As I was falling over backwards...

on the cusps of a cliff. This is what I was thinking.

A) So this is how it ends.

B) Those petroglyphs I scrambled up to take photos of weren't worth dying for.

My leg snagged on something, interrupting physics from pushing me to my final tipping point. My lower appendage decided to bend and not break. It torqued. Now I possess one very swollen knee. 

The whole incident scared me. Bad things can happen so fast. 

I'm not a patient patient. I've been told this a number of times from my too many orthopedic doctors and unfortunately surgeons too. 

The healing process takes me out of my retirement routine. Wake up, drink coffee, eat, take a hike, relax and wait for Happy Hour. The getting better time leaves me too many hours to think of my reality. I'm really alone out there and here. As I continue to age this will become more of an issue. That scares me too. 

Hey! Its a beautiful day in Death Valley National Park. I've got a bag of ice on my knee and an cold IPA in my paw. 

It's near record heat at Furnace Creek too. April temperatures in mid February. Go figure.

Here are the petroglyphs I nearly became a buzzard's kosher appetizer for. 

I dodged the great inevitable and got to see another Death Valley sunset.

I'll be more careful in my future. The blog must go on.

Cheers!

Jeff

A South America...

Summary...

I've been back in the USA for over a week and one Super Bowl. Between sleeping and eating too much, (I'm catching up on both) I've had time to think about our Southern Continental neighbor. 

Decades earlier than this past trip, folks would ask me why I hadn't visited any place in South America. My answer was truthful. I wasn't excited about going to countries where the who's calling the shots head honcho changes hands as often as a busy Biker Bar changes kegs of Bud Lite. (That's often. The more macho the bar, the wimpier the beer).

Now that situation has changed in a good way. South America seems to be almost tranquil compared to many tumultuous regions. Remember the good old pre-911 days? The world seemed so much gentler then.

With that excuse for not going gone. I decided to try my fortune with an untested traveling companion and visit Chile.
 http://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2016/02/musings-and-mutterings-about-string.html

When Lisa split for work obligations the difficulties of South American travel for an older solo non-Spanish speaking wanderer became a bit too real. I grew frustrated by the lack of road signs, the pantomiming I had to do to get my point across and two kinds of breath-holding banos. The really foul WC's where I sought immediate psychiatric counseling or the ones where I could wait to speak to a shrink manana type.

As the trip continued it took a lot more effort to ignore the hordes of hungry hounds, the piles of detritus at impromptu landfills and the all too sad look of poverty in many places. (I can say the same thing about pockets of the US too). Without a travel partner to vent to, I internalized the experience too often. I got homesick.

Peru and Machu Picchu was a welcome reprieve for me. I met sixteen English speaking people who hadn't heard any of my stories yet. They told good yarns too. I've noticed people who take the chance of travel are pretty entertaining and interesting. That week salvaged my South American trip. I needed that.

Please don't get me wrong, the places I saw were intensely beautiful and eye catching. The people are friendly even though they couldn't understand me and visa versa. I never felt threatened other than a few scary driving moments. It's an experience worth checking out. For me, I would think twice about running solo again. It's too much alone time even for a curmudgeon like myself.

Now back to the present: I phoned GEICO today to restart my full insurance coverage on Barley the Van. Before I hung up, the nice agent asked me, "Would you be interested in an insurance policy for renting or for your other properties"? 

"I already have an insurance policy with GEICO for my only property. The van is bought and paid for too." 

The line got real quiet. As a goodbye, I said, "It's a long story."

So readers, please keep looking into my blog. The story will continue. 

Cheers from almost sunset time at Saint Pete Beach, Florida.

Jeff

The Most Impressive Thing...

about Machu Picchu. 

Hint: It's not the Inca Ruins.

Hint: It's not the cloud forests.

Hint: It's not the crazy steep terrain or majestic mountain scenery.

Hint: It's not a thing either. 

It's the Porters. 

Here's the new math of the Inca Trail. It takes twenty-three Porters to man haul the camping requirements of seventeen paying Gringos and three guides for a three night-four day Machu Picchu journey. 

