Welcome to my (occasionally) exotic and (often) unbelievable adventures. I will update this journal frequently when I am traveling.

After nearly a year of counting the days, we are down to just one!

In only a few hours our group will be off to Buenos Aires, then Ushuaia, the town nicknamed the End of the World.

Ushuaia is at the southernmost tip of South America, and is the starting point for our voyage to the Antarctic Peninsula.

If all goes well, we should get there late Sunday afternoon -- only a five hour time difference -- so no major jet lag to worry about.

In addition to Teresa and our three adult children, Christopher, Brandon and Katie, we are also traveling with our friends Carol and Laura. You may recall that Carol, our artist-in-residence at South Lake Tahoe, joined us four years ago on our Asia discovery adventure. Carol is also a superb journalist -- she wrote much of this blog back then -- and is planning on doing it again!

Laura is our tech whiz.   Although she is an experienced world traveler, this is her first time joining us.   Normally she lives and breathes computers, but on this adventure she is looking forward to cutting the cord -- well, trying, anyway!

We'll have a satellite Internet link from Antarctica, but I don't know how much bandwidth we'll have available. Carol and I will be updating the blog regularly and hopefully we can get at least some of it uploaded.

We'll be in Ushuaia for the first two days -- this will give us some time to acclimate -- and we also plan to do some hiking in Tierra del Fuego, a national park that's a short drive from the town. We'll meet up with our G Adventures group Tuesday evening and board the MS Expedition the next day.

The first two days at sea will take us five hundred miles across Drake Passage, named for the English sea captain Sir Francis Drake. This voyage has been described variously as "treacherous", "brutal" and "unpredictable". Our first landfall will be at the South Shetland Islands and then on to the Antarctic Peninsula.

I'll try to post again Sunday evening or Monday, after we get to Ushuaia.

Although there are a number of organizations that do Antarctica cruises, only a handful of operators own and operate their own ships.  

I prefer the concept of an integrated tour with a support staff who are geographically well-informed, and are knowledgeable and sensitive regarding environmental issues.  

Although none of the small-ship Antarctica cruises are inexpensive, my research narrowed the choice to G-Adventures or National Geographic, with G-Adventures appearing to offer a better value.  

When I was getting ready to book our Antarctica trip I was especially impressed with the description and photos of their ship.  You can check out their glossy brochure on-line at www.gadventures.com/expedition.  

"The G Expedition provides an intimate small-ship cruising experience.  Completely refurbished in 2009, she boasts spacious cabins, each featuring ocean-facing windows or portholes and private en-suite facilities. Large common areas and observation decks provide panoramic views of the distinctive landscapes of some of the world's most remote regions. "

For some reason, the word "refurbished" caught my attention and apparently jogged my memory, prompting me to do a little research.  

I only had to search as far as my own archives:  www.traveladventurejournal.com/2008 where on January 7th, 2008, I wrote the following:  

"Cruising isn't generally what I would consider to be 'adventure' travel.  Of course, if you were aboard the MS Explorer, a small adventure cruise ship that recently hit submerged ice and sank in Antarctica, you might disagree. You can check it out at www.msnbc.msn.com/id/21935099"

As it turns out, the reason for having a completely refurbished ship is that the Expedition replaced the Explorer.  

Now with all due respect, Bruce Poon Tip, who owns G-Adventures (and still runs the show) devoted an entire chapter in his book Looptail to this calamity, and he described in detail how he managed to avoid a disastrous outcome.

So I do feel confident that this will be a safe adventure, and I expect seasickness to be our only major challenge!

Counting the days to December 5th!

This morning, on the last day of our Ecuador adventure, we set out to see what we could find at the Saturday Otovalo market, ostensibly the largest artisan market in Ecuador.   Because this adventure has been so fast-paced, there just hasn’t been much time for shopping!

The market was quieter than we expected – busy, but no crowds.  Over the next few hours, we navigated an area of several blocks that comprised mostly crafts and textiles, choosing to bypass the parts of the market with the food stalls, fruits and vegetables, and animals for sale or barter.   There was lots of stuff, but we’re pretty selective about what we buy… we discovered long ago that what seems cute or quaint on the spot often ends up in a box relegated to a back room at home.   But Teresa and Katie did some serious negotiating, and eventually they walked away with a tablecloth, a hammock, a purse, and several other prized items.

After lunch, we met up with our group for the ride back to our hotel in Quito. We repacked our belongings, cleaned up, and gathered for our farewell dinner in the busy Mariscal Sucre area.

It was shortly after 9 PM when we bade farewell to our group – lots of hugs – then back to the hotel, where I made arrangements at the desk for a taxi to pick us up at 4:15 AM (ugh) in anticipation of our 7 AM flight home.

The voyage home was truly unremarkable – no missed connections, no lost luggage and no delays.  Amazing!  When the system works, it’s great!  And no jet lag from South America – only a two hour time difference!

Only six months until Antarctica! I can hardly wait!

We bade farewell to Susanna and Oscar and rejoined our group for the short ride to Otavalo, arriving just before 11 AM.

Nathalie had arranged an afternoon sightseeing trip to Cotacachi, a small town located at the base of the Cotacachi volcano.  A few miles past the town, we entered the Cotacachi Ecological Preserve.  Nathalie purchased tickets for a boat tour of Lake Cuicocha, a volcanic crater lake within the cone of the Cotacachi volcano, at an elevation of more than ten and a half thousand feet.

Although the volcano is dormant, Nathalie pointed to gas bubbles emerging from beneath the surface of the lake, indicating residual volcanic activity.  She also pointed to a trail that ran around the rim of the lake, about a five hour hike, if anyone was interested.  (It looked like a great hike but I doubt I could have walked more than a quarter mile at that elevation without getting winded!)

We passed by two small islands in the center of the lake, apparently formed by the lava flow, and actually connected beneath the surface.   We followed a narrow channel between the islands that Nathalie told us was called the Channel of Enchantment, then returned to the dock, where we were served tea spiked with moonshine!  (Good idea!  They should do that at Yosemite!)

We returned to Cotacachi, a quaint town known for its leather goods, and strolled the streets, peeking into the many shops – some nice stuff but nothing compelling.  I thought it was odd that there was no evidence of the actual manufacturing process.

Several miles further down the road, we stopped at another small town, Peguche, where we hiked a foot trail to the base of a waterfall.  Apparently at certain times of the year, the locals use the falls as part of a spiritual cleansing ritual.  While Brandon stood on a large rock right at the base of the falls Teresa started to take a photo when he suddenly slipped and narrowly avoided ending up under the falls – close call – but he got soaked!

In the evening we gathered for our second to last group dinner, to celebrate the twenty-seventh birthday of Jess P., a young woman from the U.K.  Teresa chipped in for a birthday cake and several bottles of wine, and a good time was had by all!

After the meal, Teresa and I headed back to the hotel – we appreciate the value of a good night’s sleep!   (I think we heard the younger folks getting in around 2 AM.)

A few hours later, we were suddenly awakened to an explosion of fireworks celebrating the start of the Otavalo Saturday market!

Other than the city lights twinkling below, we hadn’t been able to see much of the surrounding landscape last evening.  But this morning, under a mostly cloudless sky, Mount Imbabura had emerged from the low clouds, towering at least five thousand feet above us in the distance – truly a breathtaking sight! 

Nathalie had offered last evening to arrange a trek to the summit with a local guide – about five hours hiking to an elevation of fourteen thousand feet.

Several members of the group, Brandon and I included, stared up at the summit.  Even at sea level this would be a tough one, but starting at nine thousand feet, even the hardy were hesitant.  As for me, I could hardly catch my breath after five minutes walking uphill at this elevation.

So there were no takers!

Instead, we spent the day with several members of the indigenous community learning about their culture and traditions.

We walked with Juan to a nearby farm where several women were manually harvesting potatoes from a freshly plowed field.  I don’t know the proper terminology to describe the plow but it basically consisted of two bulls pulling a wooden shaft attached to a till, guided by the farmer.   Juan introduced us to his friend (the aforementioned farmer), who demonstrated how he controlled the bulls and used the till to drag the plow across the field, resulting in neatly plowed rows. Easy! 

Until we took turns trying it for ourselves.  The bulls dragged Katie, then Brandon, unceremoniously along with the plow, across the field, leaving several very peculiar looking furrows.  “Turn around Katie!” we yelled as she receded into the distance.  “I don't know how!” she shouted, barely visible as she continued to be dragged along in the dirt.  Fortunately Juan came to the rescue, clasping the till firmly, and Katie was dragged back toward us.

The small community school was adjacent to the field, although there were no children – apparent a holiday from school – but there was a volleyball court where we played an impromptu volleyball game with Juan (lobbing a soccer ball back and forth).

Back at the house, Maria, with Oscar’s assistance, demonstrated how they made corn flour using a grinding stone.  We spent about half an hour grinding corn kernels and were rewarded with a miniscule amount of flour enhanced with several ground bugs: “Extra protein!” exclaimed Teresa.

Early in the afternoon we enjoyed a communal picnic lunch.  I counted at least a dozen different local dishes prepared by the ladies who were hosting us.  There were also several pitchers of juice made from different local fruits, including tree tomatoes, pineapples and berries.

After lunch, Juan showed us a traditional calendar that the community had used for centuries to track the months and seasons.  There was an elaborate geometric pattern created on the ground using bricks, about fifteen feet in diameter with a central post.

Despite his detailed explanation, I didn’t really get how it worked, but according to Juan, using a north-south orientation, the shadow cast by the post at certain times of day could tell you the season and the month.

He also described how the community traditionally marked the changing of the seasons (i.e., the solstices) with elaborate celebrations including huge feasts and days-long dancing and partying.

Toward the evening it became chilly – we were invited into Juan’s home where we were regaled by his son who played both traditional and contemporary music.

Our destination today, the small indigenous community of San Clemente, is only a few miles outside the city of Ibarra in the Andes.  The journey from Quito to Ibarra, a distance of 75 miles, took about three hours – it’s easy to forget how long it takes to get places with no freeways!

According to Juan, our host, San Clemente consists of 168 indigenous families, about 800 people in all, clustered in an area of roughly six square kilometers.  The community is relatively self-contained, relying on traditional farming and handicrafts to support itself.

Our group was split up and placed with several families – Teresa, Katie, Brandon and I stayed with Susanna and her eleven year old son Oscar.  Her home actually consisted of three small brick buildings, one with the kitchen and dining room, one with two family bedrooms, and one with a guest bedroom.   Maria, Susanna’s sister-in-law who lived next door, had prepared lunch for us:  a thick soup made with local herbs, potatoes and vegetables; fried pork; and for dessert, a fruit compote made from tree tomatoes and cloves.

