World Tour II Postcards, Page 10:  Excerpts from postcards sent in LATE FEBRUARY, 1996
 

San Pedro de Atacama, Chile, 18 February 1996 -- Buenos dias!  After several days in a very remote section of the southwest Bolivian altiplano (high plain), an area that is often above 16,000 feet (4700 meters), I've come down to much lower elevations and into the Atacama desert, the world's driest.  Some areas here have never recorded rainfall!

My companions for the last several days have been Michael (England), Stephen (New Zealand), and Sharron (Malaysia).  Also joining us for three days in our hired landcruiser were Sarah (Quebec), Charles (Belgium), our Bolivian driver/guide Charles and his 14 year old son, Ronald, who was also our cook.  Our ride took us across huge dried-up salt lakes and through seemingly endless expanses of stark but beautiful desert mountain landscape.  For three days, ours was almost the only vehicle we saw, and the road through this nearly uninhabited area was often just two unclear wheel tracks in the sand.  All fuel had to be carried in spare tanks since there were no gas stations.  Extra water had to be brought with us in case we broke down and got stuck out there.

Along the way, we saw geyser basins, bazaar rock formations, borax and salt plains, red algea-filled lagunas, a blue lake that turns green before one's eyes, large flocks of pink flamingos and roaming herds of alpaca (wild llamas).  We sank as we walked through knee-deep black mud and we bathed in spectacular surroundings in thermal springs.  The border crossing with Chile was just a lonely signpost in the desert sand without any other visible markings or border-controlling officials.

Prior to this little adventure, most of the folks named above were with me in a caravan of busses for a ride that was to be the worst of their lives.  The normally five-hour ride between Potosi and Uyuni, Bolivia took 17 hours, and much of that timewas spent through the night trying to cross hazardous rain-choked rivers and pushing and pulling busses out of the mud while it rained and snowed on us.  When the busses were moving, the ride over the rough bone-shaking road was often made more terrifying by the reckless habits of the drivers.  Many days later, my companions still talk about the whole experience.  Pushing busses was getting old for all of us, and we're ready for the mostly much better roads of Chile.

Last night, four of us celebrated carnaval in a very lively bar with Chilean music and a five-liter carafe of wine.

Santiago, Chile, 21 February 1996 -- Queridos todos!  What a difference a country makes!  Take riding a long distance bus, for example.  Instead of riding through hazardous rivers, pushing busses through the mud in the night rain and cold, and nearly colliding head-on or falling off mud-slick mountain roads, I now glide down wide, smooth paved roads with bridges, shoulders, guardrails and even white lines painted down the center and the sides.  It's nice to have one's life valued a little.  Squeezing my knees in seats built for school children, getting elbowed or spilled upon by people standing absurdly packed in a bus aisle, getting hounded constantly by people seeling everything from Chicklets to religion through the bus window, passing out from the hot, stuffy air when the windows won't open, shivering when they won't close, worrying about whether my clothes will again get soaked by the rain or stolen from the top of the bus, holding my urine for six or more hours or peeing with everyone else (men and women) alongside the bus ... instead of these and other inconveniences, I can now stretch out on wide, luxurious, deep-cushioned seats that recline almost completely into beds (enough to make the Greyhound corporation blush with embarassment in the U.S.), use the extraordinary sanitary on-board toilet, watch videos, and constantly get served complimentary tasty food and drink with generous portions by polite adult bus stewards dressed in white shirts and ties (which beats the short-changing fourteen-year olds covered in mud).

Santiago, Chile, 21 February 1996 -- Life has been good.  Aside from clinging to the outside of overcrowded trains, pushing busses out of the mud (6 times) in the middle of rainy, snowy nights, getting lost in the jungle with an inadaquate supply of pure water, narrowly avoiding head-on collisions with oncoming trucks on a terrifying single-lane, mud-slick mountain road, falling 10 feet down a mine shaft bruising hip and shoulder muscles, riding in a paddy wagon to a police station with a cook and waiter who assaulted my travel companion when she refused to eat or pay for her poorly prepared meal, sleeping in park gazebos with fierce lightning storms going on around me, and dodging water balloons flying everywhere and at everyone during carnaval ... aside from these minor hazards and mishaps, I've also been enjoying the sights of flamingos, parrots, macaws, tucans, llamas, vicunas, alpacas, exotic plants, and mind-blowing landscapes!  Southwest Bolivia by Landrover was two tire tracks in the sand for three days to nirvana!  I wish the whole world could experience these things.  I sometimes feel uncomfortably lucky.

I'm bound now for one of the ends of the earth, Tierra Del Fuego.

