable interest to the tourist are the different types of places in which to enjoy said food. The first stop for many are the traditional Peruvian restaurants, generally on or near the Plaza de Armas, which serve set prices menus of a soup, a main course, and a drink or dessert for around $3-7. Also catering to tourists are the funkier, hip restaurants scattered around the historic center of the city. The food, décor, and ambience in these restaurants are on par with any I’ve found in San Diego or LA and the entrées generally run around $10. However, if you want real Peruvian food you need to go to where the locals eat and that means getting away from the tourist traps and finding some Picanterias, Cevicherias, Cuyerias, and Chicharronerias. You may also stumble across the occasional Pollo Broaster or Pizzaria, which can be quite good but, it seems to me that it kind of defeats the purpose of going to a foreign country if you are going to eat the same food you can get back home (one of the nicest things about Cusco is that there are NO U.S. fast food restaurants in Cusco). The locals’ restaurants are both considerably cheaper, with multi-course menus running from about $.60-$2, and generally much more interesting; local color is free and there’s often an interesting dynamic that develops when you’re the only Gringo in the place. Then, for the adventuresome eater, there are the food stalls on the street and in the local markets. Above, you can see a picture of Bart dining at a stall in the San Pedro market and in the first picture, my plate of beef tongue and beans. There was no restaurant open in the evenings within walking distance of our house so a couple of times the kids and I have enjoyed a greasy but tasty noodle, French fry, chicken combination from a local street vendor. For $.30-.$60 you get a filling meal and, for no extra charge, an audience of usually one or more dogs and an ubiquitous black cat who is often more intrusive than the canines, as you can see in the picture of Zak above. Unexpectedly, one of the best places I’ve found for local food is the local soccer stadium. Instead of munching on hot dogs and peanuts during the game, you can choose from a plate of noodles with a fried egg on top or some delicious anticuchus (grilled beef hearts) on a skewer with a potato, which you can see Maya enjoying in the picture above with her mother and brother.

Then there´s the food itself. Of first interest to us furry mammal loving Norte Americanos is the Cuy or roasted guinea pig. I have to admit that I like them both as pets and meat although, even cooked, the skin can be a bit chewy and one has to put in a pretty workout with the incisors to get a decent amount of meet off of the little rodents. Alpaca is also very cute one the hoof, tasty on the plate, and surprisingly lean; look for the places that serve it in thin slices. Ceviche also originated in Peru. For the uninitiated, ceviche is raw fish marinated in limes and onions. It tastes as good as it sounds! Actually, the acids from the citrus essentially cook the fish leaving you with a cool, flavorful repast that accentuates the subtle flavors of the fish without that “fishy” smell so many people seem to dislike. Ceviche is generally served with sweet potatoes, roasted corn kernels, rice, and is accompanied by a soup made from the citrus/fish juices, muy rico (very good)! At the cevicheria you may also want to try a shot of the Leche de Tigre which supposedly gives a little boost to your virility, although I suspect that is more from the act of actually drinking the raw fish juice concoction than any inherent medicinal properties in the drink itself. In an earlier post I mentioned chicharrónes and hey, pig fried in pig fat and served with salt and corn has got to be good… and it is. Most chicharrón restaurants also serve caldo, a soup with a base of pork in a fermented broth. Fermentation certainly has it’s time and place – it’s downright indispensable to happy hour – and while that time might extend to the soup course, it requires a bit of an acquired taste to extend that place to the soup bowl. The corn served with chicharrónes is worthy of mention itself. The kernels are huge and sweet and light yellow. You can also find boiled ears for sale on the streets or in markets served with the local salty, white, soft cheese. Keep your eyes open for street vendors serving roasted corn kernels with salt (as well as Abas, a type of big legume); bonus if they’re still warm. They´re excellent with a glass of the local Cusquena lager (but then most things are)! Potatoes also originated in peru and, apparently, hundreds of varieties are available. Local food tends heavily toward the carbohydrates. For one thing, carbs are cheap and filling and also are apparently advantageous for metabolizing oxygen at high altitudes. However, a steady diet of such food isn’t too kind to the waistline; as is evident in every woman of childbearing age I saw. My local friends were incredulous that my wife Mary was on the positive side of 25, the mother of two children, and still looked great.

