Away We Go

Home Sweet San Francisco

2008-06-24T08:30:00.000-07:00

How can it be that our year is over? Alas, all good things must come to an end. Or at least a temporary hiatus until our next adventure.

That being said, being back in San Francisco isn't so bad: friends and family and capybara-sized burritos make settling down feel more like settling in. And we do hope that all those we met along the way will come crash on our couch and drink our wine and regale us with tales. In the meantime, we're going to exaggerate our own stories of derring-do for all those that will listen.

But as a fitting end to our traveler's tales, it should be noted that Eric's last haircut around the world took place in our bathroom. Goodbye beard, hello job.

We also wanted to make a small plug for two organizations that have captured our hearts post-trip. There are so many people doing wonderful things around the world to alleviate poverty, provide opportunities, and do good in this world, and they all should be applauded. We feel blessed to have had the chance to galivant around the globe for a short while, and our trip did much to impress upon us how lucky we are to have the resources we do. In an effort to give back, we've embraced the efforts of Kiva.org and RoomtoRead.org, both of whom are making huge strides to make this world a better place for all that occupy it. We encourage you to get involved if you feel so inclined.

Thanks for reading and armchair traveling with us. We'll look forward to seeing you out on the road in the future....

Hawaii! The First Step Toward Home

2008-03-26T01:15:00.000-07:00

Aloha! The first leg of our journey homeward was a Hawaiian foray with friends and family. The perfect way to ease back into the U.S. of A.! We first landed on the Big Island, where we were greeted by Kathleen's family, and.... best yet... little Ellie, the 10-month old wunderniece that we'd been missing terribly. It was a glorious reunion, made all the more picture-perfect with tropical sunsets, ample mai-tai's and Ellie's motorboat sounds in the pool.

We next alighted for Kauai to celebrate our friend Dan's 40th. What can be better than having some of your nearest and dearest friends all transported to paradise together? Really, nothing. Although the sunsets, snorkeling, ample mai-tai's, and moonlit ocean swims didn't hurt.

And to end our tropical escape, we decided to re-hike the Na Pali Coast's Kalalau trail that we first endeavored on our honeymoon in June 2007. This time we brought good friends with us, but not nearly enough whiskey. As such, we're not entirely convinced our pals would hike it again. Alas, the waterfall helped considerably.

Haircuts Around The World: Bolivia - The Final Adventure

2008-03-07T20:30:00.000-08:00

It was our last night in Bolivia. We finished shopping for gifts and souvenirs, made a quick run to find a brewpub, and then we walked down to haircut alley near our hotel in La Paz. There were a good 20 places to choose from, and I made sure, much to Kathleen's frustration, that we walked by all of them. It takes a trained eye to spot (in less than a few seconds) the differences that could make or break my haircut. Disaster is always right around the corner. And this was going to be my welcome home hairdo. What immediately caught my eye were the pictures/posters of Kurt Cobain, Leonardo Dicaprio and 'N Sync on the wall. If these folks got their hair cuts here, it must be good. We walked in, I sat down, and the magic unfolded.

The first surprise was that he lit a flame to sanitize the blades and heat them up. He later used the same flame to heat up some oil (at least that is what it looked like) that was mixed into the shaving cream. It was a careful cut on top with just the blade (no guard) and it looked amazing. He took great attention with the beard, including the use of a straight edge and shaving cream. It was quite a magical experience and a wonderful way to end the Haircuts Around the World adventure. Overall this was a 9 out of 10.

Bolivia: La Paz

2008-03-06T14:24:00.000-08:00

The pollution, poverty, and chaos of La Paz keep it from being wholly lovable in the grandest sense, but that’s not to say that it’s without charm. You just have to scratch a bit below the surface and have the time and lungs to give the city the benefit of the doubt. Amidst the grime and traffic lurk fantastic restaurants, colorful bars, and a vibrant student life. On a clear day, La Paz enjoys some crazy great views of Mt. Illimani. And even in this heavily industrialized and modernized city, traditional Bolivian dress remains a colorful constant. Indeed color is the much-needed antidote to La Paz’s often gray air. Luckily frequent street parades and vibrant micros (gravity-defying public buses that chug and belch along the steep city streets) add flair.

The witch’s market is a camera-toter’s favorite, where gringos can ogle traditional remedies like llama fetuses meant to be buried under new houses to bring good luck. But despite the open-jawed tourists, this is the real deal: witch doctors and fortune tellers ply their wares and skills on the street for locals in search of healing or hexing.

And despite the somewhat insane vehicular sparring on the crowded roads, we did see this handy fellow monitoring pedestrian flow on the crosswalks, called zebra crossings in this neck of the woods.

Things We Ate On The Street: Bolivia

2008-03-05T22:41:00.000-08:00

Bolivian street food was oh-so-good to us that we have come up with some awards for our favorite delicacies.

Grand prize snackmaster winner: The snack to end all snacks was the saltena. No other street fare has come even close (except for Uganda’s chapati, which we still drool over in our sleep). The name comes from their original place of origin: Salta, Argentina. But today, they are a purely Bolivian treat. Calling them a derivation of an empanada doesn’t do them justice. The outer baked dough is slightly sweet and envelops an inner filling of chicken, beef or veggies, all liberally dosed with a drippy, slurpy, secret sauce of intoxicating goodness.

They are usually only available mid-morning and completely worth dragging yourself out of bed. We did extensive research and found the most delicious ones were in Potosi and at artisanal saltenerias in La Paz. But really you should eat them wherever you are, as often as you can.

Most abnormally large fruit that still tastes normal: Check out that avocado! It’s as big as Kathleen’s head! And that’s only a quarter of it. Bolivia’s fruits and veggies were great. As, surprisingly, was the red wine from Tarija. Cheers!

Best shopping experience: We read about an order of cloistered nuns who sell pickled fruit through a revolving door at their convent, and we couldn’t resist the intrigue. Sure enough, you knock on the door, politely ask the hidden Sister if you might buy some pickled lemons, let your money be spun away from you, and await your heavenly treat. The lemons themselves were a bit sweet on their own, but would have been delightful over ice-cream had we had some.

Best Fresh Vitamin C: Oh beloved grapefruit squeezer, how we adored you! Tart and delicious! And you reminded us of the sugar cane press in Egypt that was such a hit. Worth noting is that Eric was not actually allowed to operate the machinery. They have professionals for that.

Best salty snack: Oh when the cold breeze whips down your jacket, there’s nothing like some hot buttered popcorn on your way home.

Best snack that looked like dog food: Giant puffed maize. Sold in giant plastic sacks. For giant-sized hunger!

Best medicinal snack: Chewing coca leaves saved us on many a high-altitude endeavor, as they warded off headaches, fatigue, and hunger. You simply wad a bunch of them between your cheek and gum, and swallow the juice as you traipse along. Adding an alkaloid like lime ash (which is similar to a small rock) helps draw out the medicinal benefits. The beneficial effects of coca leaf chewing are well documented, but the plant remains hugely controversial for obvious reasons (i.e. it’s lucrative derivative cocaine). The U.S., among others, is always wanting to eradicate coca fields and ties political favors to the success of ending the war on drugs. It’s a shame, as coca leaves play an important role historically, spiritually, and practically in the lives of most Bolivians (and indeed most Andean countries). Politically it’s a hot issue, and t-shirts proclaiming (in Spanish) that coca leaves are not a drug are hugely popular among the backpacking set.

Most unlikely place to get chocolate: Who knew that Ghirardelli’s came from the jungle? Well, probably a lot of people, actually. But still, it was fun to see cacao in its original pod form hanging from a tree. Crack that baby open to reveal a squishy mass of hard seeds (the cacao beans) nestled in white slime. Really, much tastier than it sounds, as you slurp off the goo to suck on the bean.

Bolivia: Lake Titicaca

2008-03-03T14:23:00.001-08:00

Funny to be scrounging for blankets less than 24 hours after we were kicking off thin sheets in the heat. Such is the contrast of Bolivia. A whirlwind combo of small plane, free-wheeling taxi, and overcrowded minibus deposited us in Copacabana in the moonlight. The minibus segment was the most fun, as we were the only non-Bolivians (save for one Spaniard) en route (perhaps because the Lonely Planet mentions that minibuses are unsafe between La Paz and Copacabana--- a fact we didn’t read until *after* we landed. Oh well). We had a bag of peanuts with us that we offered around, and it’s always such fun to see how food invites a shared community. In no time, people are slapping you on the back, grinning widely, sharing stories, and little kids want to sit in your lap. Just think if we’d had beer to pass around!

Going from sea level to 13,200 feet meant that sleep did not come easily. The next day, we explored the town’s Cathedral, most notable for its Virgin.

Evidently she was carved by a descendant of one of the last Inca warriors. Albeit the artist’s first attempt was rejected and he had to go back for some schooling before providing the current Virgin. She is a sight to behold, mostly for the reverence surrounding her. Ever since she was brought to the altar, miracles have occurred and great mystery and spirituality surrounds her. She is known as the ‘black virgin’ although we must admit she looked pretty pale to us. In any case, she resides upstairs in the cathedral, in a beautiful room decked out with lights, flowers, and a hushed group of devoted believers. The thought is that if she’s ever moved, there will be a flood. Also of note, are the lines of decorated cars parked outside the cathedral. They come for the blessing of the automobiles, a ritual whereby alcohol is poured over the cars to ensure a safe journey home. Better than drinking it before hopping behind the wheel, we suppose.

We next set sail for the Isla del Sol on the world’s slowest motorboat. It’s quite possible we could have swum faster, but it was a lovely ride nonetheless as the snowcapped Cordillera Real came into view. As we disembarked off the gringo float, there were hoards of kids wanting to take your luggage and lead you to a hotel. They were low-pressure and harmless, but what was not so harmless was the gorgeous but STEEP Inca staircase that leads up to town. Bordered by a channeled waterfall (the Inca’s fountain of youth), the steps climb past terraced quinoa fields, handicraft sellers, braying donkeys, women doing their wash, and views that make you gasp from beauty as much as physical exertion. The island is resplendent with timeless Inca architectural ruins surrounded by the luminous blue lake. It’s quite striking. We enjoyed sunset views from a hilltop pizzeria, watching distant (for now) rain and lightning as the sky burned orange under the clouds.

Isla del Sol is a walker’s paradise, as long as you keep chewing coca leaves to ward off headaches. On the north side of the island are ruins with a labyrinth of rooms, nooks, crannies, sacrificial tables, and the sacred rock (Titicaca: crouching puma) that the lake is named for. Wending our way back home, we weaved through small villages and farms, stopped for lunch and to watch hippies trying to sell jewelry, and hit the island’s big museum. And by big, we mean in earnestness. It’s actually just one small room, and the caretaker had to send his 11-year old son home to find the key to unlock it when we showed up. That being said, it did have it’s charm, as it’s devoted to the ‘submerged city’ north of the island where excavations in 2000 revealed a massive stone temple and accompanying treasures 8 meters underwater. The stuff of Indiana Jones, really!

Upon our departure, the rain finally arrived. In full force. And just in time for our half hour walk back down the slippery stairs to catch the ferry. Thank God for the plastic rainsuits we’ve been lugging around since South Africa.

Bolivia: Madidi National Park

2008-02-26T14:05:00.000-08:00

Jungle fever! Being this close to the Amazon, we couldn`t resist a short foray into its green and rainy depths. Landing on a grassy landing strip in Rurrenebaque, our oxygen-deprived lungs breathed a happy sigh of relief at the low altitude, and we joyfully stripped off layers of fleece. The next morning, we motored up the fast-moving cappuccino-colored waters of an Amazon tributary to Chalalan Ecolodge. This place got big props from fellow travelers and rave reviews from the Lonely Planet, so we dug deep in our wallets to enjoy three glorious nights in jungle splendor.

Chalalan's accolades are well merited, one of the few truly community-run eco-lodges in this rare swath of the Amazon, Chalalan makes the most of it's local flavor. Started in the 1990's by the neighboring community of San Jose De Uchupiamonas (say that three times fast), Chalalan is built by locals, with local materials, uses local guides, and proceeds have already funded a school and medical clinic. It's a beautiful spot and one of the few places where you can actually stay in Madidi National Park, near relatively untouched rainforest.

We had a little paradisaical cabana with a requisite hammock out front, and we spent our days tromping through the National Park and sweating our way through our limited supply of clean clothes. Twilight meant beer and sunset swims in the Chalalan lake, braving the hopefully-sated appetites of the resident caymans. It was kind of funny to jump headfirst into the dark, but blissfully refreshing, water at dusk only to don headlamps and search for flesh-eating aquatic reptiles along the shore mere hours later. Really, that's only a slight exaggeration.

Our first night walk started with a hunt for the elusive boa constrictor. And admittedly some part of us perhaps wanted him to remain hidden. Particularly disconcerting was the fact that our search began in one of the lodge's main buildings, where evidently boa's like to congregate in the rafters. Ahem. We did find one in a tree nearby. And during the day spotted capuchin monkeys, spider monkeys, all sorts of spiders, and...the grand pooh-bah...a giant ant-eater! While giant ant-eater might not conjure up the same awe as seeing, say, a snow leopard or jaguar, it is a super impressive (and big!) animal to witness in the wild. Our guide had never seen a full-grown one before (and he grew up in the jungle), so he was foaming at the mouth with excitement. And no, sadly, we do not have a photo. Doh!

Perhaps in our best interest we did not see the bushmaster snake. This fella is particularly notable for the fact that if you threaten his awaiting-to-be-hatched eggs at any point, and even if you do so completely unwittingly by walking down a jungle trail, this snake will follow you for up to 500 meters before striking. And likely killing you. Fun facts to have in the back of your mind as you stumble through the steamy jungle.

By far our favorite animal, though, was the capybara, the world's largest rodent. He's endearing in a way that only the world's largest rodent could be. We're thinking this will be the focal point of the best-selling children's book we plan to write and illustrate in our free time.

Truth be told, jungle walks searching for animals can be really rather boring unless you really know your trees and plants. It's 10,000 degrees out. You're covered in way too much long-sleeved, long-panted clothing to keep from getting rare jungle rashes and bites, your sunscreen mixes with bugspray in your eyes, and it feels like you're trying to exercise in a sauna. And the scenery is pretty unchanging.

On the positive side, we were lucky enough to be lumped in with a group of fun-loving souls in our jungle paradise. And coca-leaf chewing, leche-de-puma drinking, and awkward dance events were made all the more delightful by the company we kept. This extends wholeheartedly to the entire Chalalan staff. Many of whom joined us in a hilarious tri-lingual game of cards on our last night. Explaining the game Bullsh#$%#t in English, Spanish, and Quechua was a cultural experience not to be forgotten (no, really, if you don't have the card, just lie, that's what you're supposed to do!).

Haircuts Around The World: Rurre

2008-02-23T20:20:00.000-08:00

It was jungle hot and humid outside even in the early evening. We were in the jungle region of Bolivia and it was an amazing contrast to La Paz. We wandered the streets looking for haircut alley. What immediately caught my eye were the pictures of potential new hairdos all over the walls. We carefully scanned them all but never found one that seemed to fit my demanding tastes, so we settled for the clipper #1 on top and a trim up on the beard.

It did not take more than 30 seconds before I was dripping in sweat. The barber joked to Kathleen by asking her what the translation was for "flood," as he noted my forehead. The cut on top was simple and straightforward. I began to get a little nervous about the beard as he reached for a guard that was a little too short, but it all turned out well. The Bolivians don't sport beards very often, so I don't think he gets much practice. The best that I could get was a once over with clipper #2, a pat down of my brow, and a push out the door. Not a bad cut but none of the fancy moves I have had the pleasure of experiencing so far on the trip. In any event, a haircut for less than $2 is pretty good. Overall I would give this a 4 out of 10.

Bolivia: Sucre

2008-02-21T13:46:00.000-08:00

Sucre is known as the White City of the Americas, and it lives up to its moniker with striking white architecture and all the colonial trappings of grandeur and elegance. It`s a really beautiful city, and the setting is superb. It feels like the perfect place to start a Once Upon A Time fairytale. We spent our days strolling its streets, admiring its churches, climbing its bell towers, and poking our heads into all of its museums. Including the Natural History Museum, where Eric was nearly attacked by a condor!

It was in Sucre where we embarked on our most cheesy tour....taking the Dino Truck to the Parque Cretacico, Bolivia`s Jurassic Park. Bumping along in the back of a pick-up truck outfitted with bench seats and dinosaur claws, we made our way to the cement factory where the world`s longest track of dinosaur footprints were found while excavating cement. To be fair, and despite our goofy photos, the place was impressive. They discovered the footprints a mere 25 years ago, and the once-flat earth has since been tectonically pushed into a steep wall, but you can easily see scores of various dinosaur prints. It`s pretty incredible. The museum is well done, and they have all these recreations of dinosaurs that are supposed to be anatomically accurate based on skin fossils and bones. Best yet, they have piped in sound!

On a completely unrelated note, we also discovered that Che Guevara stayed in the same hotel as us! We didn`t think he went in for colorful patios with garden fountains and cable TV. Who knew?

Speaking of political figures, we had a really interesting and shocking conversation with a taxi driver en route to the bus station. He was the first non-Evo Morales supporter that we`ve met. Instead, he advocated for a hard line leader with a military presence in Bolivia. He said that the reason Chile was so rich, was because of Pinochet and that Bolivia needed a Pinochet. When we questioned the death toll under Pinochet and suggested there were other ways to affect economic change, he said the deaths were necessary to get Chile where it is today. We decided to keep our traps shut. But undeniably Bolivia suffers from losing coastal access to Chile, and jealousies and comparisons run rampant.

Bolivia: Potosi

2008-02-18T13:05:00.000-08:00

Today we landed in Potosi, supposedly the highest city in the world at 4,070 meters (13,300 feet!). Our bus ride was mostly uneventful, save for three tire changes done the old-fashioned way (i.e. no power tools). Our hotel, while lovely, was remarkably Being John Malkovich-esque. Poor Eric must have clocked his noggin` about twelve times.

