Monday, 3/17/08, Las Tres Torres

It takes a long time to get here because of the rutty, gravelly roads. Perhaps with a Land Rover, one could get to this pretentious Hosteria del Torres (   las torres are actually hidden by an ice capped large mountain) faster, but you´d still feel far away from an other restaurant. This may explain why they feel compelled to charge $44 for a mediocre buffet dinner. Tonight I´ll go to the bar and get a sandwich for dinner without asking the price. If they charge me $44, I´ll just walk in to the restaurant and continue with the buffet.

I forgave everything and everyone after driving though this beautiful park for two hours. Las torres were visible every time you went around anouther mountain. These three sharp iced peaks are breathtaking in and of themselves, but if you´re fortunate enough to see them when the light hits them favorably, they´re formidable.

When I got to the Launa Azur, I started my blim, which gave me an elecated view of an azure colored lagoon backed by the other side of the ice peaked mountain facing my hotel room window and the three peaked torres.

What has continually frustrated me throughout this whole trip, is how poorly I´m describing these outstanding sights. I keep telling students to use concrete words rather than abstract adjectives, but it´s difficult when the result of what you see makes you feel  good about yourself and life, gives you a closer perspective on what is or isn´t important, and finds you gaping with your mouth open continuously.

I hope my memory doesn´t fail me so I can at least recognize the pictures.

Although it´s supposed to rain otmorrow, I´m going to drive to the other side of the park before returning to Punta Arenas for my flight to Buenos Aires.

While I was writing my journal entry, I overheard two women, who were plaing cards, bidding “yellow” and “blue” cards. I asked what game they were playing with such colorful cards. I´ve forgotten the name of the game, but we fell into conversation about our trips and wound up having dinner together.

Brittany and Kimberly, who are in the business world of  finance, have come to Torres de las Paine to walk the W. They walk every day for from four to as many as ten hours. In essence, they walk much of the  11 days following a W shape. They sleep in modest accomodations usually sharing a dorm with other walkers. They carry a 30lb+ backpack  throughout. This night, next to the last for them, they decided to treat themselves to a hotel room.

It was great speaking to two intelligent people who´d become friends though business contacts, one from Manhattan, one from Wisconsin, nearing forty and wanting a taste of nature through their own efforts.

I wouldn´t have said all this except they said they´d want to read the blog and check the grammar. You see! You give them a little financial power and they think they´re grammarians. We´ll see! But they´re wrong about Spitzer.

Sunday, 3/16/08 Torres del Paine, Patagonia

Driving on the right side of the stret required no thinking, just tenacity. For the most  part, 250 km were tedious once one got used to the terrain. But as I neared Pueto Natales, the soft mountains, mixed with the skyward clouds that partially covered the mountains, the whole panorama changed and made driveing less tiresome. Patagonia´s beauty was becoming evident more and more. It was difficult not to stop and take some photos, even though I wanted to get to Torres del Panie as soon as possible so I could perhaps still take a walk before sunset. The road, the for the last 100 km is gravel and rutted in many places. I´d been warned that I´d only be able to drive at 50km/h or 30mph. That was indeed as fast as I could go, but it was as if nature had intended so we´d all stop and smell the mountains.

I´ve never seen such incredible on going scenery. New Zealand has its dramatic curves around mountains as one feels headed into the oceans. Patagonia has elegance. Whereas NZ might be a samba, Patagonia´s overall look might be a waltz. The ice caps on some mountaintops remind you that even though it´/s summer, this must  be a cold place in winter.

The gravel road is even worse once you enter the National Park. The ranger who greeted me, asked where I was from; unlike the other 49 States´citizens, this Chilean thought NJ a is great place.  He remembered it foundly. I asked for some pointers. He told me that after I´d registered at my hotel and dropped off my luggage, I might want to come back and he pointed to a high elevation that one can get a view from of most of the park.

The trip to the hotel was only 7km, but it took me almost a half hour. The rental agency said that if I was driving to the hotel, I´d better pull in the side view mirrors before I crossed the very narrow ricketty bridge. I don´t think the Fiat I was driving had more tha 4″ wiggle room.

I wasn´t going back that day. I will tomorrow. But I did get to walk a couple hours through the mountains and got the kinks out of my body while I feasted my eyes with constant elegance.

