Home Fires

No doubt when Lena Gilbert Ford wrote the lyrics for the popular WWI song “Keep the Home Fires Burning” in 1914 (wow, almost 100 years ago!) she had in mind wood and coal rather than electricity. (She probably had in mind a shorter war, too, I doubt she would have written the same words in 1917.) Anyway, my home fire, in the form of my oven, is lit by electricity, and it isn’t burning anymore. The microwave, part of a dual built-in unit, expired a while back, and I replaced it with a stand-alone unit. My dishwasher expired a year ago, and I’ve been washing the dishes by hand, but now I really can’t put off renovating the kitchen any longer.

I’m not planning a complete remodel: the cabinets are fine and I’m not changing the layout, but I do need new appliances, new counter tops, a new sink and faucet and some under-cabinet lighting. The sink and counters are still functional, but they’re dated, and any thoughts I had of not upgrading them were put to rest by a recent article  which made it plain that granite counters, stainless steel appliances and wood floors are necessities if you want to interest buyers. Apparently the millenials have never seen laminate… I also need to update the hardware and lighting in the master bath, and redo ALL the floors – they’re 24 years old and looking it.

One reason I have been putting off the renovation, and therefore the sale, is that I am very comfortable here, but I know this isn’t my last house, and every year the summers in central NC get harder to live through. I still haven’t made a decision about where I want to live next. Seattle and Asheville are still on the list for the US, and places like Lisbon, Pau, Annecy, Bath and Shrewsbury in Europe, but thanks to my Fuch’s Dystrophy at some point my corneas will need to be replaced, and I don’t want to be too far from a (very) good eye hospital when that happens. Suggestions always welcome…

Clearly, I won’t be planning any more travel until the work on the house is done – maybe that will be an incentive to get on with it! However, I now have enough frequent flyer miles for another round the world award so I’m hoping to set off again on a long trip next year. Meanwhile, I’m thinking of resurrecting some of the trips that aren’t on my old website, or on this blog, so you may see places like Sicily and Armenia showing up here.

I’ve switched from reading travel books to books on kitchen renovation. Most of them are for people doing a full remodel, going into details about adding windows and pushing out walls and making room for islands and peninsulas – none of which tempt me. They also proclaim that the kitchen is the heart of the house. Maybe if you have kids, or entertain a lot, but the heart of my house is my study.

No Disney, No Dunes

I am no fan of Florida. Too flat, too built up, and I’m not wild about the climate. And I have visited, more than once. With my first husband I drove all the way from the panhandle to Key West, and back. With my second husband – and a travel trailer – I drove all the way from St. Augustine to Key West, and back. At least on that trip I found out how beautiful the State Parks were – designed to look the way the rest of the state looked before the Europeans showed up. I did Disney, with four new step-kids  in tow (there’s a photo of me with two of the kids, sitting on a curb on Main Street around 6:00 pm, looking dead, and we still had the fireworks to go). I even did Epcot, where I was upset by how fake everything looked.

Florida is not anywhere on my “would retire to” list, but I know a lot of people love it there. Among them are friends who moved back to Boca Raton after living for years in North Carolina. They invited me to stay on my way back from South America, promising to show me a different side of the state. They would also be showing me a retirement community, as that’s where they live now. They would pick me up from Miami airport and deliver me to Fort Lauderdale two days later for my final flight to RDU.

I can’t say I was much impressed by the facilities in the gloomy land side area at Miami airport, although I was impressed by the absolute silence maintained by the crowd in the huge hall where I waited to clear passport control. Perhaps it was the early hour? I’m accustomed to eat pre- and post-flight breakfasts at Gatwick and Heathrow, and the sausage and egg sandwich at Miami in no way measured up to a full English “heart attack on a plate”.

My friends had planned a full program for my two days, and after they collected me from the airport we set off for the Fairchild Gardens. I always enjoy botanical gardens and arboretums, and this was an especially big example. After we had walked a fair amount we were able to get on the shuttle and I was amazed by how much more there was to see – including the unexpected sight of a crocodile tossing his prey in the air. But my favorite area was the butterfly exhibit, although I never did manage to get a photo of one of the many spectacular Blue Morphos.

