Anyone who lives in Calgary, lived in Calgary or has ever even passed through Calgary, has almost certainly been to the legendary Peter's Drive-In. It's just one of those places that EVERYBODY has been to, hot on the trail of what is probably the most famous burger in Alberta.
Or what about Lacombe's own iconic Independent Creamery? In the good old days, people drove from all over Aitch Ee Double Hockey Sticks' half -acre to splurge on what EVERYONE knew was the best soft ice cream in central Alberta.
The best burger. The best soft ice cream. The best something. There are places all over the world that serve the BEST whatever. If you're on the "altiplano", or high plain, in the Peruvian
Andes, there's only one place to go when you've got your heart set on the BEST national delicacy: the town of Tipon. Tipon! Every weekend, all year round, locals from Cusco and all over the high country flock to Tipon for what is acclaimed as the best darned guinea pig in all of Peru!
Guinea pig. Or, to be absolutely specific, "cuy al horno". Guinea pig...baked.
Personally, I think our Peruvian guide, Cecilia, turned it into something of a little-boys-in-a-locker-room kinda dare when she suggested that we all head out to Tipon to indulge in an unforgettable lunch. Two of the women instantly turned green, shrieking things about beloved housepets and preferring to eat their OWN flesh instead of cute critters, and fled the bus, in search of a McDonald's or KFC. The rest of us, wearing our biggest and bravest "when in Rome" faces, agreed to take her up on her offer.
So...eating your own guinea pig. Gathered around a table in a Tipon restaurant courtyard, our orders are placed. Not that it takes long...guinea pig is the only thing on the menu. Oh yeah,
and with lots of beer to wash it down, thank god...or to dull every sense you ever had. Seconds later, a woman appears with a gigantic tray, loaded down with our--thankfully--no longer furry friends, who somehow look kind of rude in all their pinkish-white naked glory. Each one roughly
the size of a rather anaemic loaf of bread and the innards replaced by a serious wad of leafy green stuff, the ENTIRE and scarily complete guinea pigs are loaded into the Peruvian equivalent of an outdoor pizza oven. And there they bake. And here we drink.
In a surprisingly short amount of time, although impressively longer than it takes to whomp up a reconstituted Big Mac or Quarter-Pounder, the main course, the only course, arrives. Your very own hot and freshly-baked guinea pig. Staring up at you.
Now come on, we eat chickens! True, they ain't purty, but they do come with a remarkable number of intact and indentifiable bits if you go for dim sum on Sunday mornings. We eat beef,
and don't forget how soulful those great big brown cow-eyes can be. We eat cornish hens, which just about rate on the cuteness level, and there are even those who indulge in the pleasures of bunnies, frog legs and fish with heads. But...
It's just not the same as those little guinea pig eyes staring back at you from the plate. It's bad enough that the baking process results in the eyes popping open. Worse than that, however, is that as the flesh contracts, the little guinea pig mouth is pulled open into a grotesque Jim Carrey grin, and a mouthful of teeny tiny gnashing teeth are giving you their best come-hither gleam.
Trust me, ya gotta get past the orthodontically-untouched teeth, the accusing bulgey eyes, the little piggy-went-to-market toes, the "they'd make a great back scratcher" claws, and the fact that it doesn't look like something that came from Safeway...and then you're set.
Whatever your reservations, you dig in, more with your fingers than your knife and fork (Colonel Sanders would be proud), and finally, with some trepidation, you pop the first bite into
your mouth. And chew. And swallow. And it's surprisingly good, tasting like something between chicken and pheasant. Now, I'm no Gail Hall, but I'm surprised by just how delicate the meat tastes, and wish only that getting at it wasn't quite so finicky: remember, guinea pigs aren't particularly big or breasty, and pretty much every bite demands a fair amount of scraping, picking, shredding and accumulating. And all the while, those beady little eyes watch you with horror and disgust from the plate.
