NEVER EVER USE DHL! July 20, 2007

Why should you NEVER EVER EVER use DHL?  HA!  Read on.  And this is long – because I’m so enraged I hope DHL Worldwide Express reads this.

I was in Argentina and purchased some gifts that needed to make it back to the US very timely.  So I sent the gifts via DHL express, which was supposed to take 3 days.  Cost $122.  I was required to fill out tons of paperwork for customs, and DHL said I wasn’t allowed to ‘seal the box’ for customs reasons as well.  Since I have used DHL before, I trusted them with my open box of belongings.

Here’s where the problems start – I’ll put it in outline form to be easy to see the steps.  I will have some of the dates of contact estimated (I’ll indicate where) since I didn’t log every conversation with DHL (but I should have!).

1.  Package supposedly sent on 3.16.07.  Should arrive no later than 3.20.07.
2.  I’m in the wilds in Argentina with no access to email/phone service.  On 3.25.07 (approx) I check with my destination contact and the package hasn’t arrived.  I give it a few more days.
3.  On 3.30.07 I check again, still no package.
4.  On 4.08.07 I’m in a remote area of argentina with access to web only (no phones).  I track the package and it’s still in Buenos Aires.  I send an email to DHL to find out why it hasn’t shipped, and I specify they need to EMAIL me back, not call since I don’t have access to a phone.
5.  On 4.10 I get an email back stating I have to call.  I promptly return the email stating  I can’t call as I indicated in my first email.  I’m in the middle of nowhere with no access to phone.  All needs to be handled over email.
6.  4.11 I get an email stating I never filled out the customs invoice which needed to go in the box.  This is absolutely incorrect.  I filled out a detailed invoice for customs when I originally sent the package, so DHL lost it.
7.  4.11 I’m told that I need to fill it out again.
8.  I fill it out again and email back sometime between the 4.11 and 4.17.
9.  4.17 I get an email stating that they can’t ship my package without a Prior Notice FDA form (there was wine in the package).  I was never told that when I originally sent the package or I would have taken the wine out.
10.  On 4.17 I attempt to go to the FDA website to fill out the form, but web browsers in Argentina are prohibiting me from accessing the prior notice form on the FDA website.
11.  Around 4.21 or 4.22 I attempt again and fail.  I send an email to DHL stating I cannot get access to it.
12.  4.23 I get an email from DHL saying they cannot ship the package without the Prior Notice.  I attempt to access it again and fail.
13.  4.27 I try again.
14.  4.29 – I go deep into the peruvian forest and do not emerge until the 5.5
15.  5.7 I fly back to Miami.
16.  5.11 (approx) I complete the prior notice and send to DHL asking them to indicate to me whether they received it or not, and if the package was sent okay.
17.  I don’t hear back from DHL.
18.  I email again asking for confirmation.  I don’t hear back.
19.  I call DHL on approx 5.15 and they tell me the package is in transit.
20.  I’m in FL though, and the people the package was originally sent to are no longer at the address.  (Over TWO months late at this point).
21.  Package is delivered around 5.18, signed for by a friend who doesn’t open package.
22.  I return to on 6.3 and open package.  Items in package are broken, and one item (irreplaceable) is completely missing.
23.  I am so enraged at this point I can’t speak.
24.  Around 6.5 (approx) I call DHL, explain the situation from start to finish and ask for a refund of my shipping costs.  Agent is very helpful and apologetic and tells me I should file for a replacement refund of the missing & broken items as well.  I explain that I NEVER EVER EVER want to have to talk to DHL again, just send me a refund of my shipping costs ($122).  Agent promises me a check will be expedited.
25.  On 6.22 I get a letter from DHL stating my claim was rejected b/c I didn’t file within 15 days of delivery acceptance.
26.  Again, RAGE.  On 7.9 I call DHL’s claims department but am required to leave a message.
27.  On 7.10 I get a voicemail from DHL stating the reason my claim was rejected was b/c I sent the package from DHL Argentina and US doesn’t have access to their accounting files (different reason than in the letter)
28.  On 7.20 (today) I call DHL again, this time in a complete rage.  I am told that DHL can’t help me b/c my claim wasn’t filed within 15 days of delivery of package AND there is no guarantee of delivery on international shipments (yet another reason).

I have had what, 25 communications with DHL?  Maybe more?  I’ve calculated how much time and money I’ve lost.  Here’s my calculation.

-  $121.07 should be refunded to me b/c they didn’t meet the contract (sent within 3 days).
-  Items broken and missing in the package total approx $132.  The missing item is an heirloom gift and cannot be replaced.
-  My job is a strategic business consultant.  Every hour I spent dealing with DHL cost me $50 in my own time.  I’ve spent close to 10 HOURS dealing with DHL to get this resolved.  Thats $500.
-  I won’t get into interest that I should be rewarded on the $121.07.

Totalling $753.07.

DHL never met their end of the contract of $121.07 shipped in 3 days.  Things were damaged and stolen.  10 hours of my time, at least 12 different agents in different departments and countries, FOUR MONTHS LATER I’m still dealing with them.  This is 100% their fault for losing paperwork, not notifying me of requirements, breaking and losing items in the shipment.

DHL – it would have been better for me to send the package via Argentina’s snail mail and just hope it would have arrived.  It would have cost me less than $10, it would have taken less time, and I would have KNOWN it was going to be a gamble so my expectations would have been low.  May you go out of business and have a few dirty executives go to jail.

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The bellybutton of the world April 27, 2007

From South America..

Well, this is the final leg of our journey! Mark and I took a tourist bus from Puno to Cusco, one that stopped at some of the interesting sites along the way. Our tour guide Coco was full of useful information and we learned tons of incredible facts. Originally known as the Quechans, an Inca is actually a Quechua king. We learned that there is somewhere between 30,000KM and 45,000KM of PAVED (with stone) Incan Trails that span from Columbia to the south of Chile. Yes, you read that right. 45 THOUSAND KILOMETERS OF PAVED TRAILS. The stones that they used for paving are huge. Would take 6 or 7 men to carry just one, and many of the stones came from hundreds of km away from their origin. Fabulous. We visited one site, Raqchi, that had 120 gigantic round warehouses that could store food for maybe 10,000 people or more. And to think the Incas were only around for maybe 100 years. Estimates of their population ranged from 200,000 to 9million. Given how much they accomplished in a mere 100 years, I’m guessing it had to be around 9million people with a large majority being slaves.