I had asked to see the Art Deco buildings in Miami Beach, and we had discussed eating lunch there, but my friends remembered that we would pass close to the Biltmore Hotel, and we stopped there instead. I associate the name with the massive mansion in Asheville, and was interested to visit a rather different Biltmore. We ate an excellent lunch by the big swimming pool, and then took a look at the lobby, an eclectic mixture of gothic and Moorish elements, already decorated for Christmas. The hotel is in Coral Gables, and the low rise houses lining the streets there certainly contrast with the condominiums and hotels lining so much of Florida’s shoreline. So, too, do the Art Deco buildings which we visited next.

Since I hadn’t slept well on the plane, I was fading fast, and fell asleep in the car on the way to Boca Raton, and then on the sofa after we arrived. By the next day, though, I was doing better, and had plenty of energy for the Morikami Museum and Japanese Gardens. I had been surprised to learn that there had once been a Japanese community in Florida, clear across the country from the bigger and better known settlements on the Pacific Coast. I watched the museum’s introductory film with interest, and enjoyed the tour of the gardens, not to mention lunch in the cafe.

My visit coincided with the retirement community’s Christmas reception and dinner, and I was impressed by the excellent meal. I was also impressed by the community itself, where my friends had a spacious apartment with a Florida room overlooking a large pond. They said they had been surprised by how much they enjoyed the passing parade of wildlife. The complex was in a suburban area with not a high-rise building in sight, across from a large mall. As retirement communities go, in Florida or elsewhere, this has to be one of the best. But I’m not eager to join one, even one this comfortable. I think I’m too much of an introvert.

I enjoyed the stopover, but it didn’t make me any more of a Florida fan.

Sampling Santiago

December 8-9, 2012: Thanks to the religious procession that closed the road from Valparaiso, I only spent one night in Santiago, although since my flight to Miami left at nearly midnight I had a day and a half to check out the city. The Yellow House had recommended the Rio Amazonas, and it was well situated just south of the restaurants in Bellavista (although I had to skirt a small riot on the way back from dinner). The friendly staff even let me shower after my day’s sightseeing. But  my room was London-small, and without AC, and I had some doubts about the sheets.

Santiago: The Old

Unfortunately, the one place I really wanted to visit in Santiago, the Museo Chileno de Arte Precolumbino, was closed for renovation, which is why I had already decided I should start my next trip to South America back in Santiago. Meanwhile, I checked off the Museo Historico Nacional – missable aside from a temporary exhibition of fancy dress – and the Museo de la Memoria y de los Derechos Humanos – definitely NOT missable. I spent much longer in the second museum, absorbing an excellently presented history of the horrors of the military dictatorship, which lasted from 1973 to 1990, before wandering through part of the neighboring park, full of families enjoying themselves.

I also wandered around a fair amount of central Santiago, enjoying a varied collection of buildings that ranged from Spanish baroque to very modern. I made it up the smaller of the two hills, Santa Lucia, noted the parlous state of the river Mapocho, and tried to avoid the lunchtime crowds in the huge Plaza de Armas. I had thought about staying in the Barrio Paris Londres and was disappointed to find how small it was. I approved of the metro, but didn’t try the buses. I even bought the first and only souvenir of the whole trip, although the copper fish I found in the Rio Amazonas’ gift shop was intended as a present.

Cerro Santa Lucia

As a last extravagance I took a taxi out to the airport. US-bound passengers were sent to a separate security area, where we had to take off our shoes. Then, after we had handed in our boarding passes and were headed for the jet-way, we all had to undergo a second check of hand luggage. No liquids, none, nada,  aside from the quart bag, could be carried on to the plane. The water I had bought after clearing  security was firmly, if politely, confiscated. Good thing I hadn’t bought any duty free alcohol or perfume! This security theater has become beyond ridiculous.

