"I always look at the bill"...

Well I have to say it: Mark can be overbearing.

"Check the Bill". "Check this". "Check that". 

He must be carrying a separate suitcase just for receipts, as I'm sure a thorough accounting will happen when we land back in Toronto. 

I have resigned myself to accept that this is the role he should be playing on this trip. I had the quintessential money tracker along on this trip. If ever there was a time I ought not to be concerned about finances (except my own tendancy to overtip, and Mark's need to live in the laps of luxury), this was it. 

To his credit, he did say that we should carry lots of USD. 

"Mark, I travel enough. If TD Visa is good enough in the jungles close to Bangalore, they're good enough for South America". 

And so what if I need to call the bank once in a while to release a lock due to some suspicious activity.. 

So how did he not know this?

"Mark, I just don't get it! How many people did you ask for opinions and advice for this trip? And you! You're into this Financial BS! How could you not know!!!". 

Perhaps I should take a step back. 

Before we set out on the trip, Mark practically told everyone, anyone really, about our planned itinerary. One day he spoke to X, the other to Y. One friend of his is a regular in Buenos Aires. How could he not tell him?

When I tell stories about trips, I like to focus on the negatives, not because the negatives are what I take with me. Machu Picchu is heaven on earth. But make no mistake about it: Front and Center in my narrative will be the low flying army of mosquitoes. Hundreds. No. Thousands, that ate away at my legs, and arms. I lay feverish in bed for a night or two, and called in a doctor (clowns?) in Chile. 

I say the story not because the place/experience was any less spectacular than it could have been, but because it is the sort of information that I think others would want to know. 

Perhaps the information is handy in the Lonely Planets guide, or whatever travel books people typically use. But this is information that I'd expect friends who'd traveled before to take note of. A lessons learned of sorts, to impart on friends who may travel in the future. 

So let's go back to Mark and his prowess in all things economic. 

We'd walked through a small arcade in the Recoleta district on our first day, and I decided that I needed an Argentine Gaucho hat. 200 Pesos. A little quick math: 5-1, $40. Pricey. Mark bought one in Chile for a quarter of the price. 

"Pero senor, es solamente $28", fired back the shop keeper. 

Something strange is happening in Argentina. Shop keepers are keen on getting paid in USD, and provide a far better exchange rate than one would otherwise get by say, pulling money from bank machine, or using a local exchange center. The spread is not the service charge, and several cents that separate a Buy/Sell trade in a Canadian bank. 

At 5.85 Pesos to the US Dollar (official rate), compared to a black market rate of closer to 8.5/9 Pesos to the US Dollar, a stay in Buenos Aires can be any where from a inexpensive dream vacation to a costly trip. 

Just carry USD with you. Lots of USD.

Buenos Aires is not the Paris of South America, nor its Rome, nor Madrid. It is all of them and more. A majestic city on steroids, where passions run deep, a city that truly never sleeps. 

Five days into the trip, and Kelly's words ring true. It can be so much more. 

Asados, Parillas, Milongas and Tango

Before we set out on this trip, Mark signed us on to a closed door restaurant where local up and comers host visitors/guests in their house for a typical Argentine meal.

Kelly and Gabriel have a swanky townhouse in the artsy district of Palermo, which they've dubbed Adentro dinner club. Palermo what exactly I don't know, as there are a few. Palermo Soho, Palermo Hollywood and on and on.

We'd just arrived from Santiago that afternoon, checked into the hotel, and returned from a short trip to Recoleta, another swanky but more posh neighborhood in the city where we enjoyed (?) Macarons at the local McCafe. It is the Garbz and a Macaron is a macaron. McDonalds or not.

Kelly and Gabriel have outfitted their home with a barbeque and a custom made chimney, and have a weekly dinner party where strangers gather together in a single dinner table.

Kelly has settled here from North America with an aspiring chef, Gabriel, who shares not only my name, but my secret salad dressing recipe.

Tango in San Telmo''s Sunday Fair

What's New, Buenos Aires?

The flight across the Andes

Slice this city off this continent and set it somewhere in the middle of Europe and this place would simply belong. Which shouldn't really come as a surprise: most of the portenos come from the continent anyways. 

That said, until you walk its streets, you cannot appreciate simply how grand this city actually is, and how long ago it started to take root. 