There's a lot of gnawing and munching going on around the table, although a noticeable lack of lip smacking leads me to believe that I'm not the only one chalking this up as a culinary and cultural adventure, and that no-one is planning on racing back to open up a MINI-GUINEA franchise in their home town. Still, we're manfully--and womanfully--working our way through each pile of pig in front of us, and getting ever closer to laying down the final little clawed foot, announcing,
with some relief, that another bite cannot be eaten. Suddenly, Peruvian Cecilia, at the far end of the table, cries out that we've all forgotten the BEST part of the guinea pig...the BRAIN! Before
anyone can either stop her or flee from the table, she jams one finger up into the cranial bowl of the wee thing's skull, wiggles and jiggles and pokes the offending digit around a little and, like some deranged Little Jack Horner...pulls out a brain! And pops it into her mouth. And clearly
enjoys it. Without missing a beat, an entire table of gringoes put down their forks and knives, now genuinely unable to take another bite...possibly never again. The feast of the guinea pigs is over.
"I'll try anything once" is a great mantra to live by, and I really hope to always be open to, and game for, new adventures. Methinks, however, that even if Tipon does the BEST ever, I've probably had my one and only go at guinea pig: the meat really is pretty darned good, but my Baptist-Bible-Belt Libran Protestant guilt just can't shake those sad little eyes...and even sadder little teeth. No regrets, and never say never, but probably not again until something first freezes over.
Friday, January 29, 2010
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
Machu Pichu...Feeling Kinda Blessed
A knock on the door at 4:30 am. At such a ridiculous hour, the brain doesn´t really register, and I just about roll over and go back to sleep. Thank goodness my alarm clock goes off at that precise moment, and I sit straight up: Machu Pichu! To have come all this way, from winter in Edmonton to the start of the rainy season in the Peruvian Andes, from a city with a penchant for ripping down any building more than twenty minutes old to one of the great architectural wonders of a lost civilization, I am NOT going to miss out on first light, on the dawn breaking over Machu Pichu.
The plan is to leave the hotel at the foot of the mountain at 5, in order to catch one of the first buses up to the site. It turns out that hundreds upon hundreds of people from all over the world have the identical plan, and while we are in more than good time, there are at least four or five busloads of pilgrims standing in line in the dark street in front of us. Thankfully, and with a healthy touch of ¨Nyaaah nyaaah¨, within minutes the line is many times longer behind our little group of eleven. And what a motley and huge crew we all are: unshowered, crusty-eyed, coffee-needy and too groggy to be using any of the languages represented by our ever-increasing numbers. Still, in the silence, you can feel the excitement that we will all soon be THERE.
Just after 5:30, the buses begin to arrive, and sure enough, our Intrepid group will be on either the fifth or the sixth: our goal is to be among the first four hundred to reach the entrance gate up top, in order to be eligible for the precious tickets to climb the Wuayna Pichu mountain above
Machu Pichu. Overcrowding is becoming a huge issue, and the Peruvian government is wisely trying to keep numbers of potential ass-over-tea-kettle-toppling tourists to a safe minimum. In theory, the thirty-minute ride up the ever more white-knuckling series of switchbacks, even in fifth bus, should get us there in loads of time for the prized tickets...in theory. What we haven´t
counted on are the hordes of Argentinians and Chileans who started the pilgrimage on foot just after midnight, the Inca Trail hikers who began their final few kilometres at 3:30 am, AND the well-heeled crowd staying at the $1200.00 US per night (!!!) hotel right at the entrance to the site...all four hundred of them beat us to the punch and score the tickets...arghhhh! It´s a brief and minor disappointment, for I´ve arrived at Machu Pichu, and I´ll just have to hope that a few of them topple over the side of a cliff...deep down inside, I´m shallow.
I have to say, as an Edmontonian, it´s a thrill to see plaques everywhere paying tribute to HIRAM BINGHAM, the official ¨discoverer¨of Machu Pichu. As the locals quickly point out, their ancestors knew it was there all along, but they happily pay homage to the great man who brought it to the attention of the world in 1911. Doug, you must be very proud of your grandfather.
The gates are open, the tickets are processed, the passports are stamped and suddenly, it´s there. Even in the half light before dawn, it´s the enormity, the hugeness, the spirituality, the complexity and the sheer achievement of the ruined city that first takes my breath away. The best guess is that around a thousand people lived in this spectacular city more than five hundred years ago, but countless thousands spent their entire lives building this masterpiece of the Inca civilization. The highly-evolved religious beliefs of the Inca, their superior understanding of mathematics and architecture, their knowledge and understanding of helio astronomy and the very fact--dammit--that they even had a perfect 365 day calender, make me wish that these people had survived. Whether a superior war machine, or simply the killer European diseases they brought with them that wiped out millions in the New World, it´s pretty hard to think kind thoughts about Pizarro and the Spanish when you visit Machu Pichu.
