Roxanne on the road

Roxanne on the road: Argentinians

I just have to talk about Argentinians a bit. They are very social, friendly, family-oriented fun-loving people. OK: maybe I do not really know since I stayed only a few weeks. But that is sure the way it looked. People were so nice to me. I was offered help, addresses, assistance with Spanish translations, and even given photos of seat-mates who travelled next to me for a few towns . . . . The cab-drivers were great! But I was especially amused at the sight of Argentinian family gatherings. These tended to be big, loud, boistrous, and late.

Late: that is the unique point . . . One hardly dares enter an Argentinian restaurant betore 9:00 p.m. And that is an embarrassment! After some number of days I was trained to never dine before 10:00p.m. I am not talking about Saturdays . . . those are lively nights which begin even later! The typical Argentinian diner might venture into a restaurant about 10:00 on a Tuesday or a Thursday, but this hour would become 11:00 or later on a week-end. In fact, cities are pretty lively at all hours on the week-ends.

I once noticed families dining around me late on a Saturday . . at 11:20 a young couple walked in with their one year old . Altho the waiters offered a high chair, this child was far too lively to be sequestered in that kind of trap. And I do not mean that he was grumpy! This kid was in prime time and had the parents jumping all over, following his antics. Just as I was thinking how odd this sight would be in the USA, in came a more typical large family - at least 3 generations worth, including several babies. By now the hour was approaching mid-night. But Grandpa and Grandma were taking everyone out to dinner and all were in high spirits; babies, toddlers, young couples, kids.

Children who run around a bit fit right into the nice restaurants of Argentina. Nobody would even make them feel bad or cause their parents to squirm. Kids belong! This is not a philosophy heard from right-wing parties; in Argentina, it is simply the way people live. And even at all those late hours I cannot remember heairng any baby cry . . . My question as to why was resolved by a bus seat-mate on a later jouney. He boarded our vey hot bus with a cute 3 year old at about 2:00 p.m. on a Friday afternoon. This sweet little boy immediately fell asleep in Dad's arms (and was spared the vision of a hair-raising trip at the hands of our demented driver who thought he owned the oncoming lane!). Anyway, when I commented on the little guy's sweet disposition to dad, he explained that the poor boy had been forced to get up so early to catch the bus!!!!!! (2:00 p.m.) The very next night, Mike and I attempted to conform to local norms and remain awake for a free music festival which began at midnight every evening in the large central plaza of Mendoza . . . We gave up at about 1:00a.m. and headed for our hotel, wandering through adjacent plazas with playgound equipment - which was in use because parents do take their kids out to teeter-totters and swings in the wee hours of the morning!

Roxanne on the road

Roxanne on the road: Northwest Argentina!


I spent many hours today travelling winding canyon roads south of Salta (NW Argentina). Some of the areas we visited are so lightly populated (like maybe 50 people in 100km.?) that they do not have electricity or phones. Thus the rocky canyons retain a very natural look (not counting the road!). This is splendid country, which seems every bit as colorful and vast as the Grand Canyon (tho not as deep or steep-sided). This type of terrain persists at the foot of the eastern Andes where the steep mountains abut the vast chacos region of Argentina. Our scenic river valley was joined by uncountable numbers of side canyons wending their paths down from the Andes. It appears that there is really nobody much living in that direction. Such hiking opportunities! This country is beautiful!!!! I cannot arrange the words to describe the sights . . . Let me just say extremely colorful and extremely complex . . . blue skies, red, purple, green and orange rocks, green plants in all typical desert shades plus many of a brilliant green, and wild yellow flowers of an unknown variety . . . I did not think the scenery would keep getting better when I descended down the east side of the
mountains out of Chile, but I was wrong.

Also, today, I may have seen condors . . . to me that is totally exciting. Five sitings; two birds, followed by another two, then one . . . maybe always the same two over the course of a day???? I will go find a local bird expert tomorrow to discuss this. (These were later confirmed to be condors by Dr. Richard Clark of Salta, who is a famed Argentinian ornithologist. Of course, condors are not rare in the Andes, but I grew up in California and still regard them as quite special.)

Northwest Argentina is a fabulous place to visit! It really looks like "country" nearly everywhere, tho charming small pueblos grace the landscape. It appears dry (in this season, at least) but everything grows here: palm trees, eucalyptus, poplars, pines, cedars, oaks, bougainvillea, red flame trees, purple jacaranda trees, flowering jasmine, roses, orchids, cactus of many shapes and varieties, wisteria, citrus (the lemon and tangerine trees are loaded with fruit!), loquats (or kumquats?), peaches, pomegranates, grapes (vineyards!), flowering bromeliads, bananas, veggies, cattle, pigs, chickens, goats, horses. Guys really do look like cowboys, outside the city. I mean, they are in jeans but you ought to see their serious leather boots! And they ride horses, as do many
other local folks. One also sees herders with cattle, goats or sheep occasionally in the arroyos.

.......................................................................................................


My day trip ended in the Cafayate Valley, a famous wine-growing region of Argentina. We visited a vineyard which dates back to the 1800s. The mammoth size of the great oak wine barrels impressed me more than the wine we were offered. BUT happily I got some help from friendly Argentinians at dinner the same night. Hearing me struggle to find a "good" small bottle of wine they eagerly offered assistance. Get the Nanni Tannat, I was told. Don't think twice, this is the best . . . . So that is what I ordered (about $4.50 for a 3/8 liter bottle: this represented a splurge and was one of the more expensive wines on the menu in an excellent restaurant . . .). That Tannat was fabulous. I think I have hardly had a wine as good since . . . and I live in wine country. Go look for this wine! I am unable to find it in Chile . . . perhaps the Tannats do not get exported. Who has heard of Tannat? Even Argentinians rarely drink it . . . as I have since learned. Never mind: get it if you can. Wine is the other wonderful thing about Argentina! (And much of it is organic!)