Potosi has an amazing history, as it was once the richest town in the Americas, and more populous than Paris. That was back in the good ole days of colonialists plundering the rocks for silver. Potosi`s Cerro Rico, literally rich hill, meant decades of wealth in the 15oo´s. African slaves were used, locals were used, basically anyone who could be exploited was, and the town has the gorgeous colonial architecture, stunning cathedral, and impressive historic mint to prove it. These days, people still mine Cerro Rico, but it is subsistence living of the most dangerous variety. Nearly all miners die of black lung within 10 to 15 years of entering the mines, and accidents and cave-ins take at least 20 lives a year. These days nickel and tin are sought after, as the silver appears to be mostly tapped out. The style of mining is little changed since the mountain was first dug into. A handful of miners have escaped the work to become guides for popular tours that lead curious travelers straight into the heart of the mountain to witness the work in progress. And we were curious.

There is all sorts of etiquette, ritual, and preparation that goes into visiting the mines. First we had to suit up with headlamps and protective clothing. Next, we stopped to buy gifts for the miners. As the mines are all cooperatively owned, miners are responsible for buying all of their equipment, and supply shops line the road leading up the mountain. The most popular and appreciated offerings were dynamite, coca leaves (to stave off hunger while working, as you can`t eat in the mines because there`s too much arsenic in the air), and alcohol. The rot gut of choice is a potable 96% grain alcohol. Basically it`s as potent as you can get without killing yourself, and a striking nod to the difficulties of mine work that may need to be forgotten in a drunken stupor. And yes, we tried it.

Gifts of coca leaves and alcohol are also left as offerings to Tio, the devil that oversees the hellish work in the mines. Literally Tio means Uncle in Spanish, but it`s a euphemism for the devil in the mines. While Bolivians are by and large devout Catholics, most miners believe that God leaves them at the entrance to the mine, and they have to pay their respects to the underworld in order to be kept safe in the belly of the earth. During the Miner`s Carnival, a llama fetus is buried at the mine`s entrance, and fresh llama blood is splashed around the entry to appease Tio.

Donning our headlamps, we bow our way into the mouth of the earth, following wagon tracks. The natural light disappears, and the dark wet cold is replaced by hot, narrow, damp passageways, loud with the hissing pipes of condensed air that run down the shafts to power drills far below. We walk briskly, ducking low to avoid chutes, and breathing heavily in the thin smelly air (14,000 ft). We crawl up a narrow chute to watch how they winch up heavy rubber baskets filled with earth from the depths of the mine. Shortly after this point, the claustraphobia, heat, fumes, dust, altitude, and general sissiness conspire to make Kathleen question whether she really needs to venture further into the mine. The answer, after a few more meters of descent and rising panic is no. Luckily the guides are prepared for this, and the incredibly sweet and kind Renaldo leads Kathleen back into the sunshine. Meanwhile, Eric continued down into the depths.

We proceeded down another three levels, sometimes crawling on our hands and knees or working our way down ladders (avoiding at all times the many holes that go so far down you can´t see the bottom). We stopped on the third level to say hello to the miners that were filling the rubber baskets that were being raised to the first level by a motor. We even had a chance to pick up shovels and pitch in to help. The saddest part is seeing the fourteen and sixteen year old kids that were working in this group. We shared some of our gifts and then proceeded to crawl down to the fourth level. Here we found a separate collective of six miners, working only with hand tools, who had to carry whatever they found out with them on their backs. The conditions down here were horrible, it was hot (they did not wear shirts) and it was incredibly hard to see and breathe. No breathable air is forced into the mine, and we were taking in only what came through the small entrance way four levels above and the noxious chemicals and gases, including silica dust, arsenic gas and acetylene vapors among other nasty things. We gave them some dynamite, coca leaves, alcohol, and soda and made our way out as quickly as possible.

While outside, Kathleen chatted with miners on their break. None of whom was shy to ask about how much money we make or how much airplane tickets cost. Questions that we are embarassed to answer in a country where the average annual income is less than $3,000. All things told, the whole experience was eye-opening and valuable. We had the luck of seeing a German documentary on the mines called The Devil`s Miner a few days after our visit that deals with the plight of a child miner. We highly recommend it.

Bolivia: Tupiza

2008-02-16T11:58:00.000-08:00

Heading eight hours south on a bus ride that had us alternating between photo snapping and Hail Mary`s, we made our way to the stunning red cliffs and lush desert scenery of Tupiza. The environs are the former stomping grounds of Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, and you can easily imagine the two outlaws hiding in dry box canyons whistling Hollywood theme songs. It`s an undeniably beautiful landscape with an American Wild West feel to it. We have all sorts of screenplay ideas based on it that will undoubtedly make us our millions. But more on that later.

We signed up for the impressively-named Triathalon, an athletic smorgasborg of hiking, horseback riding, and mountain biking. The day began with pedaling past sunflowers, pueblos, green gardens, and red rock fin formations. Trading our iron steeds for the real deal, we saddled up and rode up a dry wash toward the Valle des Machos (can you spot the macho in the picture?), where phallic formations give the valley its name. It was like riding into a film set, trotting past cactus (mostly of the hallucinogenic San Pedro variety) and stark desert scenery. For lunch, we had the Tupiza speciality, tamales made with llama meat. Tasty! The day ended with a white-knuckle (at least for Kathleen) descent of close to 1,500 meters in the late-afternoon sun. Eric weathered a loose brake, then a missing brake, then 2 flat tires, but still managed to beat Kathleen to the bottom. Doh!

Traveling to and from Tupiza, we also had a sobering look at Bolivia`s striking poverty. We knew from reading that more than half the country went without electricity, heat, or running water---a real tragedy in a land of cold, harsh climates. From the local bus window, we saw evidence of this everywhere. People eking out a living where they could, taking care of hygiene wherever they could (no wonder you can`t drink the water), and working long hard hours regardless of age (young and old). At the same time, we found everyone to be incredibly helpful and kind. We hope that Presidente Evo Morales is able to turn the economic situation around to everyone`s benefit, and we have been trying to interview locals about their views on him and politics in general.

Bolivia: The Salares and Uyuni

2008-02-14T11:59:00.000-08:00

Crossing into Bolivia was like stepping into the final frontier, both literally and figuratively. Since we are flying home out of La Paz, it marked the last border crossing of our journey. And since we were entering via dirt roads in a barren landscape, it had a middle of nowhere feel to it. Crossing borders always has a bit of an exciting nail-biting anticipation about it. Will someone plant illegal drugs in our bags? Will we get thrown into a dank prison where our Spanish will really improve? One never knows.

Once we were stamped and approved, we hefted our backpacks onto 4x4s for a three day trip through Bolivia`s famed lakes and salares (salt fields) toward Uyuni. This has to be one of most visually stunning sections of our travels, a veritable nature freak show of the most beautiful variety. We gawked over lakes that glowed white, red, and green. We zoomed our lenses on flamingos, hoping for the perfect shot (didn`t happen). And we traversed a landscape ranging from brilliant hues of red rock, to endless patches of fresh snow, to looming volcanoes. Incredible. Fitting that one of the surreal rock landscapes is called Desierto del Dali (yes of Salvador Dali fame). Undoubtedly the altitude played a role in our out-of-body experience, as we reached 5,000 meters (16,400 feet!) at the geyser field, where one bubbling fumarole glowed a devilish red. Belching, gurgling, spitting and hissing, the fumaroles created an awesome landscape fit for Jabba the Hut.

We had been warned that car trouble went hand in hand with enjoying the views. Careening our way over bumpy, gravelly, non-existent roads through the stark landscape, we understood why. Luckily our group of ten travelers was a hardy upbeat bunch. For us, breakdowns meant hack circles, or snowball fights, or whatever else the landscape dictated.

A highlight of the trip was staying in a salt hotel, where virtually everything (beds, tables, chairs, walls) was constructed of salt. The floor was the most incredible, just pristine sparkling grains of salt that made for an exfoliatory experience on bare feet after showering.

On our final day, we rose before dawn to watch the sun rise over the salt flats. Being the rainy season, the flats are under a few inches of water, making the landscape a jaw-dropping mirror-y mirage. Driving along, it`s impossible to discern the skyline from the earth, and distant land masses look like floating islands. Words can`t describe it and pictures don`t do it justice, but suffice to say we`d head back in a heartbeat. Nearing Uyuni, we saw the salt being raked into pyramids for drying and selling. And then we visited the train cemetery, where old steam engines go to sleep and to be photographed in black and white.

Arriving in Uyuni, we experienced our first taste of Bolivian culture. Nearly every woman we saw was dressed in the traditional fashion of two long braids, a bowler hat, apron, and a full skirt. Unlike parts of Peru, where traditional dress is often used as a money-making venture for tourist photos, here it`s simply tradition. We didn`t get nearly as many photos of people as we would have liked because we felt intrusive, but we loved wandering the market where everything from dried llama fetuses to blue jeans were on offer. What with it being Valentine`s day and all, we treated ourselves to some good dark chocolate and decadent t.v. watching. Chocolate kisses to you all as well!

Things We Ate On The Street: Chile

2008-02-11T22:03:00.000-08:00

You know, we really didn`t do Chile justice with regard to street food. Without a doubt, there are many more streetside culinary creations than we were able to sample. But since we were mostly camping in Chile, and then in larger cities, we didn`t get to get our fingers nearly as greasy as we should have. That being said, it`s worth noting a few treats. First of all, submarinos. Now, these may technically be Argentine and are more a cafe than street delicacy, but we ate them in Chile. Basically, when you ask for hot chocolate, you get a glass of warm milk and a chocolate bar shaped like a submarine to dunk in at will. Brilliant!

And, of course, there were empanadas to be had. Cheesy streetside goodness. And by the time we got to San Pedro de Atacama, we were passing more salt flats than we had time to lick. But our two favorite treats were ones that we sadly didn`t capture on film. Choripan and mote con huespillas (spelling vague). The former was barbecued for us by Becca and Gonzalo, our insanely generous and lovely Santiago hosts. We had asked them about the latter, because we saw it being sold everywhere in Santiago out of rolling carts. It wasn`t in our dictionary, and we were a little wary about the dark floating bits. They explained that it was a Santiago specialty of barley soaked in sugary peach juice with peach bits added. And then, like the gracious and thoughtful duo that they are, they prepared them at home. We, too, will soon prepare this at home for any and all who want to come by! Yum!

Chile: San Pedro de Atacama

2008-02-11T14:25:00.000-08:00

Twenty-three hours on the bus, countless dubbed videos, way too many saltine crackers, and very little sleep later we found ourselves on the dusty streets of San Pedro de Atacama in northern Chile. As the gateway to Bolivia, the stunning scenery of the Atacama desert, and the further reaches of Chile, San Pedro is a gringo magnet extraordinaire. The one-horse main street is dominated by travel agencies, curio shops, internet cafes, and restaurants catering to vegetarians. Jumping into the fray with a ¨if you can`t beat ém¨ attitude, we joined a few organized tours, feasted on mushroom and avocado sandwiches, and gazed starry-eyed at the blissful night sky.

We spent a late-afternoon traveling out to the Valle de Luna with a busload of Brazilian travelers. This ended up being a hilarious tour, because for some reason the guide insisted on speaking to us in French. Even after we clarified that while Kathleen spoke French, we were American. But he claimed to LOVE the French language beyond all else and couldn`t help himself. His enthusiasm was such that we gave up et voila! In any language, the sunset painting the distant mountains and volcanoes was beautiful.

The next morning we rose at 4am (UGH!) to head out to see the Tatio Geyser field. After bumping along a dirt road for hours and swilling down some coca tea to stave off altitude sickness at 4,200 meters (13,779 feet), we were so glad we`d made the trip. No sooner had we gotten out of the car, then the ground mere steps from us shot up a welcoming spout of steaming hello. Everywhere you turned the earth was bubbling, boiling, and steaming---it was otherworldly. And sinking into a big pit of the noxious but warm water was just the thing for taking off the dawn chill. Our day ended with more gorgeous scenery, a high-altitude stroll through a box canyon resplendent with cactus, and more guilty gringo food.

Haircuts Around The World: Chile

2008-02-09T12:27:00.000-08:00

I never actually got my haircut in Chile, but we saw some excellent places for our next visit. We couldn´t help but share the pictures.

Chile: Santiago and Valparaiso

2008-02-08T14:01:00.000-08:00

We did a bit of a whistle-stop tour of Santiago and Valparaiso, doing neither justice, but loving both. We hate to think we´ve become ¨If it´s Tuesday, it must be Rome¨ type travelers, but with our departure date looming, we´ve been on a bit of fast-track to Bolivia lately. We really wanted to alight in Santiago for two reasons: both to see the former stomping grounds of Eric`s sister, who studied abroad in nearby Vina del Mar, and to catch up with an old friend of Kathleen`s from Backroads.

We spent one day tromping around the city, marveling at the Museum of Pre-Columbian Art and being equally impressed by the amazing street art. Then we spent the next few days wrangling with the Bolivian Embassy for visas (actually, they were incredibly gracious and the process was painless, which doesn`t really make for great stories...alas), and being spoiled by Becca and Gonzalo (her ever-charming Chileno partner), who fed us choripan (barbecued sausage stuffed in dreamy bread....deelish!) and grilled meat delights and plied us with Chilean wine and their cute cat until we were afraid we might never leave. Lucky for them, we already had bus tickets to San Pedro de Atacama.

Hopping on a bus to Valparaiso, we were amazed at how much it resembled San Francisco, with pastel-colored homes tumbling down the cliffs toward the ocean and bright trolleys ferrying passengers to and fro. They have these amazing historic elevators to help you access the hilly terrain, and, like Santiago, more amazing street art. We felt both happy and homesick.

Haircuts Around The World: Mendoza

2008-02-05T23:00:00.000-08:00

It has been a month since my last haircut and, and I was begining to shy away from the public because of my long hair. Although nobody said it, I knew they were thinking, ¨what is a hippie like you doing in this town.¨ Then again, I know that some readers have trouble telling the difference between the before and after photos. We had a surprisingly hard time finding any place in Mendoza, but once we found one we quickly found a few more. Arsenio (no relation to Arsinio Hall) was up to the task.

The peliqularia was clean and had nice tango music playing in the background. I now know enough haircut Spanish to get by on my own and secure a clean cut. A simple clipper #1 on top with a #2 or #3 for the beard. The straight edge razor blade came out late in the game, but he used shaving cream (which is somewhat rare). He did not take great care around the mustache, which is an important place to get right in Kathleen´s view. Everything else went smoothly and he added some after shave loation to my beard, which left me smelling like the haircut place for the rest of the day. Overall, a 6 out of 10.

As for why my head is cut, I walked into a tree. There are a few low hanging tree limbs on the streets of Mendoza, and when night falls they become hazards for tall Americans. It hurts!

Things We Ate On The Street: Argentina

2008-02-05T22:06:00.000-08:00

It seems like we should have more to post in this entry, as we literally ate our way through Argentina, but streetside vendors seemed to be less popular in the regions we visited. For the most part, we ate tons of delicious helado (ice cream) whenever we could buy it (which was almost always). Taking their Italian gelato roots and doing them one better (we didn't know it was possible!), the ice-cream in Argentina is the best we've ever had, and we've done some pretty thorough research. Our other favorite streetfood was the pan relleno, delicious homemade bread stuffed with anything from corn and carrots to ham and cheese. We even managed to get Eric's parents involved in this special culinary mission. Buen provecho!

Argentina: Mendoza

2008-02-05T10:20:00.002-08:00

We´ve been drinking enough Argentine red wine that we figured we owed it to ourselves to journey to the heart of Malbec. Organized wine tours were a bit pricier than we wanted to shell out, so we went back to our roots and rented bikes to do a little tasting on our own in the Maipu region. Rolling from vineyard to vineyard, we marveled at the intricate canal system that waters Argentine grapes. Very cool and interesting. And the lack of hills makes for easy pedaling within view of the snowcapped Andes. And the more we drank, the easier and more beautiful it seemed! We also visited a chocolate- and liquor-producer, and Eric had his first taste of absinthe. The rumors are true---it does make you crazy! What we especially loved was the warm reception from everyone we met. Mendoza has to be one of the friendliest places we´ve visited.

The next evening we traded our bike saddles for saddle sores, climbing upon some trusty Argentine steeds with a real gaucho. We knew he was legit, because he had on a beret and a woven belt, and he could still ride while talking in rapid Spanish on his cell phone. Impressive. Despite being a stone's throw from town, it felt like we had really gotten away on our sunset ride into the mountains. The ride was to be followed by a traditional asado (barbecue), and they started up a fire to make charcoal when we returned. And we waited. And waited. Three hours and many hungry guitar rounds later, we sank our teeth into some tasty and SLOW cooked carne. Truly one of the best meals we had in Argentina. The next morning, we ran for the bus to Santiago, Chile, and Kathleen discovered blisters and sore muscles on every part that moved. This seemed inexplicable, as we only had a two-hour ride, and it was fairly obvious that the horse had done most of the work. Perhaps it was from the death grip on the saddle when we galloped? Either way, it was the perfect end to our Argentine escapades.

Argentina: Lakes District

2008-02-01T10:20:00.000-08:00

Stumbling off the boat, we lugged our bags to the bus station and hopped aboard a Bariloche-bound bus to explore Argentina´s Lake District. Nothing like a good 8-hour bus ride after a 4-day ferry ride. So much for getting in shape in Torres del Paine. Doh! But within 24-hours we had our packs (loaded down with pasta, oatmeal, and hot cocoa powder) on again, and we set off for a 4-day jaunt in Nahuel Huape National Park. We met a charming Aussie on the bus to the trailhead, and we ended up becoming traveling partners for the next 5 days. Much fun. Despite the fact that Ben convinced us to hoof it up the mountain, as opposed to taking the chairlift like the Lonely Planet suggested, he was excellent company. And he had a backpack full of chocolate. Nice!

