South America trip: Chile

Wow! It was a good flight. Maybe a bit bumpy, but all the connections were good, and on time. The airports were fine, I actually slept a little on the plane, and we didn’t even have to pick up our bags, the Holland America team collected them for us (brought back opposing memories of my old fly/camping trips when you could check three bags each for free, then haul the mountain of bags out to the rental car). Santiago is in a valley, and is semi-arid, like eastern Colorado. The trip into the city was along a wide riverbed, mostly dry. On either side of the highway were very poor looking barrios (or so I thought at the time, I hadn’t yet seen Peru). We didn’t see the business district, because a 6 km tunnel took us under it.

The Santiago Sheraton is what you would expect from a Sheraton, and it had an exceptionally beautiful pool area. We had a lovely lunch, of which we had no idea the cost. Chilean pesos are in the area of 400 some to the dollar.  It is early fall in Chile, and yes, the sun is in the northern sky. Santiago is at the same latitude as Atlanta, except in negative numbers. We lounged in a cabana by the pool, played some cards, and then as the sun set, moved to seats around a gas fire pit and ordered ice cream. Dad wanted a sundae, and they didn’t quite understand how to make one, but they gave it a good try. Just no syrup.

March 31. Boarding the Veendam in Valparaiso, Chile.
Our first tour in Chile was actually the bus trip from Santiago over to the coast. We rode the tunnels through mountain ranges separating the valleys, and got our first look at ocean fog, which is the main source of moisture for watering the crops in this part of Chile.

Stepping onto a ship is always a big moment. Leaving the land, sailing, an artificial home for a time. Off to see and do extraordinary things.

April 1. The ship brought us to a morning wake up in Coquimbo/La Serena, Chile. I had my first of several Lido omelets, and headed off the ship for my trip to Cerro Tololo Inter-american Observatory. There was a bit of a moment when the crew swiped my ship ID to sign me off the ship. The photo on my card was of a white haired lady. MOM. They had our pictures on the wrong cards. They also had our credit cards mixed up. It took a couple trips to the purser's office to get that all straightened out, but eventually our cards had our correct photos, and when we shopped, it was billed to our correct accounts.

The bus took us through the Elqui Valley (famous for wines and orchards) to the gravel road which wound up the mountain through quisco cactus, until we got too high for cactus. Then there was gravel.

The scientist at Cerro Tololo were celebrating their part in the 2011 Nobel Prize for Physics:
 "The Nobel Prize committee announced that the 2011
Nobel Prize in Physics has been won by three astronomers, for the
discovery that the expansion of the Universe is speeding up. Saul
Perlmutter (Lawrence Berkeley National Lab) led the Supernova
Cosmology Project while Brian Schmidt (Australian National University)
and Adam Riess (Johns Hopkins/Space Telescope Science Institute) were
leading members of the High-z Supernova Search team. Present (Chris
Smith) and past (Mark Phillips, Nick Suntzeff, Mario Hamuy, Bob
Schommer) Cerro Tololo staff members were also members of the High-z team.
Both teams announced their results in 1998. This unexpected finding
led to the idea that the acceleration is driven by the mysterious dark
energy and that the Universe we see (stars etc) are a very minor
component. (SAUL PERLMUTTER BTW IS ONE OF SHELDON'S NEMESES ON BBT)
They also wanted us to know their connection with Nicholas Sanduleak, an astronomer who did a lot of star mapping from Cerro Tololo, and who lived to see the star named after him go super nova in 1987.
We returned down the steep gravel one lane road in a 45 minute trip back to the Elqui Valley, where we were fed a lovely lunch with much local wine in the garden of a hotel.

April 2. Sea Day. We took part in various of the ship's Explorations programs, including yoga, computer/photography classes and a lecture on the history of Chile.

April 3 Tuesday

Arica, Chile

Started the day with the 7am stretch class, then watched the ship pull into port.

Our excursion today was "The High Heartland of Chile," an all day bus trip to the village of Petra, at about 12,000ft elevation. As soon as the town of Arica ended, the Atacoma Desert took over. We at first were driving through the Lueta valley, and the valley floor had some irrigated crops, but it was several degrees of magnitude dryer than the Elqui Valley. Where the slopes of the Elqui were dotted with brush and cactus, the slopes of the Lueta are devoid of any growth. If there was a lichen somewhere, I didn't see it. What CAN be seen on the north facing slopes are numerous petroglyphs, made by cementing black lava rocks (the guide said the nearest lava is hundreds of miles away) onto the gray slope. We saw representations of giant men with backpacks, llamas, eagle, condor, cougar

They are among the many mysterious contructions in the Atacoma desert. No one remembers how, when, or why they are there.