Roxanne on the road

Roxanne on the road: to Argentina! (letters from late September)



The trip to Argentina is not short, though the distance is hardly great. I left the Pacific coast at 10:30 p.m. First we crossed the Atacama (all night), then changed buses in
Calama. We crawled up the same road we had taken to Salar de Tara, except this time we just kept going east deep into the Andes. I know now that Salar de Tara was only the
leading edge of the exotic high-desert/mountain terrain; that style of countryside continues all along the Bolivian border thru eastern Chile and well into Argentina. The lagoons, the carved-appearing exotic and colorful rock formations, the many volcanoes of various shades, some
w/ snow . . . on and on they go. Those volcanoes really march along that entire high mountain region where the 3 countries come together. The salt-flats recur again and again, though their colors vary from deep green to flat blue to baked white . . . . Lots of vicuña, a few flamingos (hard to see from the bus perhaps . .), occasional fat geese. Rare stone huts or circular pens in the middle of nowhere, but never a sign of human inhabitants. Occasional llama herds where the altitude dips a bit.

There was an argument on the bus about the altitude of the highest pass: 4600 meters vs. 5100 meters. But when we stopped at the border we were still almost as high and we had to stand outside for maybe 45 minutes while officials smoked and shuffled their feet. I actually began to get very woozy and thought I might faint. Anyway, I was thrilled to finally begin our descent into lower Argentina . . .

After hours in the very high Andes we left vicuñas behind and
hit the llama zone (maybe 11,000 to 12,000 feet), and right after that we started down into a canyon along a road of radical hairpin turns. Those hairpin turns maybe numbered 100 (lots and lots and lots). I kept looking off the steep road´s edge and seeing only 3 or 4 more tight turns directly below, and then thinking we were going to soon hit bottom. That went on until dark. That is the most outrageously steep road I have ever been on. The bus occupants were nearly all
Argentinian and it got to the point where they all ran to the bus windows to look out on the drop-off side and collectively shudder . . . Worse, there were frequent signs warning of rock slides (for which there was abundant evidence along the road): the pictures on these signs would show the mountain caving in on a passing car, but where was one to go if this happened? On this road there were NO pull-out spots for trucks (these were the only other vehicles we saw). Our bus reeked of smoke or burning brakes and that smell actually persisted 'till our arrival in Salta at 10:30 p.m.

On our descent, we passed many variations on rock forms and desert terrain. There are vast mountain regions covered w/ tall saguaro like cacti here. In one high and windblown spot a sheep herder could be seen far below the road w/ his flock. He too looked exotic in his heavy wool cape and bowler-shaped hat w/ his dogs nipping at the sheep to drive them up the steep mountains . . . Oh, and there were swirling clouds around us . . . Sometimes we were encased in grey mist, then it would clear. But one could really see all the signs of Bolivian winter on the northside of the bus where clouds gathered heavily.

I suspect that we dropped about 10,000 feet on that road of tight turns . . . When we finally did get to bottom, there was a lovely little oasis of green (just visible in the dying light). Big weeping willows and poplars followed the stream or ringed the fields of the narrow canyon. Occasional houses or pueblos were neatly fabricated of red, rust or yellow adobe. Those are some of the prettiest small villages I have seen . . . but it quickly became dark.

Salta seems to be a very nice little city. Beautiful plaza, very old churches and other lovely old buildings, many flowering trees . . . The hostel I am staying in is 200 years old. Maybe I am happy to be out of the mountains for a bit . . .


Salta seems to be a very nice little city (or larger town . . .).
Beautiful plaza, very old churches and other lovely old buildings . .
. The hostel I am staying in is 200 years old. I will tour some
surrounding countryside and towns tomorrow . . .

Roxanne on the road

Roxanne on the road: the road to Argentina, late September, from letters . . .

I got in late last night after 24 hours on the bus. I left the Pacific coast at 10:30 p.m. First we crossed the Atacama (all night), then changed buses in Calama. We crawled up the same road we had taken to Salar de Tara, except this time we just kept going east. Salar de Tara was only the leading edge of the exotic high-desert/mountain terrain; that style of countryside continues all along the Bolivian border thru eastern Chile and well into Argentina. The lagoons, the carved-appearing exotic and colorful rock formations, the many volcanoes of various in various shades, some w/ snow . . . on and on they go. Those volcanoes really march along that entire high mountain region where the 3 countries come together. The salt-flats recur again and again . . . . although the colors vary since some are bright green and others a flat blue and many just white . . . Lots of vicuña grazing on (what appears to be!) bare soil, a few flamingos (hard to see from the bus . . .), geese . . . Rare indigenous stone huts or circular pens in the middle of nowhere. Occasional llama herds where the altitude dips a bit, tho never w/ any sign of humans nearby.

There was an argument on the bus about the altitude of the highest pass: 4600 meters vs. 5100 meters. But when we stopped at the border we were still almost as high and we had to stand outside for maybe 45
minutes while officials smoked and shuffled their feet. I actually began to get very woozy and thought I might faint. Anyway, I was thrilled to finally begin our descent into lower Argentina . . . After hours up really high we left vicuñas behind and hit the llama zone (maybe 11,000 to 12,000 feet), and right after that
we started down into a canyon along a road of radical hairpin turns. Those hairpin turns maybe numbered 100 (lots and lots and lots). I kept looking off the steep road´s edge and seeing only 3 or 4 more
tight turns directly below and thinking (dreaming!) we were going to soon hit bottom . . . that went on until dark. That is the most outrageously steep road I have ever been on. The bus occupants were nearly all
Argentinian and it got to the point where they all ran to the windows to look out on the drop-off side and communally shudder . . . Worse, there were frequent signs warning of rock slides (for which there was abundant evidence along the road . . .): the pictures on these signs would show the mountain caving in on a passing car, but where was one to go if this happened? On this road there were NO pull-out spots for trucks
(the only other vehicles we saw). Our bus reeked of smoke or burning brakes and the smell actually persisted 'till our arrival in Salta at 10:30 p.m.