While the excavated portion of the site on the peak is enormous (¨Machu Pichu¨actually means "old mountain"), the unreclaimed terraces are believed to extend all the way down to the river, hundreds of metres below. The best vantage point, the place from which all the classic and unforgettable pictures of Machu Pichu are taken, is on the highest terraces surrounding what was known as the Guard House. And it´s waaaay up there, following still more flights of age-old and very precarious stone steps--well, precarious for us two-legged creatures: the dozen or so lamas hanging about seem to have no trouble at all--that we all gather. Waiting. This must be what it´s like when people come in huge numbers to Lourdes, waiting for some kind of miracle.
We are all waiting for a unique and stock-taking moment in our lives. Moments later, and through the clouds at this extremely high altitude, the sun begins to appear above the crest of the mountain behind us. It´s almost as if the collective intake of breath of all the people who have dreamed of capturing this moment sucks the remaining clouds and mist out of the way, and...the first rays of the sun hit Machu Pichu.
I´m a complete mess...my eyes fill with tears. As it was when I first saw the great temple of Angkor Wat in Cambodia, or the Great Pyramid in Egypt, or even the Great Wall of China in, duh, China, moments like this remind me of the greatness in man: I´m very lucky to be here,
and to be reminded that we´ve done some things right.
I spend hours on the site, wandering, exploring, just trying to take it all in. One of my geeky traditions is to schlep great books with me when I visit monumental places like this, to take a break and read something wonderful in truly wonderful places. I once read Yeats on Torcello in tribute to Harold Pinter; this time, I´ve got Dickens´NICHOLAS NICKLEBY in my pack, and there´s something pretty great about making both the centuries and the achievements of man collide high on a mountain in the Peruvian Andes. Other people, other traditions: two of our group hike all the way up to the top of the legendary Sun Gate, where Aaron asked Michelle to marry him in the most powerful place he could imagine...she accepted. Machu Pichu is one of those places that makes us feel different about ourselves, and I´ll hold the images of the place forever.
Brian goes to Peru...the mind reels.
The plan is to leave the hotel at the foot of the mountain at 5, in order to catch one of the first buses up to the site. It turns out that hundreds upon hundreds of people from all over the world have the identical plan, and while we are in more than good time, there are at least four or five busloads of pilgrims standing in line in the dark street in front of us. Thankfully, and with a healthy touch of ¨Nyaaah nyaaah¨, within minutes the line is many times longer behind our little group of eleven. And what a motley and huge crew we all are: unshowered, crusty-eyed, coffee-needy and too groggy to be using any of the languages represented by our ever-increasing numbers. Still, in the silence, you can feel the excitement that we will all soon be THERE.
Just after 5:30, the buses begin to arrive, and sure enough, our Intrepid group will be on either the fifth or the sixth: our goal is to be among the first four hundred to reach the entrance gate up top, in order to be eligible for the precious tickets to climb the Wuayna Pichu mountain above
Machu Pichu. Overcrowding is becoming a huge issue, and the Peruvian government is wisely trying to keep numbers of potential ass-over-tea-kettle-toppling tourists to a safe minimum. In theory, the thirty-minute ride up the ever more white-knuckling series of switchbacks, even in fifth bus, should get us there in loads of time for the prized tickets...in theory. What we haven´t
counted on are the hordes of Argentinians and Chileans who started the pilgrimage on foot just after midnight, the Inca Trail hikers who began their final few kilometres at 3:30 am, AND the well-heeled crowd staying at the $1200.00 US per night (!!!) hotel right at the entrance to the site...all four hundred of them beat us to the punch and score the tickets...arghhhh! It´s a brief and minor disappointment, for I´ve arrived at Machu Pichu, and I´ll just have to hope that a few of them topple over the side of a cliff...deep down inside, I´m shallow.
I have to say, as an Edmontonian, it´s a thrill to see plaques everywhere paying tribute to HIRAM BINGHAM, the official ¨discoverer¨of Machu Pichu. As the locals quickly point out, their ancestors knew it was there all along, but they happily pay homage to the great man who brought it to the attention of the world in 1911. Doug, you must be very proud of your grandfather.
