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My random thoughts and reactions to my everyday life. The voices like a forum. |
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Created: November 4th, 2014 at 2:58pm
Modified: September 7th, 2024 at 9:07pm
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I do not know quite what happened or when , but my hubby and I now qualify for seniors' discounts at some venues. This creates a quandary; in order to save money, but not face, we have to admit to our age. HMMMM..... We definitely do not consider ourselves to be old. In this day and age ,when people as a whole are living longer and healthier lives why are 'young seniors', those in their fifties, like moi, considered 'old'?? It's so true that age is just a perception! "Maturity" is very objective/subjective, and I object! Whew, a few years have skittered by since I composed this biography block. Those "fifties" are in the rear view mirror and they are distant, fond memories. Oh, I do not plan to stop writing any time soon.
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The seafaring vessels on display at the Nao Victoria Museo fascinate me. I cannot fathom crossing the Atlantic Ocean aboard one and surviving in one piece. They are nothing but joined timbers. The storms battered them. The non-stop waves slapped and jostled them. The winds pushed and pulled. How impressive that Charles Darwin signed on to the HMS Beagle as a naturalist and spent five years exploring. What an unusual name for a British ship. Was this scientific voyage so named to reflect the superior tracking instinct of this detection dog? An ocean vessel possessed of this canine's attributes could be invaluable. Could it be said that Darwin beagled/sniffed out his discoveries as tenaciously as these hunting dogs? I suppose Charles was an eco-tourist before this became a thing. He collected plant, animal and geological samples from every port of call. He kept notebooks filled with his observations. Imagine five years' worth of material stored aboard a ship and ferried back to England. How did it survive salt water, dampness, mould and mildew, insect infestations, raiding rats, humidity and more? This occurred in the 1830s. There were no Ziploc baggies, or resealable plastic containers. Valuable information could not be forwarded to the Cloud for safe-keeping. Were there never crew disputes, grumblings, misunderstandings? No one ever threatened to torpedo his precious papers, or tear them up to make a dramatic point? Not once did The Beagle encounter a storm so fierce that jettisoning unnecessary weight had to be considered? Both Darwin and his five years of accumulated data were preserved? I find all of this to be mind-boggling. Darwin and his fellow sailors were tenacious, I'll give them that.  |
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| Well, this Sandy finds herself exploring Puenta Arenas, aka Sandy Point in Chile. After all of my virtual touring I am at the end of the world retracing the steps so many others took attempting to map and understand this vast globe. The buffeting wind that nudges me once pushed them along and tugged at their clothing, too. Considerate locals have strung up a stout rope between buildings that serves as a means for me to stay upright. It's kinda like rock climbing horizontally in an urban setting. Hand over hand I pull myself along the streets. This natural klutz appreciates the thoughtfulness. I'm not saying you could blow me over with a feather, but this gusting exaggerates my wobbliness. In anticipation of there being no such refinement or consideration in Torres del Paine National Park I purchased a sturdy walking stick. With three legs I should maintain some sort of equilibrium. Once again I found myself in an area of breathtaking, raw beauty. All efforts to regulate my huffing and puffing are forgotten when I see the snow-capped majestic mountains silhouetted by an azure, endless sky. My feeble hiking stumbles paled in comparison to the roaring power of Salto Grande waterfall. Simply put it is indeed grand. I just stood in awe with my mouth agape witnessing the ice floes from Gray Glacier. Nothing compares to this momentous sight. The Cueva del Milodon is quite the expansive cave. How many people and animals have stepped into its silent shelter seeking a reprieve from the wind? Who first decided the massive rock formation should be christened as Silla del Diablo , or Devil's Chair? Is the prevailing logic only something unhuman/other-worldly would deign to sit there? I must admit it did provide a great view, a commanding view of the immediate site. All in all, this was a magnificent spot to traverse on foot. I imagine it has remained much the same for millennia. |
