juliamhammond

Latest

First day on the ranch

At the beginning of this year’s South America trip I spent a few days on Panagea Ranch just outside Tacuarembó, Uruguay.  Tired from the journey, recovering from a sickie bug I’d picked up at home and generally in need of some R and R, I spent the first day stretched out on the veranda doing very little at all.

And it was great!

Here’s a few thoughts on what I saw without moving a muscle (well, almost!)

IMG_7761

Waves of sleep ebb and flow like the tide.  Coming to on the lumpy leather couch, I try to shake off the fatigue which has enveloped me since breakfast.  The sky is almost free of clouds and it is unseasonably warm for March, but the red and sticky earth is a reminder that rains are frequent at this time of year.  The dappled sun casts a soft light on the worn out boots hanging from the racks beside me on the veranda, illuminating patches of dried mud and scuffed leather.  A languid breeze ripples the wrinkled leaves of a huge shrub in the bed in front of me.  It has just enough energy to nudge at the twisted limbs of an ageing aloe, though even that is more energy than I can summon up.
A pink sow ambles past the veranda, teats swaying gently.  She snuffles and grunts as she pauses, systematically scouting the overgrown garden for scraps.  The pig loops the farmstead, making her way back to the three chattering piglets she left foraging in the paddock.  Soon she’s followed by one of the horses, grazing loose after an early morning hack, who potters around a bit before plumping for a spot outside the shower block.  I follow too and rest my arms on a metal gate.  From there, I can see a small group of merino sheep up on the ridge, specks of creamy white wool punctuating a sweep of emerald pasture.
To my left, a small stand of ghost gums provides cover for a rhea.  It pecks contentedly in the dirt, grey feathers ruffling gently in the wind, until it’s rattled by the sound of a dog barking.  Losing its nerve, the rhea skitters off across the damp leaf litter, disturbing its mate in the process.  They hurry out to the safety of the grass beyond the gate, in case.  The dog can’t reach them there.  But later, they reappear in the same paddock where earlier, the dog had been playing with a stick.  Rich pickings reward the brave.
The pitter patter of assorted hoofs and paws is accompanied by a soundtrack of bird calls.  A rhythmic shooshing like fingers raking an old washboard is laid down as a backing track.  Chirrups and juddering caws provide the percussion.  A tiny yellow bird the size of a sparrow darts in and out of a nearby tree.  Another squeaks with the staccato sound of an old bike brake that needs oiling.  The trees hum, their leaves concealing what sounds like a swarm of bees though in reality to my untrained ear could be any kind of insect.  Something is making the whining sound of a power tool grating on metal, but it can’t be a person; everyone’s quiet, or out riding already.
I wander back to the battered sofa on the porch and let my heavy eyelids close.  The hypnotic sounds work their magic and I doze off again.

There’ll be more about the ranch in another post; find out how I got on as a novice rider herding cattle and rounding them up to go through the tick dip.

An old fashioned bookstore in La Paz

I came across Libreria Gisbert quite by accident.  Wandering along Calle Comercio from Plaza Murillo, a chalkboard advertising a coffee shop caught my eye.  It promised the best coffee in La Paz, though as the Bolivian capital didn’t appear to have embraced coffee culture like other Latin American cities, I didn’t have high expectations.  Stepping inside, up some stone steps and through a grand doorway, I saw that a small corner of a bookstore had been sectioned off.  The Writer’s Coffee, as the cafe was called, exceeded expectations.  A couple of smartly dressed Bolivian businessmen sipped espresso from a couple of armchairs in front of me; they didn’t talk much, killing time.  At a table, a cluster of bookish Japanese tourists came and went.  The rest of the tables were occupied by a mix of well off locals and visitors.  The coffee wasn’t cheap here, though it was rich and smooth.
FullSizeRender (46)
While I sat nursing a latte, I took in my surroundings.  The cafe itself was artfully decorated with vintage typewriters lining alcoves built into the walls.  The baristas, Japanese also, wore pork pie hats and aprons, and spoke impeccable English as well as Spanish.  My eyes drifted beyond the partition walls of the cafe and I realised that this was no ordinary bookstore.  Jose Gisbert learnt his trade at Libreria Arno under the supervision of a couple of Spaniards who ran the business on nearby Calle Murillo.  In 1922, fifteen years later, Gisbert decided to set up on his own and the business was a success.  Jose Gilbert died in 1985, but other family members stepped up to run the business, among them his daughter Carmen.
FullSizeRender (47)
Almost a century later, the shop is still flourishing, run the old-fashioned way.  Predominantly an educational bookstore supporting the local university, two of the walls were lined floor to ceiling – and what high ceilings – with carefully filed books.  A ladder slid up and down via a runner in the floor, the only way to access the highest shelves.  From time to time, a dapper gent, wearing a furrowed brow and a claret and grey jacket, pottered up and down, fetching books from lofty, yet not dusty, spots.  I found a book on Bolivia that interested me, but there was no ticket on it.  In a nod to the 21st century, Gisbert’s had computerised its stock in 2007.  But this was no up to date system; a pre-Windows catalogue listed only the most basic of details.  I got the impression that my gentleman assistant would have preferred a set of well-worn index cards as he looked up the price.
FullSizeRender (45)
Buying the book turned out to be an equally convoluted process.  From the desk, I was directed to a caja where a younger man was sat behind a glass screen.  As if buying a ticket from an art house cinema, I bent down and told the man what I’d selected, passing through two 100 Boliviano bills and receiving a printed receipt in return.  Crossing to the far side of the bookstore, where stationery supplies were displayed, my purchase was bagged, the receipt stamped and I was wished a good day.  Save for the printed till receipt and plastic rather than paper bag, I could have been purchasing my book on opening day.