The gates are open, the tickets are processed, the passports are stamped and suddenly, it´s there. Even in the half light before dawn, it´s the enormity, the hugeness, the spirituality, the complexity and the sheer achievement of the ruined city that first takes my breath away. The best guess is that around a thousand people lived in this spectacular city more than five hundred years ago, but countless thousands spent their entire lives building this masterpiece of the Inca civilization. The highly-evolved religious beliefs of the Inca, their superior understanding of mathematics and architecture, their knowledge and understanding of helio astronomy and the very fact--dammit--that they even had a perfect 365 day calender, make me wish that these people had survived. Whether a superior war machine, or simply the killer European diseases they brought with them that wiped out millions in the New World, it´s pretty hard to think kind thoughts about Pizarro and the Spanish when you visit Machu Pichu.
While the excavated portion of the site on the peak is enormous (¨Machu Pichu¨actually means "old mountain"), the unreclaimed terraces are believed to extend all the way down to the river, hundreds of metres below. The best vantage point, the place from which all the classic and unforgettable pictures of Machu Pichu are taken, is on the highest terraces surrounding what was known as the Guard House. And it´s waaaay up there, following still more flights of age-old and very precarious stone steps--well, precarious for us two-legged creatures: the dozen or so lamas hanging about seem to have no trouble at all--that we all gather. Waiting. This must be what it´s like when people come in huge numbers to Lourdes, waiting for some kind of miracle.
We are all waiting for a unique and stock-taking moment in our lives. Moments later, and through the clouds at this extremely high altitude, the sun begins to appear above the crest of the mountain behind us. It´s almost as if the collective intake of breath of all the people who have dreamed of capturing this moment sucks the remaining clouds and mist out of the way, and...the first rays of the sun hit Machu Pichu.
I´m a complete mess...my eyes fill with tears. As it was when I first saw the great temple of Angkor Wat in Cambodia, or the Great Pyramid in Egypt, or even the Great Wall of China in, duh, China, moments like this remind me of the greatness in man: I´m very lucky to be here,
and to be reminded that we´ve done some things right.
I spend hours on the site, wandering, exploring, just trying to take it all in. One of my geeky traditions is to schlep great books with me when I visit monumental places like this, to take a break and read something wonderful in truly wonderful places. I once read Yeats on Torcello in tribute to Harold Pinter; this time, I´ve got Dickens´NICHOLAS NICKLEBY in my pack, and there´s something pretty great about making both the centuries and the achievements of man collide high on a mountain in the Peruvian Andes. Other people, other traditions: two of our group hike all the way up to the top of the legendary Sun Gate, where Aaron asked Michelle to marry him in the most powerful place he could imagine...she accepted. Machu Pichu is one of those places that makes us feel different about ourselves, and I´ll hold the images of the place forever.
Brian goes to Peru...the mind reels.
Thursday, January 7, 2010
Gleanings...What I'm Learning in Peru
-Canada's own Scotiabank s is everywhere in Peru. What's that all about?
-At 6'2" and blonde, nobody's ever gonna take me for a local...I spend most of my time feeling like the Friendly Giant. No matter how many "Holas" and "Muchas graciases" I attempt, people can just tell I ain't from these parts.
-You know the big fibreglass animals cities decorate and display for civic pride? Berlin has its bears and Calgary had its moose, but most cities seem to like cows. Well, bar none, Lima has the most creative and hilarious cows I've ever seen. Cows in Nike sportgear, upright cows with Gucci shopping bags, you name it. Hands-down favourite? A cow sliced horizontally in two, the bottom half set up as a barbeque for hamburgers and steaks, and the top with hooks for tongs and burger flippers, with ventilations fans for smoke to come out of the cow's ears, nose and, uh, other orifice. Brilliant.
-Lima seems very happy and laid-back, until you notice more security guards, armed officers and riot police than I've ever seen. Makes the security New York's Times Square in the 70s look like lunchroom monitoring.
-The world-famous Peruvian Picsco sour tastes pretty much like a well-made margarita (get Bob Erkamp's recipe), except for that layer of sweetened eggwhite on the top of the glass.
-The centuries-old library of the Franciscan Monastery in Lima is heart-stoppingly beautiful, like something you'd expect to find in THE NAME OF THE ROSE. The creatively arranged heaps of skulls, femurs and tibias in the monstery catacombs are centuries old, too, but they look more like an entire Ice Capades company died in formation.