We passed many variations on rock forms and desert terrain. There are mountains covered w/ tall saguaro like cacti here . . . In one high and windblown spot a sheep herder could be seen far below the road w/ his flock. He too looked exotic in his heavy wool cape and bowler-shaped hat w/ his dogs nipping at the sheep to drive them up the steep desert montains . . . Oh, and there were swirling clouds around us . . . Sometimes we were encased in grey mist, then it would clear. One could really see all the signs of Bolivian winter out the north side of the bus where clouds gathered heavily.

I suspect that we dropped about 10,000 feet on that road of tight turns . . . When we finally did get to bottom, there was a lovely little oasis of green (just visible in the dying light). Big weeping willows and poplars followed the stream or ringed the fields in the narrow canyon. Occasional houses or pueblos were neatly fabricated of red, rust or yellow adobe. Those are some of the prettiest small villages I have seen . . . but it quickly became dark.

Salta seems to be a very nice little city. Beautiful plaza, very old churches and other lovely old buildings . . . The hostel I am staying in is 200 years old. I will tour some surrounding countryside and towns tomorrow . . .

Roxanne on the road

Roxanne on the road: North Chile, late September . . . from collected letters

Hello from Iqueque, on the north Chilean Pacific coast. The drive here was spectacular - so many miles of unsploiled beaches with frequent rocky cliffs, shimmering blue coves, foaming sea spray . . . Rarely we passed through asmall town and the best of these had a main street seemingly out of a good Western movie. Truly, the film industry could not do better at creating the wild, western look which these old mining communities have preserved. Now these are mostly (tourist-free) villages with a bit of mining or fishing . . .

It is exotic in Iqueque in an arid, desert way. This is a thriving town, but it seems lost in the vast empty expanse around it . . . I feel as if I have arrived at some strange point at the end of the world . . though I am really on the highway (a very lonely stretch of road!!!) en route to the border with Peru. Some local signs are in 2 (or 3?) languages to accommodate the needs of the Aymara population. Beautiful writing for that one . . . Buildings here, as in much of the Atacama, are often old and funky, but were done so very grandly the first time around (because of wealth from nitrate exports, later followed by mining proceeds). Since it is dry here (like it NEVER rains), wood, trim and paint hold up pretty well and preserve wonderful evidence of a more elegant past.
Most of the old constructions appear to have hardly been altered in the last hundred years. Gentrification has started on a single street, but not otherwise.

I am imagining that this place looks much like New Orleans did about 50 years ago - some of the architecture is even the same. There are grand 2-3 story buildings (built by the very rich at the turn of the century) which don´t even have serious roofs! Perhaps some thatch or, these days, a tin sheet, is put over some of that upper floor to keep sun out; otherwise the top of the building is open to the elements. Since all streets are within blocks of the beach, gentle cooling breezes pass through . . .

Oh, I said "no rain" but I forgot to mention the presence of fog - except it is more like mist. Mornings can be sunny,
afternoons look foggy, sort of. But all is clear enough for a mile or three at ground level. The fog just prevents one from seeing far down the coast or up into the desert mountains behind town . . . and it cools everything nicely. Somehow the sea remains the most lovely turquoise color I have seen in many decades. Giant pelicans and sea lions abound . . . . Signs warning of tsunamis are prominently placed at intersections. They point to the refuge of the vast desert in the east should tidal waves occur. And to the south, the east and the north . . . it really is Atacama Desert for hundreds of miles and more . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

I just saw the most amazing and perfectly preserved old Moorish casino today. It sits astride the main square of Iqueque. The elegant interior was vast, dark and cool, but with as much magic as any building I have ever entered. The perfectly painted walls and tiles and weirdly carved windows and arched doorways were fantastic. And it was full of elegant old Spanish paintings besides. I cannot think of a castle or museum I have liked better. These desert towns really have some fabulous treasures !

OK: I think that I have already managed to tell a bit of our San Pedro de Atacama adventures. They are too many to describe in full. So I will add here only a few details covering several days.

We took a long wandering hike through the desert with a biologist who knows the area well. He showed us the many forms that salt crystals can take. That sounds dull, but it was not. In this natural environment, the powdered landscapes, the crystals, and the salt stalactites seemed other-worldly. Photos (mine, anyway) could never tell this story. We went through an eerie grotto where a salty stream trickled (mostly crystals and scant fluid . . .). The salt "stalactites" were very delicate little things hanging/protruding in clumps here and there. They glittered and looked better than any icicle (as those are generally smooth, but these had many refractive surfaces). Each crystal had nearly-hair-fine salt projections sticking out at 90 degree angles! The salt-sicle itself seemed to be a thing of marvelous and varied crystaline forms - rather like snow-flakes but so much bigger and more permanent. Yet touch them and they were gone. Fortunately the grotto area is a bit hard to get to and few people pass by. Eventually we had to climb our way out of a desert canyon which had hit a dead-end . . . That was a bit scary (to me, the chicken!) since it was nearly dark and I had a newly-strained, recently-sprained ankle. But we finally emerged at the (locally famous) Valley of the Moon just in time for the end of sunset . . . an awesome affair from our remote spot. Dark nightfall quickly followed and Mike is still talking about the fabulous starscape (it was a no-moonlight night, so our timing was perfect, star-wise).