At the completion of Day One's meander, Alex announced there would be a "Meet and Greet" with these extraordinary men. 

After dinner we assembled in a circle: North Americans in one hemisphere, Peruvian Porters in the other and three guides straddling the Equator between the two. 

Alex told us about the Porters in his melodic way of speaking English. Here's the gist of what I heard: (Some of this information came from Mary Lou, an employee of Valencia Travel.) 

The Porters live at 12,000' in remote villages. Many are subsistence farmers. Some of their homes lack electricity or running water. Valencia Travel is one of the few tour companies who provides health insurance while the Porters are on the Inca Trail. The Shining Path guerrillas made life even more difficult for them. When the Porters are on the job they each carry fifty-five pounds of gear. Chewing coca leaves is as much a part of their culture as drinking four glasses of wine during a Passover Seder is for Jews. They speak a language that is passed on by word of mouth-Quechuan. They work hard so they may one day earn enough money for their children to get a proper education. Tip money from us Gringos is a major source of their yearly revenue.

While Alex was speaking, I looked across the 20' gap separating the vacationers from the employees. Despite the fact we were all Homo Sapiens, to me it felt like a "Close Encounters of the Third Kind" moment. I couldn't fathom what it would be like to wake up hungry or with no source of real income. For us softies from North America, a bad day is when Starbucks pours soy milk instead of real milk into our morning coffee. Our cultural, economic and physical differences were light years apart. 

Yet, I admired them for their endurance, toughness and boundless energy. Their ages ran from 18-60. Their skin tones covered the spectrum of cafe con leche to burnt mahogany wood. A few sported a snaggletooth grin. Some stood in a supplicant posture. (That bothered me.) Every one of these human transporters were shorter and weighed less than me. I'm 5'4" and tilt the scales at about a $1.38. 

They practically ran up the passes bearing their cumbersome loads. Once in camp, their work day would begin again. Set up the tents, fluff up the sleeping pads and bags, heat water for tea, boil water for drinking, distribute warm water for washing up, cook meals, wait tables and clean up the whole mess. Repeat until the last camp three days later.

I saw them eat once. At that day's end, the cook prepared a huge white meal for them. Their bowls were piled high mostly with carbohydrates. I never saw any of them drink water. Coca Colas and a yellow liquid called Inca Kola was the only fluids I noticed them quaffing. On Day One local women provided them with a juice-like drink at one of their infrequent rest stops. They wore blue uniforms with the prominent Valencia Travel logo imprinted upon them. They were hustling advertisements for their employer. The rest of their clothes were a mish mash of hand-me-downs from former guests. Whether or not the footwear fit their tiny feet was problematic. 

There's an hierarchy within their ranks. There's a Head Porter, one Chef, an Assistant Chef and one Waiter. I don't use the word Chef lightly. The meals which were created within that humble cooking tent was fine cuisine compared to most of the grub I ingested in South America. Lots of thought and hard work went into those feeds.

Of course, there's the new guys. They had the unenviable tasks of hauling five gallons of sloshing water (41.5 pounds) up the staircase I mentioned in the following blog. http://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2016/02/day-four-it-jungle-out.html

In other words, they performed the stupid hard jobs in order to prove their mettle. 

So the bottom line, what did these Mighty Mights make for their gargantuan efforts? Valencia Travel suggested a 100 Soles tip/Porter (About 28.75 USD). They wrote that this would be a very generous gratuity. That's what we handed them.

Isn't that crazy?

I'm on my way to Saint Pete's Beach to find a nice bar to watch the Super Bowl. It'll cost me more than $28.75 to drink and eat there.

Cheers 

Jeff

PS. One Porter photo was provided by Oliver.

But Wait! There's More!

Keep reading this blog about Machu Picchu and you can win a set of Ginsu knives! (Not really). 

Right now, I can create a few more posts about South America or South Florida. 

Maybe I can write one about the best "Early Bird Specials" in Palm Beach County, Florida?

I think you will enjoy the extra South American blogs more.

