Iquitos

Feb. 27, 2006- Edge of Civilization
(Photos:Floating house,
Eric,
The Aquamarina)

I adore the REI sunscreen shirt that Wendy got for me. It has zipper pockets all over and is lightweight. Air vents allow the shirt and my body to breathe while I look ever so stylish.

As I’m writing to you I’m at a desk in our “stateroom” watching the rainforest slide by as we wend our way along the Amazon. It’s surreal. We arrived at Iquitos at 6:55AM. A mist was rising from the jungle as we skirted thatched rooftops of shacks. We landed next to plane hulks rotting near to the tarmac like decaying husks. I expected Bogey and Bacall to walk out of the terminal at any moment. It wasn’t Africa but it had that wild primitive aura. The whole area smelled loamy green until we hit the petrol fumes.

We went directly to the VIP lounge. They use VIP loosely here. There were nibbles and beverages and a décor out of a 1950’s rec room. Where are gay decorators when they’re needed? The chairs were white molded plastic with orange fabric pillows. Need I tell you about the paneling?

We refreshed and got onto yet another bus for our city tour. Iquitos has 500,000 souls and a low crime rate. Where could a criminal run? The place is only accessible by air and boat. It has three borders: Ecuador, Columbia, and Brazil. The main industries are growing hearts of palm, tourism, lumber, and petroleum. Malaria has almost been eradicated but what new cases there are can be treated with new drugs. The fact that they have 30% childhood mortality is because the outlying areas don’t have anti-venom and snakebite deaths are common. We are 350 feet above sea level in a lowland rain forest that has high jungle and flat forest area. Scientists agree that it was all once under the ocean. There are an average 250 days of rain a year. Nine-months after the rainy season the birthrate goes up. Seventy per cent of the area is water.

Our guide, Eric warned us before we stopped at the Indian market not to buy anything made from endangered species. I don’t think anyone in this group would but it would be confiscated by customs anyway. Wouldn’t you know it; we had just left perfectly acceptable facilities (which I used) but another woman, Nina, and I had emergency calls in the midst of this conglomeration of mud and garbage. Eric, doubting I would use it, led me to the “public” toilet. He doesn’t know with whom he is dealing. The only reason I didn’t use it was because it needed to be flushed by pouring water into the bowl and the bucket was empty. We got upgraded to the office bathroom. We followed him over trashy ditches, wet sand, and around barbed wire threatening to nip us. The bathrooms were very clean but somehow I got the toilet without the seat. Nina fared better.

Carnivale is celebrated here by decorating the very top of a tall palm tree whose branches have been removed. Gifts are hung up high and people dance around the base. Someone with an ax chops until they are able to pull the tree down. Then everyone scrambles for presents. While that’s going on bystanders toss water and urine on the merrymakers. Except for the urine part, it’s a combination Xmas tree and Maypole.

The town center reflects the rubber boom days. Even Eiffel of tower fame built a metal building among the Portuguese tile facades. Lest you think the town is lovely, let me correct you. It’s dirty, dusty, and congested with tuk-tuks spewing exhaust. The thirteen-block long shopping strip was particularly crowded with people who needed to renew their Ids so they could vote in the upcoming mandatory elections. Some people who don’t need ID renewals make extra money by selling their place in line. Mud-dappled children in threadbare clothes weave between the legs of marks in hopes of a quick sale. One of our group, Nick, keeps telling them to go see John, another of our group, and that he’s looking for what they have. This has become quite a game for us all.

Our major find of the day was when Barbara and Jack told us that they buy meds when they’re overseas. We only brought enough Cipro for one of us (I don’t know why) and since we both have tummy “issues” we bought enough for a full course of treatment for $1.00.

Cruise Line It’s Not

Our bus delivered us literally over a bridge, down a ramp, and to the door of our boat. The Aquamarina is a 31- year old ferry that was refurbished ten-years ago. Time, humidity, and dry rot have taken its toll. It’s an aged African Queen with outside walkways and rooms opening onto the river. The main deck is sheltered from the sun under a canopy while the rear deck is exposed. Molded plastic lounges, chairs and tables round out the furnishings. There are hints of glory days in the carved woodworking on doors and parquet floors, but it’s a lady in need of a major face-lift, some dermabrasion, and a bit of botox. It’s clean in the way something old is clean.