We later discovered that a lively French astronomer moved away from his always-on-the-computer, high-tech observatory job to take up residence in San Pedro (or rather, in its dark outskirts). He gives star-tours nightly - but in different languages each evening. Mike was so excited that he went to the French tour immediately. He returned thrilled, and then we both signed up for the next night´s English-language version. The group (max 18 people) is taken by bus to the astronomer´s home outside of town (and over a ridge). There everyone gathers under a beautiful open-air central room (it feels like an observatory with the large and lovely round hole in the ceiling!) and gets a preliminary run-down on the universe and beyond . . . From there the tour moves to the 5 telescopes in his yard. Each is aimed at a different spot as he explains the constellations, stars, and galaxies, as well as the dark spaces between . . . We loved this view of the southern skies! The southern cross is so low as to be very difficult to see from most spots on the planet, but we saw it quite clearly. His telescopes were excellent; they could resolve the moons of Jupiter and magnify mightily the distant Magellanic Clouds.

On our last day in SP we went to the Tatio Geysers. This meant leaving at 4:00 a.m. and traversing some dreadfully bumpy roads to arrive in time for sunrise . . . But sunrise amidst the spewing and fuming steam vents and boiling pools was indeed a treat. More fantastic scenery, including a nearby volcano in a constant state of smoking . . . We hiked in a lovely mountain stream at maybe 13,500 feet. Some people bathed in the clear water: it was cool in places and dangerously hot elsewhere. Each pool had to be tested since hot water is vented into the pools rather invisibly. The water in the stream moved rapidly and appeared so pristine, tho occasional brilliant green water plants added another color dimension to the desert palette of oranges, yellows, reds, purples, many shades of green, plus blue, blue sky. On the way back we passed through a very tiny little indigenous settlement (3 houses??). The houses were of stone and adobe and thatch. The ancient stone walls nearby added much to the landscape. Circles of stone make enclosures used to round-up llamas, of which there were many wandering about . . .

I have neglected to mention the occasional wonderful landscapes of candelabra cactus. These are found only at certain altitudes, and they constitute a "forest" of sorts. Of course, they are a bit sparsely scattered, but still there can be many thousands over the vast terrain. They grow very tall, and have arms which branch into complex weird shapes . . .

San Pedro de Atacama itself has an old and large-tree-shaded plaza (very relaxing and very ancient). It is surrounded by an antique church, adobe mansions which were built for the ruling class maybe 200 years ago (with thick walls which make a house very cool by day and warm by night . .. ). Also, the museum on the same square displays many of the local mummies which have been excavated . . . as well as grave and other relics. The most interesting and intricate of the old traditional handicrafts (by far) were those devoted to the consumption of a local hallucinogenic plant. Most carefully, the museum refrained from ever saying what the plant actually was! (Perhaps it is still sold in the local indigenous markets.) But clearly it was not coca leaves (they are common and considered totally medicinal). The artwork on the bowls and pipes used for preparing this plant was very lovely. Although the plant was used by native people I only learned of it on my last day when I had no one available to answer questions . . . Funny that this particular drug custom inspired the greatest indigenous art work . . .

Hey, we are having a great time! I am writing from San Pedro de Atacama, a little desert town at about 8,000 feet of altitude, situated on the vast Andean Altiplano (which crosses international borders). Mike and I are in the north of Chile, but far to the east, and nearly to Bolivia or Argentina. High, high mountains sit between Chile and those countries, of course. And I hope to cross those mountains next week . . . But first: this week´s stories . . .

Most days we have gotten out to take tours -and they all go to absolutely incredible places (totally inaccessible w/o knowledgeable guides and strong 4-wheel-drive vehicles). Yesterday we drove over a nearly 16,000 foot pass on (the almost only paved road around) the road to Bolivia and Argentina. But we turned off before crossing borders and drove far out into strange landscapes. Our goal was the Lagoons and Cathedrals of Tara. These high Andean rock formations and salt flats are surely some of the strangest places on the planet. We have many pictures to prove it, but I may skip some details for now. Let me just say that the wind blew fiercely at all times; I was dressed in 4 layers (inc. one of down) and never felt hot despite constant lovely sunshine. There were vast expanses of barren desert, other expanses of delicately-toned desert with brilliant golden shrubbery (and rarely some green plants), large salt lakes populated by gorgeously pink flamingos, llamas wandering about . . . The llamas are really "owned" and frequently eaten in this region, but mostly they wander in herds until somebody comes for them - perhaps to shear their wonderful thick shaggy coats or have a bar-B-Q (we saw many llama bones but no people). Did I mention skies of the most amazing blue???

Rising up from the desert was abundant evidence of past volcanic activity: rocks of many different colors and shapes and weights, plus totally strange rock formations carved by rain and wind. These towered over us or lined up sentry-like. On the horizons were many volcanoes of all kinds, some so erupted as to be nearly unrecognisable and others in classic volcano shapes - and also everything in between. My favorite had all 3 colors. Better yet, it marked the border of Chile, Bolivia and Argentina. The volcanoes across the salt flat were part of Argentina; we could almost walk there . . . Oddly, there were snow patches scattered here and there, even at our lower elevation, which seemed incongruous, given the constant sunshine and the desert-like appearance of the vast and open landscape . . .