Way back when the Machu Picchu part of my trip was closing in fast, I decided I better look at the information bulletin to see what I got myself into. Contrary to what my retirement card says, I'm not really organized enough to be a true vacation planner. 

Hmmm! The last day featured an optional hike to a mountain named Waynu Picchu. OK. I like mountains. The bulletin said there would be great views from the summit. OK II. I like pretty views. The bulletin said it would cost an extra $65. I didn't like that, but figured what the heck, I don't visit Machu Picchu everyday. 

So after our official tour was complete:

http://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2016/02/day-five-finale-good-newsbad-news.html 

Alex the Guide pointed Kevin (the other curious hiker) and me to another gate. Of course we had to produce our passports along with uno mas ticket. We signed a ledger and uphill we went.

Waynu Picchu is featured in the iconic photos of Machu Picchu. It's the camera catching triangular shaped mountain dominating the scene. And rightfully so, the peak is 1,180' higher than the ruins. Those workaholic Incas placed steep steps, terraces and temples upon the prominence too. High Priests and local virgins supposedly resided there. I have no idea how they figured out the virgin's fidelity. This blog will not dwell upon that touchy subject either.

Back to the hike: It was crowded. At the top, I had to negotiate through a gauntlet of dueling selfie sticks. It was scary. I called over to Kevin to tell him I was heading down. Kevin wanted to savor the moment some more. I wanted to savor a cold beer and a meal. We parted ways. 

At the meeting place/restaurant I met up with the gang. Food, drinks and laughs were all served up in equal measures. At that point, I desired that more than another pretty view. 

If you would like to read another Machu Picchu perspective, please check out Lin Sanchez' blog.

https://quesadillasinghettodise.wordpress.com/

Thanks from South Florida,

Jeff

Day Five: The Finale. Good News.Bad News...

"Sometimes it's a little better to travel than to arrive” 

― Robert M. Pirsig, Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance: An Inquiry Into Values

First the Good News: We would be culminating our pilgrimage via the Inca Trail to Machu Picchu. 

The Bad News: This would require a 3 am wake up call. (Yes, we paid a lot of money to do this!) We needed to be packed, swallow breakfast and be on the move (muy rapido) in order to wait in line until 5:30 am. That's the time of the opening bell for Machu Picchu. Fortunately, we had really fast pilgrims on our team. We were in gate position number three among the dozen plus tour groups. 

So we waited, and waited in the dark and damp in close quarters with shadowy strangers and 19 acquaintances. Conversations were muted or whispered. Most of us tried to nap while leaning up against our packs or fellow travelers. I laughed to myself thinking this situation would be a dictionary example of the term, "hurry up and wait." 

At about first light, we were called up to a window one by one. Our ticket was presented to an Machu Picchu official who materialized out of the vapors. We had our clearance. Next stop - the Sun Gate. 

It was an uphill hike with a few wonderful glimpses of Mother Nature's pretty profile. Oliver (the lone Canadian in our group) and I passed between two twin pillars (the Sun Gate) and looked down and to the right. 

There it was, the iconic Machu Picchu view.

Seconds later the sun came out to infuse light and shadows for some impromptu special effects. Clouds welled up from the valley below playing hide and seek with the ruins. I looked about at the gathering crowd and all I saw were exhausted yet smiling faces. Once again handshakes, hugs, kisses, congratulations and back slaps were doled out. I was damn pleased to be there at that moment. 

We relished the scene until reality set in. Our guides relayed the game plan on where to meet at the site itself. Once again we would have to show our passports and a ticket to gain entry to this UNESCO World Heritage Centre. 

So down we went into a growing storm of humanity who were fresh off the buses and tourist trains. Me and my fellow journeymen and women weren't fresh at all. I for one was feeling overripe from the days of dirt, toil and lack of a warm shower. Maybe this is the way to create space in a soon to be crowded place. 

It took awhile before everyone was moving in the same direction. Maybe we were feeling the lack of sleep, sparse breakfast or plain old weariness. Maybe all the above. 

