La Paz

Feb. 21, 2006- Breath of Fresh Air

We’re still short of breath walking steps but it’s better. We’re sleeping well and drinking lots of bottled water. The altitude meds we’re taking (diamox) make the heart beat faster. That makes us breathe faster and take in more oxygen. It’s odd that I can walk up steps and talk but when I get to the top my heart is racing. Slow deep breaths are suggested to slow things down.

La Paz is also the home to the highest basketball courts with the shortest players. Balls get more bounce and propulsion for the effort since the air is so thin. Golfers love it. Airliners are specially designed for high altitude landings. The oxygen masks usually deploy around 10,000 feet when pressurization is lost. Here they’re designed so they won’t drop when the airplane door is opened at 13,300 feet. The tires are unique and the engines need extra force to take of in thin air. You’d think that the planes could just sail off the top of the mountain and fly but they actually need longer runways. One positive about the lack of oxygen in the air is that people rarely smoke. I asked what the average size of a newborn is since I couldn’t imagine a woman under 5 feet delivering an eight-pounder. They run around five pounds. To end the litany of factoids I’d like to teach you a new word. Cumbreros are thieves who steal bowler hats. Evidently the pricier ones made of finer alpaca wool go for $300-400. There seems to be a big “hot” hat market here.

Looking Out & Inward

We drove up to a lookout point for photo-ops. We looked down into La Paz and onto flat-roofed terra-cotta houses. They spilled up the side of the hills like Bolognese sauce overflowing its bowl. Poverty is always more beautiful from afar. There were 250 rivers carrying gold into the bowl when the Spaniards came in 1535. No wonder they were so excited.

Our guide, Pedro was bemoaning the fact that Bolivia once had a seaport, but it has lost every war it has fought…even the one with Paraguay. Each war reduced the size of the country so that it’s now called Little Peru. He segued into the Indians reconnecting with the ancient religion. He said that they really sacrifice 2,000 llamas in August. They’re what we would call kosher slaughtered. Their throats are slit. The entrails are read and most bury the carcasses. Some are eaten. During times of illness they believe that parts of the spirit leave the body. If it’s a minor injury, you can call your own spirit back. In more serious cases a Shaman is called. He brings a guinea pig that he kills and disembowels. The entrails are read to determine the seriousness, area affected, and treatment. Treatment is with natural medicines in order to reconnect the good energy and drive out the bad.

We went to the Witch’s Market and saw more evidence of the old ways. Naturally aborted dried llama fetuses are sold to those building a new house. Old ways not only die hard but the number of Indians following Catholicism is decreasing. My friend Judi and I bought no llama fetuses but in other negotiations we learned that the “ultimo” (best) price vendors came down to as a matter of course wasn’t the lowest. We played calculator roulette with each party entering their offer and walked away happy.

Venturing Forth

I asked Pedro how gays are thought of and treated here. He said that S. America is a chauvinistic society but progress is being made. A few years ago gays were allowed into the military. The president of the tour guide association is gay and a good friend of his. There are now parades and pride day. A prominent lesbian politician is running for office and should win. He’ll vote for her. We passed several well-manicured parks on our way to lunch at the Oberland Hotel, a small Swiss owned place. Part of the buffet was llama meat. It was in a sauce and much better than the shoe-leather we had last night. Bolivia has just started exporting it to Germany. It’s lean and packed with more protein than chicken.

We ventured to the Valley of the Moon, which is an area of those sandstone pillars I described yesterday. When we returned to the hotel David and I took off to locate the synagogue. It was a short distance away. We found it, it had no marking indicating what was inside, and it was closed. So what’s new? A vendor nearby told us it was open on Sabado.

Bolivia is a bargain. You can get a lunch of a wrap, fries, and Coke for under a dollar. They’re just gearing up for tourism and I’m sure things will change. They no longer use their small gauge railroad because it was too slow and haven’t replaced it. The signs aren’t bi-lingual and even the woman in the gift shop at our hotel doesn’t speak English.

