| We began with a relaxing week in the Yucatan of Mexico, lazing about the secluded little beaches. The burning white sands and emerald green waters were most inspiring. Inland, we explored several ancient Maya ruins, including Tulum. It would have been easy to stay longer but with limited time we moved on to whatever adventures awaited in South America. The flight from Mexico City passed over the spectacular Andes Mountains then dropped down into picturesque Quito - capital city of Equador. Quito with an elevation over 9000 feet is surrounded by these huge snowy giants that claw at the sky. The place is breathtaking, in more ways than one! Locals saunter about in a state of dreamy lethargy induced by the climate, and llamas offer inquisitive brown-eyed glances as we passed by. Roaming about the streets and markets, we absorbed colorful sights and exotic smells, and sampled many of the strange looking foods. In foreign lands it is often better not to ask what your eating. Case in point, roast cuy (pronounced cooie) is Equador's national dish - roast cuy is roast guinea pig!! Among our highlights in Equador was a visit to the mountain town of Otavalo. Every Saturday the normal population of 20,000 swells to over 40,000 as different tribes from all over the country gather to sell handmade wares on the cobbled streets. This is the largest and most colorful market in all of South America. A fascinating place for people watching, with each tribe attired in their own garb. The Otavalans are distinguished by their brightly colored panchos, felt fedoras, & colorful bead adornment. Livestock vendors, tapestry weavers, pottery makers, basket weavers, woodcarvers, blind beggars, and a host of others made this gigantic market truly a photographers delight. On the way back to Quito we stopped for a picture right on the Equator line and celebrated the occasion with a couple of tall cool ones. Although there were many, the most memorable Equadorian event was a trip into the jungle to find the Santo Domingo de Los Colorados tribe. This required not only acquiring transportation, but also a local familiar with both the area and the tribes tongue. The transport was an old Chevy, and our man was a guy named Amado. Enroute over the terrifying mountain roads, Amado entertained us with interesting stories, like the time a giant condor swooped down on his Andean village and carried off his young donkey! I suppose anything is possible! Along the way we made the mistake of stopping to find something to eat at a roadside market. Immediately we lost our appetites, as the stench was really overpowering. Chickens in a state of decay dangled from meat hooks, and the counter was adorned with pigs heads covered in flies crawling through the eyes and nose. Suddenly, fasting seemed the order of the day! We drove as far as possible on the roads then abandoned the car to hike through the jungle into the tribes village. It was a most eerie feeling, tramping through the dense jungle foliage, knowing we were being followed, and observed by hidden eyes. The only clues being an odd branch moving that shouldn't have been, or a slight rustle in the bush nearby. Our guide told us it was just some of the tribe, but ensured us they meant no harm and that we should remain calm and keep moving! Finally the overgrowth eased up and we entered a cleared area with the bamboo and palm huts that were the object of our search. Amado told us to stay put while he approached the chief. We found out later that the chief must be acknowledged before entering the village . This included asking of his health, and that of his wives. Amado returned with permission for us to enter, so Christine and I cautiously followed him in. What a sight. The most astonishing feature of this tribe is their hair - plastered down and colored bright red by a paprika-like paste! Their bodies are painted with bright red and blue stripes, as a protection against evil spirits! They looked most frightening, yet by their nervousness it appeared they felt the same way about us! These people shy from contact with outsiders, and many of them simply vanished like ghosts into the jungle as we approached. We were careful to show our respect and gratitude to the few who remained, and it must have been appreciated, as we were granted the special privilege of entering the hut of their witchdoctor! The primitive dirt floored hut contained only some knives, strange feathers, a few live birds, unrecognizable herbs, a pile of the red berries used to color their hair, and a few pots - that weren't to our relief, large enough to fit a human! Before leaving the tribe, our hands were marked with a blue dye from some sort of root. This tradition meant we were welcome to come back to the village as long as the dye was present. Later, back in Quito, we tried scrubbing off this dye with everything from soap to nail polish remover but the only thing that came off was skin. It was like a tattoo - and lasted more than two weeks! Interesting customs in an interesting land. We made a rather interesting departure from Quito on what was billed as the "Train Ride to the Sky". This is a 288 mile roller coaster ride on the autoferro (a one car train that looks like a