Once inside, Alex morphed into an Inca History/Machu Picchu professor. We obediently followed him from one unique section to another. Stories, names, historical significance and of course the Incas brilliant methods of marking the solstices were expounded upon. 

As the day got warmer, I got hungrier. At the top of where the solar observatory was located, I began to break out in a frigid sweat accompanied by an out of touch feeling. I knew the big pass out was only moments away. No Bueno. I sat down before I flopped down. 

I explained my plight to my new found buddies. From the creases and nooks in their day packs a few energy bars and chocolate chunks were found. They generously gave them to me. I ate. I felt better double quick time. They were my heroes. 

Alex's walking tour continued to a final question and answer period. 

"Are there any questions about Machu Picchu? 

Maria who up to this point kept a pretty low profile piped up, "Yeah! When do we eat?" 

See? I wasn't the only one.

By the time we dined, drank a few beverages, boarded a train and a bus and were dropped off at our Cuzco hotel it was 8:30 pm. We had been up for over 17.5 hours. We were spent.

On the bright side, we had all successfully completed the Machu Picchu Ultra-marathon. 

It was one for the books. It was a great experience. 

Cheers to all,

Jeff

 

Musings and mutterings about a String Bean Shaped Country...

"What a long strange trip it's been." Grateful Dead

Remember way back when? From my original blog about Chile: 

http://jeffsambur.blogspot.cl/2015/12/chile-today_16.html

Hell! I wasn't even supposed to be here! 

Well, I was here for six plus weeks. I think about this journey in two distinct segments. The W L time (with Lisa) and the WO L time (without Lisa). 

During the W L time I had an intelligent English speaking companion to share my many thoughts and rants with. She'd laugh at my vocalized frustrations concerning this foreign land we found ourselves in. "How hard would it be to put up a freaking sign pointing to a National Park?" 

When I dropped her off a few weeks ago, I experienced loneliness. Now I'm the kind of guy who prides himself on being comfortable in his own skin. In the States, I can go weeks without a real conversation and it won't bother me. Here it bothered me. The difference? I know what's going on around me in my own country. I understand the language.

In Chile, I felt like I was always walking through the famous Star Wars I bar scene. The one featuring Hans Solo with lots of aliens jabbering away around him. In Chile, that was my life minus the English subtitles. I was in a communication void. Chileans don't Habla Ingles a lot. In the course of the WO L period, I had two real talks with two couples from Europe. That's it. The rest of the time I smiled a lot and pantomimed if my limited Espanol wasn't working. It hardly ever did. 

Even the mundane act of going into a restaurant was challenging. I would sit down at an empty table in an empty restaurant. (I ate at Gringo plus hours, about 7:30 to 8:00). Eventually a waitperson would saunter over. I would ask to see a menu in Spanish. Blank look. I would then pantomime eating. Blank look II. Then I would switch to English and start to quietly rant. "Oh this must be the business where I can purchase a block heater for my Ford Van or maybe refill my blood pressure medicine prescription?" For some reason, this worked. I scored a menu. 

Don't get me wrong. You would be hard pressed to discover a kinder, gentler and more easy going people than the Chileans. They are obviously generous, family oriented and friendly. They just don't speak a lot of North American and I don't speak a lot of South American. It's my problemo not theirs. 

My social scene and Happy Hour consisted of a few mediocre brews and my Kindle app. I've read four books in two weeks. 

Enough about me. What about Chile?

First off, this Skinny Country is beautiful, complete with 18 million pretty nice people. (See above). It's almost twice the size of Montana. 

Most folks live along the Central Valley corridor and the Pan American Highway. This stretches north and south of Santiago. There's 5.1 million people in the capital city. On December 12th, we arrived in Santiago and quickly departed. I returned today and will leave in the early morning. My neighbor is the airport.  

Chile's economy is based upon what comes from below the earth (mining) and what grows on top of the earth, (forest products and foodstuffs). The fisheries industry is big too.Tourism is not a main driving force here. It's pretty much a Blue Collar Country. 