The Fiesta de la Patria Gaucha

Each year, Tacuarembó hosts the Fiesta de la Patria Gaucha. It’s been held for thirty years, the first event being held in 1987. The festival celebrates the great tradition of the gaucho in Uruguay. At first, to an insider, it can seem like a fancy dress parade, but it soon becomes apparent that this is a chance for those living in and around Tacuarembó to eat, drink and be merry – while in charge of a horse, of course. The parade ground hosts a series of races, skills demonstrations and parades, but to begin with, here are some of the characters that make it a feast for the eyes.

image

image

image

image

image

photo12

photo11

photo6

photo3

photo

photo2

photo6

image

image

photo9

photo4

photo8

image

image

image

image

image

image

Salta’s Lightning Girl

IMG_7854

 

 

One of the most fascinating and also morally challenging of the Inca rites is surely the sacrificing of children. Scattered across the high Andean peaks are a number of sacrificial sites that have only been discovered relatively recently. One such site can be found on Mount Llullaillaco, a 6700m high volcano straddling the Argentina-Chile border. Drugged with coca and fermented maize beer called chicha, three children had been led up to a shrine near the volcano’s summit and entombed, a practice known as capacocha. The freezing temperatures inside their mountain dens had not only killed them, it had perfectly preserved their small bodies. There they’d remained, undisturbed, for five centuries. An archaeological team led by Johan Reinhard found what’s now known as the Children of Llullaillaco less than twenty years ago.

Today, the three mummies are rotated, one on display at a time, in MAAM, a museum on the main plaza in the northern Argentinian city of Salta. Three years ago, I’d visited Juanita, a similar mummy found in Peru and displayed in a darkened room a few blocks from the Plaza de Armas in Arequipa. As a consequence, I figured I knew what to expect when I stepped inside MAAM. During my visit, Lightning Girl was the mummy being displayed, possibly the most haunting museum exhibit I’ve ever seen.  No photography is permitted; the image above is of a postcard I purchased in the museum shop.

The first thing that struck me was how well preserved this small child was, much more so than Juanita had been. Found entombed with a slightly older girl, her half-sister, and a boy, she looked straight ahead. Her face stared bleakly, as if tensed against intense cold. A dark stain marked her face, thought to have been caused by a lightning strike after she was sacrificed. But it was her teeth that caught my attention, tiny white milk teeth that emphasised just how young this girl would have been when she met her fate. Text beside her indicated that she had been just five years old when she died. There was no escaping that here in front of me, in this darkened room, was a real person.

During Inca times, it was the custom to choose sacrificial children from peasant families, deemed an honour for the family, though surely a heartbreaking one too. Girls such as these were selected as toddlers to be acclas or Sun Virgins, destined later to be royal wives, priestesses or to be sacrificed. It is thought that the elder girl was such a person, the two younger children her attendants. The children were then fed a rich diet of maize and llama meat to fatten them up, nutritionally far better than their previous diet of vegetables would have been. The higher their standing in society, the better the value of this offering to the gods, essential to protecting future good harvests and political stability. The children would not die, it was believed, they joined their ancestors and watched over mortals like angels.

Despite the drugged state induced by the coca and chicha, which in theory led to a painless end, the boy had been tied. Perhaps he’d struggled and had needed to be restrained. The older girl had her head buried between her knees, but Lightning Girl looked straight ahead. Had she been too young to comprehend what was happening to her?

Trip preparations: Bolivia

It’s almost time for me to fly off to South America.  My itinerary is pretty much fleshed out now and most of the bookings are made.  One thing that’s easy to overlook, though, is specific vaccination requirements.  For Bolivia, the regulations concerning yellow fever have just changed.

yellow-fever-americas

http://www.fitfortravel.nhs.uk/advice/disease-prevention-advice/yellow-fever/yellow-fever-risk-areas.aspx

As you’ll see from the map above, parts of Bolivia are affected, like much of South America, by yellow fever.  Travelling to Uyuni and then La Paz, however, I’m not going to be venturing into yellow fever territory, so it’s tempting to think I wouldn’t need the vaccine. But early last month, a Danish traveller was found to have the disease.  The National Health Director was quoted as saying: “This person came from another place and was not vaccinated.” There’d been an outbreak of yellow fever across the border in Brazil, but whether the Danish traveller had been there is unclear from the news reports. You can read Reuters’ report here:

http://uk.reuters.com/article/us-bolivia-health-yellow-fever-idUKKBN15P2QW

Biting Sucking Female Mosquito Parasite Disease

What this means in practice is that from yesterday, 2nd March, all travellers entering Bolivia from a country which has a current outbreak of the disease or remains a risk area for it, must hold a valid yellow fever certificate.  I’m travelling across the border from Argentina so that means me – even though I won’t have passed through yellow fever areas within Argentina.  I’ll still need a certificate. That certificate would need to be issued at least 10 days before I’d be due to enter Bolivia.  Potentially, without one, I could be refused entry at the border.

Even some transit passengers are likely to be affected.  If you hub through an airport in a neighbouring country on your way to Bolivia, you could still be refused entry into Bolivia if you have cleared immigration and gone landside.  That’s even if you never left the airport.  Basically,  the Bolivians are playing it safe and you can’t blame them for being cautious.

I’ll update this post in a couple of weeks to tell you if the certificate was requested by border officials or not.  Fortunately, my jabs are up to date and the yellow fever certificate I needed to get into Panama a few years ago is still valid. But make sure you’re not caught out by this change in immigration requirements by seeking health from a medical professional before you embark on your trip.

Update March

At the land border between La Quiaca and Villazon, I was not asked for a yellow fever certificate.