Pedro has a good sense of humor. He suggested that Bolivia market itself as Revolutions Are Us. They’re had five presidents in the last two years. He said they could hire out to anyplace that doesn’t like its president. Any takers?

Dinner tonight was at Dumbo’s. It’s a Bolivian Denny’s. The food was average and it cost all of $5 for the two of us. We topped it off with a 50-cent big mound of ice-cream and headed for the hotel. We leave for Lake Titicaca tomorrow.

Toby

Landing High

Feb. 20, 2006-La Paz
(Photos:Street hawker,
Typical Bolivian attire)

I slept more on the flight to Bolivia than on any other flight. We landed on time, our luggage arrived, and the Overseas Adventure Travel representative was right where he was supposed to be. This is the first year OAT has returned to Bolivia after the political unrest. David remarked that when we came down to land at 13,000+ feet altitude we didn’t have very far to go. Our landing threaded between the snow-covered Andes and onto the tarmac with a rather stiff legged bump.

We’ve been taking diamox for altitude sickness and it may be working. We’re tired but aren’t experiencing nausea, swelling, sleeplessness, headaches, and dizziness. We are a bit winded but that will fade. We also had a cup of cacao tea, which is supposed to help.

Pedro, our guide took us to La Plaza Hotel. He’s a college graduate, majored in tourism and was in the Bolivian navy. Since the country is landlocked he made a joke of it. He served on Lake Titicaca. He told us a bit about the area. Bolivia has the highest airport, the highest soccer stadium, and the shortest people. Non-Bolivians call them “duck-chested” because of the adaptation of their barrel chests to increased lung capacity. They have 30% more red blood cells as well due to the altitude. When they go down to lower levels they suffer as we do at the higher ones.

La Paz is 1500 feet lower than the airport and sits in a natural bowl that once contained a sea. Sandstone pillars that look like sand castles giant children might have built frame the approach to the city. Bolivia has the largest Indian population in South America and, yes, the women do wear bowler hats that look two sizes too small. The fashion was appropriated from the English and Scottish who settled here. The bowler has become as essential to women’s dress as the tie has become to the business suit.

The hotel has five-stars on the door but I rate it a three-minus. It’s clean but the rooms are shabby. Lunch was buffet style and we fell in love with a typical soup made with tapioca called quinua (keen-wah). Our rooms overlook Mt. Illimani, which is the desirable exposure away from the street noise, ho wever,between our view and the mountain is a school. We napped despite announcements over the public address system, a rousing soccer game, and band practice. Uphill

We rested for an hour after lunch and all but four joined in an afternoon stroll lasting 2 ½ hours. The major part was all up hill. We were winded at times but caught our breath easily and went on. The dozen or so steps leading into a bank were an unforeseen challenge but we survived that too. At the end of the walk we were doing much better.

Pedro’s command of English is superb. He shepherded us through daunting traffic and introduced us to Bolivian street culture by pointing out the men in blue vests. Their job is to rent you the use of their cell phones. The masked men who looked like banditos were in the shoeshine business. Their faces are wrapped in heavy wool swaths so only their eyes show. Shoe shining is thought to be the lowest of low work a Boliviano can do. Many of the workers are teens and are teased mercilessly by their peers if it becomes known what they do to earn money. The masks aren’t to protect them from the polish fumes but from harassment and humiliation.

One enterprise I’d never seen until today was the building and selling of models for school children to buy instead of building themselves. When assignments are made to build a model of a certain street with historic buildings, the model-makers get busy and hawk the ready-made wares. Imagine the market for science projects. One thing about this city; there are lots of dogs but the streets are pretty clean. But the people and especially the children don’t smile. They don’t even look happy when they’re paid to have their picture taken or money is dropped in their cup when they entertain. Sad.