bus) from Quito to Guayaquil. This wild trip through the Andes mountains is not for the faint hearted, as you hang on the side of "throat-lumping" gorges, through a series of switchbacks, some cut out of solid rock, like one called the "Devils Nose". The spectacular scenery made up for the cold, filth, and butt-busting wood seats! Enroute, a Spanish guy and myself snuck out the back door and climbed up onto the roof for some better pictures. We nearly froze up there, as we were traveling at an altitudes up to 12,000 feet. Huddled up amongst the stacks of bananas and luggage, we kept our cameras clicking as we passed legendary MT Chimborazo and MT Cotopaxi and many interesting mountain villages including Yaguachi, Urbina, Sibambe, Milagro & Riobamba. Twelve hours after leaving Quito, the autoferro chugged into its final destination - the poverty-stricken little town of Duran, across the river from Quayaquil. The most interesting thing about Duran is the weather-beaten clapboard houses, literally hanging off the side of the mountains. Having been prewarned that Duran was a dangerous place, we only stayed a few hours before catching a river boat across the murky Quayaquil River to the port town of Guayaquil. Christine and I found little of interest here in two days. Hustlers and drug dealers seemed to have gleaned every street corner, and the thing we liked best about this town was leaving it! A short flight took us into a place called Loja. We hitched a ride into town in an old World War II jeep, whose proud owner was a crazy character named "Elvis". This maniac seemed to have a mental block about using the breaks as he raced over the dusty mountain roads! Somewhat shaken we arrived in town and found accommodation above a small grocery store. The room was minuscule, and the shower ice-cold but it became home for the next three days while we went about the difficult and frustrating experience of arranging transportation to our next destination - the isolated Equadorian village of Vilcabamba. We left Loja in a shroud of blue smoke emitted from our rickety old bus. The chorus of squawking chickens, screaming kids, squealing cuy, the rattling windows, and the horrible stench from a pig roaming up and down the isle, made for an unforgettable trip! We were very surprised, when several hours later, the old relic, doubling as "Noah's Arc", actually made it over the washboard mountain roads into our village. Disembarking was truly a pleasure! The village of Vilcabamba(translates to "place of longevity") according to National Geographic, is home to many of the oldest people on earth. People living to 140 is not unheard of, and many live past 100. Though communication proved difficult, we encountered many interesting characters during our stay, including a woman reported to be 129 years old! We got in several interesting day hikes. On one I became lost and narrowly missed stepping on a bush snake! Several factors may contribute to the longevity of the people in this region, as they are consistent with two other regions in the world boasting a similar reputation. The high altitude(perhaps the ultraviolet rays have an effect on disease). The people eat very little or no red meat. People's lives involve very hard physical work. And finally, the elders are held in high social esteem by the others in the village. After a couple of days, in this peaceful village we took the dreaded bus back to Loja in order to arrange another overnight bus. This time to the dusty town of Huaquillas on the Equador/Peru border. Although this bus trip occurred on Halloween night, there were certainly no treats in store! In the early morning hours we fell asleep on our backpacks in the back of the bus. Shortly thereafter we were rudely awoken by two militia men prodding us with the "business end" of their rifles, demanding passports. Talk about a lousy bedside manner! Too sleep-soaked to reply, we fumbled around and produced our passports for them. Figuring all was OK, we were startled when they gave us the "slit throat" sign. Christine and I looked at each other, wondering what the hell was going on. We were soon to find out! Arriving in Huaquillas at 05:30 the next morning, it was still dark, so we cautiously walked about town until we located the dingy Immigration office. While sprawled on the sidewalk waiting for it to open, we determined that to get where we wanted to go meant taking a taxi to a place called Tumbez. From there we could catch a bus down to Lima, Peru. When the Immigration office opened, a crowd of people wandered in and received their clearance. We however, were detained and motioned to sit down at the far side of the room. After waiting 20 minutes I approached the desk to try and find out what was going on. Neither of the men spoke English and they just waved me away. Very puzzled, I approached again a short while later, only to receive the same rude treatment. We glared at the sloven bulk, reminiscent of the guard in 'Midnight Express', who appeared in charge. He was slouched back, feet up on the desk, having a street kid shine his boots. Growing angrier by the minute, I finally reached the end of my fuse and stupidly went over smashed my fist down on his desk, demanding