-It has now been proven! When a tree falls in the jungle, it really DOES make a noise...and it scares the bejesus out of a bunch of tourists walking beneath it. Much laundry was done that night.
-Being stung or bitten by something unseen in the Amazon jungle is just as painful and alarming as you see in the movies. Newlywed David swelled up like a pumpkin, and the strange welts and markings on his stomach looked for all the world like a map for the lost treasure of the Incas. Repellent with Deet and sunscreen are absolute musts if you're coming to Peru.
-In terms of company names, "Mother of God Tourism" does not inspire a lot of confidence.
-There's a reason they call it the RAIN forest. And when it does come down, the heavens open in an instant, and I mean open. And that's how I've learned in Peru that you can fly on airplanes and wander through the next city in your pyjama bottoms and a t-shirt...hoping that the rest of your clothes will eventually dry.
-Coke Zero is only one ingredient removed from Diet Coke, and was so developed and named to convince men that it's still manly to drink a diet product. One gets very interesting and well-placed roommates on Intrepid trips to Peru.
-The Peruvian CANARO fish is so tiny that it can swim almost anywhere. Unfortunately, when people swim in the type of lake we canoed across today, and decide to, uh, relieve themselves while swimming, the canaro is attracted to the salt flow, and is small enough to swim straight up the urethra. Where it lodges. Where it can't get out. From where it, and its very sharp spiny fins can only be surgically removed. Ouch. Wish we'd been able to have them around when I lifeguarded at the Lacombe Swimming Pool.
-Those brazil nuts you eat at Christmas? The ones with the incredibly politically-incorrect nickname...something to do with "toes"? Well, you find them in the Peruvian jungle, too, and they're amazing. Up to sixteen of them are lodged in a baseball-sized, cocoanut-type shell, and can do serious damage if you're standing under them when they fall.
-I know they're really cute, and I know their wool makes really great sweaters, and I know they remind us of Dr. Doolittle's pet pushmi-pullyu, but oh my....alpaca meat is really delicious.
Talk about a trip of a lifetime.
-At 6'2" and blonde, nobody's ever gonna take me for a local...I spend most of my time feeling like the Friendly Giant. No matter how many "Holas" and "Muchas graciases" I attempt, people can just tell I ain't from these parts.
-You know the big fibreglass animals cities decorate and display for civic pride? Berlin has its bears and Calgary had its moose, but most cities seem to like cows. Well, bar none, Lima has the most creative and hilarious cows I've ever seen. Cows in Nike sportgear, upright cows with Gucci shopping bags, you name it. Hands-down favourite? A cow sliced horizontally in two, the bottom half set up as a barbeque for hamburgers and steaks, and the top with hooks for tongs and burger flippers, with ventilations fans for smoke to come out of the cow's ears, nose and, uh, other orifice. Brilliant.
-Lima seems very happy and laid-back, until you notice more security guards, armed officers and riot police than I've ever seen. Makes the security New York's Times Square in the 70s look like lunchroom monitoring.
-The world-famous Peruvian Picsco sour tastes pretty much like a well-made margarita (get Bob Erkamp's recipe), except for that layer of sweetened eggwhite on the top of the glass.
-The centuries-old library of the Franciscan Monastery in Lima is heart-stoppingly beautiful, like something you'd expect to find in THE NAME OF THE ROSE. The creatively arranged heaps of skulls, femurs and tibias in the monstery catacombs are centuries old, too, but they look more like an entire Ice Capades company died in formation.
-It has now been proven! When a tree falls in the jungle, it really DOES make a noise...and it scares the bejesus out of a bunch of tourists walking beneath it. Much laundry was done that night.
-Being stung or bitten by something unseen in the Amazon jungle is just as painful and alarming as you see in the movies. Newlywed David swelled up like a pumpkin, and the strange welts and markings on his stomach looked for all the world like a map for the lost treasure of the Incas. Repellent with Deet and sunscreen are absolute musts if you're coming to Peru.
-In terms of company names, "Mother of God Tourism" does not inspire a lot of confidence.
