This is an 8 minute experience of going up the Orinoco River Delta in Venezuela. We hear stories of how dangerous Venezuela is. Our experiences were completely the opposite. This has been one of the best adventures of our entire 5 years sailing the Caribbean...

We have returned to the Islands and have traveled to Trinidad to refit our boat, then had a trip to the Orinoco River Delta in Venezuela. Here is a video of Darlene doing yoga on the river.

I will be posting about this soon, but here is the video of the border crossing...

An Argentinean couple in there early twenties we met in the town square, led us to find accommodation where they were staying for A$50R that was very comfortable and the guy who rented to us just a wonderful and colorful character. If we were able to speak on a common platform, we would have had great conversation and laughter. In the morning was Darlene’s quest for her morning cup of Java. We walked all over the town looking for it. It was elusive. We went to the restaurant where we had dinner and the door was open. When the last patron left, the staff must have followed them right out. The empty glasses and bottles of wine were where we had left them. No coffee was to be found.
We headed to the town square where the vendors were colorfully displaying their wares. The creviced faces of the old Inca descendants, with jet black hair under the gaucho hat, short hard working people dressed colorfully in Llama. They were quiet, passive salespeople, welcoming but no English.
So Darlene looked around for a tourist and spotted two and asked if they spoke English. That is how we met Annalisa from Stockholm, a middle aged woman traveling by her self who spoke no to limited Spanish. She had on a green head scarf wrapped almost as Laurence of Arabia, and green matching sunglasses. With here was an Italian friend married to an Argentinean, who spoke fluent Spanish. They too were on the Java hunt and we teamed up. Annalisa is an actress and singer. She has done Swedish stage performances, including musicals, television and some film. She hasd a 40 year old whom she described as the Old Testament and herself the New Testament. Strong relationships were elusive and she so loved Darlene and my story, bringing tears to her eyes many times. Emotional was the only way to describe her...in the most beautiful way. The world would be a better place if people could learn from Annalisa. No wonder she is a brilliant actress. How can you not be when so in touch with ones soul, and how can one touch another soul if one does not know one's own. She is looking for her “Capitan”, someone to explore the world with, to be her North Star. She had been in Buenos Aries for five weeks exploring theater opportunities and was on here last few days. We headed off to an elegant 2 hour lunch that could have been our home as it was light filled, earthen feel with huge window sills and windows that opened outward the way Darlene has always dreamed of. It was over lunch that Darlene and I returned to the question of where in the world we want to live. We know it will not be America forever. We are not the city type; do not need the vast stimulations of cell phones, television and traffic. We want the indoor, outdoor living with the open expanse of space. It needs to be a climate where I can garden and inspiring towards alternative construction. Maybe we will build a straw / adobe house. We will have solar power, and bring nature in to nurture our souls and be a home that welcomes and stimulates conversation and the spirit of mankind. We had ruled South Africa out for many personal reasons and its geographic isolation. Italy was appealing but not the prices and then there are the language barriers. Once more with Annalisa’s flamboyance, we visited the question of where and when.
The conversations continued back to her hotel in Tilcara, some 35 km away, for a swim and lounging and more laughter and tears of joy. There was WiFi and e-mails awaiting our attention. One deal had gone down the tubes with the economy that was a done deal. Then there was Cuba. We were being invited back to address not only the military leadership but the rank and files. They were being volun-told. Sitting at the swimming pool, watching the moon rise from behind the mountains and looking across the valley with Gauchos riding a few hundred feet away in a place that has not been touch by time, I used technology to secure the deal 7,000 miles away.
The Darlene and I bid Annalisa farewell who had given Darlene many gifts to lighten her bags, and I had told her that if she wanted to go sailing with her “Capitan” she would need to shed the physical bags. She was an airlines nightmare with all her luggage, and was proud of traveling in the finest comfort. We had made a new friend and put Sweden on our map as a place to visit because of Annalisa, the actress as we drove north to Humahuaca.
Humahuaca was different in ways I have difficulty describing. It is not as touristic as Purmamarca, but yet it is a destination. It spreads more distance and does not have the imposing peaks and mountain colors, was relatively flat nestled between the highway and the Rio Grande. We stayed at the La Hostel Sonada with the physically huge and even bigger hearted Patricia for A$110R including breakfast. Quiet pink rooms with a courtyard, pink again and very pleasant. The next morning we did our ritual walking around town, window shopping, talking to vendors from whom Darlene bought a necklace, then left heading for Yavi via Laguana Portezuelo, but the day had gotten away and we decided to remain on Route 9 for La Quiaca on the Bolivian border and the 17 km ride to the east to Yavi where we arrived early afternoon.
Time had stood still, or better yet, time had not arrived in this sleepy town. No one was around. The dogs slept in the middle of the dusty, barren main street, annoyed that someone had the audacity to drive that day into their domain. We were up in the mountain plains and the river ran breaking the desert terrain with just enough green to offer contrast and maybe a blade of grass for a few cows. There were very few places to stay. We chose the hostel right as you come into town for A$80R that offered great double rooms. Water for the shower was heated by wood. Yavi was cold, especially when the sun went down. A radiant heater made or nest on a sold adobe bed comfortable.
After choosing our bed for the night, Darlene and I decided to have a picnic. There was an area that said camping and we saw nice trees and tables that were inviting. We had bought stuff from fruits, cheese, drinks and a table cloth, just for such a moment. Some folks had a fire going and the smells were most inviting. We set up and enjoyed the ambiance. In the shade it was quite chilly but in the sun very pleasant. Fall had truly arrived with the changing of the leaves and colors.
After we had finished, I went over to the tap to wash our two utensils and my hands and five people having a braai as South Africans say, or a barbecue, invited me over. They wanted to know where we were from as it was obvious we were not local. They were Bolivians. Immediately we were offered meat and to join them. No Spanish and no English, but plenty of gestures and words and we were figuring things out. The meat was so delicious, the best I have eaten in the country. It took a lot of explaining that Darlene is vegetarian, but they figured it out. We spent a good half hour chatting and eating. This was our high light of the day. They made my day and I hope enjoyed our company.