Saturday, 3/15/08 ¨”Curb your dog” I say

I´ve always wanted to go to the top of the world, North Pole, and since I hadn´t made the top, except to reach Bodo in Norway, above the Arctic Circle, I settled for Punta Arenas, instead of te South Pole, which I haven´t given up on yet. I guess one could safely call me a geographic extremist, butnothing else am I extreme about. Unfortunately, I have no one to vouch for my moderation.

So Punta Arenas, te very bottom in south America in Chile was one of my major goals. But more reasonable friends reminded me I´d be in Patagonia. The creme of the parks hown here is Torres del Paine. Since it´s not as close as I once thought it was, seven hours one way by bus, I checked about renting a car, cancelled m y reservation in Punta Arenass and will drive up one day, blim and walk another, and dfçrive back the third day.

All this is to say that I had to walk the whole of Punta Arenas inone afternoon. I did all the recoomended sights, feel both exhausted and gratified. Things would been seen with a keener eye had they had a “curb your dog” law, but they don´t. They have many dogs, one big hill, from which you can see the sea leading to the South pole and the city itself, which is charming in some places but looks poor in others. Magellan´s name and every other savior of Chile´s name is used to name the streets that are clearlyposted everywhere. I only hope the road signs to Torres del Paine are as well marked.

friday, 3/14/08, Notebook and moist eyes

An otherwise meaningless day: walking forever to g4t to a place I didn´t find and was too tired to keep looking. I did buy a new notebook to continue my journal entries, but the top half is glank and the bottom half has lines. The store I bought it in was a small stationer. The man was truing to get his copier to workñ the woman, relation or not, did not understand when I asker una libreta. The annoyed man repeated the word. She dropped three diffrent things in her search for the type I wanted. Each time, the man huffed in exasperation, until he threw down the top of the copier sneering at her. I said ohay and bieno, hoping she´d stop dropping things and get fired or divorced. She ignored me and he was fuming. I almost yelled ¨bien.¨” She finally acquiesced and sold me the notebook for 400 pesos, or 90c. I´ll be living with it forever happily after. I hope they do too.

I left for the airport four hours early (check out you know). Public transportation was 1,800 pesos and didn´t take longer than the 23,000 peso cab ride.

The night before I decided to have a plain dinner to help quell my stomack. Since it was very pleasant out, I joined the throngs of people at an outdoor table. The waiter ignored me but took care of two other later arrivals. I was so glad I don´t speak the kind of Spanish I´d normally use in English. Freda´s expression is a propos here: you´d have wiped the floor with him.

A man approached and asked in accented English if since all the tables were taken I´d mind if he joined me. At least, he could call them the names he deserved: ignorer.

We chatted, although I´m too suspicious to open up to a stranger right away, he talked mostly. He said he was a pipe fitter who´d moved to Canada 17 years ago. He makes a lot ofmoney in Chilean standards, he invests his money in apartments in Santiago. He claimed to have three . He and I were driinking beer while I waited for  a sandwich. He said he was amicably seperated, living in Vancouver but working in Alberta. His mother lives in one of the apartments and his sister, a real estate agent in Toronto owns ten apartments already.

Hia eyes moistened as I ate my meat sandwich and he told me how much he loves his mother and she him. He made me promise that next time I come to Chile I should visit-stay in his apartment. I really wanted him to get back together with his wife almost as much as he did.

When the waiter returned, I offered to pay for his beerl. He said somethig to the waiter, which I assumed was to clarify what I´d said poorly. But this bleary-eyed new buddy, had asked him to break the 5,000 pesos he owed me into small bills.

As I was about to leave, he timidly asked me if he could “borrow” two thousand pesos (this is the equivalent of $5). Moist eyes, I realized last night  are not always from loving your mother toomuch. It could come from drinking too much. I asked him to do me a favor “and keep our wonderful relationship where it was; I don´t give my friends money.”

