Songline, Puerto Lucia Yacht Club, La Libertad, Ecuador. 26 September 2006
Dear friends
Already back in Ecuador for more than a month, surrounded by the dust and noise of boat hulls being sanded and ground, we thought it was time to make contact again.
When we wrote in May, we were about to set off for the UK, this time via Peru, Bolivia, Chile and Argentina. With a three-month absence planned, and knowing how much dirt and dust would accumulate during that time, we stripped as much as possible off Songline - sails, awnings, ropes etc all went inside the boat, and we sealed up as many cracks and crevices as we could find, hoping to keep the interior clean and insect-free. By 16 May we were ready to leave and we flew from Guayaquil to Lima that evening. Our hotel in central Lima was a twenty-minute drive from the airport but our bus driver decided that, on the way, he would drop his three other customers in the flashy new suburb of Miraflores - adding about an hour and a quarter to our journey. We thanked him for the free tour, though not for the delay!
A sightseeing day in Lima included the rather ghoulish tour of the city catacombs, which house the bones of more than 70,000 dead, many of them grouped by type (femurs, skulls etc) and artfully arranged in concentric circles. Our visit to the Plaza de Armas to watch the changing of the guard outside the Presidential Palace was brought to a premature end when a group of peaceful demonstrators was dispersed by police with batons, riot shields and tear gas. Peruvian politics in action, and although there was no serious violence on this occasion, it was easy to imagine how such a ‘manifestation’ could escalate into something far worse. Although there is much to see in Lima, we were not sorry to be in the air again the next day, on our way to Cuzco.
The oldest continuously inhabited city in the Americas, Cuzco was the centre of the Inca Empire between the 12th and 16th centuries. Apart from a few magnificent walls which are still intact, little remains of the Inca city since, after the Spanish conquest in 1533, most of its stones were purloined to build the colonial buildings and squares which are its principal attractions today . Any inclination we might have had to rush out to see all the sights at once quickly evaporated in the thin high-elevation air (10,900 ft; 3320 metres) and our first day was spent very quietly, hoping that our altitude headaches would soon disappear. They did, in plenty of time for us to enjoy the sights and sounds of the city and some amazingly energetic and exuberant folk-dancing the following evening. Much as we enjoyed being in Cuzco, our main objective in Peru was the ruined city of Machu Picchu. We had read so much extolling the wonders of this lost city of the Incas that we were concerned that the reality might be a disappointment. We need not have worried, although some of our preconceived ideas about the site turned out to be quite wrong. For example, we had imagined that the route from Cuzco would climb even further into the mountains to reach the heights of Machu Picchu. We were surprised to find that the 50 mile (80 km) journey through the Sacred Valley from Cuzco actually took us down more than 3,300 ft (1,000 metres) to the village of Aguas Calientes, just below Machu Picchu itself, and that the nearby peaks overlooking the ruins were at an altitude well below Cuzco. On our way down the valley, we stopped at the small town of Pisac and walked for several hours up the trail leading to the Inca citadel perched far above it. On the way we were treated to spectacular views of the agricultural terraces (some still being farmed) which have survived virtually undamaged for centuries. Pisac is also well know for its colourful Sunday market, which attracts both tourists and local people from miles around. We spent several hours browsing the market stalls full of fruit, vegetables, hardware, textiles and tourist arts and crafts, but hesitating to buy anything for fear of overloading ourselves for the journey still to come.