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| Today I embarked upon a feasting tour of Buenos Aires. I'm not much of a helmet fan, but protecting my noggin with one was part of the cost to see this vibrant city up close and intimately via electric e-scooter. I wobbled along the wide thoroughfares smiling and nodding. I returned many a hola and como estas? Spanish is such a beautiful language that rolls and drips off the tongue. Yes, sure there were plenty of impressive edifices to ogle, but I noticed the stupendous, often flowering trees. One immense specimen looked familiar. I'd spied one in my father's British Columbia neighbour's front yard. It's a strange looking evergreen nicknamed the monkey puzzle. If Dr. Seuss had ever designed a tree this would be it. Even within the obvious allures here it's not a pretty tree. For a showstopper the Tipa flaunts yellow blooms and the Jacaranda flashes stunning purple flowers. I admit I may have daydreamed a wee bit as I puttered along. I'm still digesting the furious tangos I witnessed yesterday and the intense energy the performers radiated as they commanded the stage. I've always associated this strong dance with the clutching of a red rose between the lips. My eyelids must have drooped and my steering wavered. One minute I was humming along and the next I impacted with something that pitched me into a stout tree trunk. I had to shake my head because I thought I'd struck a beer barrel forgotten on the boulevard. The guide informed me I'd collided with a drunk stick, and if so Argentinian tree limbs are humongous. He gasped for air as he choked out, "No, this is a Palo Borracho tree. We call it a drunk stick." I smiled weakly and then spit out the red flower caught in my teeth. I'm not certain, but it sounded like several of the pedestrians muttered, "Idiota," as they swerved to avoid me. One or two mimed the universal sign for drinker raising invisible cups to their mouths and I shrugged. I did imbibe the awful yerba mate concoction at one of our stops and I spat out the fernet de Branca. Not my cup of tea at all. People like this black licorice-flavoured Listerine substitute? I may have dented the loaner helmet and grazed my pride, but the alfajores I purchased survived with nary a crumble. This heavenly concoction combines all of my favourites: shortcake base, a caramel filling and cocoanut. With one last glance to assure myself I had not harmed the bruiser of a tree, the scooter wranglers and I proceeded to our final feast featuring a baguette stuffed with chorizo and chimichurri. I GOOGLED the mouth-watering ingredients and I vowed to replicate this tasty sauce /marinade at home. I'm sure I can find fresh parsley, oregano, garlic, oil, vinegar and chili pepper. I waved off the offer of a beer. I was drunk on this entire experience and besides, I did not wish to meet any more trees that jump out at unsuspecting tourists. Its bark left an impression. |
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| Another hot air balloon cruise? Yes, please! I was up for another early morning flight, not necessarily bright-eyed and bushy tailed, ( whatever that means), but I was awake. I may not have been coherent and I most likely mumbled. Why do sunrises have to blossom at such ungodly hours? That glowing ball of yellows and oranges displayed its brilliant answer. Those vibrant hues rippled through the floss of clouds and framed the High Atlas Mountains. Nothing equals its ta-da moment. Sunrises are a glorious testament to time. Once again I reveled in the soaring, the floating as the billowing balloon crossed the immense sky. It was if the various sky ships played tag above the desert. I must admit dining within a Moroccan tent was a first. Usually if I'm ensconced in a tent breakie must be cooked over an open fire. My fellow diners were in high spirits and raved about our experience. As early birds we were relieved not to be offered any worms. Flying and barely blinking as we strained our necks to gape at every incredible sight inspires a healthy appetite. The lurking calories never stood a chance to cause their usual mischief. I banished them as I strolled through the souks, or outdoor markets in the afternoon. Now this was a feast for the senses. Animation was apparent everywhere. The crowds of shoppers thronged every stall. Noisy would sum up my experience. Constant chatter swirled as vendors greeted and then chided us to notice them. No one need comprehend the language to understand the universal look-at-this motion and the beaming smiles. Hands waved and voices rose in the exchanges known as bartering. A few of the sellers seemed aggressive ,perhaps even intimidating. They did not hesitate to chase potential buyers in their pursuit of a sale, a deal. I admired their tenacity, their persistence. The souks are best described as a teeming maze. Each stall seemed to support the next. Words fail to convey the rainbow of material/cloth/fabric bewitching to my eyes. Kaleidoscope? The enticing aromas tickled my nose. According to the guide, Morocco has always been a vital segment of the spice trade route. Many I recognized such as cinnamon, nutmeg, ginger, paprika, garlic. Heavenly! I cook and bake with these all the time. Locals apparently consider black pepper to be a necessity and I agree with them. I couldn't resist haggling for and purchasing harissa, a native spice blend created in a paste form. My taste buds were salivating at the gourmet list of ingredients: roasted red chilis, Baklouti peppers, garlic, caraway seeds, cumin, coriander seeds and olive oil. I anticipate a scrumptious feast! I'm certain this will prove to be my favourite sensory souvenir. |