Thursday, March 13,08 Bert E. you´d the architecture here

It was nice to see my two B&B money collectors react pñositively to my question about where the synagogue was. Although I used the correct words, perhaps mispronounced, they wondered which religion goes to a sinagoga. I drew a Star of David, and they both smiled happily:¨my husband works only with Israelitos¨and ¨my mother would know where the sinagoga would be.¨¨ Suddenly they understood and used judeo. They both got on their cell pñhones and promptly directed me to a chic neighborhood that didn´t seem to have a sinagoga. I walked slowly,; perhaps it isn´t marked. Since I had to go to the American Express office anyway to straighten out my mistake, I continued on Apoquindo, which had many modern office buildings. Few of the 6th Ave. blue glass box buildings that make you think the archite hs were told to get ¨the most for the cuck- the hell with aethetics.¨Every building has its own character , every hacade seems to have been built with different materiels. It was quite different from the rest of Santiago in that it felt tastefully planned. The rest is tasteful but more randomly built and at different times.

I chose to ride back on a bus as I was tired from the very long morning walk. I showed the bus driver all the change I had, which should have been enough for a ride to NY. He said, ¨no modena, only ticket.¨I asked, ¨donde comprar ticket?Ç He said, ¨no impñortante, passe.¨We shook hands amicably. I thought: I hope you get a free ride in NY some day.  Don´t think fat chance. That´s not nice.

I was so exhausted from walking incessantly that I sat on a park bench and contempñlated whether the rotation of the earth affected the way the sun appaears in the southern hemisphere differently from the way it appears in the north. I´ve drawn it and seen it, but I still can´t explain it. It´s different.

A man passed, asked me if my circle was the world, shook my hand, asked me for money and when I shook no, paated me on the head and continued walking. Odd, but nice.

Off to Patagonia, in Punta Arenas, the deep south,  tomorrow. I don´t know the e-mail story there.

Tuesdaym 3/12/08, Suzy´s Day

It´s imperative that I speak to my daughter on her birthday. After all, I was the first one that spoke to her through a window in the hospital nursery. I think Freda was the second one that spoke to her. She told me how she gently peaked under the blanket to make sure she had all her digits. Five pounds is not much weight, nor are other treasured things. ¨She looks like you,;”" no she looks like you.” Fortunately for her, she looks like Suzy.

I´d bought una carta telefonica merely to sing happy birthday to her. Luckily an operator connected me with an English speaker who instructed me how to dial, in a timely fashion, no less than 23 numbers before Suzy´s number. After 4 unsuccessful attempts, I went to m  connection, who´d recommended the card and explained the dilemma. He took me to his office to show me the error of my ways. It took him nearly an hour to get through to Suzy´s office. (When I started, it was early moning so I´d called her home). By now, it was past ten am. Suzy was treating herself to a mid-morning break at Starbucks. The operator in her office enjoyed the birthday greeting so much that she asked me my name. I said, ¨today my name is dad, got that?¨

Since I was involved with personal situations, I decided to continue the morning in that vein. I went to Lan Chile to confirm and pay for my extra flight to Punta Arenas, (Donna and most of my other friens still don´t understand why I don´t plan ahead so I wouldn´t have to pay extra tarifs: curiously, I understand  it very well. I want to do things when I´m prepared to do themñ that what I think of as part of an adventure. The world- providers of services- want to know in advance. Therefore I pay a social monetary fine. And I do´it without blushing.) which could have been part of the whole trip´s price. Not only did Lan institute a new serce fee, but I have to go back because the´have to figure it out. After an interesting turkey sandwich in a fascinating place,(Iñll add photos to the blog when I get home) I resolved to do some serious sightseeing.

I took the metro (always take public transportation to go to a museum-you´re going to be standing so much) to the Bella Artes station, one block from the Fine Arts Museum. the international architectural presentation, as good as it was, I´d seen years ago in NY. The history of Chilean art for the five centuries was mediocre. Perhaps I´d have enjoyed it more if I´d have had the patience to read (I read Spanish a lot better than speak or understand), The nice surprise was the XXth Century display of photographs. It is interesting how many of the photographs the 1920´s and ´30´s resemble those we ofter see  by US artists of that period. I guess poverty and opulence resembles itself no matter which language it´s photographed in.

The walk to the funicular that was recommended gave me the opportunity to experience the other end of the endless and lengthly park along Providencia. The funicular climbs the mountain in the middlw of the city, which has a zoo (I skipped it since I saw some free animals already), but is devoid of any vegetation to speak of. The maginficant views of the city and the continuation on the other side in a cable car was exciting but not thrilling or scary. Perhaps it´s because I kept snapping pictures.