We began our time in Cusco definitely on the wrong foot; Mark was still somewhat under the weather and I let myself be bullied by a taxi driver when our intended hotel was full, he convinced us to go a place he knew, he mislead us on price, he mislead us on location, and we ended up staying in a shitty dirty smelly nasty expensive hotel far from anything. But hey, it’s my own fault, I let myself get bullied. I should have known better after 3 months on the road. We spent a miserable night in that dump, woke up early next morning, and got out as quickly as possible. We found our way to Casa De La Gringa, a unique almost Alice in Wonderland looking hostel up in the artsy district of San Blas. The colorful South African owner, Leslie, embraced the weaknesses of the place and turned them into strengths. No wall is straight, no joint is completely sealed, but everything is vibrant colors hand painted and clean. A drastic difference from our last hotel! Upon arrival, we were greeted warmly with coca tea, a tea made from the leaves of the coca plant, the same plant used to make cocaine. The Quechuas chew the leaves, or put them in their teas to cure altitude sickness. The leaves are harmless if you can get past the smell (just like hay). After our coca tea, we scrubbed the grime off our bodies from the previous dump and set out to explore Cusco.

Cusco, or Qo’osco in Quechua, means belly button of the world, and a belly button it is. It is a town full of paradoxes. The views are GORGEOUS. The town sits in a shallow valley with lush green hills rising up on all sides like a wave moving away from the center. In the little nooks and crannies of these hills are nestled the smaller neighborhoods of Cusco, so at night you can see light crawling up the sides of the hills. Yet while you gaze out at the natural setting, you inhale a deep breath expecting clean, fresh air. Instead the smell of piss fills your nose, as the ancient sewer system in Cusco is not equipped to handle the sheer load with which it has been tasked, hence pipes are constantly bursting. The roads are narrow, built with cobblestone and lined with ancient Incan stone walls. They were such incredible masons that in the the temples, the stones are cut so perfectly that no mortar was used at all. They are beveled and cut to fit into one another flawlessly, and built at 13 degree angles to withstand the constant earthquakes with which the area is subject. After 500 years these walls still stand powerful and look brand new. Yet constructed right atop the Incan walls is the eyesore architecture of the colonial Spaniards, crumbling, cracking, and falling down. The Spanish buildings have not withstood the test of time and look almost like a fungus growing on top and around the Incan sites. And the modern construction is even worse, mud and hay bricks that literally melt in the rain – and they build 3 story buildings out of this stuff! In Cusco, the evidence of the Incas is around every corner.

Tourism runs rampant here in Cusco, and in 1 block you might be approached a dozen times by individuals selling finger puppets, artists watercolors, postcards, tours, CDs, alpaca knit sweaters, hats, carved dolls, cigarettes being peddled by 10 year olds (did you hear that Phillip Morris!), children wearing traditional garb charging $1 for a photo, and massages. Oh the massages! Mark and I are still fairly convinced that the word massage must be code for some kind of drug, since the people offering the massages usually whisper it under their breath as you walk by. The peddlers here too have learned that the longer they bug you, the more likely you are to buy from them. So we quickly learned to develop a briskness with our decline and a look that delivers a very firm NO CHANCE. I must admit that the constant barrage got very old by the end of our stay.

We wrapped up our stay in Cusco with dinner at Fallen Angel with our friends Erica and Ryan that are biking from Ushuaia, Argentina, to Canada. On bicycles! Check out their website here. Anyway, if you get a chance to eat at Fallen Angel, do it. The food is almost US prices, but I’ll tell you it was the best $12 tenderloin I have ever eaten, and we enjoyed our food over a bath tub converted into a fish tank, topped with glass. You can see the fish swimming right underneath your plates. Fabulous. Another great place to check out is La Bodeguita Cubana. Owned by a woman with a passion for salsa dancing, she is extremely friendly, the food is good, and she even burned us a disc with tons and tons of salsa music on it!

We only had a couple of days in Cusco, and some of it was prepping for our Inca Trail tour, so we planned out the rest of our stay in town and decided on a very unique way to experience the Temple of the Moon. Read the next blog for more!

Floating Islands and 6 foot phaluses April 25, 2007

After WAY too short a duration in Bolivia, Mark and boarded the expensivebus (at $2.50usd) to Puno, Peru, a necessary stopover to visit the floating islands of Uros and the overnight stays at Amantan and Taquile (islands in Lake Titicaca).

Puno, Peru is only about a 3 hour bus ride around Lake Titicaca from Copacabana, Bolivia.  Along the way, we passed by Chucuito, a town notable for it´s fertility temple.  Called Inca Uyo, the temple features 6 foot tall PENISES that woman, when wanting to become pregnant, sit upon and drink an ancient Incan corn beverage.  Sadly, our bus didn´t stop there.  Can´t believe we missed the penises! 

Anyway, Puno is a crappy little claustrophobic town.  It´s streets are lined narrowly on both sides with buildings, allowing in most places zero room for a sidewalk, much less a pair of feet.  My feet came within INCHES of being run over several times.  We stayed at a nice enough joint only a couple of blocks from all the action called Hostel Los Ninos.  Our plan was only to be in town for the one night before heading on an excursion with All Ways Travel to the floating islands of Uros, then Taquile and Amantan, all islands on Lago Titicaca.  Yet Pachamama, the earth goddess had different plans for us.  Mark had some more intestinal issues making it very difficult for him to leave the room, thus I spent a better part of the next day nursing him to health.  I also spent some time juggling our trip around to accommodate his illness… so let me digress for one minute.