The road towards Machu Picchu ends not far from Ollantaytambo and the final 28 mile (45 km) stretch of the route to Aguas Calientes must be done by train (or on foot along the very arduous, heavily booked and nowadays quite expensive Inca Trail). The railway line threads its way down the steep-sided valley of the Rio Urubamba, with the scenery becoming ever greener, almost jungly, as the track descends. At Aguas Calientes (don’t be misled by the name - the hot springs are on the cool side of tepid!), a 5 mile (8 km) switchback road and a fleet of small, purpose-built Mercedes buses (which were, of course, brought into the town by train) operate from dawn till dusk, taking the hundreds of tourists to and from the entrance to Machu Picchu itself. We decided to get our first view of Machu Picchu from the top of a neighbouring peak which overlooks the ruins. After a steep climb (assisted in places by almost-vertical bamboo ladders), we emerged on top of Putukusi, with the whole of Machu Picchu spread out before us across the valley. A truly spectacular and, with no other tourists to share it with, solitary picnic spot. The following day, we were up for the 0530 bus and arrived in Machu Picchu in good time to watch as the morning mists slowly dissipated over the walls of the ancient city. The rest of the day was spent wandering through the ruins and walking along some of the trails leading away from the site. We are still marvelling at how a civilisation with limited resources could have conceived of building a city in such an inaccessible location and then fashioned its stone walls with such precision. Each stone is a masterpiece of masonry, with perfectly flat faces abutting the neighbouring stones with such accuracy that mortar was never required. A lot of mystery still surrounds the techniques used as well as the rationale for choosing this particular place for what was evidently one of the most important Inca sites. Whatever the reasons, we were thrilled to have seen what, for us, was one of the most astonishing man-made complexes anywhere in the world.
Our next destination was the town of Puno, on the western shore of Lake Titicaca. Excellent, we thought - another opportunity to sample Peru’s railway system. But this was not to be. At Cuzco’s train station we were told that the railway line had been blocked by villagers along the route and no trains would be running. This was part of the same protest that we had encountered in Lima, an expression of rural discontent at the recent signature of a free trade agreement with the USA. We decided to try our luck on the bus instead and, sure enough, when we arrived at the bus station at 0830, the 0800 pink double-decker Pony Express was getting ready to leave for Puno, with a couple of empty seats still available. We were warned that there were one or two road blocks in the villages on the way and that the journey which normally took about six hours might be delayed by a couple of hours or so. This was a slight underestimate, as we soon discovered!! Only two hours out of Cuzco, we met the first road block - a tree and numerous large boulders across the road, with a growing line of traffic piling up behind it. The barricades were manned by a large, mostly good-natured crowd of men from the surrounding area, while a couple of impromptu soup-kitchens had been set up by the more enterprising women to take advantage of the unaccustomed lunch trade. After two hours we were all marched off to the nearby village plaza to be harangued about the wickedness of the President and his henchmen. After this, we were allowed to get back on the bus and continue on our way. Fifteen minutes further on, we ground to a halt, and the stop-start process began again. By midnight, and only a few miles further down the road, we had reached road block number seven! At this point it became clear that we were going no further, so we settled down on the bus for a cold, cramped night’s sleep. Morning came with no sign of movement, and a half-hearted attempt by some of the drivers and bus passengers to remove the barricades was met with a hail of stones. After this, negotiation became the order of the day, but the campesinos were adamant that they would not lift the blockade until that evening. True to their word, at 1615 the all-clear was signalled and the long procession of buses, trucks and cars got under way - meeting, much to our relief, the equally long procession coming in the other direction. By 1700 we were on the open road again, looking forward to supper in Puno. Unfortunately, for our bus the trials and tribulations of the day were not quite over. We found ourselves going more and more slowly and being overtaken by just about every other vehicle on the road, finally making an unscheduled stop for repairs to the transmission. The repairs were successful and we finally arrived at our destination at 2335, our ‘six-hour’ journey to Puno having taken 39 hours!
At over 12,500 ft (3,820 metres), Lake Titicaca claims fame as the world’s highest navigable lake. More importantly for us, it is also home to the Uros people, who live on floating islands constructed from the totora reeds which grow in the shallows. Their homes too are built of reeds, as are their traditional boats, and the reeds also provide food and act as a water purifying system. The largest of the islands has several buildings, including a post office, a school and souvenir shops, while the smaller, more remote islands may be home to just one family. Walking on the islands is a little like being on a bouncy castle, though care needs to be taken not to tread too heavily in the soggy areas, for fear of going right through the island floor into the chilly water beneath. The islands are anchored to the lake bed, in depths of up to 50 ft (15 metres). When we asked about storms, which are not uncommon at certain times of the year, our guide, Captain Santiago, told us that the islands do occasionally get torn from their moorings and blown out into the middle of the lake - his own once ended up over ten miles away and had to be towed back by the Peruvian Navy!