-There's a reason they call it the RAIN forest. And when it does come down, the heavens open in an instant, and I mean open. And that's how I've learned in Peru that you can fly on airplanes and wander through the next city in your pyjama bottoms and a t-shirt...hoping that the rest of your clothes will eventually dry.
-Coke Zero is only one ingredient removed from Diet Coke, and was so developed and named to convince men that it's still manly to drink a diet product. One gets very interesting and well-placed roommates on Intrepid trips to Peru.
-The Peruvian CANARO fish is so tiny that it can swim almost anywhere. Unfortunately, when people swim in the type of lake we canoed across today, and decide to, uh, relieve themselves while swimming, the canaro is attracted to the salt flow, and is small enough to swim straight up the urethra. Where it lodges. Where it can't get out. From where it, and its very sharp spiny fins can only be surgically removed. Ouch. Wish we'd been able to have them around when I lifeguarded at the Lacombe Swimming Pool.
-Those brazil nuts you eat at Christmas? The ones with the incredibly politically-incorrect nickname...something to do with "toes"? Well, you find them in the Peruvian jungle, too, and they're amazing. Up to sixteen of them are lodged in a baseball-sized, cocoanut-type shell, and can do serious damage if you're standing under them when they fall.
-I know they're really cute, and I know their wool makes really great sweaters, and I know they remind us of Dr. Doolittle's pet pushmi-pullyu, but oh my....alpaca meat is really delicious.
Talk about a trip of a lifetime.
Saturday, January 2, 2010
Things I Learned in Ecuador
For what it´s worth....
-Guinea pig really does taste just like chicken.
-The moment you take a taxi to a repair shop halfway across the city, with virtually no spanish to help you get there, your camera will instantly repair itself.
-The Ecuadorians are friendly and kind, and the taxi drivers smile and laugh while they happily rip you off with gringo prices.
-I don´t know why we don´t have pineapple with white fruit up in Canada, but it´s more delicious than Dole or Del Monte any day.
-Ecuador no longer has its own currency, and instead uses exclusively the american dollar.
-When Kiwis are ¨chucking a paddy¨, they are not being cruel to the Irish. It means they´re throwing a tantrum. One meets such interesting people on the road.
-Toilets really DO flush in opposite directions on either side of the Equator!
-Coffee in Ecuador leaves a lot to be desired. Juan Valdez would be rolling in his grave, and if he´s not dead, this coffee will kill him.
-In the churches and cathedrals of Ecuador, you never see private bits on the sculptures or in the paintings. No idea if we´re missing much.
-Toilet paper is not to be flushed in Ecuador. If you´ve never been to Mexico or further south, use your imagination.
-There´s a fierce pride and sense of responsibility by the Ecuadorians for their ownership of the Galapagos Islands.
-Follow the advice, and each your seasickness pills like Smarties.
-It´s surprisingly easy to step on a stingray on Floreana Island.
-Within days of giving birth, female sea lions will leave the pups alone on the shore for several days while they head out to sea to feed and replenish. Seems to work just fine.
-The Ecuadorians and the Peruvians dont´like each other very much.
-I´ve learned there´s only one country in the world which produces tourists who will walk up to a very sweet Spanish-only-speaking young woman working in a Quito coffee shop and demand
a ¨tall, skinny, decaf, no-foam latte!¨ And be clearly furious when they don´t get it handed to them on a platter. Think south of Canada.
-Interesting ornithological note: so far, only flamingoes and pigeons have been discovered to produce MILK for nursing their young.
-The National Museum of the Central Bank of Ecuador is a must. Finally had the opportunity
to get a sense of the art and culture of Ecuador´s indigenous peoples prior to the arrival of the Spanish in 1534...brilliant. As for the Spanish, their depictions in art of the Crucifixion make Mel Gibson´s movie look like a Disney flick.
-And just when you think you´re well and truly in a foreign country, what do you find around the corner from the hotel but the ubiquitous Golden Arches and KFC! Yikes...I´ll stick to the guinea pig.
-I would visit this country again in a heartbeat.
And with that, Brian is off to Peru.
-Guinea pig really does taste just like chicken.
-The moment you take a taxi to a repair shop halfway across the city, with virtually no spanish to help you get there, your camera will instantly repair itself.
-The Ecuadorians are friendly and kind, and the taxi drivers smile and laugh while they happily rip you off with gringo prices.