All Ways Travel was FANTASTIC.  It is a travel company based in Puno that specializes in socially responsible tourism – meaning you don´t just get off the boat and take pictures of the locals.  You actually interact with them, helping the school children read, or assisting in building a school, or plowing the fields, or whatever the islanders need.  I was looking SO forward to this part of the trip, and had paid for the trip in advance (which was only $25 per person, for 3 days, including food and lodging!) and was close to devastated that we couldn´t go because Mark was sick.  I had to cancel the morning our trip was supposed to leave, and the owner of All Ways Travel felt my disappointment so deeply that I thought he was going to cry.  He happily refunded all of our money and practically insisted that we see his doctor (we refrained), caring for us as if we were his own family.  If you are going to do ANY tours around Lago Titicaca, please use All Ways Travel.  THEY ROCK!

ANYWAY, while I did cancel the 3 day trip for both of us, there was no way I was going to be physically able to spend another day in our hotel room without completely freaking out.  So I kissed little sicky Mark on the forehead and with much guilt, went for a day tour of Uros and Taquile. 

Uros – The Uros Islands are actually man made, they are floating islands made out of river reeds.  It is one of the single coolest and saddest things I have ever seen in my whole life.  The basic history of the Uros people is they got sick of defending themselves from assimilation (the Incas, then the Spaniards) so they hand made these floating islands to hide upon the Lake and avoid capture.  Everything is made of reeds… the islands, their houses upon the islands, their beds, their boats.  They cook with the reeds as fuel (uh, fire hazard???), they fish with reed poles.  Truly their lives are intertwined with the reeds.  These islands are quite large too… each island ranges from maybe 5000 to 15000 square feet, and there are somewhere around 40 islands in total, all anchored together with reeds, forming an artificial archipelago of sorts.  Each island needs to be replenished with new reeds about once a month while the old ones underneath rot away, and the island lasts about 10 years.  It is FASCINATING seeing these islands, they are maybe 4 or 5 feet thick and float upon the water in places that can be 100 or 200 feet deep.  Stepping upon the island is a little like stepping on hay, it is very squishy but surprisingly dry. 

The sad part about the islands is that they are now supported 100% by tourism.  Most of the young generation cannot support themselves living on these islands anymore, so they live in Puno, boat in to the islands in the morning for the tourists, then boat home at night.  It made me realize that the price of modernization is uniformness.  We (the human race) are losing the unique qualities that make us special all in the name of modernization.   I´m not sure there´s an answer to this problem, except tourism.  Without that, these islands would have been abandoned long ago.  But even what we see now is a show of sorts.  We pay a small fee to see the islands, and the people make their living off the handicrafts that the tourists buy.  So I guess the short answer is too buy and keep visiting so these islands stay alive. 

After the fascinating visit to Uros, we continued on to Taquile, an island that has maintained much of its Incan traditions.  The people still wear most of the traditional garb, their weavings are some of the finest in the country, and strangely enough, they have some similar traditions to the ancient Greeks.  Taquile has no roads, and the people have gotten together and decided there would be no mules or horses to help them transport things, so everything is done by hand.  As I trekked to the top of the village, I was passed by an old woman in her 70´s carrying a HUGE pallet sized box of bottled water.  This thing must have weighed 75lbs!  And she walked PAST me!  You go granny.

Well, with Mark lying bored and sick stiff in our little hotel room, I was back to Puno to care for the sicky.  When I returned he was feeling marginally better, so we went out for an entertaining dinner and a dance show featuring traditional Peruvian performers.  Their music is saturated with eerie flutes and an almost sad quality.  In contrast, their dances can be quite funny.  One featured two men and two women fighting over one another; the women were wrestling on the floor for the affections of the men, and the men where whipping one another with cloth belts.  The winning male pranced off stage with the winning female over his shoulder.  Oh so entertaining!

Tomorrow we´re off for Cusco and our final days before the Inca Trail.  More soon!

Birthplace of the Sun April 25, 2007

After tearing down The World´s Most Dangerous Road outside of La Paz, Bolivia, on mountain bikes, Mark and I decided to take it easy and spend a day exploring La Paz.

This is a city that unfolds little by little, it reveals new aspects of its personality with every corner that you turn. Streets are narrow, cars, pedestrians, minivans, and gigantic Greyhound sized buses share the road as equals. Walking up a small flight of stairs makes you suprisingly winded. Coca tea, made from the leaves of the coca plant (that is used to make cocaine) is a popular beverage here and chewing on the leaves is supposed to assist with altitude sickness – of which Mark and I are both fighting with.

We wandered somewhat listlessly though the streets of La Paz looking at all of the fabulous handicrafts of the indigenous people. Lightheadedness aside, it was a wonderful day. But alas, new towns await! So we bought a bus ticket to Copacabana which is a small town on the shore of Lake Titicaca.

Arriving in Copacabana was interesting…. Lake Titicaca just wasn´t what I had in my mind´s eye. I had envisioned STEEP, jagged misty peaks plunging into silken black waters. I had imagined cool, cloudy, misty days, and silence. Lake Titicaca was not these things. First of all, it was HOT. HOT HOT HOT in the sun, and downright COLD in the shade. The mountains are gentle, sloping hills, of which every square inch of them has been terraced for farming. And the lake has a healthy amount of pollution hugging the rim. But it is HUGE. In some places, you can´t see the other side of the lake. It is 8500 sq km around at 3800m in elevation. At 12,500 ft high, it is remarkably lush and the weather is remarkably moderate.

Here in Copacabana, we decided to splurge on lodging since we´ve both felt dodgy the last few days and hot water in this town can be scarce. I belive we checked into the most expensive hotel in town, Hotel Mirador, at $10 a night including breakfast. DAMN I LOVE BOLIVIA.

We bought our boat tickets for the area´s main attraction, Isla del Sol, or Island of the Sun, where the Incas believe the Sun was born. A 2 hour boat ride there lead us to our first crime in travel. Upon arrival, there were these two beautiful Amaryan girls selling sumptious sandwiches. Since we didn´t bring a lunch, we decided to grab two. Mark (yes, I´m blaming it all on him) didn´t pay for the food! We just grabbed our sammys and walked away. He claims that he thought I was paying. But really, we all know it´s all his fault that we stole from these girls. Anyway, I digress.