At least the plane was only one third full, allowing us the almost forgotten luxury of spreading out, and I did get some sleep on the way to Miami. I had enjoyed visiting South America, although the scenery easily out-shone the cities, and already planned to go back to Santiago to travel through the northwest section – Bolivia, Peru, Ecuador, Colombia…

Plaza de Armas

Valparaiso: The Not Good

December 7th, 2012: The walking tour of Valparaiso that the owner of the Yellow House had recommended had been so good I had little hesitation in signing up for another tour. I needed a tour for the wineries south of town, and while I had planned to visit Neruda’s seaside house at Isla Negra by bus, I was OK with including it on the tour. A young couple who had also been staying at the Yellow House signed up for the same Friday tour. They had a flight out of Santiago that night, and the plan was for them to catch a bus after we visited the wineries.

Alas, Michael the German Pirate was no Boris. He apparently regarded guiding as a hobby rather than a job, although I know hobbyists who are far more engaged and efficient. The tour got off to an exceedingly slow start. We had not gone far before stopping at a house that one of Michael’s friends was renovating. This was mostly an opportunity for him to visit with his friend, while we wandered round a building that was certainly in need of renovation, and was also stuffed with second-hand toys.

Then a drive through a mostly deserted seaside development was followed by a visit to a beautiful and also mostly deserted beach. I would have liked coffee at this point but the one functioning beach shack only offered cold drinks. Then we stopped at another house belonging to another of Michael’s friends. Again, we hung around while Michael visited with his friend, after which we were shown the friend’s “museum”, of interest only to fans of model ships and stuffed animals (the ones in the Vina del Mar museum were better).

By the time we finally arrived in Isla Negra and had eaten lunch I was wondering why I had signed up for this odyssey, but so far I was better off than the other couple. Michael had just discovered that the bus they had planned to take wasn’t running, and they would have to leave from Isla Negra and skip the wineries. Now, back when I was planning this trip, a poster on Fodors had warned me that the road between Valparaiso and Santiago would be closed from mid afternoon Friday December 7th to the evening of Saturday December 8th for a major religious procession. I had scheduled an extra night in Valparaiso to allow for it, and then forgotten the matter. So, a Fodors’ poster knew about the annual closure, but a supposedly professional tour guide did not.

Michael went off to check on bus times, and we visited the house. Perhaps I should have settled for just one of Neruda’s houses, as I found this one disappointing. The location, and the views, were indeed magnificent, but the rooms felt claustrophobic. Too many over-sized figureheads in the living room, for sure, and the ceilings seemed low. Afterwards we left the young couple, and their luggage, at a “bus stop” (a short line of people at the side of the road), and finally took off for the wineries. When we reached the first it was already 4:50, and I noticed on the sign outside that it would close at 5:30. Would we only have time for one winery?

Worse. No wineries at all! All the wineries were closed in honor of the procession. I was furious! How can a tour guide take you on a tour without checking that the places you’re going to visit are actually open? After I pointed this out, and said that I had only taken the tour because I wanted to visit wineries, we drove back to Valparaiso in silence, where Michael charged me 6,000 pesos instead of the full price, claiming that this was what it would have cost me to visit Isla Negra by bus.

So, avoid tours by the German Pirate. You might also avoid the Port View room at the Yellow House. It was very dark, and the view not much. In addition, it was on the same floor as the kitchen and dining room, and when an inconsiderate Polish visitor decided to fix a meal at 11:00 at night I could hear every move. The house’s location had disadvantages too. The views from the top floor were so good because the house was at one end of town, but there was a real shortage of eating and drinking places nearby. To get to the best area for restaurants you needed to take the funicular down the hill, catch a tram into town, and ride another funicular up again. Walking would have been possible, except that part of the area between the funiculars wasn’t safe. The funicular for the Yellow House didn’t feel that safe, either. The carriage may well be the original, from 1893, and not only were there gaps between the boards, the whole thing shook.

Overall, despite this one thoroughly disappointing day, I enjoyed my stay in Valparaiso. I’m glad I’ve seen the town, but I don’t have any great urge to go back.