-I don´t know why we don´t have pineapple with white fruit up in Canada, but it´s more delicious than Dole or Del Monte any day.
-Ecuador no longer has its own currency, and instead uses exclusively the american dollar.
-When Kiwis are ¨chucking a paddy¨, they are not being cruel to the Irish. It means they´re throwing a tantrum. One meets such interesting people on the road.
-Toilets really DO flush in opposite directions on either side of the Equator!
-Coffee in Ecuador leaves a lot to be desired. Juan Valdez would be rolling in his grave, and if he´s not dead, this coffee will kill him.
-In the churches and cathedrals of Ecuador, you never see private bits on the sculptures or in the paintings. No idea if we´re missing much.
-Toilet paper is not to be flushed in Ecuador. If you´ve never been to Mexico or further south, use your imagination.
-There´s a fierce pride and sense of responsibility by the Ecuadorians for their ownership of the Galapagos Islands.
-Follow the advice, and each your seasickness pills like Smarties.
-It´s surprisingly easy to step on a stingray on Floreana Island.
-Within days of giving birth, female sea lions will leave the pups alone on the shore for several days while they head out to sea to feed and replenish. Seems to work just fine.
-The Ecuadorians and the Peruvians dont´like each other very much.
-I´ve learned there´s only one country in the world which produces tourists who will walk up to a very sweet Spanish-only-speaking young woman working in a Quito coffee shop and demand
a ¨tall, skinny, decaf, no-foam latte!¨ And be clearly furious when they don´t get it handed to them on a platter. Think south of Canada.
-Interesting ornithological note: so far, only flamingoes and pigeons have been discovered to produce MILK for nursing their young.
-The National Museum of the Central Bank of Ecuador is a must. Finally had the opportunity
to get a sense of the art and culture of Ecuador´s indigenous peoples prior to the arrival of the Spanish in 1534...brilliant. As for the Spanish, their depictions in art of the Crucifixion make Mel Gibson´s movie look like a Disney flick.
-And just when you think you´re well and truly in a foreign country, what do you find around the corner from the hotel but the ubiquitous Golden Arches and KFC! Yikes...I´ll stick to the guinea pig.
-I would visit this country again in a heartbeat.
And with that, Brian is off to Peru.
Brian Goes to the Galapagos...The Mind Reels
In the Galapagos, ¨sleeping with the fishes¨ doesn´t mean you´re dead. Quite the contrary. Whether you´re sleeping, swimming, snorkelling or just plain dabbling with the fishes, there´s an amazing and exhilarating sense of being alive in really bright colours. It´s probably--hopefully--
thirty below in Edmonton right now (c´mon, I´m not being a weenie, but the colder the weather back home, the more one appreciates paradise in Ecuador), but here, just south of the Equator, the sun is burning hot, and forgetting the sunscreen leaves you looking like the Christmas ham in just minutes. On such a day, fifteen of us from all over the world load into two pangas, or dinghies, and head out from the boat for a morning of snorkelling.
The first thing to hit me, after rolling back off the side of the panga into the warmer-than-Sylvan-Lake water of the Pacific, is the intense privacy of the experience. My other fourteen shipmates instantly disappear, and I´m left alone in the incredibly blue water, just me and countless fish of every shape and colour. How and why the air, fish and land creatures evolved
the way they did is what the Galapagos is all about, and when a huge tortoise slowly glides by, just metres away, the privilege of being here borders almost on the religious. And while in the water, with the absolutely essential t-shirt or masses of sunscreen to ward off the second-degree sunburning on the back (wish somebody had warned me about the backs of my knees and calves...ouch!), it´s just me, the coral, the underwater cliffs, gazillions of fish, the tortoises and, of course, the ever-present sea lions.
Oh, the sea lions. They seem to be everywhere on most of the islands, either lazing on the rocks or beaches like great big lumps in the sun, or putting Esther Williams to shame with their speed and spirit of fun in the water. Like all the other animals, they show no fear of us two-legged critters, and for every one that comes over to have a sniff at my leg, dozens of others are more concerned with catching a few rays. There may be an extremely easily-interpreted snort of ¨back off, buddy¨if an over-zealous photographer gets too close to one of the babies, but for the most part, co-existence seems to be the name of the game.