We’re on the first deck and the door of our room is a foot and a half from the water. Our room had a problem and there was no spare cabin so Eric and the engineer went to work. There’s a hole in our floor to access plumbing, and fumes were entering our room. Even though we didn’t smell them once we were inside for a while, it was nothing I wanted to sleep with. A wood cover had been placed over the hole. It sticks up from the floor ½ inch and I know we’ll both trip over it. The engineer sealed it with silicon caulking and it may do the trick. At least we might not get high on those fumes. We will become great friends of the engineer. After dinner the bathroom light burned out. We told Edgar who called the engineer. We also had a lighting issue. They tried four fluorescent bulbs and all blew. They told us they’d return in the morning to try again but David pointed out that it was pitch black in the bathroom. They stayed until they figured out it was the ballast.

It took me a while to settle into my new environment and its quirks. Behind the door in the bathroom hung two ratty but (I’m sure) clean terry robes. I had David remove them and hide them. There’s a desk with a lockable drawer where the computer will live during the cruise and of course there is air conditioning in the cabin as well as in the communal dining room. We have hot water in the shower only and must activate it before the hot water flows. We’re thrilled with the number of outlets and lights that seem to be well placed. We’re permitted to flush toilet paper, which is an unexpected luxury. But one item supplied to us doesn’t make me happy. There are leather gaiters to wear on night walks in the jungle in case of snakes. Since the water is so high now the trails are submerged and our walks may be limited. We’ll be doing lots of float-trips down tributaries. Our “valet, ” Edgar, straightens up our room three times a day and daily laundry service is free. Our captain seemed reluctant when he addressed us through a translator. He’s from Iquitos and is a true Mark Twain of the Amazon. The piece de resistance is the picture window that we can look out as we sit in bed.

Hitting the Water

After lunch we took a skiff to tour a floating village of 5,000 before the boat left the dock. The houses are tethered to the land but actually float to accommodate the ebb and flow of the river and the seasonal changes of water level. During rainy season the deepest part of the Amazon can be 200 feet. During the dry season it can fall by 45 feet. The residents of the shantytown take advantage of the natural phenomenon and plant crops in the fertile river soil. Most inhabitants are from remote villages and come to the city to seek employment. It reminded us of Thailand. People in the deplorable shacks used the filthy river water for everything. They claim that the sewage settles into the silt and its effects are somewhat mitigated. I’m not going to find out. We saw one woman fetching river water right next to the outhouse that dumped directly into the river. Some stilt houses have jury-rigged electricity and fire is always a threat. It’s among the worst squalor we’ve seen. A central loudspeaker system plays music incessantly and is the source of news and announcements. It’s common to hear that one person would like to meet another person at a certain time and place. Prostitution is a problem. The women ply their trade in dugouts while a man paddles them through the fetid canals looking for “johns.” They must really have a good sense of balance. AIDS is an issue with 2,000 reported cases. Medication is available.

Being south of the equator the river flows south to north. We floated south (upstream) past banana plantations. Pineapple and tapioca are other large crops here. Villages we saw had electricity, schools, floating gas stations, and floating groceries. Most of the trip will be in the five million acre Pacaya-Samiria Natural Reserve. As for fauna sightings we saw hawks, iguanas, and a sloth. Not too impressive, but the sunset was. As we returned to the mother ship the setting sun illuminated it to a burnished gold. The two dragonheads on our prow seemed more welcoming than threatening as we paced ourselves to match speeds and docked.

I asked our guide Eric to tell us the story of his journey. He was born in the jungle to a thirteen-year old mother. She was the third wife of his father. When Eric was a few months old she left for Iquitos where she was able to find employment writing official documents for the city because of her beautiful handwriting. When Eric was ten-years old she sent for him. He had gone to elementary school, which was usually provided by missionaries, but she wanted to give him more opportunity. He completed high school, five years of college, and two years post-graduate studies to become a licensed naturalist. His half brothers and sisters are still in the jungle plying trades.

On Board the Aquamarina

Pre-dinner entertainment on our boat was the Mute Band. It wasn’t so mute. Comprised of the crew, it was a lively, raucous, and festive prelude to an evening of good company. It gave me a chance to learn more about one of the men in our group. He has a partial finger on his right hand. He was always a pacifist and during the Viet-Nam War he sought out jobs that would give him a deferment. When the jobs ran out and his lottery number came up he asked the Quakers for help becoming a conscientious objector. When that failed he took a drastic measure. He cut his finger off at the first knuckle with a table saw. I told him how Jewish parents in Russia bound their sons’ fingers until they atrophied since conscription there was a life sentence.

A decent dinner of recycled food reminded Judi and me of our days at Newcomb College of Tulane University. What we didn’t eat for dinner appeared at lunch. It was the opposite here. What was left from lunch was reborn at dinner. The spinach became a delicious potato and spinach kugel, the chicken was chicken salad, and the fish was stir-fried. Our boat doesn’t sail at night. There’s too much debris in the river due to severe erosion. Whole trees have floated by. We literally tie up to a tree and become one with the jungle. We can touch the cattails along the shore and smell the richness of the earth.

