I´m Standing Up to Write This

Seth and I have just finished Day 2 of our 120 mile bike ride around Lake Llanquihue in southern Chile. The rolling hills are occaisionally occupied by dairy cows and are always incredibly green. The lake is dominated by 3 snowcapped volcanos, even in the summer.

We didn´t know this before we arrived in the town of Frutillar 3 days ago, but Chile is one of the most developed countries in Latin America. Most people have at least one car, and the family we´re staying with tonight has a giant flat screen TV with cable from America. All that to say, this part of Chile is very touristy for Chileans--I don´t think we´ve run into any foreign tourists.

These beautiful green hills are our nemisis. They just never end. Our ride yesterday was up and down the entire time, often on gravel roads with bone-jarring bumps.

Our legs hurt, but the worst parts are our bottoms. Every time we mount up after a break, we wince in pain from the hours of sitting on a fairly hard seat. It gets better as the ride goes on, but the ache is always there. At this point, Seth and I are labeling scenic bike tours on gravel roads with hills as a once-in-a-lifetime experience. We both plan on sleeping on our stomachs and being less sore for the last 76 kilometers ... however far that is

The Virgin Mary watches over Santiago

Jim and I are now in Santiago, Chile. We arrived here after a 22 hour bus ride to the south of Peru, and then a 30 hour bus ride to Santiago. Whenever we got off the bus to stretch our legs we feared that we had finally gone south enough where the air was cool. But no, we are still basking in 80 degree weather in our shorts, t-shirts, and sandals. My dad send me the weather link for NY and it appears snow is still falling there. I wouldn´t know from first hand knowledge.

Yesterday we took the metro (yes! Santiago has a metro) to a park. The park is actually a really big hill (or a small mountain by NY standards) in the middle of the city. On the top of the hill is a statue of the Virgin Mary. Since we both have a fascination with posing in the same position as a statue, Jim got to pose with the Virgin Mary. I posed last time with Jesus. Jim definately got the bitter end of that deal. On the way up the hill we stopped to drink a Chilean drink: two canned peaches in peach nector with a type of grain at the bottom. Although it looked almost deadly, it was remarkably enjoyable. After descending the hill we walked through downtown Santiago. The city is beautiful with wide widewalks, many older buildings with colonnades, and of course, palm trees! We spent a while sitting at the plaza where the Spanish soldiers use to drill. It doesn´t get dark until 9 pm, so just before 9 we ate some Chilean sandwiches by a fountain in the gathering dusk.

According to the locals, it is possible to see the Andes from Santiago. While all the pictures on the postcards prove this, we cannot see the Andes yet because of the smog. Tonight we leave for a region called the Lake District in southern Chile on an overnight bus.

Sweaty Onions

Day 1 in Lima is drawing to a close. Seth and I are definitely beginning our trips a bit differently than last time. There were no late night walks around town, and no random accosting of strangers for directions. We haggle properly with taxi´s and use the drivers as unofficial Spanish tutors.

Most spectacularly, for the first time, we found a restaurant using a guidebook. We never owned one in Central America, so the option of taking one with us when we explored the Miraflores neighborhood was a new experience. We decided to take it, ostensibly as a reference for our dinner discussion about the next leg of our journey. I confess I felt we were channeling a little bit of the Hawaiian-shirt-wearing-SLR-toting tourist, but we only pulled it out on deserted street corners when we were sure no one was watching.

We decided to go with the Lonely Planet editor´s choice for dinner: Hot ´n Cool--a sandwich shop purportedly bursting with personality and hot sauce. The pork-pineapple-and-banana chip sub was not a disappointment, along with a glass of pomegranate juice, nor was Seth´s Iberia--a sausage and pepper sub

According to the English translation on the menu, both were served with sweaty onions. One can only hope this a reflection of poor English as opposed to poor food service standards.

On a completely unrelated note, we showed up unannounced at a Peruvian think tank, hoping to learn about their work for property rights in developing countries. The secretary was quite apologetic: it seems that the boss, the economist Hernando de Soto, was in town and everybody was in a meeting with him. She didn´t want to disappoint, so she arranged for us to spend a few minutes with someone. It was the librarian, whose only spoken English was ¨"librarian"!  We didn´t do too badly for our first day back speaking Spanish, but to be honest, it was a little rough.

We´re headed to a Wycliffe Bible Conference, hoping to meet a few translators. Do you know there are over 2,000 languages that don´t have a Bible translation? Neither did we.

From Snow to Palm Trees

Jim and I arrived in Lima, Peru tonight. Outside my open window the palm trees are rustling in the balmy breeze. Once we arrived at our guest house from the airport, both Jim and I traded our jeans, sweaters, and coats for shorts, t-shirts, and sandals. Coming to Peru while New York is covered in snow was definitely a quality life decision.

Rewinding back to Monday night, Jim and I boarded a bus to NYC. We then took two trains to JFK airport, where we spent the night. Since we knew we had 12 hours to spend in the airport we rode the airport train past all the terminals to see which one we liked the best. Terminal 1 fit our fancy, so we hung out there until midnight, when we were asked to move to Terminal 4 because the guards wanted to close Terminal 1. Jim and I took turns sleeping on a bench that had pads while the other one read, ate, and watched our baggage. Morning came and we saw precipitation through the windows. We, however, took off at 10:45 am and have no more knowledge of the weather in NY. Nor do we really care as we sit beside our open window and listen to the palm trees rustling in the wind.