We got a marvelous tour by a local guide who showed us the ruins on Isla del Sol. Honestly, they weren´t quite as grande as I had in mind, but interesting nonetheless. We then walked the two hours, along the entire length of Isla del Sol, to the other side to meet our boat. Our little pilgrammage across the island was good for the lungs and our altitude sickness, and we arrived at the boat feeling refreshed. We are, after all, still in training for Macchu Pichu (in less than 2 weeks!)

A tortously slow boat ride brought us back to Copacabana where we finished off the day with a record meal (4 courses plus a bottle of wine for $10!!!!!).

Next stop, Puno, Peru for a homestay, visiting the floating islands of the Uros, and last major stop before Macchu Pichu.

From 0 to 15,000ft overnight April 21, 2007

Exhausted and a little light headed, Mark and I got off the plane from Santiago to La Paz, Bolivia. The airport hovers around 13,500 feet in elevation, and since we´ve been at sea level for the last two months, we were a tad disoriented.  A big sign in the airport said private taxis to downtown are $50 Bolivanos (about $6.25), so at least we knew how much the ride was going to cost.  We weren´t exactly sure about our destination, all of the lodging I read about sounded sketchy, but I read on some stranger´s blog about a cute place they stayed.  So with address in hand, but no reservations or price, we set out to find a cab.

We quickly learned that the cabi´s here are fast talkers!  Ours told us the cost of the ride was 70, which I then argued with him down to$50.  He then told us our hotel sucked, it was dangerous, it was full, it was expensive, but he had a better option.  We politely declined 4 times before he´d take us to our intended destination.  Upon arrival, we saw that our place had space, was very inexpensive, was super cute, and safe!  The cabi then tried to cheat us out of change.  So my warning to anyone arriving in La Paz from sea level… keep your wits about you!  Anyway, our hostel was Arcabucero Hostal Inn at Calle Viluyo 307 right in the heart of downtown, for anyone interested.  $22.50usd for a double with private bath!

I do not have the words to describe to you the approach to La Paz.  First of all, the airport is on a level stretch of ground that basically looks like Kansas.  Super flat, farms all around.  In the distance you can see some mountains, but what strikes you is this super flat land is 13K ft!  Taking a cab from the airport, you actually descend into a valley on which La Paz is build.  Literally, into the sides of the valley.  Nowhere in La Paz is flat.  There are massive cliffs in between buildings separating roads.  Everything is built of red brick or cement.   There are actually TREES, lush green trees here at 13000ft.  It is the most spectacular setting for a city I have ever seen in my whole life.  Gigantic 20K ft mountains loom in the distance.  And, it is HOT.  Short sleeve or tank top hot.  The only thing that reminds us that we are at 13K ft is that when ascending the FIVE STEPS to our room, we are winded, I mean truly out of breath. 

Once we were settled into our room, we sprinted to Gravity Assisted Mountain Bike tours… a company that takes you from 15,000 feet down to about 3000, across 66km.  It drops 44km down The Worlds Most Dangerous Road, so given the nature of the descent we went with the most reputable company we could find.  These guys rent Kona bikes with disc brakes (checked about 4 times on the descent) and full helmets, goggles, support vehicle with spare parts, guides, 3 meals, free beer, and a t-shirt all for $55usd.  We were giddy with excitement and signed up on the spot for the next morning, bright and early at 7am.

Well, let me say that there is something to this whole altitude adjustment thing.  Mark spent the evening feeling nauseous, chilled, hot, headache, the works.  I just felt dizzy, but okay.  Hmmm… maybe we shouldn´t go on this bike trip TOMORROW???

We got up anyway, our trip was paid for…figuring if Mark was really ill he could get in the support vehicle.  With a little breakfast, water chugging, and some Advil, Mark´s condition improved rapidly.  We hopped in the van with tour guide Ben from Boulder, along with 13 other participants from Australia and England, and set out for the top of wind swept La Cumbre at 15,000 feet.  The ride up was FANTASTIC.  There is no way I´m going to do this justice…but the terrain looked like some cross between Hawaii and Nepal.  The mountains here are just HUGE.  18,000 ft behemoths in all directions with a steepness that is unimaginable.  I can´t see how they just don´t collapse onto themselves.  The weird thing is that they are GREEN.  Lush green.  The top is super green shrubs, but starting at about 13000 feet you´ve got green trees, and around 10K it becomes full Amazonian jungle.  Speckled across the landscape is what looks to be ancient terracing and stone fencing.  And the roads.  The roads cut into the side of the mountains look impossible.  They ARE impossible, many of them wash away at least once a year during the rainy season.  In many places the mountain is so steep that there is no earth under the road.  It is held up by pillars that were drilled into the ground some 2000 feet below.  Fabulous.

We got on our gear, mounted our bikes, and set out from 15,000 foot, but not before a little offering to Pachamama (mother earth).  Bolivians are very superstitious people, and before embarking on a journey, they always make an offering to Pachamama.  In our case, it consisted of pure old-fashion moonshine (190 proof), a little spilled on the ground for Pachamama, and a little for yourself.  Lets just say that the alcohol content is so high that most of it evaporates before it reaches your stomach. 

And our journey began.  The top portion of the road was paved, so we all maxed out the velocity on our bikes.  In full tuck position, at 15000 feet, surrounded by mist, sunshine, and 18000 foot snow covered mountains, with a river running in the canyon below us….. fabulous.  The scenery was so spectacular, that even the uphill section was fabulous.  Even though I couldn´t BREATHE, we were going slow enough that I could look around to enjoy the scenery without fear of flying off one of the hairpin turns at 35 mph.  After about an hour, we began the descent down the Worlds Most Dangerous Road section.  It is all dirt, with little traffic since the opening of the paved road in November.  Sections of this road are barely wide enough for 4 tires of a car.  Sections of the road are underneath waterfalls.  Almost no section of the road is straight.  Every turn is a blind, hairpin one.  And the drop off the side in places is over 2000 feet.  Single track has nuthin on this double track!  It is here that you learn to really look where you want the bike to go.  This seems an obvious statement, but if you´re looking at the cliff, you´ll go over it!  Anway, we descended down from the mists of the mountains into the stinking pungent heat of the Amazon jungle, complete with monkeys and parrots.  I´ve got the bug bites to prove it.  We ended up around 3000 ft elevation with hot showers, cold beer, and monkeys awaiting us. 