Back in Puno we visited one of the most intriguing floating museums we have ever come across, in the shape of the former gunship Yavari. Ordered from the UK by the Peruvian Navy, the Yavari and her sister ship, Yapura, were built in 1862 by a London shipyard and shipped in 2766 iron parts around Cape Horn to Arica in Chile. Some Meccano set!! From Arica, they travelled 30 miles by train to Tacna and were then hauled another 180 miles by men and mules over the Andes to the lake shore where they were finally assembled. The whole operation took six years to complete. Shortage of coal presented a problem for the Yavari’s original coal-fired steam engine, so dried llama dung was used instead. This in turn created a stowage problem and, to make room for the fuel, the ship was cut in half and another 40 ft (12 metres) added to the hull! The first engine was replaced in 1914 by a semi-diesel engine, now in perfect working order after a recent Volvo overhaul. The rest of the ship is undergoing restoration and refurbishment, including the addition of passenger cabins, with a view to providing tourist services around Lake Titicaca. Meanwhile she is open to the public, providing a fascinating glimpse into one of the more unusual corners of British shipbuilding history.
Our route from Puno took us along the southern shore of Lake Titicaca to Copacabana in Bolivia (yes, the bus did break down!) and on to La Paz, the world’s highest-altitude capital city. La Paz is situated in a huge canyon and stretches from the rim of the canyon at 13,000 ft (nearly 4,000 metres) down to its floor a few miles away and 3,500 ft lower. Unlike most cities, where the rich tend to gravitate to the high areas, in La Paz the rich have settled in the warmer, less oxygen-starved atmosphere of the lower levels while it is the poor who shiver and gasp for air but enjoy spectacular views from the canyon rim. We took the open-topped double-decker bus tour of the city - taking care never to stand up on the upper deck for fear of being garrotted by the electricity and telephone cables criss-crossing the streets at exactly double-decker bus height. Although not a place of beauty, La Paz is wonderfully vibrant and entertaining. Shopping is very much an outdoor experience as most commerce appears to be carried out at the street vendor’s colourful stalls which line almost every road in the city. We could happily have stayed longer, but we now had another objective.
We were meeting travellers coming up from southern Bolivia, with tales of the extraordinary terrain in that part of the country. They told us about the Salar de Uyuni, the largest salt flat in the world, stretching 110 miles (180 km) from end to end across the Altiplano, at an altitude of 12,000 ft (3,660 metres). We decided to book a three-day tour by four-wheel-drive Toyota from Uyuni all the way to the Chilean border town of San Pedro de Atacama, crossing part of the Salar on the first day and then continuing ever higher through the desert and over the 15,600 ft (4750 metres) pass leading towards Chile. Our trip began with a 3.5 hour bus ride from La Paz to Oruro, a once-wealthy mining town and rail hub, from where we caught the Expreso del Sur tourist train for Uyuni, five more hours away. We set off from Uyuni the next morning with driver Orlando, cook Juanita and four fellow passengers, for our trip to the Salar, a wonderland of white, stretching to the horizon, with snow-capped mountains in the far distance. We stopped for the night in a hotel entirely built from blocks of salt - the walls, the tables, chairs, even the beds! Fortunately it doesn’t rain too often, or the accommodation would quickly dissolve away! The second day, after a visit to the Train Graveyard (ancient rusting hulks of steam engines and rolling stock, used during Bolivia’s mining boom years and now abandoned ), we continued south through the desert, stopping on the way to admire the weird rock formations and a series of beautiful lakes, differently coloured red, blue or green depending on the algae or minerals in the water. At these altitudes, wildlife was sparse, but each of the lakes had its small herd of vicuna, surviving on the sparse vegetation, and we were amazed to see large flocks of brilliantly coloured flamingos. The higher we climbed, the colder it got, in spite of the clear blue skies. At night, the temperature fell to well below freezing and we were glad that we had brought sleeping bags and plenty of warm clothes. The third morning we were up before dawn, heading