We told ourselves that we were going to do this trip in a bit of luxurious style, staying in the mountain huts instead of packing a tent. We envisioned all sorts of camaraderie with our fellow refugio-mates, where we´d all play guitar and sing and then slip quietly into comfy warm beds. What we´d forgotten, however, is that mountain huts are called refuges (and not hotels or inns or bed-and-breakfasts) for a reason. Pack 20 stinky hikers into a stuffy room with dirty mattresses, and you have a recipe for snoring, sweating, and unbelievable stench. Glamorous, no? There´s a reason we try and avoid youth hostel dorms, and it´s not just because we´re too old and married. Eric killed a giant wolf spider within inches of his head the first night. Sweet dreams.

But the settings were divine. And the hiking was outrageously beautiful (and kinda hard!). And because it was so hot out, you could actually swim in the lakes, which was fantastic. Or sometimes just dip your head in, if you were feeling a tad wimpy and cold. And we did hear a little guitar and charanga (an instrument of the Andes with a lovely twangy sound) one afternoon. And our Aussie friend Ben brought a flute, which was great. And while we got somewhat used to the snoring every night, we never got used to the blood-sucking bite and insanity-inducing buzz of the tabones, a vicious type of horsefly. We call this lakeside video The flight of the Tabone.

Chile: Navimag Across The Open Seas

2008-01-28T10:19:00.000-08:00

Atencion Pasajeros! Retiring our hiking boots for awhile, we boarded the Navimag to ferry our way northward from Puerto Natales to Puerto Montt. Unbelievably, this is one of the most efficient ways to travel this stretch of Chile, as the land is a broken (and beautiful) mass of fjords, islands, and snowcapped peaks. Eric was a tad nervous, as just looking at pictures of boats often makes him queasy, but we stocked up on anti-nausea medicine and hit the decks for adventure. Eric nervously took his first sealegs pill within moments of boarding, claiming the boat was moving, despite the fact that we weren´t scheduled to depart until the next morning. Reports indicate, however, that he did not respond well to teasing on this issue. But happily, for the most part it was smooth sailing past glaciers and undeveloped mountain scenery. We glided past sea otters, dolphins, and even blue whales spouting in the far distance.

With bunk beds, a shared bathroom for 22 of us per dorm cabin, and a dining room that was the spitting image of a junior high cafeteria, it wasn´t exactly the Love Boat. Not that we expected it to be, since it´s mainly a cargo boat that now caters to the backpacking set. Evidently in the winter, the cow to human ratio is stacked firmly in the bovine´s favor. But when the sun was shining on the deck, it felt like a decadent cruise. We ran into a charming Dutch couple that we´d met in Torres del Paine, and we spent much of our time drinking wine and swapping tall tales with them, amidst the constant multi-lingual announcements letting you know everything from when to eat, when to take pictures, when to take seasickness pills, and when to use the bathroom (practically). Sometimes these announcements came on at full volume at 6:30am, followed by a lengthy interlude of new age underwater music, which made us grumpy.

Seeing the Amial Glacier was a highlight, and the crew sent a zodiac boat out into the water to collect ice for the bar. Classy. We easily became accustomed to lazy days with nothing to do but re-enact scenes from Titanic (without the sinking part), read, nap, and drink wine until the stars came out. Lovely. At times the boat felt like a floating bar full of adventurers with stories to tell. One of our favorites was the surfer blonde Canadian who wore a white linen suit to dinner (in the cafeteria) and a shark tooth around his neck and told exaggerated tales of his time in Borneo. His traveling partner was a long-haired German sporting a lumberjack shirt with the sleeves torn off that he met in the airport. They were a reality TV show waiting to happen. As they say on the Navimag (several times a day), for your attention, thank you very much.

Chile: Puerto Natales Puppy Gang

2008-01-24T11:59:00.000-08:00

Okay, this one´s for the softies out there. But Puerto Natales runs amuck with stray dogs. This is heartbreaking, of course, and a real problem all over Chile where puppies are loved, but then often left to fend for themselves when they get older. Spaying and neutering is the exception rather than the rule. It´s rather crazy to see these large packs of dogs roaming all over, but they never seem aggressive or dangerous. Rather they sort of seem like lads out on the town, looking for leftovers or recruiting new members. And oddly, they almost always seem to run with other dogs their own size. There´s the group of shaggy mid-sized dogs. The larger group of bigger dogs. And, on our hostel street, there was a gang of puppies. They would waddle up the street en masse and then scramble through this hole in a fence. There were usually five or six all together, but some were camera shy. Anyone want us to mail one home to them?

Chile: Torres del Paine National Park

2008-01-24T11:53:00.000-08:00

Kathleen has dreamed of visiting Chile´s Torres del Paine for over a decade, so expectations were big. Happily, the mountains were even bigger, and we enjoyed nine glorious days of backcountry bliss. After crossing the Chilean border, we had less than 24 hours in Puerto Natales to do laundry, rent a tent and stove, buy our food, call home, reserve our ferry and send a few postcards. Thankfully, we managed all this AND even had time for a late-night pisco sour. Sleep would come later.

Packs on, we set off to see as much of the park as we could. Curiosity got the best of us, and we decided to tackle the revered Paine Circuit and the ¨W,¨ a fast-track to the park´s greatest hits. Since we can´t imagine that anyone would want to read a blow-by-blow of our trip (oatmeal breakfasts, peanut butter and crackers, hike, cheese-n-crackers, hike, pasta, sleep, do over), we´re instead including a few highlights. We hiked a lot of miles, but we always left time to stop and smell the flowers.

People: We met people from all over the world, which was much of the fun. And they had all manner of gear and experience. Often with literally everything on their back and feet rented. We met one crazy Brit who was doing 13 hour days with rented boots. On day one he already had blisters that would make a mountaineer cry. And he had failed to pack a lighter for his stove or a water bottle. But he was only 20, and youth seemed to be on his side. Plus, we can´t make too much fun, because we later learned that we had gained our own reputation at the first campground when our tent was literally being blown onto our faces with the gale-force winds. That´s what we get for being the last ones up, giving everyone time to witness our poor staking job. Throughout the week, people would mention having seen our tent (and offered to help us stake it). Doh!

Vino Caliente: While we certainly don´t advocate having a lot of man-made structures in the backcountry, who are we to argue when they sell boxes of cheap, red wine? Luckily, thanks to our friend Lu´s brilliant advice, we had prepared for this by buying cinammon sticks and dried orange slices and ginger and brown sugar in Puerto Natales. So each night we were able to stave off the cold (and the sore muscles) by brewing up a pot of mulled wine. Highly recommended. Especially when accompanied with Toblerone dark chocolate. Not that we would have ever been that indulgent. Oh no.

Walking sticks: We are completely won over. Admittedly we at first thought these were kinda dorky. But then some of our favorite and coolest hiking partners, like AC and Malsy, started swearing by them. And since our knees were aching and cracking, we decided to give it a go. We will never ever turn back. We encourage all of you to go out and buy some trekking poles. Eric even uses them walking on concrete to the grocery store these days.

Natural beauty: The sea of ice that was Glacier Grey. The stark moraine of John Garner Pass. The silent soaring of two Andean condors. The insane turquoise of Largo Pehoe (which inspired Eric to leap up and down after a particularly tiring day). We were undeniably lucky with the weather (only had to put on raingear once!). Especially on the day we rose at dawn to watch day break over the park´s namesake towers. We now feel justified in buying all those postcards with the glowing red torres---it really looks like that!

We came back to Puerto Natales with bulging calves, stinky socks, and a camera full of pics. Now, we´re off to sit on a ferry for four days, where we don´t have to walk any further than the poop deck. Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh........

Argentina: Los Glaciares National Park

2008-01-14T11:50:00.000-08:00

Leaving Tierra del Fuego we set our sights on glaciers of every size, type, and form. First stop, after a series of endless, but amazingly well-synched, buses was El Chalten. A quirky mountain town slapped together at the foot of the northern portion of Los Glaciares Parque Nacional, El Chalten charmed us with its dirt roads and ambitious sidewalks. It´s obvious that change is coming quickly to this outdoorsy Mecca under the shadow of Fitz Roy Mountain. We´re just glad we got there before it got too slick, but after a welcoming brewpub had set up shop. It boasts rugged beauty that inspires local bus drivers to stop for sunset pictures when the weather is clear. We spent two days hoofing it past milky glacial rivers to gaze in awe at the beauty of Fitz Roy mountain and its glacier. Truly spectacular. We stayed in a tin-roof hostel of plyboard and loose screws that howled with the wind, but it was blessedly warm, which could not be said of the night air. After each day´s hike, we had no choice but to hole up in our room with wine and cheese to stay warm. No choice.

We next made a break for El Calafate, and the Perito Moreno Glacier in the southern end of the park. With a rainbow arching over it, it was just as gorgeous as all the postcards promised. The best part is listening to it creak and groan and shudder, while everyone eagerly waits to see a big iceberg calve off. It´s like watching history in the making. We signed up for the ridiculously titled glacier-trek called BIG ICE, which can only be said in a deep voice while flexing your muscles. But it truly was incredible. Strapping on crampons, we ventured off into the middle of the Perito Moreno glacier to explore the otherwordly lakes, rivers and sinkholes. Everything is this surreal mouthwash blue color that makes it look like we doctored our photos. Best yet, at the trip end they poured whiskey over glacier ice to toast the fact that we didn´t lose anyone in a crevasse. Cheers!

Haircuts Around The World: The End Of The World

2008-01-08T18:45:00.000-08:00

What better place for my next haircut than the southernmost city in the world. After walking the streets for a while, I settled on Osvaldo Coiffeur Peluqueria Unisex, a promising contrast to the men only places I had been to so far. (Notice the big ships in the background of the first picture...they are heading to Antarctica). This place had a pink wall on one side and a light green one on the other. There were young women getting their hair done and older gentlemen triming up what they had left on top. This place even had two helpers sweeping up the floor and preparing mate for the barbers (see the picture below).

My cape had a definite Christmas pattern (red, white and green), and the barber looked perfect for the job. His shirt was only buttoned half way up and he was drinking mate throughout - handed to him by the beautiful blonde helper lady. ¨We¨ never had those before. He was efficient with the clippers, forgoing the #1 clipper for a cleaner and shorter cut on top (I am still working on my Spanish). No straight edge razer blades were used (losing points), but he did clean up the beard nicely (Kathleen likes it). I went for a different atmosphere with this one and it lived up to expectations. But the beard never received the special attention it deserved and no head massage (like in Uganda). Overall, I would give it a 6 out of 10.

Argentina: Camping in Tierra del Fuego

2008-01-07T16:20:00.000-08:00

With New Year`s resolutions threatening less red wine and more veggies, it seemed like the perfect time to pack up the tent and hit the great outdoors. We initially set our sights on Isla Navarino, lured by superlatives like ¨the southernmost trek in the world,¨ but ridiculous ferry prices and rumours of chest-high snow and difficult route finding led us to Parque Nacional Tierra del Fuego instead. Argentina`s first coastal national park, much of the 63,000 hectares are off limits to humans, but there are a few stretches that invite exploration. Magellan dubbed the area ¨land of fire¨ in the 1500´s when he sailed through the Beagle Channel. The name does not refer to the warmth of the area (au contraire!), but to the smoke he saw rising from local people`s fires.

Our initial idea was to rent all of our gear, but a little comparitive math made us realize we`d be better off buying a few things since we plan on camping a fair amount in the coming weeks. Unfortunately Ushuaia is better suited to buying a stuffed penguin and some Gucci sunglasses than a tent, but we managed to procure some comfy sleeping bags and pads. And then we got creative. Who needs gaitors when you have garbage bags? We bought a cheap cooking pot, plastic salad tongs (that served as our stirrers and utensils) and a whole lot of instant polenta at the local grocery store, and made our way into the backcountry for five glorious days. Admittedly, we weren`t the lighest packers, as even hardcover novels made the cut (thanks, Patrick!).

Armed with an outdated guidebook and a small map, we took a taxi to the Valle Andorra to begin our quest. And we were lost within fifteen minutes of leaving the car. The book indicated that we had to wade across the river to acess the trail, which was a daunting prospect when there were ice cubes floating downstream. We scoured the river to find the shortest distance and ended up crossing right into a soggy peat bog. With each step, our shoes filled with water as the spongy earth released its muddy goo. Determined not to cross the river again to start over, we spent an hour jumping from tree banch to larger peat mounds trying to find the trail. On the upside, it was beautiful and wierd and otherwordly, as the spongy earth breathed and gurgled as we stood on it. Of course on our way back, we discovered there was a beautiful handmade bridge just out of sight from where we crossed. Doh!

Back on track, we huffed our way up to Laguna Encantada (enchanted lake), a watery jewel ringed by snowcapped mountains, where we hunkered away from the wind and enjoyed amazing Thai tuna curry from Trader Joe`s (a perfect Christmas gift from Eric`s sister and brother-in-law). The lake, while truly enchanting, is also the result of one of Tierra del Fuego`s biggest nuisances, the non-native Canadian beaver that is busily making itself at home without predators. Originally 50 beavers were purchased by the Argentine Government as part of a commercial fur trading endeavor in the 1940`s. The project failed, and the beavers were released into the wild. The eager beavers, now estimated at 50,000 and climbing, have proliferated like mad, chewing through trees, damming rivers, and wreaking general havoc. It`s a serious problem, as environmentalists fear that the beavers could swim to the South American mainland and spell absolute disaster for the Andes. Local farmers, the government, and environmentalists are all scrambling to find a solution.

Camping here was made for our body clocks, as we could sleep until 11am (or later), not start hiking until 1pm (or 3pm), and still have a good 11 hours of daylight ahead of us. Dreamy! Not so dreamy was the really cold weather. We spent the next few days making our way toward the Paso de la Oveja (sheep`s pass). Eric dubbed the place Tierra del Frio, as we huddled in our tents from heavy snow one evening, grumbling self-righteously about the yahoos next to us who had built an illegal fire at one campsite. That is, until they invited us over and shared their flask of pisco and their chocolate. Soon we were fast friends. They were Ushuaia locals (a dad, his teenage son, and his friend), and they were an absolute highlight of our trip. They slowed their Spanish way down, regaled us with Antarctican tales (he did cargo loading and maintenance on a research boat), and we discussed music, food and the outdoors (the universals). The kids were excited to learn that we lived in California and wanted to know if we had met Blink 182 and what we thought of the latest punk music. They kept the fire going all night, getting up in shifts, and invited us to come over whenever we felt like it. This was a blessing at 6am when temperatures were well below freezing, and we needed to warm our aching bones and cold feet. As a parting gift, they gave us some raisins from his wife`s home town. So charming!

We eventually made our way up and over the snowy pass, enjoying splendid views of icy waterfalls and the Beagle Channel. The scenery was much like some of Kathleen`s favorite parts of the John Muir Trail, but decidedly colder, less crowded, and lacking in fat and happy marmots. We were amazed to only see one or two people a day, and three of the four nights, we had a camping area to ourselves. Probably a good thing, as even building a legal campfire sometimes brought out the beast in Eric.

We are now safely back in Ushuaia, where we are quickly breaking resolutions and reveling in central heating.

Argentina: Happy New Year from El Fin del Mundo

2008-01-01T17:10:00.000-08:00

Here`s raising a champagne toast to all of our friends and family in the New Year. May 2008 bring loads of love, joy, belly laughs, potlucks, good health, great happiness, peace, and much time spent together.

We rang in the New Year from the town of Ushuaia, which enjoys much recognition as being the southernmost town in the world. In truth, there`s another Chilean village, Puerto Williams, twenty miles south of Ushuaia, but who are we to argue with the Argentine Post Office that stamps your passport with an End of the World stamp?

The oddest thing about being this far south is that it stays light out really late. Never before have we raised a midnight toast without it being dark out. We clinked ridiculously overpriced beers with a friendly couple from Alaska in an Irish bar (yep, the world`s most southern one) to celebrate. But it didn`t seem right to not drink champagne, so we popped open the bottle in our hostal mini-bar (decadent!) and watched Mork and Mindy reruns in Spanish. Dreary as that sounds, it was actually quite fun.

Ushuaia is the jumping off point for Antarctica adventures, and our plan is to try and smuggle aboard a luxury yacht headed for icebergs. Barring that, we`ll likely rent a tent and camp out amidst scattered rainstorms in Tierra del Fuego.

Happy Happy New Year! Feliz Año Nuevo!

Argentina: Merry Christmas From Buenos Aires

2007-12-25T11:57:00.000-08:00

Here`s sending warm and merry wishes to all for Christmas! One of the best presents we got from Santa was a visit from Eric`s parents to come help us deck the halls in Argentina. Bill and Leah left snowy conditions in Minnesota to land in nearly 100 degree heat in Buenos Aires, and they didn`t skip a beat. Even when we told them it was a cultural faux pas to wear shorts. Impressive! (And embarassing when we realized that actually, Argentines do wear shorts.)

We had a wonderful time sharing the city (and many laughs) with them. Best yet, they kindly shlepped over loads of essentials for us (favorite deodorants, guidebooks, and yummy homemade mint chocolate chip meringue cookies)! As luck would have it, our toilet broke the day before their arrival (!). Thank goodness for the hardware store on the corner, and Eric`s mastery of the mechanics.

Christmas traditions are a bit different here. People usually gather with their family for a Christmas Eve dinner at 9pm, then at midnight everyone sets off fireworks. They even stock a fireworks store outside the mall for easy access! Around 1am, the younger generation goes out to meet friends at bars and club and stays out all night. We don´t know how anyone gets any sleep in this country! Rest assured, we have a large supply of ear plugs. But when in Rome....