I´d misinterpreted the map and thought I´d be in a great area for outside dining, but instead wound up near a beautiful puclic sculpture garden along the Santarosa river that runs through Santiago. This was just north of where my B&b is. A welcomed sigt after many hours on my feet.

Santiago gives one the impression that it´s economically comfortable. There´s a lot of construction going on. Th e few neighborhoods that I have ventured through (not the foreign one, heaven forbid) are reaosnably well kept, even if they appear old. People are well dressed, some  a bit conservatively, but not excessively different from NY. Perhaps more suits than NYCm but even that depends on the business area one is in. Stores abound with customers and merchandise and many people seem rejoiced. I haven´t been to Quito, Ecuador in quite a while (2000), but the buildings, infrastructure and the people were not smiling then.

3/11/08 Where and who´s my B&B host?

Two sleeping pills and eight hours later, I woke up in Santiago without any coffee in sight. The night before I´d noticed the fridge, the microwave, and the stovetop, but forgot that I´d want coffee. there´s a kettle but no coffee. Everything I bought doesn´t match the appliances. After I stopped tottering like an old fool, I went to the lobbyand asked where  I could find ´desayuno.´To me it really didn´t matter what she said, I just went towards the hotel next door, which seems to be attached to this B&B, walked into the dining room with the other tourists and ate. The guard gave me a wry smile, which I gladly returned. The coffee was better than any I´ve had since I started this adventure. Then again, now I´m close to Colimbia´s Valdez coffee vean.

I know myuselfÑ I knew that if I didn´t dump my large siutcase, I´d give up on travelling through South America. So despite jet lag, I focussed on the job at hand. Since I don´t have a concierge that speaks English, but hthe hotel next door does, I asked him where the post office was. Low and behold this wonderful postal clerk Andrea, sold me the two large boxes I asked for and promised to help me when I came back. Don´t ask me how I understood all this, but it reminds me of an incredible experience when I witnessed my mother speaking to our Armenian Landlady. When our relatives who had helped us emigrate to the US, thought it was time for us to live together, they found a small one furnished room apartment. One day, I stepped into the bluiding, and there was my mother haf way up the staircase speaking to our Armenian landlady on the ground floor holding a broom. They were engaged in  a heated discussionñ I vaguely remember thinking we were about to get evicted.. They talked, screamed and gesticulated holding the broom and my mother holding her shopping bag. I did not understand one word, nor a sullable. I know it´s been  a long time, but I also know that the entire time they spoke,my mouth was open in amazement. What could they have been saying_?My mother spoke Russian, Polish, German, Yiddish and French, but no English. The landlady spoke Armenian and a bit of Italian, but no English or Russian. Their hands and arms evidently spoke more than they did. As a seventeen-year old I only spoke with my mouth. Actually, Freda said I spoke more with my hands than my mouth. This was a disparaging comment, which I would have prefeed to have been a sexual inuendo. After what seemed like an incomprehenable ten minutes with my mouth still open, the landlady let me pass. I gazed at both of them as they went on orally and physically. When my mother finally got into our room, I asked her what language theñd spoken, she said, ëverything.¨They´d argued about some political issue of the day. Between the words from each other´s language, the intonations, the gesticulations and the attentiveness, they´d pretty much understood each other enough to agree to disagree. We didn´t get evicted.

I think I took that as a lesson that if you try hard enough, you can understand a lot from anyone.

I had had breakfast whether I´d understood or not. This evening my host may stop by to collect the funds for this funny B&B. I´ll ask her if I owe anyone for breakfast.

I returned to my room, distributed what I thought I´d need for Punta Arenas, the very deep south, where I´m heading next. I really hadn´t neede two large boxes.. After all was done, I shlepped the full box in the large suitcase I wa looking to dispose of, and the extra box, thinking I´d get a refund.  I let people pass me in line so Andrea would help me again. She graciously explained she couldn´t accept the box back, told me to go a block away to get enough Chilean currency to send my clothes back, and instructed me not to wait in line again when I got back. She´d held the  open box for me, which she sealed. She guided me through the form filling process and explained all that would happen in Spanish. I guess I understood because when I was in business I´d sent thousands of packages or just because she was so patient. I felt so indebted and intended to give away the suitcase and the extra shipping box to someone, that when I finally was able to muster it in Spanish, she accepted after insisting that I could probably sell it. If felt goodÑ nearly a random act of generosity.