While we in North America have gotten used to having fresh bananas and oranges and apples at any time of the year, it never really crossed my mind before I left that I would have an entirely different crop of fruit to choose from down here in South America. In the picture above you can see two of my favorites. On the left is a Granadilla. Once one breaks through the crunchy shell, one is rewarded with a bunch of small seeds attached to each other by a king of sweet viscous material. When you slurp down a glob you get the interesting sensation of eating some that is sweet and smooth and crunchy all at the same time. This was also one of Zak´s favorites although, interesting, both his mother and grandparents couldn’t get past the texture which is not unlike the sensation of slurping down a big “loogie” albeit one that is quite tasty. On the right is a cherimoya. The flesh is sweet and fairly solid and surrounds big black seeds which you have to spit out as you eat. The final picture is of a food that even I didn’t try. Mary and I saw a tank of frogs at a local (non-tourist) market in Urubamba. I asked if they were for pets and the man replied that no, they were meant to be blended with some sugar and dark non-alcoholic beer and consumed. He assured me that they were of great benefit for the treatment of the common cold. This information was confirmed by my friend Jaime the taxi driver who went on to tell me about a variety of home remedies used in the campo by the campesinos who have neither access to nor money for the fancy medicines in a pharmacy. My theory is that any kid with a cold who is threatened with said remedy is sure to say he feels better right away, even if he really doesn’t.

Then there’s the drinks. Zak and I were quite fond of Inka Cola. I enjoy it’s light cream soda flavor but Mary Walsh almost ruined it for me completely when she noted that it tasted, to her, like liquid bubble gum. The name, Inka Cola is not without its own significance. To me, the two words represent the essence of both the ancient and the modern and the conjunction of these two words in the name of a popular soda is indicative of the struggle faced by this country as it tries to straddle the divide between these two realms. Many places will also serve chicha morada, a semi-sweet natural drink that apparently a healthier than sodas. At outdoor markets one can also find chicha quinoa, which is refreshing and contains negligible amounts of alcohol and, on the stronger side, there is chicha, the thick homemade corn beer which is served at room temperature. For the more traditional malted alcoholic beverage there is Cusquena, a local beer which comes in a lager and a dark, sweet malt. Interestingly, Cusquena is the largest manufacturing entity in town and is the only major economic enterprise other than tourism. The local strong alcohol drink is called a pisco sour which is evocative of a margarita. Like a margarita, which combines tequila and triple sec, pisco sours combine a harsh tasting pisco, which is actually a fortified wine, with a sweet, syrupy jarabe. The two are then blended with egg whites and little angostura bitters for a foamy delectable delight. A word of warning: as Bart and Susie and I discovered, much to our delight, one night after happy hour at the Cross Keys on the Plaza de Armas, it is very difficult to distinguish a strong pisco sour from a weak pisco sour. My theory is that traveling is also something done with the stomach so put down that hamburger and get out there!

Santa Clara Convent

2006-05-06T15:43:00.000-07:00

After three tries, I finally got the opportunity to attend Mass at the Church and Convent of Santa Clara. I´ve attended Mass at most of the large churches near the city center of Cusco and I´ve enjoyed the experience greatly, both for both the spiritual uplift and for the pomp and grandeur of the masses in these impressive houses of worship. While the Cathedral and La Compania, another large church built by the Jesuits, are certainly the most impressive churches in town, Santa Clara is probably the most interesting. First, the mass is only held at 7:00 a.m. which is explicitly not one of the times listed outside of the door, a technique used, I´m convinced, to deter tourists. My friend Mary Walsh, who is a lifelong Catholic whose mother should be a candidate for sainthood, was even told that tourists were not welcome and was turned away. Second, the church is a cloistered nunnery-the oldest in Peru-and the nuns sing from behind a heavy metal grate in the back of the church, seperate from both the worshippers and the Priests. Third, the congregation is primarily made up of indigenous people and older women. Neither group is known for its height and no one in the church even came up to my shoulders which made me slightly self-concscious as I stood near the front of the church. Fourth, I was standing near the front to better appreciate the primary focus of the interior decor, the thousands of mirrors that cover almost every part of the front and side altars. Not surprisingly, the early Spanish invaders had a hard time attracting Christian Converts and, as the natives were fascinated by mirrors, mirrors were installed throughout the interior of the church to attract congregants. Just another day off the beaten path.