After getting settled, we hiked about half a mile down a narrow trail through the forest behind Susanna’s home until we arrived at Juan’s house. Juan welcomed us and explained that we would be taking a short hike into the forest where his neighbor (whose name I didn’t catch) would show us the various types of trees and plants and explain how they were used by the community.  The trail was difficult to negotiate – narrow and heavily shrouded with vegetation – Juan frequently had to use his machete to clear the way.

When we returned, we watched as one of the women demonstrated how to milk a cow, and several of our group took turns trying to imitate her, with only modest success.

We returned to our house around seven just as it was getting dark, where Susanna was in the midst of preparing our dinner.   Later, we retreated to our rooms – it was getting cold and there was no heat – so we curled up for the night under heavy blankets . 

As I mentioned in the last post, the overnight bus ride had been a major concern when I’d booked this trip. While the fear of getting robbed was clearly justified, in general I think that overnight rides, whether by rail or bus, or even by air, offer a false economy.

Yes, you save the time you’ve traveled during the night, but the downside is that you are too tired when you arrive to really appreciate the next day.  While those who fly first-class enjoy lay-flat seats and arrive feeling rested, the rest of us (in steerage) arrive cognitively impaired.

Yes, we started out with an overnight flight to Quito, but we had nothing planned when we arrived in mid-afternoon.  On the other hand, when we arrived today, our only full day in Quito, we had a full itinerary.

Brandon and Katie headed straight to their hotel room – fortunately Nathalie had arranged for an early check-in – they (wisely) spent the next two hours getting some sleep.

Teresa and I, addicts that we are, headed straight to the restaurant and loaded up on some very strong Ecuadorian coffee, then grazed at the breakfast buffet.  It had been a long night!

By the time we were picked up at 9 AM for our combined tour of the central city and the equator, Teresa and I were feeling relatively civil.  If we’d had a little more time (and been better rested), I think we could have navigated the historic center of the city on our own, then done a side trip to the equator.  But a private tour seemed like the best option for seeing what we wanted, particularly in light of my safety concerns.  

Our first stop was the Basilica, a very large Gothic church built on a hillside early in the last century.  I’m pretty ho-hum when it comes to churches, but Roberto (our guide) was quick to point out an unusual feature – the exterior was decorated with stone iguanas and turtles rather than gargoyles.

Our next stop, the Plaza Grande, featured the Presidential Palace on one side and the Cathedral on the other. The plaza was also lined with several other colonial buildings.  Down the street was La Compania de Jesus, another church built by the Jesuits in the 17^th century.  I was getting tired again and passed on it while the others checked it out.  Later, we walked past the building that used to house the Ecuadorian Central Bank – it’s now a museum.  Adopting the US dollar after the financial crisis in 1998 apparently put it out of business.

The street opened onto the Plaza San Francisco where there was another huge church, the Monasterio de San Francisco, and we went in for a look.  Teresa posed a very good question to Roberto:  Were there really enough people to support all these churches?  Apparently so.  (But as an aside, I’ve long believed that all this rampant church building impoverished the local populations.)

We drove to El Panecillo to see the statue of the Virgin of Quito. It’s on a hilltop with an excellent view of the surrounding city, and I took some great photos.  But it’s sad that all the online travel sites, as well as Lonely Planet, caution readers not to walk there due to the crime.

Roberto had no plan for lunch, an omission I would consider unacceptable under most circumstances, but we ended up making a quick stop at the food court of a nearby mall.  We enjoyed Texas Chicken – the logo was a chicken wearing a cowboy hat!  We laughed at the novelty of wearing the plastic gloves they provided for eating the chicken!

Our afternoon stop was the equator, fourteen miles north of Quito.  The only problem was where to find it?   The official monument that marks the equator is based on an erroneous measurement made in 1736.  The actual equator, as confirmed by GPS, is actually 240 meters north and is marked by a very small museum.

The museum was amateurish but entertaining.  We observed several convincing demonstrations that this really was the equator.  One involved pouring water down a drain at three points: one south of the equator, one north of the equator, and one at the equator.  The only point that did not create a whirlpool was the one (ostensibly) located at the equator.   The northern point caused a counterclockwise whirlpool to form, and the southern point caused a clockwise whirlpool.

So where is the true equator?   Who knows?

Our last full day in Puerto Lopez was a kick-back sort of day.

Nathalie explained that we’d be taking the night bus back to Quito, a nearly ten hour ride, departing at 8 PM. Although we’d have the entire day to do as we pleased, we had to be out of our rooms by noon, leaving our bags in storage throughout the day.

This required a bit of tricky planning.  Swimsuits, etc., during the day, but something comfortable yet appropriate to wear overnight.  Nathalie pointed out that there was an cold outdoor shower by the pool area that we could use after returning from the beach.

Several of our group, including Brandon, had signed up for scuba diving – basically an introductory lesson for novices.  After they headed off (early) we spent the remainder of the day relaxing at the beach and having a leisurely (late) lunch – no activities involving any exertion!

I’d been dreading this overnight bus ride almost from the moment I’d booked this trip.  It was the only thing on the itinerary that had given me cause for hesitation.  In the past, similar excursions had proven to be less than comfortable, with the odds of getting ripped off while asleep, very high.

But here we were.   The bus appeared to be in good condition, and with an inner door closing the passenger section off from the front exit, it seemed relatively secure.  Nathalie advised us not to use the overhead bins and to keep our bags and backpacks between our legs while we slept.

It was difficult to sleep sitting upright, though probably no different than being on a long airline flight.  I’m sure everyone slept lightly, dozing off and on throughout the night.

At about 5 AM I was startled into alertness by a noisy commotion.  In a daze I heard Teresa yelling that her bag was missing!  Aided by a “helpful” female passenger sitting across the aisle from her, she and Katie searched under the seats but couldn’t find the bag.  Nathalie spoke to the driver who stopped the bus, and he came down the aisle to see what was going on.  There ensued a rapid fire conversation in Spanish between he and Nathalie, who demanded that he search the bus before any passengers were let off.

Moments later, the bag appeared on the floor beneath the “helpful” passenger, where she had obviously placed it, fearing discovery.  Teresa glared at her.  But the driver returned to his seat, taking no action, and resumed driving.  No consequences for the thief!

We arrived at our hotel around 6:30 AM, exhausted and somewhat shaken!

Teresa decided she’d prefer a day at the beach, so she and Brandon spent the day building sandcastles and bodysurfing the breakers.

Katie and I chose to go horseback riding in Machalilla National Park where there is a tropical dry forest along the coastline adjacent to Puerto Lopez, that also stretches inland.  The goal was to look for monkeys and other wildlife in their native habitat, and Sylbano, our guide, led us along an extensive trail that took us deep into the forest in service of this quest.  

We rode, with intermittent breaks, for about four hours.  Sylbano pointed out many unusual varieties of plant life, and although we enjoyed some spectacular scenery, we didn’t have much success in spotting wildlife.   We came across a small band of howler monkeys who ignored us at first, but after being prompted by Sylbano (who did a passable impersonation), eventually responded in kind.  

The outing lasted a little too long, and our small group was hot, hungry, and thirsty by the time the horses brought us back to the barn.  

While we were washing our hands in the bathroom, just before sitting down to a homemade lunch prepared by Sylbano’s family, a five inch long, half inch thick centipede crawled out of the sink drain! We all clustered around and stared in horror!  It was like everyone’s worst nightmare – sitting on the toilet, then suddenly something creepy and disgusting crawls out and bites your rear!

It was probably the most exciting thing to happen all day!

After returning to town, we spent the remainder of the afternoon first lounging on the beach, then later wallowing in the hotel pool.

On the agenda for today was a hiking and snorkeling adventure at Isla de la Plata, also known as The Poor Man’s Galapagos because according to Lonely Planet “[It] is a reasonably accurate facsimile of an island in the Galapagos.”  And while the Galapagos is on my never-ending list of places to see, it’s not on the current agenda, so why not check it out?  

We boarded a high speed double-decker cruiser with two huge outboard motors, and flew across the thirty-eight kilometers of open ocean while the crew provided snacks including banana cake and pineapple slices.   When we were just offshore, our naturalist guide, Jonny, outlined several hiking options to various island locations, depending on how far and how long we were willing to hike.  The group selected the intermediate trail, about a two hour round trip hike to the western end of the island.

Setting foot on shore in front of the administration building, my first impression was that this island was incredibly dry and nearly lifeless. It was an arduous hike, mostly uphill, and with no shade and a hot sun, we were soon baking in the heat. As it turned out, I was correct on the first count, but completely off on the second.   While it hadn’t rained in many months, as evidenced by the sparse, mostly wilted vegetation, at the western end of the island, we came across a multitude of nesting sites dominated by two bird species: the blue-footed booby, and the red-breasted frigate.

We were rewarded with some amazing encounters with these birds. The blue-footed booby indeed has blue feet, and Jonny explained that this is because they feed on sardines which cause their feet to turn blue.  We first came across several nesting boobies who allowed us unexpectedly close access.  Each nest was surrounded by a white ring of guano (bird poop) where a single adult booby nested a single egg.

Further on, we encountered large flocks of frigate birds, several of which had large inflated red breasts, ostensibly to attract mates.  Again, we were able to get fairly close to take photos with surprisingly minimal disruption.  The impression created by these large clusters of nesting birds is difficult to describe, so I will try to post some photos later on.

Two sweaty hours later, we returned to our starting point and again boarded the boat where drinks and sandwiches were served.  The boat revved up, moved a short distance, then anchored just offshore by a coral reef.   Snorkeling gear was passed out and we hit the water.

I didn’t see much at first, but with a little persistence I spotted a school of large blue oval-shaped fish with bright yellow tails feeding near the coral.  (I still haven’t figured out what they were!)   There was also a very odd looking fish, about two inches in diameter and at least a yard long.  A second school of brightly multicolored fish sped by – it   reminded me of the glowing neon tetras I had in my aquarium when I was a kid.  I spotted an enormous turtle that was bottom feeding but it quickly moved away as I approached.

An hour later I was feeling chilled. I headed back to the boat, where several of our group were taking turns leaping off the top deck.

When everyone finally returned to the boat, the engines fired up and we sped back to Puerto Lopez.   The open ocean was rough and Katie didn’t fare too well, losing her lunch after a run-in with some serious swells.

We were exhausted when we returned, retreating to our rooms for some rest.

After a late evening dinner accompanied by several cerveza grandes, we were back at the hotel sawing logs! 

We arrived at the beach town of Puerto Lopez, along the southern coast of Ecuador, in the early afternoon.  There was an impressive crescent of broad sandy beach in front of our hotel with many fishing boats moored in the distance.