I decided to check the e-mails and make sure my daughters were fineñ then I just walked on this providential street called Providencia. How prophetic! Several active blocks later I found an i. Here I was in a B&B without a proprietor or a person that spoke English to get any kind of information.

Fortunately, I´m not supersticious so I knew the i would be there whether I´d been good or not. The i provider speaks English,. He told me not to worry about robberies. He asked me if the man had been rerited (old. I said he was .He said ¨all old people are constantly afraid..¨He pointed out a neighborhood that he said consisted only of foreignersñ that´s not a good place for me to go in. He said,¨they don´t come out to us and we don´t go in there. Ït wasn´t until I was several blocks away that I thought I should have told him I was a foreigner.

the ciity has a long park on this long Provencia Avenue, with many parkees working it by hand lawn mowers, people using hoses, and bushes being card for.

What struck me as I walked from 10am to 5pm, is how many book stores there are, both new and used books stores. And not a one had the same name, no B&N or Borders, how refreshing. Books were from the entire world, in Spanish of course. Plaza Armas had no arms, but pleanty of painters and paint brushes.

Before I´d gotten there, a man aproached me to beg for some money for his ¨last year in med. school.¨But before he asked me for money while I rested on a becn, he got excited tha tI was from the States, where his father lives in Oregon. He made several suggestions about places and restaurants for me to visit, but then resorted to beg for money.

I took a subway back. Ther are only five subway llines but they´re clean and nicely decorated. I landed one street from my B&B. Pretty good for a foreigner, hay?

Monday, 3/10/08, Is it the 10th ot the 9th

I was thrilled to have gotten the change in my flight back to the Americas. The flight was to have been from Auckand, to LAX and 5 hours later to Buenos Aires. The new version goes like this. A 9:30am flight from Chch toAuckland, 1h20m. My reservaation to Tahiti, on Air Tahiti was fluffled. It took them and Quantas from 11:15 to 2:30 to et me on the 3pm flight that I had been reserved for anyway. I watched, staed and said nothing: I stared only.. I hope it frightened them as much as it did me. The 3pm, 3/10  flight arrived at Papetee Airport at 9pm, on 3/9; we had crossed the international date line. It took from 9:30pm to 11:30 to get checked in and through customs (one agent at workk for three international flights). We left on time, at 00:30am back on 3/10. Quite a day and a half. I think I´ll be in Santiago at 7pm on 3/10. Fortunately the flight isn´t full so I took two seats to stretch out on. Good night!

The flight terminated on time. The shuttle driver met me and took me to a downtown building that´ahotel. My reservation had been for a B&B. After gesticulating back and forth because a B&B as I know it, it wasn´t. He calleed his hme office to find out that there´s a side entrance that has a guard and concierge. I was given a key to a pleasant enough 14th story  room, but I didn´t see the person in an apron that was going to feed me the second of the B´s in the morning.

Anxioouz, as tired as I was, to stake out the area, I found out roughly where a supermarket was since I had a fridge. I accidently bumped into an open internet cafe that I was told would be closed. The only person that speaks English is an Internet user who volonteers to answer any question I have. this is the first English sepeaker I encountered. After he was very willing to answer any questions, I asked him if he´d been in the US, This sixtysomething amn tells me that his father and he were in the Chilean Armyñ his father stationed in D,C, and Fort Myers and that he´s a vet of the Vietnam war. It´s eighty degrees out and I get a chill in my spine. I vaguely remember that those were the days when America wa helping the questiinabble Pinochet military. When he said Vietnam, I reflexively said that I was in during Korea. After an .old-boy. glad hand tap on the back, he told me to be very carful of robbers. This I really needed toknow when I was ablout to go out at night to do some food shopping. Nor only had I befriended one of Pinochet´s buddies (perhaps) but I was in danger.

The only danger I encountered in the supermarket was that I didn´t understand the cashier´s question about my Visa card, so I apid in cash. Of course, the waiter gave me a frigid look when I tipped him only 10%. I´ve got to find the Chilean Lonely Planet since I have no real host.