Before leaving the Lueta valley, we stopped at the village of Pocachile. We visited the church and graveyard. The graveyard was quite festive with tents and flowers. The guide explained that families celebrate feast days with their dead, bringing the whole family, food, and music to the cemetary.

We left the valley to climb into the mountains. The road rises in ridiculously steep switchbacks. Big trucks use the road to come down from Bolivia. We saw two that had careened off the road. At 7000 feet the complete desolation of the desert is broken by candelabra cactus. They are gone again by 8000 feet, but above that the desert was in gay bloom (they had had record rains in January). Whole sides were purple with lupine (I think) as well as yellow and pink flowers, and some green bushes.

We got high enough to see the Andes in the distance, and the 16,000 ft volcano which defined our skyline.  We were fed empanadas  and cacao leaf tea for lunch in the community center at the  village of Petra, an oasis watered by runoff from the volcano.

Music

For breath vibrating reed,
For bow across strings,
For pursed lips vibrating in metals,
I am thankful.

For mallets beating on stretched skins,
For the touch of fingers on keys,
And for the uplifting of voices,
I am grateful.

For the mathematical purity of vibrations
Giving rich harmonic overtones,
For sounds played in resonance with each other
Forming melody and chords
Creating beautiful music
I am thankful.

White Oak Sinks: Goals v Experiencing

Conrad Anker said that if he makes three attempts to summit a mountain and is unsuccessful, then it is not meant to be, and he moves on. Elise and I made three attempts to find the back way out of White Oak sinks. Each time we ended in a pathless tangle. The third time we were sure we were near the trail junction. We could see the blue sky of the ridge line, but we couldn’t find the way to get there. And I became nervous. I know people with much better mountain skills than me have gotten disoriented in the turns and twists of mountains. I didn’t want to be the subject of a rescue party. So, again we descended.

Elise and I met for the first time yesterday in the parking lot of El Jimador. A mutual friend had enlisted us to colead the SMHC outing to White Oak Sinks next April. It is a delightful area, but I had not been there in many years. Elise had been there just once, so we, with good reason, felt the need for a scouting hike. A hike is multifaceted. It is about the destination, the goal. It is about being in the woods, experiencing. The hike is visual, our eyes rest on trees, evergreen, bare, and some with a few leaves clinging. We walk along the pretty creek, and admire the rolling slopes and sink holes. The hike is auditory. We listen to the rippling creek, fluttering air, bird song, and squirrels dancing across the leaves. The hike is feeling the sensual kiss of the mountain air. It is about the physical act of walking, mile after mile, laboring uphill, balancing downhill.


Today it is also about talking, learning about each other, having time to explore different topics as we make our way along the trail. We kept coming back to one thought. Goals can detract from experiencing. Many people walk each hike as a step in the goal of coloring in the whole trail map---walking every trail in the park. I had long ago realized this wasn’t for me, and Elise has recently realized it is not for her either. We want to enjoy each hike for itself. If we want to come back to the same trail five, ten times, we don’t want to worry that we are “wasting time!!”

Conrad Anker, the big mountain climber, where one would think the goal of summiting is everything, has also found that sometimes experiencing the joy of the day IS the goal. Perhaps we will return later to find that pesky back trail out of the sinks, but today was a fine day. A good hike in a beautiful place with a new friend, nothing could be better.

There was a time when the humans on the earth were smaller in number, and made a  lighter footprint on the earth. One small band of humans had carved a home for themselves, and learned to grow food in cleared fields, and keep some animals to supplement their hunting and the gathering of wild plants.  Seasons passed into generations, and the people lived as they always had. Religion was a dance, celebrated with body, mind and soul.

************

The days were getting longer, sunrise and sunset crept northward on the horizon toward the  stones marking the furthest points the sun would reach. The fields were planted and green with new growth. Excitement stirred in the community, it was time to prepare for the midsummer's night festival for the Goddess.

The gathering ground in the middle of the village was swept clean. Sacred stones were retrieved from the pile in which they they were stored between festivals. Deirdre, the priestess, directed the young boys as they laid the stones out in a large spiral, working out from a sacred inner circle. Wood was brought for the fires,  the small Goddess fire in the center, and the two large fires to mark the sunrise and sunset points at the outer edge of the spiral.