We joined our neighborhood locals at a corner restaurant to celebrate Christmas Eve. We arrived at 9pm, and of course we were nearly the first people there. Dinner was a long drawn-out affair that included popping champagne corks at midnight. As we walked back to our apartment, the sky was ringing with the boom of firecrackers and the din of all the car alarms they`d set off. We joined in the melee with sparklers on our deck. The night ended with a rendition of the Night Before Christmas written by Kathleen´s dad that had been specially delivered. It was a tear-jerker both in terms of laughter and sentiment. He`s clever that one! We were in a good position to spot Santa, as we were sleeping on the fold out couch in the living room (right next to the tree), but he was so quick and quiet that we missed seeing him again. He arrived with stockings full of goodies and little presents from home. It was perfect! Santa always gets it right.

On Christmas morning, we enjoyed Pan Dulce (somehow, Argentine fruit cake manages to be delicious!) and scrambled eggs followed by Eric´s family tradition of watching movies. For our Christmas dinner, we were a bit more challenged. Our oven seems to only have an on/off switch with no temperature control, so cooking a turkey seemed dubious at best. We opted instead for salmon and pasta with a dulce-de-leche cream pie. Kathleen was Leah`s souf-chef as she whipped together a delicious meal, and the gentleman did an admirable job with the dishes.

It`s funny the things you notice when you`re not at home for the holidays. Christmas is not nearly as commercialized in Buenos Aires, and you aren`t inundated with tunes, decor, and a shopping frenzy like you are at home. This is nice in many ways, as it feels more like a family holiday rather than a nonstop buying spree, but there were definitely a few things we missed. While usually we`re sick of musak Christmas tunes that begin right after Thanksiving, we missed hearing Christmas songs. There were none on the radio, and we found ourselves warbling them off-key ourselves while we trimmed our tree. We also yearned for the scent of a real Christmas tree. Here, they are all plastic and two-feet tall. More like a Charlie Brown Christmas. Also, Kathleen is sheepish to confess that she missed eggnog lattes, and we both missed the potluck season and music and book swaps. But mostly, we wished that ALL of our family and friends could be there. You were sorely missed.

As an interesting holiday aside, the friday after Christmas we met the gentleman who has been responsible for finding the Christmas Tree in Rockefeller Center for the last 25 years. Evidently he flies around New England in a helicopter scoping out the perfect specimen. Funny that.

Happy holidays to all!

Argentina: Home Sweet Buenos Aires

2007-12-15T15:50:00.000-08:00

Touching down in Buenos Aires, we scrambled to find an apartment, Spanish classes, and some sleep. For fear that we`ll always be a month or two behind in our blog if we try and capture all of the great things about Buenos Aires, we are instead doing a Greatest Hits album of our month in the city.

The food: After eating a lot of peanut butter and tomato sandwiches in Africa and a lot of french fries and steak in Brazil, it felt like there wasn`t nearly enough time to try and sample the huge bonanza of stylish, fun, restaurants in Buenos Aires. But we gave it a try. Japanese, Thai, Scandinavian, French, Italian, Indian, fusion and, of course, the classic Argentine parilla (barbecue). All washed down with loads of red wine. Although, we weren`t above making our own caipirinhas at home. And there was a fresh fruit stand on every corner. Plus, we loved the hours. Finally a city made for night owls! Most restaurants don`t even open until 9pm. And you can walk home at 3am and still find your favorite ice-cream store serving up dulce-de-leche cones. Bliss! We need to leave soon or buy bigger pants.

The people: They are beautiful. And they should be, with the highest rate of plastic surgery in the world and a hair stylist on ever corner. But despite this, they are also wonderfully friendly. Sometimes they even give out free hugs (abrazos gratis)! With our unstylish backpacking duds and lack of tango shoes, we worried we would be frequently turned away. But instead, we felt warmly welcomed nearly everywhere, and we were encouraged to bust out our Spanish. Speaking of which, we found a fantastic school (Oh! Espagnol, we highly recommend it), and we both adored our teachers. Super nice folks who not only helped us navigate the Argentine accent (which can sound like drunken Italians trying to speak Spanish), but also clued us into great places to eat, hear music, and soak up more culture. Including the ubiquitous mate (seen in Eric´s hand). As an aside, we grew enamored with mate, the bitter yerba mate drink that every Argentine drinks. What`s interesting is that you basically can`t buy it in a restaurant, it`s a homegrown affair. But every local hanging out in a park has a thermos and their mate gourd with them. What we especially loved about it, is that it`s a shared ritual. You pass the gourd, and there`s all sorts of etiquette and ritual as to the drinking and serving. Very cool. We picked one up and look forward to indoctrinating friends and family when we get home. As a final note on the people of Buenos Aires, we have to mention our local video store clerk. Normally, we associate video store employees with disgruntled teens who kind of ignore you. But Fabian was fabulous. He helped us find Argentine movies with English subtitles and would always slow down his speech to help us with the language. Going to the videostore usually meant a good 20 minutes of chatting. Made us feel like locals. And everyone should see Valentin, our favorite Argentine flick thus far..

The beauty: From the amazing architecture that always draws European comparisons to the dramatic colors of La Boca (where we had a flat tire on our bike tour), Buenos Aires is a visual treat. From the graffiti to the murals (and the odd pingpong game), we loved getting lost in neighborhoods. Each barrio has a distinct flavor, and our apartment was in Palermo, known for its bevy of restaurants and bars and leafy green parks. Rest assured, however, that we did study sometimes! Eric has mastered the present tense, which he says is all he needs for his new zen ´living in the moment´way of life. Perhaps this means he`s done studying?

One of our favorite spots was the Recoleta cemetery, which we explored with Eric`s parents when they came to visit. It is truly a city of the dead, with a jaw-dropping array of sarcophagy and monuments neatly arranged along streets among leafy trees. Even the scores of tourists lining up to see Eva Peron`s grave (yes, we were among them), couldn`t mar the tranquility of the spot.

Warning: gruesome story to follow. One of the more beautiful graves (in photo) has a horrific story behind it. Evidently a woman was accidentally buried alive in the early 1900s (most likely they mistook her coma for a death). Several days after her burial, workers heard screams coming from her grave. When they opened up her tomb, they found scratch marks attesting to her attempt to escape. Truly awful. Her parents then commissioned her current tomb as a memorial to their daughter, and it has become a symbol of the cemetery. Eerie but true.

The music: The music scene here is absolutely incredible. Every night it seems there`s something to listen to, and there are always great live street bands playing at the outdoor markets. On Mondays, there´s a wild all percussion outdoor event called La Bombe de Tiempo. Buenos Aire`s bohemian crowd stands outside drinking beer in the street and selling homemade pan relleno, an amazingly delicious bread stuffed with anything from corn and carrots to ham and cheese. It`s like being in a Grateful Dead parking lot. And then every Wednesday you can catch a band called Orquesta Típica Fernández Fierro, where four dreadlocked acordion players, a stand up bass, a piano player, and a singer, and horns pound out this fantastic music that`s part tango, part rock, and completely addictive. Just down the street from our apartment is a fabulous jazz bar called Thelonius, where we caught a band playing jazz that sounded like the soundtrack to a chase scene in an edgy film noir. And you can dance ALL NIGHT (literally) at various clubs that mix dancehall, reggae, cumbia and American classics. But you need to prepare, as clubs don`t even open until after 1am, and the cool kids don`t show until after 3am. Unbelievable.

And that`s not even including the tango. The classic, of course, is just that...classic. Beautiful, elegant, and still enjoying immense popularity in milongas across town, where you can practice your moves, take classes, or simply watch. Just be careful not to make eye contact with a potential partner unless you know what you`re doing. Inexperienced dancers can be kicked off the floor at some of the more serious milongas. But tango is also evolving, with groups like the Gotan Project and BajoFundo Tango Club exploding the electrotango scene. We checked out one of the more alternative milongas called La Catedral to find an enormous papiermaiche heart (of the anatomical kind) looming over industrial chic art in a dark old warehouse while 20- and 30-somethings glided across the dancefloor.

And lastly there are penas, the home to Argentina`s folkcloric music scene, where all the young granola-types go to play guitar and sing along to the music. We hit a few in our neighborhood, ordered a bottle of $3 wine and clapped along until 3am. We don`t know how people work in this town.

The animals: We finally saw the last of the Big Five! Turns out the rhino, which had eluded us on our African safaris, was hanging out in Buenos Aires listening to tango and drinking wine all this time! We caught a glimpse of him when we were walking down the street by the zoo. Maybe we can photoshop him into our pictures at the Ngorongoro Crater in Tanzania? Our other favorite bestial sight was all the dog walkers in Buenos Aires. It is not uncommon to see 20 dogs with a walker, all happily wagging their tales and smiling in the sunshine. The only downside is the unfortunate sidewalk droppings that result from their wanderings. These are a serious hazard.

The Contrast: While tourist books praise Buenos Aires as the city where a dollar is still a dollar, and it`s easy to think that artsy restaurants and stylish boutiques mean everyone`s flush with pesos, there is still a darker side to the city`s financial state following the economic crash of 2001. It`s hard to believe it`s only been a mere six years since over 50% of Argentina`s population plunged below the poverty line, with unemployment skyrocketing and homelessness rapidly following suit. Progress has certainly been rapid, but there are still pockets of desperation that are reminders of instability. Most visible were the cartoneros, the people (often families) that pick through the garbage each night to sort out recyclables that they can sell. Far from being an illict job, the government sometimes provides a train for these poor workers to come from the outskirts into the city to do this much-needed work. But they don`t provide a salary, benefits, or healthcare, and it`s heartbreaking to see parents and kids sorting through the trash at 3am when you`re walking home from a bar or club. Another sobering reminder of hard times are the shantytowns that line the no-mans-land between La Boca and Puerto Madero. Here, families from neighboring impoverished countries squat in shacks, and it`s clear that not everyone is drinking Malbec and eating steak. We were also fascinated by the Madres de la Plaza de Mayo, mothers who have been gathering every Thursday since 1977 to seek justice for their children who disappeared during the military dictatorship. In some cases, they are searching for their grown children who were taken from them to be `adopted` by military families and their friends. They refuse to be ignored until justice is served and reparations are made, and it`s quite powerful to see these women silently walking with photos of their children in the busy downtown plaza.

Haircuts Around The World: Buenos Aires Redux

2007-12-13T19:37:00.000-08:00

My parents came to visit us in Buenos Aires for Christmas, so I had to clean myself up. As you my recall, my last cut in Buenos Aires was okay but nothing to write home about (although I did anyway), so we were looking for a different kind of atmosphere this time around. Just down the street from where we were taking Spanish classes was the perfect place -- Mostacho. I have one of those...and it needs a trim.

I was suited up with a nice red cape with Mostacho on the front (I wanted to buy one). The clean cut and professional barber took to the task quickly and efficiently. He used new platinum laced razer blades (quality gear -- bonus points). He handled the beard well, living up to expectations and their advertising. He followed some of the same techniques that I saw for the first time in Brazil but managed to do it in half the time (he was also half the age of my last barber). Overall, I would give it a 7 out of 10 (notice the smile).

Haircuts Around The World: Brazil

2007-12-02T20:10:00.000-08:00

It was our last day in Brazil before heading back to Buenos Aires when we walked by this place. It looked perfect. Notice the guy sleeping in the chair in the picture to the left and ¨my guy¨ is half asleep in the foreground. These looked like two gentlemen who have been cutting hair for decades and may have seen a beard or two in their day. Were they cutting hair when Pelé helped Brazil win the World Cup in 1962, or when he scored his 1,000th goal (O Milésimo) in 1969? Could they...would they tell me stories!? Oh yeah, I don´t speak any Portuguese. I began to think about the last time I was at a men´s barber shop back in the United States. I think I was in the 4th grade. I always went to the barber shop that had the great red and white (and sometimes blue) swirling poll out front. But on that fateful day the barber practically shaved my head, and I got no end of teasing about it the next day at school. From then on I went to either the same place my mom used or a generic unisex budget hair cutting place. It was time for my homecoming, and what better place to do it than São Luís, Brazil with two 70 plus year old hair cutting brothers. The trim on my head was straight forward and easy. No worries there, and he used the straight edge to clean up the back and around the ears (bonus points). Then he turned to my beard and proceeded to spend a good 30 minutes carefully working on making it perfect. I looked like a million bucks! No Tupac posters (Tanzania) and no head massage (Uganda), but plenty of charm and style of its own. Overall, I would give it an 8 out of 10.

Brazil: The Bumpy Road to Sao Luis

2007-12-01T16:03:00.000-08:00

First an editorial aside. Please excuse us for not including the appropriate accents in our blog. Internet cafe computers with variable keyboards leaves us with little recourse. Plus, truthfully, we probably really don`t know where they all go.

And since we`re off topic, here`s another general Brazil comment. This is by far the most diverse country we`ve ever traveled through. The people of Brazil are such an amazing amalgam of the many cultures and peoples that have tread upon their shores. It would be impossible to say what a typical Brazilian looked like---there is a fabulous range of skin tone, height, and hair color. The only commonality seems that by and large they tend to love wearing tight pants and making out in public. Okay, back to our travels.

Fearing that if we stayed in Jeri any longer, we may never leave at all, we embarked on a hilariously ambitious overland journey to Sao Luis. Eschewing package tour options, we decided to try and do it independently. A noble, if slightly misguided, decision given that it was off-season. But at least we had no one to blame but ourselves for mishaps. And there were a few....

Our journey began in the back of a 4wd truck that raced along sand dunes and navigated two river car ferries before landing in the town of Camocin. Here we transfered to a rattletrap mini-van that trundled on for another four hours in the heat, with the door kept shut by shoving a balled up wad of paper in the door jamb. We finally arrived in Parnaiba and set to work trying to buy tickets for the local commuter ferry up the delta. Instead, we spent the afternoon wheeling and dealing for a private boat when we learned that the cheap local ferry sank a year ago. Doh! Maybe this is where package tours come in handy. That being said, we couldn`t really complain when we set off on the Lima do Rio, our imminently sea-worthy chariot. Once we got over the fact that we had to pay more, we had to admit that slowly motoring up the delta in hammocks with cold beer and fresh mango wasn`t all that bad. It`s the only delta in the Americas that faces the open sea, and it is a moving picture of mangroves, sand dunes, and lagoons. Quite beautiful.
Landing in Tutoia, we awaited another 4wd transfer to the town of Barreirinhas. This is when we made a real rookie maneuver. In our butchered Portuguese, we inquired as to when the next truck was leaving. We thought he said IN four hours, when really he said AT four o`clock. And we stupidly didn`t even think about the potential confusion. So when we showed up four hours later, after killing time sweating profusely in an un-air-conditioned internet cafe, and were told the truck left at 4pm, we had a low moment. Lower still when we checked into a dreary room in the long-distance truckers motel, where drivers sling up hammocks in the hallway and the music starts blaring in the wee hours of the morning. Lower even still when we realized that all of the restaurants are closed and the town seemed to be inhabited only by school uniformed teenagers. Not even a cold beer was to be found, a rarity in Brazil!

Up at dawn (determined not to miss a ride again!) we hopped in the back of another 4wd outfitted with wood slat bench seats. This photo was taken before the truck filled to the gills with people, new toilet bowls, rebar, potato chips, and other construction materials. Off we rumbled for 1.5 hours of sandy bumpy craziness. Switching trucks in a petrol station, we had two hours of hold-on-or-be-bounced-completely-off-your-seat transit. It felt like being driven around Death Valley with a drunken relative at the wheel doing donuts in the sand. We can`t believe this is a daily public transit route. We bounced our way through stark desert scenery, past mummified cow carcasses, and slipped between sand dunes past donkeys before screeching to a dusty stop in town. Our arms were completely exhausted.

Our main reason for visiting this area was to go to the Parque Nacional dos Lencois Maranhenses, an otherwordly stretch of massive sand dunes (said to look like bed linens, hence the name lencois meaning sheets). This is another Brazilian area vying for inclusion in the New Seven Wonders of the Natural World. We actually went to a promotional campaign for this in Sao Luis, where they plied us with free food and more Amazonian fruit juice than you could shake a stick at, provided we logged onto one of their computers to vote. But that`s another story...

Running a bit behind schedule because of our mix-up in Tutoia, we raced to join a trip out to the dunes. Unfortunately, however, they only had room for one more person. Kathleen couldn`t enjoy her padded seat as we traveled 45 minutes over bumps, because she worried about Eric hanging off the back of the truck for dear life as he alternated between cracking his head on the metal bar above him and his bum on the bar below. Happily once we arrived, it was a true sugar-fine dune paradise, interspersed with fresh-water lagoons. We spent time making goofy videos of ourselves cartwheeling and rolling down the dunes, while a Brazilian couple did a sexy swimsuit pictorial. I believe this is where our cultural differences seemed greatest. Eric did, however, spend some time hanging out in hammocks with nekkid Brazilian ladies on our boat trip out to Cabure to further explore the National Park.

We eventually made our way to Sao Luis, a UNESCO world heritage site resplendent with azulejos tilework, and coincidentally, the reggae capital of Brazil. We spent two days admiring the architecture and enjoying the music before saying Tchau to Brazil.

Things We Ate On The Street: Brazil

2007-11-30T15:39:00.000-08:00

To be honest, Brazil promised a bit more than it offered in terms of street food. The selection was wide, to be sure, but there were more culinary disappointments than we were accustomed to. Of course, we may have just hit vendors on an off day, you never know.

When we got to Bahia, we were eager to try the acaraje (fried balls of manioc with shrimp and curry tucked inside), but they didn`t prove to be solid crowd pleasers. Equally, the much-anticipated round coconut treats ended up being a bit too sickly sweet for our taste. And the Brazilian penchant for Halls (you know, the cough medicine lozenges) eluded us, but they were sold on every corner like candy.