We joined Nathalie for a brief orientation walk through the town and she explained this was the low season... not many visitors. “They come to see the whales in June and July!”  We followed the dusty gravel road that ran along the beachfront and she pointed out several of her favorite restaurants.

We followed her up a dusty side street where we also spotted a small market, several bakeries and a pharmacy.  

We returned to one of Nathalie’s favorites for lunch, Carmelita’s, and she introduced us to Carmelita, owner and chef: “She is well known, one of the best!”

After lunch we hit the beach and the waves, and the water was so warm it took no getting used to.  Almost immediately, Teresa got hit from behind by a huge sleeper wave and her sunglasses disappeared forever into the surf!  “And I just bought them the day we left!” she protested.

Just as the sun was setting we discovered that our hotel had a really nice pool in the rear, so we uprooted ourselves from the beach, showered off all the salty residue, then frolicked in the warm pool until it got dark.

Later in the evening we had excellent meal at Patacon Pisa’o, another of Nathalie’s favorites, specializing in Columbian cuisine.

The train to Nariz del Diablo, the Devil’s Nose, is the only reason for stopping in Alausi.   Originally built before the turn of the last century and only recently restored to service, it covers a distance of only 16 miles, but descends more than 3,200 feet into the valley by a series of forward-reverse switchbacks.  I’m still not clear on why there was a need for this railroad, but I believe it was needed to connect the interior to the coast.

The views were spectacular, and I’m sure the switchbacks were a novel engineering solution at the time – in short, the train moves downward parallel to the mountain, stops, switches to a lower set of tracks, reverses its direction to continue downward, then repeats the process.

As we were arriving at the Devil’s Nose station, an expanded platform came into sight, on which brightly colored dancers were in the middle of a performance clearly intended for our gratification.  I had to laugh though, because it reminded me of It’s a Small World, where each time you emerge from a tunnel you find another performance in progress!

There was an interpretive museum which told various stories of how the mountain got its name: “As the train approached the Devil’s Nose, someone dressed in red, with a large nose and red eyes, appeared in the cars.    A lot of people preferred to walk, or to ride a horse through this stretch, and passengers often fainted.  Was it because ‘the devil appeared to them’ or due to fear inspired by that gloomy place?”

We boarded the bus for Guayaquil, and as we rode, Teresa noticed that Nathalie was becoming increasingly anxious.  It was no surprise when, as we were approaching the city, she warned the group not to leave the hotel alone, and not to walk anywhere, even a few blocks.   Clearly this was where many of the horror stories we’d read about Ecuador had originated. “I will arrange a taxi to take you to the places you may wish to see, and I will give the driver specific instructions to wait for you!” she emphasized, adding “It is too dangerous!”

We decided to take a quick tour as per Nathalie’s advice, and the taxi she arranged first took us to Iguana Park.  We were astonished at what we saw!  The park was relatively small with several walkways, a central statue, a water fountain, and a number of very large, very old trees whose branches were laden with dozens and dozens of large iguanas that closely resembled prehistoric dinosaurs, but smaller!   Even the shrubs were full of iguanas!   And the base of the statue was surrounded by them!  It really was a strangely compelling sight!

It was getting dark as we hustled back to the taxi. We were getting nervous, if not downright paranoid, but it did seem as though every young man was glaring at us!

We stopped at the Malecon, a waterfront redevelopment that is ostensibly safe for tourists, but after walking through it we realized it was sterile with nothing much to see.   No buskers, no food stands, no street entertainers!

Our final stop was the Cerro Santa Ana, where more than 450 numbered steps led to a chapel on a hilltop.   While Teresa chose to forgo this compelling experience, Katie, Brandon and I hiked straight up for the next thirty minutes until we arrived, hot and sweaty, at a small chapel, and an adjacent retired lighthouse.  Really not much to see, but there was a spectacular view of the city!

Teresa waited for us below and chatted with the taxi driver using Google Translate or some such app.   When she asked him if Guayaquil really was that dangerous, without any hesitatation he flatly replied “Yes!”

Back at the hotel, with minimal discussion, we agreed that indeed, this was one of the most dangerous cities we’d ever visited. Maybe even the most dangerous!   With rampant crime directed at visitors, whatever might be worth seeing here was simply not worth the risk.

Nathalie chartered a private bus today to take us to Alausi, a small town about halfway to the metropolis of Guayaquil, our eventual destination.  Although the original itinerary called for us to travel through the Andes by public bus via Riobamba, directly to Alausi, Nathalie was concerned that we would miss out on seeing the long-dormant volcano at Chimborazo, located at an elevation of nearly 14,000 feet.

We agreed to pay an extra $30 each to charter the bus, a far more comfortable and convenient means of transportation that would afford us extra room to stretch out and provide a more secure ride.  Even without stopping at Chimborazo this would be a six hour ride, and of course, with our own bus we could stop whenever we wanted.

We drove for about two hours then entered the Andes mountain range.  With the rise in elevation the outside temperature dropped dramatically and t-shirts were replaced by fleece.  Our first stop was at the interpretive center just off the main road (for a restroom break), and then we proceeded about a mile further to the trailhead.

Emerging from the bus, we were nearly blown away by an icy wind that (I would estimate) was gusting up to 60 miles per hour.  We hiked directly into this fierce wind for about half a mile, accompanied by a naturalist from the interpretive center, until we found refuge behind a rock formation.   Our naturalist then explained the history of the volcano and how it had impacted the indigenous peoples of the Andes over the centuries. He also pointed out the unusual topography created by the volcanic activity and the unique vegetation that was able to survive at 14,000 feet.

Despite the repeated blasts of wind, we continued along the trail which rose steadily in elevation, and as we neared the top of the mountain created by the volcano, we were rewarded with a clear sky and a magnificent view of the adjacent mountain range. We joined our naturalist in giving thanks to the spirit of the mountain, and he explained that we were fortunate to have such a perfect day to enjoy the view.

We returned to the bus and continued onward with only a brief stop at Riobamba, and eventually arrived at the small town of Alausi which was enveloped by a thick fog.   After checking in to our hotel, Nathalie gave us a mini walking tour of the town which included climbing several flights of stairs to see the giant statue of San Pedro that overlooked the town, and then the railway station where we would embark on our train ride to The Devil’s Nose, in the morning.

It was overcast with a light drizzle that grew heavier as the morning progressed.  “No problem,” said Paolo, our canyoning guide, “You’re going to get wet anyways!”

And with that said, we followed Paolo about half a mile, on foot, to a low profile storefront where he passed out the equipment.  “You only wear a bathing suit under your wetsuit – no shirts, no hats!”  He passed out helmets, wetsuits, and flexible climbing shoes, then fitted each of us with harnesses and safety straps that wrapped around our thighs and hips.  After adding yellow shirts, we looked like a professional mountaineering team!

We jumped into the back of a pick-up and drove about 10 kilometers out of the town, then parked just off the main road by a trail head.  I have to admit I hadn’t really considered how we’d get to the top of the mountain (what... no elevator?), and the trail quickly became steep, winding upward with many switchbacks -- and with the heavy rain it was also slippery!

It took about forty-five minutes of steady climbing, with frequent stops to catch my breath and let my leg muscles relax.  I noticed a few glances in my direction from Paolo, who said nothing, but my age and physical strength (if not my sanity) were clearly a concern!  Determined to prove myself, I forged ahead silently if not vigorously.

At the top, Paolo explained how the rappelling was done.  He ran a rope from the top to the bottom of the first waterfall, which was only about one hundred meters.  He slipped the rope through the steel loop of my safety harness to form a slip knot, then demonstrated how to run the rope through my hands, one in front, and one behind.  I backed over the first ledge, feet in front of me, leaning backward, and slowly began to drop down.   Focusing with intense concentration on keeping my balance and gradually releasing the rope to continue a steady descent, I was distracted from the raging torrent of icy water that was pummeling me mercilessly!

I landed successfully in the pool at the bottom of the first waterfall, elated at my success and immediately turned to watch the others coming down behind me.  I confess I was slightly shocked at how treacherous the process looked from afar!

The drop down the second waterfall was even steeper than the first and about fifty percent longer.   Once again I focused intently on keeping my feet apart to steady myself as I gradually released the rope and slowly bounced downward.  At this point I was oblivious to the presence of the icy water.  After what seemed like a very long descent, my feet hit the ground – once again I had successfully navigated the falls.

We stopped for a quick photo op, then slid down a slippery but less treacherous stretch of the waterfall on our butts.  While we waited, Paolo tossed a length of rope down the next waterfall in preparation for our third descent.   Although just as steep as the last, this drop was dramatically longer, and I could barely see the bottom.

I need to emphasize that the process of descending these waterfalls, one person at a time, was not quick. We’d been at it for nearly two hours when we arrived at the last waterfall, the longest and steepest.   Fortunately we’d all gained some confidence and no one seemed especially fearful at not being able to see the bottom at all.  Concentration was clearly important, with self-confidence (justified or not) a close second.

By the time we’d wrapped up this adventure, everyone was jubilant at having conquered their fears and successfully navigated the entire series of drops.  But as we relaxed in the pickup, an intense chill began to set in.  It’s amazing how you can be completely oblivious to to the cold when you are active!

We agreed to meet in about an hour for lunch.  I headed up to my room and stood under a hot shower until the chill finally subsided.  Later, when we met for lunch, I discovered that several of the others had headed for the nearby hot springs to warm up.

In the afternoon, I decided I needed a break from all this exhausting fun, so I passed on several other activities and relaxed with Teresa back at the hotel.

Later that evening, Brandon and I hiked to the hot springs and let the 114 degree heat work out the aches and pains of our recent adventures.  Although it was after 8 PM, we were surprised at the large number of local villagers, including many children, all enjoying the spa in a party-like atmosphere.

Detour:

Teams made their way to the canopy, where they would have to complete a high-altitude course. They would ride a zipline and then cross the 'Tibet Bridge', which was made of inter-spaced metal planks. They would then climb up a rock wall and ride another zipline before receiving their next clue.

Before I get ahead of myself, let me explain how the day started.

We packed up and headed for an early breakfast, then bade farewell to Delfin and his family. Just for the record, Delfin is the reason I chose this particular adventure.  As I mentioned in my earlier post (What were you thinking?), Bruce Poon Tip, in Looptail, devotes an entire chapter to Delfin and his family, and he makes it clear that his meeting Delfin was the start of G Adventure’s involvement in Ecuador.  (As an aside, this book is a really good read – beginning with the author’s starting the company on a shoestring with a credit card advance and a start-up grant from the Canadian government.)