Huatia Sunday

2006-05-05T16:56:00.000-07:00

On Sunday, we went to the Ttito Villacorta’s for a special meal. Apparently, during the months of May, June, and July it is not uncommon on Sundays to build an outdoor rock oven called a Huatia in which potatoes and Okas (a type of sweet tuber) are roasted. As opposed to barbecues in the U.S., where typically only the men flex their primal instincts and cook over the open flame, everyone participated in the preparations; it was actually the 70 something grandmother (she of few teeth) who took primary responsibility for the fire. Once she got a decent one going with the scrap wood scattered about the yard, the tubers were put in the oven on top of the coals, a pickaxe is used to collapse the oven on top of the coals and potatoes and the whole thing is buried in dirt and allowed to cook for about 40 minutes. During that time we took turns drinking some chicha out of the one communal glass and, when a consensus was reached on cooking time (based on the relativity of our hunger and the probability of the potatoes being edible), the pickaxe was used to scrape away the dirt and a few of use got in and played ¨hot potato¨, pulling them out of the former oven with our bare hands and throwing them on a beautiful old manta (small blanket) that would have looked great on my wall but was reserved for use in the yard of the Ttito Villacortas. By this time, Bart was looking forward to the feast. He assumed someone would wash the potatoes and cover them with the cheese we had brought for the occasion. I’ve been around a little long and knew better. The potatoes were just carried over to where the chairs were sitting in a circle outside, we peeled off the dirty skins with our dirty hands, picked up hunks of the white cheese which soon turned brown from the same dirty fingers and dug in. Mama Villacorta brought out some green sauce which really tasted good on the potatoes. Maya pretty much hovered over the sauce scooping it over her potatoes and allowing the overflow to fall back into the bowl. The food was great but Zak was more interested playing with the cuys and some baby kitties but we all had fun. In addition to the cheese, we brought some sodas which are know here as gaseosas. I much prefer the local term as it better reflects both the effervescence in the bottle before consumptions and effervescence in the alimentary canal after. The sodas and cheese represented the largest capital outlay of the meal as potatoes are relatively cheap and plentiful. In addition, I brought some clothes our kids had outgrown. Mary brought them down to Peru with her and they were so appreciated, the kids started calling my Papa Noel (Santa Claus) as I pulled them out of the bag.

Cusco Fun

2006-05-04T06:31:00.000-07:00

The trip is winding down and while we are all looking forward to seeing friends and family back home, we also want to take advantage of our remaining time in Cusco and do all of the things we´ve been talking about doing while we are here. Bart and his new girlfriend Susie were here visiting (they are so in love it´s almost campy) and we all had a great time together. On the day before Susie left we went to the interestingly-named X-Zone which consists of a series of limestone outcroppings which have been riddled with a series of caves and tunnels over the centuries. The Incas apparently found the place interesting as well as there are a number of carvings and the remains of some Incan buildings as well as a couple of incredibly constructed retaining walls. We walked from there to the Inca caves of Salumpunko (note the passage to one carved in shape of a llama head) where we hired horses to take us the back way to Sacsaywaman. It was Zak’s first time on a horse and he loved it! He had a gentle white horse named Capa Blanca (Snowy Peak), mine was named Tornado, Bart had Pinto and Susie, as the most experienced rider, was given Viento (wind) who somewhat resembled a burro and, perhaps consequently, had something of an attitude problem. I decided his named stemmed not from his ability to run like the wind but to break like the wind, the comment did little to improve his humor. Approaching Sacsaywaman from this side, we were able to explore some Inca tunnels including one long one in which a young couple was sequestered inside the exit. Susie wanted to go to some interesting looking rounded white rock outcroppings nearby and shoot a couple photos for her sister who is a geologist and, much to our delight, we discovered some smooth grooves down the rocks which were perfect fit for our buttocks and allowed for a very fast slide down to the bottom. Slowing yourself down was an impossibility, all one could hope to do was to absorb the impact of the landing with your legs. The three guys had a ball trying out different slides Susie’s pleasure was limited to taking pictures of us zipping down the slides and out of control in more ways than one. I don’t think here amusement was any less than our own.