Tomorrow we start at a decent hour. Breakfast is at 7:30AM. We’re going piranha fishing. They recommended we wear closed toe shoes. There’s been a lot of joking about whether we should catch and release them.

Toby

Nasca Lines

Feb. 26, 2006- Bad Beginning
(Photos:Ready for take-off,
Huachina dog,
Note plane's tail-hook)


We opened our eyes at 5AM. It was Daniels birthday so I sang Happy Birthday and David followed with “Skip Around the Room.”

On the way to the airport David noticed that the stop signs say, “pare,” which means something less (pause?) than the “alto” we are more used to seeing. They know that hot-blooded Latinos won’t obey stop signs so they made it more of a suggestion.

There were only four of us going to see the Nasca lines. Ellen, the 86-year old was one of us. My friend Judi Cope was the other. The fact that eighteen of the group chose not to go should have clued us in. We decided to pack one day’s worth of meds in our backpack in case the unreliable air service lived up to its reputation and we were stranded there.

Our flight was supposed to leave at 7:30AM but when we got to the airport Eric learned it had been delayed two hours. The other six passengers on the single-engine twelve-passenger Cessna 208B were notified of the delay by their travel agents the night before and were able to sleep two extra hours. It may cost Eric his tip for that one day.

We’ve flown in smaller planes but we cracked up when the bus taking us out to the plane was three times bigger than the plane. We literally squatted and waddled to our seats in the low-slung cabin. Shoulder harnesses along with lap belts led us to believe that Aero Condor had a modicum of interest in our well-being. At least they were safety conscious. Information about the plane that was in the seat pocket said that in case of loss of pressure the pilot will pass oxygen masks back to the passengers. We were to plug them into a receptacle above our seats if we could figure it out. Paper seat numbers were scotch-taped to seat backs. We settled in to enjoy another adventure.

Not So Great Middle

The take-off was a kick as we skated on air currents until we settled into the groove of our flight path. We took off towards the south along the Pacific coastline and continued smoothly for an hour. We flew at about 8,000 feet. Even if the cabin hadn’t been pressurized it would have been a piece of cake for us after 13,000 feet above sea level in Bolivia.

We skirted the Andean foothills. I think it’s Aero Condor that keeps flying into those mountains. The desert became startlingly white and glared up at us in the bright midday sun. We flew over random patches of farms irrigated from underground water sources and the mirage-like shadows of clouds teased us into thinking there were ponds along the way.

We were surprised to de-plane at a place called Ica. We dragged ourselves through the 95- degree heat to have our return tickets taken, pay a departure tax, and get back on the same plane. The only reason they don’t do a flight-seeing excursion from Lima without that stop is to collect that tax. Peru sees fit to demand departure taxes for internal as well as international flights. While we were on the ground the plane and crew had transformed themselves from a commercial to a tourist flight. A sign indicating that tips would be appreciated had been taped up and the crew (the same two pilots) had changed hats.

The fact that the airline employed a nurse at the airport complete with stethoscope should have warned us about things to come, but we were too excited to put two and two together. The plane lumbered along the runway and launched into the air to see a mysterious set of pre-Incan drawings done by the Nasca people. The true meaning has not been agreed upon. Were they markings for extraterrestrial navigation or indications of where underground water could be found? Our pilot certainly did not enlighten us. The desert sand changed from white to taupe to a greenish gray as we started our hour and a half long search. I saw what appeared to be long lines of silly string pumped from an aerosol can trailing along the ground. They weren’t the real “lines.”

Horrid Flight

The Nasca people removed stones from the surface of the desert and placed them next to the lighter soil below to make the lines. Excitement grew as the first set of line drawings appeared. It was the trapezoid. The pilot yelled, “Trapezoid under the right wing!” then banked so those on the right could see it. He then turned and banked again and yelled, “Trapezoid under the left wing!” That was the last I knew. David thinks that whoever named the figures had a good imagination. He only clearly made out four of the dozen undefined line patterns. I was busy trying not to throw up. Judi wasn’t in great shape but was having a somewhat better time of it. It was appropriate that I was the sickest since Judi and David insist it was my idea to take the flight. David did fine as did 86-year old Ellen. I’ve never gotten airsick. I knew there were others on the plane who were queasy and that if I let go they would too.