The ride overall, was fabulous, and for anyone interested I would HIGHLY recommend Gravity Assisted Mountain Bike Tours.  You´ll find other companies that are less expensive, but I´d think twice about barrelling down the worlds most dangerous road with a substandard bike.  The day itself was the most spectacular day we´ve had so far, from views, to weather, to exercise.  Additionally, La Paz has been my favorite city of all that we´ve visited in South America.  Everything is CHEAP.  Our hotel is one of the more expensive ones at $22usd.  We ate dinner for $10usd.  A bottle of water here will cost you $.15.  Internet is about $.10 an hour.  50% of the Bolivian population is pure bred indigenous.  Most of the women here wear the traditional garb, a funny combination of a matronly dress, a shawl, and a top hat cocked to one side.  The people here have a hard time understanding our Spanish, and we´ve just concluded it´s because they don´t speak Spanish here, they speak Quechua.  The streets are LINED with hardware stores.  Every store is a hardware store, presumably because they don´t ever buy anything new, everything gets fixed.  The narrow, steep, cobblestone streets are lined with indigenous women selling fried banana chips, shoe laces, microphones, shoe liners, books, radios, grains, breads, soft drinks, or just begging.  In between them are the shoe shine boys… now this is a profession to be studied here.  They wear SKI MASKS and pull their ski hats all the way down, so the only thing you can see, barely, is a slit for their eyes.  Presumably they do this because they are students or fathers, and there is a negative social stigma associated with shining shoes, and they don´t want anyone to know that´s what they do for a living.  The minibuses here don´t have signs, rather a person hangs out the window and shouts the destination of the minibus.  You just have to wave one down when you hear your destination.  If this is what La Paz looks like, I can´t WAIT to experience the rest of the country.

Having been here for only 48 hours, Bolivia has been my favorite country (in spite of the nasty case of, uh, well, bathroom problems I´m experiencing today).  Mark and I are off for Copacabana tomorrow morning, a town on the southern shore of Lake Titicaca, also situated at 12,500 feet.  We only have 8 more days to make it to Cusco for our Machu Picchu trek, then home!  I know that this is a country I will soon return.  There is much to see and do that we are skipping, from the fabulous Amazon jungle, to salt flats, to hiking and trekking and biking galore, and given the prices here…if you can stand the third-world quality of Bolivia, this is the place to be! 

 Viva Bolivia!

LA, I mean Santiago April 19, 2007

Mark and I ended our stay in Valparaiso, Chile on a great note.  The town is perfect for 2 days of wanderings, coffee shops, and Pisco Sours in rooftop bars overlooking the bay.  We bought our bus tickets for Santiago, the next morning and headed off for our final day in Chile. 

We started our morning off on the right foot, by getting accidentally getting on the wrong bus, then being kicked off the bus in the middle of the road.  So we had to do the clueless-tourist walk of shame down the bus aisle, get our bags, and walk the 100 yards through the embarkation lot for the buses with all eyes on us.  The 1.5 hour drive from Valpo to Santiago was mostly through hills, vineyards, and farmlands, with the Andes looming in the distant background behind a vail of fog.  What I didn’t nap through was lovely.

Arriving in Santiago was like pulling into Southern California on its most polluted days… with traffic everywhere, rows and rows and rows of mini-malls and track homes, with a large shadowy…oh wait, I think… yes it is… mountains about 1 mile away shrouded in fog and pollution. The sun was bright and hot, the air smelled of car fumes, and there were people EVERYWHERE.  Since Santiago has FOUR main bus terminals, a little guesswork was needed in order to determine where we were.  A lucky guess and some wanderings put us on track (literally, we found the metro taking us to our hotel) and we arrived at our stop with no problems.  Surfacing from the metro, we were greeted by police in full riot gear and a student protest!  FUN!  So we cowered behind the cops for a while trying to figure out what the students were chanting about, then realized what a spectacle we were in our full backpacks, day packs, cameras, and plastic grocery bags dangling from every limb.  So we walked to find our hotel. 

Our hotel was Residential Londres in the London district just 1 or 2 blocks from the University of Chile.  Walking through this barrio(neighborhood) was like walking through a movie set.  The streets were narrow, enough for barely one car.  In fact I was surprised to discover it was even a street, I thought it was a sidewalk.  The roads were cobblestone with trees and old fashion lamp posts on both sides, and they were curvy.  The buildings that lined the streets were old European architecture, white and gray edifices adorned with wrought iron, flowery designs, statues, and more.  There was a cafe with candle lit tables just siting on the cobble stone street.  It was glorious.  Our hotel was just as glorious.  It was an old mansion converted into a hostel… maybe 4 or 5 stories tall, with a narrow wooden and marble staircase that ascended the height, all original hardwood parquay floors, 12 foot ceilings, crown moulding, and antique furniture everywhere.  There were more nooks and crannies in this house than in a cave!  We settled into our room with our, yup, you guessed it, twin beds, and went to explore the city.  We only had about 5 hours until sunset and our flight to Bolivia was the next morning at 6:45 am.

I don’t have a ton to say about Santiago except that it was very lively!  I was expecting a complete hell hole… most other travelers we met that came through Santiago said get out as fast as you can.  Well, we really enjoyed our half day wanderings.  The downtown section of Santiago is all pedestrian malls, and there is wall to wall banks, department stores, cafes, shoe stores, street vendors, street entertainers, and kiosks.  The city has a positive vibe to it that we just didn’t experience in Argentina.  Everyone looked busy but happy and not always suspicious of each other.  We wandered the streets until finding the Mercado Central, a place where they hawk every kind of seafood and vegetable known to man.  I saw corn there that was EASILY the thickness of my thigh!  The kernels were as big as eyeballs!  Shrimp and octopus and big fish and small fish and fillets and oysters and scallops and everything was for sale.  In the center of the Mercado was a large eatery where 5 or 6 restaurants set up shop for the freshest seafood imaginable.  Noticing the we are tourists sign around our necks, we were accosted by vendors enticing us to eat in their restaurant.  We obliged, and while our food was decent, the overall experience was fun. 