We returned to the bus station in Tena, then set off on a 2 ½ hour ride to Banos.   Last evening, Nathalie had outlined numerous options for our two day stay in Banos, and the list was extensive:   canyoning, ziplining, bridge jumping (a local version of bungee jumping), horseback riding, hiking, a visit to the thermal baths, or a trip to the “swing at the end of the world” (?).

At the risk of missing out on something really fun, I’d tried to sign us up for the “canyoning”, even though I had no clue as to what it was.  As it turned out, canyoning involves a steep hike to the top of a mountain – did I mention that Banos is surrounded by mountains?

Then you rappel back down through a series of very steep waterfalls.

But don't worry - a helmet and wetsuit are included!

Fun, right?  

Not so fast, buster, exclaimed Teresa.  I’ll go with the ziplining but I just did the waterfall thing yesterday, and by the way, I nearly got thrown out of a raft the day before!

So we started with the ziplining. We’d done this several years ago when we were in Belize, so I figured we knew what we were getting into.  (If you want to read about it and see the pix, click on Ziplining in Belize at the top of this page.)

OK, so ziplining it is. Today!   Nathalie told us we’d be picked up at 2:30 along with the other less sane members of our group.  

We drove over the bridge across the enormous gorge that we’d crossed earlier when we’d arrived at Banos, and Teresa innocently commented, I wonder where the ziplining is.  Moments later, our taxi stopped at a small hut by the side of the road and the answer quickly became evident.  Holy shit!  That’s not like Belize!

The zipline passed over the gorge, then disappeared off into the distance with no end point in sight!   And at the bottom of the gorge, some 2000 feet below, was an angry, churning river!

But as it turned out, the ziplining was the easy part.  When we came to it, we saw that the Tibet Bridge consisted of steel planks, one foot square, spaced about twelve inches apart, that traversed the churning river below with only a thin cable for support, while covering a distance of at least a quarter mile!

And at the end of the bridge was a three hundred foot vertical rock face, with tiny strips of rebar embedded in the rock to stand on, and a narrow cable with which to pull yourself straight up.  Honestly, we looked at each other and were speechless!

But yes, we would have received our next clue.  Despite our fears, we completed this high-altitude course which was quite literally straight out of The Amazing Race!

So much for choosing the easy option!

Back at the bridge, we discovered several more members of our group who were in the process of throwing themselves down into the gorge with a tiny rope tied around their waist!  But hey -- at least we weren’t the only ones who’d lost their marbles!

More to come!

As we gathered for breakfast, Nathalie advised us that the plan for the early part of the day called for an extended trek into the Amazon jungle to hike the waterfalls: “You will get wet! Be prepared!”  In the afternoon we would take a much shorter nature walk with Delfin and he would demonstrate how the villagers used the resources of the rainforest to survive.

We started by trying on various sizes of knee-high rubber rain boots – at first I expected that this would keep our feet dry, but Orlando, our guide for this trek, assured us that this was not the case.  Nathalie, who is only about 5’2, said she had been nearly up to her waist in the water the last time she did this hike, and the boots would fill up quickly.

As we set out it began to rain – no surprise – it’s a rain forest!  But still, getting rained on is a far cry from sloshing through a stream, thigh-high, and then climbing through a waterfall!  When my left boot went under the first time and filled with water, I gasped – it was like ice!

But by the next hour I was completely soaked – not a dry spot left.  We quickly learned to tilt our legs upward, one at a time, to drain the water from the boots, otherwise it felt like they were full of lead.

At each waterfall, Orlando scrambled up to the top then threw down a rope, and one at a time, we each pulled ourselves up through the icy torrent.  We hiked up and down the slippery terrain surrounded by the thick jungle – I’d never seen anything like it – the jungle was so much more dense than what we’d experienced in Peru.  Fortunately we didn’t have to worry much about ants and mosquitoes – the constant rain took care of that problem.

I started out full of energy, skipping from one rock to the next like a mountain goat, but after the first hour it became a major effort just to lift my waterlogged boots!  I was so relieved when the village dogs came racing up the trail to greet us upon our return three hours later!

Lunch was served right away, beginning with hot soup to take care of the chill, and afterward we stripped off our wet clothes.  My boots were suctioned to my feet and it took two people to wrestle them off! No hot showers here to warm us up, so we switched to some dry clothes – then Teresa and I retreated to our (open-air) room to rest.  

Later in the afternoon, we joined Delfin for a much shorter walk into the forest, although we had to don the boots again because it was so muddy.  (This time I chose to pass on the socks!)  He showed us how to make fibers from leaves that could be braided into a rope, and how wrap it around your feet to scale a tree.  He made a hat from a palm leaf, then stopped at a stream and after about five minutes of panning for gold, pulled out several tiny yellow flakes.   He spotted a poisonous snake and quickly grabbed it with a stick and threw it into the woods: “Dangerous!”  He pointed to some very strange looking trees that appeared to have all their roots above the ground then explained that this allowed the trees to actually move (slowly) over a long period of time.

When we returned to the village we found that another G group had arrived – they were on a sixty-five day trip from Mexico to South America then back to Costa Rica.   Sixty-five days!  Yikes!!  And I thought eighteen days was long!

After a late meal, Teresa and I retreated to our room, exhausted.  I tried to handwrite my blog but it was too dark, a lost cause even with a flashlight!

By the time we met up for our rafting expedition, Teresa’s color had returned and she assured us she was ready to go!

We left our bags with Nathalie in the hotel lobby and she promised us she’d keep an eye on them and make sure they got to the village.

We doused ourselves liberally with sunscreen and Deet and piled into a large pick-up with our raft secured to the roof, while a second vehicle followed with all our gear.

We drove about 30 minutes until we came to a fork in the road where Diego, our rafting guide, pointed to the right: “That way is to Pimpilala… you stay there tonight!”

We followed the river along an embankment for several miles then stopped at an isolated spot about 150 feet above the river. I wasn’t sure why they chose this spot, but they carefully lowered our raft, our gear and our cooler (with our food and water), into it.

Diego gave us a rafting lesson, reviewing the various commands and safety procedures, including what to do if we got tossed overboard. He told us that Brian, his cousin, would be riding shotgun in a small kayak, ready to retrieve us if we got separated from the raft.

We embarked and almost immediately hit some serious whitewater. At Diego’s orders we plunged our paddles into the water as we veered around a large rock, entered a whirlpool, then got completely soaked as the raft submerged and immediately resurfaced. There was some shouting and when I looked around, there was Teresa hanging backward out of the raft with only one foot keeping her from going overboard. Diego grabbed her other leg and yanked her back in

The next two and a half hours passed by quickly as we flew down the river, several times nearly capsizing or hitting huge boulders.

It was early afternoon when we stopped for lunch at a tiny village. Followed by several children, we hiked about two kilometers into a narrow canyon with a waterfall that emptied into a small pool. Nearby, the kids slathered themselves with mud from the stream. Diego joined in and soon nearly everyone was coated with mud, and the only way to wash it off was to stand under the waterfall!

Afterwards, we hiked back to the village for lunch, then it was back to the raft and we set out again.   The river was no less treacherous with rapids around every bend, but in a few spots where the river calmed, we jumped overboard to enjoy a quick swim.

Later that evening we were dropped off at Pimpalala.  It was pitch black and we scrambled to find our flashlights and headlamps.

But before we could even get settled, we were invited to make chocolate!

Cacao beans were obtained from a medium-sized oblong fruit taken from a nearby tree, and when split open there were numerous seed pods encased in a gelatinous substance that tasted like citrus. After being extracted from the fruit, these pods were tossed into a large iron pan and heated over an open fire until they began to pop, kind of like popcorn, indicating they were done.

We separated the toasted cacao beans from the now dry pods and ground them into powder with a meat grinder. Then the powdered cacao was mixed with milk and sugar, heated to a boil, and presto – chocolate!

And it was good! We dunked sliced bananas into the chocolate.   Dessert before dinner! (You can do that when you’re a grown-up!)

Dinner was tilapia, fresh-caught from the river, and after dinner we were introduced to our host, Delfin, who runs this homestay adventure with the help of his family.

Teresa woke up this morning feeling nauseous with a splitting headache. Actually, woke up is not quite accurate since she said she was up most of the night: “The worst headache I’ve ever had!”

The only logical explanation was altitude sickness, since Quito is at an elevation of 9,350 feet. According to www.ecuadorexplorer.com: “Someone flying to Quito from sea level experiences an elevation change of nearly two miles in a matter of hours. Abrupt changes in elevation such as this sometimes have ill effects on travelers. Altitude sickness usually manifests itself in insomnia, headaches, and/or nausea.

After taking two Tylenol she said she felt a bit better, but still struggled to gather her stuff and get down to the lobby at 7:30 for the bus ride to Tena. She continued to feel ill throughout the five hour journey – undoubtedly a tough trip even when one is well – lots of twists and turns.

She was immensely relieved when we arrived around 1:30 (as were the rest of us), and as soon as we got to the hotel she flopped into bed. I’ll spare you the details, but while the group did a quick tour of Tena – not much to see, really – Teresa was down for the count.

Later in the day, feeling somewhat better, she rejoined the group for an early dinner -- I thought it was a promising sign when she asked for a sip of a few ounces of beer!

We met with Nathalie later in the evening and she introduced us to our whitewater rafting guide. The plan for tomorrow: A twenty-seven kilometer, class III rafting expedition on the Jatun Yaku “Big Water” River, also known as the Great River.   We’ll be taking a one hour lunch break (“Ecuadorian Empanadas”) around noon, followed by an Amazon jungle hike, then we’ll complete our river journey later in the afternoon.

In the evening it’s off to the remote village of Pimpilala, where we’ll be staying with several local families. Nathalie cautioned us to be prepared: No electricity!  

Our arrival in Quito was uneventful, and we were settled in at the starting point hotel by mid-afternoon.   We met up with the rest of our group at 6 PM, and after a round of introductions, our tour leader, Nathalie, reviewed our travel itinerary for the next eighteen days.  She presented a daunting list of activities, including whitewater rafting, mountain biking, horseback riding and --  bungee-jumping!

We'll head out at 7:30 tomorrow morning, board a bus, then make our way to Tena in the Amazon rainforest.

       ....  said Teresa, the panic in her voice clearly evident.

 Suddenly on the spot, I blurted the first thought that came into my head: “I just needed to get away! It looked interesting!”

“But why Ecuador??” she demanded accusingly.

I was silent as I tried to recall my thought processes several months ago when I’d signed us up for this trip.

I finally spoke: “He talked about Ecuador… he wrote about it… in his book… Looptail.  Remember?  Last year?  Bruce Poon Tip!”

This was partially true.   Poon Tip, the founder of G Adventures, had described rural Ecuador, where he had traveled not long after he’d started the company, in a compelling narrative.