Birds appear to thrive on the salty lagoons. The flamingos do their breeeding in this high part of the Andes, and fat Andean geese could be seen wading in the water. Ducks too - and big enough to make ours at home appear shrivelled (but maybe it is all about feather bulk?). We passed occasional groupings of wild vicuñas: these are camelids,and llama-like, but somewhat smaller and more delicate in appearance. Delicate they ain´t!!!! They live in a tough environment and do well; many herds graze the barren-appearing landscapes . . . and they are quite wild. They were hunted to near extinction at one time because their soft fleece is of the finest quality; it has the same golden color as the shrubs which grow at their preferred 13,000 feet. Vicuñas defy domestication and are now protected (at least in Chile), so their numbers have increased. But I think my favorite animal, by far, is the crazy vazcacha which looks like a yellow (or orange?) and grey bunny with a fat long cat tail attached. Very weird, critter! These animals have strange and wise-looking faces. They tolerate close approaches but scare them and they scamper (fast!) up sheer rock faces with a movement which appears kangaroo-like. At the end of a wonderful day, on the way home, we saw the "smaller" of the native foxes, which looked like a cross between a healthy coyote and a German shepherd; very large!

Mike was supposed to climb a more-than 15,000 foot active volcano today but that trip was cancelled at 1:00 a.m. when someone in Santiago died and the climbing partenr was lost . . . So we are in a strange and distant place, but not actually removed from the modern world in all ways . . .

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P.S. This letter was originally written about 3 weeks ago and I can tell you now that Mike did indeed climb a different 18,000 foot volcano on the same day. (OK: it was more like a serious hike, no climbing gear required.) AND, as they ascended the INactive substitute volcano, their orignal destination volcano (Lasker) erupted!!! We had been reassured that this climb on an ACTIVE volcano was quite safe . . . I have since met Argentinians (in Salta) who well remember the last big eruption of Lasker; their city was covered with fine ash and it was quite messy (tho they are hundreds of miles away). They also claim that no one monitors volcanoes and that Lasker is a known hazard . . . . phew! That was a bit of luck (tho I am sorry if someone died to cause Mike´s trip to change . . . Lasker is also known for sulfurous fumes which surely were abundant when it erupted. (Lava flows are unknown in recent history.)

Roxanne on the road

Roxanne on the road

OK: I admit to much laziness, but at least I am off wandering about and having adventures. A few of you have heard bits and pieces of travel tales, but most stories are still watiing to be told or shared.

I am writing this from an internet site in north-central Argentina. I have quite fallen in love with Argentina . . . at least its northwest part (all that I will visit on this trip . . .). So I will give here a general run-down of who/where/what and then try to transfer some of my previous emails to fill in details - for now.

The uncertaintly of the internet here leaves me just a tad bit nervous, but people do this all the time, and it should work, right? (If only the business here does not lose their internet connection, as many places do . . .)

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My travels began when Mike and I left Santiago > 3 weeks ago. We actually travelled (perhaps 900 miles?) on a comfy overnight bus to a little pueblo called San Pedro de Atacama. You can guess from the name that this must be somewhere in the Atacama desert, which it is, on its far eastern edge, and in Chile´s north.

San Pedro sits high on the altiplano, perhaps at an elevation 8,000 feet. It retains its small-town charm despite a steady stream of tourists . . . But the real point of going to SP is to use the town as a base for difficult trips to remote and challenging spots; volcanic peaks, vast salt flats (pink w/ flamingos!), high mountain lakes, bizarre rock and salt formations, geisers, delightful little canyons . . . All the forementioned come in colors to amaze and delight. For many, many hundreds of miles in nearly every direction fascinating spots like these beckon the tourist.

Beyond the incredible scenery, the local history is deep and strange. Spaniards made their way into the Atacama (and much of this continent) in the 1500s. Some of their very early constructions (i.e. churches) still dot the vast open landscape. They semi-converted a people long indigenous to the region, and only quite recently out from under a precarious Incan empire. Sometimes children (the best and the brightest from far reaches of the Inca empire) were taken to volcanic mountain-tops for special ceremonies of human sacrifice. Many preserved bodies have been unearthed from the highest (>20,000 feet) volcanic area where Bolivia, Chile and Argentina meet - this area and regiomns south are particulary dense w/ towering volcanoes. The children I saw (museum-wise . . .) were buried at 22,000 feet and perfectly preserved since they never thawed. Need I mention again that this part of the world is exotic?

OK: there is so much to say, but I will try to find some old emails to speed the process. Tales of site-seeing or various adventures may pop up here quite out-of-order. And this project may take weeks (depending on my ability to copy old emails and speed the process). Forgive me, blogging is new to me! Also, if I seem to be travelling solo in my tales, that would be the 2nd, 3rd and 4th weeks of this trip. The "together" stuff dates back to mid September when Mike was able to leave Santiago for ten days. And we confined our trip to the Atacama region, both high and coastal.

More later (I hope). Mayber I should say: more eventually!

Roxanne on the road

Roxanne on the road

Roxanne on the road

Roxanne on the road


Hi! I am sorry if anyone wondered where I went. I have merely been lazy - or maybe I am adjusting to this new life, new country, new language, new schedule, new hemisphere.

I have some homely obsevations on life in Santiago. To all readers looking for tales of high adventure and exotic travel, skip this section! (And I do hope that such stories will follow later . . .)

No discussion of Santiago is complete without mention of buses. They ply the streets in droves at most hours of day and night. For a mere 380 pesos (about U.S. $0.70) one can ride until the driver parks and gets off. I often hop a bus and do exactly that. This has led to the discovery of interesting hillside neighborhoods (where slums sit across the street from gated estates . . .) and busy shopping districts and freeway projects on the edges of the city. This has also left me stranded far from anyplace I recognize . . .

It appears that buses carry perhaps half the population to work, shopping or wherever. There are plenty of cars on the roads, but most people are taking buses (or are below ground on the very efficient Metro system.) The buses come in a confusing array of colors and sizes. Each bus displays a list of perhaps 5 travel destinations, and a route number. The travel destinations are pretty general - more-or-less the equivalent of Torrance/Santa Monica/Thousand Oaks/Pasadena or Alexandria/Wash.D.C./Takoma Park/College Park. In short, it is not a lot of info to go on! The real mystery comes with the route numbers: they seem to correspond to nothing. We can find no one here who knows how to tell which numbered bus goes where. There are no published schedules and no maps. Metro websites cover only the subway. Even locals often seem confused as to which bus to take. I am fequently asked for help - which I find amusing.