for the Sol de Manana geyser area, where multicoloured mud pots bubble and steam, releasing foul-smelling sulphurous gases. Sunrise over this strange landscape was a truly other-worldly experience. A few miles further on, our second reward for the very early start awaited us in the shape of the open-air natural pool, fed by hot springs. Stripping off our layers of clothing in the chilly morning air, we wondered if we would ever feel warm again, but once we were immersed, the piping hot water quickly provided the answer - the only problem was summoning up the courage to get out again! After Juanita’s excellent breakfast, cooked up beside the hot springs, it was a short but spectacular minibus ride to the Chilean border, where we exchanged the bumpy dirt tracks of the previous three days for a superb tarmac road down to the small town of San Pedro de Atacama. We found that there was a bus leaving the next morning for Salta in Argentina, a twelve hour drive across the Andes. This was no ordinary country bus, but a superbly comfortable long-distance coach with reclining seats, travelling on smooth tarmac roads. We were lucky enough to get the two front seats with panoramic views of the vista ahead, the only disappointment being that it was after dark when we reached the amazing zig-zag section taking us down in the space of a few miles from the high Altiplano to the valley some 6,000 ft (1800 metres) below.
Salta, with its wonderful climate and beautiful colonial architecture, was a good place to start our brief stay in Argentina, and two days was hardly enough to do it justice. However, it was already 8 June and we had a flight to catch from Buenos Aires on the 13th. So, reluctantly, we booked our seats on the ultimate luxury FlechaBus service to the capital, about 900 miles (1450 km) and eighteen hours away. Our $60 (£33) tickets bought us the most comfortable bus seats ever, reclining to make a flat bed when night fell; stewardess service with snacks and meals (a bit unimaginative, and not the best feature of the trip), and even coffee, champagne and liqueurs to round off supper! By now we were getting used to the incredibly low prices in Argentina - although now relatively stable, the Argentinian Peso has still not recovered from the hyper-inflation and devaluation of a few years ago - and our hotel on Avenida de Mayo, midway between the Congress building and the Casa Rosado (the Presidential Palace) cost us the princely sum of $27 (£15) per night, including breakfast and satellite TV. Buenos Aires was in the grip of World Cup fever and when Argentina beat Ivory Coast 2-1 in their first match, anyone might have thought that they had won the cup itself - the celebrations went on well into the night. Buenos Aires has a strongly European flavour, with grey skies and chilly temperatures adding to the impression of mid-European winter. We filled our three days with a lot of walking, including a tour of the Casa Rosada, the city cemetery (which houses the tomb of Eva Peron), the Sunday street market at San Telmo, Puerto Madero with its marina and its incongruous but very humorous exhibition of full-sized fibreglass cow sculptures. We also went to the opera and to the Teatro Colon for what we thought was going to be an evening of Tango dancing but turned out to be a jazz concert by some of Buenos Aires’s favourite musicians, and then to a real Tango evening at the Café Tortoni.
All too soon, our time in South America was over and we were on our way back to England to get ready for the wedding of Peter and Jilly near Edinburgh on 1 July. This involved some complicated logistics to ensure that we safely delivered our mothers from Wiltshire and Yorkshire as well as ourselves to the church at the appointed hour. Happily it all went like clockwork and the wedding and later reception at Jilly’s parents’ home could not have been a happier or more successful occasion. Even the weather cooperated, with plenty of sunshine to replace the deluge of the previous day. After the wedding we spent a few more days in Scotland before setting off with Barbara’s Mum and friend Gordon for Courchevel in the French Alps. It was a long drive, but our 15 year-old Citroen was evidently happy to be back in the land of its birth and we arrived several hours earlier than planned. After three days enjoying the scenery around Courchevel, we left Wynn and Gordon to enjoy another week there on their own while we headed for Leverkusen near Cologne in Germany to spend a few days with old friends there.