But after giving it more thought I realized that I’d also chosen Ecuador because our trip to South America last year, particularly our travels in the Amazon, had been so intriguing.  

But when I booked this trip, it was also an act of faith – faith that I’d be able to travel again after a series of eye surgeries.

We’d been in Ireland last September – Teresa and Katie and I, together with our friends Bob and Katy S.   It was a fascinating trip, full of history. But on a personal level, it had been difficult – blind in one eye and having to rely so much on my travel companions.

By Christmas, I’d nearly recovered from a detached retina and I couldn’t wait to go exploring again.   Then, on New Year’s Day, there was another flash of light, and a huge retinal tear in my other eye suddenly revealed itself!

January was a long month – more procedures, more surgery. And once again my travel plans were questionable!

But here we are, three months later: Teresa, Katie, Brandon and I, waiting in the departure lounge at SMF, packed, and ready for another adventure!

What can I say? As I’ve already said, it’s an act of faith – faith in the future!

Not expecting to actually go on this trip, Teresa had only looked closely at the itinerary about a week ago. Unfortunately what caught her attention was several long bus rides and safety concerns, including frequent theft by pickpockets and bag slashers. Hence, the What were you thinking? question.

But here’s what I think:   All travel entails an element of risk.   No matter where you go you need to be alert to your surroundings, you need to stay informed, you need to safeguard your belongings, and you need to be respectful of your environment.

Even New York City, a great place to visit, can be dangerous if you don’t use common sense and always stay aware of your surroundings.

And on a personal level, you need to know your limits. I intend to be as careful as I can, but if I experience health problems I’ll get to the nearest airport and fly straight home!

So… I’ll try to blog about this adventure as much as I can, although I expect it to be a bit more difficult as my eyes are still on the mend.

Tomorrow, we’ll start from Quito on our Grand Tour of Ecuador, with a helping hand from the good folks at G Adventures. I hope it’s as good as Bruce remembers!

Scott

We've covered a lot of ground the last several days, constantly on the move.

From Dingle we headed north across the Shannon River via ferry:  "Is this the right one?" asked Katy S.  "If we're in Bristol in a few hours we'll know it wasn't!" I replied.

Soon after, we found ourselves at the Cliffs of Moher which run along the west coast for about five miles - the cliffs are a sheer, several hundred foot drop to the ocean and there is a trail that follows along the top of the cliffs.  The brave (or foolhardy) can follow the unprotected path that runs just by the edge, while the sensible (or cowardly) can follow a second path that runs about 10 or 12 feet away from the edge and is protected by a raised berm.  (Teresa insisted I follow the latter - what's a one-eyed guy to do?)

Heading inland, we passed through the Burren, a vast expanse of badlands covered by sedentary limestone that had been on the ocean floor several million years ago.  We stopped at the Poulnabrone Dolmen, a large table-like edifice constructed by the Celts' ancestors some 5000+ years ago - it is built from enormous boulders - I can't imagine how they were able to lift into place these giant rocks that must weigh several tons each!

We stayed in Galway just long enough to arrange a side trip by ferry to the Aran Islands, while spending the evenings roaming the bustling Latin Quarter with its multitude of shops and quaint restaurants.  On Inishmore, the largest of the islands, we arranged a private day tour with Martin, who told us he'd worked for 37 years as a fisherman.  As we rode in his minivan, he provided a compelling narrative of life on the island.  We stopped at the Dun Aenghus Castle, an enormous stone fortress of Celtic origin built next to the sea overlooking towering cliffs.

The following day we bade farewell to Bob and Katy S. who headed for the Connemara region, just north of Galway along the coast, while we made our way northeast toward Sligo, then crossed the border into Ulster, the northernmost province that is still a part of the U.K.

Our subsequent stop proved to be one of the most compelling of our perimeter road trip around Ireland, the city of Derry - also known as Londonderry - located on the banks of the River Foyle.

Derry, in Northern Ireland, was ground zero for "the Troubles" for more than 30 years - it's the euphemism for the civil war that pitted the Irish Republican Army (the Nationalists), against the Ulster Defense League (the Unionists) - and it was 30 years of brutal bombings and killings.  We stayed in the Bogside, the Catholic neighborhood just below the walled old city:  You are now entering Free Derry reads the ominous message on the stone wall at the entrance to this area.

This greeting marks the site where Bloody Sunday occurred in 1972 - a confrontation between unarmed demonstrators and the British Army that led to numerous deaths and injuries when the military opened fire on the protestors - only recently did the UK government admit, after a lengthy and much-delayed commission of inquiry, that the military response had not been justified.  Apparently, the original inquiry 30 years ago had proved to be a whitewash and had contributed to an escalation of the violence. 

We viewed the Bogside Murals, twelve huge murals painted on the sides of various Bogside structures that line Rossville, the main street - these commemorate the sequence of tragic events in which thousands, from both sides of the conflict, lost their lives. 

There is now a tenuous peace agreement in place and it is apparent that members of the local community are trying to transition to a peacetime tourist economy.  However there remains a palpable level of tension and there are only a handful of tourists.  (Question:  Are we brave or foolish?)

In the evening we traversed the Peace Bridge, a pedestrian walkway over the River Foyle built by the European Union only three years ago as a symbol of reconciliation between the two communities. 

The following day we walked the stone walls of the old city where the British had several army garrisons overlooking the Bogside neighborhood - including monitoring devices and heavy weaponry that was only dismantled and removed the last few years.  We spent several hours in the Tower Museum which provided a relatively unbiased yet detailed timeline of events dating back nearly 2000 years - starting with the original Celtic inhabitants, the invasion by the Normans (i.e., Norsemen / Vikings) and eventually the British effort to establish settlements to control and later suppress what was then a predominantly Catholic local population.

Heading off to Belfast we stopped at a couple of touristy destinations, including the seaside community of Portrush, with its amusement park and extensive sandy beaches, then the Giant's Causeway, a very odd geological formation that runs along the north coast and is characterized by hexagonal pillars or columns rising straight from the ground - apparently these were formed from molten lava that had abruptly crystallized millions of years ago.

We arrived in Belfast late Saturday afternoon only to find that the B&B where I'd "confirmed" our booking in early July had given away our room "in error", although it quickly became clear that the owner had sold our room to someone else for more money!  Apparently a local boxing event that Saturday evening had caused virtually every Belfast hotel to sell out.

I contacted Booking.com who had confirmed our reservation but they were unable to find anything comparable to what we'd initially arranged.  We finally decided to move on to Dublin as we'd only planned one night in Belfast and it hadn't been a high priority for us.  With some "gentle" persuasion, Booking.com located a room in Dublin and agreed to cover the full cost.  At first they refused - I reminded them that since they'd been sold to Priceline ("name your own price") two years ago, I wouldn't hesitate to go after them for additional compensation when I got back to lawsuit-happy California.  I suspect this story isn't quite over!

We got into Dublin late, but fortunately all the pubs and restaurants were just getting under way - after all it was a Saturday night.  We quickly made our way to Gogerty's Pub in Temple Bar where we'd had a terrific evening with Bob & Katy S. two weeks ago - once again we were not disappointed.

We enjoyed our free buffet breakfast Sunday morning - courtesy of Booking.com - then planned our afternoon around a visit to the National Archeological Museum, which we'd hoped to see previously with Bob & Katy S. - we'd been unable to make time for it two weeks ago. 

We spent the rest of our last day on some late shopping then reprised our wonderful Sunday evening meal at O'Neill's Pub - this was also my last chance to toss back a Guinness!

Dropping off our rental car the next morning was a great relief for us all - Teresa was exultant as she handed over the car keys to the Enterprise agent - and she was astonished to learn she'd driven more than a thousand miles, an adventure in left side driving she won't soon forget!

I vaguely recall learning about the Irish potato famine in high school - in a very hazy and unclear sort of way.  I remember a question on a history test about what caused the famine -  simple answer:  potato blight.  I also remember a question about the Fenians - who were they, etc.  But it never made a whole lot of sense to me and that's kind of strange since I had an unusual interest in history as a teen.

But I think I finally get it, forty-five years later. 

We'd arrived in Dingle Sunday evening after a long drive around the Ring of Kerry.  Once again, the weather was awful, with rain and fog all day - I've resigned myself to admiring the breathtaking vistas of the Ring of Kerry featured on the 2015 scenic Ireland calendar!  We did make one brief stop at the Staigue Ring Fort, a circular stone structure built at least 2500 years ago - it's hard to believe the history of the region dates so far back!

But the history that interests me the most is the ongoing struggle for control of Ireland that began nearly a thousand years ago when the mostly Catholic native Irish population tried to resist domination by mostly Protestant English invaders.  In 1801, when Ireland was forced into a union with Britain, Scotland and Wales to form the United Kingdom, the majority of the population became part of a very unequal partnership. 

So, once again, what caused the Irish potato famine in 1845?  Was it potato blight?

This was the simple answer I was given long ago.

But the correct answer is this:  Agricultural production, other than potato farming, was almost wholly controlled by landowners of British descent.  The bulk of the population, due to anti-Catholic laws passed by the British government, lived as subsistence tenant farmers, growing potatoes to feed themselves, while the bulk of the food production went to Britain.

And for reasons that seem to be primarily ideological, the government in London refused to provide help long after it became clear that the Irish population was starving, because the potato blight had destroyed their main food source.  So, during a five year stretch, the population dropped from six million to four million.  Half the loss was due to emigration abroad, and half was due to starvation. 

And the Fenians?  As I understand it, they were the original Irish nationalists who demanded independence from Britain - precursors to the IRA, I assume. 

We spent much of the day on a slow drive around the Dingle peninsula, stopping at the many historically significant sites.  One of these was the Slea Head Famine Cottages, a small cluster of rock dwellings dating back to the famine.  These were the primitive shelters that housed the Irish subsistence farmers before they were evicted by the landowners when they became unable to pay their rent.  Posted on the interior walls were the stories, some hand written, of what had happened and what had been dire consequences for the local population.

Another major stop, unrelated to the famine, was the Blasket Islands Visitors Center, which told the story of the inhabitants of the Blasket Islands, an island community just off the mainland.  By 1953, the last of this small community, 4 women and 17 men, left the island - most of their children had emigrated to America to join the expatriate Irish community in Springfield, Massachusetts.

We made several other stops, including the Dunbey Fort, most of which has fallen into the ocean; the Beehive Huts, which (duh) look like stone beehives; the Gallarus Oratory, a stone chapel 1300 years old that could accommodate 12 monks for prayer; and the twelfth century ruin of Kilmalkedar Church and cemetery.

A lot of history for one day!

Oh-oh... first day on the road for Teresa! 