The pilot passed back a cotton ball and Judi said it was to help with nausea. I thought I was supposed to smell it, but when I did I realized it was impregnated with alcohol and I should use it to blot my neck and face to cool down. By then I was in a cold sweat and the odor of the alcohol set my stomach roiling. I didn’t know what to worry more about, the return of the Revenge or spewing. The dear woman behind me handed up a wet towelette. That too had an odor and the battle began once again. I grabbed for my clear plastic barf bag and tried to do shallow La Maze breathing used by women in labor. The deep belly breathing of Tai Chi wasn’t going to co-operate with trying to keep my innards in their respective domains. I’m proud to say I walked off the plane with my barf bag empty. I’m putting it in my album as a memento to remind me of what I already knew. Some things are better seen on TV.

Lame Ending

The instant we landed the nausea went away although the Revenge didn’t. I’d packed cheese sandwiches and water so I re-filled and started to feel less like a rag doll. Part of our “excursion” was a visit to the Dunes Resort for a lunch buffet. I almost lost it again when I smelled the BBQ. I decided that until otherwise notified my stomach would only receive white food with no sauce: rice, pasta, etc.

The gracious desk clerk at the resort helped us understand the phone card we’d bought so we could call Daniel and wish him well. We found Vikki and Daniel on their way back from Columbus after a celebratory weekend. The connection was better than some local calls we’ve made in Akron.

Nasca only gets one-inch of rain a year. With 293,000 residents, it’s quite a challenge. Mausoleums dot the roadside. They couldn’t bury underground due to many springs and it was less expensive to bury up. When economics and engineering changed, traditions did not. Mining of copper, iron, gold, and silver keep people employed as does running the Huachina Oasis. That’s ye old watering hole surrounded by dunes towering to 100 feet. It’s possible to slide down the dunes on boards in the closest approximation the locals will get to sledding. The beach around the “lake” was a minefield of dog droppings and at one point along the promenade there was a definite essence of eau de septic.

Miguel, our fearless if lazy guide for the afternoon, dodged water balloons with us and took us to a small but nicely done museum of archaeology where by this time any one of the four of us could have given a tour of the surgically altered skulls, weavings (most of which had been stolen and replaced by photos), and crockery. The most interesting thing there was a hairless huachina dog. It’s born with hair and losses it all but a crest on its head. It resembles a hairless Chihuahua on steroids.

At last we returned to the “airport” to watch as the plane we’d flown in on was pushed into place by five men. One stayed at the rear holding onto a tail-hook for dear life to prevent the plane from fleeing as we boarded. Without a security check and with no tower we took off. Our view was of sculpted sand walls rising in repeating patterns leading us back to Lima.

Set To Sail

We spent some time after dinner trying to repack what we needed for the Amazon into one duffel. We succeeded and checked our other bag with the hotel. We return there after our six-day “cruise.” We have a wake-up call for 2AM. The flights into Iquitos where we get the boat have to be early enough to beat the circling vultures. I guess the birds are claiming previous ownership of the airspace.

Toby

Lima

Feb. 25, 2006- Landing
(Photos:Love Park & Gaudi bench,
Plaza Mayor,
Rio Rimac)

Hurray! We can now blow our noses without bloody mucus! You know the joke about getting cheap theater tickets and having to sit so high in the balcony you get a bloody nose. It’s not a joke at 13,000 feet.

We flew Lan Peru to Lima and I think I prefer it to American. They fly airbuses and there was more legroom. We fly Lan Peru back to Miami. We’re at Hotel El Condado, which is listed as a four-star hotel but is nicer than the five-star in La Paz. It looks like it was moved here as one piece from Spain. It’s charming and loaded with dark furniture, deep colored carpeting, and heavy window coverings.

We were still a bit bonkers when we met with Eric, our new tour director, at 10 AM to organize the trip. Six people were new to the group since they didn’t take the pre-trip to Bolivia. The base trip is eleven days including only Lima and the Amazon. Nick and Louise who were old-timers and knew better were late to the meeting. June, a hoot, put two chairs in the middle of the circle and they had to sit there until we let them into the fold. To calm us down Eric passed out Pisco sours. Remember it was 10 AM. Pisco is a brandy and it’s mixed with stuff to make it into something resembling a whiskey sour. We tried Pisco by itself and it’s reminiscent of Slivovitz (prune brandy), a Polish abomination.

Levels

We met our city guide, Yvonne, who filled us in on this nine million-person metropolis of deeply stratified living. It appears to be a first world country but there are seven sectors each with separate names that are ranked from A-F by affluence. It’s a true melting pot with the largest communities being Chinese and Japanese. The Chinese came in the 1800’s when slavery was abolished and farm labor was needed. Well, how backward can this place be? The favorite for the next presidential election is a woman and voting is mandatory.