After lunch, we wandered into the Catedral Metropolitana, the large cathedral in Plaza de Armas.  This impressive church reminded me of St. Peters Cathedral in Rome, and also was a reminder of how strong the Catholic religion is here in Chile.  I wonder if the pharmacies here sell condoms?  In front of the Catedral were many vendors, hilariously, selling things like palm readings, paintings of Jimi Hendrix, and with street performers giving a show that puts the Zip Code Guy in Boulder to absolute shame.

We ended our day in Santiago in a bad diner where we had our last Pisco Sours (a drink made with whipped egg whites, powdered sugar, and some mysterious liquor) and sampled Chorillana, a Chilean dish with fried pork, fried onions, fried eggs on top of a bed of french fries.  Tastes good going down!!!! 

We didn’t really sleep that night for fear that our alarm would fail to wake us up at the required 3:30am.  But awake we did, caught our prompt taxi, marveled at the sheer number of street vendors still selling hot dogs completa and the long lines of people waiting for the discoteks.  We got to the airport right on time, got on our plane at 6am, then proceeded to wait there for maybe 1.5 hours while they fixed the plane. 

I should interject at this point that I just finished reading in my guide book that few airlines are actually courageous enough to fly into La Paz, Bolivia, because the airport is situated at about 13,500 feet.  I should also add that in the last few days, Mark and I had CABLE TV in our rooms, which we vegetated in front of for embarrassingly too long, and we managed to watch the first episode of the hit TV show Lost (you know, the one where the plane crashes) and also watched the Bonecollector with Denzel Washington trying to find a killer is a taxicab driver. 

So with imaginations afire, we were instructed to deplane while they continued to fix the plane.  About 1 hour later, they told us they were getting a new plane and it would be another hour plus before we could take off.  So with a four hour delay in Santiago, and no sleep the night before, Mark and I leave Chile, bound for our 5th country in 2 months, Bolivia.

But I wouldn´t want to be a bicycle messenger… April 16, 2007

Mark and I left the house of Malena with a large degree of sadness.  Hugs and kisses were given all around, and promises to write and to visit.  I can only pray that they take us up on the offer to come to the US.

We boarded our bus from Mendoza to travel across the border of Chile and into the port town of Valparaiso.  The drive was the single most spectacular drive I have ever experienced.  It ranged from a flat, suburbian landscape, to sloping hills and vineyards, to 20,000 foot mountains, snow, cliffs, death-defying hairpin turns.  At one point we dropped maybe 7000 feet in about 1 mile, the road was THAT steep, with no guardrail (not that it would stop a runaway 18 wheeler).  And it was littered with 18 wheelers, buses, and trucks carrying logs.  The roadside was littered with abandoned stone buildings with no roofs, and we were chased the entire route by a retired railroad track.  In places the railroad had fallen away with the steepness of the terrain, or boulders the size of 4 story buildings were resting peacefully on the tracks.  In other places, they had cut holes into the side of the mountain for a road or the tracks, but design and construction was so poor that either the tunnel had collapsed, or the ground underneath it had.  At some point I saw a portion of the road that we were driving on.  It looks as if it had been accidentally kicked out of place by a giant.  It was laying about 15 feet from the new pavement, all askew, on the brink of sliding into the 2000+ ft abyss we were driving over, with blood and guts and rebar hanging from it like a constant reminder – don´t take life for granted.  It was here, in this region that we passed into Chile, a 2.5 hour border crossing complete with narcotic-sniffing dogs, smoking and paranoid patrols, and travelers being suffocated by the exhaust of the impatient buses.  If you are crossing the border from Argentina into Chile above Upsallalta, take my word, don´t break any laws here.

But cruising into Chile was really like entering a different world.  Here, the clouds stack up against the divide, so the sun is often shrouded in clouds.  The ground is more fertile and green and lush than in Argentina, with miles and miles and miles of agriculture in all directions.   Even the people that we met, on the bus, at the bus stop, seemed nicer, more friendly and open.

We arrived in Valparaiso in the evening after a 7+ hour bus ride, found a place to stay, then proceeded to hole ourselves into our cute room.  Our room actually had a matrimonial bed (first time in MONTHS!), a TV with CABLE in our own room (a remote too!) and our own bathroom!  We were in heaven!  So we cooked some pasta, drank a whole bottle of wine, and watched movies cuddling in our bed. 

The next day Mark and I woke up late, cooked some breakfast, and set out to explore Valparaiso.  Now this city has some serious character.

Valparaiso, situated on the Pacific and a standard stop from those traveling around the cape, is one of the most interesting cities I have ever been in.  It was originally settled by Spaniards and hence the downtown district and port are set up in the standard grid fashion.  But Spanish bureaucracy in the 1700 prevented Valpo from actually calling itself a ¨port¨, and all development that followed was technically illegal.  There is only a very small portion of Valpo that is flat.  The rest is on STEEP STEEP hillsides that would put California mountains to shame.  Outside of the downtown district, there are no straight roads.  In fact, many original roads were turned into stairways or footpaths.  Imagine if you were to map the trails of ants in an anthill, you might come close to approximating what the street pattern of the hills in Valpo look like.  In fact, many roads were not build for cars.  They are simply stairways, or dirt trails that might take you a quarter mile to your final destination. With the steepness of the terrain, in some places it might take you 30+ minutes to DRIVE up, but only 10 to walk up a contrived staircase .  To accommodate the terrain, Valpos installed ascensors, these strange contraptions that are a blend of a train and an escalator.  Meant for pedestrians only, they will take you up the side of a steep cliff or mountain in a cart on a track. 