White Water Rafting

2006-05-03T11:34:00.000-07:00

Zak didn´t have school on Monday because of a national holiday so, not wanting moss to grow under our feet, we invited his friend Camelo to join us for a day on the Villcaimamba river. The last picture shows us with our paddles over our heads shouting our boat´s team name, ¨the Diablos!¨ Please note Moms: we were able to charter a trip including boats, guides, safety equipment, safety kayaks, etc. The rapids we encountered were class II and III and were big enough to be fun but not dangerous. As an encore to his BVI exploits, Bart was the only one to fall out of the boat and we all had a great time.

So, who were these Incas anyway?

2006-05-03T11:25:00.000-07:00

So, who were these Incas anyway? First, just to make things difficult, THEY weren’t really the Incas. The term Inca actually refers to the head honcho, the el jefe, THE Inca. The Spanish mistakenly applied the name to the entire group. Some scholars prefer to refer to the civilization in question as the Quechua as Quechua was the language spoken by the Incas and, interestingly, is still the common language of the locals in this area. But, even though referring to the civilization as the Incas is a bit of a misnomer, for the sake of simplicity, the mistake will be perpetuated in this blog, sort of like how those of us in the Americas refer to the indigenous people of the Western Hemisphere as Indians because some old dead White guy refused to stop and ask for directions and landed on the wrong continent.

Things really got rolling for the group that would become the Incas in the 1430s. Prior to that time they were a relatively small group who had lived a relative simple and peaceful in the Cusco Valley for two or three hundred years. However, on or around the early 1430s, their idyll was interrupted by the Chancas who, in rather poor taste, attacked the Cusqueños and, not only disrupted at least one entire afternoon’s diversions, but were in fact on the verge of defeating the Cusqueños. Things looked so dire, the leader of the Cusqueños actually fled town convinced that all was lost. His son, however, continued the fight and was able to get his people to rally so fiercely that, according to legend, even the stones fought on their side. As you can guess, the Chancas were defeated and the son took over the reigns of power adopting the title of Inca and the name Pachacutec, meaning “transformer of the earth.” He claimed to be divinely descended from the sun and his wife (who was also his sister) was the daughter of the moon. Therefore, much like the divine right of kings in Europe, as a direct descendent and local representative of God, to rebel against Pachacutec was to rebel against God himself. As a result of their experiences with the Chancas, the Incas, under Pachacutec, switched their foreign relation’s strategy and began a period of expansion and imperialism that was as ruthless as that of the Spanish at whose hands they would eventually be defeated (any parallels with current events can be drawn by yourself). Within Pachucatec’s lifetime, the Incan empire was extended from as far North as what is now Columbia and as far South as present-day Chile. Groups that resisted were summarily vanquished and the defeated people were often either slaughtered or relocated. Rather than face this fate, other groups who joined the Kingdom willingly, “the Incas may now be in charge but at least they brought in sewer and water,” maintained a large degree of regional autonomy as long as they worshipped Inti, the sun, as their supreme God (after all, it seemed to be working well for the Incas) and paid levies, often in the form of labor for the massive building projects that were being undertaken by the Incas. The Incas, for their part, often integrated some of the newly annexed culture’s religious themes into their own. They also studied the new culture’s agricultural, architectural, metallurgical, medicinal, textile and pottery techniques and were thus able to integrate an extensive body of knowledge into their own in a relatively small period of time. As a result, they were able to develop intensive agricultural practices, developing new strains of crops in places like Maray that could grow in the high elevations of the Andes and, in order to maximize the amount of arable land in this mountainous region, they built extensive terracing systems, some of which are still in use today. The Incas didn’t have much for domestic livestock beyond llamas and alpacas before the Spanish arrived but they were consummate farmers. Consequently food was produced at a level surpassing current production allowing the empire to support a larger population than that of today while storing enough food to feed the population during bad years and eliminating hunger throughout the empire. The leaders of these captured peoples were brought to Cusco as Vassals were they lived in relatively comfort and opulence as long as their subjects bacsk home continued to cooperate. By this time, Cusco, known to the Incas as the “navel of the world,” was a fairly cosmopolitan city of about 100,000 homes in which scores of languages were spoke although Quechua was used universally. By the time the Spanish arrived in Cusco, they found a city that, according to one of Pizarro’s men, “is so beautiful and has such fine buildings that it would be remarkable even in Spain.” The religious center of Cusco, the Qoricancha, consisted of a number of temples – to the sun, the moon, to rainbows, thunder and lightning, and the stars – some of which had walls that were completely covered in gold or silver. A large golden sun disc reflected the sun’s rays into the gold-lined temple of the sun, filling the entire temple with the golden radiance of the sun. There were ritual treasures representing objects of import to the lives of the Incas: a field of corn with stems and leaves made from silver and ears made from gold as well as llamas, butterflies, birds, plants and trees all made of pure gold.