At first we thought the parks were so much cleaner and better maintained than Puno but we soon realized that they reflected the wealth of whatever sector they were in. Water is an issue here and an expense. Weather doesn’t co-operate at all. There’s no sun for nine-months of the year. The Humboldt Current brings fog and little else. They only get 4-6 inches of rain a year. The park we stopped at is a must for tourists. The Park of Love was opened on Valentine’s Day and its main draw is the super-sized statue of lovers kissing. The imitation Gaudi benches ala Barcelona are stunning as they frame the Pacific. The park is a photo destination for brides and grooms and we saw many there.

We zigged and zagged through the one-way streets gawking at the ugly new buildings and appreciating the dramatically graceful colonial ones. The Spaniards left a legacy of color, balconies, and flowing contours. Colorful buildings were thought to brighten the dreary foggy days.

The archeological museum was a colonial mansion and I found the structure to be more interesting than its contents. Lots of it was repetitive to the original crew of sixteen who’d been in Bolivia. But Yvonne brought some new explanations. We had heard of the droughts that drove civilizations to ruin but she clarified it as occurrences of Mega-Ninos. They experienced ten-year cycles of drought followed by ten years of too much rain. Sounds biblical. The popularity of fertility temples was more agricultural although they were used to promote human fertility as well. If the people were not well fed they wouldn’t be healthy and couldn’t reproduce.

Unlike their highland neighbors, those living in arid areas buried their dead wrapped in textiles. They also cut the ligaments at the knees and elbows so the body could be folded into the fetal position. One mummy had his hands on his head and looked so stressed. David thought his look of concern was appropriate considering he was dead. We went on to see some intricate metal work (here metal means gold or silver) and collections of ceramics.

We continued our drive through the city and Yvonne explained that some of the squatters in the “F” sectors had been there since before the government began protecting historic sites. There’s nothing they can do now. One-third of the population lives in shantytowns.

Pollution is generally bad. I cannot imagine what it would be like if more people could afford cars and if gas was not $4/gallon. Peru buys gas from Venezuela but Amazonians produce it locally and it’s cheaper in the jungle.

When we got to Plaza Major I was surprised that it was where Pissaro and the Spanish first settled. It wasn’t near the sea. Evidently the Spanish ousted the Incas and took their spot. It was on the Rio Rimac and ideally situated. Unfortunately the river is now a sluggish cesspool. The old city had been walled from the 1800-1900’s. When they tore the wall down they built roundabouts where the gates had been. The street urchins and vendors here are quite polite. A “no gracias” was enough to send them on to another prospect.

Tomorrow we go to see the Nasca Lines. We have to be up at 5AM. We didn’t realize that we were flying to Nasca to get our flight-seeing plane. We may be stuck in Nasca until 5PM depending on weather. It will be a longer day than we thought it would be with potentially lots of down time at the airport. I hope I remember to bring a book.

Toby

To Lima, Peru

Feb. 24, 2006-Puno to Lima
(Photos:Fertility temple,
Burial towers,
Ornery alpaca)

Charo filled us in on the history of how the reed islands came to be. The Incas became master architects by learning from civilizations that came before them. They didn’t destroy the people they conquered but improved on their culture. The Uros were a small group of nomadic people who settled down and became farmers. When the Incas took over the territory and demanded taxes the Uros who had built reed islands for fishing and who were too poor to pay taxes moved to the islands permanently. The Incas decided to ignore them thinking they’d never survive. The Ayamara people tried to escape the rule of the Incas as well and sought shelter with the Uros. Today the reed islanders are mostly Ayamara.

Fertility to Necropilis

As we left our hotel we noticed they were still roofing it. Most buildings are partially built to save on taxes. We were quite the conglomeration of walking wounded. We set up sickbay in the back of the bus for Ron who had the worst of the tourista. David managed to sleep the night without incident and it had run its course. The altitude was getting to us all and only half the group went on the walk to see the Temple of Fertility. It was next door to the Catholic Church. The Church has made peace with the mixing of the Indian and Catholic religions but Evangelicals and Mormons will not put up with it. I wasn’t among the walkers. If I woke up in the middle of the night and went to the bathroom I became aware of rapid breathing and had to slow it down. Tai Chi belly breathing was the key. That said, I found it hard to fall back asleep. Fortunately, I can sleep anywhere so I power-napped on the bus. . Do not panic. David went so we have several pictures of phalluses.

We went from phalluses to a necropolis in the blink of an eye. Sillustani is a hilltop (of course) array of funeral towers. It’s remote, surrounded on three sides by water, embraced by green hills, and so quiet that the only sound is the wind. By a hilltop I mean 13,120 feet elevation. We walked up slowly, sat on walls while Charo lectured, slogged along again, sucked air, and on and on.