Don`t get us wrong, there were more than a few winners. Cafezinho, a strong, sweet, dark concoction wheeled around in little carts and served up by the thimbleful, kept us going until the wee hours with its delicious caffeinated bliss. In fact, pretty much all of the drinkable treats were divine. Including, of course, the immensely addictive caipirinha (sugar-cane based cachaca, lime, sugar, and ice) and its refreshingly rehydrating counterpart, agua de coco (coconut water). There was an amazing selection of sucos (fresh juices) all over the country---acerola (an Amazonian berry with lots of antioxidants), guava, mango, cupuacu (an unidentified Amazonian fruit with a creamy sweet soft taste), passion fruit...we did our best to try them all. Sometimes they were mixed with alcohol (batida), a refreshing way to watch the sun go down. The one that always had us coming back for more was acai, a purplish goo often served with granola that tastes much better than it sounds. Eric had one every single day in Jericoacoara. Kathleen also made the delicious mistake of trying a capeta in Jeri. It was a milkshake-like cocktail made with guarana, an Amazonian extract that made her heart race and kept her up for hours. Eric dubbed it ´plant-meth´ and forbade her from ordering it again.

Popcorn, tapioca treats, and brigadeiros (a fudgey brownie rolled in chocolate sprinkles) rounded out the delicious ways Brazilians fed their sweet tooths. And our favorite street treat, discovered just two days before we left the country, were late-night crepes. While not particularly Brazilian, as they were sold by a soft-spoken French hippie who wandered the streets of Sao Luis after dark, they were insanely good. We dubbed him the Gentle Crepe Man, as he had long hair neatly tucked back, doe eyes, and an earnest sales pitch. We did not feel gentle towards him, however, when he ran out of chocolate crepes before he got to us on our last night. Come to think of it, the street food was pretty damn good. Maybe just avoid the acarajes.

Brazil: Sandy bliss in Jericoacoara

2007-11-26T15:41:00.000-08:00

Enough of Rio and her fickle Dengue-threatening ways! With Kristina gone, and the rain settling in, we decided it was time to head north and seek the sun. Playing a little bit of airline roulette, we packed our bags and headed to the airport without a ticket...determined to fly wherever the cheapest, most convenient flight would take us. The fates sent us to Fortaleza in northeastern Brazil.

(An aside about Brazilian travel that`s hilariously confusing: the clock. There are four different time zones in Brazil. Or sometimes more, depending on daylight savings time. Computers may say one thing, printed receipts another altogether. A wall clock might say one hour, while the guy`s watch next to you is set to Rio time. It`s crazily confusing, and especially dangerous when you need to catch a flight or bus. So ridiculous in fact that it`s funny, although it does mean killing a lot of time in sweaty bus stations fearing that we`ve got the time wrong).

Landing in Fortaleza, we hopped on a Jericoacoara-bound bus. About five hours into the journey, at midnight, we transfered to an open-air 4WD for the last hour. Under a blanket of stars, we bounced our way through the warm air over moonlit sand dunes and past gently crashing waves. It was pretty magical. We spent the next four days rocking in hammocks waiting for the sun to set. Jeri, as it`s called, is filled with legions of hard-bodied windsurfers, kite surfers, and capoeira-ists from around the world, and it`s a funny little piece of paradise.

At sunset, seemingly everyone in town climbs the big gorgeous sand dune that borders the beach. After the sun drops into the ocean, you can take a running leap and fling yourself down the steep slope of the sand dune, running willy nilly without fear of hurting yourself in the sugarfine sand. It`s incredibly addictive and fun. We`d cap it off by running straight into the bathtub-warm ocean. Ahhh, bliss. Sand boarders also made great use of the good slope and capoeira players would practice their backflips. As night arrived, beach bonfires would be lit, and all of the mobile drinks carts would be wheeled out to line the main sandy street in town by candlelight. Caipirinha anyone?

Jeri´s other main postcard attraction is the Pedra Furada, an arched rock about 2 miles outside of town. We made the mistake of thinking it was a sunset attraction and ended up having to hike back to Jeri in the dark. Whoops! On the upside, we had it to ourselves, and the bright moon mostly lit our path.

Unable to take any more hammocking, we signed on to a dune buggy excursion to explore the neighboring town of Tatajuba. Crazily, the whole town was moved when a sand dune took it over several years ago! One of the best parts of the trip was navigating a wide part of the river, where industrious rowers operated a car ferry. The attached video shows our scientific study of wind.

Brazil: Happy Thanksgiving!

2007-11-22T15:43:00.000-08:00

Happy Thanksgiving from Northern Brazil! Despite Eric`s devoted love of turkey (and, in particular, turkey sandwiches), it`s ceviche, caipirinhas, and sunset on the dunes on the menu for us this Thanksgiving. Admittedly, we wish were were eating Tom´s turkey and watching little miss Ellie smear Dad`s cranberry sauce all over the white couch. But this will have to wait until next year. Instead, we are raising a toast and giving thanks to all of our family and friends from afar. We could not have more to be thankful for, and we just wanted to send our love to everyone on Thanksgiving!

Brazil: Saudade

2007-11-21T23:01:00.000-08:00

Having Kristina around was so great on so many levels. Not only was she a total work horse, but she spoke great Portuguese, and she brought a whole host of new jokes and clean undies with her. Things that we sorely needed! The Portuguese was especially handy, as Eric seemed to be having some trouble getting a grip on it and often landed embarrassingly in the wrong bathroom. Kidding aside, it was such a special treat to have a wonderful and much missed piece of home land in our arms. And we experienced great saudade (what Brazilians feel when it rains, and they stay at home depressed longing for lost loves) when Kristina left us. We are missing our third Angel. Sigh....

Brazil: Hot and Rainy times in Rio

2007-11-21T15:40:00.000-08:00

How to describe Rio? Sometimes she smiled upon us, and sometimes we tripped on her dog poop, but all in all, we found her deliciously seductive and kept coming back for more. Through a series of lucky coincidences, we found ourselves only the second guests in an amazingly grand yet cosy bed and breakfast that had just opened in Santa Teresa, a neighborhood of artists, musicians, and those who love them. Settling into the former mansion of one of Rio`s governors (oh la la), we took to the cobblestoned streets with caipirinhas in hand to hunt down the riches of Rio`s many treasures.

First stop, of course, the beaches. While there wasn`t quite as much outrageous thong bikini-ogling as we`d hoped (it was a little overcast), we fell in love with this man in his BRAZIL bathing suit strolling the oceanfront. Forget the Girl from Ipanema, this man personified Brazilian fashion. And that`s saying something in a country where the heels are higher, the skirts are shorter, and the shirts are tighter than any we`ve ever experienced. Next we made our way to the Botanical Gardens to observe some lush greenery (and cheeky monkeys and sluggish turtles) before strolling alongside the lake to watch twinkling lights come on as Rio came to life. Returning to our neighborhood after midnight, we arrived to find a street party choking the streets as live samba music spilled out of a local cafe and temporary bars were erected in the street. Hello Rio nightlife! We spent the next week soaking up as much of Rio as we could.

Highlights included the Escadaria Selaron, over 200 colorfully mosaiced stairs leading from Santa Teresa to Lapa. The work of Chilean artist Jorge Selaron, they have been a labor of love since 1990, and invariably you`ll find the artist there himself giving them a little elbow grease. Originally using the vibrant colors of Brazil`s flag as his inspiration, Selaron has exanded the work to include the colors of many different nations. A frequent theme is the image of a pregnant woman in the favelas (Rio`s poorst communities.) The stairs have become an international hit, with celebrities filming music videos (Snoop Dogg among them), and hundreds of people coming to admire his work.

You`d think that living in a city replete with cable cars, we`d be too jaded to enjoy Santa Teresa`s bonde, but no! Every time it whooshed across the oft-photographed Arcos do Lapa toward downtown we giggled with glee (some of us only inwardly). The last of Rio`s once numerous streetcars, the yellow bonde has been in operation since 1861, and sometimes it feels like maybe they haven`t updated too much, but that`s half the excitement. While already cheap, it`s free if you stand! This is a far cry from the outrageous extortionary prices of San Francisco`s equivalent.

Rio was often a fickle friend, choosing to close her restarants and bars despite stated opening hours to the contrary, enjoying random holidays that prevented us from doing laundry and visiting musems, and teasing us with sun followed quickly by rain. But drizzling skies meant beer-fueled Hearts tournaments in neighborhood cafes, which wasn`t all bad, even if it didn`t do wonders for our savage tans. We loved the contrasts of Rio life---from high tea in the opulent Cafe Columbo to fried fish on the sidewalk in Urca. And, of course, there are Rio`s greatest hits, including Cristo Redentor (Christ the Redeemer). While a must-see on the list of every Rio tourist, Cristo was a bit of a can`t-see in our case. But we held hands, and then everything was allright. Recently deemed one of the New Seven Wonders of the World (a perhaps slightly dubious distinction that was garnered through a little poll stuffing, although that`s a different story), Cristo is an amazing sight no matter what the weather. Standing over 130 feet tall, the iconic statue is visible from nearly every corner in Rio. Construction spanned over five years, and the monument was publicly celebrated in 1931. On its 75th birthday, a chapel was added, where Catholic Brazilians can celebrate weddings and baptisms.

Determined to catch aerial views of Rio`s splendor, we also made our way up Paco do Azucar (Sugarloaf Mountain) on a series of cablecars. Like all good Cariocas (Rio dwellers), she puts on her dazzling best in the evening, and we watched her sparkle from afar as the sun set. Heading to Copacabana, we samba-ed on the sidewalks with drunken tourists (or rather Kristina sama-ed, while we lurched about) and then ate pineapple and sirloin sandwiches at a late-night haunt called Cervantes. Deeeeeeeee-lish!

We knew that Rio would not be complete if we didn`t stay out dancing until 5am at least one night, so we taxi-ed over to Lapa, the throbbing heart of the city´s nightlife. Standing in line for nearly 2 hours, we set foot in Rio Scenarium just after 2am. It did not disappoint. An old antique shop turned multi-level dance hall, the Scenarium is rich with crazy ecletic decor, fervent dancing, New Orlean´s style balconies, and pumping live music. We faked forro moves (basically intertwined legs and lots of turning around) while Kristina broke countless hearts sashaying across the dance floor with various suitors. Forro music is experiencing a bit of a renaissance in Brazil. Originally born in WWII American military bases in Brazil`s northeastern countryside, the music stemmed from dances that were open´for all´(since altered to the Portuguese forro). A mix of musical styles (including the accordion, African drums, and the triangle) accompanied songs lamenting the tough life of the working hand, and the trials and tribulations of falling in love. While initially snubbed in the city as backward countryfolk music, the sound achieved great popularity in the 1990s when it was modernized with electric guitars and rediscovered by the entire nation. True to our word, we stayed until the party ended and danced back to our hotel just after 5am.

Another notable excursion was taking the ferry to Niteroi, where we admired Niemeyer`s architectural gem in Rio, the contemporary art museum. Coincidentally, it featured the work of a Portuguese artist, Rigo 23, who lives in San Francisco and painted the one tree mural that`s right near our apartment. Oh, small world. And, of course, having spent much time in Bahian capoeira schools, it was only appropriate that we had a match on the beach in Rio. Kathleen won.

We had every hope of filling our bellies to bursting at a churrasqueria, but some of the price tags got us down. We opted intead for boiled corn and a beer on the beach at sunset, a decision that had disastrous consequences on Kathleen`s stomach. Next time, we`ll fork over for the good meat (pun intended...who could resist?). Unfillfilled dreams also mean a reason to return. Other reasons to come back to Rio are the addictive artistic creations of bondelandia man, a Santa Teresa artist who crafts quirky plastic men and women (and birds) out of recycled materials. These became a bit of a theme of our time in Rio, as we kept going back to his workshop (which was a ramshackle wooden bonde car that he`d set up on a street corner and sometimes slept in) hoping to buy new and different creations. But while he didn`t always have what we wanted, we eventually fell in love with what he did offer. In many ways, Rio didn`t always offer what we expected, but we were seduced by her charms once we took them for what they were.

Brazil: Party in Paraty (sorry, sorry)

2007-11-13T15:37:00.000-08:00

Leaving Bahia, we headed south to seek more sea and sun in Paraty before landing in Rio. Initially we were going to take the bus, but flights were amazingly cheap. The only kicker was that our flight left at 4am. Which meant that we had to get a cab at 3am. So of course we had no choice but to stay up all night eating chocolate and playing cards until we left.

While once a busy and important port town for the transfer of gold from mines (before travel to Rio was made easier and faster with roads cut through the mountains), Paraty is now more quaint than cutting edge. Artists and travelers trod its lumpy cobblestone streets (known as pes-de-moleque or street urchin`s feet) admiring the obvious wealth and importance of its well-preserved colonial history. The city`s architectural beauty has to compete with the stunning natural setting of the town, which explains its deserved popularity.

Unfortunately for us, the weather gods were not smiling in Paraty, which was cruel as the area was known for its secluded beaches, tropical islands, and great fish-viewing. Undeterred, we didn`t let the inclement weather stop us from singing and snorkeling in the rain. When the Tourist Office stopped running boat trips because of drizzle (or not enough people, or whatever excuse they felt like using), we grabbed a young Brit and commandeered a boat to take us out. Our fearless captain Domingo braved the (not too) stormy seas with us in his valiantly pinkish-purple boat. Admittedly, we could have swum faster than Domingo`s boat put-putted along, but that wasn`t the point, was it? After two days of rain, we had to admit that our sea-n-sun adventure had turned into cards-n-hot chocolate with cognac, so we threw in the towel and decided to hit the road a few days earlier than planned.

In a ´what a small world´ encounter, we ran into some friends from home at the bus station in Paraty. Newly wed and honeymooning, I don`t think they minded the rain.

Brazil: Samba in Salvador, Bahia

2007-11-12T15:36:00.000-08:00

Next stop, Bahia...Brazil`s Mecca for Afro-Brazilian street parties, festivals, religious festivals and nonstop nightlife. We packed our bags and took flight for Salvador, the region`s thriving capital city. Much of Bahia`s color and flavor stems from a strong African influence, a holdover from the sugar and tobacco plantation days when African slaves were brought over in droves. Now happily the diversity is celebrated, and African traditions are treasured rather than hidden.

After conquering the phone system by devising a foolproof plan whereby Eric dials, Kristina speaks in Portuguese, and Kathleen holds the guidebook (or camera), we installed ourselves in a hotel in the heart of the cobblestoned Pelourinho, a UNESCO World Heritage sight that is no stranger to the tourist. Big sunny plazas encircled with brightly painted colonial buildings and dotted with fountains play host to capoeira rodas (where hard-bodied Brazilians dazzle tourists and locals alike with an athletic combination of martial arts, dance, and play first originated by African slaves as a means of self-defense) and an endless parade of axe and samba bands, vendors, and tourists.

We spent our days wandering the streets sampling local fare, visiting museums, and in an endless quest to see a capoeira class in action. The latter pursuit ending hilariously after our second attempt AGAIN landed us in a room with a group of 6- and 7-year olds that smelled like applesauce. They weren`t exactly the capoeira experts that we`d hoped to admire. For fear of getting a creepy kid-follower reputation, we finally dropped our mission and settled on a more touristy, but incredibly amazing, folkcloric show. This student obsession went hand in hand with the battle-of-the-bands that we stumbled upon as local music students hosted a rock competition in the Pelourinho.

Another Afro-Brazilian staple of life in Bahia is Candomble, a ritualistic religion practiced throughout Brazil where different deities are honored. Intrigued, we took a taxi to the outskirts of town to a Candomble house to witness a ceremony. While undoubtedly we didn`t understand all that transpired, it was incredible to witness the ceremony. Dressed in white as requested, we sat on opposite sides of the room per our gender. Men drummed out a rhythmic beat while the mostly female dancers encircled the room in traditional dances. Costumes, priestesses, and different dances all held importance that we could not begin to explain here. At various moments throughout the evening (which lasted over 4 hours, ending after midnight), dancers, and sometimes audience members, would go into a writhing trance state and needed to be supported by other members. It was a powerful event that left us wanting to learn more about its history and symbolism.

Much of Brazil`s preferred cuisine comes from Bahia, with the strong African influence bringing more spice and flavor to the region, and we did our best to sample the city`s finest. It was here that we were able to gain much valuable information for our Street Food research. Manioc flour is used heavily, which wasn`t always our favorite ingredient, but the moqueca de peixe (a seafood stew with tomatoes and coconut milk) more than made up for it. While not technically street food, we loved this upstairs restaurant that lowered meals down to diners who preferred to eat outside on the sidewalk.

We stayed in Salvador long enough to find a preferred neighborhood cafe (perfect for lunch, capirinhas and sunsets), to explore several of the city`s over 300 churches (our favorite being Igreja da Ordem Terceira do Carmo, where a slave devoted over 8 years of his life to create an image of Christ in 1630 that includes blood fashioned from over 2000 tiny rubies), to make our way to Barra, the seaside district with soft sands and dreamy sunsets, and to dine alfresco to live bossa nova. All in all, not a bad four days!

By the end of our stay, Eric had gone positively native, stripping down to a bare chest to fit in with Brazilian fashion sense. Or perhaps it was because a bird pooped on his shirt and he had to wait while Kathleen cleaned it in the plaza`s fountain. Hmmm...

Brazil: Fun times at the Foz

2007-11-07T15:36:00.000-08:00

Wheeeeeeeeeeeeee, the big reunion with Kristina! And in Brazil, no less! But first, a brief word about our bus. We were a bit wary about another 20 hour bus ride, as African buses often left a lot to be desired. But this was an otherworldly experience. We`re talking 5-star luxury where the seats reclined completely, there was free champagne and whiskey, and we watched a Woody Allen movie and an independent film from Australia. It was far more comfortable than most hotels we`ve stayed in. Via Bariloche, we`ll go anywhere with you.