In an effort to really get the sense of the city, Mark and I embarked on a walking tour suggested by the local tourist office.  We quickly realized the exercise to be somewhat futile, as almost none of the streets are labeled, few of the streets on the map are labeled, and many didn´t exist on the map.  It took us about 45 minutes to further realize that some of the streets on the map weren´t actually streets, but staircases that connected two roads separated by 45 – 60 degree slopes.  Orientation on our self-guided walking tour was a little like a treasure hunt, except the treasure was realizing you were actually on the right street or made the right turn.

However each correct or incorrect turn revealed an entirely new part of the city.  The poorer communities are quickly identified by their use of rainbow colored corrugated metal for walls and roofs.  Many homes don´t even use one sheet, but a smattering, like a child pasting together a bunch of multi-colored construction paper.  Many houses are below the road with front doors accessed only by a steep and harrowing metal bridge down to the house.  Many are not even accesible by road.  I can see the directions now… take road 1 for about 200 feet.  There you´ll see a big tree with an abandoned ford falcon.  Turn right there, but make sure you don´t turn quickly or you´ll turn right off the road and down the cliff.  Go about 1/4 mile until you get to a tall European looking edifice, then veer left.  Go another 400 feet, get out of the car, and find the staircase that goes UP.  Go up 22 stairs, take the other staircase on your right back DOWN 14 steps, turn left on a dirt path, walk underneath the ascensor tracks, and you´ll see our front door.  I´m not exaggerating.

At one point Mark and I saw a group of guys taking off on a road bike ride.  Altitude aside for a minute, bike training in Boulder or anywhere in Colorado would have NUTHIN on training here in Valpo.  These guys are hard core.  I´m not even sure you could make it up some of the slopes, in granny gear, without breaking a derailleur.

The day spent walking up staircases, down dirt trails, around cobblestone corners, in front of grand European buildings, next to shanty towns, alongside beaugonvilla lined paths, with the Pacific ocean always in sight, the sun bright and the breeze cool, it was a spectacular day in Chile.

Jobs that would be fabulous in Valpo – break repair/replacement.  But I wouldn´t want to be a recently transfered UPS delivery driver!

La Famosa Marlena April 14, 2007

Mark and I just finished a week of Spanish school and home stay in Mendoza, Argentina. 

Let me begin by talking about our homestay.  We stayed for 1 week with Malena and her 25 year old son Diego.  They live in a little suburb about a 25 minute walk from downtown Mendoza called Godoy Cruz.  We had our own room, and breakfast and dinner were included in our homestay.  For the first couple of days, another couple stayed there as well, Paul and Kathy from London. 

Ahhhhhh…. Malena.

Malena cooks.  She´s one of these cooks that begins to think about what she´s going to even cook maybe 1 hour before it´s time to sit down at the table.  She looks in her fridge, brings out package of instant jello, chicken, water, and powdered red chilli pepper and makes the best damn meal you´ve ever eaten in your whole life.  I ate chicken that literally fell off the bone and dissolved in my mouth.  She made a fish dish with cream and blue cheese that made both Mark and I want to cry with happiness. She taught us how to make homemade empanadas.  She makes her own ice-cream, with organic honey. 

But Malena´s goodness only starts in the kitchen.  Dinner time is a time for family in Malena´s house, and we often dined with her son Diego and his sweet girlfriend Lucianna, friends of the family, or her other sons Leo or Javier.  After dinner conversation, called sobre mesa (means literally on table)  lasted for nearly 2 hours.  We often found ourselves yakking away until midnight or later, with our dinner plates still in front of us.  Malena always spoke Spanish, but slowly and clearly so we could understand.  When we didn´t understand, she would use her broken English to explain, or there was always the humorous son Diego to add in a good laugh in his perfect English.  From Malena and Diego, we learned of the lifestyle of the middle class Argentinians.  We learned of the security problems in the country.  We learned of the opportunities, the drug issues, the economic crisis, the neighborhood, cost of living, housing prices, lifestyles, relationships, and more.  I learned more about Argentina in that one week than Mark and I have the following 4 weeks combined.  We learned that Argentinian roosters say Kri-ki-dee-ki-deee and dogs say wow wow and birds say peeep peeep instead of the American Cockle-doodle-dooo and wooof wooof and chirp that our animals say.  We learned that Malena was recently separated, something VERY typical for Argentinians (very few get divorced, many many get separated).  We saw Diego and Lucianna constantly flirting in that newly-in-love kind of way.  We saw pregnant Maria, Leo´s wife (but separated) join the family for Easter lunch, with Leo and his new girl in attendance.  With Malena and Diego, we ate dinner together every night, practiced our Spanish, and learned about life in Argentina.  Malena, eager to learn about life in the States, was full of questions and wanted to learn all the slang.  We taught her to say AWESOME DUDE in a full thick Argentinian accent.  Fabulous.  One of my favorite days was when we were sitting on her couch studying spanish, the smells of chicken wafting through the house, her laughing with us at a story she was relaying, and the cool breeze blowing through the wide open doors. 

Malena, in her early 60´s, likes to have visitors because we are trustworthy (no foreigner wants trouble she said) and have been to interesting places.  She loves it when the visitors share their stories and talk about their lives.  I think housing us gives her direction, entertainment, and companionship… in addition to the constant flow of compliments and praise on her food.  

Our time with Malena overshadowed everything else in Mendoza that we experienced.  Overall, Mendoza is a city in a forest, with huge trees and changing leaves and gigantic plazas everywhere.  Mendocinos, obsessed with cleanliness, shine their tile sidewalks every morning with kerosene.  Siesta is mandatory from about 1 to 4:30 every day, making for FOUR rush hours per day.  Mendoza is surrounded on all sides by vineyards, produce farms, or huge fabulous mountains.  Aconcagua is here, South America´s largest peak at 6900m high.  Yet in Mendoza, I felt the population seething with discontent and misbehavior.  It seemed that people were always scoping what they could steal, adults and teens alike.  Once, we were warned by passerby-ers about a suspicious looking individual lurking behind us and eyeing our things.  When we got up to leave, that same individual was walking quickly away from us and a group of merchants were yelling at him and running after him.  A full chase ensued with the man getting away.  Kathy and Paul witnessed a group of people break into a car and steal things.  We saw a car accident happen, and one woman might have been badly hurt, but the ice-cream shop we were at refused to call the police.  An ambulance showed up maybe 20 minutes later.  The trees and the wine almost made up for the lack of interesting architecture and the graffiti on every available vertical wall.  Here I felt as if the country was going to steal itself dry- the crime simply cannot get worse.  Yet somehow, staying with Malena made all of this just a part of living.  Being with her for one week allowed me to really see how people can fall in love with this country.