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| What a day of stark contrasts. First, I saunter into a beautiful, serene hotel, The Residence Boutique Hotel. The rooms are created for sumptuous relaxation and feature private balconies. Everywhere I wander I respond in kind to smiling staff members and cheery hellos. I make a note of the soaker tubs and Jacuzzis, two inviting amenities. Then I embark upon a visit to a nearby museum, and, wham, I am thrust into the visual representation of apartheid. I have never experienced segregation, but it is represented by the entry ticket I received at The Apartheid Museum. In neutral language meant to lessen the chance of taking offence, I was randomly selected to the label of NIE BLANKES, or Non WHITES and directed to enter the building via the door marked for such persons. This demonstrates the reality of life that many experienced in southern Africa. To go about their everyday existence they were forced to abide by race classifications. Doors for the Whites, and doors for the non Whites. Did this really prevent mingling? Would that have been so terrible? The idea of apartheid is mind-boggling. I do not comprehend what drove this policy. Fear? Of what ? Ignorance? I'd say yes, but I'm an outsider. A sense of superiority? Perhaps? Arrogance? To see a display of ropes tied as nooses hanging from the ceiling is sobering. It is heart-wrenching that some people remember a not so distant time when these seemingly innocuous items were threats. I do not imagine all of the suffering can be contained in this one building. I suppose the existence of this memorial represents a new era of acceptance. History is not always pretty. |
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| Today I am busying myself exploring Cape Town's Kirstenbosch Botanical Garden, or Kirsten's Forest. I'm not jealous, but I am saying I've never had a forest named after me. Wow, just wow! This piece of paradise is beyond words. It's gorgeous, fantastic, very green and lush, an oasis. Every bit of foliage and flora is lovingly nurtured. Although my feet never stopped moving I never felt as if I was hiking. In The Dell I marveled at the cool shade and sense of serenity from the towering trees. To refer to the leaves as a canopy is fitting. I noticed the camphor trees in particular with their immense stature and gnarled trunks. Locals brag this species is as tough as nails because it is fire, drought and insect repellent. It seems to flourish in any soil conditions. Its wood is perfect for building with since it is termite proof. The essential oil from the leaves is soothing for sensitive skin and the leaves are brewed as a tea to treat coughs and headaches. Quite the versatile tree. I enjoyed roaming the Tree Canopy Walkway. The locals have named this The Boomslang, or tree snake. To my delight, I did not ever encounter an actual slithering snake. I strolled into and through the numerous trees. To stand still and gaze at the lush greenery is awe-inspiring. It felt a bit as if I was bouncing on a suspended trampoline. The most striking, eye-catching bloom is the crane flower or bird of paradise. It really does resemble a sharp-beaked bird's head. The vibrant oranges and yellows evoke happiness. I'd be more than content with a backyard like this beautiful garden. |
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" All right you louts. Look lively. The tourists are approaching in that rumbling, ocean-skimming device. Show them your good sides. Somebody nudge Earl. Why is he splayed out like a dead seal?" "Um, sir? You seem to have a bit of fish dangling from your teeth. Nope, the other side. You've almost got it. Give it another swipe? Aha, you've got it!""Great, I didn't have time to clean my whiskers. Do you think they'll notice?" "Mommy, Billy just slapped me.""Well, she stuck her tongue out at me.""Twins don't make me give you a reason to cry. Billy! Keep your flippers to yourself. Cindy! Put your tongue back in your face young lady. You're being watched.""How much is too much? Can they see all of my teeth? My jaw is killing me. Can I relax yet?""Hey, watch it! There's plenty of room on this rock. Stop crowding me." "Ow! Who poked me in the eye? Must you wave at them? Where's your dignity?""Is Earl sleeping again? Just how many fish did he scarf?""Listen up. Are we ready? It's time for the daily dive and swim show. Let's show those gawkers how it's done. What about Earl? Maybe a splash will rouse him. Here comes a big wave. In we go!"  "Awww, just look at them. They're so cute! They all huddle, or is that cuddle together on that rock.""They must be sunbathing.""I just saw a seal slap another one. Wait, I think that one is the mother and she doesn't look too pleased.""Is anyone else noticing that fat one over there? Is he dead?""They sure are noisy animals. What have they got to talk about? All I hear is a lot of barking."Wow! Look at 'em hit the water. They're so fast! I wish I could swim like that.""Ooo, that one is spraying cold water at me. That can't be right. I swear the other one is sassing me sticking its tongue out.""You don't suppose this is all an act for our benefit?" |
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| It is not my habit to greet the dawn. I've always been more of a night owl. For this dawn balloon cruise I made an exception and it was well worth it.Imagine rubbing your eyes and yawning repeatedly in an effort to awaken. Your brain is insisting it's still dark and therefore it cannot possibly be the beginning of a new day. Someone hands you a steaming fresh cup of coffee and the caffeine slowly meanders through your blood stream urging you to greet the coming day. Fires flare up around you and giant silk canopies expand and bulge with hot air. They billow and strain against their anchors raring to go. Singsong voices coax you into a basket and you reflexively grip the edge as your rainbow hued balloon gently rises towards the horizon. The sudden and brilliant sunrise takes your breath away. Only moments ago you noticed a yellow glow that exploded into a burst of gold. The shadows retreat as the light advances to reveal a world of lush, vibrant green. Morning has taken charge and banished the darkness. Soon, you are chasing your balloon's shadow across the landscape.You hear yourself gasp, but that sound is muted. The roar of the flame envelops you. The balloon's structure ripples and dances. You float weightless above throngs of teeming wildlife. Your view is a panorama, unobstructed. Stunning, statuesque giraffe strut, or gallop. Hippos cavort and spray each other with water. Lion cubs roll and wrestle. Zebra kick up their feet. You stare mesmerized unwilling to blink. The word breathtaking is not enough. You are struck speechless in reverence. This more than warranted my rising before the crack of dawn. |
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| Dress comfortably. That's all the Egyptian guide said. Not that I had packed camel-riding gear because what is that exactly? Thank goodness I have never been fond of dresses, frocks whatever anyone wishes to call them. I'd also been warned Egypt is a conservative country dress-code wise. They believe in modesty and as far as that goes I agree with them. Modesty and decorum go hand in hand while mounting and sitting astride a camel. No one would wish me to flash them unless it was a beaming smile. I chose to garb myself in my usual summertime attire, shorts and a t-shirt. As soon as I return home I plan to have a likeness of Claude the Camel's face plastered to a new t-shirt as a memento of this excursion. He wasn't very talkative. In fact I'd describe him as a bit standoffish. When I attempted to engage him in conversation, he'd stare at me with those large, somber eyes and bat those impossibly long, curling eyelashes. I did manage to snap a quick pick of his brief toothy grin. He dazzled me with it when I hopped off the saddle at the Pyramids of Giza site. I say he didn't speak. In reality he grunted, a great deal. it might be my overactive imagination, but I swear Claude also sighed several times. I suppose ferrying tourists around has become a bit blase. He's seen one gawker, he's seen them all. I saddled my camel with the moniker Claude because it rhymed with plod and of course it began with the letter 'c'. That's what he did. He did not sail through the sea of endless sand as I anticipated the mighty ship of the desert would do. He seemed to have one unhurried, measured pace. Again, how many times has he witnessed the formidable scope and grandeur of the pyramids? I can understand his lack of excitement. They're not going anywhere and they've survived for centuries. They were present when he last saw them and they'd be awaiting his imminent return. No need to get his cud in a tangle. No need to break a sweat. I learned from the guide that camels rarely if ever perspired. Lucky animal. So, Claude plodded. While Claude trudged, I swayed. Okay, that particular motion reminded me of being aboard a ship. It was constant. I rode the swell, the surge of each powerful stride. His immense feet barely disturbed the sand. Those