Alongside the ongoing imperial expansion, under Pachucatec the Incas began massive building projects like Pisac, Ollantaytambo, Machu Picchu, Sacsaywaman as well as hundreds of other less well known constructions including wacas (shrines) and tambos (post-houses for royal messengers who ran throughout the empire delivering messages coded on knotted ropes). The sites were located on a system or radiating lines or ceques from the center of Cusco and were maintained by regional clans or kinship groups known as ayllus. The construction techniques utilized by the Incas continue to amaze and impress laymen and experts alike. All of these sites were connected by over 40,000 km of paved roads over rugged mountainous terrain utilizing bridges, tunnels, drainage ditches, etc. in the process. These sites were built to last and many remain virtually unchanged, a testament to the building techniques of the Incas.

Food and other resources were shared by al throughout the Incan empire but this was no hippie commune giving lip-service to equality, rather the Incan society was strictly and hierarchically organized with the head Inca at the top followed by lesser nobility and others on down the line each responsible for progressively smaller and smaller groups of people. Inca rulers and other nobility were often mummified after death and continued to be consulted on important matters although the conversations must have been somewhat one-sided. They were given daily offerings of food and drink and taken out and paraded around town on special occasions (perhaps not unlike our Señor de los Tremblores?).

The Inca civilization was one of the largest and most successful pre-modern civilizations. In terms of size and effective governance, the Incas were on par with the Roman Empire. Their dominance in South American seemed assured until a group of bearded strangers appeared on the scene.

Play Which of These is not Like the Other!

2006-05-03T10:46:00.000-07:00

If you can tell the difference between the locals and the gringos in the first two pictures, you also begin to understand the difference in social situation of these two groups. The third picture is of the Last Supper painted by a Cusco artist not long after the Conquest. He added a few points of subterfuge. Note the cuy served as the main course as well as the Andean cheese and vegetables. You might also not that Judas, seated in the front right holding his ill-gotten gains, is of much darker skin than the others. Apparently the artist used the face of Francisco Pizzaro as the model for Judas´face. The final picture shows a fresco from a church in Pisac in which Andean themes are included by the church to attract converts. Note the woman and boy in native dress and that the boys holds a baby llama instead of a baby sheep.