Sunday, March 9, 2008 Goodbye left side of the street driving and barter

I’m off to Tahiti for a day and Chile the next. I haven’t a clue when I’ll get to an Internet Cafe or B&B with access in the Andes, so I’ll keep hand writing my journal and return to the blog no later than April 4th or 5th.

It’s fortunate that I just found a B&B in Santiago; I’d thought I’d barter English as a Second Language lessons for a room, or my body before anyone saw the wrinkles, but all I have to barter is the American dollar.

Saturday, March 8, 2008- Come to the mountain and “Dieu et moi”

Good Sabbath, I didn’t say it to myself because it took a while to realize what day it was. Despite telling myself to get going early, I didn’t. Hardly a cloud in the sky guaranteed I’d try to climb the 1309 meter Mt. Isobel. It turned out to be the most challenging climb I’d ever done. When I first thought about the trip, walking was the impetus; in NZ, the curve of the earthe inexorably forces you to consider climbing. I’m glad it did.

This was the third straight day of climbing. Each tramp or track was chosen for its increasing length and degree of difficulty. The nice surprise is that all three had different vegetation. Thursday’s had lots of different bushes, and trees, and one could clearly see the valley and surrounding area. Freiday’s was foresty. It was only at certain points that the views were there. Some fallen trees and a lot of rocky areas kept the forest clear. Saturday’s mountain had 2 to 3′ high bushes only so that the side of the mountain was the only hindrance to sight. Path of earth, gravel and rock, as well as pebbles made up most of the climb. It held the widest panoramic view I’d ever seen. Except for the valley, whre Hanmer lies, one could see all the surrounding mountains.

When I was three quarters of the way, I turned to look up to see what sounded like a helicopter. The sound persisted; I knew where it came from, but I couldn’t see it. I finally spotted it before it went around the corner: I had had to look down. I didn’t know that some people have to look down to see a helicopter flying. Now I have something new to teach Peja.

(The owner of the B&B where I’m at right now, Ann from Elieza’s B&B on Bealey Road in Chch, just interrupted my typing to bring me a hot cup of tea. The nerve of her!)

My reward at the summit, where I had to change my camera card, was half of a peach, water, the stillness and quiet of the treeless mountain. By then, I’d become accustomed to the wind that had pushed me up and kept me from falling on the way down. What person doesn’t fantasize at these epithonous moments that the most beautiful lover will appear? Well, actually, I hadn’t yet, when suddenly the most beautiful woman appeared over the edge. I didn’t have time to pursue a fantazy: she was followed by a daughter, two sons, and a dog. She wanted to know how I was but didn’t care that I was rewarding myself with a peach and water. She needs therapy.

As one would have it, the way down, at times at a 45 deg angle on pebbles, was much more treacherous. Visions of falling on my posterior, twisting an angle, or breaking a wrist as I’d use my hands to keep from sliding abounded. Two young women had passed me on the way up, my fantasy and her family were on the way down the other side of the mountain, but I was alone returning to my car. The others were either going to be picked up or circumnavigated the bottom of the mountain for an additional 10K.

Vertigo aside, from being on a path a foot or so from the edge, I’d never had such a broad view of the phsical world on the ground, as it were. I’m not crazy about the word “awsome,” probably because it’s o often abused, but this was awsome. It feels so alive to be part of the mountain that you feel like the mountain. It’s not a sense of power, as much of a sense of human rootedness: something I rarely feel in any country (Read Simone Weil’s “Rootedness”)

Even though it was Saturday and I guessed the thermal pools would be crowded (not for me, usually), I went as it was my last day in Hanmer sSprings. After one has immersed him/herself in water/cum sulfur and every other mineral they have in NZ, it’s a good idea to shower. The men’s locer room is a wide open space where for the most part men unabashedly disrobe.

I’ve never quite understood why people adorn themselves with tattoos. I guess “adorn” explains it somewhat, but I suppose it’s never made someone look better to me. I like the human body and its skin: the more people do to change it, the less I like it.

I also often question the need to expound religious beliefs. I thing if peole believe, they should trust themselves and stop screaming it from rooftops, mountains or with tattoos. Suddenly, there was a twenty-something man with a bit of a bulge and an inscription around his waist that says, “Dieu et moi.” fortunately, this man of letters turned around sufficently for me to see :et moi,” which was such a relief, for I’d guessed when I had seen Dieu, that it said, “Dieu c’est moi.”