Another peculiar bit is that apparently most of these buses are un-regulated entrepreneurial affairs with drivers just picking up passengers where and when they like . . . Their record of safety is abyssmal. They clearly love to play chicken and race each other around pedestrians, cyclists, parked cars and the next curbside bus. The near misses can be gut-wrenching. One is better off not looking. Apparently due to safety concerns the bulk of buses now operating will soon be banned from the transportation network now connecting this city. In the near future only the rare clean and efficient green buses (which always whiz past me and are rarely seen to stop for any passengers) will soon run the business of getting everyone transported. I hope not to be here when that happens. The filthy smoke-belching ubiquitous yellow buses will be sorely missed, I suspect. It is true that they are dangerous: I had one driver take off after I placed only a single foot on the first step to his bus! That was unsettling, but I persist in using these buses because they go everywhere and they offer good entertainment value in addition to efficient transportation. Sometimes I even manage to get off within a few blocks of my scheduled destination.

Here is the part which is really different for Americns. If one hears loud voices on the bus, it is not from annoying cell conversations or the deranged utterances of the confused or the enhanced. Here the loud noises come from performing artists who regularly jump aboard with flutes, guitars, ukeles, accordians, etc. Musical performances are often of pretty good quality. The singing can be inspired. Other times dramatists get on and recite poetry or make speeches . . . (I have a hard time following the exact messages . . .). After a few blocks someone passes the hat and many people give. I have stayed on several buses to get the most out of the show. By the way, during evening rush hour, flame-dancers, jugglers and stilt-walkers come out to perform at congested intersections. Their acts must be exquisitely timed to include wild gymanstics and the use of fire to catch the gaze of harried drivers . . . then the hat must be passed oh-so-quickly before the stoplight turns green. This is quite an act!

Roxanne on the road

Roxanne on the road

We went to make the arrangements today to move to our new apartment. We are still wondering if we have spent too much money, moved to the wrong part of the city, should have looked more. We will never know. Searching for a furnished and fully equipped apartment in a strange city where we lack language skills and have a poor understanding of the transportation system, and also lacked a cell phone or even a reliable voice mail system, seemed daunting to me. I opted to take the first acceptable place - never mind that it was only two blocks from the American embassy and facing a very tall high rise.

So today we met the renting agent, signed the contracts (one for the ap't and another for the furniture!), and agreed to the inventory of contents. But this meant actually counting every spoon, every trash can, all the light fixtures, framed pictures, towels, ashtrays, etc. It was all a bit tedious. In boredom, I glanced out our large (west-facing) balcony windows many times . . . And always I noticed the vast American embassy sitting, fortress-like, one block away.

Since we will be located on the 13the floor, our balcony looks almost directly down onto that embassy property. (Which we understand really has a vastly larger underground compound beneath. But even the visible portion looks quite formidable!) I gradually realized that the closer tall building across the street from us (with many blue glass windows facing our shorter apartment buidling) probably contains sharpshooters and security people. I wondered what might happen should I venture out onto our balcony with any object looking rather like a missile. I am pretty sure I know what would happen, so this is an experiment I will never make! I merely commented on our incredible view of the embassy and about the ominous blue windows overlookng our balcony from the opposing high-rise. Then Mike and I shook hands with our agent and came here to Starbucks (still our only source of WiFi until we get settled).

At Starbucks, I settled next to a table of 4 friends. For the first time in two weeks, I realized I was overhearing English language converstaion as spoken by US natives. The environment at this Starbucks is very friendly (I already know all the kids working here and have invtied some of them to visit us in MD). So, of course, I ended up meeting the 4 Americans sitting so close at hand. I coud not help but notice that the two men were very large guys - and unusually strong-looking, too. We exchanged pleasantries and they asked where we work. I asked them the same: oh, the American embassy. I told them about our windows and the great view we have into the American compound. I joked about the balcony and my hope that nothing there would ever look like a missile. Nobody laughed. I shut up. They (later) went on to chitchat amongst themselves about previous postings in Haiti, and a recent call to relocate to Nicaragua . . . Hhhmm. I wonder who those guys were, but I don't wonder too much.

I often wonder how the Chileans really feel about Americans. Times have changed, of course. Chileans seem not to visibly hate us or even want to snarl about the past. The average age in this rapidly growing city is young, and the economy is booming. No one complains to us about past American interference. But how can we forget our past? I cannot. But I am grateful if we have been forgiven.

Roxanne on the road

Roxanne on the road

Roxanne on the road

Roxanne on the road

Roxanne on the road

Roxanne on the road

I enjoy watching the life-style in Santiago. There seem to be many interesing people. Where do I start? Perhaps with what I have seen, more-or-less in order.

The women in our neighborhood are all very beautiful. I have not seen an ounce of fat on anyone female. Obesity does not exist. This had me somewhat intimidated at first (dare I appear in public?), but then I noticed that most of these women were also rather young. Maybe nobody older than 40 at most. Where are the other women? Granted this is the stylish part of town . . . were the others hiding? Or at work all day while their lovely daughters hang about in cafes and stroll the streets? Do fat people stay home? Have they all gone to Argentina for plastic surgery? (This IS a common practice, actually.)

It turns out that there are a few heavy women in other parts of the city. But not so many of them. I have seen no frank obesity. I have yet to see an overwieght person under the age of (maybe) 35 . . . There are no fat children! As for our part of town, there might be some anorexia around here . . . We are sort of in the West LA/Chevy Chase part of Santiago . . . and no young female would dare be overweight here, I suspect. (OK: I don't really know. I am just reporting what I see. And speculating, I admit!)