The week with Malena flew by and has been my most favorite week of any trip in any country that I have ever experienced.

Malena, if you ever read this, thank you.

Vino de Mendoza! April 10, 2007

Mark and I arrived in Mendoza after a day of flights across Argentina.  We´re pros at the traveling thing now, and LAN Airlines likes to play soundless shows on the TV monitors on the plane for the comfort of all passengers.   I´ve never actually seen a modern show where you could understand what was happening without listening to it, but they picked the single best program for this purpose.  Hilariously, this program has the opposite effect of keeping the plane quiet.  After a 30 minute program, the entire plane is crying they are laughing so hard.  Streams of tears were running down my face.  Check out www.hahaha.com.  Anyway, I digress.

A quick taxi ride through town from the airport reminds us we aren´t in beautiful Bariloche anymore.  Mendoza has over 1 million people and is spread out over a long geographical area.  The town has wide streets with huge leafy trees whose leaves are changing into autumn colors.  The buildings are similar to the standard uninspiring Argentina architecture with crumbling sidewalks, graffiti, and bars on all the windows, but the parks are huge and green and happy people sit in outdoor cafes drinking mate and vino all day long.  

We arrive at our destination – a family is hosting Mark and I for the week while we study Spanish here.  Malena, the mother of the house, has cooked a wonderful chicken meal.  The chicken is so soft and juicy it literally just FALLS off the bone and dissolves in your mouth.  I can already tell I´m going to like it here!  We are introduced to one of her sons, Deigo, that lives with her.  He is 25 years old, is a psychologist, and only works 2 or 3 days a week.  NICE.  He speaks perfect English and has a sense of humor that we all enjoy.  We also meet another couple, Kathy and Paul from , that are also guests here.  They are young, in their mid 20´s maybe, and are traveling for over 1 year and have landed themselves a job on the Galapagos Islands teaching English (even though they don´t really speak Spanish).  The house is warm and cozy, and Marlena couldn´t be more welcoming and loving.  Its the first time since being in South America I feel truly at home.  (well, except we are ONCE AGAIN sleeping in twin beds pushed together!)

Mark and I decide that we´ll get up early the next day for bike tour of the local vineyards and learn that Kathy and Paul have the same plans.  So we´ve got new friends for the day!

An early morning greets us, we take the bus to Maipu (one of the local precincts jammed with vineyards), rent bikes, and take off into the morning heat.  A ride on one of these bikes IMMEDIATELY makes us miss home and our bicycles.  Mark´s bike made a hilarious clanking sound every third rotation of the pedals.  The breaks on my bike didn´t work AT ALL.  No matter, wine washes it all away!  We rode our bikes down the dirt roads, underneath HUGE old-growth maple trees turning gold and brown and red, with 7000 meter Aconcagua looming behind the rows and rows and rows of grapes.  It was enough to make us forget the passing cars were coming within inches of hitting us every time they went by.

It took us all day to visit 3 vineyards.  The first was a small artisan vineyard named Bodega Viña El Cerno, where everything is done by hand.  Everything.  Our guide gives the 4 of us a tour of the process and cellars.  We learn that one reason their wine is better is because it is made with love, and I actually believe her when she says this.  We finish the tour with a tasting of 2 of their wines and an excellent lesson in how to taste.  First you look at the color of the wine as it reflects on a white piece of paper.  The pinker the wine, the younger it is, the redder, the older.  Brown wine is bad and is more likely rancid or vinegar.  Swirling the wine in the glass for a minute will wash the wine up the sides, and watching how it falls down the inside of the glass gives us more information on the wine.  The thicker the legs, the younger the wine.  Thinner legs mean an older wine.  More legs (frequently occurring) mean there is more alcohol.  Faster falling legs mean more sugar.  It is also necessary to give the glass a good swirl for 10-15 seconds before smelling it in order to get the full fragrance.  And tasting it involves a small sip, swirled around in your mouth from cheek to cheek, tongue tip to throat, then a quick swallow.  THEN you take a drink from the wine to experience the full flavor.

We spend the next 15 minutes or so acting like we know what we´re doing, but I swear I can actually see and smell and taste the differences now.  We bought one bottle of wine here and are hoping that it will survive a trip back to the states.

The next vineyard, a relic as far as vineyards go, was Bodega Familiar di Tommaso.  This one was established in the mid 1800s.  It has survived a few different owners, quite a few earthquakes, and of course at least one crisis economica.  This tour was completely different, talking about the history of wine making, showing us the inside of the vats and how the fermentation process creates crystals on the vats, and how wine was made way-back-when.  I didn´t like the wine as much, but then again I think my palette is affected by the experience, and at this tasting we were 4 in a group of about 30 people.

However, we did meet an interesting character here; an Argentinian that looked something like an ethnic Kenny Rogers and sounded like Aunt Jamiama and an Argentinian folk singer all rolled into one.  Very little prompting on our part revealed the guy was a jazz banjo player who travelled the world and lived for a long time in New Orleans playing with a Jazz Band there.  A latino playing the jazz banjo!  Fabulous!  Turns out he was a guide for a tour group, otherwise I would have followed this guy to the end of the earth – he was that interesting.

Our last vineyard, CarinaE was much larger than the other two, and also very different.  We toured the vineyard and learned why Malbec is so popular here (perfect weather for malbecs).  We sampled FIVE wines here and bought one more bottle for the road.  Here we learned that they actually trim off grapes from the vine and throw them out to make the other grapes on the vine stronger…they say it helps keep their quality high.

It was a fabulous day, my only regret is that our backpacks weren´t big enough for entire cases of wine.