We had intended (while planning the trip) to book an apartment in this city in place of a hotel. But we hadn't settled on one back in Toronto, and lethargy of gargantuan proportions had set in Santiago. So by the time we actually got around to contacting ByTArgentina, and selecting one of the many options, we were told that we had to leave a security deposit, and the full amount of the rental in USD, and cash no less.

We weren't carrying that kind of money, nor could we be bothered to arrange for it.

And so we ended up, yet again, at a hotel.

Which isn't all bad.

Room service. Dress down, Dress up, turn it all around service. The Garbz has learned a few things (from Mark) in this trip. The luxuries are well appreciated.

Valparaiso and the Chilean coastline

Juan came to pick us up at 9. We'd finally settlled (or should I say- Mark finally won over the argument) that TIltil was off the itinerary, and we would settle for the Vanilla program that Juan had originally suggested.

The day prior had been taxing between the long waits, and even longer waits. Make no mistake about it though. This city, and its surroundings are driveable. This is no Lima. In fact, I dare say, the highways here are better than Canada's, and after a day trip that saw us spend what seems to be around $20-$30 in tolls that ought not to be a surprise.

It also made the whole idea of hiring a guide more sensible. Between the ordeal of renting a car, picking it up, dropping it off, filling up gas, paying tolls, creative accounting trying to figure out just how many Canadian dollars we're actually spending, parking the car at night and on and on... it didn't seem to be worth all that hassle.

And then there's the wine. We are after all in wine country, and it seemed neither fair nor appopriate that either of us would have to lose out on drinking, all on account of a drive.

We may have picked a Vanilla tour, but Juan is the farthest thing from Vanilla. 

The Other Andes

I have been in the habit of renting cars in my travels. The automobile has always been my prefered mode of transportation. Renting a car and driving it myself, or soliciting random cab drivers on arrival to said location to employ them for their services for the duration of my stay.

This worked like a charm in India, up in Sikkim, and later in Delhi.

I tried the tour bus once, long ago, in Edinburgh, on a trip through the Scottish highlands, and I found myself frustrated that I couldn't dictate where and when we turn, or when we stop, or how long we stop for. I don't care to be shepherded around. 

With the gigantic range of the Andes literally knocking on our doorstep, it was hard to decide where exactly we ought to go. Friends of ours had used the services of a private guide here in Chile, and spent days back in Toronto raving about the experience, and about Juan. 

We must have driven the poor man mad. One day we asked that we go on a trip to the Cajon de Maipo, a stones throw away from Santiago. The next, it was to go on a trip to Portillo, a renowned ski town close to Chile's border with Argentina. 

We had, in the original plans wanted to go to Mendoza in Argentina, and decided against it at the last minute. What, after all, did we want to do in Mendoza at all? It's the same mountain range, and just more wineries. There are wineries, excellent wineries no less in Chile. Did we really have to go through yet another round of packing and unpacking? 

The advantage of Mendoza however was that it was a short drive to Aconcagua National Park, from which one could have excellent views of the highest peak in the Andes. 

From Portillo, if one were to measure the x-y co-rdinates to the peak of Aconcagua, it was some 15-20km. Shouldn't we at least see the mountain? When one's gaze is locked onto the tree trunk, he can't very well be expected to see the forest from the tree. 

We'd gotten into some colorful debates on how best to spend the 6 days we had here in Santiago. Mark wanted to unwind and relax. And I feigned partial interest in relaxing. But Peru was taxing, and I was tired, and on drugs [the prescription kind]. 

Poor Juan got sucked into the whole debate. Maipo, Portillo. Then one day we threw in Tiltil and  Cerro el Roble, a national park north west of Santiago from whose peak one could apparently see a wider view of the majestic Andes to the East. Don't we want to be there? 

It seemed only a stone's throw away from Valparaiso, another trip we had on the itinerary. 

In the end, we settled on driving to Portillo ourselves, and calling Juan to help with the Valparaiso trip. We could both drink without resevation, and Juan is the resident expert on all things Chile. 

And so it was to be.

It was, I suppose some rather good thinking on the part of Mark to carry our passports with us on the trip. Perhaps he thought that any incident on the road would make carrying the passports worthwhile.