April 30, 2009
We left Salta in a rental car after only arriving the previous day on the bus from BA. Salta was just another big South American city minus the sky scrapers and huge apartment blocks, that did not call out to us. Santiago suggested that drive to San Antonio on Route 51 through the mountains. It was a spectacular drive through many small towns. The out skirts of Salta after the airport had interesting homes and a restaurant we would have eaten in if we were hungry already. We did come to one fork in the dirt road by a river that I was not sure of so we pulled over and shortly a police vehicle arrived, pointing us to take the road to the right and up the hill. Soon we saw the disused rail road on the opposite side of the river. At times when that river was in full flow, it would be spectacular and devastating. The vegetation changed several times, colorful soil giving way to rocky terrain with countless cactus standing like soldiers, then after a while, none. The road was pretty good, but very dusty and in places bumpy. We transverse at around 60 km an hour and sometimes would drop to 40 km/hr but that was not too often. I over took one car and had one other come the opposite direction. Here and there were a few settlements but not much else.
After about an hour we stopped to take a photo and spotted a settlement with a few sheep. The Sheppard wondered over and we tried to communicate. He pointed to the mountain, spoke many Spanish words of which we could make out nothing. After a few minutes, he gave up and we continued on our way. Some 30 km later we came to more modern settlement. There was a policeman stopping “traffic”. He wanted to see the car papers and our passports and waved us on our way. About another 20 km later, the only traffic we passed were two military trucks with soldiers going the opposite way and a lorry struggling, we climbed a steep mountain. The views were indescribable. Snow covered peak set against a brilliant blue sky. Mountains of various color gradations with ever changing desert vegetation. A settlement that could be hundreds of years old, with a solar panel. Then suddenly, there was a hitch hiker, a woman with a bag adamant that I stop. Of course she spoke no English and was trying to tell me something. I figured out the word two, but nothing else. At first I thought she wanted two pesos. But that made no sense. Then I showed her the hitch hiking sign as I remember that was what she was doing when I first spotted her, and she acknowledged it but kept saying two, till I figured out that there were two persons hitching a ride and wanted to go to San Antonio.
It was at first a bit of a pain having two passengers as we had to clean up the back seat. I got a dirty look from Darlene, but her humanitarian side quickly emerged. The other woman appeared from a shack on the opposite slope, came running carrying a big bag. There was no room in the trunk for their bags, but we got the back seat re-arranged so that they could get their bags in and be comfortable. And an adventure was about to unfold that was unknown to us.
About a half hour later the older woman showed us a woven Andean weave. It was beautiful but had little interest to us as all we could think of was what room we had in our backpacks. Then she showed us another, and another, trying to tell us something in Spanish. Then Darlene asked about a sweater, and low and behold, we had a traveling market in the back seat. They had alpaca after alpaca sweater, scarves, vests and even some kids’ sweaters. They had all kinds of designs and colors and soon Darlene’s lap was covered and she was stacking some on the dashboard that grabbed her eye, and they still had more to show us. We wanted something for Shelby, but what we had in mind they did not have in their bag, but explained at the cassa was more. So we took them home, to their cassa where they had so much more to show us. In the process they learned that we were heading to Purmamarca and could they come.
San Antonio was a desolate, barren place of Adobe houses and more dusty streets. After buying a Alpaca sweater each, two scarves and something for Shelby for A$R200 (we got a A$R40 discount for giving them the ride), we were hungry and wanted to find food. I was so hungry I was getting light headed. They knew of a restaurant in town. On our way to it, the younger woman with a pretty round Andean face, pulled out a cell phone and made a call. Here we were where the most modern things were a car, solar panels and a TV, they had cell coverage. Take all this away and we were back 200 years into history.
The first restaurant was closed, but there was a second and Darlene was able to have chicken and I a piece of meat, with French fries. Then off we were on the adventure on a road not many cars transverse. It was a tough road and at best I could do 30km/hr. After a while, glad we had the two locals with us as we may have feared being lost, the one woman told me to go left onto a dirt track. This was strange. Leaving the main bumpy road for a track that should have a 4*4 on it, not a minute rental car? And not knowing why. The city mind was were they taking us somewhere where they were going to rob us? If so, they could have done that anywhere in the last two hours. Were we being fooled and we were taking them to some other place they wanted to go, but not us? But human kindness must always prevail and our belief in trusting. That dirt track ran parallel to the bad road and was a better ride. We took it for some 25 minutes till it got bad and the woman pointed me back to the main road.