to make a phone call. To my shock he reached under the desk and pulled out a machine gun and pointed it straight at me! For one very long terrifying moment I wondered if the bastard might actually pull the trigger! Instead he snarled something in Spanish, and motioned with the gun in no uncertain terms, for me to sit back down. Christine, eyes like saucers, was as scared as I was, especially after the previous incident on the bus. With a whole new change in attitude, we waited nervously, pondering our fate. A short while later we noticed a blond girl come in who was conversing in fluent Spanish. I called to her and asked if she spoke English. Fortunately she did. Her name was Mildred and she was an American who had been teaching school in Peru. Relating what had happened, we asked if she could find out what the hell was going on. Acting as interpreter, she determined the problem was we had overstayed the departure date on our passports. After pleading a good case for us, "Mr. Machine Gun" tells her that despite my foolish actions, he is in a good mood, and as a favor to her he will not jail us if we pay him 4,000 sucres - almost all the money we had! She strongly advised us to give him the money even though he would pocket it, because the same thing happened to a friend of hers, and he was jailed for two weeks before getting any food! We begrudgingly gave him our money, and quickly left before the vulturous bastard changed his mind. Heading off down the dusty road to find a taxi, we never dared to look back. Welcome to Peru! With Mildred in stride, we made our way to Tumbez and boarded a bus headed for Lima. Everything was fine until we got several miles outside of town and the bus was stopped at an army checkpoint. All passengers were told to get off and take their luggage with them. The bus was then searched for who knows what, then we were told to reboard. As the bus started to leave I noticed my backpack still lying on the road, so I rushed to the front of the bus and made the driver stop. As I walked around the bus to get it the driver yells to them something about marajuana! Two soldiers hustled me off to their shack despite my protests of innocence. After a rough search and an interrogation, they determined I was clean and could go. I was paranoid the bus was going to be gone when I got out, but fortunately it was still there. Resisting the urge to punch out the driver, I reboarded the bus. Later, in the middle of the night I went to the back of the bus to lay down on the floor to get more comfortable. Christine woke up, saw me gone from the seat beside her, and started to panic. It was so dark she couldn't see me, so she woke up Mildred and approached the driver. He told her that I had got off the bus in a town 40 miles back! Shocked, they started a bus search and to their relief stumbled across me asleep on the floor between the seats. We started to wonder about traveling in South America. Finally our bus pulled into cosmopolitan Lima. Expressing our sincere thanks to Mildred we said goodbye, and then found a hotel room with a shower where we sluiced away the sweat and grime of 36 hours of bus travel, and slept the sleep of the justly exhausted. During our stay in Lima Christine became very ill with stomach problems. Fortunately we got some medicine from a pharmacy that helped clear it up. After a few days, although still very weak, she felt able to continue on. I think the only thing Christine remembers of Lima was her bed. At this point I know she was really wondering what the hell she had gotten herself into! Next stop was the jungle town of Iquitos, on the Amazon river. Flying in, we were overwhelmed by the vastness of the jungle. You can fly for more than 7 hours seeing nothing but jungle below. The area is so dense, a river more than 200 miles long was just recently discovered, and then only by satellite! Ribboning its way through this jungle, the Amazon is the most magnificent river on earth. Over 4000 miles in length, its volume exceeds the combined flow of the next 8 largest rivers in the world. It contains one fifth of the worlds fresh water, is over 200 miles wide at the mouth, and pours 8 trillion gallons of water into the Atlantic ocean each day (over 6 million gallons a minute). This is enough water to fill two million bathtubs each second!! The sweltering jungle heat enveloped us as we stepped off the plane. Drenched in sweat, we hitched a ride into Iquitos and set about the very difficult task of finding accommodation. After what seemed an eternity, we found a small rundown room that seemed the only place available. We took it, but the heat and humidity was so intense, it felt like we were suffocating in their. To make matters worse the room was crawling with insects - even in the bed. That night Christine, still not fully recovered from the sickness, was almost in tears as she tucked her beautiful long black hair up into a shower cap she had brought, and most unenthusiastically got into the bed! Exhausted as I was, I took one look at the shower cap and completely cracked up. This situation was so ridiculous, laughing was about all you could do. Christine, however, did not see the humor! Her intestinal fortitude under