We got our car Wednesday morning, first thing - the nice young man at Enterprise gave us a rundown of what to expect - narrow roads, disappearing side mirrors, blowouts, etc.  Not to worry, but would you like to buy extra insurance?

I went for the extra collision coverage - only €250 if she totals the car!  No need for the road hazard coverage - I can save a few bucks!

Courage fortified, Teresa got behind the wheel - right side - Katie navigating next to her - me crouched low in the back, holding my breath!   No problem!  After a short drive we made it to Kilmainham Jail!

This jail, abandoned at the end of the Irish civil war in 1922, proved to be exactly what you'd expect given its horrendous history - children as young as 5 years old locked up in 1847 for stealing bread during the Great Famine - forced to sleep in unheated corridors on straw-covered cinderblocks.  This was where the leaders of the 1916 provisional government were executed by a firing squad in the courtyard - by order of the British government!

Just after noon we headed out of Dublin, south toward Kilkenny through the Wicklow Mountains.  In about half an hour we passed the town of Enniskerry and stopped to stroll through the Gardens of Powerscourt, a several thousand acre garden preserve planted during Victorian times.  As we followed the narrow footpath surrounded by a jungle-like explosion of flora, what had started as a light drizzle gradually became heavier.

Back in the car the sky grew dark and the rain got heavier, becoming torrential as the road turned narrow and twisty.  We crawled along the winding road, barely two lanes wide, then just as the storm seemed to hit its peak, there was a loud bang followed by a clattering sound telling us we'd hit a huge pothole!

One quick glance and we knew the news was bad!  But with a fierce wind inverting our umbrellas, the one-eyed pirate changed the blowout in record time, then retreated to the back seat, soaked and covered with mud. So much for saving a few bucks!

We stopped at Glendalough, where we braved the storm to see the ruins of St. Kevin's Monastery -- dating back to the sixth century - then soldiered on for several more hours, finally getting Kilkenny after 7 PM - we were exhausted, nerves askew!

So we medicated ourselves at Matt the Miller's pub, gulping down pints of Smithwick's and relaxing to some fine Irish tunes and grub!

In the morning, our hyperactive B&B hostess Katherine directed us to a one man tire repair shop, only a mile away.  He took a look at the large sidewall tear and slowly shook his head.  But then he assured us he had what we needed and it was ours for only €90!  (A bargain, I assured myself!)

We spent the rest of the day checking out Kilkenny, a quaint town easy to navigate on foot.  We spent the morning at Kilkenny Castle, then browsed the Kilkenny Design Center and enjoyed a picnic lunch in their garden.  Later, we climbed the 100 foot Round Tower at St. Canice's Cathedral for a magnificent view of Kilkenny and the countryside. 

Then we retrieved our car - looking good!

So here I am in Dublin after all... wearing a black eye patch over my right eye no less!

I'm happy I got to go - a last minute reprieve from my doctor - but I have to admit to some trepidation.  More about that in a minute!

I went to see Captain America last month and carefully studied how Nick Fury (Samuel Jackson) wears his eye patch - over his left eye with the elastic strap below his left ear then running up and across his shaved head! 

Pretty cool!  But for the life of me I can't fathom how he can manage a high speed car chase with only one eye!  I'm still bumping into doors!

Soo... this is a challenge.  I've been making my way around Dublin... along the River Liffey... through the Temple Bar District...  Grafton Street... O'Connell Street... all the while hanging on to Teresa while trying to dodge light poles, trash bins, assorted random objects and... people... lots and lots of people!

It's only Tuesday and we've covered a lot of territory. 

Shortly after getting checked in to our hotel Sunday afternoon, we joined a historical walking tour.  Our guide, a not-so-recent graduate of Trinity College, led us around central Dublin while providing a fascinating historical perspective.  Much of what he described focused on the not-so-friendly relationship with Britain over the course of many hundreds of years.  He described the formation of the United Kingdom in 1801 - not much input from the Irish side, then gave us blow-by-blow details of the 1916 Easter rebellion and the civil war that ended with the establishment of the Irish Free State in 1922. 

Later in the evening we enjoyed our first authentic Irish pub meal at O'Neill's in the Temple Bar District - roast pork and potatoes and mashed vegetables served cafeteria style washed down with pints of O'Hara's and Smithwick's on draft.

On Monday we drove about an hour north to Bru na Boinne (also known as Newgrange) to check out archaeological ruins dating back more than 3000 years - these huge grassy mounds were built (presumably) to serve as burial grounds and there are underground tunnels that served as crypts for the dead.

Later that evening we joined a musical pub crawl - during the course of three hours we visited three different pubs and listened to the most wonderful range of Irish music imaginable accompanied by more Irish history and folklore.  And of course we downed more than a few pints of beer!  It was nearly midnight when we found ourselves at Gogerty's Pub for a late meal of Shepard's pie and fish and chips!

And today - a late start but we managed to fit in several more historical sights:  First, a tour of Trinity College, founded by the Anglican Church several hundred years ago but boycotted by the Irish Catholic Church until the early 1970's.  We learned about the Book of Kells, a handcrafted copy of the New Testament, written in Latin, replete with elaborate calligraphy created by monks acting as scribes.  Then we toured the college library with its long narrow hallway and high-ceilinged arches - apparently it was also portrayed as the Jedi Archives in Star Wars.

Later in the afternoon - Dublin Castle - former repository of British power (until 1922).  This is where the leaders of the Irish provisional government were held prior to their transfer to Kilmainham prison in 1916 after which they were executed (by firing squad) - this event triggered the Irish Civil War.  Dublin Castle is, ironically, now the seat of government for their successors - the Irish Republic. 

We were taken on an underground tour of the courtyard beneath the castle where we viewed the ruins of the original towers as well as the secret waterway used for bringing in supplies for the palace elite.

It was an early meal this evening highlighted by bangers & mash.

The sky was overcast today and threatening rain - what a difference from yesterday!  We were so lucky to have had a perfect day for our hike.

I'd been reading about the special Swiss panorama trains and thought today would be a good day for a train ride.  The Glacier Express runs from Zermatt and traverses the mountains toward St. Moritz, taking about eight hours travel time. 

I'll admit there seemed to be a lot of hype, with such fanciful sounding names as the Bernini Express, the Golden Pass Line and the Chocolate Train, and descriptions of coach cars with expansive windows for viewing as well as gourmet food service.

So I reserved seats on the Glacier Express from Zermatt to Disentis, the mid-point of the journey, expecting to return to Zermatt later in the day on a regular train.  In retrospect, it's not clear what I was expecting... spectacular views of the mountains and countryside I imagine. 

This turned out to be a bad decision.  Not only did the train proceed at a glacial pace, much slower than any other train we'd been on, but there just wasn't much to see.  For the first two hours I honestly expected it to get better.  Unfortunately it never did, and by the time I realized that this was a complete bust, we'd been riding for four hours ... and when we finally made it back to Zermatt it was after 8 PM.

The wind was icy as we searched the town for an open restaurant - not many options late on a Sunday night.  We were getting quite chilled when we spotted the warm glow of a busy restaurant in which to take refuge, and the pork chops, schnitzel and cold beer proved to be the day's saving grace.

Monday

After having breakfast we had several hours to explore the shops along the main street and do some last-minute shopping before catching our late morning train to Geneva.  There was an outdoor market with some interesting items that we hadn't seen anywhere else, but most of the shops were stocked with standard hiking and skiing gear.  One shop sold traditional cuckoo clocks that captured our attention, and we discussed whether or not we could get one home intact and if so, where we would put it - eventually we ended up taking a pass on it. 

We arrived back at the Geneva airport just after 4 PM and although our flight was delayed we made it to our Heathrow hotel on Bath Road just after 8 PM.  It had a cozy restaurant where I enjoyed a generous portion of fish and chips while Teresa had a chicken curry, all washed down with cold British ale.

Tuesday

The Hopper bus arrived at 7 AM to take us back to the airport where we checked in to our flight without any problem.  We boarded a new Boeing 777 with an elaborate video-on-demand system that kept us completely absorbed for the next 10 hours.  

Nothing beats sleeping in your own bed after a long trip, and this one sure went by quickly!

Thursday

We awoke with a start at the knock on our door.  I glanced at my watch on the night table - 7:03 AM.  Shit, we'd slept right through the alarm!  Teresa jumped out of bed to take the tray from the maid.

It was a mad scramble - finish packing, take a shower, drink coffee, settle bill.  I don't think I ever mentioned that our room was on the fifth floor and serviced by one phone booth sized elevator that could carry only one person and two pieces of luggage at a time.

I was in the lobby at 7:30 AM while Teresa waited for the elevator to return to the fifth floor.  Fortunately the shuttle was several minutes late so we didn't keep anyone waiting.

En route to the airport, the driver asked us what flight we were on.  A moment after I told him he replied "But zat flight ees cancel!"  What!  Teresa and I exchanged nervous glances.  What would we do?

As soon as we were dropped off we anxiously scanned the terminal for the Air France counter.  We spotted it but there was a long line.  An Air France representative seemed to be monitoring the progress of the line so we approached her and asked about our cancelled flight.  "But of course, we weel poot you on ze earlier flight!"  She escorted us to the front of the line and spoke to an agent, and a few minutes later we had our boarding passes for the 10:35 flight - good thing we were early!

Arriving in Geneva at noon, we made a beeline to the train station next to the terminal.  Teresa spotted a Swiss Rail travel office and after a brief wait, an agent sat us down to review our itinerary and determine what rail pass we needed.  We settled on a three day Swiss Saver Flexipass plus two tickets on the next train to Montreux.  I'd been expecting sticker shock but was still surprised when the bill came to 510 Swiss francs, about US $530.  The Swiss are consummate pros when it comes to separating you from your money!

The ride from Geneva to Montreux was little more than an hour and our hotel was a relatively short walk from the station.  After checking in, my plan was to hit Chillon Castle, located about two miles down from the hotel along the shoreline.  It was nearly 4 PM when we strolled up to the castle entrance, plenty of time to see it before its 7 PM closing time.  It didn't look all that big from the street so I figured about an hour to have a look.

But I hadn't appreciated what a massive structure it was, jutting out from the shoreline, and how much there was to see.  The castle was built in the 13^th century and gradually enlarged over several hundred years.  A self-guided tour presented a fascinating historical perspective regarding the different ethnic groups that controlled the region up until the creation of the Swiss Republic in the 19^th century.  We exited just before it closed.

The town was very quiet as we searched for a restaurant for dinner - although it was only 8 PM, the shops were shuttered tight and we encountered only a handful of open restaurants.  One was extremely busy, every seat taken - it was basically just a pizzeria - not really our preference, but with few options we headed inside. 