Slowly the hours passed and some how we all managed to communicate in sign language and saying words over and over till some how they made sense. We saw Llamas with ribbons and colored ears, many donkeys and then some other animals that they got very excited about, Vicuna. They were wild and we think gave some of the best wool. The dusty road was bad, very bad, but passable. It was route 40 to Salinas Grande. We were driving on some kind of a plain with mountains either side off in the distance. We passed one car, and about 10 miles away to the west I saw the dust of another car heading towards those mountains. We were maybe 40 miles from those western mountains and maybe 15 miles east of another. This was the vast ocean equivalent of nothingness. Then came the sight of Salinas Grande maybe 20 miles away. We could see the shimmering whiteness of the salt flats, once a lake, now gone. We got closer and closer, but never to it. We skirted it on this dusty, attention demanding, rutted dirt road. And then it ended on a tar road and we made a left turn to go see the salt flats of Salinas Grande, away from our destination, but only 15 km out of our way.
Salinas Grande was something. We drove off the high way onto the salt. It was a better ride and intriguing. The salt had formed tiles about 6*8 feet. These tiles had ridges surrounding them. Darlene went prone to lick, one salt like that covered several hundred square miles. Salt was being scraped for commercial processing. We got our little bag of scrapings and photos with the two woman who told us to continue driving on the salt towards Chile. Some miles later we came to what looked like ice fisherman in the middle of a frozen lake. They were selling salt sculptures. We turned there for the main road and another structure…an entire building, with tables and chairs, built of salt, complete with chapel and sculptures of Llamas. What a sight.
We turned away from Chile and began our climb into the mountains. It was one of those snaking roads, doubling back so many times as we climbed, and then doing the reverse on the other side of the mountain. It was intense driving. On the opposite side the erosion calved by the winds looked like chocolate flakes, shape, jagged, ready to crumble at the slightest. Then we were arriving in Purmamarca and the two women were pushing on. We debated whether to push on to the town they were heading to, assuming that accommodations they would find would be cheaper, but Darlene was ready to get out of the car. We dropped them and bid them farewell, having spent a day communicating without a single common word. To us the mystery remains, where they planning to go to this destination at this time, or did we just happen to provide the opportunity at that moment and they seized the time? And the other big questions, was why were they heading there, hundreds of kilometers from home.