And even better, Via Bariloche whisked us off to Iguazu falls to meet up with our favorite and long-awaited globetrotter. We toasted the beginning of our Brazilian adventure with the appropriately named Malzbier; sweet, dark, goodness kept ICY cold thanks to Brazil`s love of the beer coozy. Eric was in appreciative awe of Brazil`s obsession with ice-cold beer---all beer fridges had digital readouts of their temperature and even in the hottest, sweatiest parts of town, a frosty one was easily had.

It´s impossible to describe the visual impact of Iguazu Falls. Despite all the guidebook gushing, they don`t disappoint. They truly are that big, that beautiful, and that awe-inspiring. And we highly recommend viewing them from the extremely wet seat of a zodiac boat or the cozy confines of a wooden barrel. But triple-bag your camera, as Kristina`s suffered in the falls, and we all suffered for her halted photographic talents. Grrrr.

Iguazu Falls are actually close to 300 seperate falls plummeting across the Brazil/Argentina border, and it`s worth spending the time to view them from both countries. They are higher than Niagara Falls, wider than Victoria Falls, and more spectacular than any we`ve ever seen in our lives. If you`ve seen the movie The Mission, you`ll recognize them. No amount of gawking tourists can diminsh the visual impact of that much thundering water. And even the steel catwalks do little to diminsh the feeling of natural beauty; instead, you can admire them from nearly every angle. When you approach the Garganta do Diablo (Devil`s throat), the mist is so thick you can no longer even really see the falls.

Their grandeur is such that they inspired Eric and Kristina to fall in love, it seems. Hee hee. It was a magical land of rainbows and caimans and toucans and enormous lizard things that hung out poolside in fancy hotels. So glorious! Everything`s bigger in Iguazu Falls, including the grocery store fruit!

On the furry end of the food chain, the somewhat lovable but also rather aggressive coatis took a particular shine to Miss Malsy. She seemed worn out by constantly having to fend them off. But I don`t know what we would have done without her valiant efforts.

We also learned a very valuable lesson in Iguazu Falls about ordering food in Brazil---most portions are designed for two or three people. Of course they don`t tell you this when you sit down and order enough for a family of 12, and I`m sure they snicker in the kitchen at your request. We were happily (slightly) less gluttonous once we discovered our error. And if nothing else, our dinner bill went down considerably. Hallelujah.

Goodbye Africa, Hola America del Sur!

2007-11-04T15:25:00.000-08:00

While sad to say goodbye to Africa, we were excited to make our way to South America, as our first and only taste two years ago in Peru left us wanting more. And on the more romantic side, it`s also where we got engaged (ahhhhh). We first flew to Buenos Aires, where we were again spoiled rotten by some amazing friends with a superfun hotel in a trendy district and a knock-your-socks-off tango show. Oh la la...

What an insanely great introduction to Argentina and our South American wanderings. Watching the tango has us committed to learning that dance. It will likely take us all our lives, but WOW, it is something to behold. I`m not sure if we`ll be able to comply with the lack of facial expression that it requires, though.
What a city! Buenos Aires is amazingly beautiful. A lot like Paris (there are even bidets in the bathrooms!), as all the guidebooks promise, but with Latin flavor. And it´s definitely a night-time city. Most people don´t even think about having dinner until after 9pm, and restaurants often stay open until 2am or later. Crazy. Thank God they serve breakfast until the civilized hour of 11:30. Our first few days, we wandered the city eating too much and drinking our weight in red wine. We particularly love all the dog walkers and the great street graffiti. We almost had a *really* racy start to our time in Argentina when a language mix-up had our hotel thinking that we wanted to know where all the strip bars were (we had asked about where to find a strip of restaurants and bars). Doh! To their professional credit, they did not do much of a doubletake, but simply clarified whether we really wanted to know where the nudie clubs were before offering recommendations.

In any case, no time to linger over cappuccinos and medialunas, because we`re off on a 20-hour bus to meet Kristina in Brazil. Whooppee! We are fairly confident that the busdriver will be wearing a standard-issue Copacabana thong. The friendly folks at the Brazilian Consulate in Cape Town, where we got our visas, had ubertight pants and hypercool glasses, so we can only hope! Eric has been doing push-ups in anticipation of having to fend off the capoeira dancers and defend beautiful and blonde Kristina´s honor on an hourly basis.

Haircuts Around The World: Argentina

2007-11-03T15:09:00.000-07:00

It’s time for another installment, as my beard is getting unruly. I had to get cleaned up for the arrival of Kristina. We have not had visitors yet, and I need to look my best. While Kathleen took the razor to my head in South Africa, I never had a proper beard trim, so this is what it looks like after about two months. Unlike some cities we have visited, there is no shortage of hairstylists (and plastic surgeons for that matter) in Buenos Aires. Argentina is said to have one of the highest rates of plastic surgery in the world. We thought for sure that in this fashion-conscious and aesthetics-obsessed city that we would find plenty of quality places for my next haircut. Unfortunately we seemed to have wandered into the only neighborhood in the city without at least two barber shops on every corner, but alas we found this kind gentleman...

He looked more like a beefy rugby player (sorry to see the loss of Argentina to South Africa in the semifinals of the world rugby championships a couple of weeks prior) than a hair stylist. The shop itself was unisex as it clearly had products for the ladies, but was also dirty enough to be run by a guy. What happened to the Tupac posters?

The cut was okay. It is hard to blunder shaving my head, although you can now lose points by not using a straight edge razor to clean up the back and otherwise not taking the greatest amount of care and pampering of my precious scalp. The beard trim was rushed, and he did not trim up my beard neck line well. But I can´t speak Spanish yet, so who am I to complain? At least I look presentable again! Overall, I would give it a 5 out of 10.

South Africa: Capping Off Our African Adventure in Cape Town

2007-10-31T08:53:00.000-07:00

At long last, we reach the holy grail: Cape Town! Since we landed in Cairo on July 17, it has been the one assured spot of final destination (since we had airline tickets from here) and a city that everyone raves about. But as the milestone that would mark the end of our African adventure, it was simultaneously a place that we looked forward to but never really wanted to reach. But reach it we did, and loved it, too.

Like some strange amalgam of San Francisco and New Orleans, it made us a little homesick and yet felt like home. Cape Town offered up sunny happy hours in stunning colonial style buildings, fancy cuisine, stylish cafes and gorgeous waterfront scenery. We particularly liked the brightly colored homes of the historic Bo-Kaap neighborhood, where the city`s Muslim community rubs shoulders with local street artists.

Stunning geography meant fantastic sunsets after hiking up Lion`s head with a bottle of wine and some cheese to watch the magic of the city`s lights begin to twinkle from below. And the wildflowers and views from Table Mountain were incredible. And made all the more special by being shared with some friends from home (who have now relocated to South Africa). It was such a treat to see familiar faces after three months.

But as with all things South Africa, there was pondering as well. On all of our glorious hikes, we never saw anyone of color. And a tour of the townships (which stretch for miles) brought to life some of the city`s not-so-distant past. We had mixed feelings about doing a township tour (as it felt like a bit of a human zoo experience or a poverty tour), but we wanted to learn more about South Africa`s history, and they came highly recommended. One stop was at a township shebeen (a quasi-legal drinking establishment where they make their own corn based beer). Not above trying every different beer he can find, Eric quickly took a hold of the bucket. Of particular interest on our tour was the District Six museum, which detailed forced removal of black citizens from town to the townships in the 1960s and 1970s. Despite repeated attempts, we were never able to secure reservations to see Robben Island, Cape Town`s Alcatraz, where Nelson Mandela was imprisoned. We`ll have to see that next time. On a positive note, friends who had been to Cape Town throughout the past decade spoke optimistically about how much more diverse the town center is and that progress was being made daily to integrate various communities.

And finally, we were able to seek out some African music. This was something we`d hoped to find all over Africa, but was less accessible than we`d hoped. Live music venues were few and far between, and many of them were playing American hits anyway. All of the young Africans we met professed their love for Tupak and 50 cent. Perhaps West Africa is the place to hit for the more African music experience.

We spent a day tooling around the Cape of Good Hope, which was beautiful. Cappuccino and florentines in Kalk Bay, penguin viewing (and impersonating) at Boulder Beach, and miles and miles of gorgeous coastline. A highlight was on a crazily windy (we can`t believe they don`t have more tourists blown off the trail) hike from the point, when we turned a corner and practically tripped over a mama ostrich protecting her eggs. And she had a LOT of eggs. She started hissing at us, and we backed away, not entirely sure what sort of damage an angry ostrich could inflict, but not wanting to find out. We capped off the day with sundowners at Camp`s Bay. No matter how many times we see an African sunset, we can`t stop snapping photos. At least we`re getting a tad more creative at times...

Our final days in Africa were spent in completely ridiculous splendor thanks to some wonderful friends from home. We enjoyed a truly dreamy place with views of table mountain, roses in the room, and champagne in the courtyard. Oh la la. The only thing that would have made the whole thing better would to have been to have had our friends whooping it up in Cape Town with us!

South Africa: The Wine Country

2007-10-23T08:51:00.000-07:00

After all the excitement of last week, we could really use a drink. So off to the wine country we headed. We first made our way to Franschoek, a little corner of French culture in South Africa. A woman who ran one of the backpackers in the Drakensberg gave us a great tip on nightlife in quiet Franschoek in the form of a supperclub night. Le Quartier Francais (the famed and expensive and critically-acclaimed restaurant in town), also has a more casual and less pricey bistro where you can enjoy a great meal and then retire to their private screening room for a movie. This sounded divine, as we hadn´t seen a movie in ages. As it turned out, it was a truly private screening, since we were the only folks there. We sat on comfy red couches and enjoyed a French film La Tourneuse (the page turner) on the big screen with our feet up and our bellies full. We highly recommend this to anyone passing through town.

The next day, we awoke to find out that the power was turned off for the whole town due to some sort of electricity shortage. It is still Africa, after all. No worries, who needs a hot shower or eggs when a croissant and a new hairdo will do. We opted for our own walking wine tour of Franschoek, where we literally crossed the street from our Backpacker`s inn called Otter`s Bend and walked right up to the tasting room of a beautiful winery. We wanted to really love their wines, as they are one of the few wineries owned by a black African, but unfortunately we didn`t. So we kept on walking. And tasting. And walking. And tasting. And in the afternoon, the rain set in. But by this time, we had tasted quite a bit. Perhaps too much. So we simply pottered about in the drizzle, and Kathleen adopted what Eric called her `beekeeper` look to protect herself from the rain.

It is shameful to admit, but in Franschoek, what many consider the culinary capital of South Africa, we went back to the Otter`s Bend and made spaghetti and veggies in their beautiful self-service kitchen. Oh the shame and the joy.

Our next stop in the wine country was Stellenbosch, where we joined a boozy wine tour with two hilarious Canadian playboy pilots living in Dubai. A highlight of the tour was the Fairview winery, where owners have given part of their land to their employees to make their own wine (Fair Valley) that they sell in their winery. All profits go back to the employees and their families. Nice! Also nice were the copious amounts of cheese set out for tasting. The best moment of the tour, however, came at the last winery, when one of the high roller pilots whipped out 500 Rand and laid it on the table. He leaned in and asked the winery guy in a low voice to close the windows and doors and pour us something really interesting. We were somewhat embarassed by this theatrical maneuver, but we also sort of hoped that velvet curtains would part and we`d be led into the exclusive back-room for free massages and chocolate-covered strawberries. As it turns out, 500 Rand is only about $70 US Dollars, which I guess doesn`t get you that far in the wine world. We did, however, get to try a really tasty 2001 cabernet.

South Africa: Extreme Week on the Garden Route

2007-10-20T08:51:00.000-07:00

Cultural ponderings shelved, this week was all about action and adrenaline, like some sort of Red Bull-fueled obstacle course.

To be honest, extreme week started in Coffee Bay, where a local backpackers´ lodge offered cliff jumping as an excursion. We hiked over hill and dale and then up a cliff face to dare the devil´s jacuzzi (who comes up with these names?). You had to time your jump to coincide with the tide, so that you could jump, land in water, swim to the edge, and scramble out before another wave pushed you into a craggy mass of barnacle-laden rocks. Fun, no? Eric wisely opted out of this one, but Kathleen was egged on by another girl and her ego got the best of her. Aiiiiyyyyyyeeee! All went well for Kathleen, but the girl who followed her had a harder time swimming and came out with quite a few barnacle souvenirs. Ouch.

Undettered, we next braved Bloukran´s Bridge with a bungy cord strapped to our ankles to earn bragging rights about braving the Guinness World Record´s longest bungy jump at 216 meters (708 feet). We can´t really say why we did this, but we just had to. Kind of like when you hike to an icy cold lake in the mountains. It might not be the most enjoyable thing to dive in, but you have no choice. We felt the same way being faced with the bungy. The contemplation made us queasy (and gave Kathleen nightmares), but we just couldn´t not do it. Five, Four, Three, Two, One, Bungeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.....

It´s a crazy, unreal feeling to simply jump off a bridge with a strap around your ankles. You free fall for a full five seconds (enough time to say to yourself, "wow, I am still falling...and falling...and falling") until you reach the end of the cord, then swing back around and bounce, floating weightlessly up. Eric swears the view was amazing, while Kathleen contemplated the back of her tightly screwed eyelids. Then you hang and twist in the wind until the spiderman lowers himself down and winches you back up. Wow.

Still high on adrenaline, we figured we might as well slip into a steel cage to meet the Earth´s most fearsome predator (or something like that). This one was a big decision for us, and we contemplated the environmental impact of chumming the water (vis a vis shark habits, surfer´s reports, etc.) and how we felt about shark-viewing being a "sport." We did a bunch of internet research and ultimately decided that we felt okay about it. So off we went with a hilarious cast of characters including an older long-haired hippy with plenty of tattoos and piercings but no pants, a mysterious Russian woman in a belted jacket and high heels who never got in the water, and two screaming kids who ate all the food on the boat and loudly misidentified all the animals. Not exactly a National Geographic film crew, but Eric looked a tad like Jacques Cousteau nonetheless, no?

So we motored out and lured the sharks with a stinky soup of fish blood. Contrary to what we expected, the sharks did not appear from every corner, circling the boat with teeth knashing in an attempt to flip us over. We actually had to wait over an hour for any to appear. There weren´t nearly as many as we expected, nor as interested in the bait as we would have thought. But they were certainly huge, beautiful animals. Magestic, really. When the first big one swam by, we questioned whether we really wanted to get in the water with it. But there was no turning back now. Six people would hop into the cage strapped to the side of the boat, and when the shark was nearby, the boat captain would yell ´down!´and you´d hold your breath, grab onto a bar (we were wearing snorkel masks and diving weights), and plunge under to watch the great white shark swimming by. Pretty cool, we must say. Even Eric thought so, despite feeling a tad queasy on the anchored boat. Or, to be honest, more than a tad. Happily, the sharks didn´t seem too interested in the vomit in the water, although we´re not sure what the other folks in the cage thought. We didn´t ask. Rounding out the day was the Southern Right Whale that circled the boat (while the kids yelled ´humpback!´) and the sea lions (´otter!´) that were frolicking on a nearby rock island. All in all, the experience was not as adrenaline-racing as we´d thought, or as environmentally suspect as we´d feared. Not to say that we´d have wanted the cage to have any larger holes than it already did....

South Africa: The Owlhouse and Brewery

2007-10-16T08:50:00.000-07:00

For this entry, the pictures pretty much speak for themselves. Kathleen really wanted to visit the Owl House in Nieu Betheseda, a tiny town off a dirt road in the Eastern Karoo, a semidesert area of incredibly natural stark beauty.

However she feared that convincing Eric to drive some 12 hours total out of their way to see an arty house designed by a potentially crazy older lady in the 1940s might be a bit of an uphill battle. Until she read that South Africa´s smallest microbrewery was down the street from the Owl House. Hallelujah!

As it turned out, Eric loved the Owl House as much as Kathleen, and we ate lunch AND dinner at the Two Goats Deli and Sneeuberg Brewery (and would have had breakfast there, too, if they would have let us.)

The Owl House was the labor of love of Helen Martins, who had grown up in the area and returned to it in her 30s to take care of her sick father (whom she didn´t get along with). Following his death, some failed relationships, and her own illness, Helen decided that she wanted to bring more light into her life. So at the age of 48, she began a 30-year transformation of her home into an oasis of color and light. She turned her garden into a statuary of mosaics and other creations. She takes her themes from various religions, fantasy, and her own personal life. The whole affect is beautiful, fascinating, and, at times, eerie. She used cement, colored glass (in mosaic, crushed, and bottle form), and her imagination to create a wonderland to her own liking. In the end, nearing her 80s and partially blind, she took her own life. But not before people discovered her gifts and celebrated her vision as Outsider Art. While she was considered a kook when she was living, now people are drawn to this tiny community to view her work. And many artists have taken up residence in the sleepy, sun-baked town.

And a brewer! Andre at the Sneeuberg Brewery crafts delicious ales that he lets you pull yourself right from the keg-erator. And he also makes his own cheese that he serves up with home baked bread and kudu salami. Deeeeeeelish!

Haircuts Around the World: South Africa

2007-10-15T08:54:00.000-07:00

With most of the modern conveniences available to us, South Africa felt like home in many ways. Sadly there were not many interesting barber shops, and only on our second to last day when we visited a township in Cape Town did we find a place that looked right for this edition of -- Haircuts Around The World. But my hair could not wait that long, and we settled for a homegrown cut in our backpacker's hostel in Hogsback.

We shared a place with a great couple from London (Johnny and Juliet) who were traveling around the world but only in their second week at this point. Johnny was sporting a hairstyle similar to mine. He also had a new set of clippers with him. So Kathleen resumed her role of stylist and trimmed my hair on the front porch while it began to rain outside. Ahhh...memories of home. We did not have the proper gear to work on the beard, but once again the top of my head was looking great! For surroundings, comfort, familiarity, and style I would give it a 10 out of 10 (Kathleen reads this too).