these most trying circumstances was amazing. Next morning we got up, put our shoes on and shared a cold shower with the insects, then went outside to see what the place had to offer. We didn't have to wait long to find something interesting. Stepping out the building as dawn lightened the eastern sky, we were shocked to see the streets covered with large dead beetles! There were thousands of them, a sea of black! We have no idea what killed them or how they got there. It was so incredible we just couldn't get over it. Only in South America!! Down by the river, we found a neat little shop that had a big Casablanca fan and served cold beer. We ducked in to get out of the terrible heat and spent the afternoon trying to converse with the locals and planning our next move. The next move being getting down the river in search of the Yagua tribe. We learned of a camp in the jungle where we could stay so we made arrangements for a ride down the Amazon on a riverboat for the following day. The boat dropped us off at one of the tributaries and from there we got a small boat to take us up to the camp, where we would spend the next few days. The camp, although primitive, was very practical. It had lanterns for after dark, mosquito nets, and even a makeshift shower rigged up in a tree from which one could dump down the mud brown water, straight out of the river! Our first night in camp was unforgettable, the screaming jungle sounds at night were absolutely incredible. Just thinking about it raises goose-bumps. Being in the Amazon jungle at night is truly a most humbling experience!! In the morning we went out fishing with an Indian guide in an old dugout canoe. Nervously, we watched as a good sized alligator slithered off the river bank right beside us! Our primitive fishing gear consisted of a hook (barbless piece of wire) and about 4 feet of nylon line tied on to a tree branch. None the less it worked very well, as the river was teeming with fish. There was no shortage of action as we were catching all different kinds of fish, including catfish and piranha! As the guide brought in the fish he didn't bother to kill them - just carelessly flipped them into the canoe. That was real interesting, as the canoe had about 3 or 4 inches of rain water in the bottom - just enough for the fish to get about in. Christine and I, taking no chances, were continually throwing our feet up in the air whenever the piranhas skittered by - much to the amusement of our guide! Back at camp they cooked up the piranha we had caught and we ate them for dinner (not bad - tasted like trout). We figured that US eating them, was much better than vice versa! The razor sharp piranha teeth were given to us as a souvenir! Later that night a Jivaro Indian wandered into camp. He was an outcast from his original tribe, having married a Yagua woman. We were most fortunate to see him, as the Jivaros are the famous "head shrinkers", a warlike tribe who have absolutely no contact with outside world. They keep retreating farther and farther into the jungles to avoid contact. It felt as though he had some sort of weird aura about him and we both felt very uncomfortable in his presence. Still, I regret the communication barrier, as I'm sure his thoughts on life would have been most fascinating. Imagine teh challenge of trying to explain to him the concept of a computer! Insect life in the jungle was amazing - multitudes of huge brightly colored butterflies fluttering about, and bizarre looking bugs at every turn, some the size of your hand. One night Christine let out a blood curdling scream, as one of these gargantuans dropped off the thatched roof of the hut onto a table she was at. Seems that giving up all her creature comforts for just plain creatures was not all that appealing! The bird species were beautiful. Several varieties of parrots including the Green Amazon and Macaws, and the fascinating big-billed toucans. Some of these birds were so tame that when they flew down to eat the bunches of bananas left for them, we could actually touch them. Truly delightful to see them in their natural habitat. It was at this isolated camp that we found a guide willing to take us to the primitive jungle tribe known as the Yaguas. Awoken at dawn by the screeching and squawking of our feathered friends, we set off with the machetes we had been given (for snakes), on a trek through the jungle to visit the Yaguas. At this point in our travels I was more concerned about Christine using the machetti on me, than on some poisonous jungle snake! At one point we stopped in our tracks, as a colony of leaf-cutter ants marched across our path. Laden with leaf foliage, this scurrying sea of green created the illusion that the jungle floor was actually moving. The vegetation in the Amazon basin, accounting for nearly 50 % of the world's oxygen, is simply awesome. Intertwined plants, trees, and vines, struggle towards the white-hot sky, all but blocking out the blistering sun. We hiked for several hours through this steamy jungle, over logs and under vines, unsure of what may be lurking around the next corner! It was a most exhilarating experience that got the adrenaline pumping! Sweat-soaked, we finally came upon the village. The