April 28, 2009
We took afternoon bus that left the main bus terminal at 3:45 pm and costs U$R200 each one way. It was not the first class bus with the sleeper beds, but one that stopped in many places along a route we have no idea, but it was comfortable and we were able to recline. We were given on boarding some kind of a package with bread and meat that was very flat, squashed to be exact, and some kind of cookie. About midnight we stopped for 20 minutes at some hotel where numerous other buses pulled up too and it looks like the local haunt of the cops. Other than that one stop for food, there was none other than loading and off loading passengers that took less than a minute. The journey took some 21 hrs and some of the most desolate countryside was passed.
Somewhere along the way a 22 year old Israeli kid got onto the bus and we got talking. He had completed his 3 years in the Israeli army as a journalist covering the West Bank, explaining that there were many names to call the West Bank, or Occupied Territories based on your political affiliation. As a teenager he belonged to a Jewish youth movement that toured 32 US states visiting Synagogues building support for the Zionist movement and ensuring unlimited political support of the US. This was a major program continuously being run to the US and other sympathetic countries. I believe that Israel gets about $30b of support from the US per year, and if you are Jewish and can prove that both parents are Jews either by birth certificate or marriage certificate, you automatically can apply for some special term which gives your permanent residence of Israel and the right to live there irrespectively where or not you were born there. The Israelis’ sees it as the right to return to their biblical lands. Hence the Palestinian issue of loosing their lands and a conflict that may never have a solution.
In the bus station in Salta, we were greeted by young people wearing a badge giving their name and guest house/B$B/hostel that they represented. About 10 gathered around showing us booklets with photos of the rooms, grounds and common areas, wanting to take us to their place. They offered free transportation to their location and hawked what each place had to offer from tours to free internet in some. Some spoke fair to good English. One woman pulled me aside to offer a special rate. She took me to the bus counter as I needed to know about the bus schedule to Iquazu, promising to take care of us. Her place was were many young people gathered and I figured out that it would be noisy as it had a bar there too. Unfortunately for her, that ruled her place out. It came down to two places, one of which was in the guidebook. Vanessa quoted a rate but had to have all her info communicated through another hawker called Santiago who spoke almost perfect English. He quoted us A$R60 per night plus breakfast. Vanessa called her owner to ask if he would match the rate. We wanted to see the two place and then decide.
Santiago agreed to drive us to show us Vanessa’s place first, and then his. He was willing to help his competitor who was quite an attractive young Argentinean with Inca blood. At Vanessa’s place Darlene went in to look while I remained chatting to Santiago. It was nice but the neighbor did have a barking dog which Darlene asked about. Then it was off to Santiago’s place. It was just as nice and it was decision time. What it really came down to was language. Santiago spoke English and could easily help us and was most willing and accommodating. He was such a gentleman that after we had chosen to stay at his hostel, he told Vanessa to wait and he would drive her back to the bus terminal. He heart was of gold and it continued to shine the entire time we were at his hostel.
After dropping Vanessa back at the bus terminal he returned to help us sort out our plans. We wanted to rent a car for a week. His father, who owned the hostel, also owned a travel agency and Santiago was a professional guide who worked for his father. Divorced and the father of a 3 year old, he was a hustler to carry his share. He lived with his parents at the hostel.
Santiago took us to Hertz with whom his father’s travel agency had a deal and they represented. The original quote for a compact car, a Chevelotte, was A$R 1,124 for the week with 2,000 km free miles and an A$R8,000 deposit for security in case the car was stolen, damaged or totaled. It was more than I really wanted to pay, about US$375 total. I asked Santiago if there was another company that we could get a quote from, but he told me that even though there were other companies, he could not recommend any other due to their agreement with Hertz. So I asked him if he could talk to them to get a better price and he was able to get us a 10% discount. He agreed to bring us back in the morning to pick up the car and get us on our way out of town. He truly understood customer service.
From my time with Santiago I learnt about the impact that the financial crises was having on their business, plus the impact of Dengue Fever. For January through March his business had struggled as few people came to the region for one of the two reasons. Now that winter has come, the mosquito population that causes Dengue Fever was decreasing and for the winter the threat was over till the spring rains came. Our understanding is like malaria and some of the other tropical diseases, people who live in poverty and hence are malnourished and have lower immune systems are more prone to the illness.