As it were, we were so enamored by the drive in the Andes that I guess neither of us paid attention to the Welcome to Chile sign we inadvertently passed, landing in the No-Man zone between  Argentina and Chile. "We better turn back!", but in so doing, we found ourselves with Chilean border control.

"You must fill your immigration papers!"

I should say that between Duo Lingo, weeks of Advanced Spanish lessons at the Spanish center, etc, I have been (for the most part) been able to manage quite well in the travels. Mark has been able to keep up with his Frespanol. But against the border police, with their Chilean brand of Spanish, we couldn't really muster much more than, "Estamos Estupidos, Manejamos mucho".

An hour into the long car pile up, we finally figured out how to get the PAX papers that were needed.

And Mark, well he had the brains to actually bring (for what ungodly reason who knows) our passports with us.

Chilling in Chile

After a gruelling and sleepless six nights in Peru, a stay at the W hotel in Santiago was a welcome respite.

The mountains surrounding us is where we'll be heading next, and whatever aggressive plans we had to spend the time on long Andean drives were tempered in no time... I mean do we really want to leave the laps of this luxury?

Andes's Beautiful Dangers and Sneaky Vampires

In homage to the previous Indian adventure: what is it with mountain adventures and little critters?

I'll save the reader's eye the trauma of bearing witness to the end results. Suffice it to say that the Garbz looks like an escapee from a leper colony.

Dear reader beware, should you plan a trip to Machu Picchu, bathe yourself in deet and leave no skin uncovered! 

Waynu Machu Picchu?

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El Valle Sagrado

As the plane lifted off J Chavez airport, so did the gloomy garua surrounding us. Soon, we were heading east towards the Andes, our first of two forays into South America's majestic mountain range, with clear blue skies above us. Destination: Cuzco.

Cuzco seems, as far as I can tell, to be only a starting point to other adventures. A hike along the Inca Trail, a trip to the Sacred Valley. But Cuzco is much more than that.

If the Conquistadors couldn't do much better than a convent/monastery in Central Lima struggling to survive the elements, here in Cuzco, the cathedrals rival those of Toledo or Sevilla.

I should also say that we struggled quite a bit before planning this leg of the trip. I wanted to do the hike, but it seemed the options were relatively limited: 4 Days-3 Nights. Or longer treks. There was one that would have us hike for a couple of days. But no sooner had the planning started, than the limited tickets that allow visitors to enter the trails had run out. There are other trails one could hike.

At the end, it was a question of opportunity cost. We could do the trek (or fool ourselves that we were up to the challenge, and knock off other destination points on the trip. Or we would have to settled for something a little more condensed.

We booked our trains, and the hotels. Because of course we didn't want to leave anything last minute. I can safely say that we arrived unprepared. Unprepared for how the next few days would unfold. "We have the extra day in Cuzco", I suggested, "we could hit the Sacred Valley on that day".

And so it was that I asked Henry, who drove us from the airport to the hotel if he could arrange for us a little mini-tour around the sacred valley. And so the deal was struck.

Good fortune and circumstance landed us in what is probably the finest hotel in Cuzco, the Monasterio. Everything everyone says about altitude is true, and found ourselves clonked out in bed in no time. A short walk to a local barbeque chicken house had us gasping for air.

It's a good thing we didn't sign up for the hike.

The Return path through Chinchera 

The Ruins of Pisac

View of the Sacred Valley from the Ruins of Pisac

Condor- Conservation park in the Sacred Valley

Spot the differences

Flight of the Condor

Culinary Delights, Lima

A year ago, out of sheer ignorance, I would not have linked the words Haute-Cuisine and Lima in the same sentance. But an episode of Anthony Bourdain's Parts Unknown that featured Lima soon changed all of that. 

I don't know what the pedigree of this site, featuring the world's Top 50 restaurants is. I go only by my limited palate. But Lima made it to two of the top 50 spots. Centrale (food pictured below) and Astrid & Gaston.

But with a great feature on Amaz on CNN, we simply couldn't skip it.

And so it came to be, a reservation at Centrale and Amaz, the latter literally abutting the hotel we stayed at. And Astrid and Gaston would have to wait for the Santiago leg of the trip.

Ceviche

Punto Azul  in Miraflores had us waiting in line for quite some time and did not disappoint. 