Pedro explained that the mountains are still holy symbols of mother earth to the Indians. The traditional dress of the indigenous women echo that shape. They are narrow at the top with the bowler hat to mark the peak, their shawls flare out into an inverted triangle, and the costume ends with a flared multi-layered skirt reminiscent of the Spanish petticoats. Even though most have converted to Catholicism, the Indians still observe ancient traditions. Every August 1,000 llamas are sacrificed for Mother Earth. Greenpeace has a huge problem with that and have urged them not to kill so many “for nothing.” The Indians take offense since the offering is for their belief, not for nothing.

Background

Simon Bolivar brought independence to Bolivia in 1835, but Indians didn’t gain their freedom until 1953. Even though they built the grandest church in La Paz they weren’t allowed in to pray in it until the 1970’s. The church has stained glass windows circa the 1980’s and the most prominent one behind the pulpit depicts angels singing, politicians, and soldiers.

Pedro was excited to see a peaceful demonstration in Plaza Murillo. In 2003 there were riots, bullets fired, and many died. Although soldiers stood ready looking like Ninja Turtles in full battle gear with tufted bulletproof vests and shields there was no violence. The plaza is a bloody site where executions of every sadistic bent have taken place. Across the street we stopped at the mausoleum of Andres De Santa Cruz, the real father of Bolivia. He was a mestizo leader who picked up the marbles after Bolivar sashayed into town, pronounced independence, and left everyone at loose ends. Santa Cruz was a lawyer and soldier who brought order to independence. He died a pauper in France in his 50’s.

Pedro mentioned a couple of celebrities who blew into town around 1911. Evidently this is where Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid settled. They were intent on finding the central bank and robbing it but banking wasn’t that organized back then. They stayed on and worked in the mines.

We came upon what was called Jewish Street and is now Commerce St. There used to be a sizeable Jewish community here and there’s still a synagogue that we may or may not find. Pedro said that most of the Jews went to Argentina and the U.S.

Today Bolivia and Peru are talking about an alliance that would rank their gas reserves ahead of Venezuela. They’re enjoying a peaceful interlude between upheavals and are hopeful about the future. Peace comes to an end next week. It’s Carnivale. We get to experience it in Peru.

Tonight I ate llama. It’s an animal that would be considered kosher and fit to eat since it has cloven hooves and chews its cud. I know it wasn’t one they sacrificed last August. Pedro said that they bury them all. Llama doesn’t taste like chicken. It has a beefy flavor with a slight undertone of liver.

Toby

Bolivia & Peru

Feb. 19, 2006-Getting to Miami, Florida

I hope to be able to send you these emails as we travel, but if it’s too difficult to find Internet sites where I can send I may wait until we get back to Akron and send your installments then. AOL limits the number of emails I can send at one time to 50 before they close our account for sending spam. If there is someone you’d like to forward these to please do so.

The fun began before we even got to Bolivia. We drove to Miami, our point of departure for S. America. We wanted to see my cousins Evelyn and David in Boynton Beach and visit my parents’ graves in Orlando and David’s parents’ in Miami. The first event was while we were still in Akron. David’s VISA card broke in half. Fortunately we were able to call VISA and have them overnight a new card to my cousins’.

The next “event” was on the highway between Charlotte, N. Carolina and Columbia, S. Carolina. There was what turned out to be a one-hour traffic jam. David was trying to change lanes when a semi stopped to let him merge. As we were halfway into the lane the truck began to move forward. I urged David to hurry into the lane since the truck kept on rolling. We had just gotten settled in our new slot when we felt a bump from behind. The truck had rear-ended us. As David flew out of our car to call the driver a few choice names, we got bumped again. I was afraid that David would get into a fight since he was the one overcome with road rage. The trucker got out of the cab holding his cell phone. He was very apologetic and said he’d been talking to his dispatcher and hadn’t seen us at all. He was extremely nice considering what David had called his mother and what David said he could do with the phone. We pulled our car up and there was no damage. We must have still been rolling when he tapped us.