April 26, 2009
Buenos Aries is the city of Tango. People have come from all corners of the world just to dance. You will not see them by day, but they will emerge as the shadows get longer and the beat of the music starts to come forth. They are passionate, un-wavering.
Hence Darlene and I had to find out in baby steps what the addition was and how infectious it could be. We were staying at a B&B that has a dance studio and each evening at 7:30 pm an instructor is there for the guests. Here not only did we dance, but we met people who share the culture of Tango with us.
Tango is a communication that begins and ends in the dance. A man does not walk up to a woman and ask to dance. Women at most dance place sit separate from men. If one is a strange, one waits and watches the dance to get the feel. Then one will look around and think about who you will want to dance with, and make eye contact. One will wait till the music is playing to decide if it is dance one want to experience. Once that eye contact is made, if the other breaks it off, that is a sign of no. No could be for any number of reasons…music pace to fast, too slow, don’t feel confident, feet are hurting. If the eye contact is held, the man will come over, never loosing that eye contact and extend his hand. The woman must be sure it is for her, and not the person behind so will wait till he is right by her extending his hand to her, then only will she rise to accept.
The man will then lead her to the dance floor and she will only step onto it when invited. The dance will now begin. Three pieces of music are played in succession; I think called stanzas, with a few seconds break between. One will dance all three with the same partner. For some, the time between the music is the social time to chat, to learn the other person’s name. For another, they will go into the starting dance pose, cheek to cheek, holding the embrace, speaking not a word, yet saying so much. It is the romance, of wanting possibly to be kissed, but not. A good dancer will always protect his partner by having her dance on the outer parameter with her back to the crowd so that she may not be accidentally kicked or stepped on, something that is easy as the floor is very crowded.
The male will always lead. The ego can be huge. If a woman asks via eye contact of another woman to dance, it is assumed that she is a lesbian, or vise versa if two males dance together then they are gay. There are clubs in BA where this is perfectly acceptable. Also, if a woman leads a man to dance, then neither will get another dance from other partners as it is assumed that the guy has no backbone and that the woman is a huge force and the egos will clash. If a couple arrives together they will be seated and if they dance more than one stanza, don’t expect to be asked to dance with some one else.
When the stanza is complete, the music will change radically. They may play rap or disco, anything that will clear the dance floor. The gentlemen will take the ladies back to the table. They will not dance with the same partner again that night. If they do, or you accept a follow up stanza, that means you will be going home with him and passionate love is assured. If he offers to buy you coffee or a drink in this period, and you accept, you will indicate your willingness to go home with him.

We arrived an interesting B&B somewhere in the city. It is a bit noisy with our room on the street side, but its fine. There is a nice garden and a dance studio where there are tango lessons. Darlene just did a ballet work out.

Our friend Franscios from Rio, whom we met sailing this past winter in St. Lucia, has a friend here in BA and said to contact Carla and that she would take care of us. Wowww!!!! did she take care of us yesterday.

Carla and Alfredo, her doctor boyfriend whom she is not dating, just hanging out every conceivable minute with, picked us up at noon and took us the the Yacht Club Argentina for lunch, a nearly 3 hour affair of laughter and chatter. The we headed to her place, an apartment filled with fantastic paintings or Argentinian talent. Carla's father, Jacques, is an art dealer of major significance to BA. After 15 years, of not having a gallery, Carla has opened her own gallery and has her father a part of it as her mentor, idol and inspiration.

In the apartment we got into discussions of what is going on in Argentina, their views of the left wing government which appears to be a typical government of self interest, and the impact of the global financial crisis. Great view points and insights from their perspective of how the wars have broken their hearts and influenced the economics of their world, not for the better. But Carla pursues her gallery out of passion, not profit.

Then we met Anna, her 22 year old daughter. What a beautiful young woman, spirited and adventuresome. Anna is studying political science and loves to travel having spent time in the America's and Europe, speaks four languages having grown up in Brazil. Anna is such a delight and an inspiration that could really show American women of what possibilities are.

By early evening we were off to another area that the yacht club had where Carla's 11 year old son, Philip was racing optimists. He had won the club championships and it was the prize giving. This young man loves his racing and is finding his passion on the water. At the club we met some interesting members and Carla realized that it was very hard in introducing Darlene and I. She found she could not just say these are my new American Friends who are a ... It was hard to describe us in just a few words.

Then it was off to yet another area where the club had a gazebo. Here we met Silvy, her eldest daughter who had completed her dissertation and it was a celebration for the family. Silvy loved dance but we did not get much time to chat as I met the aunts and uncles, and cousins, and of course Jacques and Mary, Clara's parents. What a great couple. Jacques had done the very first Cape To Rio race around 1972, which my dad and I watched from Signal Hill as they departed. Life has all these great connections. Mary is an intense gardener and we discussed the problems of slugs.

So this was our first full day in BA, and a day in the life of Clara. We could not have had a better introduction to a sliver of life in this culture. It truly is people that make our world an amazing, experience rich place.

We are off in Argentina. Read the entries bellow. The latest will be posted last...
April 24, 2009 Setting out to Argentina
April 25, 2009 A day in the life of Carla
April 26, 2009 To Tango or not to Tango.
April 28, 2009 Salta
April 30, 2009 Question of Why
May 1, 2009 From a Swede to Yavi
May 3, 2009 From Bolivia to Flamingo Lake
May 5, 2009 The drive to Cachi