On land or sea, more iguanas than I´ve ever seen, even in my worst nightmares. Red or black, with a lot of scaling-off colours in between, and ranging in size from a few inches to more than a metre, they do everything they can to maximize their body heat, and you see them sprawled alone in the sun or else in great big heaps...largest pile I saw of the red iguanas was thirteen deep. And they sure ain´t purty: they probably think the same thing about us, but I can sure
understand why the heavily-tatttooed, Harley Davidson-riding, Led Zeppelin fans are the only ones who choose them as pets. But here in the Galapagos, they´re just one part of a magnificent whole...the iguanas, I mean.
Blue-footed boobies, red-footed boobies, and all the accompanying jokes. The tortoises mating in Black Turtle Cove. The tracks in the sand from the huge females laying their eggs the night before. The first albatrosses I´ve ever seen...and none of them around my neck. A pair of Galapagos hawks. Two rare white tortoises. Tiny sharks keeping their distance...thank gawd.
The brilliant red and blue of the crabs against the black lava rocks upon which the islands have formed. The desperate attempts to preserve these unique and extraordinary species. How
can we see all this and not be changed? Our very presence on the islands perpetuates the greatest threat to the Galapagos and its inhabitants, but maybe, just maybe, we´ll oneday start getting it right.
An unforgettable week in the life of Brian...and not a note of Puccini or Verdi to be heard!
thirty below in Edmonton right now (c´mon, I´m not being a weenie, but the colder the weather back home, the more one appreciates paradise in Ecuador), but here, just south of the Equator, the sun is burning hot, and forgetting the sunscreen leaves you looking like the Christmas ham in just minutes. On such a day, fifteen of us from all over the world load into two pangas, or dinghies, and head out from the boat for a morning of snorkelling.
The first thing to hit me, after rolling back off the side of the panga into the warmer-than-Sylvan-Lake water of the Pacific, is the intense privacy of the experience. My other fourteen shipmates instantly disappear, and I´m left alone in the incredibly blue water, just me and countless fish of every shape and colour. How and why the air, fish and land creatures evolved
the way they did is what the Galapagos is all about, and when a huge tortoise slowly glides by, just metres away, the privilege of being here borders almost on the religious. And while in the water, with the absolutely essential t-shirt or masses of sunscreen to ward off the second-degree sunburning on the back (wish somebody had warned me about the backs of my knees and calves...ouch!), it´s just me, the coral, the underwater cliffs, gazillions of fish, the tortoises and, of course, the ever-present sea lions.
Oh, the sea lions. They seem to be everywhere on most of the islands, either lazing on the rocks or beaches like great big lumps in the sun, or putting Esther Williams to shame with their speed and spirit of fun in the water. Like all the other animals, they show no fear of us two-legged critters, and for every one that comes over to have a sniff at my leg, dozens of others are more concerned with catching a few rays. There may be an extremely easily-interpreted snort of ¨back off, buddy¨if an over-zealous photographer gets too close to one of the babies, but for the most part, co-existence seems to be the name of the game.
On land or sea, more iguanas than I´ve ever seen, even in my worst nightmares. Red or black, with a lot of scaling-off colours in between, and ranging in size from a few inches to more than a metre, they do everything they can to maximize their body heat, and you see them sprawled alone in the sun or else in great big heaps...largest pile I saw of the red iguanas was thirteen deep. And they sure ain´t purty: they probably think the same thing about us, but I can sure
understand why the heavily-tatttooed, Harley Davidson-riding, Led Zeppelin fans are the only ones who choose them as pets. But here in the Galapagos, they´re just one part of a magnificent whole...the iguanas, I mean.
Blue-footed boobies, red-footed boobies, and all the accompanying jokes. The tortoises mating in Black Turtle Cove. The tracks in the sand from the huge females laying their eggs the night before. The first albatrosses I´ve ever seen...and none of them around my neck. A pair of Galapagos hawks. Two rare white tortoises. Tiny sharks keeping their distance...thank gawd.
The brilliant red and blue of the crabs against the black lava rocks upon which the islands have formed. The desperate attempts to preserve these unique and extraordinary species. How
can we see all this and not be changed? Our very presence on the islands perpetuates the greatest threat to the Galapagos and its inhabitants, but maybe, just maybe, we´ll oneday start getting it right.
An unforgettable week in the life of Brian...and not a note of Puccini or Verdi to be heard!
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