Valparaiso: The Good

December 5-9, 2012: I had heard, and read, a lot of good things about the long distance buses in South America, at least in the pricier classes. So I booked the best available class, salon cama, and boarded the bus to Valparaiso with some hope of a good night’s sleep. I guess Pucon was too far off the main routes for the best buses, because I was really not impressed. For starters, no food was served (aside from a feeble attempt at breakfast), so I boarded with a pollo y palta from Latitud 39. Then, there was nowhere to put carry-on bags besides the floor, and the leg room was just too short for me to stretch out. At least the section was quiet, and I did get to sleep off and on. On balance, I’d say it was better than economy class on an airplane but worse than a couchette, never mind a sleeper, on a train.

Things improved when I got to my B&B in Valparaiso. The Yellow House provided not just the usual safe place to stash my bag, and coffee, but breakfast, and even more welcome, a shower in the shared bathroom. When the owner suggested I join a walking tour of the city I was in good enough shape to agree. The tour, led by a lively young Brazilian (Boris, who also teaches cooking classes), took us from the touristy main square to the fishing boats and market (and seriously photogenic sea lions and pelicans), on and off trams and buses and funiculars, up to murals and the best restaurant section, and down again, and provided plenty of information along with the sights. Including areas to avoid when walking alone.

Valparaiso, spread over many hills beside a sparkling bay, is a city that has much to like. (Provided you overlook the port area, which it is rather hard to do.) Architecture always has a lot to do with whether I like a city, and while my favorite Art Nouveau was in limited supply, the many brightly painted houses and a scattering of landmark buildings more than made up for it. The colorful metal buildings that had been crammed into one area of Buenos Aires were here splashed across multiple quarters. The Yellow House, where I was staying, could easily be picked out on its eastern hillside, below the Navy Museum, from down on the waterfront.

I spent one morning visiting the just reopened Palacio Baburizza. Although it houses the city’s Belles Artes museum, I ignored the paintings but admired the architecture. It was even worth the trek uphill, made necessary because the relevant funicular had yet to reopen after the last earthquake. But even better was La Sebastiana, the Nobel prize-winning poet Naruda’s Valparaiso home.

I reached La Sebastiana, perched on a hillside well above the bay, in a shared taxi that charged upwards at full throttle. Once there I was able to dodge the tour groups and absorb the house at my leisure. And between the magnificent views, and the magnificently quirky contents, it was worth every peso of the admission price. Unfortunately, photos weren’t allowed inside.

While Valparaiso is a working city, just up the coast is Vina del Mar, the area’s playground. While I had no intention of joining the crowd courting sunburn on the sands, I had a good time nonetheless. I started at the Archaeological Museum, where I was delighted to get a look at an authentic moai without having to trek out to Easter Island. After rejecting a number of eating places (including a surprising number of US chains) I ate a leisurely (and expensive) lunch at waterfront El Parron with excellent views, and then walked south along the promenade to the 20th century Castillo Wulff. The interior of the castle wasn’t much, but again the views were good. As were the views at the Sheraton, where I indulged in a caipirinha on the rear deck, overlooking yet another beach.

I finished my day at the beach in the botanical gardens, where I was sorry to find the Palacio Vergara closed for renovations. Then I was whisked back to Valparaiso on the excellent metro.

Rained Out in Pucon

November 30 – December 4, 2012: Soaring to an average height of 13,000 feet, the Andes present a formidable barrier. You can cross, but only in certain places. I’d already traveled east to west from El Calafate to Puerto Natales, and west to east from Puerto Varas to Bariloche. Now I would go back west from San Martin to Pucon, partly on gravel, over the 3,600 foot Mamuil Malal pass. (I was saving the reportedly spectacular crossing from Santiago to Mendoza for my next trip.)

I hadn’t been able to find much information on the bus connections, and was saddened to learn, when I reached San Martin,  that the one and only daily bus left at 6:00am. Still, the WesleyHosteria provided me with a breakfast sandwich, and the rain held off while I trekked the six long blocks to the bus station. But as we climbed towards the pass I saw clouds ahead, and thought it unlikely we would see much of Volcan Lanin, which towers over the border. Turned out we had just a fugitive glimpse, as we shivered in the wind outside the border post.