knobby-kneed legs of his ferried us forward. I patted Claude's neck a few times probably to remind him that I still clung to his topside. His hair felt coarse, but I suppose anyone's mane would be rough and dry if they made a point of exposing themselves to the strong sun rays. My tresses were contained within a long, colourful scarf I purchased at a bazaar. Hats and I have never been sympatico. I enjoyed my day tripping as a novice camel jockey. The only comparison I know is that of horseback riding. In that situation I must fling one leg up and over the equine's spine while simultaneously pulling myself up. It has never been anywhere near a graceful maneuver and it depends greatly upon the horse not deciding to sidestep my efforts. Mounting and subsequently dismounting Claude was similar to employing an assistive device, an automatic lift. He did the heavy work by first kneeling and waiting for my overtures. All the effort required from me was to hold onto the pommel. Not wishing to plummet to the sand was also a practical motivator. Thanks Claude for acting as my unique mode of transportation. |
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| Who has time to sleep? There's so much to explore. These eyes of mine cannot so much as blink.I ventured to Angkor Wat an immense temple complex before dawn. I wished to see a spectacular sunrise set against all that red sandstone and I was not disappointed. The climbing, blazing sun set everything aglow. Imagine all the sun rises and sunsets that have graced that site for hundreds of years. Time both stands still and marches on. Seeing all of the stone formations, foundations, doorways, walkways ,columns, statuary and more I couldn't help but wonder how it was all moved here. Was there an immense sandstone quarry within the building area? How was it lifted into place to form walls and rooves? How was it transported? Was it shipped in along the river? What great vessels carried it? Did oxen pull the sandstone blocks in reinforced wagons? Had dynamite been discovered and utilized to blow great pieces from the earth? Were the builders granted super-human strength? If the formations could only speak of the blood, sweat and tears they witnessed. Were they ingenious and used rope and pulleys? It is an impressive sight and the logistics of its being are mind-boggling. Did the stone carvers devote their entire lives to creating the intricate designs in the stone? Did they chip away miniscule bits, piece by piece, to carve faces that would stand the test of time and endure the elements? I appreciate the determination and patience they must have possessed. I am in awe that people had a vision and could transform rock into one humongous testimonial to ingenuity and beauty. The grand scale took my breath away, or it might have been the non-stop hiking with my mouth agape. I stumbled along, huffing and puffing, craning my neck to take in everything. The banyan and fig trees were not dwarfed by the temple. They seemed to stand as sentinels. After all my trudging, I treated myself to a tuk tuk ride. I bit my tongue and kept a death grip on my seat as the driver steered around the teeming crowds. Sometimes, I waved my arms and shouted warnings fearing a collision and mass casualties. At sunset I indulged in a hot air balloon excursion. Nothing compares to floating above it all, yet seeing it so clearly. Sound is muted. The greens of the trees shone like emeralds. I liked the feeling of weightless suspension.I saved my late evening for the night market Psah Chas. Now this is nightlife at its finest. The smells of fish, fruits and spices perfumed the humid air. Sound echoed. Voices carried on a continuous wave . Vendors shouted to attract attention. People waved. People smiled and nodded heads in hello. Many groups formed to view the haggling, the bartering first hand. The repartee, the give and take is animated, quick. My knees twinged and I grimaced to see most of the sellers, women, crouched on the tables amongst their wares. They were not seated, nor did many of them stand. Ouch! Most of the feet I noticed were happy to be in flip flops, or thongs as some refer to them. This market seemed to be constructed of numerous stalls butting up against each other. Words like teeming and bustling came to mind. It was more than a crowd, it was throngs. Everywhere I looked I viewed a kaleidoscope of colour. Jewel tones blended in the form of fruits, vegetables and fabrics. Vibrant. I noticed numerous tanks of fish swimming in clear water and I gasped when I saw tourists willingly submerging their bare feet and then giggling. Apparently, the fish nibble at toes and it is described as ticklish. No thanks. I felt sorry for those fish. Did they ask smelly, dirty feet to invade their space? Thanks Siem Reap. I enjoyed my whirlwind day. |
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Happy June! May was so fun!