An elderly gentleman with a limp was directing the other workers so we assumed he was the owner.  But the place was so busy he waited on us personally - and we ordered what proved to be an excellent vegetarian pizza with a salad to share, along with wine and beer. 

After eating there wasn't much to do so we headed back to our hotel.

Friday

No breakfast in bed this morning but the in-room kettle served us well for making coffee.  We walked down to the CGN dock in anticipation of traversing Lake Geneva by boat.  During the hour before the boat arrived we browsed the Friday flea market where we haggled with a stubborn Swiss woman who was holding hostage a used beer mug and several used wine tasting glasses that we wanted.  Teresa finally got her down to 14 francs (from 16) but she refused to budge on the beer mug so I finally capitulated and gave her the 8 francs she was demanding!

We boarded the boat which circumnavigated the east end of Lake Geneva and eventually docked at the town of Saint Gingolf on the French side, then crossed back over to the town of Vevey on the Swiss side.  The air was crisp and the scenery spectacular.

We docked at Vevey about 90 minutes later, then immediately boarded another boat heading for Lausanne along the northwest shoreline, stopping at several villages along the way.  We passed the LaVaux vineyards that started down by the water and stretched upward into the surrounding hills.  At Lausanne we hopped the Metro, traversed 4 stops, then caught the train back to Montreux. 

We had a little over an hour to get back to our hotel, pick up our luggage, then head back to the station.  We made a quick stop at a grocery store and loaded up on bread, cheese and meat, then boarded the 5:38 train for Brig, where we switched to another train heading south to Zermatt.  We arrived just past nine and made our way down the main street - it was still crowded and almost everyone was walking - no cars are allowed in Zermatt although there are small electric taxis for hire.  Our hotel wasn't far from the station and we were impressed - it was well-appointed with hardwood floors and a huge bed with down pillows.   Then we had a late picnic dinner in our room with the groceries we'd bought earlier.

Saturday

The day had finally arrived - the big hike!  This is why we are in Zermatt.  There are really only two reasons why anybody comes here:  skiing and hiking.  Our hotel, the Beau Rivage, actually closes during the off-season, May and June, and October and November.  There are over 100 hotels in this resort town with a permanent population of 5,600.  The hike I'd chosen several months ago after reading online reviews of the available options is called the Hohenweg Hohbalmen and is an eleven mile loop that ostensibly can be done in about seven hours.  It is reputed to be one of the ten best hikes in all of Switzerland.

Teresa had been fretting about the distance and wanted to get an early start just in case the hike took us longer, so we hit the breakfast room as soon as it opened at 7:30 AM.  I would characterize the hotel décor as rustic elegance - definitely one of the nicest hotels we've ever stayed in.  Breakfast was traditional alpine - eggs, cheese, sliced meats, yogurt, muesli and fruit. 

We packed a lunch of cheese, fruit and bread and quickly found the trailhead located just off the main road.  It started out quite steep and within half an hour we were looking way down at the town.  The descriptions I'd read had suggested (to me) a gradual ascent - this was anything but!  We slogged upward, ever higher, for the next hour, then stopped to rest at a tiny pension next to the trail. 

The trail had been filled with hikers when we started and we were not surprised when more than a few turned back.  We expected the trail to level off but instead we encountered a series of steep switchbacks that took us another hour to navigate before finally reaching a plateau.  As it was nearly 1 PM we decided to rest and have lunch - we were surrounded by snow-capped peaks and the sky was mostly clear with a few wispy clouds.  I'd been perspiring while hiking but quickly cooled off-the weather was perfect!

We discussed how much more difficult this hike was proving to be - not the "moderate" level of exertion that so many reviewers had referenced.  This was a strenuous hike and we were thankful we had done some dedicated preparation last month. 

We hiked for another hour - the trail was mostly level - I couldn't imagine that we could get much higher as the surrounding peaks were at eye level.  There was a sharp turn and a slight rise in the trail, and then it magically materialized - the Matterhorn!  It was awesome and I was mesmerized.  Oddly, my first thought was how closely it resembled the Matterhorn at Disneyland!  Almost simultaneously Teresa exclaimed "OMG... Walt Disney brought all the best of Europe to Disneyland!"

We continued to marvel at the sight of this incredible mountain, and as we hiked past the North Face, our viewing angle changed and the rock face became so steep it was almost menacing.  For two more hours the mountain was right there hovering over us, until we finally began our descent into the valley and eventually found ourselves at the outskirts of Zermatt.  Our backs were aching and our feet were sore - it had taken us seven hours and fifteen minutes to complete the loop.

We stopped at a store and bought some more groceries, then at the train station where I purchased a reservation for the Glacier Express for tomorrow.

Back at the hotel we collapsed onto our bed, exhausted.  It took a major effort to eventually get cleaned up but a hot shower never felt so good!

At 8 PM we took the elevator just outside our room on the second level above the street, to the hotel restaurant on the second level below the street.  When the elevator doors slid open we were confronted with a totally packed dining room - every table was occupied by well-dressed diners, apparently all locals!

As we entered the room via the elevator (rather than the main entrance opposite us), the hostess approached us and brusquely asked "Do you have a reservation?"  Clearly she was ready to show us to the exit.  "No, but we are guests of the hotel" I replied, playing my trump card.  "Oh!"  She hesitated then told us to follow her and she seated us at the only unoccupied table in the place, right next to the wood-burning grill.

Our waitress was running around serving at least half a dozen other tables and seemed perturbed at our intrusion into her space, especially when she was so busy.  She brought us menus then disappeared.

Clearly this was the place to be on a Saturday night in Zermatt:  Chez Max Julen - the hotel's owner and restaurateur -- former 1984 Olympic gold medallist for skiing.  It was only because of our status as his guests that we were being accommodated, which was fine with us.  The atmosphere, as at breakfast, was rustic elegance.  Teresa ordered a bottle of wine and we decided to try the daily special, beef brochettes in gravy with risotto and mixed vegetables (carrots, peas, broccoli and cauliflower).  It was delicious and we felt decadent, especially when we finished our meal and took the hotel elevator straight up to our room!

A knock at the door signaled that breakfast was served, as a tray of coffee, croissants and a baguette was delivered to our room.  When Teresa and I first arrived in Paris in 1982, breakfast was always included with your stay - it was one of the unique features about traveling in France.  Unfortunately it's now the exception rather than the rule.

Teresa flung open our French doors and the sounds of the city invaded our room.  The sky was overcast but there was no rain so we made a plan to spend the day walking around Paris - first, the Champs Elyseé and the Tuilleries, then the Left Bank and the Ile de la Cité, and perhaps a museum later in the day.  Tomorrow we'd take the train to Giverny to see Claude Monet's home and the following day we'd check out the Museé Rodin.  Taking an umbrella and our jackets was an afterthought as we optimistically expected the clouds to clear.

As we passed the Elyseé Palace we were lucky enough to catch the changing of the guard but found it a bit puzzling that there seemed to be such a substantial police presence.  Moments later we passed a building with a US flag flying overhead - the U.S. Embassy perhaps?  That might explain why so many police.

Just as we got to the Champs Elyseé by the Place de la Concorde I felt a few drops of rain and noticed that the sky had grown dark.  Teresa popped open the umbrella and as we huddled underneath, the rain began to come down, light at first, then more intense.  We ducked under the canopy of trees lining the garden of the Tuilleries but by the time we got to the Louvre pyramid it was clear that our walking plan was a non-starter.

I quickly scanned my fresh copy of Rick Steves' Paris to see which museums were a possibility. I noticed right away that the Orangerie Museum featured panoramic canvasses by Monet and it was only a short walk from where we'd come - since we were planning to go to Giverny tomorrow this would be a perfect prelude.  

The Monet exhibit that occupied the entire first floor was phenomenal - it is hard to describe the enormous canvasses that engulfed the two huge rooms.  In addition, the lower level had a substantial collection of mostly Impressionist paintings done by a variety of early twentieth century artists.  But when we emerged two hours later the rain had not abated so we huddled under our umbrella once again and scurried back to our hotel.

We shed our wet clothing which took several hours to dry out.  We used the time to catch up on our reading, blogging and posting.  In the early evening, patches of blue sky appeared and we decided to venture out again.  The air was crisp but the rain had stopped so we started walking in the direction of the Eiffel Tower.  As we crossed the Seine we were stunned by the view of the Eiffel Tower against a backdrop of fluffy white clouds and blue sky.  I snapped a slew of photos hoping to capture the remarkable panorama of colors.

We hadn't planned on climbing the Eiffel tower but after circling the four pillars I couldn't restrain myself.  We bought our tickets and began to scale this remarkable structure.  It's hard to believe it was constructed as a temporary exhibit for the Paris world exposition when it was completed in 1889.  It really is an amazing feat of engineering - from the interior it looks like a huge erector set!

Although there was a chilly wind as we ascended to the second level, I was sweating profusely.  It was getting dark and the city below began to be illuminated by the twinkling of lights extending to the horizon.  We took in the spectacular views of Paris from various observation points while I tried to capture what we saw with my well-worn Canon.

Later, back on the ground, it was getting late, and with only a few restaurants still open we made our way to the same bistro where we'd had dinner the night before and had a quick bite before heading back to our hotel.

Tuesday

I'd checked on-line late last night for train departures to Vernon, the nearest stop to Giverny, Claude Monet's home and gardens.  As far as I could tell, there was some kind of work slowdown, i.e., strike, at SNCF - what else is new?  Striking is the national pastime (after eating).  It looked like a few trains were still running - there was a departure at 12:20 PM that would work.  I wanted to get to the station (St. Lazare) early though - we'd have to buy our tickets at the counter since the automatic ticket machines only accepted chip and PIN charge cards.  Teresa's friend from work, Terry D., had warned us about this problem and to expect a long line at the ticket counter.  Just before we left Teresa called Citi and was told they now had chip and PIN cards available for Europe travel - we'll make sure we have one next time.

As expected, the line was very long, but after waiting half an hour an agent asked all passengers for the 12:20 train to Vernon to come forward, which we did.  We got our ticket with plenty of time to spare, fifteen minutes!

It was a short ride to Vernon, forty minutes - we waited longer than that in line to get our tickets!  A bus was waiting in front of the Vernon station and whisked us to Monet's estate in fifteen minutes.

For various reasons we'd never made it here on previous visits to Paris.  There's just so much to see in Paris proper - museums, monuments, etc., so this was a high priority and we were not disappointed.  As you enter there is a gift shop that occupies the whole space that served as Monet's studio.  The entire ceiling is a skylight that allowed Monet to paint by natural light. 

We exited to the gardens - even in September the flowers and foliage was spectacular.  I took pictures of flowers I'd never before seen.  We traversed a walkway under a road and emerged at Monet's famous water lily pond - suffice to say it was stunning.  Having seen so many of Monet's renditions of this place, seeing it in real life was a genuinely moving experience.