Most foreigners are like me and search out the protected areas of National Parks and National Reserves. If you are used to U.S National Parks along with its infrastructure, you might be disappointed like I was on occasion. Many of the parks are in name only. Access to them is extremely limited. Even the most famous ones have crappy roads and a limited  trail system. Getting a map when you pay your entry fee is problematic. I discovered if I made a real sorrowful look when they said "No mapa," one would materialize out of a drawer. 

Chile is now a politically stable country. It wasn't always like this. It was sort of a pick up the morning newspaper to see who's in charge country. The U.S backed a few less than stellar leaders-like Pinochet. I'm not proud of this. 

Maybe this is why there's so many low skilled menial workers seen everywhere. It keeps the populace from rebelling I suppose. It's not uncommon to see seven dudes milling around four gas pumps to pour product into your thirsty vehicle. The national average income is half what Americans take home. 

Chileans smoke a lot more than Americans too. 37% compared to 24%. The irony is they live longer than us. Go figure. 

I'll end this long post with a few questions to my readers. I'm all ears if anyone knows the answers. 

Why do Chileans believe their modern plumbing systems won't handle TP? I refused to participate in a possible local cholera outbreak by placing wads into nearby wastebaskets. OK, call me an Ugly American for this. 

Why do the Carabineros (National Police Force) drive around 24/7 with their emergency lights flashing? How was I supposed to know if I was getting pulled over or if they received an urgent call about fresh donuts? They have wooden handled pistols attached to their belts by a string too. Barney Fife would love them. 

Why do Chileans consider Nescafé Instant Coffee to be the bomb? Juan Valdez and his mule are flopping in their graves. Come on Chile! Trade copper for real coffee in South America! 

Lastly, why did it take so long for summer to show its wonderful side in Chilly Chile? Oftentimes the difference between comfort and cold was merely a passing cloud or a shade tree. 

Chile is not a Third World country, just once in awhile it seems to be. I can say the same thing for parts of the USA too. Like the time I was bicycle touring along the Ohio River in Southern Illinois. I could swear I heard the unmistakable strains of "Dueling Banjos." I pedaled harder then. 

I'm off to Cusco, Peru manana. I'll start trekking the Inca Trail soon thereafter. 

This will likely be the last time I travel alone to a predominantly non-English speaking country. It makes me write long blogs. 

Goodnight from the airport,

Jeff

Day Four: It's a jungle out...

There.

After our bonus one hour of extra sleep, we woke feeling a tad human for a change. The pace seemed to be more relaxed too. Our guides didn't push us with that "Vamonos!" (Let's go!) Attitude which was so prevalent the previous days. In fact, our walk through the cloud forest would be just that - a mosey along to the next campsite. Rumor had it, our "being on the move" chores would be completed before lunch. We were scoring time off for good behavior! 

We heard positive descriptors about this stretch from our guides. It didn't take long before I realized they were spot on. Heaps of the original Inca Trail was what we trod upon. The route maneuvered through dense undergrowth and overgrowth. The choking foliage would have required a machete to plow through. I had a notion that if I stood still too long, the vegetation would steamroll right over me. It being the rainy season everything was slick, dewy and glossy. 

The Inca steps were scary though. A few descents were at a ladder setting angle (about 70%). What made it even more fearful though was the "rungs/stairs."  They were only 6"-8" wide. You descended by side stepping each one. A normal walk would have had you imitating the "Flying Wallendas" sans safety net. Imagine a head over bum free fall. A no Bueno moment for sure. It was quite apparent to me, there were no personal injury lawyers in the Inca Empire. Now that's an advanced civilization. 

En route we came across a terraced ruin overlooking the Urabamba River way down below. The scene was simply amazing for want of other adjectives. Nearby a male llama was hoping to "get lucky" with a female llama of his dreams. He gave chase, while she played hard to get. A South American "Animal Planet" moment for all us Peeping Toms to enjoy. 

After another group photo, we were all pleasantly seated at our campsite with lunch in front of us. The time? About 1:30 pm. Gasp! Free time! This was a concept I could handle.

Cheers from Florida, 

I hear an IPA calling my name.

Jeff