primeval scene before us was nothing short of spectacular! Primitive straw huts built up on stilts. Bare-breasted Yagua women clad in grass skirts and faces dashed with red paint. Pet monkeys ricocheted around the camp. A leopard skin staked out to dry in the sun, which we later found out had been killed nearby the previous day! The chief, complete with feathered headdress and blowgun came timidly out to meet us. It is an unusual sight to see the Yagua, with a stature of about four feet, packing about the six foot blowguns they so desperately rely on for their survival. We presented the chief with a small gift and entered the village. Later we were treated us to an exhibition of his marksmanship with the blowgun. With but a single shot he felled a canary-sized bird perched some 40 feet up one of the trees. The blowgun darts, sharpened by a set of piranha teeth, are dipped into a mixture of crushed beetle shells, which paralyzes the prey upon impact, allowing the Indians to then move in for the kill. Christine and I were given the opportunity to try out the blowguns, but quickly found out it was nowhere near as easy as it appeared. Although very primitive, the Yagua appeared to us to be a genuinely happy people and we thoroughly enjoyed our time spent with them. We made our way back up the Amazon to Iquitos on a painfully slow river boat. The intense heat and humidity took it's toll, as Christine was wilted on the deck and I spent most of my time vomiting over the side, desperately longing for some place cool and a bed. From Iquitos we departed Peru and flew into Tabatinga in Brasil. Here we had a good stroke of luck. We learned by accident that a visa was necessary in Columbia - without it would probably mean jail. Because that was our next destination, we found a place to get a visa and hired a dilapidated VW bug taxi to take us to the Columbian border. This was an interesting ride, as the driver took a cross country shortcut. The car stalled several times and the passenger door kept flying open every time we hit one of the numerous potholes! The river port of Leticia in Columbia seemed very boring after the Yaguas. That, along with the 40 - 45 degree jungle heat, made the decision to continue traveling north easy! Next stop was Bogata, capital of Columbia, and murder capital of the world. We heard lots of horror stories, but had a couple of reasonably uneventful days - up until it was time to leave. Our departure turned into a miserable experience. While waiting for our plane in one of the holding areas, four men entered, and took us into to a small back room. They roughly ransacked our backpacks, breaking several of our things in an apparent search for drugs. Seemingly disappointed at finding nothing, they put both of us up against the wall for a quick 'pat down'. This kind of harassment seemed common place in Columbia! We later learned that our traveling route - Leticia, Bogata, Baranquilla, was the major cocaine smuggling route in South America! After the search we grabbed our backpacks and ran like hell for our plane, not wanting to spend another night here. Crossing the tarmac Christine was caught by a blast from another planes engine, and almost blown right over. She later said she really thought that it was the end of her. In desperation we kept running after the plane, as it slowly started to taxi across the runway! The front stairs were being withdrawn into the plane, but we managed to jump onto the back stairs and climb up into the plane while it was moving! Soaked in sweat and hearts pounding, we made our way to our seats, only to find them occupied! We forced the squatters out, and collapsed down into our seats, thankful to be winding down our travels in Columbia! Our flight to Baranquilla turned into a bit of a "white knuckle special", as we flew through a spectacular lightning storm that certainly had our attention! Frustrated with more hassles in Baranquilla, we tried to book a flight out, but were told the plane was broken! Eager to leave, we jumped a bus that night to Cartegena. Even though Christine and I both got sick here, it holds memories better than most other Columbian cities! We found it very interesting, locked behind it's massive walls on what was once an island. Anxious to move on, we flew out two days later. Flying out of the country, we were delighted to be leaving, with no immediate plans for a return visit. Columbia is the only country that I would thoroughly unrecommend to anybody!! Before flying home, we had one final country left to visit. That was the lovely Costa Rica, in Central America. Aahhhh, but that's another story and will have to wait until another day!! Reflecting back on South America Christine and I both agreed that it is a great place for adventure, but not for relaxation. We feel very fortunate, that our travels gave us the opportunity to experience some truly extraordinary lands, people, and cultures. But most important of all, the hardships experienced on this journey allowed us the opportunity of learning a great deal about each other - and about ourselves. I believe we are both better people for having met the challenge. Mark Colegrave
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