Chocolate

Miraflores, Lima

With 2 days on hand, there are only three neighborhoods worth exploring: two coastal areas called Miraflores and Barranco, and Central Lima which is home to government buildings and old monasteries (pictures of which were published in the previous post).

It seems as though as one veers away from Miraflores, so does the overall level of safety, or so we are told. We did gaze from afar at one of Lima's hills, dotted with colorful houses. That, we were told was a shanty town, and no place for tourists to go.

For its part, the government tries to maintain a semblance of control by barricading the main arteries to the buildings. I don't know if this is a permanent arrangement, or if there is something going on, or if Peruanos are particularly susceptible to the art of demonstration.

Miraflores, at the risk of sounding cliche, is where one would want to stay anyways. So why fight the trend?

With a sleepless flight into Lima, and a full day exploring the old Town center, a meal at Centrale, and a late night experiencing the best of Lima's nightlife, in clubs perched on cliffs and facing an animated Pacific ocean, there was little time to sleep.

Our flight into Cuzco was early the following day, and there was little time to absorb and enjoy the city and so early on the 4th morning, the Garbz managed to squeeze in a walk along the coast...

Lima the Grey

Lima was not high on the Garbz's list of places to go, but between a local hookup, a PVR recording of Parts Unknown, engineered soirees with friends who had actually been to Lima, and well, Lima soon found its way into the itinerary.

Lima was allotted two days, but as the plans came together we soon realized that it deserved quite a few more. Just the culinary scene alone had us spoiled for choice, and when a local friend offered to personally show us around Lima's nightlife, we soon began worrying about when we could squeeze some sleep in.

"Mark", I said, "we drop our bags off at the hotel, and away we go! We have a lot to cover and no time to waste!"

The 11:45 direct overnight flight from Toronto would bring us here at the crack of dawn, and we'd have plenty of time to bounce around the city. Allez, Allez, Allez! Except everything came to a screeching halt in the morning at Peru's International Airport. 

Perhaps I should rewind a little. In order to realize such ambitious plans, it would be prudent to have a good nights sleep on the flight. Now as it turns out, one of us had a full lie down bed, courtesy of well... and the other was boxed up in cattle class, with a pill of Zopaclon to help knock him out. 

"How about you leave your carry on with me", Mark said. One look at the line-up of the people dragging (this is 3rd world after all), large and multiple carry-ons and I worried for my own bag, carrying a newly purchased Canon 6D (well we are going into the mountains!) and how precisely I was going to fit it into the overhead compartment.

"Just leave it with me, there's lots of room in business class! I'll take the bag out for you as I leave the plane so you don't need to worry about it. Just take the stuff you need with you back to your seat."

"Mark," I replied, "I'm fully intent on sleeping". Well maybe I'd bring along the Nexus, and the earphones. A little soft music may help.

And so there I was, near the back of the plane, window seat (so that I could rest my head), and a Nexus on hand.

The plane landed, and as I waited for the herd ahead of me to pick up their multiple bags, and push their way to the exit, I thought surely Mark must be waiting for me right at the exit, with my carry-on on hand. I had somewhat regretted not having the camera as some of the views from the plane were quite spectacular.

I left the plane and Mark was no where to be seen.

Perhaps he continued on I thought. Perhaps the Exit was far too crowded and claustrophobic. Surely, I thought, he would be waiting for me further downstream. And so I walked, and walked until I found myself at the Immigration counter, with no sight of Mark.

And no carry-on.

And no phone.

And no wallet.

And well... no Passport

Airplane Diaries

We have been talking about this for a while... a whirlwind tour around South America. But somehow, year after year, something came along and it was not to be. And so it finally will become, precisely two days from now, we'll board an Air Canada flight to Lima, where it will all begin.

And it wasn't all easy coming. Left to our own devices, we'd probably have taken a leave of absence for several months from work just so that we can do it all. Patagonia? Ecuador and the Galapagos? Manaus and the heart of the Amazon? Easy it most certainly was not. We have three weeks, and we have to pack what we can in the time we have.

We could have our own version of the Motorcycle diaries. But motorcycle traveling this is not. We couldn't even squeeze in an Inca Trail (and after watching this, really, could we skip out on Lima?).

And so it begins, our own little Airplane diaries.