Every man in the village, from the youngest, who had just done their manhood ceremonies at winter solstice, to the wizened, shriveled old grandfathers who still carried the hope and desire to honor the Goddess, carefully prepared their dancing masks. Feathers and fur, previously collected and stored, were brought out and carefully attached. Crushed rocks were mixed with oils to paint vivid colors. Horns and tusks saved from slaughtered animals were attached, so that when the mask was placed on his head, each man would become the Horned God.  
The women gathered flowers and leaves to weave into garlands, to adorn their hair, waists, arms thighs.  Deirdre set several young girls to grind ochre to make the red paste for painting Goddess symbols on bodies.
As the heat of the day waned, a supper of bread, vegetables, fruits and beer was served. Everyone would need nourishment for the long night of singing, dancing and lovemaking, but wouldn't want to be weighed down by a heavy feast. The little children were put to bed, with some of the older children charged with watching them. Others of the older children would be allowed to stay up late, taking turns playing the drums and rattles and joining in on the songs and chants.

The solstice stone glowed orange as the setting sun passed over it, and the sunset and sunrise fires were lit, As the drums started a slow throbbing, all the people gathered at the edge of the spiral,  forming a large circle.  Each man proudly wore his horned mask, and the women were beautiful in their flowers. The youngest boys clumped together in a shy, nervous bunch, but the mature men stepped between them, dividing them. "No Goddess will step out of the spiral if she sees all you babies waiting for her," teased Broka, the village smith, "she has to have some hope that a REAL man will be stepping up to worship her."

Priestess Deirdre walked first to the sunrise fire, then to the sunset fire, pulling some burning twigs from each. She approached the entrance of the spiral, and stopped. The drums silenced. All the people breathed as one, as Deirdre stood with head bowed in silent prayer, asking the Goddess' favor on the ceremony.  Deirdre raised her head, raised her arms holding the tiny fires, and stepped into the spiral, turning in slow circles. The gibbous moon cast silver on her long unbound hair woven with flowers, her  heavy breasts, belly softly rounded from childbirth, and wide womanly hips, as she circled round and round, slowly making her way deeper into the spiral.  Drums began again, softly, as Deirdre sang:

I am  Mother
Sing my praises
Worship me with body and soul

From my womb
Pours blood and water
Giving  life to all the land

Grain and fruit grow
From my blessing
New life thrives at my command

I am  Mother
Sing my praises
Worship me with body and soul

Celebrate 
the gift I give you
Light the fires of life again

As Deirdre finished the last verse, the four oldest women of the village entered the spiral and started the song again. More drums picked up the beat, and all the people in the circle joined in the song, slowly stepping  counterclockwise around the spiral edge, clapping hands in rhythym with the song. Next, five women of the village who were heany with pregnancy stepped forward and entered the spiral. These were the  blessed of the Mother.

When Deirdre,  the crones, and the pregnant women reached the inner circle, she knelt down and lit the Goddess fire. The women first attended her, rubbing the ochre over her body, painting a spiral on each breast, and painting the downward pointing triangle on her pubis. Then Deirdre and the crones painted the Goddess symbols on the pregnant women's breast and pubis, and large spirals on the mounds of their bellies.

 Again the drumming stopped, as did the singing and dancing. All was silent except for the soft crackling of the fires. Again, the whole community breathed with one breath. Deirdre lept  over the fire and became the Goddess. The celebration had begun.

The dancers continued the slow cicle around the perimeter.  As a woman would approach the entrance to the spiral, if she were ready, she would leave the circle of dancers and start to spiral inward. Slowly turning as she spiraled in, singing and clapping hands. some of the women brought with them gifts of food and drink for the women in the Goddess circle.  Deirdre stayed in the circle to welcome some of the arriving women. She helped the crones and pregnant women rub on the ochre and embraced each woman as she jumped across the fire, becoming the Goddess. Soon though, the circle was filling, and it was time to spiral back out, Deirdre leading the women, singing, dancing ,skipping and leaping, spiraling out and out.

The men and a few of the women who had not yet started to spiral in continued the slow dance around the perimeter, chanting and singing Goddess songs. As Deirdre rounded the outermost ring of the spiral, she admired all the circling masked Gods. She timed her exit from the spiral so that a beautifully crafted mask carried on a well muscled chest and abdomen with long sinewy arms and legs and  approached the exit. Deirdre was pretty sure she knew who's face was under that mask, and he was a young man who could use some expert teaching on how to best honor the Goddess.  She stepped out of the spiral and held out her hand to the young Horned God. He took her hand in both of his, knelt before her, and kissed her hand.  She signaled him to rise, and holding his hand led him out of the light into the moonswept darkness of the field.

Autumn Afternoon in the forest



The oak forest sits, still in the quiet fall afternoon,

A canopy of yellow brown leaves.



Suddenly, the dull fall leaves burst into a new dimension.

As the setting sun dips to an acute angle,

The treetops catch warm golden rays.



Light touches the leaves and gives them life.