The Burial Temple began in 400 BCE when the dead were beheaded. Their heads were buried in the temple and their bodies buried separately. In 600 CE the Tiwanaku people absorbed the territory. In 1100 CE a fateful drought weakened and divided the previously united nations. The Colla people appeared on the scene and were even better architects than the Incas. Incas later took over, appropriated Colla engineers, and used them to build in Cusco. Collas believed that a person could become a god. Sound like any other religions? When one dies the spirit goes to live in an afterlife. They also didn’t cremate nor did they bury underground. They built honeycomb funeral mounds that eventually evolved into the burial towers.

When the Incas arrived they morphed the shape of the tower so it resembled the chalice depicted on the monoliths I’ve described. They were narrower on the bottom than the top. Towers were bigger than their houses since the afterlife was considered to be more important than the here and now. Only rich Incas were buried in the towers while the Collas were more democratic. But being a wealthy Incan matron or servant was no great honor. They begged to join the master in the afterlife and were obliged. Their mouths were stuffed with coca powder of the cocaine-making variety, someone held their nose, someone else held their arms, and when in desperation they took a breath, their lungs filled with the powder and they suffocated.

Waca-waca-do

A Waca is a large vertical stone marking the site where human offerings were made. Collas offered handicapped girls who they thought would get to live as perfect specimens in the afterlife. Incas chose perfect female children and isolated them in convent-like facilities where they were trained and brainwashed. Between ages 9-16 they were “chosen.” The three days preceding their sacrifice they fasted; they walked the mile to the temple where they were given beer and cocaine. The priest hit them to see if they were stoned enough and then he hit their head or neck with a hard stone to create an aneurysm. When they were dead their blood was drained into the soil at the foot of the Waca. Hope you’re not getting ready for dinner now.

Round towers indicated people who worked around animals and square ones were for those who worked the land. Spiral ramps were used to lift the stones to the top as the tower grew. The building blocks were of differing sizes and offset to prevent collapse in case of an earthquake. The bodies of the deceased man, family, and servants encircled the structure and were hoisted into the opening on top by ropes. Provisions were secured and the capstone was set. A small hole was left at the base and after several weeks the bodies were removed and put outside to mummify. When the Spanish came they destroyed the burial towers.

Locals

When we returned to the bus there was a baby alpaca waiting for us to have our photo taken with it. Its mother had rejected it and villagers were hand-raising it. After a few encounters of the spitting kind we all sided with mama.

We shuffled onto the bus past the obligatory stands of handicrafts and were relieved that our next stop was with a local family. No pressure there. They were very welcoming and I managed to dance around them and avoid shaking hands this time. The most interesting item was their version of a playpen. When they work in the fields they cannot keep an eye on a baby so they dig a large wide hole in the ground depending on the size of the child, put a toy in it, surround it by rocks, and voila, a playpen.

One of the oldest sons in the family had just finished high school, which was quite an achievement. He wants to be a tour guide and that entails five-years of college. We figured that it would cost $2000 for tuition, room, and board for all five years. That worked out to $125/person in our group. We would never miss it. One man is thinking of trying to find a way to pay the whole thing himself. He’s not naïve and has tried this before in other countries without success. He needs to find a way to legally transfer funds through a legitimate organization. Handing the man the money may be against the law.

We departed for Lima from the airport in Juliaca. The city is a real dump and the airport is not much better. I sat at the airport near a man from Colorado who had lived in Bolivia and Peru eleven years. His last job was working for a Danish organization building bathrooms for indigenous people. He plans to go to Colorado for a visit and then to Argentina. He said that the people in South America ask him how Americans have so much money. He tells them that we work hard, save, and plan for the future. Our guides both told us that the people here don’t work long hours and would rather have fun than save.

We landed briefly at Ariquipa, the White City, and an arid desolate looking town. It was a good thing we were running early. The man who sat next to me on the plane explained what was going on as security officers came and went. One man was questioned because he had taken a picture of the plane when they told him not to. Another man had a parcel thrown down to him from a balcony after he cleared security. They both satisfied the agents and we actually took off on time.


Oxygen High

Eric, our new guide, met us at the airport in Lima, the City of the Gods. He was born in the jungle and will be our guide here as well as our naturalist in the Amazon. To be a naturalist requires two-years post grad education. He barely had a chance to explain that Lima hardly ever gets rain and that all the flowers in the Miraflores district where our hotel is are watered with water from the rivers. We were giddy and high on the oxygen we were inhaling by the lungful. We were amazed at how we could carry our small bags up and down steps with ease. We cracked up when they loaded our luggage onto the mini-bus through a window. We giggled and joked around like teen-agers. He finally gave up and joined in when we demonstrated how Charo had trained us to count off in Spanish for our head-count.

We marked the day by celebrating the end of taking diamox for altitude and the start of malarone for malaria protection.