Once back in England, we had a busy programme ahead. The wonderful tenants who had lived at our Port Solent house for nearly two and a half years had found a place of their own and were due to move out on 31 July. By great good fortune, our agents had found us a new tenant to move in just four days later, so we needed to be sure that the house was ready, with a considerable amount of stored furniture to be retrieved from our garage. With that done, we had a few days left to sort out the usual pile of paperwork still needing attention.
Through a masterpiece of bad planning, we had chosen Thursday 10 August as the day for our return to Ecuador, via Miami. This was the day that the plot was uncovered in Britain to blow up a number of transatlantic airliners in mid-flight - not a good day to be trying to leave Heathrow on standby tickets! We hung around for a few hours, with the several thousand others waiting patiently for their flights to be checked in or cancelled until it became clear that we were not going to Miami that day. The process was repeated the following day and it was not until Saturday 12th that we managed to get seats on American Airlines. All that was allowed as handbaggage was a clear plastic bag with passport, money and travel documents - which meant packing our precious computer, cameras and essential boat bits in our hold baggage. It was with some relief that we found all our bags and contents intact when we arrived at Miami that evening.
After a brief night’s sleep, we were on our way back to the airport for the 0730 flight to Guayaquil, and finally on by bus to La Libertad. We found Songline exactly as we had left her in May, though with the expected thick coating of dust and grime, made somewhat worse by the volcanic ash from nearby Volcan Tungurahua which had been erupting while we were away. Inside, as we had hoped, was an almost dust-free zone. Since our return, George Stewart’s people have been working hard to complete the repairs to Songline’s hull. They have applied two layers of fibreglass cloth followed by three coats of thick, black coal-tar epoxy and a final coat of chlorinated rubber paint. While all this was going on, they also repainted our boot-stripe (the wide green stripe which is supposed to run parallel to and just above the waterline, but which in our case used to disappear into the water towards the stern of the boat). All that remains for them to do now is to epoxy and paint the areas which are covered at the moment by the blocks and stands which the boat is resting on. This should happen early next month, when the new work has had time to fully dry and the boat can be lifted without danger of the slings damaging the paintwork. After three coats of antifoul, which we’ll paint on ourselves, Songline will be ready to take to the water once again. We have been hugely impressed with the work done by George and his workers and feel confident that we will leave Ecuador with a hull that is structurally as good as, possibly better than, new.
We have still seen practically nothing of mainland Ecuador, so next month we plan to spend two or three weeks travelling inland, more of which when we next write.
We plan to relaunch Songline towards the end of October and to head straight from here to the Galapagos Islands, 500 miles to the west. Our permit should allow us to stay for up to 30 days, most of which we expect to spend in the anchorage at Puerto Villamil at the southern end of the largest island, Isabela. By all accounts this is the nicest of the five anchorages which cruising boats are allowed to visit, and we are very much looking forward to being back on the water again after such a long period on dry land.
Our plans beyond November are still a little hazy, but, having barely scratched the surface of travel in South America, we are anxious not to move on without seeing some more of this part of the world. We have discovered that if Songline were to spend a year in the Caribbean, the reduction in our boat insurance premium would more than pay for two transits of the Panama Canal. So our current thinking is that we will return to Panama, going through the Canal sometime early next year and then sail on to Cartagena in Colombia, where we should be able to haul Songline out of the water again for a few months. This would enable us to fly to southern Chile and Argentina for a month or two before their winter sets in, and then back to the UK. We are also planning a trip to Turkey next year to visit Sally who, in partnership with three colleagues, has opened her own English language school in Istanbul - see www.britishside.com for details!
Barbara has updated our new website ( www.johnandbarbara.com ) with lots of photographs and a new section about Songline, which we hope you will enjoy.
That’s more than enough from us for now, though we must just add that we would love to hear from you if you can spare the time to drop us a line to let us know what you are up to.
With love and best wishes
John and Barbara