Puerto Porvenir, Chile, 23 February 1996 -- Buenos dias!  I've been on the road for 5 months now, and for awhile I've been meaning to come up with a list of some of the things I've been missing.  Here's a short list:
-- drinkable tap water
-- dark bread
-- beds with springs
-- hotel rooms with wastebaskets
-- doorways tall enough that I don't have to bump my head
-- toilets that 1) have toilet seats, 2) can flush toilet paper (rather than having to throw used paper into an adjacent wastebasket), 3 have their own supply of toilet paper, and 4) don't have to be flushed with a bucket of water.
-- showers that 1) are more than luke warm, 2) come out with more than a trickle, and 3) won't risk electricuting you when you flip the switch.
-- showers where you 1) don't have to walk in with your pants on (since you share the area with strangers), 2 don't have cold, wet, cement floors, and 3) don't have to get your pant legs wet when you take off and put on your pants.
-- bathroom sinks wtih mirrors in front of them so one can simultaneously see one's face while shaving and rinsing my razor.
-- cars that yeild to pedestrians and don't start honking from a block away to let people know that (rady or not) their coming through.
-- considerate people who won't cut in if you've left a small gap between you and the person standing in line in front of you.
-- sidewalks wide enough to walk on without bumping tino people or being forced into hazardous street traffic.
-- waiters and waitresses who act as if they're happy to serve you (even if they're only pretending).
-- people who would rather tell you that they don't know something than give you wrong directions or misinformation.

With regard to many of these things, Chile has already been a noticable improvement over other countries I've visited during this trip.  The economy is much stronger than anywhere I've been on this trip, and it seems in many ways like Europe.  The people, too, come from more of a mixture of European cultures.  Unfortunately, prices are almost European as well -- and are higher still in Argentina.

I'm hitchhiking in Chilean Tierra Del Fuego now.  It's tough making one's way across here since so few cars and busses pass through.

Puerto Porvenir, Chile, 23 February 1996 -- Buenas noches!  There's not much to Porvenir ... 6000 folks living under aging metal clad roofs, a could dozen sea lions, sea birds and a biting Antarctic breeze even in summer -- their February being the equivalent of our August.  Many people here are descendents of Yugoslavians who came here during an 1880s gold rush.  Street names lkie Croatia and Herzogovina tell the story.  Gold and more recent petroleum prospectors are long gone now, and there's not much to keep the kids here once they're out of school.

The only reason I'm here is because there are only two busses leaving each week, and although almost everybody stops to offer you a ride out of town when you're hitchhiking, they're only heading up the road apiece to even smaller, more forelorn hamlets.  So, crossing the large island of Tierra Del Fuego is likely to take 3 days.  Odds are that I'll be stuck in Rio Grande, Argentina tomorrow night before making to Ushuaia the following night, at the southern tip of the Americas.

I crossed the Strait of Magellan today, just as he did 475 years ago on his journey around the world.  It's bloody cold down here for summer, even though I'm not much further south than Minnesota is north.  It's not getting dark here until after 10:00 at night.

Puerto Porvenir, Chile, 23 February 1996 -- Buenos dias!  The winds whip around here like nobody's business, seeming constantly.  They turn almost comfortable summertime temperatures -- 40 to 60 degrees Farenheit -- into windchills of 10 to 20 degrees.  In the sun and with a good windblock, one might even enjoy a picnic.  Lacking these things, long johns and a heavy winter coat, you'd be dieing for cover.

The early explorers called this Tierra Del Fuego, the Land of Fire, because of all the fires that the natives were burning to try to stay warm.  It's still the same.  While the blistering Antarctic breeze pierces through the cracks of our hotel windows, wonderful gas stoves in each hotel room keep us warm and cozy.  They also have the best hot showers I've had since leaving the States.  It was cold from the Columbian Andes through the Bolivian Altiplano too, but their electric showers were just not up to the task.

Chilean Spanish is the most difficult to understand.  They drop consonants from the end and sometimes from the middle of their words.  It seems almost a different language.

The northern part of Tierra Del Fuego is mostly barren, dry and windswept; the southern part is forested and glaciated.  Unfortunately, poorly timed bus connections are likely to prevent me from having much time to do the area justice.

Ushuaia, Argentina, 26 February 1996 -- Bon dia (Good day)!  Just when you think you've reached the end of the Earth, someone comes along and says that for a price, you can go a little further.  It was a last minute impulse, but a lucky break came up, and I plunked down $2,000 for an 11 day trip to the Antarctic Peninsula.  It is the last voyage of the season, and they just happened to have a space available.  Normally, these voyages cost anywhere from $3,000 to $10,000 or more.  I know this because I researched it thoroughly before starting this trip.  The decision was made at 10:30 AM for a voyage that requires me to show up at 4:00 PM this very same day.  Consequently, I'm running around with my head cut off trying to get about a dozen last minute things accomplished.

It's a Russian ship and captain, with American and Canadian guides.  I'm excited!  It should be fun!

Just North of the Antarctic Circle, 29 February 1996 -- After 2 days and 3 nights of crossing the dreaded Drake Channel, a body of water with stiff westery currents that terrified the early mariners and, even under relatively good conditions, kept some of us in bed with sea sickness, I woke up this morning to the sound of our ship rubbing up against sea ice.  We crossed to just south of the Antarctic circle, something highly unusual for a research vessel turned tourist ship, but because of pack ice, we were unable to make a landing south of that line.  We have many interesting landings yet planned for our itinerary as we head northward along the Antarctic Peninsula.

We have 43 Russian crew members who operate the ship feed us and keep our rooms clean.  We also have 9 crew members from the U.S., Canada and other countries who serve as guides, lecturers, and making sure everyone is comfortable.  About half of the 65 passengers are Americans.  Likewise, about half of the passengers are over the age of 50.  The rooms are luxurious, the meals are very tasty, and we have destractions ranging from a library and videos to a sauna and a casino.
 

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