Toby

Puno, Peru

Feb. 23, 2006-Low O
(Photos:Reed island,
Baby Anita,
Reed boat,
Wet landing)

I read this email to David and he said that it was not up to my usual standard. My brain just needs more oxygen. This is the edited version. Such a critic! Maybe it was because he was one of three in our group who had a night of Montezuma’s revenge. Most of us also feel as if we’ve been run over by a truck. We would have to be here a lot longer to be comfortable with the thin air. I learned that blood gets thicker after two weeks due to the production of more red cells. We’ve all decided we’ll never visit Nepal or Tibet. I’ll never climb Mt. Everest. Some have had incessant dreams, not nightmares, but just constant dreaming. I don’t know how athletes adjust in a week. Oh yes, they’re young and incredibly fit. Everyone in the group exercises but, alas, we’re old. We’re all over fifty-five. I think the meds help with dizziness and headaches, but breathing is a chore. I pity those with emphysema.

Predictions for a cold and rainy day were wrong. We put away our ponchos, umbrellas, and winter coats and slathered on sunscreen. This is a very congenial group even though there are only two couples out of sixteen people who are on their first marriages. We have two honeymooners, two doctors, a nurse, and a PhD in psychopharmacology.

Charo, our guide, joked that a llama can carry 80 lbs. If any more is loaded on their feelings get hurt. They spit, lay down, and tears pour from their eyes. They won’t eat and can starve to death from the insult. Peruvian women can carry 130 lbs. Men say they’d rather have two wives than four llamas.

Military service was compulsory for men and women until 2000. Their military is shrinking now that it’s voluntary while Chile keeps buying more armor and planes. Chile is a force to be reckoned with and has taken land from its neighbors in the past. The Andean Community is getting off the ground ala the European Union. It now includes Venezuela, Ecuador, Bolivia, Columbia, and Peru. Argentina wants to join too.

Reed Culture

Before we went to the reed islands in Lake Titicaca, we made some stops to see how totora reeds were used. They eat them, feed them to animals, dry them and build houses, make mattresses, use them for fuel, and build islands with them. We saw three generations of a family making mattresses. The men cut and haul the reeds from the water. Families own an area of reeds and replant them but don’t own that part of the lake. Women weave the reeds between strings made from straw. They’re easy to keep clean and bugs don’t like the smell. The children rolled around in the dry cuttings while we snapped photos. We’ve noticed that the Indians have perfect teeth and don’t need braces. Even the older ones have their teeth. They chew coca leaves that are rich in calcium. There are 200 kinds of coca leaves. Only three varieties yield cocaine.

Lake Titicaca is 3,340 square miles and 35 miles at its widest point. Jacques Cousteau measured the deepest point at 900-feet. The lake is warmer than the land. At night heat rises from the water and is trapped by the mountains making it possible to survive the severe winters. Since the mountains start almost immediately at the lakeshore there are few houses on the mountainside of the road and fewer on the shore. The houses that exist have bright blue outhouses and grow several varieties of potatoes. One gift that Peru gave to the world was the potato. They grow 7,000 kinds. The next gift is quinua. It has 20% more protein and vitamins than any other grain.

When we arrived in downtown Puno we took cholo taxis to the dock. They’re rickshaws propelled by tricycles at the rear. We raced each other in and out of traffic and our driver won. As we walked the rest of the way to our boat we passed boats with animal-shaped heads. They’re for hire for fun rides but when it’s slow they’re used to collect algae that grows so thick on the lake that birds walk on it. The algae are used for fodder and are considered healthy for humans too. Akron could have changed its algae-in-the-water- system from a problem into an industry.

Our 25-minute cruise was on a nice boat with an upper open deck and partially enclosed lower one. Life jackets were only required for the upper deck. It must be some form of natural selection. Landing and debarking was a kick! As I jumped off the deck onto the manmade reed island it felt like when I was a kid jumping on a mattress. There was definite give as we walked. One of our fellow travelers is an orthopedic surgeon and said it’s great for the back. We’d arrived on La Isla Uros Santa Maria. Uros are an indigenous tribe.

The island foundations are clumps of reed roots imbedded in the mud. Metal bars are inserted in them and they’re roped together. Anchors of stones are dropped to stabilize them and prevent too much drift in a storm. All is covered with green reeds. Since the reeds absorb the water, they rot and have to be added to every fifteen days. Wood framed houses are built on high reed foundations that last two months. It takes six men to lift the house when the foundation needs to be replaced. If you stand in one place too long your feet can get wet. One tourist lost a backpack after setting it down and walking away. We asked about children sinking into the reeds or drowning over the side of the island. They just nodded sadly and said it happens but parents are vigilant.