Then not to lack for things to write you, David realized at 4AM in Orlando that he’d forgotten half of one of the meds he takes. When he was counting pills he failed to account for the fact that he takes them twice a day. Through that experience we learned that our insurance company pharmacy is open 24-hours a day. They were very helpful and since David had a refill on the script they authorized our CVS Pharmacy in Akron to send the script to an Orlando pharmacy. The next morning we had the pills.

I don’t want to come off as being perfect so I’ll confess that when we left the motel in Orlando to go to the pharmacy and the cemetery I forgot our laundry bag in our room. After a quick call we turned around and they had the laundry waiting at the front desk.

The rest of our journey has been uneventful. We are now waiting with our traveling companion & long time friend from Washington, DC, Judi Cope, at the Miami airport. We’re catching up on gossip and waiting to go to La Paz.

Toby

Unfinished Business

May 18, 2005-Evaluating

You knew I wasn’t finished didn’t you? We woke at 5:30AM, which wasn’t too bad since we went to bed at 9PM the night before. We left Judi Cope’s in Washington, DC and had at least six hours to discuss the trip on the drive home.

A few things that were mentioned were the lack of security at the airport in Croatia. Frankfort had more stringent precautions. David thought it might be for flights going to the U.S. The funny thing was that as they x-rayed our carry-on they didn’t recognize an item. I explained what it was and they took my word without opening the luggage. Judi, on the other hand, had all items in her hand baggage unzipped, searched, and scrutinized. I guess she looks suspicious. We talked about how hard it was to get ahead in Slovenia and Croatia. Most people live on the land or in apartments that have been in the family for generations. If they own a house they keep adding to it as families get larger.

It’s almost impossible for a Serb or Croat to identify the other at a glance. The physical differences are subtle if detectible at all. Our guide mentioned that there were differences between Serbian Orthodox and Roman Catholicism. She listed a few that didn’t seem to be a reason to go to war: more or less use of candles and incense by one group, leather rosaries versus beads, Julian or Gregorian calendars.

As we stopped along the interstate we knew that we weren’t in Slovenia or Croatia anymore. We were struck by how dirty our restaurants and toilets are by comparison.

Now to the debate as to whether we prefer group to independent travel: In favor of group travel:

There are others to talk to; no responsibility for luggage, flights, meals, glitches thus less personal tension; better class hotels; time saved by not getting lost; home hosted dinner with local family; luggage handling; no fear of being ripped-off by cab drivers; pre-screened rest stops; orientation to the place we’re staying (where ATMs & post offices are)

Against group travel:

Feeling of being herded; only around seniors; moved too fast or too slow when seeing sites-couldn’t set own pace; not being able to interact with locals on a daily basis; no satisfaction of fending for ourselves; no chance to find Laundromat; higher food cost when dining away from the group since most wanted a fancier meal than we did; a feeling that we’re just not seeing it all.
All in all it was a fun trip but I wouldn’t recommend it to anyone who hasn’t seen most of the world first. There are a lot more interesting places to go and most of the people on the tour had been to those places.

I’m nesting in now. I’ve done three loads of laundry and have read the mail. Thanks for listening.
Toby

Pig

May 17, 2005-Getting Home
(photos:Farwelling Friends)

My record is intact. Our hotel was built on the side of a hill. Reception was on the 9th floor. Our room was on the 6th. The dining room was on the 7th. I consistently chose the wrong direction on the stairs and pushed the wrong button when calling the elevator. Even when I thought about it I chose incorrectly. Fortunately I either had others with me to help me re-direct or I only went astray by one level.

I feel sad that so many pigs died in vain. We were at breakfast at 5:30AM and had bag breakfasts. They included ham and cheese sandwiches. We didn’t starve since the bags also contained hard-boiled eggs, yogurt, and apples. There was also the usual breakfast buffet available so we filched some stuff from that. Soon after we boarded the two-hour Croatia Airlines flight to Frankfurt we were served breakfast. It was ham slices. We tried to give it away but had no takers.