South Africa: Away With The Fairies

2007-10-14T08:48:00.000-07:00

Leaving the coast, we headed inland toward Hogsback, which had reached mythic status in our heads as the home of the Away with the Fairies backpacker lodge. Every guidebook raved about the beauty of the region, but we had met few people who had actually gone there.

The region makes big news of the fact that J.R.Tolkien vacationed there with his family, and many believe that it was the inspiration for the natural landscape in the Lord of the Rings. As such, everything is named Hobbit Hollow real estate or Lothlorien pub-n-grub or Middle Earth nursery. And, indeed, the setting absolutely lives up to the hype---it´s beautiful, lush, and resplendent with waterfalls. The only problem is that Tolkien was only three years old when he was on holiday here. Oh well...
Despite all that, we checked into our Hobbit House hut that we shared with some charming Londoners, and head out to enjoy the riches of Hogsback. Gorgeous hiking, the highest and scariest tree-house we´ve ever seen (Kathleen white-knuckled it the whole time), and the Rugby World Cup Semi-Finals (England vs. France). Admittedly, we know nothing about rugby, but it was cool to be in a place where folks were rabid with national pride. Some ex-pat Brits were sporting flags shaved into their heads and God Save the Queen hotpants, while the South Africans were pouring Springbok shots (Amarula and mint liquor) and the French were knashing their jaws.

On one hike, we ended up under an amazing waterfall, where some locals convinced us we had to swing and scoot behind the waterfall to look through it. This picture of Eric being helped in the process cracks us up, because it looks like an add for a San Francisco bathhouse or something.

On an entirely different note, one thought that came to mind in Hogsback was the notable lack of children compared to our East African adventures. We had become so accustomed to kids (especially under the age of 5) being everywhere we looked, running out to say hi, grabbing our hands, and playing in the streets. Not that this was necessarily a good thing for Eastern Africa, as large families in the face of looming poverty are a recipe for disaster. But it was interesting to note that the face of South Africa seemed so much more like home.

South Africa: The Eastern Cape’s Wild Coast

2007-10-12T06:55:00.000-07:00

Leaving the Drakensberg under a cloud of cover, we made our way to the Wild Coast. Many know this area as the

Transkei

, as it was the largest apartheid-era homeland in the country and thus also the poorest. Even today, the area is still home to the largest concentration of black South Africans, and it felt more like East Africa to us, with rural villages and communities, and lots of un-penned livestock and small farms. In fact, they talk about the Transkei Big Five being goats, cows, pigs, sheep and dogs.

The area is home to the Xhosa (said with a click that we can’t seem to master) and Pondo people. And their simple rondavel (round, mud homes) huts are distinctive for their turquoise color. The color, however, while now both fashionable and traditional, stems from earlier times when families could only afford the discounted, off-color paint that a company tried to unload in the region.

This was also the birthplace of Nelson Mandela, and there’s a great museum in Mthatha that chronicles his childhood, rise to power, imprisonment, and release. It’s quite moving.

The natural scenery is also quite moving, and the new moniker ‘Wild Coast’ seems fitting. Rugged steep hills plunge into the sea, with little development or paved roads to be found. We first lay our head in Port St. Johns, where we had to stop to get our windshield wipers fixed. With help from some locals, Eric sought out the most trusted auto mechanic in town. Evidently he’s the only one who isn’t drunk before breakfast. Driving down a rough dirt road, Eric found a bare-chested, long-haired hippy smoking a morning spliff with his mug full of coffee. His assistant was on his second beer of the day, and another guy was sleeping in the back of a hatchback parked under a mango tree (both looked like Willie Nelson). Classic. And of course he was able to fix the problem in no time, unlike the mechanics in Kokstad at the service station.

The Wild Coast was probably one of the more culturally rich segments of our South African journey. We first ventured to a mud cave, where locals go to cover their skin with Xhosa mud, breathe in the healing properties of a natural sulfur vent, and drink from the restorative natural spring (smelly and salty!). People were amazingly welcoming, considering we were intruding a bit on their traditional rituals, and they seemed to take pleasure in helping us decorate our bodies. One guy, in particular, went to town on Eric. Eric showed his gratitude by doing an interpretive leopard dance that seemed to both impress and frighten everyone (see attached video).

Our Wild Coast adventures also included a stay out at the Kraal in Mpande, a self-sustaining backpackers´ lodge perched on an insanely beautiful stretch of the coast. No electricity meant beautiful candle-lit nights, while lots of rain made for a somewhat wet and slippery walk to the composting toilets in the middle of the night. This was our introduction to mussel cracker, a crazy delicious fish with huge chompers, shipwrecks, and drum circles. We know this latter bit is going to scare some of our indie rocking friends at home. The drumming at the Kraal was made all the more hilariously bohemian by the conversation about conspiracy theories, astral planes, and global consciousness shifts by our fellow dreadlocked drummers. But when in Rome...

Leaving Mpande, we made our way to Coffee Bay for gorgeous hilltop walks, cliff jumping into the ocean (watch the barnacles!), and more drum circles at the Bomvu Backpackers (that endorses its own tribal rhythms band).

The highlight here was local guide, Silas, who led us out to the Hole In the Wall, and kept us laughing with nicknames (Eric=sweetie, Kathleen=funny wife), local knowledge, and a huge warm grin.

When we were out at the Hole In the Wall, a naturally-carved rock that beautifully frames pounding surf, we happened up the initiation of a new sangoma, or traditional healer. You are born into a being a healer, it´s not something you make as a career choice, and it´s usually passed down through families. They are then trained to work with the forces of both the natural and the supernatural, as witchcraft and superstition still play a large role in traditional communities. We watched as the new initiate was baptized in the water, and then celebrated with a freshly-killed goat stew boiled in a huge pot.

South Africa: The Mighty Drakensberg

2007-10-05T02:34:00.000-07:00

We can´t get over how different it is to travel in South Africa

compared to the rest of our African adventure. At times, it can simply feels like we’re on holiday in the

United States

. Almost everyone speaks English, everything is modern and convenient, the grocery stores are plentiful and stocked with organic veggies, and the wine is cheap and delicious. But it’s more complicated than that, too. Because the townships stretch far and wide, and show a face of poverty that we had become accustomed to in East Africa, but that seems all the more shocking and glaring in contrast to the affluence of so many other South Africans.

While undoubtedly South Africa has come a long way since the end of apartheid, there is still an obvious disparity between blacks and whites. And while the country is heading in the right direction, it was still hard for us to witness the realities of its past (former homelands and shanty towns stretching for miles) in real life. We couldn’t help but feel a certain mistrust of all Afrikaners of a certain age, which is undoubtedly unfair as we know the politics are more complicated than that. And we felt even more uncomfortable around whites that had moved to South Africa during the height of apartheid. What would inspire someone to move to a country with such a horrid system of government-mandated oppression and inequality? We met a few European hikers in their mid-50s who had been living in South Africa for 30 years and there were so many questions we wanted but were afraid to ask (or perhaps fingers we wanted to point). We tried to educate ourselves as best we could, while at the same time enjoying the sheer natural beauty of South Africa.

And the Drakensberg mountain range is just that: sheer, natural beauty. We spent a glorious week hiking in the mountains and witnessing some of the craziest nighttime electrical storms that we’ve ever seen. Luckily the rain would break occasionally, and we were able to climb to the top of Tugela Falls supposedly the second highest waterfall in the world (although there seemed to be some debate about that fact.) Regardless, it was a beautiful sight and introduced us to our first set of chain ladders, a surprisingly common feature in South African hiking. We also enjoyed walks in the Monk’s Cowl region, and along the Giant’s Cup trail. Beautiful scenery, all. Our weather wasn’t always the greatest, but at least it gave us an excuse to sleep in occasionally. We tried to organize a pony trek into Lesotho, but it wasn’t in the cards for us. We did, however, start to eat a lot of spaghetti and corn/avocado/tomato salad. This pretty much became our staple diet. That and red wine and dark chocolate, as they had been inaccessible on our trip thus far. Dreamy. Oh, and we’ve been ferreting out local brewpubs for Eric’s exhaustive research. South Africa

has quite a few, and our first foray was to the Nottingham Road brewery. Not that it sounds pretentious or anything. It actually wasn’t.

South Africa: Impressions Upon Landing

2007-09-30T22:33:00.000-07:00

What a difference a flight makes. Wow, culture shock. We land in Johannesburg, and it’s almost as though we’ve flown home. Fancy new cars. Strip malls. Billboards. Restaurant chain food. Lots of white people. It was odd. But first, a note about the flight, which was hilarious. We were jet-setty and flew, instead of taking the bus, as the price difference wasn’t that large once you factored in all the visa fees we’d have to pay as we passed through multiple countries on the 40+ hour bus trip. Meanwhile the flight was short, and cheap because we flew Air

Malawi

. This may have been because their inflight magazine discussed how they were well on their way to bringing up their safety codes to standard compliance. They had a ways to go, but they were making progress (gulp). They also noted how African airflight has the worst safety records in the world, but they wanted to do their part to improve this. No joke, this is what it said! Thanks and pass the peanuts.

In any case, we landed safely in Jo’burg and immediately noted the differences between South Africa and its eastern neighbors. Soap in the bathrooms! We were immediately whisked away to a backpackers by the crazy, tightly-wound, but charming owner whom we met at the airport. She raved about how her backpackers was so safe (everyone’s legitimate concern in Jo’burg) because it’s in a ritzy suburb near the largest mall in the southern hemisphere, and money equals safety, and everything we need is at the mall. Not exactly what we came to Africa for, but alas. We found ourselves crashing in what seemed like someone’s college apartment, with mismatched furniture, bad carpet, and even the requisite stoner plunked down in front of the boob tube, half asleep. Hilarious.

And indeed, she was right that everything we needed was at the mall. It was like being plunked down in a more racially-diverse Walnut Creek, California. We got our new cell phone SIM card, had chicken wraps at a health-food chain, watched a shirtless Elvis impersonator play guitar for tips in a steakhouse, searched for guidebooks, plug adapters, and groceries. Surreal.

We hightailed it out of Jo’burg and hit the open road. Our whole mode of travel changed in South Africa. Given the distances we wanted to cover, and the relative costs of transport, we had WHEELS. It was a crazy sense of liberating freedom to rent a car (once Eric mastered driving on the left side of the road, with the stick shift on the left). All of a sudden we were free agents. And the network of backpacker hostels and guest houses in South Africa is incredible. They are all charming, full of character, and boast self-catering kitchens. So we bought a cooler, wine glasses, a corkscrew and some silverware, and we were a mobile culinary, adventuring unit. It was quite fun and indulgent after months of eating whatever came at us through the bus window.

Haircuts Around the World: Malawi

2007-09-29T16:20:00.000-07:00

This is the one that got away. Instead, we leave you with Eric’s increasingly Amish look.

Malawi: The Wild Interior

2007-09-29T02:22:00.000-07:00

Tearing ourselves away from the lake, we jumped in our first in an endless stream of pick-up truck rides as we made our way to Vwaza Marsh Wildlife Reserve, where we’ve heard rumors of great herds of elephants. The Malawian countryside is absolutely gorgeous, rolling hills and mountains, dotted with villages and jacaranda trees. One sad reality that is impossible to avoid, however, is the large percentage of coffin shops you see on the side of the road. Indeed, many of the furniture makers have changed their signs to call themselves coffin salesman. And with the high rate of HIV/AIDS, their business is likely picking up as a result. It’s a sobering and depressing reality.

The last and most-memorable leg of our trip was sitting cross-legged in the back of a matola, flatbed pick-up truck, being bounced down a bumpy dirt road. The truck was packed, and Kathleen found herself holding another woman’s child in her lap, while Eric was plied with Malawian Gin (which comes in little plastic one-hit sachets) by an exceedingly friendly drunk who promised to come keep us company the next day (please, no!). Open jugs of diesel spilled on Eric’s pants, while we hoped the guy smoking a cigarette in the back didn’t drop his light. Alas, we landed at the National Park gate at sunset, waved goodbye to our friends, handed back their children, and made our way to our hut where we dined on warm beer and peanut butter and tomato sandwiches.

The next day, we learned the rumors are true as scores of elephants paraded past our hut en route to Kazuni Lake. It’s the laziest game viewing we’ve ever done. We sat on our verandah and watched while the amazing animals ate, drank, and occasionally tussled. It was truly incredible. They got so close to our hut that one bull elephant sent us scrambling inside for cover. And the baboons sat at our picnic table, as though waiting for us to serve them lunch. Fantastic. We ran into a tour guide that we had met previously, and he graciously offered to have us join his group for breakfast and dinner. A delicious breakfast and dinner, I might add. So kind! And then he proceeded to get drunk and regale us with crazy African bush tales. At night, we could hear the hippos grunting and elephants trumpeting. Magical.

Our last destination in Malawi was Chinguni Hills, although getting there was half the fun. Especially when we had to take a taxi-cab ride from two seedy-looking fellows with their hats pulled low and booming rap music in their car with tinted windows. When we got in and they heard our accents, they flashed huge warm toothy grins and said genuinely, ‘Welcome to Malawi!’ So typical of our experiences here, where everyone is overwhelmingly nice, friendly and helpful. At Chinguni Hills, we embarked on a canoe safari into hippo paradise. Grunting, laughing, snorting and bobbing up and down in the water, they are so fun to watch. But don’t get too close please. We were hoping that we actually got to paddle the canoes, as we would have welcomed the exercise, but evidently it’s too dangerous. As a Boundary Waters’ paddler and map-reader extraordinaire, Eric was chomping at the bit to lend a hand, so he did finally convince our boatman of his finesse and helped push us through some reeds.

Dinners at Chinguni Hills were also a highlight. Candle-lit (no electricity) affairs served family-style with fresh produce and cold beers. We were so appreciative and impressed with the crowd staying there (and virtually everywhere we stayed in East Africa). A thoughtful international mix of travelers well versed in local politics, history, and news. A few were on holiday from their work in

Zimbabwe

distributing food to those who needed it (which is virtually everyone), and others worked for human rights and environmental organizations throughout East Africa. It made for really thought-provoking conversations, which has been much of the joy of our travels thus far. Hopping on bike taxis, we were sad to leave. And I’m sure the bike taxi riders were sorry to see us---what with our big packs and big bottoms. At least it was mostly downhill, and we tipped well.

Making our way to Blantyre, we ran errands (postcards, email, flight tix) as we prepared to leave Malawi. But that didn´t mean Kathleen didn´t have time to have a skirt quickly made on the street. Who can resist this cultural experience? You go into the open market and buy a bolt of fabric. Then you give it to a guy set up with his sewing machine on the sidewalk, who takes your measurements. Then you swing back in an hour to pick up your new outfit. All told, it was less than $6. Granted, it´s no Elly Karl original, but still...

Things We Ate on the Street: Malawi

2007-09-28T06:11:00.000-07:00

While

Malawi

lacked the diversity of street side snacks on offer that

Tanzania

flaunted, the drive-through produce market more than made up for it. Crammed into a mini-bus with chickens, children, bags of grain, luggage, gas cans, and overloaded baskets, it was virtually impossible to move or put your feet on the ground. However when we passed through an agricultural area, local farmers would thrust fresh carrots, cauliflower, cabbage, garlic, corn, radishes, and potatoes through the windows.

It was utter chaos, but somehow we all made room for a few veggie essentials as we trundled by. One time the man next to us stuffed six heads of lettuce down between his legs (as his lap was already occupied balancing his little boy, his bag, and a basket full of linens). Yum!

Another Malawian treat was Chibuku, the International Beer. It came in a milk carton, you had to shake it, it was usually warm, and it was kinda chunky. We´re fairly certain that it´s not giving Anchor Steam a run for its money.

Truthfully there was one delicacy on offer in Malawi that we didn’t try: barbecued mice. Evidently when they burn the fields to clear them for planting, all the field mice run out and local kids run and collect them to grill and sell by the roadside. We saw them being proffered, but our bus (luckily) didn’t stop.

Malawi: Life on the Lake

2007-09-23T01:58:00.000-07:00

To many travelers, Malawi is all about the lake. And it’s easy to see why. Crystal-clear waters, abundant fish, gorgeous sunsets, and a laid-back lifestyle. For Eric, this was also where he got his first mints since leaving California; a notable event for a man who used to burn through several Mintz tins a week at home.

Our first stop was Nkhata Bay, where we pushed our way onto a crowded mini-bus, hugging our packs on our knees. Kathleen was perched on half of a seat with no back rest, with only one foot on the floor and another hovering above a sack of rice, ever fearful that the door would fly open at any moment. But arriving in Nkhata Bay erased all discomfort, as we stepped foot into Mayoka Village. Our hut was perched above the lake, swaddled in bougainvillea and boasted fishbowl windows. We wished we could have transported all of our friends and family to come join us for snorkeling, hammocking, trampoling, and a game of pool. We raised a glass of hot chocolate and amarula to you all.

But to truly appreciate Malawian lake life, you need to take a ride on the MV Ilala Ferry. For lakeside and island communities, the ferry is a lifeline. It’s been plying the waters since 1957, and it’s one of the only ways that locals can transport food, furniture, family and farm animals around. Clambering aboard, we made our way over sacks of potatoes, rice, breast-feeding women, and a veritable morass of humanity, bathed in sweat and diesel fumes from the engine. Truthfully, it felt a bit odd to push our way through the extremely overcrowded 2^nd-class compartment to reach the open-air first class deck. The lines were fairly clearly drawn between Malawian locals below and mostly-white travelers above, which lent a bit of a colonial feel that we didn’t like. That’s not to say that the top deck didn’t have it’s own fair share of resident cockroaches. We grabbed deck chairs and silently cruised into the warm pitch-blackness under a blanket of stars while trying not to get seasick.