These are the friendliest, happiest, most gracious people. Their skin is naturally dark but it takes on a ruddy appearance, as they get older. That’s due to windburn and frostbite. The children are adorable even though my sunglasses terrified a nine-month old, Anita. She was too adorable. She wore a red knit hat with a brim. Even though they’re not prone to skin cancer they do cover up. Her little green jacket was embroidered with red and yellow flowers, and below her red pouf of a skirt were pink booties. Delicious! They’re very unlike the Bolivians we saw who never smiled.

Nine families (forty-five people ) live on the island. Food is communal and families take turns with chores. Children go to elementary school on another island but have to pay for education beyond that in the city. They go to other islands for mates. Dating starts when a group goes to another island for a volleyball game. Volleyball is popular and one way to attract a girl is to toss a volleyball at her. Small reed boats are used for trysts in the reeds where the couple can’t be seen. When it’s serious the boy will come after the girl’s parents are asleep. Because weddings are two-day affairs and very expensive couples live together several years during which time they may have children. When they have enough saved they go ashore to be married at the Catholic church. The bride wears an elaborate white shawl, red skirt, and a fancy bowler hat. There has never been a divorce on that island.

Burials are on shore. They have a section of the cemetery to use. Funerals are expensive and some of the poorest people wrap the bodies in blankets and leave them in the mountains. Cremation isn’t an option. They believe that the soul burns with the body and won’t be reincarnated.

They treated us to fry bread just like the Navajos make and shared some of their medical knowledge. Flamingo soup is eaten by pregnant women two weeks before they’re due and during labor. It eases discomfort and relaxes the cervix for easier dilation. A drink of fruit juice and frog prepared in a blender is their version of Viagra. Clay rich in magnesium is used for indigestion. They have to travel five-minutes by boat to the latrine so they better have a good cure for the runs. They need a good diuretic since many women suffer from heart disease, edema, and kidney problems. They live a sedentary life and drink the slightly salty lake water.

The villagers were so wonderful to us we wanted to buy some of their wares, but I couldn’t find a tapestry I liked. One woman even rowed to another island where she had something she thought would work. It didn’t. As we were leaving I spotted a Quechuan hat and bought it right off the lady’s head. It’s very colorful and will look great hanging on a wall.

I now have a mysterious non-itching rash on the back of my hand. I think it came from shaking hands with the people on the reed island. One little girl was fascinated with my skin and freckles and kept stroking my hand.

Nick and Louise in our group brought Halloween false teeth and entertained the kids. They also distributed balloons and candy with permission of the parents. They did this in a marketplace as well and we felt like Pied Pipers. The kids knew what to do with the balloons. It’s carnival. They filled them with water and threw them at each other. We sailed off in a large reed gondola powered by four men and went to the next island, which was much like the first. We had three native children aboard and during the fifteen-minute ride they sang us a song, which gave me the idea to ask if they knew some of our songs. They chimed in with the Spanish version of Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star and Old McDonald. They knew Frer Jacques in French then I got them all on their feet and we did the Hokey Pokey.

Happy Landings

When we went back to town the bus took us to a lookout point for a photo op. There was a statue of Manco Kapac the male founder of Incan civilization. Where Mama Ojillo his partner in creation was I don’t know. There was a huge stone curving slide that some of us couldn’t resist. Charo warned us that the turn was nasty so we practiced on the smaller one. Two of us tackled the larger slide & I turned at the curve and came down sideways. I landed at the bottom on the stones and in a puddle. No ground up tires to cushion landings here. I had a scratch on my wrist and walked around with wet pants the rest of the day. David was really angry that I tried it.

The coca museum was next. It turned out to be a video on the tribal costumes for carnival. There was a group that put on blackface to represent the slaves from Africa. It was explained that slavery was abolished in 1854. Spaniards thought the blacks had a black soul, whites had a white soul, and Indians who were neither had no soul and weren’t human. There was only a tiny exhibit on the history of coca. Blessedly we couldn’t get into the church on the square. There was a political rally and the streets were blocked.

As far as our group is doing altitude-wise, two requested oxygen last night. It was brought to the room and they breathed it until their heart rate slowed. Then the hotel clerk took it back to the desk. The 86-year-old woman with us who has managed to keep up just fine was not one who needed oxygen. Most of us didn’t sleep well and when we had to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night we were short of breath when we got back in bed. I took deep slow breaths until my heart rate slowed but it was definitely unpleasant. Most are reporting that when they blow their noses it’s slightly bloody. That’s probably from the dryness as well. Lima is at sea level so there’s hope. Since this is getting to be too much information I’ll end. We need to pack for our flight to Lima tomorrow. They’re strict about weight. We may have to give all the water we bought away.

Toby