When we got to Frankfurt I was comforted to see that the Germans are becoming like the rest of the world. There was confusion as to what transport desk we needed and the rest rooms were filthy. There’s hope for them.

I fully expected the movie would be Ocean’s 13 or some such. I hoped that Hollywood didn’t make the Ocean’s 12 sequel to taunt us while we were gone. We lucked out. The three movies were Phantom of the Opera, National Treasure, and Neverland. We’d only seen the last one.

We landed at Dulles early and breezed through customs. We plan a light dinner of “American” food like Thai or something.

We drive back to Akron tomorrow. Hope you’ve enjoyed these. When we checked in with Wendy she thanked us for the history lesson.

Toby

War Torn

May 16, 2005-Long Memories
(photos:Walking on the wall,
Main St. Dubrovnik,
Still ruins)

This is our last day in Dubrovnik. The Adriatic twinkled and winked at us around every curve as our bus delivered us to the old city. We took the two-hours necessary to walk the wall and listen to the audio explanations. The views were best from up top. We were able to be voyeurs and peek into the private lives of the natives. There was laundry hanging, bedding being aired, satellite dishes and TV antennas sticking up from old red tile roofs, flowered-filled roof gardens and balconies, and a bird’s eye view into school rooms. We had pizza once again at Pizzeria Don Coreleone then took a last walk through the streets.

We stopped in at the War Photo Museum commemorating the most recent civil strife. Color photos leaped out at us and there was no avoiding the controversial point being made. The gruesome, brutal, and sometimes poignant shots illustrated the ordeal of the Croats. A short film emphasized the rancor that still exists. It showed the opening of the exhibit in Serbia where Serbs and Croats verbally battled over the fairness of the depictions. Serbs reminded the Croats that they were the ones who fought the Nazis in 1941 during WWII while the Croats only had a few partisans and were collaborators with the Italians. The Croats answered that history didn’t end in 1941. When we left David had a feeling that the war wasn’t over in the minds of the people and that a tight lid was needed to keep the peace.

The group had dinner at Proto, a seafood restaurant. Somehow we escaped without having to have special food made for us. Everyone enjoyed a delicious vegetarian risotto appetizer with turkey as the main. Dessert was flan.

Most people in our group are coughing. I think they have whatever Drago, the first driver, had. It sounds like a TB ward. To add interest, two British sisters, one of whom lives in the U.S., had their purses sprayed by a stray cat yesterday. We were staying far away from them but their bags were scrubbable and they’re no longer referred to as the “stinky sisters.”

You’ll be proud to know that I won the contest to pronounce “prijestolonasljednica.” I’ll be happy to demonstrate when I return. The prize was an embroidered cloth and red ceramic tile trivet.

Our wake-up call is at 5:15AM. I’ll probably send this email to you from Washington, DC. We’re spending the night at Judi Cope’s when we arrive. See you in Akron.

Toby

Montenegro

May 15, 2005-Luck & Curses
(Photos:St. Tripun,
Restaurant Jadran)

Montenegro sounds so exotic. I always associated it with intrigue and romantic liaisons. The road there still followed the Alps and subjected us to two more sedentary hours. Viki filled us in on the islands we were passing. Lokrun Island had an interesting story. Black robed Benedictine monks were there when Napoleon arrived in 1806. He abolished the Republic of Dubrovnik and wanted the island for France. He sent three messengers to tell the monks to leave. Before the messengers arrived the monks circled the island carrying candles dripping wax and praying that God would curse anyone who came after they left. Maximilian of the Hapsburgs arrived only to be later killed in Mexico. Rudolph of the Hapsburgs came and eventually committed suicide. A group of Croats bought it and went bankrupt. It’s now a nudist beach and called Love Island. It has gone from people having bad luck to getting lucky.

Slavic tribes who settled there in the 7th century were fierce, proud, and patriotic. The same holds today. Society is still organized by tribes and there is a saying that “man is born tired and lives to rest.”