Men are allowed to have little beer bellies in middle age. They actually appear in public this way. But there are not so many guys like this. And always their comparable-age female friends look very sleek. Lots of high leather boots on skinny legs . . . Designer clothes. Lots of long shiny hair. In the chic local enclave, the hair might sometimes be blonde or lighter . . . But in other parts of the city the population looks more mestizo (mixed, with obvious indigenous roots).

I am frequently mistaken for a local (mostly in those other parts of town, of course). People have no compunction about blasting away at me in their rapid-fire Spanish to ask for directions or request information about the bus. I am never entirely sure exactly what they seek, but I am pleased not to be identified as American. And really happy to stumble thru my poor Spanish and get in a little more language practice. At least once, I actually did help a Spanish-speaking woman find the bus. It seemed a great accomplishment! It is nice to know that I "pass" . . .

Mike's frinds here are really very wonderful. We have eaten at their houses, met their families, gathered together in restaurants. We have a very fine time. Dinner is a convivial gathering; lots of laughter, lots of wine, no rush to go anyplace . . . I personally love it that dinner is late: you agree to meet at 8:30, but perhaps you dine a t 9:30. This suits me wonderfully well. Of course, it works best if one has lunch at about 3:00. I rather like that too. But I notice that the cafes are full of diners most of the afternoon. Lunch can start at 1:00 or 4:00. Wine is a good accompaniment, appearing on the table in most of the better restaurants. I suppose it is different in other parts of town where people may be doing manual labor (or mathematics!). But it appears to be a standard business arrangement to enjoy some of the fine local wine in the afternoon.

There are many cheap sandwich shops scattered on nearly all city streets. I have not tried these yet, but I read that horsemeat sandwiches are often the norm in these places. Perhaps it is true. McDonald's, Burger King, KFC, and Taco Bell have also made inroads. They are in the food courts and on the city streets. They get as much business as anyone . . .

Local restaurants can be exquisite. We ate with friends this week at a small Peruvian place in a modest-looking neighborhood. They did not even post a sign on their door. But the food we had was surely some of the best I have ever eaten. Every dish was perfeclty prepared and done with wonderful spices. Now I long for more Peruvian food.

I will post this and then return to tell an amusing story . . more of my speculation, I admit.

From Santiago:

First a small warning: this blog-spot is new to me and glitches will occur. If you see something strange, it probably was not intended as a posting!

Jim asked the very question which has been bugging me since arrival: how close ARE these awesome mountains, and how high. I was prompted to get out my map and study a bit. Somehow the internet did not answer the question to my satisfaction, but my "Explore the World: South America - the Andes" map (from Market Street in SF) is pretty fantastic. Here are my findings:

Santiago is really near the center of Chile, on its east-west axis. In fact, it appears to be closer to the Argentinian border than to the coast. I had always thought this place to be on the edge of the Pacific, with its famous old port of Valparaiso. I turns out that the very highest ridges in all the Andes range are actually closer (in part) to Santiago than is any beach.

Santiago is less than 100 km. inland from the coast. The Argentinian border is perhaps more like 90 km. in distance going directly east. But it is an amusingly jagged border (I suspect some interesting history here!). Parts of Argentina appear to lie closer to the city - perhaps evn 75 km. in distance (to the northeast). A little bit of Argentina even lies west of Santiago (in the south). In determining the border, many adjustments were made to "split" the Andes down the center, but how does one find the center point of such a vast range? Sometimes water flow made the call, at other times mountains were simply divided in half (map-wise) or skirted entirely. There may still be bad feelings about parts of certain peaks which failed to make it into Chilean domain. A friend hinted at this and I hope to learn more . . .

(Any geographers out there, let me warn that I am sitting in Starbucks making "measurements" with my pen on a map which is far too large to spread out well . . . I apologize for any mistakes and am happy to hear corrections. I would very much like to find a good topographic map, but no luck so far!)

So, back to the question on what tall mountains we see, and how close.

We are up so close to the base of the Andes that I am certain I cannot currently see any of the tallest peaks; they would simply be obstructed by the front range. But, with a bit of height (like a 21st floor roof?), or even a little distance - like moving to the city center - I think our vantage point will improve dramatically. Mike believes he has seen the tallest peaks previously from his office or good view points in the city (some of which are small hills to our west). But it has been either overcast or smoggy most of the time since our arrival, so I have not tried these outings yet: I will as soon as possible. Happily, the local "front range" is so very close that it is rarely obscured; and here the peaks are in the 3000+++ meter range. So looking out on 10,000 foot snow-capped mountains on a cloudy day is not bad!!! And they cast a gorgeous rosy pink glow over the city when the sun sinks in the west.

The highest mountains in the entire Andes range lie close to Santiago. Cerro Aconcagua, the famous highest peak of the continent (at 6960 km), is in the north east and at the same distance as Valparaiso. But other closer peaks compete well for highest: Cerro Tupungato is almost due east of the city and claims a height of 6570 m. Travelling north along that Argentinian border, most high peaks on the map are well above 6000 meters for a northward distance of at least 200 km. I need to mention that these peaks are not (mostly) isolated spectacular specimens standing well above the surrounding range (as they are in the Pacific northwest). No, these peaks are just the high points of the tallest range within the Andes. It seems that "the Andes" is actually comprised of various mountian ranges: some volcanic, some not so, some undecided, even. I am glad there is still some mystery left! That makes it all the more exciting.

Enough about mountains: many will be tired of this! But here are two websites for those who would like to read more:

http://www.skimountaineer.com/ROF/Region.php?region=SoAndes

http://www.skimountaineer.com/ROF/Region.php?region=CenAndes

That's all for now!