We disembarked around midnight on Chizumulu Island. There is no dock large enough for the ferry, so everyone piles off with their goods into a lifeboat to be paddled to shore by moonlight. We reached our atmospheric island paradise lit by kerosene light. But the lack of electric lights is not all eco-friendly; electricity (fueled by diesel that sometimes runs out before the next ferry arrives) is only available to the island from 9am-noon and 2-8pm. And even this is a recent addition, given as a reward to the island for voting in majority for the UDF political party. Funny. Either way, the approach is beautiful, as is the island. Except for the cockroach on the bar, the mouse in the outhouse, and the musical frog in our sand-floor reed hut. Although that might just be Kathleen talking.

All heebie jeebies were erased by morning, as sunlight streamed over the island, and we awoke to the laughter of little kids jumping in the water by the fishing boats. As the only guests on the island, we had the run of the place and we plugged our ipod into the stereo system, moved the furniture to our liking, and relaxed with the dogs. Amazing sunsets prevailed , along with funny and surreal nights with our host, a British expat whose been living on the island for at least a dozen years and definitely needing a break. After two days wandering the island, we felt like locals, and the little children would run and grab our hands as we walked down the dirt roads. You begin to feel like the Pied Piper as they all run after you. The island mostly consisted of fishermen, and walking around we’d see rows and rows of silver fish being dried in the sun. The highlight was the older women and naked babies seeking shade under the fish racks, clapping and singing to pass away the time. That, and the massive and distinctive baobab trees that dotted the island.

But more adventure awaited us, so we decided to hitch a ride over to Likoma Island. A local choir group was headed to the island, so they let us sail over with them. But first we all sat under a tree waiting for the wind to change. Literally. It truly felt like island life. Our dhow was typical of the region, with a sail pieced together from bed sheets, maize bags, and other odds and ends sewn together. Someone was in charge of bailing water continuously during the 2-hour journey. The choir group started the trip off with a prayer (hopefully not needed to keep us from sinking!) and then proceeded to drum and sing the whole way. Including a rendition of When the Saints Go Marching In for our benefit. Not bad for a 75-cent trip. When we disembarked, we promised to come watch their choir performance at the local school.

Our new home was the Mango Drift, a series of beachside huts where you could virtually dangle your toes in the water. It was true paradise except for one disturbing incident when Kathleen found herself face-to-face with a snake in the outhouse. The snake had not bothered to lock the door while he was in there, so Kathleen had walked in and was picking the toilet paper roll off the ground when she noticed the privvy was already occupied. The snake was long (maybe 4 feet) and had supported its body in the air while swaying about. Kathleen scrambled to give him some privacy, but the doors were barn-door style (top and bottom), so she was having trouble maneuvering during her fright. She was panicking, the snake was panicking, and all-in-all it was not a relaxing experience. Kathleen eventually ran from the bathroom, t.p. still in hand, and managed to not have to go to the bathroom for the rest of the trip. Later we learned that the snake was likely a black mambo, as they are one of the few snakes that can support their body weight in the air like that, and they normally strike in the chest. They are also one of the deadliest snakes in the world, and most humans die within 15 minutes of being bitten. Ahem.

On a happier note, the island was full of friendly locals and curious kids. Numerous children tote their younger siblings on their hips and backs, causing us to note that in the United States little girls have dolls to play with, but here they actually care for their siblings. We managed to walk virtually every inch of the island while we were there (most on purpose, sometimes because we were lost), chatting with villagers, buying local bread and produce to make sandwiches, and going to a malipenga dancing competition. This was an incredible thing to witness as men played gourd-like instruments and drums and danced in a line. We wish we knew more about the origins of the dance, but it’s popular along the Mozambique coast as well. For all the local kids, we seemed to be the entertainment. They would stare shyly at us at first. Then when we would bust out the little Chichewa we knew, such as ‘Muli bwangi?’ (how are you?) and ‘Dzinu lanu ndani?’ (What’s your name?) they would scream with laughter and in minutes were climbing all over us.

Likoma is an interesting place. Technically it’s in Mozambican waters, and the views across the lake to the looming mountains of Mozambique are incredible. Oddly, the island is also home to St. Peter’s Cathedral, one of the largest churches in Africa, on a scale with Westminster Cathedral. Once the headquarters of the Anglican Church in Malawi, the island proudly boasted a 100% literacy rate in the early 1900s. A rarity in Africa at that time. The church is set in Chipyela, which means ‘place of burning’ as this was where witches used to be burned to death by suspicious locals before the church intervened. These days poverty is still the norm, but there are several wonderful programs in place to help educate kids, house orphans, and teach locals sustainable farming and business techniques. It’s quite inspiring and many of the programs were introduced by the staff of the luxury lodge, Kaya Mawa, that operates on part of the island. As a result, Likoma residents tend to be better off than your average Malawian. And while the Mission stills operates a well-run hospital, they compete for business with a highly-regarded witch doctor on the island, who attracts clients from as far away as Tanzania.

Returning to Nkahta Bay on the ferry, we board around midnight. By 3am, we finally take off after more people, cars (!), grain, and household items are loaded on. We rented a sleeping mat to share, and curl up for the trip home.

Malawi: First Stop, The Mushroom Farm

2007-09-15T01:55:00.000-07:00

We originally thought we’d travel to Southern Africa via

Zambia

and

Botswana

, but expensive visas, complicated logistics, and a gut-feeling that

Malawi

was calling our names prompted us to change our plans. While we’d love some day to return to visit these other countries, we can’t say enough wonderful things about

Malawi

, it’s people, food, and scenery. There’s definitely a reason it’s known as the ‘Warm Heart of Africa.’ To cross the border near Mbeya, we boarded a 5:15am bus in Dar Es Salaam. We payed a bit more for a ‘Luxury’ coach that promised a bathroom and air-conditioning, neither of which worked. A fact that was hard to swallow, as we saw the cheaper bus rocket past us on the highway. Alas, we couldn’t complain too much, because as we drove through Mizumi National Park, we saw giraffes, gazelles, and monkeys, and had to stop the coach to let a family of elephants cross the road. Unbelievable. Fourteen hours later we finally reached Mbeya, where we crashed amid cockroaches, sparkly curtains, fake flowers, and candles to mask the scent of our shoes and socks.

We congratulated ourselves on not falling prey to the Malawi Border scam, whereby seemingly charming taxi drivers offer to ferry you across the border to your next destination for a fee. While far more pricey than the public route, they offered convenience, comfort, and efficiency. We smelled a rat. None of our previous buses had been comfortable or efficient, but they had been plenty entertaining and cheap, to boot. We opted for the local route, and thanked our lucky stars every time we met folks in Malawi who had paid anywhere from $30-$100 for this ‘service’---each and every one of them had been abandoned at the border crossing realizing they’d been duped. Not to say that our own route was crystal clear. We boarded one coaster (mini-bus that you sit and wait in until it fills---to the gills—at which point you get moving). Only to have to transfer after an hour to another rattletrap contraption with no working dash instruments that belched and backfired its way toward the border.

We arrived in Malawi with little preparation. Despite our best efforts to buy a guidebook in Tanzania, we were entirely unsuccessful. So we read people’s blogs, crossed our fingers, and with a roll of the dice landed at the Mushroom Farm. Happily, it seemed the fates were with us, as this ended up being one of our favorite spots. We were fully prepared to walk the 3-hours uphill to reach our destination, but we ran into some other guests who had already called for a lift because, "Alex is like the Queen, she doesn’t walk.” They were fun and funny; loud, brash, heavy drinking Londoners. Great company, really. And they had a guidebook that they let us borrow.

We spent the next three days in eco-friendly sustainable paradise. Composting toilets, outdoor showers, organic home-grown veggies, lantern-light, and stars for miles and miles. It felt like living in a tree house. Or rather the most beautiful mud house you’ve ever seen. Technically, we believe it’s called a ‘cob house’ and we plan to build one when we get home. If you want one, too, check out Becky Bee’s book, ‘The Cob Builder’s Handbook." Really! The downside of not having reservations, however, is that we got booted from our cob house to a tent on the second night. Alas, it was still a tent with a view!

The Mushroom Farm was near Livingstonia, where an important Mission dedicated to the works of Dr. Livingstone (we presume) has been in operation since 1875. The original mission was near the lake, but malaria sent the Scottish missionaries heading for the hills in 1894. There’s a reason the country is often called Malawia, as it has one of the highest malaria rates around, with still lake waters being a breeding ground for mosquitoes while a high population density made for tasty snacking. A fascinating museum in town marked the history and impact of Missionary work in the area. While we tend to be extremely skeptical of the process of converting people away from their own native beliefs, there is no denying that the original missionaries in Malawi did a world of good. They played an instrumental role in abolishing the ruthless slave trade that had been ravaging the area, introducing health care, and providing education. They introduced new farming methods and carpentry skills, and their schools gave rise to many of Malawi’s most influential nationalist politicians. That’s not to say that colonialism didn’t eventually rear it’s ugly head of exploitation and self-serving subjugation, but it does seem true that the original goal of ‘Africa for the Africans’ was the initial intent of the first missionaries to get involved in Malawi.

The Mushroom Farm was also near Manchewe Falls, an impressive waterfall simply for its sheer drop and beauty. But also notable as the site where locals used to hide in caves behind the falls to avoid being sold into slavery. The history of the slave trade along the East African coast is horrific and unfathomable, with men and women captured in their homes, shipped across Lake Malawi, marched forcibly for months, and then shipped to the slave market in Zanzibar, with hundreds dying well before they made it to the auction. Now, however, Manchewe Falls is where barefoot kids run and play and tell jokes and act tough, hamming it up for the camera.

Back around the fire at the Mushroom Farm, we cracked each other up by demanding, ‘How many kwacha for a kuche kuche?” (Kwacha being Malawian currency and Kuche Kuche being the local beer.) Speaking of kwacha, it’s incredible to comprehend that the largest bank note produced is 500 kwacha (approx. $3.50 USD). And even this note is rather new. Which tells you something about the economy. While rich in scenic beauty (including the greatest diversity of fish in the world!), Malawi does not hold the same degree of natural resources as some of her neighbors, and sadly the economy suffers as a result. That being said, we met a tremendous amount of doctors and medical volunteers in

Malawi

. We heard mixed reviews about the success and efficacy of

Malawi

’s medical officers, which prompted interesting conversations about the role of NGO’s in developing countries. Overall we were inspired by the amazing programs that seemed to be in place to bring healthcare up to suitable standards in rural villages although they certainly have a long way to go.

Haircuts Around the World: Tanzania

2007-09-09T17:00:00.000-07:00

It’s time for another installment, as my caterpillar lip is getting unruly. We last left you with a fine haircut and beard trim in the town of Jinja in Uganda - an 8 out of 10 experience. We were fortunate that a barber shack was located at the end of the road next to our lodge in the town of Lushoto. This was a happing spot with lots of men waiting for a trim, Tupac posters on the wall, American hip hop and rap music playing on the stereo, and the maestro with the razor working his magic. Although I wasn´t quite sure what the deal was with the mouth protector he wore.

The cut went well, although it is hard to mess up a trim when you only use the #1 clipper. The tricky part is the beard. He went at it with no clipper guard but managed to do it well enough and trim the beard back into shape. I don´t think they have much experience with beards, as we rarely saw a Tanzanian man with a beard or mustache. No head massage or great care went into the cut, but the barber shack was excellent with great atmosphere. Because it was so small, they had a mirror angled from the ceiling behind the chair so you could watch all of the action by the reflection of the two mirrors. Overall, I would give it a 5 out of 10. Stay tuned for more...my hair keeps growing.

Tanzania: Lushoto and the Usambara Mountains

2007-09-09T08:39:00.000-07:00

Bidding adieu to Zanzibar, we boarded the Sea Star Ferry for a rocky journey back to Dar Es Salaam. Although instead of the Chuck Norris movie we enjoyed en route, we had to watch WWF wrestling and a Thai Martial Arts movie.

We boarded a local bus, where we shared two seats with seemingly five people and their chickens, bags, and groceries. But it was fun, actually, as the little boy shared his biscuits with us, and Eric played peek-a-boo with the giggliest toddler we’ve ever seen. What wasn’t fun was when we got pulled over for having too many people in the bus. Which wouldn’t have been a big deal, except our driver got in a verbal dispute with the cop that resulted in a 2-hour delay while they butted heads over fines, attitude, and road rules. Admittedly a full bus is not something to be underestimated. We were appalled at times by the crush of humanity, where neither pregnant women, nor men with peg legs, were given seat priority. Fancy an egg or a cashew? They’re plenty for sale while you wait…

But we eventually made our way via an overcrowded daladala to the hilltown of Lushoto. Winding our way up, up, up into the Usambara Mountains, daylight gave way to moonlight, the mountain air chilled, and we passed cozy looking homes lit by kerosene lights. We checked into the exceedingly friendly and homey Karibuni Lodge and fell fast asleep.

Awaking to Vervet Monkeys in the trees, we saw the so-called African Alps bathed in sunlight. Like a German-influenced Switzerland in Tanzania, the Usambara Mountains are sprinkled with European architecture and steeped in African flavor. Gorgeous views, abundant sugar cane, and lots of kids that giggle when you pretend to chase them.

We embarked on a three-day trek to the village of Mtae, where the views are stupendous, the kids run out to ‘jambo!’ you at every turn, and the mountains are a jumble of pine, eucalyptus, fields and villages. The motto of Mtae is ‘Kesi ya mbuzi hakima ni chui haki hakuna’ which means ‘In the case of the goat and the lion with the leopard as the judge, there is no justice.’ And it stemmed from colonial days, when there was no justice for an African plaintiff against a German farmer with a Colonial judge. Interesting and thought-provoking.

In Mtae, we stayed in a local guest house, along with all the passing bus drivers. (Who tended to lounge in the hallway at night, wrapped only in their towels. We tried not to contemplate this too much.) It was a simple abode. So simple, in fact, that Eric accidentally knocked off a large chunk of the wall when trying to get rid of a cricket with his flip flop. Whoops!

Tanzania: Getting Spicy on Zanzibar

2007-09-04T07:36:00.000-07:00

You probably know that Zanzibar was one of the original ‘Spice Islands,’ where traders from near and far came to swap goods and pick up exotic spices. But did you also know that it was home to Freddie Mercury, the lead singer of the band Queen? It’s true. And it’s fitting for an island like Zanzibar, which is such a crazy crossroads of cultures, architecture, and attractions. Mosques ring out the call to prayer, India influences the cuisine and music, and everyone from Rastas to Masai plies their wares on the streets. We wandered the narrow alleys, enjoying the feeling of being back in Egypt at times, and capped our evenings off with sundowners on the famed balcony of the Africa House Hotel. Kathleen became particularly enamored with the dawa, a mix of kunyagi (the local cane-based fire water), vodka, lemon and ginger. We tried to check out the local music scene at the Dharma Lounge, but we were put off the sign that prohibited both prostitution and bedroom slippers. Talk about a kill-joy.

While largely Muslim, Zanzibar feels so different from Egypt, as the women wear brightly colored kangas (cotton print cloth used for skirts, dresses, head wraps, etc) with Swahili proverbs on them that convey everything from loving endearments to sassy advice. We had good fun asking women in the street to help us translate them. Another testament to the relaxed culture in Zanzibar was the veiled woman at our backpacker hostel, who couldn’t taker her eyes off Jay Z’s racy ‘Umbrella’ video with scantily-clad women writhing around. She told us, ‘Oh, I love this one!’ as she was helping us check out of our room.

We also made our way out to the coast at Pongwe Beach. Rather than fork over the cash for a taxi, we opted for the daladala, a pickup truck converted into a taxi of sorts. People get on and off as you rumble down the road, with everyone packed in like sardines. At one point, we counted 21 people in the back, including the two women crouched in the middle with no seat.

Heading out into the hinterlands, we encounter kids playing their own version of shirts and skins on the soccer field, with one team wearing jerseys made out of old rice bags and the other bare-chested. We jumped out at Santa Maria Coral Park, awaiting seaside bliss. Instead we were greeted with low tide (the sea looked miles away) and hundreds of kids running amok, screeching and careening into each other at our seaside abode. But we learned that the kids were orphans (largely due to HIV/AIDS) on a day trip, so how could you be angry with them? And the tide came back at 3pm. After a beachside beer at the bar made out of an old dhow (fishing boat), followed by barbecued kingfish and a post-dinner bonfire, we had changed our tune. And our one night stay turned into three. Our only wish was that the Three Stupids could have been in charge of the stereo system. Instead, we found ourselves dancing barefoot to bad American mukaz classics. But we did learn to play the wooden board game, boa, and we bought a board to teach all of our friends at home.

For the most part, we lazed around reading, journaling and hammocking, but we did ride rental bikes up the coast to Kiwenge, a largely Italian-oriented resort village. We cracked up at the Masai on the beach who greeted us with ‘ciao regazzi!’ Evidently we were all out of our element, as neither us, nor the Masai, really belonged there.

The highlight of our Zanzibar experience, however, had to be our daladala ride back to Stone Town. We foolishly convinced our new German friends Tim and Melanie to join us on the daladala instead of a taxi. Which was all well and good until the skies opened up and poured rain on us while we waited by the side of the road. But soon enough we were picked up, with just a short detour to pick up a 6-foot bull shark, manta ray, and heaps of firewood to load on top with our backpacks. It was rather unreal, and the whole ride we had a view of the shark’s fin bouncing down the road with us. We practiced our new language skills with the daladala drivers, and when Eric busted out his ‘poa kichisi kama ndizi’ (crazy cool like a banana) they laughed and accused us of speaking gangsta Swahili. Upon arriving in town, we saw them unceremoniously dump the shark on the pavement and drag it a block to the shop, prompting us to eat vegetarian that night.