I had hoped for more comfortable volcano viewing in Pucon. I had chosen to break my northward journey in Pucon in large part because of photos showing Volcan Villarica almost in the town. I had therefore reserved a room with a balcony and a straight-on view of the volcano at the Geronimo. I should have saved my money. I could see part of the volcano the day I arrived, and again the day I left, but not all of it, and in between all I could see were clouds. And rain. At one point the weather site I consulted claimed 60 inches would fall over the weekend.

Most people use Pucon as a base for energetic outdoor activities. Climbing Volcan Villarica. White water rafting. Hiking, cycling, riding, fishing. You name it, there’s probably an adventure outfitter in Pucon eager to help you do it. I certainly wasn’t planning on climbing the volcano, but I thought about some hiking in the National Park, a visit to some waterfalls, maybe the thermal baths. But not in the rain. Even the thermal baths were off limits, as I hadn’t brought a swimsuit, and couldn’t find one in town to fit me.

After I realized that the weather forecasts were right, and before I bought my bus ticket out, I considered cutting my stay short. But, just as when I planned this part of the trip, there was nowhere between Pucon and Valparaiso that seemed a good stopping off place. I was attracted by the wineries, but I expected to tour them from Valparaiso. There were more thermal spas on the way, but none seemed to have good public transport. The reports on the coastal cities had been discouraging.  Chillan, with murals and an outdoor market, was the likeliest candidate, but lacked good accommodation, and would mean two long days on the bus instead of one long night.

So, I stayed on in Pucon. I found good coffee at the Cafe de P, and good company – along with tortilla soup and chicken and avocado sandwiches – at the American-owned Latitud 39. I took a look at yet-another-lake – as in San Martin, the town turned its back on the water front. I marveled at the number of outfitters cheek-by-jowl down the main street. And I spent a lot of time listening to ebooks and playing cards on my iPad.

And More Lakes

From Bariloche I was tempted to head south to El Bolson. The guidebooks claimed that it made a good base for moderate hikes, and had an excellent craft market. And that it was a hippy hangout. I was quite surprised in Patagonia to run into several relics of the 60s, but they weren’t high on my sightseeing list. Also, if I went south I’d just have to come back north to Bariloche. Since I saw few handicrafts of interest in my time in South America, I’m glad I decided to skip El Bolson. Instead I headed north for San Martin de Los Andes.

I could have taken one of several buses on the new, paved road via Rinconada, but I was tempted by the scenic Seven Lakes route. While one bus a day did go that way, I decided instead to sign up for a day tour from Bariloche, getting off in San Martin. While noticeably more expensive, this would get me much better sightseeing, plus photo ops. Oddly, all tours from Bariloche cost the same, regardless of which company you pick. With no good basis of comparison I left it to the Hotel Tirol to book me, and was pleased with their choice. I shared a small min-van with just a dozen others, although once again the guide had little English.

We made a pit stop in Villa la Angostura, which seemed just as touristy as Bariloche, and I was glad I had passed on staying there, even though the ash from the 2011 volcano had been cleared. The lakes were indeed scenic, and efforts were underway to pave the gravel road that connected them. By this time I had seen so many lakes that I was a little disappointed with San Martin’s lake. Unlike Bariloche, which sprawls along the shore of Lago Nahuel Huapi, San Martin is at the very end of Lago Lacar, and most of the town follows the valley away from the lake. There’s a pier, and a couple of cafes, but not much else on the lake shore itself.

My first full day in town I set off to hike to one of the viewpoints. This was a little harder than I expected, as the trail, through the edge of Parque Nacional Lanin, kept splitting, and was largely lacking blazes. Still, since I had started early, I had the eventual viewpoint, Bandurria, almost entirely to myself. I ate my lunch in splendid isolation, but with a less splendid view than those near Bariloche.

I had had a lot of luck with the weather on this trip, but I must have lost the talisman on the hike to Bandurria. My second day in San Martin was too wet for hiking, or for the boat ride I had planned, or even for admiring the many rose bushes that decorated the streets and parks. Fortunately, most of the cafes had wifi, and I carried my iPad from coffee to lunch to more coffee, umbrella in hand.

Checking the weather forecast was not encouraging, though. Next day I was taking a bus to Pucon, in Chile, and I had hoped to  see Volcan Lanin on the border. Not to mention Volcan Villarica from Pucon itself.