From Santiago:

First a small warning: this blog-spot is new to me and glitches will occur. If you see something strange, it probably was not intended as a posting!

Jim asked the very question which has been bugging me since arrival: how close ARE these awesome mountains, and how high. I was prompted to get out my map and study a bit. Somehow the internet did not answer the question to my satisfaction, but my "Explore the World: South America - the Andes" map (from Market Street in SF) is pretty fantastic. Here are my findings:

Santiago is really near the center of Chile, on its east-west axis. In fact, it appears to be closer to the Argentinian border than to the coast. I had always thought this place to be on the edge of the Pacific, with its famous old port of Valparaiso. I turns out that the very highest ridges in all the Andes range are actually closer (in part) to Santiago than is any beach.

Santiago is less than 100 km. inland from the coast. The Argentinian border is perhaps more like 90 km. in distance going directly east. But it is an amusingly jagged border (I suspect some interesting history here!). Parts of Argentina appear to lie closer to the city - perhaps evn 75 km. in distance (to the northeast). A little bit of Argentina even lies west of Santiago (in the south). In determining the border, many adjustments were made to "split" the Andes down the center, but how does one find the center point of such a vast range? Sometimes water flow made the call, at other times mountains were simply divided in half (map-wise) or skirted entirely. There may still be bad feelings about parts of certain peaks which failed to make it into Chilean domain. A friend hinted at this and I hope to learn more . . .

(Any geographers out there, let me warn that I am sitting in Starbucks making "measurements" with my pen on a map which is far too large to spread out well . . . I apologize for any mistakes and am happy to hear corrections. I would very much like to find a good topographic map, but no luck so far!)

So, back to the question on what tall mountains we see, and how close.

We are up so close to the base of the Andes that I am certain I cannot currently see any of the tallest peaks; they would simply be obstructed by the front range. But, with a bit of height (like a 21st floor roof?), or even a little distance - like moving to the city center - I think our vantage point will improve dramatically. Mike believes he has seen the tallest peaks previously from his office or good view points in the city (some of which are small hills to our west). But it has been either overcast or smoggy most of the time since our arrival, so I have not tried these outings yet: I will as soon as possible. Happily, the local "front range" is so very close that it is rarely obscured; and here the peaks are in the 3000+++ meter range. So looking out on 10,000 foot snow-capped mountains on a cloudy day is not bad!!! And they cast a gorgeous rosy pink glow over the city when the sun sinks in the west.

The highest mountains in the entire Andes range lie close to Santiago. Cerro Aconcagua, the famous highest peak of the continent (at 6960 km), is in the north east and at the same distance as Valparaiso. But other closer peaks compete well for highest: Cerro Tupungato is almost due east of the city and claims a height of 6570 m. Travelling north along that Argentinian border, most high peaks on the map are well above 6000 meters for a northward distance of at least 200 km. I need to mention that these peaks are not (mostly) isolated spectacular specimens standing well above the surrounding range (as they are in the Pacific northwest). No, these peaks are just the high points of the tallest range within the Andes. It seems that "the Andes" is actually comprised of various mountian ranges: some volcanic, some not so, some undecided, even. I am glad there is still some mystery left! That makes it all the more exciting.

Enough about mountains: many will be tired of this! But here are two websites for those who would like to read more:

http://www.skimountaineer.com/ROF/Region.php?region=SoAndes

http://www.skimountaineer.com/ROF/Region.php?region=CenAndes

That's all for now!

Roxanne on the road . . .

Hola! Mike and I arrived in Santiago last week. We have much to learn: Spanish especially. (I cannot even find the upside down exclamation points; apologies to all Spanish language afficianados.)


Since I know little of blogs, I plan to keep this one a secret for now. So secret that I have not even told Mike of its existence. Should his name get included in the heading? He really is here! But he is off at work, as all of you already know. And what if I travel away myself? For this reason, maybe this blog will be mine. At least for now.

Santiago is an interesting city. Very large, rather dense, quite busy, a funny mix of new and old. The geographical setting is startling southern-California-like: I am quite reminded of the California of my childhood. Similar buildings, similar plants, equivalent weather, many people, far too many cars, new construction everywhere, smog. Also like California, the mountains frame the north and eastern edges of the city. But Santiago is right up close to the Andes, which are wonderfully startling in both their altitude and craggy beauty. They loom high as they jut directly up from the city at its outermost limit. In this current winter season, the mountains are especially striking under their mantle of snow. Sadly, a perennial winter smog keeps them partially lost in the haze, but they look very majestic and grand on the rare clear days. We look forward to viewing them from on high soon (after we move), when we hope to see all the way to the top of the local range - and that height, by the way, is over 22,000 feet! To obtain this view, we will be spending time on our 21st floor roof-top. From there, we can see the city almost at our feet and the montains pressing close (miles away, at most) to the north and east (the side of town where we are located already).


Old Santiago has been hard to find. Much of the city is fairly new, especially where we are staying at present. It takes work to find the grand old Spanish style buildings; they are denser in the dirty city center, of course. Periodic earthquakes have felled portions of this city on many occasions; perhaps that explains the lack of a feeling of deep history. (Or probably I have not been here long enough.) Santiago, of course, has been occupied by European immigrants for centuries. But much of what they built was shattered again and again by monumental earthquakes. We were here less than a week when we felt ourselves rocking one night. We do hope that the earthquake engineering is all it is cracked up to be (bad pun!). We are soon to move to the 13th floor of a residential tower and have been forewarned that we can expect to sway on a regular basis.

I have said little but I am anxious to know what happens when I punch the "Publish Post" tab. So, here goes. My blog is launched. I wonder if I can take anything back if I change my mind?