Each leaf becomes radiant, glorious,

As if encrusted in diamonds.



The entire forest is transcendent.

It shines and dances

In the gentle touch of the setting sun.

reworking--from original, Nov 2008.

Wynton Marsalis: Blues Symphony
Atlanta Symphony Orchestra, January 14, 2010
At Martin Luther King Auditorium, Morehouse College

Symphonic Music. Total immersion in glorious sound.
Dressing up. Sitting between mother and daughter
Flanked by father and son in law. Surrounded by hundreds.
Every seat filled. Every heart rapt. Everyone is family.
Beautiful, spare hall. Organ pipes in geometric harmony.
Rich rich sound filling the hall, filling the hearts.
Spano, with black shirt rolling and flowing
As he dances his direction.
Rhythms of America.
Bluesy horns, syncopation.
Washboards and whistles.
Hand claps and foot stomps
Written in the score.
New Orleans and New York.
Oh, the clarinet--wailing, crying.
Soul lifts as music moves from sorrow to joy.
Faces light up. Bodies want to dance.
The musicians having FUN with the music.
Celebrating humanity. Celebrating the uplifting
from mundane to sublime through
Glorious music.

When She Was Good……….

Yesterday Daphne, Phoebe, and I drove through beautiful south east TN to Blue Ridge, Georgia where we met Bobbi, Joe , Bruce, and Ellie and Tiny for breakfast and a 5.8 mile hike in the dog friendly mountains of north Georgia. Ellie and Bobbi are taking a dog training class, so Bobbi was full of wisdom regarding dog-think. After a bit of early walk shenanigans, I got Phoebe to more or less heel the entire hike. Ellie never did take to the idea. I believe her view was “I’ve been pulling Mom for eight years, surely this is the way things should be. Why would I want to walk behind her.” I did take advantage of my hounds pulling power during a long climb towards the end of the hike. I felt like a dog musher, just sailing up the mountain behind my two locomotives.

Bobbi was so impressed by Phoebe’s excellent behaviour, especially since our first hike together, in December, was cut short because I was exhausted trying to control Phoebe as well as Daphne. I, though, remembered, our big story this week, and recited Bobbi a rhyme from childhood:

There was a little girl
Who had a little curl
Right in the middle of her forehead.
And when she was good,
She was very, very good
But when she was bad,
She was horrid.

Phoebe, a nine month old hound mix, has the wandering gene. Last month she escaped and was gone exactly one week before showing back up as if nothing were amiss. Happy, healthy, just the same Pheobe whose tail I had last seen a week previously running towards the far corner of the yard. After three weeks of lock down, she again escaped when I wasn’t careful enough about getting her in the door. She made a 180 degree turn out of my hand and bolted, again for the far corner.

My emotional state was better on this second Phoebe vacation. I adopted a “Que sera.” If she doesn’t want to live with me, she’ll have to find her own way. Daphne and I reverted to the pre-Phoebe life. A little quieter, emptier, but a good life.

Friday morning Daphne and I were in the living room when she started making a whining fuss. I opened the door to let her out and heard a dog crying in the distance. Daphne was quite concerned about it. I let Daphne free so she could follow the sound. I tracked behind her on the street. Daphne led me to a place where, when I looked up, I saw a shed building on the ridge, and a brown hound crying on the roof. Phoebe….. On a roof…..

A fence blocked my path, so I walked back to my house, picked up a leash, and then walked down the other street to approach the storage sheds on the back of the neighbor’s property. Phoebe was on a second story roof, but the shed had a single story area. I walked around the building, trying to find a way to get her. I also walked into the building (no doors, just lots of JUNK). I could see how she probably got on the roof. There were stacks of ummm stuff, that made a precarious ladder (certainly nothing I would climb, and apparently nothing Phoebe was willing to descend). Above the stacks there was a hole in the roof. Phoebe looked down at me through the hole, and cried some more.

I developed a plan. A tree grew beside the single story part of the building, and there were lots of tires lying around. I stacked three tires on rims next to the tree, and lay a couple rimless tires next to my pile. I hauled myself up the tires and leaned against the tree for balance. The roof hit me at mid chest. I reached up my arms and lured Phoebe to within grabbing range. It actually took her several attempts to get to me. She was afraid of the slope of the roof.

When I got a paw, I started sliding her to me. There was a good three inches of tree litter on the roof, and all of that slid with Phoebe, drowning me in dirt, leaves, and twigs. After a few seconds of firm pulling, resisted mightily by a frantic Phoebe, she slid enough that I could grab her shoulders and swing her off the roof to drop in the waiting tires. She bounced off the tires and galloped around ecstatically to celebrate with Daphne her release from the roof.