Viki gave us a more garbled rundown than usual but did recommend that we read Black Land and Gray Flacon by Rebecca West. In brief: Phoenicians, Illyrians, Greeks, Romans, Catholics, Orthodox, Turks, and Venetians. In 1878 they appointed their own prince-bishop and a military democracy (oxymoron) based on tribal structure was formed. Eventually there was King Nikola who ruled fifty-eight years and had eleven children. During WWI Montenegro fought alongside Serbians and Nikola fled to France. His daughters ended up marrying into European royalty. Montenegro was chosen by Italy to be Italian for WWII then disappeared into Yugoslavia.

It was dicey crossing the border into Montenegro. We were told not to say a word if the authorities came on the bus but they didn’t. It’s a nervous peace and is the only border Albanians can cross to get to Croatia and a better life. Montenegro is the smallest region of the former Yugoslavia with a population of 60,000. Signs are in Cyrillic and Latin letters to accommodate the Serbs, Croats, and Muslims who live there and the Russians on vacation. It’s a rundown poor sister of Serbia and has a long way to go to be accepted into the EU. Montenegro is a satellite of Serbia and its only port. The Serbian Orthodox religion and the Serbo-Croatian language link them. When the dinar was devalued and inflation was rampant the government decided to convert to the Euro. Overnight a truckload of Euros was delivered to Serbia and the dinar was replaced. There are few stores that accept Croatian kunas but all take Euros.

We first visited Kotor on the bay of the same name. The city walls are a UNESCO site and were heavily damaged in the earthquake of 1979 and subsequently rebuilt. It looked as picturesque as many towns we’ve seen until we got off the bus. It was garbage-strewn, in need of repair, and riddled with gypsies who were eager to fleece us.

Bells rang the end of Mass as we strolled towards the Church of St.Triphun. It was originally Romanesque but has had many incarnations and is now also Gothic and Renaissance. Some of its pillars are built from blocks of red marble and soar in groups of four clustered back-to-back. Relics of the saint were brought in 1809 and there are ornate filigree altarpieces and hanging candelabra. The most interesting event today was the christening of a year old gorgeous blond boy who enjoyed the water being poured over his head and wanted to grab hold of the candle.
The next church was the Orthodox Church of St. Nikola built in 1909. The inside front wall of icons was stunning but the incense and smoke from all the candles drove us out.

Budva

It was 45-minutes and a drive through a long unlit tunnel to get to Budva. I had heard of Budva and again thought of it as a place of mystery. There was no mystery to the smells and dirt. The Restaurant Jadran was an oasis. It was on the waterfront and tried to make the bleak surroundings more appealing with flowers and fountains. Pork steak and proscuitto was served so we got a plate of assorted cheeses and beefsteak. It was greasy but filling. Dessert was a close cousin of baklava in a triangular shape. It was so full of honey it could have been rung out without altering the taste. We walked along the graffiti marred walls built by Austrians in 1836 without much of a narrative by Viki. I don’t know why they didn’t hire a local guide. Perhaps there isn’t much to learn, but that’s hard to believe. A Japanese tour group seemed to go off in a different direction with much commentary and purpose.

A ferry ride shortened our return trip. Viki took the time to review where we’d been, what we’d seen, and what special touches she had provided for us. Tipping time is near.

We were on our own tonight. The bus took us to the old city and we ate at Ragusa 2. Laura Lee tackled scampi in the shell. She was ruthless about tearing the heads off. I had pasta Bolognese, Judi and David had highly spiced pepper steak that was excellent. Laura Lee threw the waiter when she tried to write the tip on her charge receipt. He was politely apoplectic but insisted that he wanted cash on the table. Laura Lee said she’s disappointed that this is the first night she hasn’t had ice cream. We’re sitting in our room as I am writing and enjoying the last of the pear brandy.

Tomorrow is a free day. We’ll most likely return to the old city and walk the parapets.

Toby