We took as many photos as we could in the hope that perhaps a few would capture some of the pond's vibrant colors.  Even as we watched, dark clouds moved in overhead, and we could see the changes in their reflections on the pond that Monet had captured so well.

After feasting our eyes, we entered his home which has been restored and maintained exactly as it was when he died nearly 90 years ago.  Again, it was remarkable.  Just outside the house there was a chicken enclosure - apparently he got his eggs fresh for breakfast every morning.  The study was lined with works of art not just by Monet but many of his contemporaries.  The dining room was light yellow with a table that seated twelve.  The kitchen had a massive wood stove and rows of copper pots and other cooking implements hanging from the walls.  Each room had a fireplace - clearly this was how the home was heated in winter.

When we returned to the Vernon train station we found that several trains to Paris had been cancelled, so we took a short walk through the town and stumbled upon the Rose Patisserie - it was a sign - we encountered chocolate éclairs one only dreams of!  Across from the station we sidled up to a bar for a glass of Stella (for me) and a glass of Bordeaux (for Teresa).

By the time the train arrived there was a huge crowd and we pushed and shoved for our seats - it was standing room only as the train departed - not many rail options today!

It was nearly 7 PM when we emerged from the Gare St. Lazare.  Heading toward our hotel we found a bistro on Rue Haussman where, accompanied by a half liter of Bordeaux, we ordered dinner.  Unfortunately, the free range chicken Teresa ordered was tough and stringy and barely edible (although I fared better with my plat de veau), so we stopped at Monoprix on the way back to get some fruit and snacks.

Wednesday

We laid in bed and enjoyed our coffee and croissants once again.  The sky was overcast and there was a stiff north wind but we were resolved to walk and see as much of  Paris as possible today.

Exiting our hotel, almost immediately we encountered a heavily armed police presence, and as we again passed the palace and (what I thought was) the U.S. Consulate, we suddenly realized the reason.  Today is the anniversary of 9/11.

Our first stop was the Museé Rodin, the museum of Auguste Rodin, another Paris landmark that we'd never made it to during previous trips.  I really wanted to see Rodin's famous masterpiece Le Penseur - The Thinker.  This bronze monument, one of several copies that the artist had cast, was located in front of the mansion, formerly the Hotel Biron, where notable artists of his time rented work space and which he eventually purchased and occupied as his home in his later years.  Teresa was kind enough to indulge me as I sat at the base of the monument,  "thinking", although this really felt like something that Christopher should be doing.

The mansion consisted of a dozen small rooms on two levels filled mostly with Rodin's sculptures, some very elaborate and some only partly completed.  Some sculptures had dark themes and Teresa thought they evoked an eerie feeling.

We entered the gardens at the rear - there were more statues, nearly all were bronze casts - some were duplicates of those we'd seen inside.  Apparently Rodin often cast multiple copies of his works, then numbered and signed each of them.  The garden was well appointed but simple - certainly no comparison to that of Monet.

We made our way along the left bank of the Seine toward the Ile de France, and browsed at the canopy-covered stalls of used booksellers - apparently they have been selling used books and other memorabilia here for more than a century. 

We admired Notre Dame Cathedral - it was the first time we'd seen it without it being covered in scaffolding - it must have taken more than twenty years to fully restore the exterior - there had been scaffolding when we first saw it in 1982, then again the last time we were here in 2000!  But we decided climbing to the tower was no longer obligatory - we figured we'd climbed it enough times for one lifetime!

We crossed the river then walked along the Rue de Rivoli that follows opposite the Louvre on the right bank.  We steered clear of a demonstration in progress having no idea what it was about.  The sidewalks were packed with tourists as well as locals heading home from work.  We pressed through the crowds, glancing in the windows of both designer outlets and tourist shops.

We found an interesting looking café along a side street and decided to have a late lunch (or perhaps an early dinner) as it was nearly 5 PM.  We shared a goat cheese salad and a grilled meat platter accompanied by a half bottle of Cote du Rhone rouge.  Afterward, we followed the Rue de l'Opera to the Galleries Lafayette, the huge Parisian Grand Magasin (department store).

After viewing the massive and impressive inner domed atrium we spent some time in the children's department and toy section, then took the escalator to the top floor where we scaled a flight of stairs and emerged on an outdoor terrace.  It provided another great view of the city and the adjacent Opera House, though we didn't last long because of the icy north wind.

Returning to the hotel we asked for our coffee to be brought to us at 7AM, then packed as much as we could.  With the airport shuttle pick-up scheduled for 7:30 I set the alarm for 6:45 as a precaution.    

We are off to Paris today!  Our long awaited encounter with croissants, chocolate éclairs and red wine is at hand!

The airport shuttle bus picked us up promptly at 12:10 and whisked us to the airport.  It was an easy transition and before long we were winging it to Paris on Croatia Airlines.  Who knew they even had an airline?

We arrived at Charles DeGaulle Airport just before 5 PM.  Can you believe this was our first time at this airport?  I've lost count of how many people have told me that this place is a nightmare to navigate!  But we made our way to the RER station and quickly found our train to Paris.  Easy!  The train was empty - thank goodness it was a Sunday night!

Then suddenly, at the third stop, a horde of Parisians crowded onto the train until it was standing room only!  A drug-addled woman carrying a little girl, demanded that Teresa move her bags, and after settling next to her, both of them proceeded to cough and sneeze incessantly in her face.  Then, to make matters worse, she smacked her child who started wailing, so she smacked her again!  We sat there trapped with this abusive woman for thirty minutes, and when we finally got to our top we had to push and shove to get to the exit doors.

When we checked in just after 7 PM, our room was ready and we flopped exhausted onto our bed.

The Hotel Argenson is the same hotel where we stayed with our children during our Grand Tour of Europe in 1994.  Back then, pre-Internet, I had made the reservation by snail mail, waiting more than two weeks for a reply!  Times sure have changed.  We even have an 8 by 10" photo of our family taken in front of the hotel in 1994!

We had our first authentic Parisian meal in more than a decade at a busy bistro a short walk from our hotel on Rue Haussman.   I had a toasted goat cheese and ham sandwich with salad and fries and Teresa enjoyed the most massive omelet I've ever seen, and we washed it all down with a bottle of Bordeaux!

Gabriel explained that we'd be driving about two hours to Kotor with a stop at the Montenegro border as well as a stop for photos.  At the border we were greeted by a dour customs agent who wordlessly flipped through our passports then waved us through.  While driving, Gabriel chatted about the region and its history although I noticed that nearly everyone was dozing - I tried to listen but pretty soon my eyes fluttered shut as well.  I figured I'd pay closer attention during the tour.

It was nearly eleven when we got to Kotor, a small city built against a hillside and overlooked by a walled fortification with several watch towers.  We followed Gabriel on foot to the main gate stopping at a tourist kiosk where he obtained maps and passed them around.  Then, much to my surprise he told us to have a look around and to meet him back at the car at one o'clock.  As he walked away Teresa leaned over and commented "I thought this was a tour."  "So did I" I replied, puzzled.  "I wonder if I mis-read the brochure."  But I didn't have it with me to check so we made the best of it, starting with a walk along the front wall facing the main road - there was a farmer's market with stands offering fresh fruit and vegetables as well as fish and cheese, so we bought a few items to snack on.

We entered the walled city but weren't really sure where to go.  We followed several narrow alleys and emerged in front of a cathedral where apparently a wedding was in progress.  I didn't have a copy of Lonely Planet or Frommers and the map had no information, so I had no clue as to the significance of this church.  Further along we found an entrance to the walls and fortress up top - Gabriel had mentioned in the car that there was a hike to the top that took about 45 minutes and cost 3€ - I wasn't sure if we had enough time, and the temperature was heating up, so we didn't attempt it but I'm sure that we would have planned to do so had we known there would be no tour.

It was shortly after noon and we were not sure what to do or where to go.  There were various touristy shops but we really had no interest in shopping and nothing else caught our attention, so we headed back to the main road to wait - I was still perplexed over the lack of a tour.

Gabriel showed up just before one, but before he led us back to the car he asked if we had liked Kotor - I didn't know what to say - he was pleasant and didn't strike me as dishonest or stupid.  Maybe there's just not much to see here, I thought to myself - perhaps Budva will be better.

It was another hour's drive to Budva.  Gabriel parked the car and we followed him through a central plaza, emerging near a beach and what appeared to be a walled fortress.  Gabriel pointed to it and told us that the enclosed area was the old town, but that it was destroyed in an earthquake in 1971 and everything inside had been reconstructed.  He told us that a walk along the top of the wall would take about fifteen minutes and that there was a small museum within the fortress that cost 3€, but there really wasn't much to see, he added.

We followed him to a restaurant by the beach and he said he was going to have lunch there and we were welcome to join him.  If not, we could meet him back at the car at 4:30 - we could go to the beach and swim if we wanted, he said. 

No tour - again!  Had I misunderstood what I signed up for?  A guided tour of Kotor and Budva?  It seemed unlikely - I would have to find the brochure - now I was irritated.  Why would I want to sit on the beach and swim here?  I had just gotten off a boat after sailing and swimming for a week in the clear blue waters along the coast of Croatia! 

For lack of anything to do and no other information to rely upon, Teresa and I sat down at a table by the beach and had two beers.  The beach was cruddy and unappealing and we were getting hot and sticky.  We finished our drinks and walked to the old town where we climbed to the top of the wall.  We stopped at the fortress - there was a fee of 3€ to get in but we weren't sure if there was anything worth seeing so we passed on it. 

As before, there were a number of tourist shops but nothing we were interested in.  We walked toward the beach on the far side of the fortress.  Again, not much to see.

Were we missing something, I asked myself.  Had we wasted most of our day driving here?  I just didn't know.  We stopped at a self-serve restaurant and had a couple of gyros, then returned to the car where Gabriel enthusiastically asked if we'd enjoyed the day!  I shrugged - I didn't know what to make of this.

It was nearly seven when we were dropped off at our hotel.  On the drive back I had finally fished the brochure from my backpack and reviewed the description of this tour.  It definitely described two guided tours of Kotor, then Budva, which we had clearly not gotten.  As we departed, Gabriel waited expectantly for a tip.  He didn't get it and looked disappointed.  I sure as hell wasn't going to throw good money after bad.

When we got settled into our room I went down to reception and a very helpful young woman provided details on how to get back to the airport tomorrow.

After giving the events of the day some more thought, I fired off an e-mail to Amico Tours and demanded a refund.  We'll see what they say, although I'm not holding my breath.  I also posted a review on TripAdvisor which you can read here.